#but still the back of my head is straight

[enhaflixer]

HARD HOURS - Enhypens reaction when you ask them a sexual question

cw: Explicit mentions, choking, spanking, spitting, dirty talk, shower sex, anything else? wc 8.2K TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @naurwayyyyy @ijustwannareadstuff20 @somuchdard @ddolleri @jinnibug AN: HEY YALL KINDA CRAZY BUT THIS WHAT IM BACK WITH, my fav was jungwons for surrrreeee but pls lemme know who's you liked the most in the comments! this is the post to this ask!

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung was sprawled out on the couch, completely locked into his game, fingers tapping furiously at the controller as the sounds of gunfire and explosions filled the room. His brows were furrowed, his jaw set in focus. You could tell by the way his leg bounced slightly that he was fully immersed—until you sat beside him and nudged his thigh.

“Hee?” you murmured sweetly.

“Mm-hmm,” he responded absently, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, babe. Just give me a sec,” he murmured, dodging an in-game attack and letting out a satisfied laugh when his opponent went down.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “It’s a deep question.”

“Okay,” he said, distracted, “Gimme one more—” He froze as soon as the words fully registered. His head turned slowly, one brow arching in mild suspicion. “Wait. What?”

“It’s a philosophical question,” you continued, fighting back a smile.

“Philosophical,” he repeated dryly. He paused the game, setting the controller on his lap as he gave you a long, unreadable look. “What kind of philosophical question? Like, the meaning of life or something?”

You bit your lip, doing your best to keep a straight face. “Not exactly. It’s about… choking.”

Heeseung blinked. His fingers twitched against the controller. “Choking,” he repeated, his voice suddenly much lower. “Like, uh… the kink?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, stretching out your legs like this was a casual conversation. “I’ve been thinking about why people like it. Is it about trust? Control? Or maybe something more primal?”

Heeseung stared at you. Then he sighed, dragging a hand down his face before leaning back against the couch. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged. “I think it’s an interesting topic.”

“I was literally about to beat that level,” he muttered, pointing at the paused screen. “And you want me to sit here and analyze the philosophy of choking?”

“Well, you can still play,” you teased, nudging his arm. “I can talk while you game.”

He gave you a long, unimpressed look before picking up the controller again. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Think about it,” you continued, grinning at how flustered he was. “Why do we want to give up control like that? What does it say about our trust in each other?”

Heeseung groaned, pausing the game again and dropping the controller onto his lap. “You’re seriously not going to stop until I answer, are you?”

“Nope,” you said brightly, leaning closer to him.

His eyes closed briefly as he let out another sigh. When he opened them again, there was a glint of amusement in his gaze. “Fine,” he muttered, setting the controller aside completely. “If you want to talk about trust and control or whatever, I guess we can do that. But just remember—you brought this on yourself.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and despite his initial exasperation, you could tell he was starting to enjoy this. He leaned toward you, resting his forearm on his knee, and smirked. “Alright, philosopher. Let’s hear it.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude. “Wait—are you actually interested now?”

Heeseung’s smirk grew. “No,” he said flatly, crossing his arms, “but you’re clearly not gonna let this go. So go ahead, hit me with your big philosophical choking theory.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked. “Okay, well, I think it’s not just about the physical act, you know? It’s about trust. You’re giving someone that much control over you, and you have to fully trust them not to hurt you. That’s kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Beautiful?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. It’s like a dance—one person leads, the other follows, but only because they trust that the other person knows exactly when to stop. It’s not just primal. It’s… intimate.”

Heeseung snorted. “Intimate,” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re really turning choking into some kind of love poem?”

“I’m just saying!” you protested, throwing up your hands. “It’s more than just physical. Don’t you ever think about why we’re into the things we’re into?”

He let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, not really. I just figured you liked it rough sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at how casually he said it. “Well, yeah, but it’s not just that. It’s the trust. The dynamic. That feeling of giving up control in a safe way. Don’t you ever think about what that means?”

Heeseung looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dramatic groan, he reached for his controller again. “I think it means I’m never gonna get to finish this game if you keep talking.”

You laughed, lightly swatting his arm. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you’re overthinking everything,” he shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone. “But fine. If it means that much to you…” He paused, his gaze flickering down to your lips before he leaned in closer, just barely brushing against you. His voice dropped slightly as he added, “Maybe I’ll show you exactly what trust feels like later.”

Your breath hitched, the teasing smirk on his face making your pulse race.

He pulled back quickly, though, laughing as he turned back to his game. “But only if you let me beat this level first.”

Heeseung’s fingers lingered against your jaw, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles along your cheekbone. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, flickered over your face, lingering on your parted lips. He was watching—reading you—taking in every shaky breath, every nervous flick of your gaze, every small movement that gave you away.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice lower now, a velvety, teasing hum. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. Close, but not close enough.

Your pulse jumped. He wasn’t even touching you properly yet, and somehow, he had you completely at his mercy. “You’re the one making me wait,” you managed to whisper, though your voice lacked the teasing edge you intended.

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound deep and knowing. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers sliding down the column of your neck, grazing your collarbone before settling just above your waist. He held you there, his touch grounding but unhurried—like he was savoring the anticipation, like he knew exactly how worked up you were and was in no rush to give you what you wanted.

“That’s because I like seeing you like this,” he admitted, his tone smooth and unbothered, yet threaded with something darker. “All needy. Barely keeping it together.” His thumb dipped slightly, brushing against the waistband of your shorts before retreating—just enough to make you twitch under his touch.

Your breath hitched, and his smirk grew.

“You keep talking about trust,” Heeseung continued, his fingers toying lazily with the fabric at your hip. His movements were slow, agonizingly slow, as if daring you to break first. “But you already know you trust me.”

Your body leaned into him instinctively, searching for more, but his grip tightened just enough to hold you still. “Then prove it,” he whispered against your jaw, his lips finally making contact. “Let me do everything.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

His mouth moved down, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his tongue tracing the faintest heat against your skin before he pulled back—leaving you aching for more. His other hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing over your ribs before drifting lower. Every touch was calculated, purposeful. Just enough to make your stomach tighten, just enough to make you want to beg.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, you dug your fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality. Heeseung chuckled again, the sound vibrating against your throat.

“You’re holding on so tight,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower. His lips hovered just beneath your ear. “Afraid I’ll let go?”

You swallowed hard. “No,” you whispered.

His teeth grazed the sensitive spot on your neck, just barely. “Then stop thinking,” he ordered softly. “Just let me take care of you.”

Your breath came quicker now, your body already burning with anticipation. And Heeseung—Heeseung could feel it.

His smirk deepened as he pulled back slightly, dark eyes flickering over your face. He was still taking his time, still making you wait. His fingers skimmed lower, trailing along the waistband of your shorts once more before slipping underneath.

You gasped softly, your fingers tightening against his skin.

Heeseung grinned, satisfied. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Now let’s see just how much you really trust me.”

And then, finally—finally—he gave you exactly what you needed.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay was so patient with you.

Your husband spoiled you endlessly, let you crawl into his lap whenever you wanted, kissed you lazily even when he was exhausted, and held you close like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. But tonight? Tonight, he was actually trying to work.

You should’ve let him.

But then, you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed into his lap without warning, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He froze immediately, hands still hovering over his MIDI keyboard, his body going stiff beneath you.

You could feel his exhale against your neck. Slow, steady, knowing.

“…Bored?” he asked finally, his voice warm but very clearly suspicious.

You hummed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Not really. Just wanted to sit here.”

Jay let out a slow suffering sigh, but his hands settled on your waist instinctively. “Baby, you know I’m—”

“Can I ask you something?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against your back. “Okay…” He gave you a very skeptical look. “Is it normal?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think. “I’d say so.”

Jay narrowed his eyes slightly, still not trusting you one bit. “Go on.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw before whispering, “Why do you think I like sitting on your face so much?”

Jay’s entire body locked up.

His grip on your waist tightened immediately. His lips parted slightly, his pupils dilating as his brain fully shut down.He blinked once. Twice.

“…What?”

You smirked. “Do you think it’s about power? Like, I like being in control? Or do you think it’s more about trust?”

Jay just kept blinking.

You could see the exact moment his brain tried and failed to process what you had just said. His brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tensing.

“…Are we really having this conversation right now?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

Jay let out the deepest sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “I—what? Why?”

“Because it’s an interesting question.”

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping firmly. “Baby, I was literally working. And you just decided now was the best time to talk about why you like—”

“It’s psychology, Jay.” You lifted your hips slightly before settling back down, just enough to feel the way his breath hitched beneath you.

Jay’s fingers flexed, hard. His grip on you tightened instantly. His jaw clenched, visibly trying to keep it together.

“…You’re actually insane,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you teased, shifting slightly again.

Jay inhaled sharply, his patience visibly wearing thin. “Okay,” he muttered, voice lower now. “You want an answer?”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hips. “I think,” he murmured, his tone dipping into something dangerous, “you like it because you know I’d stay there for hours if you let me.”

Your breath hitched.

Jay’s smirk deepened, his hands gripping tighter now. “Because you like having me at your mercy. Because you like seeing me fall apart underneath you.”

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

He leaned in, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “But if you wanna talk about trust,” he whispered, “then let’s test it.”

Before you could react, he rolled his hips up into you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as the friction sent a rush of heat straight to your stomach. Jay’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it grew as his hands guided you—slow, lazy movements, just enough to tease.

“Still wanna keep talking?” he asked, voice all silk and sin.

You barely managed to swallow. “I—”

He rolled up again, his grip tightening.

You whimpered.

Jay chuckled, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands guided you over him again, the friction sparking a dangerous kind of heat between your legs, your thighs trembling slightly as you gripped his shoulders. You could feel everything. The way he fit against you perfectly, the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers between you.

Jay’s lips brushed your jaw, his voice a low murmur. “I want you to feel it.”

You barely managed a reply before he rocked you down against him again, harder this time. A choked moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body already burning.

Jay’s hands didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

His lips curled against your ear. “See?” he whispered. “You don’t even need my mouth to fall apart.”

You let out a desperate, broken noise, gripping onto him as your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, the slow, deliberate grind of his hips sending waves of heat through you.

“You wanted to talk about trust?” Jay muttered. “Then trust me. Let go.”

And then, he pushed up into you just right.

Your body gave in instantly, the sharp, overwhelming pleasure ripping through you too fast to stop. You trembled in his arms, your breath catching, your nails biting into his skin as you came right there, just from the way he moved you.

Jay let out a low groan, his hands gripping your waist as he kept you steady through it, watching you come undone in his lap.

And when you finally slumped against his chest, shaky and breathless, he just chuckled, his voice filled with pure satisfaction.

“That,” he murmured, lips pressing against your temple, “is the real answer to your question.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake was completely at peace.

Sprawled across the couch, his laptop open in front of him, he was deep into some ridiculously long YouTube documentary about deep-sea fishing. His head was resting comfortably against the couch cushions, his arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other settled comfortably around your waist. You were leaning into his chest, tucked perfectly against him, the warmth of his body pressing into yours as he absentmindedly traced slow, light circles over your stomach.

It was comfortable. Domestic.

It was also about to be completely ruined.

He hadn’t even realized what he had done, how carelessly he had set himself up for failure, until it was far too late. Because when you walked in, when you settled so easily into his lap, nuzzling into him like you belonged there, he greeted you without thinking.

“Hi, my angel.”

The moment the words left his lips, his entire body tensed.

The realization hit him immediately.

A slow, creeping pause settled between you, as if even the air had stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your stomach. His breath hitched, sharp and slow, and you—you little menace—smiled. Sweetly.

Jake blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening slightly. His brain was already trying to calculate how to undo his mistake, how to steer this moment back into something safe.

But it was too late.

His breath came slower now, more measured, more cautious. “Wait…” he murmured, his voice tinged with immediate regret.

You tilted your head up, still smiling. “Can I ask you something?”

Jake let out a slow, suffering sigh. “Oh, here we go.”

You ignored him, shifting slightly in his lap, settling in closer. “Why do you think dirty talk is so powerful?” you asked, your tone almost innocent. “Do you think it’s more about power dynamics? Or is it psychological?”

Jake’s entire body locked up.

Every single part of him—his hands, his breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest—all of it stopped.

Like a deer caught in headlights, his fingers, which had been resting lazily on your stomach, stiffened completely. His jaw went tight. His chest barely moved.

Then, after a long, long moment of absolute silence, he sucked in a slow, sharp inhale.

His head tilted back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if asking the universe why it had forsaken him.His hands dragged down his face, his frustration so tangible you could almost taste it.

“…What the fuck.”

You giggled. “It’s a valid question.”

Jake turned his head so slowly it was almost painful, his eyes narrowed in pure disbelief. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s fucking not.”

Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping your waist like he was trying to ground himself. “Baby,�� he said, his voice so strained, “I was watching a fishing video.”

“And now we’re talking about something even more interesting,” you chirped, shifting in his lap just slightly.

Jake’s fingers flexed instantly. His grip on your waist tightened.

He exhaled through his nose again, sharper this time. “You are actually the worst,” he muttered, his jaw clenching.

You grabbed his hand, lifting it to your lips.

Jake immediately stopped breathing.

You kissed his fingertips softly, the warmth of your lips pressing against his skin before slowly, purposefully, slipping two of them into your mouth.

Sucking.

Jake let out a low, shaky breath. His entire body tensed.

His hand, which had been resting casually on your stomach just seconds ago, was now twitching in your grasp, his fingers pressing lightly against your tongue, his pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“…What are you doing?” he asked, voice dangerously lower.

You pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, tilting your head. “Getting them wet.”

Jake’s pupils dilated instantly.

His breath hitched as he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His entire system was malfunctioning.

“For what?” he finally croaked, voice hoarse.

You guided his hand back down, slipping it beneath your waistband.

Jake’s breath hitched violently.

“Oh, fuck.”

His fingers twitched, and his entire body went rigid.

You turned your head slightly, your lips brushing his jaw. “Go on, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low, shaky exhale. “You are—” He cut himself off, sucking in a breath.

Then, after a second of pure hesitation, his fingers finally moved.

A soft whimper escaped you, and Jake lost it.

His arm tightened around your waist, his lips brushing against your temple. “You wanna talk about power?” he whispered. “Let’s test it.”

His fingers pressed deeper, teasing, purposeful, unhurried. He was taking his time, dragging the moment out just to see how long you could last.

Your hips jerked slightly, seeking more, but Jake just chuckled darkly.

“Patience, angel,” he murmured, so smug. “Since you wanted a full analysis, I think it’s only fair I take my time.”

His fingers dipped lower, spreading you apart as he dragged his touch through your slick. His movements were infuriatingly slow, feather-light strokes that had your thighs tensing instantly.

Jake hummed, his breath warm against your ear. “Shit, baby. You’re already this wet? Just from that?”

You bit your lip, breathing uneven.

His fingers stilled. “Use your words.”

You swallowed hard. “Y-yeah, Jakey.”

Jake let out a low groan, his lips pressing to the side of your neck. “Fuck. I should’ve known. My needy girl just loves being talked to, huh?”

You nodded quickly.

Jake chuckled darkly, his fingers suddenly pressing deeper, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath hitched, your legs tensing.

“You’re so easy to ruin,” he muttered, his tone filled with pure, filthy amusement.

His fingers picked up the pace, dipping inside you before pressing back up to rub exactly where you needed. Your hips jerked helplessly, a soft moan spilling from your lips as you gripped his arm for support.

Jake smirked. “Oh, you love this, don’t you?”

And then, he ruined you.

His fingers pressed deep, rubbing fast, relentless, filthy, perfect. His free hand tightened around your stomach, holding you down against him as you squirmed helplessly.

Jake groaned, his voice low and pleased. “That’s it, angel,” he murmured. “Just like that. Let me feel you.”

Your stomach tightened as the pleasure crashed over you too fast to stop.

And when it was over, when you were spent and shaking in his arms, Jake just smirked, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean.

“Philosophy lesson’s over, angel,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now you’re just mine.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon had one simple goal: take a shower, relax, and get some goddamn peace.

But no. That was never an option when it came to you.

The second you waltzed into the bathroom, planted yourself on the closed toilet lid, and smirked up at him like you had something evil brewing in that brain of yours, he should’ve just turned around and walked straight out.

But instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he peeled off his shirt, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He should’ve ignored you.

But then—

“Babe, have I told you that you look suuuuuuper sexy right now?”

His fingers froze mid-motion on the waistband of his sweatpants. His entire body stiffened. Slowly, too slowly, he turned to look at you, his jaw already clenching.

He squinted, suspicious. “What do you want?”

You gasped, so dramatically, placing a hand over your chest like you were some old-timey actress in distress. “Why do you assume I want something?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. He knew you. He knew exactly where this was going.

Your grin widened. “Can I ask you something?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet!” you pouted.

Another sigh. "Fine. What?"

You tilted your head, studying him like he was a puzzle you were trying to solve.

And then—you ruined his entire night.

"Why do you think I like it so much when you fuck me in the shower?"

Silence.

A long, painful, unbearable silence.

Sunghoon just stood there, blinking, processing, trying to comprehend the absolute nonsense you had just said.

Then, without a single word, he turned to the shower wall and banged his head against the tile.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You burst into laughter, delighted. "What? It's a valid question!"

His jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. He inhaled deeply, through his nose, struggling for self-restraint.

His patience was hanging by a thread.

“Why,” he muttered, voice painfully flat, "why the fuck would you ask me that right now?"

You shrugged, still grinning. “Just curious.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. You’re trying to start shit.”

You giggled. “I’m not! I just think it’s interesting.”

Sunghoon dragged a hand through his hair, his muscles tensing, his biceps flexing slightly in frustration. “I hate you .”

"No, you don't," you chimed, voice way too smug.

Sunghoon tilted his head back against the tile, exhaling sharply, as if praying for patience.

And then, you made it worse.

You stretched, arching your back slightly, batting your lashes up at him, letting the steam from the running shower kiss your skin.

"You're so dense sometimes," you teased, voice syrupy-sweet, laced with pure mischief.

Sunghoon’s head snapped toward you instantly.

His eyes darkened. His fingers twitched.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to fuck me in the shower."

That was it.

That was the final straw.

Sunghoon full-body froze.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

And then, his patience snapped.

In two quick strides, he was in front of you, gripping your wrist and yanking you up onto your feet. His other hand grasped the back of your neck, tilting your head up until your breath hitched.

His eyes? Dark. Sharp. Absolutely wrecked.

His thumb brushed along your jaw, teasing, firm, unforgiving.

"Say that again."

Your stomach flipped violently.

His grip on your waist tightened.

You smirked. "Maybe I just want you to f—"

You never got to finish your sentence.

Sunghoon grabbed you, lifted you effortlessly, and carried you straight into the shower.

Your scream of protest barely made it out before the water crashed over both of you, drenching you instantly.

And then—

"WAIT—LET ME TAKE MY BRA OFF FIRST!"

Sunghoon froze.

His grip on your thighs tightened slightly.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—he lifted his head, staring at you like you had just spoken a completely different language.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You whined, struggling in his grip, water dripping down your face. "Hoon, it's new! I don't wanna get it wet!"

Sunghoon let out the most exasperated laugh, shaking his head like he was physically restraining himself from throwing his head back in frustration.

"Baby. It’s just a bra.”

Your jaw dropped. "It is NOT just a bra!"

Sunghoon groaned, tilting his head back, breathing deeply like he was trying to find the strength to not completely combust.

Then, after a beat, his grip on you changed.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered, voice darker now, rougher, wrecked beyond belief.

Then, before you could even react, his mouth latched onto your collarbone, biting, teasing.

Your protest turned into a sharp gasp.

His hands slid up your soaked body, fingers hooking under the bra straps, dragging them down, his teeth grazing against your skin.

And then, he sucked.

Hard.

Your breath hitched violently, your back arching instinctively.

Sunghoon groaned against you, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, teasing, tugging. His grip tightened, pressing you further into the tile.

"You're whining about a bra, but you're already falling apart," he muttered against your skin.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, legs trembling in his grasp. "H-Hoon—"

He grinned against your skin, completely in control now, completely in his element.

He licked a slow stripe over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth again.

Then, with a groan that sent heat pooling between your thighs, he sighed against your skin.

His mouth was fixated on your chest, his hands squeezing, kneading, his lips sucking bruises into your soft skin. His teeth scraped lightly, tongue flicking, mouth warm and wet as he groaned against your body.

His grip on your thighs tightened, pressing you further into the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making your breath hitch. He was obsessed, hyper-focused, like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

And then—you ruined him all over again.

Between sharp gasps and breathy whimpers, you let out a teasing, mock-thoughtful hum.

"Hoon… if you had to choose, my tits or me… which one?"

Sunghoon’s movements completely stopped.

His teeth grazed over your nipple, pausing mid-bite. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping you tighter. His breath stalled.

Then—so, so slowly—he lifted his head.

Water dripped from his soaked hair, running down his sharp jaw, over his kiss-swollen lips, and down the defined slope of his collarbones. His eyes flickered up, meeting yours—dark, dazed, completely wrecked.

And then, he let out the most exasperated groan of his life.

"Are you actually insane?"

You giggled, wiggling slightly in his grasp. “It’s a simple question.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

And then—just to make you suffer, he exhaled slowly, dragging his hands over your curves, squeezing your waist, before moving right back up to your chest.

His thumb brushed over your nipple lazily, teasing, deliberate. Then, he leaned in again, mouth hovering right over your skin, his breath warm, smirking against you.

"Hmm," he murmured, mock considering. "That’s actually a really hard choice, baby…"

Your stomach flipped violently.

He tilted his head, exhaling sharply through his nose, like he was really thinking about it. "I mean," he continued, squeezing your breasts again, licking a slow, teasing stripe over the sensitive skin, "on one hand, your tits are literally perfect."

His tongue flicked over your nipple, making your breath stutter.

"So soft, so fucking pretty, fit right in my hands," he groaned, his voice dropping lower, hungrier.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders. "Hoon—"

"But," he interrupted, grinning against your skin, pressing another wet, open-mouthed kiss, his teeth nipping at the skin right above your breast.

"You’re also really cute."

You snorted, shoving at his shoulder. "Really cute? That’s the best you’ve got?"

Sunghoon grinned, squeezing your thighs tighter. "I’m literally worshiping you in the shower, and you’re worried about my choice of words?"

You huffed. "You didn’t answer the question."

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, tilting his head, mock-considering again. Then, with zero shame, he muttered, "Honestly? …I might have to choose the tits."

Your jaw dropped. “HOON!”

He broke instantly, laughing against your skin, his grip on you tightening as you squirmed against him.

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding!" he choked out between laughs, pressing hot, teasing kisses back over your chest, dragging his tongue across every inch of skin he could reach.

Then, as he pulled you even closer, mouth ghosting over your ear, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something heavier, he murmured—

"Don’t worry, baby."

He nipped at your earlobe, grinning against your skin.

"I’d never survive without you."

And then, he sank back down, lips wrapping around your nipple again, sucking deep and slow, like he was tasting something addictive.

This time, he looked up while he did it.

His big, dark eyes locked onto yours, wide and intense, watching every tiny shift in your expression. The moment your lips parted on a shaky moan, his grip tightened on your waist, his tongue flicking deliberately against the peak before closing his lips around it again, sucking harder.

His eyes never left your face.

Every time you gasped, every time your brows furrowed slightly in pleasure, he noticed. His breath came out faster, rougher, his pupils blown wide as if he was getting off on watching you unravel.

He pulled off with a wet pop, lips pink and glossy, tongue swiping over them as he tilted his head.

“Fuck.”

His voice was wrecked. Raspy. So deep it sent a sharp pulse straight through your core.

“You look so pretty when I do that,” he murmured.

His mouth was right back on you, sucking even harder, his eyes heavy-lidded, unwavering.

His fingers kneaded your other breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers, his hips pressing forward, pinning you completely against the tile.

The look on his face was pure hunger.

"I swear, I could do this forever, baby."

His voice was low, hoarse, slurred around his next breath. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasingly slow. His lips pressed soft, wet kisses down the swell of your breast, dragging his teeth slightly as he went.

And then, as if the realization just hit him, he let out a soft groan, his head dropping briefly against your chest.

"God, I hate you," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh. "Yeah?"

Sunghoon lifted his head, grinning slightly, but his eyes were still dark, still drunk off you.

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned down, kissing between your breasts, nipping lightly at your skin, before whispering—

"But I love your tits. I can’t live without them."

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo was thrilled.

Not because of the movie playing on his laptop, not because he had finally gotten comfortable on the couch with his oversized blanket. No.

He was thrilled because you had just turned to him, eyes glinting with curiosity, and asked—

“Why do you think I like being praised so much?”

Sunoo blinked once.

Then, his entire face lit up.

“Oh, finally! A topic I actually care about!”

You snorted immediately. “What does that mean?”

Sunoo sat up straight, pulling the blanket off his shoulders like he was preparing for a TED Talk. “It means I have thoughts.”

Your lips twitched. “You’ve thought about this before?”

"Obviously." His tone was borderline offended. “Baby, do you realize how much you fish for compliments? If I don’t tell you you’re pretty at least three times a day, you start getting restless.”

You gasped, scandalized. “I do NOT!”

Sunoo arched a brow.

You pouted. “…Maybe a little.”

He grinned, smug. “See? And that’s why I already have a theory.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Alright, genius. Enlighten me.”

Sunoo’s eyes practically sparkled.

“It’s because you like validation, but not just any validation—you like earned validation.”

Your brows furrowed. “Go on.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly enjoying this way too much. “See, if I tell you you’re beautiful just because, you’ll accept it—but if I tell you that you’re beautiful because you just made me lose my mind in bed? That’s what gets you going.”

You froze.

Sunoo smirked immediately. “Ohhh, I’m right, aren’t I?”

You swallowed. “…Continue.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice turning softer, smoother. “You don’t just want to hear that you’re good at something—you want proof. You want me to tell you how good you are, how perfect you are, while I’m literally falling apart because of you.”

Your entire body felt like it was heating up.

Sunoo’s eyes gleamed. “You want to be the best. You want to feel like you’re irreplaceable.”

You bit your lip, suddenly very aware of how close he was getting.

And then, as if he was reading your mind, he smiled sweetly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You like being praised because you like knowing you’re ruining me.”

Your breath hitched.

And Sunoo caught it immediately.

His smirk turned positively sinful. “See? I told you I was right.”

You swallowed, trying to recover, but the knowing glint in his eyes had you spiraling. “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point.”

Sunoo grinned, entirely too satisfied.

Then, just to push you further, he tilted his head, watching you closely. “Do you want me to prove it?”

Your entire body shivered.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

Sunoo was still sitting, his posture perfectly relaxed, but his eyes? His eyes told a different story. They were dark, glinting with something sharp, something playful, something completely devastating.

And you?

You were fully spiraling.

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but Sunoo caught it immediately. His lips twitched into the softest smirk, like he was already celebrating his victory.

Then, with the slowest, most deliberate movement possible, he reached forward, his fingers brushing against your chin, tilting your face up slightly.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he mused, voice velvety smooth, teasing.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “I—I’m just…” You swallowed. “Thinking.”

Sunoo smirked. “Mm. Thinking.”

And then, without warning, he closed the space between you.

The first kiss was soft, teasing, just a hint of pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

But then?

Then he tilted his head slightly, deepening it—just barely.

And that was your first mistake.

Because the second your body melted into him, the second your fingers gripped onto his sweater slightly, he smiled into the kiss—fully in control, fully aware of the power he had over you.

His hand slid up your jaw, fingers pressing lightly at the hinge, guiding you into the kiss the way he wanted.

Slow. Controlled. Completely devastating.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his lips were already kiss-swollen, his breath uneven.

But his eyes?

Smug. So, so smug.

“You like it when I take my time, don’t you?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

Your stomach flipped violently.

Sunoo grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then, before you could even respond, he was on you again.

This time, no hesitation, no teasing.

Just deep, soul-stealing kisses, his lips moving against yours slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every second.

His free hand slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you closer, until you were practically pressed against him.

You let out a soft, breathless sound, and that was all it took.

Sunoo groaned softly against your lips, his fingers tightening on your waist as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss even further.

His tongue traced along your bottom lip, slow, unhurried, teasing, and when you gasped softly, he swallowed the sound immediately, taking full control of the kiss.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he pulled away—just barely, just enough to make you chase his lips.

His breath fanned against your mouth, his lips grazing yours as he whispered—

“See, baby?”

His fingers slid along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You love it when I praise you.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

It had been one of those weeks. Jungwon was exhausted, and all he wanted was a night of uninterrupted sleep. But you had other plans.

You’d been tossing and turning beside him for nearly half an hour, sighing loudly, shifting closer and closer as if waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. He stayed still, kept his eyes shut, and prayed you’d get tired and fall asleep.

Instead, you whispered, “Jungwon?”

He ignored you.

“Jungwon,” you tried again, your voice sweet and teasing.

A sharp sigh escaped him, and finally, he muttered, “What.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer. “Can we talk about something?”

“No,” he said flatly, eyes still closed.

“But it’s important.”

“It’s never important.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you said, undeterred.

Jungwon opened his eyes just enough to glare at you. His expression was entirely unamused, but the annoyance in his face was matched with a weariness that made his sharp tone almost flat. “Fine,” he muttered. “What is it?”

You bit your lip, trailing your fingers lightly over his stomach. “It’s about sex.”

He stilled, his hand twitching against the blanket. “…What about it.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, drawing out your words as you brushed your nails down his chest, “about why I always want you to fuck me until I cry.”

His jaw clenched, his body going rigid. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Then, with an exaggerated exhale, he rolled over and faced the wall.

You gasped. “Oh my God. You’re actually ignoring me?”

“Yes.”

“But I need you.”

“You always need me.”

“And you love it.”

Jungwon let out the heaviest sigh you’d ever heard. After another moment of silence, he rolled onto his back again, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion and exasperation.

“You have no self-control,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Mhm.”

He shook his head. “No, because let’s really talk about this. You’re constantly like this. Always touching me, always saying things like that. Do you have any idea how impossible you make my life?”

You giggled softly, your fingers moving lower. “I do.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“But you love me.”

“…Unfortunately.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience hanging by a thread. “I have been told I have a very high sex drive, but baby, I do not have the facilities to go three times a day. I have things to do. I need sleep. I need to—”

His voice cut off mid-sentence as he noticed where your hand had gone. His gaze dropped, and his lips parted slightly as he registered the slow, deliberate circles you were making against yourself.

“Are you seriously doing that right now?” he asked, his voice low and clipped.

You smirked, letting out a soft moan. “Mhm.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his voice quiet and controlled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

His free hand trailed down to your thigh, pausing just at the edge of your hip. “You’ve made my life difficult every single day this week. And now you’re doing this.” His fingers brushed against you lightly, making you shiver. “Fine. If you’re going to be this much of a problem, then count every single time you’ve made things harder for me.”

“Count?” you repeated, your breath catching.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice calm but firm. He paused just long enough for you to hesitate before delivering a sharp slap against your center.

You gasped, your back arching slightly at the sudden sting.

“One,” you murmured, your voice unsteady.

Jungwon hummed softly, satisfied. “Good. Now keep going. Let’s start with Monday—when you woke me up two hours early because you were ‘bored.’ I told you to wait until I was actually awake, but you just wouldn’t stop until I gave in.”

Another slap.

“Two.”

“Tuesday,” he continued, his voice still low and even, though his grip on your wrist remained firm. “I had a meeting, and you climbed onto my lap, whispering in my ear, making it impossible to focus. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

The slap that followed was harder this time, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“Three.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady on you. “Wednesday. I was trying to work, and you walked in wearing that shirt you know drives me insane. You didn’t even have a reason—just stood there, stretching, pretending not to notice what it did to me.”

Another slap, this one leaving you breathless.

“Four.”

“Thursday,” Jungwon continued, his tone remaining measured. “I came home late, exhausted, ready to collapse. But you were waiting in bed, saying you couldn’t sleep, that you missed me, that you needed me—like I didn’t have the right to rest after a long day.”

The next slap made you whimper, and you barely managed to whisper the number.

“Five.”

“And Friday,” he said, his voice calm and thoughtful, as though he were simply recounting facts. “You walked in while I was on the phone, saying the filthiest things in my ear, completely throwing me off.”

Another slap, another gasp, another quiet number.

“Six.”

Jungwon smirked faintly, his expression unreadable as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Six times,” he murmured. “Six times this week you’ve pushed me too far. I wonder how many more it’ll take before you finally learn.”

And then, without warning, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck before he parted them. A single strand of saliva dripped from his mouth, landing directly where his hand had just been. The warmth of it sent a shiver through you, and your thighs instinctively shifted.

Jungwon watched your reaction, his gaze dark. “You don’t listen,” he muttered, his thumb moving to spread the wetness over your heated skin. “But that’s fine. I’ll just have to remind you again.”

With that, he leaned down further, his mouth finding its way to your skin. His lips pressed lightly, his tongue dragging along the sensitive area. And when he finally took you in his mouth, the warmth, the pressure—it was too much. Your breathing quickened, your hands clenching the sheets as he worked, his actions slow, deliberate, and relentless.

Jungwon pulled back slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. He glanced up at you, his expression still composed, though his eyes burned with intensity. “You’ll count properly next time,” he said quietly, his tone steady, “or we’ll just keep going until you do.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

The private court was quiet, except for the sound of sneakers skidding across the pavement, the steady rhythm of the basketball bouncing, and the occasional swoosh of a perfect shot hitting the net.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because you were bored out of your mind.

At first, you had been entertained—watching Riki drip with sweat, his muscles flexing subtly under his shirt, his jaw clenched in focus as he moved effortlessly across the court. You could’ve sat there for hours.

But now?

Now you were kicking at the pavement, sprawling yourself dramatically across the bench, watching him ignore you like it was his job.

You sighed loudly. "Ni-ki."

“Mmm.” He didn’t even glance at you, lining up another shot.

You huffed. "I’m bored."

“Okay,” he said, still not looking.

Your eye twitched. “That’s it?”

He smirked slightly, dribbling the ball lazily. “What do you want me to do? Call the circus to entertain you?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled, watching as he effortlessly sunk another shot before catching the ball again.

Riki finally turned, spinning the ball in his hands, giving you the laziest grin. “You literally begged to come watch me play.”

“Yeah, because I thought you'd be entertaining,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Instead, I’m just sitting here, staring at you running around in circles.”

He grinned. “So basically, you just like watching me be hot.”

You snorted. “I mean… yeah.”

Riki’s smirk widened. “I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes, but then, an idea hit you.

A terrible, wonderful, completely deranged idea.

“Actually,” you started, stretching your arms above your head, watching him carefully, “I have a question.”

Riki blinked, dribbling absently. "Why do I feel like this is about to be something weird?"

You ignored him. “Why do you think I like it so much when you spit in my mouth?”

Silence.

Riki’s hands literally stopped moving. The ball bounced off his foot and rolled away.

Very, very slowly, he turned to stare at you, expression completely blank.

“…I’m sorry?”

You grinned. “Like, psychologically. What do you think it means?”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Nothing came out.

You waited. Smiling. Expectant.

Riki exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

You gasped, mock-offended. “That’s rude! It’s a normal question!”

“That is not a normal question!” He threw his hands up, fully spiraling now. “Who the hell sits courtside, watches their boyfriend play basketball, and then just—just casually wonders about the deeper meaning of spit kinks?!”

You shrugged, completely unbothered. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Riki rubbed his temples like you were giving him a migraine. “Jesus Christ.”

Then, after a long pause, he squinted at you. “…So, do you actually want an answer?”

You grinned. “Obviously.”

Riki groaned, shaking his head. "You're actually insane."

But then—he actually thought about it.

“…Okay, fine.” He crossed his arms, looking at you like you were a science experiment. "You like being spit in because you’re gross."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, Mr. Psychology Degree."

He smirked. "No, seriously. It’s the ownership thing, isn’t it? It’s about control. You like it because it’s filthy and degrading, and that’s what gets you off."

Your stomach flipped violently.

Riki caught it immediately.

His grin widened. "Ohhh, that’s totally it."

You crossed your arms, trying to play it cool. “I—maybe. Continue.”

He tilted his head, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “It’s primal, isn’t it? Something about me doing something so demeaning, but you still loving it. Like you’d take anything I give you.”

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily.

And of course, Riki saw.

His smirk turned wicked.

"You like it," he murmured, stepping forward, bouncing the basketball once before letting it roll away.

Your back straightened. “I never said that.”

"You didn’t have to," he said smoothly.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you up from the bench effortlessly.

You let out a surprised squeak, your hands instinctively pressing against his chest.

"Riki—"

"Shh," he murmured, backing you up until your spine hit the court wall.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

His arms caged you in, his body pressed just barely against yours, not touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth.

"So," he mused, tilting his head, his eyes flicking between yours. "You like it when I’m in control, huh?"

Your breath caught.

Riki grinned, teasing. "What was that thing you said earlier? You like it when I spit in your mouth?"

Your face burned. "I didn’t say I liked it—"

"Oh, no, no, baby," he murmured, leaning in, lips ghosting over yours, breath hot and sweet. "You love it."

You whimpered.

Riki’s grin widened. "Should I prove it?"

Your stomach flipped so hard you nearly collapsed.

And before you could answer, his hand tilted your chin up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly as he ran his thumb along your tongue.

"Open," he murmured.

And when you did?

He spat, slow, deliberate, watching with parted lips as it slid over your tongue.

And then, just to make it worse, he whispered—

"Swallow, baby."

Your head spun.

And before you could even process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was hot, messy, completely unhinged.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, until you were trapped between his body and the cold wall of the private court.

You gasped softly, and Riki swallowed the sound immediately, deepening the kiss just enough to make your legs weak.

"See?" he muttered against your lips, his voice dripping with amusement.

"You just like letting me win."

Then, with zero hesitation, his hands slipped lower, gripping your thighs.

And before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall completely.

The feeling of his hot breath against your neck, the firm press of his body against yours, the way he had you completely at his mercy. It all proved his

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely you know that part in s6ep19 where Spencer says he can’t sleep and can’t focus on cases and he looks like he just needs a BIG HUG could you please write something about reader comforting him- either as bau agent or as just significant other because no one else will do the comfort justice the way you can okay love you bye

sleep — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , mention of spencer looking / being exhausted a/n: hi hi !! honestly that ep always makes my heart hurt bc he looked so so so so exhausted :( i hope i did your request justice <3

You should have felt hurt. Or sad. Or at least disappointed. But you didn’t.

Maybe you were too used to this by now—the way Spencer threw himself into work until his body had no choice but to shut down. The way he lost track of time, of himself, of you.

Still, you hadn’t expected to hear it from Penelope.

She had called you after they returned from the case, her voice hesitant, choosing her words carefully. That alone told you enough. Spencer hadn’t stopped by your apartment like he usually did.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

“He wouldn’t stop working,” she had said. “Hotch had to practically drag him up to his hotel room, and even then, I don’t think he actually slept.”

That was worse than normal.

You knew Spencer had a habit of pushing himself past his limits, but this time, he hadn’t even come to you. And that was what worried you the most.

So you didn’t care if you seemed clingy or overbearing. You didn’t care if he might have wanted space. You weren’t going to let him spiral alone.

Grabbing your jacket, you shoved your arms through the sleeves, barely taking the time to lock the door behind you as you rushed out of your apartment. Fifteen minutes later, you were standing in front of Spencer’s door, your heart hammering against your ribs as you knocked.

There was a long pause. Then, finally, the door creaked open.

The moment you saw him, you had to fight the urge to physically react.

He looked exhausted.

His hair was more disheveled than usual, messy strands sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it nonstop. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than you’d ever seen them—deep, almost bruised-looking hollows. His usually sharp cheekbones were even more pronounced.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, rough like he hadn’t used it in hours.

“Checking up on you,” you said simply.

You stepped inside without giving him the chance to protest, pushing the door closed behind you. Spencer just stood there, watching as you toed off your shoes and shrugged out of your jacket, hanging it neatly on the rack by the door—like this was just any other night, like nothing was wrong.

But something was wrong.

And you weren’t going to let him brush it aside.

“Okay, come on.” You reached for his hand as you pulled him toward his bedroom.

He didn’t resist.

He followed wordlessly, exhaustion weighing down his every step. Inside, you went straight to his closet, flipping through the hangers until you found what you were looking for. One of his favorite sweaters—the soft brown one that you’d seen him wear countless times.

You pulled it from the hanger and turned back to him, pressing it into his hands.

“Put this on,” you murmured.

Spencer stared down at the sweater for a moment before looking at you, his gaze unreadable.

“Who told you?” he asked as he pulled the fabric over his head, the movement slow and tired.

“Penelope.”

“Of course.” He sighed, adjusting the sleeves, his fingers lingering on the hem. Now dressed in the familiar comfort of his sweater, he looked back at you. “Now what?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him without hesitation.

Spencer froze.

For a moment, he didn’t move—like he wasn’t sure how to react. But you didn’t let go. Your arms stayed firm around his neck, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater as you pressed yourself against him.

With your lips close to his ear, you murmured, “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I love you, Spence. And I’m here for you.”

That was all it took.

The tension in his body gave way as he exhaled a shaky breath, and then, finally, he hugged you back.

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his grip almost desperate. His lips brushed against your shoulder, lingering there.

You were pretty sure you stood there for at least five minutes, wrapped in each other’s warmth, neither of you speaking. You only pulled back when you felt him loosen his grip first.

Leaning back slightly, you placed your hands on his face, your thumbs gently tracing over the sharp planes of his cheekbones, soothing him. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You need to sleep,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the dark circles under his eyes again.

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“You have to try.”

One of your hands drifted up, fingers slipping through his unruly curls, smoothing them down. A slow, comforting motion. He stayed quiet, his tired eyes searching yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked at him.

After a moment, he finally spoke.

“Will you stay?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You have to ask?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something else, but before he could, you dropped your hand from his hair and turned toward his bed. Pulling back the blankets, you glanced at him expectantly.

“Come on,” you urged.

Spencer hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion radiating from every movement. You slipped in beside him, settling against the pillows, waiting for him to follow.

And he did.

Without a word, he laid down, turning onto his side so he could face you.

You reached out, your fingers grazing his wrist before sliding down to intertwine with his.

“Close your eyes, Spence,” you whispered.

And, for the first time in days, he did.

Spencer stayed beside you, but sleep still wasn’t coming easily. Even as his body slumped against the bed, his fingers twitched slightly, his breaths uneven. His mind was still running, and you could feel it—like an engine that refused to shut off.

You sighed, adjusting your position. You guided him toward you without a word.

Spencer blinked at you, puzzled, until you tugged on his arm again. “Spence, come here.”

He hesitated for only a second before shifting, laying his head against your shoulder, his body half-draped over yours. His long limbs folded awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure how to settle, but then he exhaled, the weight of him sinking into you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing down the curls. “You’re really bad at this whole relaxing thing, you know that?”

He let out a quiet huff against your shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your brain is like a hamster on a wheel. A very fast, very anxious hamster.”

Spencer made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s… not inaccurate.”

You grinned a little, continuing to comb your fingers through his hair. “Well, tell the hamster to take a break. He’s had a long day.”

Spencer hummed, shifting slightly, pressing his face closer into the crook of your neck. “The hamster is skeptical.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “The hamster needs to trust me.”

He was quiet for a moment, his breathing a little slower now. “I do.” His voice was softer, more tired.

You smiled, rubbing slow circles against his back. “Good.”

It still took a while. He fidgeted, exhaled sharply once or twice, but you just kept holding him, kept whispering small, mindless things—about how tired you were, how unfair it was that he had such nice hair when he barely even tried, how you were absolutely stealing one of his sweaters in the morning.

And finally, finally, his breathing evened out.

His body went still, warm and heavy against yours, his grip on your shirt slackening as he actually drifted off.

You smirked, murmuring softly, “See? Even the hamster gets tired eventually.”

And, for the first time all night, he didn’t respond.

[tojisteddy]

Sweet Ride | smut, 18+ MDNI, 1.2k words, softdom!Toji x sweetheart!reader

You’d been 3 months into your relationship when Toji Fushiguro finally realized that you, for some odd reason, loved letting idiots fuck you.

It must’ve been where that very minuscule masochism kink came from. Had to be.

He’d noticed the way you’d get shocked when he went to pay for— well- everything. Didn’t matter if he lost a shit ton from gambling and losing that day, didn’t matter if you went over your own set budget, didn’t matter that you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to look money hungry or if you quickly pulled out your card and paid. He’s sending $300 to you to make up for it. The man. Was going. To pay.

Toji also noticed the way you’d shy away when you realized he was actually listening to the words that came out of your mouth. Informing you that he hated that coworker of Sherl just a little bit more than you did. Plainly telling you ‘no’, he didn’t just want to see just your hair bone straight- he wanted to see your curly hair that framed your face (when you wanted to of course) and that he thought you would look good with any hair color not just the jet black. Or when you only went to make food that he liked,

“But this is what my ex-“

“—Mama, what do you really wanna eat? Tell me or we’ll both starve tonight.”

Truthfully, it irritated the fuck out of the man.

He didn’t get it, how someone so precious got treated like shit on multiple occasions. He kept reminding himself that you weren’t the problem, those fucking dick wads were.

But the irritation jumped back out when you rode him. He knew after that first time (just a week ago) that those fucking idiots didn’t know what the fuck to do with you. He’d cock his eyebrow up at you because he simply couldn’t hide the vexation of it all.

“You don’t like it Toj?” Your voice was hoarse, curls falling over your face, a pout forming.

It was clear the way you moved your hips back and forth, held yourself and didn’t use him for leverage, you rode your ex’s to get them off and nothing more.

More sins against God.

There had to be a scripture about it somewhere, “Never let thou spouse ride-ith you in cowgirl without her cumming.” Or something— the man didn’t know. He knew for a fact, only a bitch would never let a woman cum while she’s riding him.

“Toji? ‘M sorry, it must not be good.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax, not be too touchy. “ ‘S just harder cause you’re so… so big. ‘Nd I- fuck- mmm- don’t think I’ve ever had time to relax like this. I must be takin too long.”

Shit, you frowned, big brown puppy eyes looking down at the green eyed monster and his heart ached. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck, his poor pretty baby. Sweet doll, don’t you worry your little head. Your Toji would fix this little problem tonight.

And when you two were done, he’d beat the fucking breaks out of each and every single one your exes.

It would cleanse the soul.

“ ‘S okay baby, yer doin good. Need you to relax f’me. Want you to take a little bit more though, hm? You can take it, right? You’re a good girl.”

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

Such a good girl. Toji’s sweet ‘nd good girl.

Tojis hands pulled you closer. “How do I get ya to relax then? Can you tell me?” You felt your cheeks heat up, shaking your head and attempting to hide yourself in his neck. But Toji kept you still, playfully bumping your foreheads together with a chuckle.

“Let’s find out then,” His hands wandered, up and down your sides, then one staying at the small of your back, the other making its way to your pretty tit in his hand. Slowly massaging it in his palm. “Maybe you like it here?”

You whimpered in his mouth and Tojis scar moved upward in amusement, green eyes low. He left a trail of kiss from your cute cheeks, down to your jaw. “Or here?” Down to your neck, taking a few nibblies here and there. “Or here?”

You let out a soft moan, finally nodding your head.

“Words, mama.” He was stern but you felt the grin against your neck.

“T-there feels— feels so nice Toj.” The man hummed at your words, being sure to praise you with an array of kisses and hickeys for the world to see tomorrow on your neck.

“I-I can move now?” You asked. You felt so full with what he was giving you, but you felt so good with every little kiss the aching tip and veins of his member gave to your walls.

“Course doll.” He enterwinted your fingers, “Gotta take it nice ‘nd slow baby, don’t gotta go fast.”

You gulped, gradually lifting yourself up and down and rocking your hips back and forth, then repeating the motion. Your hands left his large ones, starting to use his shoulders as leverage, “There you go ma, there you fuckin go.”

He hissed, you were a god damn waterfall down there. Toji didn’t even know how the fuck you were still managing to keep him insider everytime you’d move up so just the tip was in, and slamming back down. When you tried to go faster a large calloused hand came down to your ass.

“B-but Tojiii,” you whined, slowly swiveling your hips one time to get a curse out of him. “Wanna make you feel good too.”

“ ‘Nd I ‘ppreciate Doll, I do. You feel so fuckin good too ma, but it’s not about me tonight, ‘s about you. Need you to really feel it deep in your pretty pussy.” He gave you a few thrusts, matching your rhythm creating the most beautiful smack smack smack your bedroom has ever heard.

“Take what you need babygirl.”

Toji had a way with words, he’d gotten a pornographic moan from it alone. Your nails dug into his shoulders, the meat of your thighs jiggling every time you came down. Slick drenching Toji’s cock, your thighs were burning but you kept moving. Chasing your high with every bounce on his fat fuck.

“Goooood girl, now you got it doll.”

“I can— I can take more Toji.” You stammered out.

“I’d loooove that sweetheart— shit ma- but not tonight. Ngh— This is just enough.”

“But—“

“-Aht,” he grumbled, helping you move your hips as you got just a tad too slow for his liking, “don’t bite more than you can chew. Come on, you can make yourself and your boyfriend cum, can’t you?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you were grinding and slamming yourself down what you could take as hard as ever getting a loud from Toji. You were such a good and fast leaner, the man would have to keep you. Train you to do other things, soon enough you’d be able to take all of him. You were fucking pulsing like a over worked heartbeat around him as a wave of emotions smacked you over the head, a string of fuck fuck fuck and Toji Toji Toji leaving your mouth.

The man growled, giving your ass a few harsh smacks as he rapidly thrust into you. You never knew when you were cumming so you never vocalized it.

You’d work on that too.

Quickly pulling out, spurts of his cum hit your stomach. You both were panting messes, Toji’s pink lips meeting your temple, then your soft full lips.

“Good fuckin job, mama.”

a/n: ride the dragon by fka twigs

most recent masterlist

[theonottsbxtch]

SERVE | MV1

an: im finally posting all my flipping requests - im sorry ive taken so long but expect me to be more active in the next month ish. i was working on this novel and ive finally finished my first draft so ill be able to write more on here ehehe

wc: 2.2k

The air inside Rod Laver Arena buzzed with anticipation. The crowd roared as she raised her arms in victory, another match won with the kind of effortless dominance that had long cemented her as the best in the world. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured, but she barely heard any of it. Her eyes scanned the stands, searching—until she found him.

Max stood near the players’ box, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his posture casual but his eyes locked onto hers. He always watched her like that. Like she was the only thing in the world.

She barely remembered handing her racquet to the ball kid or shaking hands with her opponent. One minute she was on the baseline, and the next, she was pushing through the crowd, past the security barriers, straight to him.

"Didn’t think you’d make it," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise.

Max smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Miss one of your matches? Not a chance.”

Up close, she saw the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth, the tension in his jaw. The media had been relentless again, and she knew how much he hated it—not for himself, but for the way it always seemed to drag her into the mess, too.

"Yeah?" She arched a brow, fingers sliding into the collar of his jacket, tugging him a fraction closer. "Even with half the press calling you a liability?"

His breath hitched for a second. Only she could do that to him. "Thought you liked liabilities."

"I do," she said, lips curling into the smirk that drove interviewers mad. "You’re my favourite one."

Max let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just enough for her to notice. He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Didn’t know I was in a ranking system.”

She hummed, fingertips brushing against the fine fabric of his jacket. “You’re the only one in it.”

The crowd was still buzzing around them, the cameras snapping relentlessly, but none of it mattered. Not when she was looking at him like that—sharp eyes softening, the mask she wore for the world slipping just enough for him to see the girl he’d loved since they were fifteen.

She gave his jacket one last tug before stepping back. “Come with me.”

Max followed without hesitation, slipping through the tunnels of the stadium with practiced ease. He’d done this a hundred times before, dodging reporters and staff, but this time, the weight of the last few weeks clung to him like a second skin.

She led him into the players’ lounge, where the air was thick with the scent of sweat and freshly cut fruit. The moment the door shut behind them, she turned to face him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossing over her chest. She wasn’t just talking about the press. She never had to spell it out for him—she always just knew.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Same old shit.”

She frowned. “Your dad again?”

His silence was answer enough.

She muttered something under her breath, a sharp curse that made him smirk despite himself. “How bad?”

Max leaned against the nearest table, arms bracing on the surface. “Bad enough that I had to turn off my phone for a few days.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s got the press eating out of his hand. Telling them I’ll never be good enough, that I’m holding you back, that you—”

“Stop,” she said firmly, stepping between his legs. Her hands rested on his chest, grounding him. “You know none of that is true.”

He swallowed, the heat of her touch chasing away the cold grip of doubt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

She studied him for a moment, then—without warning—took his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his jaw, right at the spot she knew made his breath hitch.

“Good,” she said against his skin. “Because I’m not wasting my time defending you to a bunch of idiots when I could be kissing you instead.”

Max let out a breathless laugh, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in. “Now that,” he murmured, “is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

She grinned, fingers threading through his hair. “Then shut up and let me keep talking.”

And for the first time in weeks, Max let himself forget everything else—because when he was with her, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

He barely had time to smirk before she pulled him down, her lips pressing against his with the kind of urgency that made his head spin.

It was always like this with them—sharp words and sharper minds for the cameras, but when they were alone, none of that mattered. She kissed him like she needed it, like he was the only thing keeping her grounded, and he clung to that feeling like a lifeline.

His hands slid to her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her tennis kit as he pulled her closer. She sighed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and he felt it—the tension in his chest finally breaking, giving way to something softer, something that only existed between them.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Max groaned low in his throat. “You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her lips.

She smirked. “That’s the plan.”

She kissed him again, slower this time, like she wanted to take her time undoing him completely—

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Hey! Media in five minutes,” a voice called through the wood.

Max exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against hers as she let out a quiet groan. “I hate media,” she muttered.

“I hate media more,” he said, brushing his nose against hers.

She pulled back slightly, giving him a look. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to sit in a room for half an hour pretending to care what they think.”

He smirked, thumb tracing slow circles against her hip. “True. But you could just skip it. Tell them you got caught up with something important.”

She arched a brow. “And what would that be?”

Max grinned. “Me.”

She huffed a laugh, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back. “Tempting,” she said, smoothing her hair down. “But if I start skipping media obligations for you, they’ll start calling you a bad influence again.”

“They already do.”

She shot him a knowing look as she grabbed a water bottle from the nearby table. “Yeah, but if I do it, it’ll be true.”

Max shook his head, watching her with something caught between admiration and amusement. Even after all these years, she still had him completely wrapped around her finger.

As she reached for the door handle, she turned back to him, her expression softening just slightly. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

Max leaned back against the table, arms crossing over his chest. “Where else would I be?”

She held his gaze for a second longer before nodding. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the noise of the world came rushing back in.

The press room was packed, cameras flashing as she took her seat at the table. The moderator gave the usual spiel about keeping questions respectful—not that anyone ever listened.

She took a sip from her water bottle, already anticipating the first round of questions. It was the same every time—something about her form, something about her rivals, and, inevitably, something about Max.

"Rough start to the match today," one reporter said, leaning forward. "Do you think the outside distractions are finally catching up with you?"

She raised a brow. "What distractions?"

The reporter cleared his throat. "Well, there’s been a lot of talk about Max and the negative press surrounding him. Some would argue that having a partner in the spotlight—especially one facing so much criticism—might be… well, holding you back."

The room went quiet. She felt her jaw tighten, fingers curling around the bottle in her hands.

Slowly, she tilted her head. "And how many titles do you have?"

The reporter blinked, caught off guard. "Uh—what?"

She leaned forward slightly, voice smooth as silk. "How many Grand Slam titles do you have?"

The man stammered. "I—I don’t play tennis."

"Right," she said, nodding. "And how many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She smiled. "That’s what I thought."

A few people in the room stifled laughs, and even the moderator looked like he was holding back a smirk.

"Next question," she said easily, taking another sip of water.

And just like that, the subject was closed.

Max was still in the players’ lounge, leaning back on the worn leather sofa, one arm slung over the back as he scrolled through his phone. The live stream of her press conference was playing on the screen, but he already knew where this was going the second some smug reporter brought him up.

The question was barely out of the guy’s mouth before Max’s jaw clenched.

He knew the narrative well—he was the distraction, the liability, the one holding her back. It didn’t matter that she was literally the best in the world, that she had more Grand Slams to her name than most players could dream of. Somehow, the press always found a way to twist things back to him.

But then she hit the guy with that line.

"And how many titles do you have?"

Max sat up a little straighter, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The poor bastard stammered.

"How many Formula One World Championships do you have?"

Max barked out a laugh, running a hand over his mouth. The entire room went silent, and then the barely contained amusement from some of the other journalists? Yeah, that was the cherry on top.

The guy had nothing. She knew it. The entire press room knew it.

And Max? He definitely knew it.

His phone started blowing up instantly—his teammate, a few other drivers, even his PR manager, all sending messages ranging from laughing emojis to "I owe her a drink for that one."

Max just shook his head, watching as she casually took a sip of her water, completely unbothered.

"That’s my girl," he muttered under his breath, grinning.

Because if the world wanted to come for him? Fine. He could take it. He always had.

But her? She was untouchable.

And she’d just reminded everyone exactly why.

The door swung open with a little too much force, slamming against the wall as she strode into the room. Max barely had a second to react before she was yanking her kit bag from the chair and stuffing things into it with sharp, irritated movements.

He smirked to himself, pushing off the couch. Oh, she was fuming.

"That good, huh?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

She shot him a glare before aggressively zipping up her bag. "They’re so annoying, Max. Every bloody time. Do I look like I need a press room full of middle-aged men questioning my priorities?"

Max bit back a laugh. He’d seen her mad before—at bad calls, at opponents, at losing a set she should’ve won—but this? This was entertaining.

He crossed the room in two strides, slipping behind her just as she reached for her jacket. His arms looped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, right in front of the floor-length mirror.

"Baby, baby," he murmured, pressing his chin to her shoulder, "calm down."

She huffed, but her hands instinctively came to rest over his on her stomach. "Calm down?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Do you know how much I want to throw a racquet at that guy’s face?"

Max grinned, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her face. "I’d pay to see that."

She exhaled sharply, the tension in her body loosening just slightly. Max knew her too well—knew exactly how to disarm her with just a touch, a whisper, a perfectly timed kiss.

She caught his gaze in the mirror, and that sharp frustration softened into something playful. A wicked little idea flickered across her face.

"Give me your phone," she said suddenly.

Max raised a brow. "Why?"

She turned in his arms, holding out her hand expectantly. "Just give it."

He sighed dramatically but dug it out of his pocket, placing it in her palm. She unlocked it easily—of course she knew his passcode—and tapped into Instagram.

Max watched as she flipped the camera to the mirror, angling it so both of them were in frame. His arms were still around her, his face pressed into the side of hers, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

She snapped the picture, typed something quickly, then handed the phone back.

Max glanced at the screen. His feed refreshed. And there it was—his screen now showing her latest post:

"7 titles, 4 WDC & 2 WCC."

His brows lifted before a slow, proud smirk spread across his face.

"You little menace," he murmured, kissing the side of her head again.

She grinned. "Let’s see them try to talk shit now."

Max chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before tightening his arms around her. "This is why I love you," he muttered.

She sighed, leaning into him. "Yeah, yeah. Now take me to dinner before I have to cuss someone out again."

Max just laughed, grabbing her bag and slinging an arm around her as they headed out—because that? That was the easiest request he’d had all day.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[witherby]

If the last fic takes place before the Batfam knew about Conners existence, I just wanna see Mouse explain to them that a Superman cosplayer saved them lol

I love that. "Yeah some cosplayer saved my life. 10/10 would let him do it again."

Littlest Wayne: Information Gathering

Masterlist is Here!

"You and Superman need to come straight to the Cave when you return to Earth."

"I miss you, too, babe," Hal smirks, gliding just above the ground on a planet he and Clark are guarding for a major diplomatic conference. "Tryna get the debrief out of the way so we can get me out of by boxer briefs right after?"

"Mouse was in a hostage situation in Metropolis today that was too overcast for them to get out of."

Hal's good mood plummets. He almost shouts for Clark to get his ass over to him so they can immediately head back.

"Are they —"

"Alive, and relatively unharmed considering the severity of the event."

"What does relatively mean in this context, B?" Hal snaps. "Relatively unharmed by vigilante standards or by civilian standards? Are they in the hospital?"

"Some bad bruising to the temple and a low-grade burn on the right arm. They're safe."

Bruce's calm tone and steady cadence helps relax Hal. His shoulders un-tense and he lets out a sigh.

"Alright. But there's more to it, otherwise you wouldn't have contacted me."

Bruce hums in that quiet way he does when he's pleased by Hal's deductive reasoning. It makes him smile and miss him that much more, and he's only been gone two days.

"They were rescued by a new Meta. Called himself Superman."

"Look at you, crackin' jokes on an official League line. Never thought I'd see the day!"

"..."

"You're not joking. There's a second Superman flying around?"

"A Superboy, by the looks of it. He's the real deal — the flight, the strength, and the suit all points to another Kryptonian. This will make three, after Supergirl."

Hal furrows his brow. He lets his feet hit the ground and starts to pace, kicking up little bits of purple dirt. This planet is ridiculously fragile. It's part of the reason he and Clark are protecting it during these peace talks.

"Is it a baby? Don't remember either Kara or Lois looking pregnant."

"A teenager. Around Mouse's age, by the looks of him, and very inexperienced from what scattered footage I can find of the event."

"Which makes no sense. There's something up if he's a teen but still can't use his powers right. Supes told us he could hone his almost perfectly before he was old enough to drive a car. A new scheme by Luthor or Waller, maybe?"

"I knew I married you for a reason."

"Keep praising me like that and there won't be time for a debrief when I get home."

Bruce hums again. His considering sound. The Green Lantern suit feels very constricting, all of a sudden.

"You don't need to rush your mission to get back. There is one more thing you need to know prior to return, however."

"I'm all ears."

"Mouse described the Superboy as... handsome."

Hal falls to his hands and knees, kicking up a small cloud of purple dust.

"No, no, nooo! They're just a baby!"

"Well. They're seventeen."

"Well I say they're too young for romance! Yesterday they were afraid of Cooties!!"

"Time flies. It's inevitable."

"We're gonna wrap these peace talks up tonight."

Bruce sounds amused on the other end of the line, like he hasn't just crushed Hal's entire world three sentences ago.

"You aren't due back for another week."

"We're wrapping it up tonight!"

"Okay. Agent A will know to set your plate tomorrow."

"Can he make some of those mini quiches? I'm gonna need comfort food to get over this."

"I'll pass the request along."

"And can you wear the see-through robe you were given after you shot that Dior commercial?"

"...if you slick back your hair, yes."

Hal grins. He's still not happy about his youngest kid growing up so fast, but this is a nice consolation prize.

--

True to his word, Hal and Clark get the peace talks concluded by nightfall and head back to Earth. Clark is given the general run-down of what happened on the way, and his curiosity and insistence on getting answers lets Hal know it'll be a long night. He's gonna slick his hair back anyway. He misses his husband, dammit.

You sit at the meeting table in the Bat Cave, feet propped on top exactly like Jason does it, with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your hoodie. You stare groggily at Hal and Clark as they fly in from their trip, shuffling to your feet to give them both sleepy hugs.

"Welcome back," you yawn. "Dad said you have questions?"

"Hey, Mousey," Hal grins, ruffling your hair. You grumble and wave his hand away, then grumble louder when Clark does the exact same thing. "Just got some follow-up questions about the field trip, then we'll let you get back to bed."

You go back to your seat and slump into it, rubbing your eyes. "Kay."

"Did the boy you met tell you his name?" Clark asks, sitting to your right. There's a dossier sitting on the table that he flips open, glancing over the information Bruce collected with Tim's help. He frowns at a still image pulled from his interview on TV.

"Just called himself Superman," you explain. "He had a version of your suit on. It looked legit. I'm guessing he's not your son, based on the way you're looking at the file."

"He is not. Did he seem to be acting maliciously or under someone's control? Was he flesh and blood or robotic?" Clark asks. "Did he hurt anyone? Did he try to hurt you?"

"No," you say, "he was warm. He's flesh and blood and definitely saved us from that fire. In fact he seemed...uh.."

You wave your hand around vaguely and pick over the best way to phrase this.

"Okay! There's a boy at school named Rory. He transferred to Gotham Academy this year after being homeschooled."

"Mousey," Hal speaks up, "I know you're tired, but we kinda gotta stay on track —"

"I am!" You insist. "I am, I swear. Look, it was obvious Rory was homeschooled because he didn't know how to, like, socialize properly? He asked a lot of questions that feel like common-sense if you're used to going to public schools and talking to people outside your family. The Superman cosplayer kind of acted like that."

"Cosplayer?" Clark mouths at Hal, who waves him off.

"So you think he's never been out there doing any hero stuff before that day?"

You shrug and nod. "I think he's never been out at all before that day. He reminded me a lot of Rory on his first day of school."

"But he didn't hurt you?" Hal asks.

"I promise, he didn't. He spoke to me like twice and then brought me to the EMTs to get looked at. Then Jason showed up and brought me home after making sure the school knew I wouldn't be taking the bus back from Metropolis."

"Last question," Clark promises, recapturing your attention. "Can you find him right now? With your shadows?"

"Uh, I can try."

Your gaze becomes a little distant. The shadows cast from one of the overhead lights shifts and dissolves into the ground, zipping out of the cave. Hal and Clark wait silently as you work, feeling for the presence of the boy that saved you just a day before.

"... M e t r o p o l i s..." You mutter, voice taking on that faint, echoing quality it does whenever you speak through the darkness. "...A r o o m...c o n c i o u s...k n o w s I s e e..."

"Come back, Mouse," Hal says, urgent. You take a moment to get your bearings, yawning and rubbing your face. "He knows you used your power to find him?"

You nod. "He saw my shadow move in the corner of his room. Guys, it's so bare and dark. He's got a cot, an alarm clock, and one blanket in there. It looks like some room you'd stick a sick person in to quarantine them."

"Where in Metropolis is he? That doesn't sound like the Solitary Confinement cells in the prison."

"It's not a jail. It looked like a lab, I think?"

"Lex Luthor," Hal and Clark state at the same time. Clark stands up, drawing you into another gentle hug, then heads for the exit.

"Thank you for your help, Mouse! Sleep well."

"Bye, uncle Clark. Have a good night," you call after him. When Hal stands, you rise with him, stretching. "Can I go to bed, now?"

"Yeah, hon," Hal nods, pressing his hand to your back and guiding you to the stairs. "We'll head up together. I'll tell your dad what we learned when he comes back from patrol."

"Kay," you mumble, climbing the steps with another wide yawn. "M'sleeping in tomorrow. Being up at two am sucks."

Hal chuckles. "Yeah, it does. We'll put your breakfast in some Tupperware for when you get up, then."

Once the two of you climb through the grandfather clock and reenter the manor proper, you give Hal one more goodnight hug, then excuse yourself to go to bed. Your eyes are closed as you shuffle into your room and nudge the door closed behind you, navigating the space from memory. It's not until you start climbing back into bed that you feel a dip in it that shouldn't be there.

The dip of another person's weight.

You snap your eyes open and you inhale to scream. A hand presses itself to your mouth, and you find yourself staring at those brilliant blues from yesterday.

"Waitwaitwait-" the boy gasps, whisper-shouting. "Please!!"

You push his hand off and he lifts them both up in placation, floating off the bed and several feet away from you.

"What do you want!?" You whisper-yell back. "Why are you in my room!? That's creepy!"

He grimaces, knees curling towards his chest. In the low light, you can see color painting his cheeks.

"I wanted to come see you," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"I don't know your name."

You're completely flummoxed. You shake your head and shrug.

"Do you need to?" You ask.

The boy floats a little closer, his gaze intense. He looks at you like...he looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world right now. It makes your stomach swoop.

"Yes," he says, completely sincere. "I'm...I can't...there's this..."

His brow furrows. He's exceptionally easy to read, like he's never known how to be anything except fully, authentically himself. It's a welcome change in a family of vigilante detectives with emotional intimacy issues. It'll help you know if he's trying to deceive you, too.

Quietly, you give him your name. His eyes snap to yours and he repeats it, lips shaping the vowels and consonants with an unusual reverence. You can feel your own face getting a little warm.

"I'm...Conner," the boy says. His eyes dart to your mouth. You oblige.

"Hi, Conner," you mutter. His whole body un-tenses, looking like a puppet with his strings cut as he almost dangles in the air.

"Can I —" Conner cuts himself off. He drifts closer to you. You shift back, feeling cornered from where you kneel in your bed. "Ah. I wanted... I don't know how to say..."

Exhausted and confused, you gesture at him to hurry it up a little. You know you should probably alert someone that the new Meta boy is literally floating four feet away from you right now, but you know he isn't here to cause harm.

"It's late," you speak up. "Can you try a little harder to get the point across so I can sleep?"

"Yes," Conner says quickly, obediently. "Call for me."

You blink heavily. Your mind feels like sludge. "Elaborate."

"When you need something," he specifies. "If you're in danger, or lonely, or just...or just want to. Please. Call for me and I'll come to you."

"Why?" You yawn. It's getting harder to stay conscious. You let your body fall over until you collide with the pillows, eyes slipping closed. "Why me?"

Conner floats above you, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with more reverence than is appropriate for having barely met. His fingers brush against the bruise on your temple, featherlight.

"Because it's you," he says, as your consciousness fades. "Something in my heart is yours... I hope that's okay."

You hum, managing a barely discernible "kay," in your last seconds of awareness before sleep pulls you under.

In your subconscious mind, you register warmth wrap around you for a moment, and then you're alone with nothing but a cracked window as evidence anyone had ever been there.

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

That bit where “you can’t possibly be (fill in the thing here) because you’re so smart!” thing has made me want to fist fight adults my whole life.

They usually meant it as a compliment but it always made me see red. I still see red when I hear someone say something similar about a kid now.

I’m dyslexic and was diagnosed as such in 2nd grade. I’m also convinced I’m autistic and ADHD but haven’t bothered to get a diagnosis as an adult.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TEACHERS WERE LIKE “I never would have guessed you were dyslexic!”? BITCH, YOU’VE HAD MY IEP SINCE BEFORE THE SCHOOL YEAR STARTED! DID YOU NOT READ IT?!

No. They didn’t. Not till I said something to force them to do their jobs.

The worst example was 7th grade French.

I’d been quiet about the fact that my French teacher was marking down my tests because my spelling wasn’t correct. My IEP specifically said “if it isn’t a spelling test, you can ask this kid to go back and fix it after the test, but spelling cannot count against their grade.” Anyway, I was used to it taking a few weeks before a teacher got around to reading my IEP because it was usually at the bottom of a large stack of them due to my last name being at the end of the alphabet. And one or two C’s at the beginning of the year wasn’t anything I couldn’t come back from.

Well… it never got corrected. He didn’t stop docking points for spelling.

After what I deemed was plenty of time to get his shit together, I confronted him about it.

Now, I’ll tell you, I was in an advanced French class that was designed to give gifted middle school kids a head start on their high school foreign language. We had to be recommended by name by the 5th/6th grade foreign language teacher to qualify for this class.

So I told him “you can’t lower my grade for spelling” and he said something along the lines of “that’s part of the point. It’s French.” And I was like “no, really. You can’t do this to me. I’m dyslexic.”

And guys. This grown ass man looked at a 13 year old kid and with his full chest said “I wasn’t supposed to have any of you in this class.”

Any of you.

It’s a good thing I was already mad or that would have made me cry.

I’d been othered plenty in my life up till then for being weird, clearly a baby queer, having a mom that called teachers out for not using standard English, being dyslexic, etc. This was just the first time that a teacher had been that blatant about it to my face. No attempt of being politically correct or gentle or anything. No, “I never would have guessed!” as a way to try and make it a compliment.

Just flat out “you are not supposed to be here. You are not good enough or smart enough to be here. You existing has made my life harder when you weren’t allowed to do so.”

I marched out of his class and went straight to the Special Ed teacher who’s “class” (it was really a study hall for kids who had a learning disability of some variety and needed the extra help or was at least entitled to it by the state) I had right after French. I would usually use that time to finish my homework so I wouldn’t have to do it at home. Sometimes my homework was already done so I’d help the other kids. The teacher would check in with me to make sure I didn’t need any help, but I never did.

Well, now I needed help.

She could tell I was mad because I’m not subtle and, ya know, the previous class hadn’t ended yet. She asked what was wrong and I didn’t mince words. She told me to stay put and then she marched out of the room.

I wish I’d followed her. I can only imagine the new asshole she ripped him.

Sure enough, statring the next day, every little bit of my IEP was being followed to the letter in French class. From my spelling not counting to the jerk using a microphone for my hearing and sticking me in the back of the class with the speaker instead of just turning one desk 90° and letting me sit there.

I fought for the desk instead of the microphone but he was following the IEP so I didn’t win that one. Besides, now that my needs were being met, I was getting some of the best grades in the class, and therefore belonged in the back “privileged smart kids” seats that he’d put me in.

(Yes, the man segregated his rows by your class grade. We all knew who was doing well and who wasn’t by where he sat you.)

On the bright side, I met a good friend by sitting in the back.

He wasn’t an employee at the school when I returned for 8th grade.

Anyway.

Gifted kids just get neglected because the school feels they can get away with it. They don’t react well when theres a gifted kid with an IEP and knows not to let them get away with it.

They treat those kids like shit. They tell those kids they are special and the future but also that they are a burden and shouldn’t be with the actually smart and special children.

These kids bounce back and forth between class rooms full of other neglected gifted kids and class rooms full of other neglected special needs kids. In the former they are treated like the dead weight and in the latter they are treated like the teacher’s assistant so the teacher doesn’t have to help the one kid who needs the most help in the class, because “they’ll get that kid through this group project. It’s fine.”

These children and bored to tears in one scenario and ripping their hair out from frustration in the other.

Not smart enough and too smart all at once. Out smarting the adults around you but somehow never doing well enough to get all A’s.

Constantly battling the teachers, good and bad over your needs.

Watching your friends fall through the cracks because they weren’t lucky enough to have a parent who worked in this system and taught them how to fight it. Watching some of them deem themselves stupid when they AREN’T but everything is telling them they are and they’ve stopped trying and other friends never learn the basic skills like note taking because they read in class and still get good grades.

Neither one of these friends knowing the point of school is to learn and not to pass tests because the school is telling them it’s all about grades and tests and so you watch all of your friends lack the actual knowledge they’re supposed to be gaining.

“You’re supposed to give me the multiple choice questions.” “You asked me to help you study. If you can’t answer the question without the multiple choice, you don’t know the answer.” Non of the other gifted kids at the table seeing my point and the other kids in our friend group saying “this is why I don’t bother.”

Our school system is so fucked.

That is all.

people misunderstand what ‘gifted kid’ actually means but it’s ok it’s fine it’s cool it’s good

[prettyangellllll]

Makeup

Summary: you want to do his makeup and he lets you under condition that you will cockwarm him

Warnings: cockwarming, implied smut, unprotected, horny rafe, needy reader,

----

The movie had been playing for the past hour, but neither of you were really paying attention. Rafe sat back against the couch, legs spread wide, lazily scrolling on his phone while you laid across his lap, staring up at the ceiling in pure boredom.

"I have an idea," you announced, shifting to sit up.

Rafe barely glanced at you. "Yeah? And what's that?"

A slow grin spread across your face as you reached for your makeup bag on the coffee table. "Let me do your makeup."

That got his attention. His brows furrowed, and he shot you a look that was equal parts disbelief and amusement. "Yeah, not happening."

You pouted. "Come on, it'd be fun!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

You huffed, but just as you were about to try again, Rafe smirked, tilting his head at you. "I'll tell you what," he said, voice dripping with amusement, "I'll let you do it… but only if you cockwarm me."

Your stomach flipped at his words. "What?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "You wanna play dress-up with me? Then you’re gonna sit on my cock and stay still while you do it .No moving. No whining. Just sitting pretty on my cock while you do my makeup.” ."

Your face burned, but the way he was watching you—like he already knew you'd say yes—had heat pooling between your thighs.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to,” he teased, his fingers gripping your chin. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

You swallowed. "Fine."

A dark chuckle left his lips as he leaned back, gesturing for you to come closer. "Atta girl."

Your hands trembled slightly as you straddled him, your fingers digging into his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself just enough to align with him. He watched you the entire time, his blue eyes dark with hunger, his grip tight on your hips. Slowly, you sank down, taking him inch by inch, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. A choked whimper slipped from your lips, but Rafe only groaned, his hands flexing against your skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his head tipping back against the couch. “So fucking tight.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through the overwhelming fullness. It took a moment to adjust, your body clenching around him involuntarily. When you finally stilled, he exhaled a slow, satisfied breath. “Good girl.”

Swallowing hard, you reached for the makeup bag you had abandoned earlier, hands slightly shaky as you pulled out a foundation brush. “Okay,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “Let’s get started.”

Rafe chuckled, his hands trailing up and down your thighs, his thumbs stroking lazy circles against your skin. “Yeah, let’s see how well you can focus, sweetheart.”

Your hands shook as you dabbed the brush against his cheek, the warmth between your legs making it nearly impossible to concentrate. Every tiny movement sent a spark of pleasure through your core, making it harder and harder to focus. And Rafe? He wasn’t making things any easier. His hands never stopped moving, his grip tightening every time you tensed around him.

“So quiet now,” he mused, voice laced with amusement. “Having trouble, baby?”

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how wrecked you already were. “I’m fine.”

His smirk deepened, his fingers grazing up your spine. “Sure you are.”

He taunted, voice smooth and teasing. "You gonna be a good girl and finish? Or you gonna give up and start riding me like I know you want to?"

You glared at him, determined. "Shut up."

He chuckled, tilting his head back as he let you work, letting you try—try—to keep your composure.

With shaky hands, you picked up the eyeliner, trying to steady yourself as you leaned in closer. But the moment your chest pressed against his, he let out a deep, satisfied hum, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter. The movement sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you inhale sharply.

“Better not mess up, baby,” he taunted, his voice dripping with smugness. “I’d hate to make you start over.”

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, but you knew that if you opened your mouth, all that would come out was a desperate moan. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, determined to finish what you started.

By the time you were done, your legs were shaking, your breath uneven, and your core a dripping mess around him. But you had done it. His face was flawless, eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, his lips a pretty shade of red.

You bit your lip, admiring your work. "There. All done."

Rafe opened his eyes, glancing at himself in your compact mirror. He grinned. "Damn. I actually look kinda hot."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything, his hands tightened around your waist, and in one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him.

"Now it's my turn to have some fun," he murmured, grinding his hips into you. "You were so good for me, princess. Time to give you what you really want.

[alanisstonedd]

shooters shoot

marine!rafe x black!reader → a date at the range has his 5% tint fogged up...

cw: nsfw 16+, established relationship, operation of a firearm, semi public sexual activities, consensual groping, p in v, ass play, cum play, cussing, car sexxxx

wc: 4,700 + proofread!! (yall this actually the longest shit i've ever written omg)

an: been marinating in this idea for whileee, here it is baddies!! yall can find an intro post to marine!rafe through my masterlist!! & plz all yall send me ur dirty thoughts about him asap. kisses!! xoxo

The brush of featherlight kisses on your shoulder wakes you up most mornings - this sunny wednesday morning no different. your boyfriend's arm, littered with intricate tattoos, peeking out from under the covers. his appearance, a stark contrast to the sweetness he showers you in. but nonetheless, having him snuggled up behind you every morning felt like having a personal safety blanket (weighted ofc) there to protect your beauty sleep.

"mornin bae.." he mumbled sleepily from the curve of your neck.

"goodmorning baby... are you thinking about breakfast yet?" you quip, eyes still closed, the morning sun melting you into drowsy bliss.

his tatted hand found your hip, caressing and gripping the plush skin there. "my breakfast is right here.." he whispers, smirk practically bursting out "hot and ready." the light nips of his teeth on your neck, while convincing, couldn't distract you from the nagging thought that one of you had somewhere to be this morning.

"boy, quit playinn" you giggle as his kisses become wet and hot, his ever wandering hand caressing your stomach. "don't you have somewhere to be rafe? i'm so serious" you smirk, turning around to face him, his morning fun making it increasingly harder for you to be the rational one here.

"when has that ever stopped me?" punctuated with a light kiss, right as your world turns with unnerving speed. you find yourself posted atop his tank of a body, both tatted hands now snaking their way under your tee. chilled fingertips brush your soft breasts as your head lulls back, your own fingertips resting on his warm chest.

"just a taste bae?" he pleads, with the most devilish grin you've seen from him since yesterday, large hands now urging you down toward his chest. "absolutely not." you chuckle against his peck with warm cheeks, knowing he's kinda fronting. he's never been a late man at all, always precisely on time or early. you knew he wouldn't jeopardize a obligation, even with his truly efficient abilities.

"fine, you're not off the hook though lil girl." one hand caressing the expanse of your back, the other taking gentle fistfuls of your ass. "that's fine, hold me to it - you still have to go though big daddy." you emphasize the nickname, his rumbling laughter shaking the both of you.

you lift your head up to him, his baby blues shining in the morning rays. he gazes at you with a boyish smile, his love shining through every part of his body. never afraid to revel in his true feelings for you. he actually prefers to openly adore you - it gives him this warm feeling in his body, almost like seeing you love him is lighting him on fire or something.

"im surprising you today, okay?" he blurts out, tracing your facial features like the work of art you are. "oh?" puzzled look on your face as you kiss whatever you can catch of his hand. "yup" he quips, popping the p. your world flipped once again as he plops you next to him, unfortunately leaving you lonely to shower.

"when thoughhhhh?" you whine from the bed, not ready to leave the only warm embrace you have left at the moment. "when i come back from base. and be ready for real, because i'm taking you straight there." he yells back, stripping and starting the water.

"tch," you suck your teeth, rolling your eyes "i can be on time too, sexy muh-fucker." turning your head towards the large windows of your condo, your eyes threatening to close again.

you peek one eye open before falling fully asleep, and snatch your phone off the nightstand. setting an alarm for an hour and a half from now, knowing he'll be done in about two-ish hours, you toss it somewhere into the sea of the california king and knock out.

you jolt directly up from the bed, as your alarm blares throughout the room, startling you awake. rubbing your eyes while fishing for your phone somewhere in the sheets, but somehow feeling 10x more rested than your first wake up - which truly felt like forever ago.

one glance at your phone, kicks you into lock-in mode. "FUCK", your alarm seems to have been going off for a good twenty minutes, and you have the lesser part of 15 to be "ready for real" before rafe gets back. you cannot - under any circumstance - let him catch you lacking because he'll never let that shit go.

you skip out of bed and directly into the shower, planning a casual but cute outfit as you wash and freshen up. you go minimal with hair and makeup, feeling a little scared because you honestly think the clock is speeding up just to spite you.

in his beautifully on-time fashion, you hear rafe busting through the front door as soon as your pants are up over your butt. "bae?" his strong voice cutting through the get-ready playlist you selfishly took two full minutes to put on. "hey boo, i'm ready" you breathe, rounding the corner to meet him. his smile when he sees you never disappoints, flashing all 32, subtle dimples popping just the way you love, immediately heating you up. you go in for a hug, breathing him in through his slightly damp shirt (even better), he's a sweat-er so you know its warm out.

"you ready pretty?" he kisses your head, grin still plastered on his gorgeous face, hands planted firmly on your booty. a light squeeze to your lower cheeks earns him your "sexy grin", a dramatic eye roll, and a love slap to the chest. you lead him out the front door and to the passenger side of his big ol truck, which he opens for you and lifts you into by the waist.

the car ride to his "surprise" is filled with mindless chatter, spotify, and planning your next meal which is always a serious topic of conversation for you two. but you quickly notice he's not taking a route you recognize, "okay... do i already know what this is or is it a real surprise?" you ask, eyebrow cocked. he lets a loud chuckle escape, hand gripping your thigh across the console, thumb rubbing ever so slightly.

"yes, its a real surprise bae. you've never been here before" your uncocked eyebrow raises to meet the other, "shiiiiittt," you think for a second, then quietly question "am i gonna have to think, learn or sweat for this? or all of the above??" you sigh, realizing he might have you're ass doing some outdoor shit, which would probably present some complications with the outfit.

he laughs so hard he has to grip your thigh for purchase, "bae. what if i told you yes?" he snickers some more. "id tell you to turn this muh-fuckin car around. TUH" you fold your arms pointedly, just to show him you're deadass. at this point rafe's face is flushed from how much hes laughing, "nah bae, you just get to be your crash-out self. and be all up on me..." he manages to squeeze out in between laughs. and now you're confused, because, although you love those two things individually, you have no idea how they could possibly be combined. "now how the hell you finna combine those..." you mutter, sparing him a glance. "you gotta wait and see bae." with a full belly chuckle once again, his paw of a hand moves to cup your pussy through your pants and rub lightly like its affectionate or something. you look at him, unamused, but he simply flashes you a killer smirk with a squeeze to the coochie.

so you wait patiently, intrigued and a little nervous at what he has planned. when you arrive at what seems to be some sort of warehouse, he finally removes his hand from your pussy with a mean smack, "aye boy!" you whip your head over to him with a sharp look, now on edge from all the groping he's been doing for the remainder of the ride. but he's already out the damn truck, stalking around the front to open your door and help you out, by the waist, straight to the ground. you wouldn't sweat one droplet if it was up to him - except when y'all fuckin of course.

upon entering the mysterious warehouse, you immediately clock this is a gun range date. considering rafe has been yapping nonstop about teaching you how to protect yourself, how to use a gun just in case, and his plans to take you to the range routinely, you're actually not surprised at all.

hes grinning at you as you wait in the front desk line, his arm around your waist, rubbing absentmindedly. "so?? how surprised are you bae?" earning him yet another suck of the teeth, "how surprised you think i am? this is all you talk about rafe" you play with his fingers on your hip, as you both move up in line. "i knowwww bae, are you excited tho?", he grins more, gently pulling your head back and kissing your lips, "actually? i think i am a little excited lowkey... i don't really know what to expect, but... you got me right?". you breathe out, moving up to the desk, and you swear you can see him vibrating with happiness in your peripheral. "duh, of course i got you bae" he says from behind you, landing a fervent smack to your booty as he moves up after you.

the man at the desk literally daps up rafe and they starting chatting, his arm anchored to your waist without so much as a flinch. the man immediately starts grabbing various items, seemingly without a thought, and you start to realize... you're kinda like a celebrity by association in the military world? you chuckle at the fact that hundreds of thousands of men and boys around the world literally admire, look up to, and actually talk about your boyfriend - like out loud and in the media too. not that you don't do all of those things practically everyday - but to you, he's really just... your baby, rafe.

"listen son, they not payin' yo ass enough out there. you doin' big things, and not just what you doin' for this country. I mean, you really a weapon, boy." rafe quirks half his smile up, giving the man a nod.

"thank you sir, i just do my best. but i appreciate that, i really do. its my honor." rafe picks up the basket of goods, with another nod to the man. "anytime son. you a hero, nothin' less. and this must be the missus - what she doin' with no ring son?? aye you better act right, you a lucky man." the man chuckles, clasping both hands over your one hand and gently shaking. "its a pleasure ma'am." you laugh politely at his jokes, leaning into rafe on instinct, "its very nice to meet you sir". he pushes himself away from the counter with a nod and a wave, shouting "y'all be safe in there." you and rafe wave back awkwardly, him pulling you along by the waist.

"alright, am i trippin', or was he too fuckin' chatty" rafe laughs, once yall are through the door to the shooting lanes. "yeah, that was a lot..." you giggle, following rafe to what you assume is yall's lane, hands interlocked. you're hit with pungent smell of hot rubber, metal, and smoke but you kinda get used to it by the time y'all settle in.

rafe is professionally trained in this stuff, so you just listen extra careful - proving harder than you thought with the thundering pop of gunshots going off every so often. yall make silly small talk while he sets you both up with protective glasses and ear protection, complete with a built in mic for conversation. attaching the target to the rail and sending it out, he moves you into the lane with his body directly behind you. you can already feel the heat from his furnace of a body and you can tell this is gonna be a problem.

"okay," he says, leaning into your ear, hands on the front of your hips, pressing you back even further into his front. "whats the first thing you do?" your head is juuuuuuuuust clear enough to be reminded every so often that you're handling a dangerous weapon, but hes towing the damn line. "rafe, if you gon' be pressure the whole time just tell me what to do. i know you know i can't think right now..." you sigh, hearing him snicker through the headset, "okayyy, damn."

he picks up the gun and places all of your fingers precisely where they need to be, slowly explaining why they're placed there and the use of every part. but your ass is not really listening at all, because his cologne literally has you in a fucking fog. that or the way he readjusts every so often and presses his hips flush up against yours whenever he changes topics. or the way his large, thick, art covered hands caress your fingers and guide guide them where he wants them, exactly when he wants. or the way you can feel his hot breath fanning over your neck and sometimes even a brush of his soft, full lips when he leans in to show you something specific.

by the time he raises your hands up to point at the target, you bout ready to leave. his deep voice is saying something about "easing on the trigger" so you very slowly start pulling, and before you know it, a loud bang sounds out, and theres a hole a few inches below the center of the target. that startles you from your fog a little bit, because you're still gagged that you just shot a gun, and hit the target at all. but he moved the gun to the table again, so hes back to feeling on your hips, one hand traveling down to cup you and the other snaking up to your nipple poking through your shirt. "im so proud of you bae." he breathes, smirk deeeeep in his voice, with a kiss to the back of your neck.

you can very clearly feel how rock-fucking-hard he is and you think... its a little insane that he's so turned on by this. you realize the wetness in your panties is starting becoming an issue so you slap his hands away before he can make his way underneath any clothes, "rafe," you grit through your teeth, "quit. right now. we are soo close to other people. i'm taking two more shots and then we're out, okay". his hands have stopped wandering, his arms now wrapped around your waist. you can feel his smirk against the back of your neck, and he kisses there lightly, picking up the gun, "yes ma'am".

you bit your tongue through those last couple shots, thighs rubbing together, eventually becoming a little restless in the absence of his groping.

you literally wanted to pull his dick out - you couldn't take it. immediately after your last shot, you snatched his keys and ran out of the place, head down, too ashamed too ashamed to look anyone in the face let alone the chatty man.

you could finally breathe in the quiet safety of his truck, the 5% tint on all windows giving you the privacy you needed. you're still hot as fuck though. the thought of shedding some layers crosses your mind, but you brush it off, thinking rafe would probably open the door any second. but as more and more time passes, baking in the heat combined with flashbacks from the range, you start to get uncomfortably hot. you could rip his clothes off in this state, and a part of you wishes you could get back at him somehow.... but before you can make up your mind the sound of the drivers side door opening startles you, your head whipping towards him.

he looks like a fucking wet dream, sweating from the heat, blue eyes sparkling, sun shining down on him making his tan, tatted skin glisten... muscles bulging, and bulge straining... just how you like it. his shirt hiked up revealing a happy trail peekaboo is just the cherry on top. you can't stand it. "rafe. did they hold you hostage? the fuck took you so long?" you blurt, sounding a little frazzled. he climbs into the truck, starting it "yes, actually. chatty unc did hold me hostage. chill bae, the fuck happened in here..." he chuckles, side eying you and wrapping his whole hand around your thigh.

you freeze - his hand on your leg feels like a hot iron, even though the air conditioning has been blasting for at least a two minutes. you're jolted back to his antics in there, feeling the imprint of his throbbing dick against your ass, his hands everywhere you needed them all at once, his lips on your neck leaving a sickly trail of heat in their wake.

"oh HELL nah-" your hands fly to your shirt, as you struggle to strip your clothes against the wet friction of your skin, "its too fuckin hot bruh- i don't know what the fuck-" you almost rip your pants in two trying to get them down your legs "yo ass think-" more struggling, you're audibly out of breath at this point "this. shit. is." you lull your head back against the seat once you're only clad in your skims lace bralette and panty.

"you okay baby?" you catch his eyes locked on you, signature smirk struggling to be hidden. "what you think rafe?" you say, slowly turning to him. now that you're comfortable, your head seems perfectly cleared... of everything but fucking him stupid.

"i think.. we need to get you home crazy" he lets out a cackle, gripping the gearshift, ready to get on the road. "oh! you thought that was cute or something?" you laugh, hand gripped around his, stopping his movement. "that little stunt you pulled back there?" he's unusually quiet, but still smirking, so you can tell he knows what you want - in all honesty he can smell it. you just fell right into his trap. all day, he's been replaying the promise you made him this morning before he left.

"fine, you're not off the hook tho lil girl." one hand caressing the expanse of your back, the other taking gentle fistfuls of your ass. "thats fine, hold me to it - you still need to go tho big daddy."

he was going to make sure you kept that promise whether you knew it or not. he definitely enjoyed watching you squirm in front of him the whole time, his dick certainly leaking all over his boxers by now. he would've pulled his dick out right there in the lane if you'd wanted him to, but it looks like you enjoy him teasing you to the point of no return.

"you gon give me sum' for all that torture rafe." you whisper, eyes locked on his lips, hand on his moving to his straining cock. you grip it, eyes flashing up to his, which are already locked on yours. he slowly puts the truck back in park, "get in the back." its quick but you can hear the same strain in his voice.

"no. you-"

"get. in the back." his eyes close, hand still locked on the gearshift, so you decide you should get to climbing. by the time you're settled in the seat behind yours he's opening the backseat door and dragging you by your ankles to lay flat. he climbs in over you, slamming the door behind him. immediately he's on you, your lips dancing together, the fervency bringing back that excruciating heat you felt earlier. the backseat of his truck is actually pretty big, but due to his large stature, its tight quarters right now. you can feel every hard ridge of him pressed against you, his lips searing a wet trail right up your neck to the underside of your jaw. and the smell of his truck's leather mixed with his cologne drags you into the fog all over again.

the contrast of you being basically naked and him being completely clothed doesn't feel right at all. so as he pulls his shirt off, your hands find the corded muscles of his back, traveling down to slip under the lip of his pants. "ohh-, you- got some fuckin nerve rafe- " you manage breathlessly between kisses, as he rubs on your pussy through the thin material. he moves swiftly towards your tits sitting plump and pretty in the equally thin material. his eyes are locked on yours as he sucks on a nipple through the bralette, "nah" he moves to the other nipple, sucking harder, his lashes falling against his face blissfully. "i just know you bae" he punctuates with a firm nip on your bud and you feel a gush of slick wet your panties.

with locked eyes, he smirks, moving your panties to the side and slipping a finger in, thumbing your clit with a skillfull touch. your lips mingle with each others, rafe's groans echoing throughout the tight space as you work his zipper down and pull him out. slow strokes have his eyes closed and his teeth pulling down your bra for a better taste of your breasts.

he glances down to see your cunt creaming on his fingers, the soft moans spilling from your lips sound like he's being ushered into heaven, "shit... she been calling to me alllll," with a few flicks of his thumb against your clit, you're shouting, "fuckin' day". smiling like he's never been happier, he floats back to your mouth, tongue snaking in with yours, teeth nipping your lips. "fuck me rafe" you breathe, still stroking him, his dick now lathered in his own precum, tip gliding slowly against your slit. he pushes the tip in carefully, and you can't help but throw your head back, finally feeling the slightest bit of relief. "say please, baby.", he snickers, laving a scorching stripe up your neck, practically making out with it. "RAFE SHUT YO A-" before you can pop him for playing with you he pushes in to the hilt, "ohhh shh- it" you grit out, your body seizing for a second.

he starts with short, strong, pumps. grinding against you with the full strength of his hips. you can see the reflection of his back muscles rippling and his juicy butt clenching in the window. you pull him into you to lick the sweat off his neck, triggering a deep groan you feel on your tongue, "fuuuck, i love you baby." he's pulling back more to push into you a little rougher, the force of his thrust creating an uncomfortable friction between the seat and your skin. but his soft lips suckling your breast and his thumb now glued to your clit, erase any and all uncomfort whatsoever. you moan out, like sex in his ears "UUHH- ohhhhh, i love you bae- uhhh right thereee-" thats all you can manage, with your hand on his head, keeping his mouth pressed to your tits.

he glances up at you... a lush vision, like something out of his very own dreams - literally. he sits up, ready to give you everything you didn't even know you needed. he has one hand caging your waist in, and another on your hip as he lets out a breathy groan, watching with intent as your pretty pussy creams a pearlescent ring around the base of him, mixing with his pubes. he can feel your juices dripping down his balls as he moves the hand by your waist, up to the door behind you head.

the truck has to be rocking, with how serious rafe is at the moment. your eyes just about roll back as he starts jackhammering into you, his thick mushroom tip hitting your spot perfectly. his hips working, thrusting forcefully and grinding against you, all in one fluid movement. the feel of his coarse pubes on your clit, his chain swinging to and fro over your face, his deep grunts ringing in your ears - just when you though that was to much, his thrusts get even rougher, plunging into you so harsh, the with of him stretching you so dreamily. "oh shit- yeahh.." he breathes out, leaning down to lick the sparkling perspiration off your skin, his tongue traveling from sucking hickeys on your neck down to your breast yet again, blue eyes fluttering shut.

"rafe- fuuuckkk- im gonna-" he snaps up, immediately getting a second wind hearing your exclamation, thumb working quick circles on your clit. "yeah?" he exhales, "thats fuck?" he says taunting you while angling his hips to hit it right where you need it. he stuffs his hoodie under your butt to get a better position, and the pressure from this angle takes over your body, his hands caressing you, working your clit, it all sends you over the edge. through the buzzing of your senses you hear the splat splat of your pussy - "FUCK- bae i'm cuming-" and his warm seed flooding you. he slows but doesn't falter, his hips still hitting you like a tank. the only sounds in the truck being the squelch of your combined cum and the sultry flow of your combined moans.

"rafe-" he sits down on the seat and swoops you up off of it, moving you to rest your back against the center console in front of him, your dripping cunt resting in his lap. he lightly kisses your inner thigh, sending you a sexy wink, that forces a light chuckle out of you, and he dives in without another word. his tongue slurping you up like the best treat he's ever had, calculated circles going on your now overstimulated clit. your hand travels to his buzzed head as he sucks each lip into his mouth, slowly moving to suckle around you're clit. his face is shining with the both of your cum smeared all over it, and you don't think he ever get finer.

you can't hold your tongue any longer when his own travels down to your hole, licking you inside and out. fucking you with the scorching muscle, slurping up the mix of you both thats dripping out of you like honey. "mmmmm- shi-" he groans, the taste of his cum mixing with yours makes him lightheaded. you feel him start to suck on your throbbing clit once again, showering her in passionate kisses and the most earth-shattering ministrations, fingers still pumping in and out of you below. you stretch your arms back over your head, as he somehow sticks another finger in your ass. you start to ride his face, your hips fully in his hands, as he manages to pump that finger - you're so close you can taste it.

your vision spots as he suckles extra hard on your aching bud, his wanton groaning vibrating through your pussy. your body locks up and rafe's mouth stays glued to your pussy, releasing it with a pop!, then going back in and making sure he doesn't miss a drop of your sweet juice. the whole truck smells like sex and sweat as you catch your breath, reveling in the tenderness of his touch, him lips peppering sweet kisses over your thighs and stomach, while cleaning you both up with a towel he keeps in the back.

he dresses you, then dresses himself, while you both share sweet pecks every now and again, basking in the after glow. "i guess you were gonna have to sweat no matter where i took you, huh." he smirks, letting his hands wander over your hips and ass, as you chill in his lap.

"boy shut up, this was your little plan all along, i know you too...." you laugh, eyes rolling sassily. "damn right it was" he shoots you a devilish look before locking your lips, tongues entangled so deeply you almost take each others clothes off again. he hops out the truck with a pop to your booty, as you climb back up to the passenger seat feeling delightfully sated.

"bae, can we get chipotle before we go home?" he calls from outside the truck before climbing in, your stomach rumbling before he even said it. you turn to him with a blissful look, placing your hand on his cheek, "damn, you know my heart... drive". he kisses your hand as he pulls out of the parking lot. "i wonder if that chatty guy saw me run out the door like a lunatic..." you think out loud, car playlist bumping in the background. you play with his fingers that were just inside you churning up your cum and his, and smile deviously. rafe chuckles "HA! i wonder if he knew what we were doin' parked outside for so long..."

"grandbabies fa' sho' on the way..." the chatty man says, watching rafe's black truck finally drive away.

©  alanisstonedd 2025 — do not steal, plagiarise, or modify my content.

hope y'all liked this! likes and reblogs and all the rest much appreciated!!!

xoxo, lana 💋💋💋

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Everybody’s on the Call Line (Jason todd x gn!reader)

Humor, fluff, established relationship. whole batfam gets involved. Reader is a hacker

This happened because I read the latest coffee shop au from @jjenthusee (and you should too!) and I remembered that I can also write cute fluff. So here this fic is, straight from my drafts where it’s been languishing for months. Anyway.

Swearing, as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is

———

Jason eases himself carefully onto the fire escape, metal creaking beneath his boots. He stifles a groan. He’s taking a risk sneaking into your apartment like this, he knows he is. If you wake up and see Red Hood snooping around outside your window, you’ll probably call the cops. But he’s tired as all hell, patrol was long and stupid, and your apartment was closer. Jason will just slide in while you’re sleeping, stow his gear where you won’t find it, and collapse into your bed. In the morning, he’ll just say he let himself in with the spare key you gave him. Easy. All he has to do is disable the window alarm he’d gotten for you, and then he’s home free.

The alarm trips, and Jason moves to silence it but then realized it doesn’t matter, you’re still up, working at your computer.

He freezes as you glance over your shoulder, then turn around to face him. He still has his gear on. Shit.

“Uh, hi,” you offer, looking at him with a curious glance as he races to figure out an excuse. “I don’t think we’ve met before?”

This throws him for a loop. You’re reacting very well to a vigilante crawling through your window at 2:30 in the fucking morning. But you’ve given him an opening, and he’s going to take it.

“No,” he says shortly, wincing behind the helmet. He’s never spoken to you like this and instantly hates the tone he’s using, but he’s got a persona to keep up. Or something.

You nod, seemingly unfazed. “No worries. Do you work with Red Robin?”

What? Why are you asking about Tim? Do you have some secret Red Robin crush that he’s going to have to push Tim off a building for?

Dumbfounded, Jason answers, “Uh, sometimes?”

You nod again. “Do you think you could give something to him for me?”

What the shit is happening right now?

As if to help tip Jason’s world off its axis, you’re interrupted by a tap at the window. Jason looks to see Red Robin crouched on your fire escape. You wave him inside.

“Hey, Escher,” Tim says. “Hood.” Jason has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“I’ve got the script,” you say, holding out a flash drive to him, but Tim shakes his head. “No good. They updated the security.”

“Well, shit.” You turn and dump the USB stick into a glass of water on your desk. “It’s a paperweight now. Only took me five hours to figure out.”

“I know,” Tim says, clearly frustrated. “They keep outmaneuvering us.”

Wait, wait. Jason’s still three steps behind you. “Escher?” he demands.

Both you and Tim turn to look at him, frowning. “Like, M.C. Escher? But, spelled ‘emcee,’” you say, as if that explains anything. “It’s my screen name.”

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we work together.” Tim raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know that?”

Jason shakes his head, and Tim looks at you for a flash of a moment before turning back to Jason. “Sorry,” he mouths, shrugging. Jason waves him off. He’ll deal with that later.

Tim turns back to your computer screen, but your eyes stay on Jason, narrowing. “What does it matter if we work together? Do I know you from somewhere?”

Shit. You were always too sharp for your own good. Jason’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “Uhh…”

You fold your arms over your chest. Behind you, out of your field of vision, Tim grins at Jason, delighted. Asshole.

“We don’t normally work with civilians,” Jason says, fishing for an excuse.

You sniff, rolling your eyes. “And yet, here you are. Which, the way, you haven’t explained. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

Fair. What is he doing in your bedroom? Would it freak you out if he said he was a burglar? Too late for that now.

“I told him to meet me here,” Tim says, pulling Jason’s ass out of the fire. “Sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

You shrug. “S’okay,” you say, spinning back around in your desk chair to face the screen.

Over your shoulder, Tim mouths, “you owe me.” Jason gives him the finger.

“Do you have a safe copy of the new security system?” you ask, looking at Tim intently.

He shakes his head. “Not yet, Oracle is working on duplicating it.”

You slump down in your chair. “Drat. I hate waiting.”

“Yeah,” Tim sits on the floor next to your bed, knees to his chest. “She said it’d be ready in a few hours.”

“Balls.” You fidget with a pen on your desk.

“Hold on. How did you start working with Red over here?” Jason asks. He knows you work in tech, that you’re a programmer, but he didn’t realize you were building code for fucking Batman.

Tim laughs. “I found them solving random problems on a Swedish forum.”

Jason blinks. Okay.

“Well, yeah. You found me there. Oracle found me hacking your comm links,” you grin, pleased with yourself.

Holy shit. “You got into the comm links?”

“Yeah,” you nod, satisfied. “I’ve done it twice now,” you add smugly.

“Don’t tell B,” Tim warns. “He doesn’t know. Oracle said she wouldn’t tell.”

Wow. You must be the real deal. He wonders if he can get you to fuck with Bruce’s plans, just to be a shit. "How long have you been working for the Caped Crusader, then?"

"I don't work for Batman," you say primly, as Tim sighs. "I help him out when you guys can't get your shit together."

Jason snickers under his breath. "Sore subject, huh?"

"They don’t like B," Tim confirms from the floor. "If you did it would make everything easier," he grumbles.

"It's stupid," you insist. "Come on, how is this a viable solution to any long-term problem?"

Jason laughs outright as Tim sputters. "He's a detective! He detects!"

"Then why does he have to dress up like that?" you point out. “You can be a detective in normal clothes, you know.”

"He needs armor, he keeps getting shot at!"

"Explain the cape, then," you shoot back. "Justify that monstrosity."

"It's fucking idiotic," Jason adds, piling on gleefully. "It'd be different if he could fly, but he just hops around."

Tim gasps, affronted, while you crack up in your chair. "Thank you. I mean, look at yourself, Red. You're sitting on my bedroom floor in a goddamn cape."

"It looks cool," Tim says defensively.

"No," you counter, "that looks cool." You point your finger in Jason's direction, and he feels his face heat up.

"Oh, come on," Tim scoffs. "You think his costume is cool?"

"Uh, yeah," you say, eyes taking Jason in as you nod. "Very cool. Very hot."

"Oh my god," Tim mutters. "It's tactically stupid. Why are his forearms exposed?"

"So I can see how muscley they are." You stare at them, eyes wide. Jason coughs awkwardly, and your eyes flit back up. "Sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I like leather."

"Of course you like his costume," Tim mutters under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you shoot at him, and Tim flusters. "Why do you care if I don't like your costume?"

"Yeah," Jason adds, letting some menace fall into his voice. "Why do you care if they don’t like your costume?"

"I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"I have a boyfriend," you interrupt, looking at Tim scornfully.

"They have a boyfriend," Jason parrots, grinning behind the helmet.

"Oh my god. I know you have a boyfriend. Relax," Tim pacifies you. "Relax," he adds, nodding at Jason. Jason grunts.

Before you can argue further, there’s another tap at your window, and Cass slips softly into the room. You light up. “Hello, my love!” you greet her excitedly. Cass raps you on the top of your head, and you beam up at her. Your hands twitch toward her before you stop yourself, folding them in your lap. Cass turns to Jason, placing her hand carefully on his arm. He bumps against her, waiting until she pushes back lightly. She then moves onto Tim, tugging gently on a lock of his hair, before depositing a flash drive on the desk. You snatch it up eagerly.

From Oracle, Cass signs.

“It’s O’s duplicate!” Tim plucks it from your fingers, driving it into your desktop.

“Be nice to her,” you warn, running a hand over your computer as the file loads. Strings of code write themselves across your screen. Jason moves forward to get a better look at you. He can’t help it, he wants to see you in action. Your face is scrunched up, tongue between your teeth as your eyes flash back and forth, following the cursor. “It’s incomplete.” You squint at Tim. “What gives?”

Tim tsks. “I don’t know. Let me get Oracle.” He puts a hand to his ear. “Oracle, come in.”

Barbara’s voice answers in Jason’s ear. “Here. I know, I know, it’s not all there,” she says, annoyed. “Let Escher know that I had to reverse engineer it from what we found.”

“She says she has to reverse engineer it,” Tim repeats.

You drum your fingers on the desk. “Okay, what else does she know?”

“What else do you—”

“Hold on, this is stupid,” you interrupt. “Can you, like, put her on speaker? Actually,” you click over to another screen, enter a command. “You’re broadcasting live, O.” Jason hears Barbara’s sigh through the speakers of your computer. “That’s three times,” you add smugly.

Jason let’s out a low whistle. Damn. You’re really good at this.

“We've got to stop meeting like this, Escher.” Barbara almost sounds amused. “How did you get in this time?”

“Hiya, babe.” You click back to your project. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out. I don’t want you closing your back door.”

Barbara chuckles. “Red and I will shut you out.”

“But for how long? I’m too slippery, baby.” Jason almost blushes underneath his helmet. It always trips him up when you talk like this.

“I had to reverse engineer the code from what it spit out when I tried to get in this time,” Barbara explains. “Can you fill in the gaps?”

“Some of them.” You type quickly, deleting code as you get error messages and retyping just as fast.

“Wait, here…” Tim points to something on the screen.

“Yeah, okay,” you back up to where he’s pointing and add something.

“There’s something about the updated security,” Barbara adds. “I think there’s a pattern somewhere.”

“Where?” you demand.

“I don’t know. Gut feeling. But I think I’m right.”

“Do you think there’s something generating new code?” Tim asks. “Like, a program that’s spitting out new security?”

“Oh.” Your fingers still on the keys, face relaxing. “Yeah. Good call, Red.” You scan the code again, scrolling back to the top. “Okay. This changes things.” You start from the beginning, erasing whole sections of Barbara’s work and typing out new code. “Well, shit,” you laugh under your breath. “This is some sexy-ass code we’re looking at.”

“You can fill in the blanks?” Jason asks.

You glance up at him. “Of course I can. I wrote it.”

“What?” Tim shouts. “This is you?”

“It’s me,” you confirm. “Guilty.” A small smile plays around your lips. “Sorry.” Cass steps forward, pinching your ear until you yelp.

“Fuck, Escher.” Tim rubs the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know you were a traitor.”

“Chill, bird brain,” you say defensively, leaning out of Cass’ reach. “This was from, like, five years ago. I needed some cash.”

“You could be on B’s payroll,” Tim offers.

You snort as Barbara huffs a laugh over the comm line. “Fat chance, I’ve been trying to convince them for months.”

“I’m not a fucking lapdog. I play by my own rules,” you insist.

“Yeah?” Jason can’t help but push you. “And what rules are those?”

You cock an eye at him warily. “The rule of not tying my kite to some lunatic.”

Jason nods. Can’t argue with that one.

“Anyway,” you turn back to the computer. “Because I wrote it, I can build you the malware.”

“To get past the security or to neutralize the program spitting out new code?” Barbara asks over the line.

“Dealer’s choice,” you say, then stick your tongue between your teeth as you squint at the screen. “I can make both happen.”

The comm crackles in Jason’s ear. “Oracle, come in,” Bruce barks.

Tim whips his head toward you with a crack. “Nothing from you now, Escher,” Barbara warns. “I’m patching him through.”

You grin, eagerly pretending to zip your lips.

“Here,” Barbara answers.

“I heard from one of my informants,” Bruce’s monotone growl fills the room. Jason catches you roll your eyes and almost bursts out laughing. “They’re going to get into the controls for Blackgate prison.”

“This is Black Mask?” Barbara clarifies.

Bruce grunts as your eyebrows shoot up. “This is Black Mask?” you whisper, except you’ve never been very good at whispering. Tim slices a hand over his neck to silence you as Jason moves to your computer. He’s been eyeing the program you’re using to broadcast the comm connection, and he thinks he’s found the mute button. He taps a key and then turns his head toward you. “Off?”

You nod. “Off. Thanks. This is Black Mask’s security?”

“Yeah, he’s making a move against the jail. He’s going to get some of his guys out,” Tim explains.

“Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm.” You tap your fingers against your chin.

“What?” Tim folds his arms over his chest.

“I originally sold it to the Falcones.” You flick your hair out of your face. “Guess they sold me out behind my back.”

A security program that’s making its way through the mob? That’s…really useful, actually.

“Can you get in and stop them?” Bruce asks.

“Maybe,” Oracle hedges. “Hold on, I have to call in reinforcements.” She mutes Bruce’s line. “Escher, you’re up.”

“Wait, you want it now?” you say, aghast. “Christ, how long do I have?”

“Act quickly.” Bruce orders. “My intel says they’re moving at 3:45am.”

Your eyes fly to the clock on your monitor. “What the fuck!” you screech. “That’s in forty minutes! I can’t do it in forty minutes! I have to break through my own walls!”

“Escher,” Barbara starts, just as Tim says “listen, you have to—”

“I can’t, it’s not enough time!” you wail.

“Hey, hey,” Jason cuts in. “Easy. Don’t worry, love. You can do it.”

You look at him fearfully. “You haven’t even told me what to do!”

“Just get past the security,” Jason says patiently. “Don’t worry about shutting down the whole program.”

You nod at him, eyes wide.

“Deep breaths, now,” he instructs. “Come on, in for two, hold, out for four. We’ll do it together. Ready?”

You nod again.

“Okay.” Jason sucks in a breath, loudly so it’ll register over the modulator. You copy him, inhaling, holding, and exhaling on his rhythm. After a few breaths you shake your head, turning back to the computer.

“Alright. I can make it happen.” You resume typing, eyes narrowed as you focus.

“We’re alright, B, I’ve got someone on it,” Oracle says, satisfied.

Tim turns to Jason, clearly impressed. Jason shrugs. You’ve been together for a while now, he knows how to pull you out of a spiral.

He turns back to you. You’re ripping through code at a hundred miles an hour, hunched over the keyboard. Jason grimaces, he’s always trying to get you to sit up straight to help your tech neck. He’ll have to rub out the knots in your shoulders later.

Jason feels Cass’ eyes on him, and he tilts his head toward her. Less than forty minutes, she signs to him. I’ll have to take it back to the Clocktower.

Jason’s thought of that. He evenly points his chin in your direction. You can handle it, he knows you can. Cass nods.

Tim coughs quietly, and Jason raises his head to look at him. “You want the keys to the castle?” he mutters.

He means code you built that generates new security programs. Jason nods. “But that’s just between us, yeah?” It would be loads easier for Jason if he keeps the code out of Bruce’s hands. Black Mask has been operating in Jason’s territory, and Jason has a long string of investigations against him, well-beyond the scope of this Blackgate shit. Bruce needs to keep his nose out of it.

Tim scoffs. “Fine. Seems like you should get first dibs anyway.” He nods towards your desk where you’re still working stubbornly.

The room is silent, all three of them letting you work. After a few minutes, Tim steps toward you. “Here, you need any hel—”

Jason throws an arm out to stop him, just as Cass grabs his wrist and tugs him backwards, shaking her head. He holds up his hands in surrender.

Fifteen minutes later, you rap your knuckles on your desk. “Oi, peanut gallery!” You spin around in your chair, smiling wickedly. “I solved your case for you!”

“It’s not a case,” Tim mutters, and Jason scoffs.

“Don’t be jealous, RR,” Babs says over the line. “You can both be the prettiest.” Tim splutters as you laugh delightedly.

“Nice job,” Jason says, placing a hand on your shoulder. You grin up at him. He catches Cass and Tim share a look, sees her sign something too fast for his eyes to follow.

“Batgirl’s bringing it to you now, Oracle,” Tim says as you unplug the flash drive and hand it to Cass. You wave to her as she slips through the window.

“My backup came through,” Babs reports to Bruce. “They’ll be obsolete in a few minutes.”

“Copy.” The line fizzles as Babs cuts him off.

“Fuck yeah,” you grin in satisfaction. “Nothing like hearing that overgrown Bat say ‘copy.’”

Jason cackles as Tim rolls his eyes. “Oracle,” he says loudly. “Hood was in the dark about our friend here.” His eyes flick to you before he looks at Jason meaningfully.

And just what the fuck does he think he’s doing? Jason all but snarls at him.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn you were smarter than that, Hood,” Barbara admonishes.

“Shut up, O,” he grumbles. Jason glances at you to make sure you haven’t caught on to what they’re talking about, but you don’t seem to be paying attention; you’ve pulled up Steam and are scrolling through your game library.

“Maybe it’s time to clue them in. Take off your party hat,” Barbara says meaningfully. Tim nods forcefully.

“Butt out,” Jason says half-heartedly, but it doesn’t stick. He’s been thinking about telling you about Red Hood anyway; you’ve been together for a year and a half. He’s been…well, he’s scared. But maybe he shouldn’t be.

“We’d have to vote on it,” he says gruffly. Tim pumps his fist in the air. “In person,” he says meaningfully. Comm links aren’t safe, apparently.

“You have my vote,” Babs says confidently. “And Batgirl’s, too, she’s here.” Barbara pauses meaningfully. “I’m happy for you, Hood.”

“Me too!” Tim pipes up immediately.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason waves them off, like his heart isn’t pounding. “Can you call everyone over?”

“Roger that.” Barbara seems pleased. “Hood is asking us all to meet near him,” she broadcasts aloud. “Sending you coordinates.”

Dick, Steph, Bruce, and Damian all copy. Jason steels himself. “Alright, RR, time to go.”

You glance at him as he moves toward the window. “Heading out?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers. “Got a big family meeting to get to.” He grins at Jason.

“Okay. See you around. Nice meeting you,” you say to Jason, before turning back to your screen.

“Uh, yeah,” he says uncomfortably, while Tim snickers. “See you later.”

The troops have already assembled two rooftops over. “Hood, what’s the situation?” Bruce asks sternly.

“The situation,” Tim starts happily, “is—”

“Hold on,” Jason cuts him off. “Disconnect comm links.” He watches warily as everyone takes them out of their ears.

“Compromised?” Dick asks with concern.

“Uh, yeah.” Jason scratches the back of his neck. “Listen, uh…” he looks at Tim helplessly.

“Jason’s dating Escher.”

“What!” Dick screams as Steph claps her hands together excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating anyone?”

“Uh—”

“Fuck, yeah!” Steph interrupts. “This is great! Escher’s the freaking best!”

“Language,” Bruce says as Jason takes off the helmet to glare at Steph accusingly.

“We play Minecraft together,” she explains. “I didn’t know you two were dating!”

“Wait, hold on. I thought you all knew about that.” Jason shifts his glare to Tim.

Tim shrugs. “Only me and Babs knew,” he says.

“Timmy, why didn’t you share!” Dick groans, bounding over to ruffle Jason’s hair.

Jason pushes him away, trying to swipe his feet out from under him. Dick dodges easily, throwing a light right hook in return. “Wasn’t any of your business, now was it?” Jason says gruffly.

Tim looks at Dick, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Fair.” Dick grins softly at Jason, bumping shoulders with him. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

Jason blushes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Congrats, Todd, but why are we all here?” Damian interrupts.

“I’m gonna tell ‘em,” Jason says simply. “About this. If it’s cool.”

“Fine with me,” Steph says instantly.

Tim nods, “seconded. Babs and Cass say it’s fine with them, we asked before we went dark.”

“Well, who am I to stand in their way,” Dick half-jokes, but he’s looking at Bruce with serious eyes. So is Jason.

“I’ll follow Father’s ruling,” Damian says stoutly.

That leaves the big man himself. Bruce smiles gently. “Of course, Jaylad. We’re all happy for you.”

Jason blushes all over again. “Thanks, old man.” He lets out a breath.

“But we have to ask Duke,” Bruce adds meaningfully.

“I texted him, he says it’s fine,” Tim says quickly. “But also, uh—” he holds his hand to his ear.

Warily, Jason puts his comm back in. “Jason, what the fuck!” you shriek. “What the fucking fuck is this!”

“I forgot to disconnect,” Babs says sheepishly.

“Jason, you ass! Why didn’t you tell me you ran around in a fucking costume?” you shout down the line. Steph and Dick keel over laughing. Jason realizes everyone has taken the liberty of putting their comm back in.

“Baby, please,” he says resignedly.

“Baby?” Dick mouths, beaming.

“Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me!” you holler.

“Babe, you are a hacker,” he points out. “How come you didn’t share that with the class?”

That makes you pause. “Fair fucking point, I guess,” you mutter. Jason sees Bruce try to tug the comm out of Damian’s ear, but Damian dances out of reach.

“Uh, also, can you cool it with the swearing?” Jason asks. “There’s a kid here.”

“…if it’s Robin I am going to throw up.”

“Hello,” Damian says helpfully.

Your end of the line is silent.

“Hey, Escher, it’s Spoiler!” Steph cuts in. “Nice job shacking up with Hood.” She eyes Jason evilly.

“This is a fucking ambush,” you grind out. “Jason, you fucking ambushed me.”

“Language,” Bruce orders gently. Tim just about busts a gut while Jason waves frantically at Bruce, shaking his head rapidly. “Nice to meet you over the phone,” Bruce adds. Dick gives him a thumbs up.

“…likewise,” you say eventually. “I hope you’ll excuse me, but this has been insane, and I’m disconnecting. Jason, get your as— get back here after you’ve finished your family dinner.” Your end goes dead.

“They seem nice,” Bruce says after a moment. “We’ll have to talk about how they got into the comm links,” he looks at Tim reproachfully.

“See you later, Hood,” Dick says easily, nodding at your building.

Jason turns back to your apartment. He can already see you in the window, arms crossed over your chest. You’re trying to scowl at him, but he can see the smile trying to escape.

He shrugs his shoulders, grinning. You throw up your hands but beckon him anyway. Come on, come back.

Don’t worry, Jason’s coming.

[sylphidine]

@i-am-a-fish

From one of my longfics [it's dinner, not lunch, but it's delicious and everyone is happy]:

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their job offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new eyeglasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget."

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[gojo-mochi]

Telling JJK men “I’m not putting my minecraft bed next to yours tonight”

TW: Sweet/Simple. Mild Suggestive on Toji's part

Gojo:

Dramatically falls to his knees, tears, snot, all the works. Threatens to jump off the highest block in all the lands. Kidnaps your pet wolf or favorite farm animal and tells you that he’s “taking the kids and leaving.” Would loudly put on sad music as he plays right next to you, digging in the mines underground very, very slowly. Not even using his best equipment, just a shitty stone pickaxe because he thinks that makes him look more gloomy in your eyes. Would talk out loud to all the animals you own about how he misses you and how “Momma” is mad at him. 

Geto:

Looks flabbergasted that you would even utter something like that to him. Hits back with “Well, I’m not gonna put my bed next to yours!” Like he was the one to said that in the first bed. Quickly goes to make a very elaborate Minecraft House so he can brag about how comfy and deluxe it is in front of it. Makes a grand tour of showing you the inside, which ends at the bedroom which he decorated to the nines. A sly attempt to somehow make you jealous enough so you would come crawling back to him so you could live in this new fancy mansion he made (in a video game)

Nanami: 

Have a heartbroken look on his face right after you said that, and you immediately regret it. Would take his bed out of the house first so your character can still be in there; would move his bed down to the basement or another building. Goes on a journey to pick up some flowers or lure in a new pet dog/cat/parrot to win back your love (he never lost it). You put your beds back together in less an hour and played the rest of the night, all snuggled up in Nanami’s lap as you watch him tend to the farming. 

Choso: Is also heartbroken by your words. Stops playing the game and looks at you like a kicked puppy. “Does that also mean that I can’t sleep with you in our bed tonight?” (He’s talking about your real-life bed). You don’t know whether or not you should tease him further or just say that it was a joke all along. If you decide to tease him further and double down on your words, he would spend a whole day in secret, building something to show you in the game world. A whole field of flowers or a statue of your in-game character as a show of good will. 

Toji:

Not really into the game that much but plays it because you like it. So saying that doesn’t really bother him until you say it also applies in real life, then that will get his head to turn. With his eyebrow raised and his arm crossed, he looks at you and asks, “Are you really going to go down this route?” You fought hard to keep a straight face and nodded. “If you take it back now, I will forget this all even happened, last chance.” Toji uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his knees as he got into position to start chasing. You glance at your escape route (the door) and suck in a breath. “You’ll never catch me alive.” And with that you ran. You sprinted out the door as fast as you could, screaming for your life as Toji chased behind you.  You don’t get far before he catches you and throws you over his shoulder, pinning you down to your shared bed, and making you regret your words from earlier.

[eiralunaire]

The scent of flowers mingled with the warm breeze of the royal garden, a sweet and subtle perfume that permeated the air with its deceptive tranquility. Damian Wayne stood a few steps away from the princess, his posture straight as a stone wall, observing every corner with a calculating gaze. His senses were alert; even in such an idyllic space, danger was never entirely absent.

“Damian,” the princess’s voice interrupted his vigil, as soft as silk, but with the assurance of someone who did not accept “no” for an answer.

Damian did not answer immediately, but he turned his head slightly in her direction. He knew what would come next.

“Kneel,” she requested, holding a small white flower between her delicate fingers.

He suppressed a sigh. It was not an order. The princess rarely gave him orders, but her requests were impossible to refuse. Not out of obligation, but because she… was her.

Without a word, Damian dropped to one knee in the grass, bending his head just enough for her to reach his hair. He felt the princess's fingers brushing back a few stray locks, gently placing the flower among the dark strands.

It was a childish gesture, a childhood prank she refused to let go of. And yet, Damian didn't stop it. He couldn't.

The warm brush of lips on the top of his head took him by surprise, as always. Brief, light… but enough to make his heart skip an uneasy beat in his chest. He mustn't react. He mustn't allow himself to feel anything at such a simple touch.

He was no ordinary man, nor did he have the right to yearn for things beyond his duty. His life was devoted to the protection of the princess, his loyalty unwavering, his existence reduced to being her guardian.

And yet, as the princess walked away with a satisfied smile, Damian reached up to her hair, barely brushing the small flower that now rested among her locks.

Damian stood up with the same precision with which he would draw his sword: without hesitation, without hesitation. The princess had already returned to her flower gathering, moving through the bushes and vines with a natural grace, as if the world around her existed only for her to explore.

He must not be distracted. He must not let his guard down. But her hand remained at his side, her fingers barely brushing the handle of his sword… and the phantom sensation of that flower in her hair.

“Why do you always have such a serious expression, Damian?” the princess asked suddenly without turning, as if she had read his thoughts.

It took him a moment to answer.

“It is my duty to be alert for any threat, Your Highness.”

She sighed and turned to him with a flower in her hand. One more.

“Even here? In our own garden, surrounded by castle walls, with guards at every corner.” Even here you worry?

Damian held her gaze. It wasn't the first time they'd talked about this, but it wouldn't be the last, either.

"Especially here," he said, with the certainty of someone who'd lived through too many betrayals.

The princess watched him for a moment longer, as if trying to find a crack in his armor. Then, with the same gentleness with which she gathered her flowers, she came closer again. Damian already knew what was coming, but he still felt a pang of something he couldn't name when she reached out and touched his hair again.

"So, if you're always so tense, I'll have to remind you that there are beautiful things even in the midst of danger," she said with a soft smile.

Damian felt the light pressure of another flower placed next to the first. And then, as if it were a sacred ritual, the brush of her lips on the top of his head.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. But something in his chest twisted, something that had nothing to do with obligation or loyalty. Something that shouldn't be there.

And yet, when the princess walked away again, he let his fingers brush through her hair once more, making sure the flowers were still there.

Just for an instant. Just to make sure.

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

The Sage of Truth's heart is driven by the beat of curiosity, so he is used to questions and mysteries catching his fancy with all the ease of a match to a forest. They light a passion that burn him through investigation and calculation straight down to the slow embers of an answer or lack thereof, and even then the warmth of his newfound knowledge sparks a need to share what he has discovered with as many Cookies as possible. The affect that this zest for knowledge has on him is, in itself, an unshakeable Truth.

Despite all this, the Sage can still readily admit that nothing, no question or riddle or impossible formula, has ever captivated him as much as the Truthless Recluse.

The Truthless Recluse has always been a minor fascination of his, from the moment he had first heard of him, but that hadn't bloomed into anything signficant until he had the pleasure of meeting him at the square. The Recluse was both a delightfully complex and undeniably simple Cookie, easy for him to understand yet layered in contradictions.

The Truthless Recluse, whose life purpose is dedicated to his own Truth of protecting Cookies from the cruelty of Truth. A living, breathing riddle.

The Sage had intially nurtured a newborn hope that they would cross paths again in the square, and he had fallen into the habit of searching the crowds that flocked to his lectures for a glimpse of those dark robes, that gloomy aura, but alas! Of course, the Recluse would not grant him that honour more than once.

Eventually, the Sage accepted that if he hoped for another meeting, he would have to approach the Recluse himself. The thought did little to dissuade him, as he was rather experienced in chasing after his own flights of philosophical fancy.

So here he is, making the trek up to the Peak of Truth with only the pale moon to accompany him.

The Sage is confident in his path, and finds the journey itself pleasant overall. It may have been quite a while since he was last here, but he did once hail from this peak himself, long before the Recluse slunk and settled in. As such, he remembers the best routes to take, and has little difficult navigating in the encroaching dark.

He is just past halfway up when a silhouette emerges from the shadows, solemn and blurring together with the rest of their dim surroundings. The Sage's heart, driven by curiosity, doubles its beat, pounding excitedly in his chest.

"Who dares to–" The Recluse asks, voice low and gravelly in an attempt to intimidate, but he stops abruptly, narrowing his eyes at the Sage. "You."

"Yes, yes, it's just me." The Sage smiles, undeterred by the less than warm welcome, doing a little flourished bow before hopping back up into an upright position. "I know it is awfully late for a visit, my friend, but you see–"

"Don't call me that." The Recluse interrupts, somewhat rudely, but the Sage's interest in him allows him to let it go with little fuss. "We are not friends."

"Whyever not?" The Sage asks easily, tilting his head. "Are we not both Cookies, living in accordance to our own personal Truths, just like every other? You know, even a Cookie who does nothing but lie and cheat still has the Truth of their affinity for deception as a central pillar in their life."

"You said something similar already, at the square." The Recluse mutters, his gaze cold and heavy. The Sage welcomes it without a shiver. "About me living by a personal Truth."

"And am I wrong?" The Sage questions back, raising an eyebrow. He is genuinely interested to see if the Recluse can make any sort of substanial refutation.

But the Recluse simply presses his lips together in frustration and glances away. The Sage feels both a curl of satisfaction at his silently begrudging acceptance of his point and a chill of disappointment at the lack of an attempted counter.

His disappointment does not have to last long, as the Recluse returns his piercing gaze to him to make a point of his own. "If every Cookie's life relies on a personal Truth, then Life is just as cruel as Truth." The many eyes on the Recluse's mutated staff blink sluggishly, accusingly, their irises catching the thin moonlight in muddy ripples. "That does not show me any proof that we are friends. Which we are not."

"I only meant that there is nothing to stop us from being friends." The Sage clarifies, though he feels like he was quite clear the first time. "And I have never denied the complexities and, indeed, cruelties of Truth and Life alike. As I have told you before, Truth is imperfect, and I embrace that. You, however, seem to be unable to see past these complexities to accept the positives that Truth brings to the world too."

The Recluse seems unhappy with that, his hand tightening its grip around his staff and his frown deepening. "Did you come here only to give me a lecture?" He snaps, voice soft and brittle. "If I wanted to hear this, I would go to the square you insist on occupying."

"Did you not try to do the same to me, on your single visit to the square?" The Sage asks playfully with a growing grin, paying close attention to the way the Recluse stiffens. He laughs lightly. "Ah, don't think of this as a lecture, please. It's only meant to be a conversation. To be frank, I quite enjoyed our brief exchange back at the square, so I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you again. You seem like you would make a particularly interesting debate partner."

The Recluse huffs, shaking his head. "I have no interest in talking to you any further. This much was already bad enough."

With that, he turns away and tries to slink back into the shadows.

"Surely you aren't completely opposed?" The Sage argues, summoning a brilliant ball of light in his palm and rushing over to the Recluse's side, refusing to let him leave now. "If you were, you wouldn't have been willing to initiate our acquaintanceship first. You were the one responsible for that, when you visited the square."

The Recluse stops walking as the conjured light falls on his shoulders, reeling away and twisting around to glare at the Sage. The reflected light makes his dull eyes seem brighter, almost beautifully so. "I did that solely to stop you from sending dozens to their inevitable ruin by exposing them to the path of Truth." He hisses stubbornly. "If I had known it would be useless, and if I had known you would come chasing after me, I would have stayed far away."

"It is very easy to say that in retrospect, but you can't prove that to be true." The Sage points out with a shrug. "Unfortunately, my heart is rather set on this possible friendship of ours, so I'm afraid the matter is out of your hands now. You're stuck with me!"

The Recluse's expression closes in on itself, returning to a blank slate as he abruptly turns and begins to march off again. The Sage realises immediately that the Recluse hopes to discourage him by ignoring him and carrying on, but the Sage eagerly rises to the challenge.

He falls into step beside him, and the two of them walk together in silence, the Sage's light spilling like a pool of honey around them. The Sage watches the Recluse out of the corner of his eye, as the Recluse resolutely faces forward, acting as if he doesn't exist.

Eventually, the Sage's persistence pays off.

As they are approaching the summit, the Recluse comes to another stop, so sudden that the Sage almost walks into him. The Recluse does not turn back to look at him as he says quietly into the air, "Friendship is ultimately meaningless."

His voice is bitter, heavy with a sense of mourning. The Sage hums in consideration, rounding the Recluse to meet his face, raising his summoned light to envelope the surrounding area in a glow.

"What an intruigingly nihilistic statement!" He declares brightly, clapping his hands together. "It would make a riveting debate topic, if you'd entertain me for just an hour or two. Unless, of course, you worry your Truth will not be able to withstand mine?" The Sage rocks forwards on the balls of his feet, his smile a polite taunt. "After all, not all Truths are made equal. Some are stronger than others."

The Recluse glares at him again, though this time, it is weakened slightly by the growing resignation beginning to creep across his features. "You won't give this up, will you?"

"Of course not!" The Sage grins, hopeful that he seems to be slowly getting through to him. "Giving up is never the best option, you know."

The Recluse scoffs, raising his staff as dark wisps begin to swirl menacingly around it. "Not even if I decide to make you leave me alone by force?"

"Not even then!" The Sage chuckles, folding his arms behind his back as he squints his eyes at the Recluse. "Haven't you heard of me before? I can find an answer to anything and you," he takes a modest step closer, his eyes glittering with delight, "are my latest enigma."

The Recluse stares at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, which only makes the Sage wish to study it further. Finally, the Recluse sighs heavily, the dark energy accumulating around his staff dissipating in an instant.

"Fine." He murmurs, barely a whisper as he continues walking. The Sage lights up, his summoned light flaring along with him, and, taking it as an invitation, he follows after the Recluse to the rhythm of his achingly curious heart.

[dismalflo]

hiii! love your poly! marauders fic, love how you write them

i wanted to request a poly! marauders x reader where the r gets into an argument with their family and the boys comfort r? or anything else poly!marauders

ily

hi anon! hope you enjoy!! <3 i liked writing this one but struggled a little bit with the ending.

poly!marauders x reader who has a frustrating call with their mother ✩ 1k words

cw: modern au, hurt/comfort, reader has a complicated relationship with their mum

The boys are exactly as they were when you left to answer your phone. James and Sirius are a tangle of limbs, giggling and curled up on the big sofa, their laughter filling the air. Remus sits on the loveseat, scrolling through the movie catalog on the TV, your blanket draped over his lap, waiting for your return.

“Everything alright, poppet?” Sirius asks, concern flickering in his eyes. You hate that it’s Sirius who asks—if anyone understands a difficult family, even if this isn't the same, it’s him. He seems to see straight through you.

“Yeah, all good, Siri,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes as you sit down beside Remus. You tuck your legs underneath you, a stiffness in your posture that betrays you. You think you’ve managed to avoid the conversation, convinced you won’t have to talk about your mum and the hurtful things she said.

You miss the way the boys are exchanging looks with each other, able to read you like a book. They're having a conversation made up entirely of facial expressions. They’re all looking at you with concern, even as you focus on the TV, biting your lip, lost in thought.

It’s Remus who breaks the quiet. “Stop biting your lip, dovey,” he murmurs gently. “You’ll make yourself bleed.” He takes a breath, as if steeling himself. “What was that about?”

You sigh, your gaze falling to your lap as you absently twist your fingers together. “Oh, it was just my parents asking me to visit,” you mumble, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You look so sad though, gorgeous” it's James' heartbroken tone that makes your head snap up. 

His expression is equally as sad as his tone, it makes your heart squeeze. When you make eye contact with the boy, you flush and you know you're caught.

“Well she asked me to come home and i was trying to explain that I couldn't just drop everything i have going on here but i would when I can” you pause for a breath, “she just kept interrupting and the she… she”

The words get stuck in your throat as tears fill your eyes, you look at each boy and see they're all sat at attention now, looking doubly concerned for you. Remus moves his hand to sweep over your back in soothing motions, encouraging you to keep talking. 

“She called me a useless disappointment,” you whisper, voice cracking. “She said she didn’t know what happened to me, where she went so wrong.” The tears are flowing freely now, and you can’t stop them.

There's a sharp breath from Remus next to you, as if he's feeling your pain for you, before he pulls you into his chest, his arms circling around you protectively. James is quick to follow his lead, sitting next to you both and stroking your leg soothingly.

“Well, fuck her,” Sirius says, standing abruptly, his voice low but fiery. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Sirius…” James hisses, his expression warning. He knows you don’t want to hear curses aimed at your mother.

Sirius immediately softens, crouching down in front of you. “Sorry, doll,” he says, his voice gentler now. “What I mean is… you’re the most incredible person I– any of us have met. If she doesn’t see that, it’s her loss.”

You swallow thickly, still feeling the sting of the words. But as you meet Sirius’ eyes, something in you starts to soften. His words are genuine, no hint of sarcasm or condescension—just the truth, and that makes your heart ache in a way you're not quite prepared for.

“That's what you all think?” you ask.

"Of course," Remus says softly, pulling you just a little closer in his arms, "you’re everything we could ever ask for, dove."

James’ hand finds yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You are not a disappointment," he says firmly, his voice low but filled with conviction. “You’re perfect.”

The warmth of their words wraps around you like a soft, comforting blanket, but the ache still lingers in your chest. You swallow hard, trying to push the lump in your throat away, but it’s a losing battle.

“You really mean that?” Your voice comes out small, unsure, as though you need their validation more than you care to admit.

James’s grip on your hand tightens, a reassuring pressure that makes you feel anchored in the moment. He’s looking at you with that soft, earnest look and his eyes are filled with astounding sincerity.

"Absolutely," he affirms, his voice steady.

Sirius is still crouched in front of you, his face a mix of concern and something fiercer, something protective. He lifts a hand, reaching out to cup your cheek, wiping away the stray tears that have continued to fall. "She’s wrong, doll." he sounds desperate now, “I promise you, she's wrong.”

You let out a shaky breath, and for the first time since the call, you find yourself able to smile—small, but genuine. It feels like a relief.

"Thank you," you whisper, voice trembling but grateful.

 Sirius smiles softly at you, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. "Anytime, doll.”

The ache in your chest starts to fade as you take in the soft smiles of the three of them, their eyes all focused solely on you. You let out a long, steadying breath and snuggle closer to Remus, who gives you a reassuring squeeze.

When Sirius moves, ready to go back to the big sofa, confident that you’re well taken care of, you reach out to stop him, a gentle hand on his wrist.

“Can we all sit together? Just for a bit?” you ask, your voice a little bashful, a touch of insecurity creeping in.

Sirius smiles that soft, affectionate smile of his. “Of course we can, poppet.” Without missing a beat, he plops down into James’s lap. James huffs in mock exasperation, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

The quiet of the living room, cuddled up with the boys, feels safe. And for the first time since the start of that call, you allow yourself to relax, to lean into them, and let the weight of the world drift away, if only for a moment.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! i appreciate any feedback <3

[spiderb00bs]

- Breakfast denial

Sophie Thatcher x reader

"With your girlfriend by your side, it's very difficult to be interested in anything else"

Genre - Fluff warnings - none

Now playing - Moonlight, by Dhruv

The light coming through the windows made Sophie's eyes open. The blue-eyed woman's body moving almost involuntarily, facing you. Sophie couldn't believe all she had accomplished over the years. Her career was taking off, she had a wonderful life, and she had you by her side. Nothing could get her mad.

Letting out a small smile, Sophie watched your sleeping form with a loving gaze. She would never tire of admiring you, your peaceful eyes, your calm breathing, how you snored, making funny little sounds in your sleep. God, she loves you.

"It's ugly to look at, Thatcher." You said, scaring your girlfriend a little. "And it's also pretty scary."

Finally opening your eyes, you saw your girlfriend's beautiful face. Her bright eyes, her perfect nose, her inviting lips. You loved waking up next to her every day.

"I was just admiring..." Sophie said, stretching her body and crawling closer to you.

"Nah, you're just weird." Opening your arms, you laughed as Sophie settled into your chest, patting your abdomen for the joke. "How did you sleep, Miss Aggressive?"

Rolling her eyes, Sophie laughed lightly, drawing random shapes on your chest. "I slept very well, thank you. And you, Miss Sensitive?"

"Oh, I slept so well..." You said, taking Sophie off your chest and taking her hands in yours, only to pin her hands above her head. "Especially knowing that I would wake up next to such a beautiful girl!"

Suddenly, you attacked, blowing on your girlfriend's belly, making the sound echo through the room, along with Sophie's loud laughter.

"YN! LET ME GO!" Sophie said between laughs, trying to free herself from your hands.

"Then tell me what I want to hear!" You said, a big smile on your face as you still held the girl.

"NO!" Sophie said struggling, finally managing to get you to let go of her.

In one swift movement, Sophie climbed on top of you, and with one leg on each side she leaned close to your lips. "You're going to make breakfast today! I'm not going back on it!"

"For you I'll do anything."

Seeing your loving gaze, Sophie rolled her eyes playfully, letting out a little giggle before giving you a peck on the lips. "Shut up."

Without giving you a chance to respond, Sophie pressed her lips to yours, making you relax completely into the kiss. Her hands dragged through your hair, combing it back. Your hands went straight to her hips, lightly digging your fingertips into her skin.

"I love you." You said as soon as your mouths separated.

"I love you too." Your girlfriend said, leaving another peck on your lips. "But you're still making breakfast."

I can't believe I forgot to put my Boo on the actress masterlist 😭😭😭

I love Sophie so much, and before coming to college today, I watched Companion, and guess what? I fell in love even more.

I did this really quickly in the middle of class, so please forgive me if there are any spelling mistakes.

stay safe,

xoxo, spider.

[starkeyswomen]

❥ LOVER ━━━━━ JOE BURROW

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.3k

: ̗̀➛ warnings: pure fluff

: ̗̀➛ noor speaks: i had a week off from school so i wrote this😋 (even tho i lowk hate it) anyways really want some in n out. reader and joe met at lsu; hope you guys enjoy!!!

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

december 2022

the scent of the road trip still lingers as you and joe step through the front door after spending christmas with his family in athens.

as you both enter through the garage door, you’re met with the soft glow of christmas lights still twinkling from every corner. the tree stands proudly in the corner, wrapped in its array of ornaments and twinkling lights, the stockings hanging on the fireplace. the garlands and wreaths are all still up, some of them fading a little from being up for weeks, but it’s all so festive and cozy.

you and joe share a glance, both of you silently acknowledging the holiday decor. neither of you says a word for a moment, but the sight of it feels almost surreal after the quiet, slower pace of the holiday with his family. you both walk past it, heading straight for the bedroom, both of you eager to unwind after the long trip.

the door closes softly behind you, and the noise from the world outside fades away. you kick off your shoes and throw yourself onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a deep sigh. joe joins you a moment later, settling next to you on the mattress.

-

it’s now december 29th, a couple of days later, and as you’re lying on the couch, you glance at the christmas lights still twinkling in the living room, feeling the weight of the holiday finally starting to lift.

“you know,” you say, shifting your position on the couch, “we should really take all of this down. i mean, it’s a little late, right?”

joe, who’s sitting with his head resting against the back of the couch, gives you a lazy smile and a shrug. “we might as well leave them up ’til january.”

you give him a look, amused at his casual response. “really? january?”

he looks at you, eyebrows raised, his lips curling into a playful grin. “why not? it’s our place, no parents around to tell us what to do. we can make the rules, baby.” he pulls you closer with a lazy arm, draping it over your shoulder as he cuddles you into his side.

you sigh, rolling your eyes but not resisting as you settle into his embrace. “i guess the christmas decor stays up then,” you say, half-amused, half-resigned. there was no arguing with joe when he got like this—playful, determined, and utterly charming.

he hums in satisfaction, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your arm as he gazes down at you. then, his voice softens, and there’s a seriousness to it that makes you glance up at him.

“you know,” he starts, his voice almost quiet, “i’ve only known you for like... four years now.”

you raise an eyebrow, feeling a soft smile tug at your lips. “and?”

he shifts his position slightly so he’s looking at you more directly, his eyes searching yours. “i can’t even remember what my life was like before you,” he says with a quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

your smile deepens, and you sit up a little more, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

joe doesn’t hesitate. his eyes soften as he leans forward, his lips brushing against your forehead before he looks down at you with that familiar warmth. “oh, it’s a very good thing,” he says, his voice low and earnest, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

before you can respond, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, warm and slow, like he has all the time in the world for you. you melt into it, feeling the gentle press of his lips against yours, the faint taste of his cologne still lingering on your skin. the kiss deepens, and you feel his hands move gently beneath your hoodie, tracing the smoothness of your skin as he pulls you even closer.

"very good thing," he murmurs quietly against your lips, his hands now resting at the small of your back as he slowly pulls you even closer. his fingers slip under the edge of your hoodie, sending a shiver down your spine as he gently caresses your back.

your breath catches as his lips move from yours, trailing kisses down your neck, his lips soft but sure against your skin. his touch is tender, but there’s an undeniable hunger to it, as if he can’t get enough of you. you tilt your head back slightly, allowing him more room, your body instinctively leaning into his touch.

joe’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks, his breath warm against your skin. “i don’t ever want to forget what it was like before you came into my life,” he murmurs, his hands continuing their gentle exploration of your skin, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

and in that soft, quiet space, with the christmas lights still twinkling in the distance and the world outside fading away, you know that everything is just right.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

january 2023

it was the first monday after new year’s, and you were determined to start the year on the right foot. you stood in the kitchen, filling up your water bottle as you got ready to head out for your morning pilates class. the january sun streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow in the kitchen, the air still crisp from winter. dressed in an alo pink set, your hair pulled into a high ponytail, you adjusted your grip on your bottle as you filled it and checked the time. after filling up your bottle, you went and grabbed a glass from the cabinet so you could also drink some water before leaving.

most days, you worked from home, so you tried your best to stay active, making pilates part of your routine. it helped clear your mind—and, if you were being honest, you loved the way it made you feel.

the sound of feet padding into the kitchen broke the quiet hum of the house. you glanced over your shoulder to see joe, still in his sweats, lazily searching for something to eat. his hair was a mess, evidence that he had just rolled out of bed, but there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. a slow smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned against the fridge next to you.

“where are you going?” he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and amusement.

you take a sip of your water, walking to stand next to the sink, grinning at him as you playfully drag out the answer. “pilates,” you say casually, still not quite looking at him, trying to hide the smile that’s tugging at the corners of your mouth. you finish drinking your water, then turn around to put the glass in the sink.

joe’s eyes widen slightly, and without skipping a beat, he walks over to you, standing behind you. “can i go?” he asks, his voice light but sincere.

you turn to face him, your eyes full of disbelief. you can’t help but laugh as you stare up at him. “you, joseph lee burrow, wanna go to pilates?” you tease, a playful glint in your eye.

joe doesn’t falter. he shrugs nonchalantly, a grin tugging at his lips. “yeah. i always wanna go where you go.”

he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind. you lean back into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. his breath is soft against your ear as he murmurs, “i always wanna be close with you.”

you can’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up from deep within as you feel his arms tighten around you.

-

later, as you both climbed into the car after the class, you bit back a laugh, watching joe run a hand through his sweaty hair, still catching his breath.

“how the fuck do you do this almost every day, baby?” he muttered, leaning his head against the seat, his chest still rising and falling a little heavier than usual. he turned his head toward you, eyes filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. “i thought football was hard, but this… this is on another level.”

you glanced at him, smirking. “so much for being a football player, huh?” you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

joe exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “i might stick to football from now on.” but the way he looked at you—like he’d do

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

later that week on friday, ja'marr and your best friend, emma had decided to come over.

the night had started off innocently enough—board games, pizza, a few rounds of playful bickering over who was cheating at uno. you’d spent the first half of the evening curled up next to joe on the couch, watching as ja’marr and emma teamed up in monopoly, taking the game way too seriously.

then, somewhere between trading properties and fighting over who got to be the banker, the unopened bottle of tequila on the counter became the center of attention. and that’s when everything started to spiral.

at first, it was just ja’marr taking a shot after landing on boardwalk with emma grinning beside him, egging him on. then emma took one for “moral support.” soon enough, losing a round of uno became a drinking penalty, and suddenly, the game night turned into something else entirely.

you had opted out, choosing to stay sober, and joe—being joe—only had a drink or two before shaking his head at ja’marr and emma’s antics. now, a while later, the two of them were sprawled out on the couch, laughing at things that weren’t even remotely funny, completely out of it.

you and joe exchanged a glance from across the room, trying not to laugh.

“welp,” joe muttered, picking up an almost-empty bottle of tequila from the floor, giving it a scrutinizing look. “i don’t even wanna go near ja’marr. he stinks.”

he stood up, shaking his head, and made his way toward the kitchen. you followed, both of you leaving the chaos of the living room behind.

from the couch, ja’marr groggily lifted his head. “hey—I heard that, burrow!” he slurred, blinking blearily.

emma, her head resting against the back of the couch, giggled uncontrollably. “he’s right, though,” she said, playfully nudging ja’marr’s shoulder before promptly dozing off.

you sighed, shaking your head as you pulled a blanket over her. “guess they can crash here tonight,” you murmured before stepping away, leaving them to their inevitable hangovers in the morning.

the living room, once filled with loud voices and laughter, had quieted to a soft hum of breathing and the occasional sound of ja’marr shifting in his sleep.

you turned toward the kitchen, where joe leaned against the counter, the cold marble pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt. he stood there for a moment, just watching you, his blue eyes steady and unreadable.

then, out of nowhere, he murmured, “you have a very pretty neck.”

you blinked at him, caught completely off guard. “uh… thanks, joey?” you said, tilting your head slightly in amusement.

he pushed off the counter and took a step closer, reaching up to cup your face with both hands, his touch warm against your skin. his fingers gently tilted your chin up, and his eyes traced over the curve of your neck with quiet curiosity, as if seeing it for the first time.

your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected intimacy. you swallowed, your hands instinctively wrapping around his wrists. “you have a very pretty neck too,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

joe huffed out a quiet laugh, his thumbs stroking lightly against your jaw. “thanks,” he said, the amusement clear in his voice.

you let your fingers trail over his forearm, your touch light and playful. “you know,” you mused, “i’m highly suspicious that not all your fangirls know you’re spoken for.”

joe raised a brow, intrigued. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you gave him a knowing look. “you know exactly what that means.”

at that, joe let out a deep laugh, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his body shook with amusement. his breath fanned over your collarbone, warm and familiar, as he tried to compose himself.

you grinned, tracing absentminded patterns against the back of his hands. “i need to start marking my territory,” you teased.

joe lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your shoulder as he smirked. “i’m pretty sure all of my ‘fangirls’”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“know i’m spoken for. if anything, they love you more than me.”

your eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “really?”

joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his voice low and certain. “really.”

you stared at him for a moment, taking in the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his hands never stopped moving—thumbs ghosting over your jawline, fingertips pressing the smallest bit tighter like he wanted to commit this moment to memory.

it was one of those rare quiet moments, the kind where time seemed to slow down just enough for you to feel every single thing—the warmth of his touch, the slight rasp in his voice, the way he exhaled so softly like he was afraid to break the moment.

before you could say anything else, a loud thump from the living room shattered the silence.

both of you turned toward the noise, your heads snapping in the direction of the couch. a second later, there was a groggy, confused groan.

joe sighed, already exasperated. “i swear to god…”

you stifled a laugh as you peeked into the living room. ja’marr, in his half-asleep state, had knocked over a lamp while trying to roll onto his side. the lamp wobbled precariously before finally falling over with a dull thud.

joe ran a hand down his face. “i guess we’re not getting any more alone time tonight,” he muttered.

you laughed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “it’s okay,” you teased. “we can make up for it later.”

joe smirked, his grip on your waist tightening briefly. “damn straight.”

with that, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “c’mon,” he said, tugging you toward the living room. “let’s make sure those two don’t burn down the place while we’re cleaning up.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

the reception hall was glowing, soft golden lights casting a warm ambiance over the room. laughter and music filled the air, blending with the clinking of glasses and the shuffle of feet on the dance floor. you had just finished catching up with the bride—one of your college friends, lauren—congratulating her and her husband, connor, before making your way back to your seat.

as you approached, you could feel joe’s eyes on you, burning with admiration.

you had chosen a gorgeous dress for the occasion: a light pink number that hugged your figure perfectly, flowing just enough to give it an effortless elegance. every time you turned your head to look at joe, his eyes widened, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

you gave him a look, trying to keep your composure. “what?” you mouthed silently, but you could already tell from his smirk what he was thinking.

joe leaned in, his lips brushing your ear just as you sat down next to him. his voice was low and smooth, his words teasing and dirty. “god, you’re so stunning tonight. if i didn’t know better, i’d say i’m the luckiest guy in the room,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

you rolled your eyes playfully but smiled. “did you go talk to connor already?” you asked, referencing the groom, joe’s lsu teammate, whose wedding it was.

joe barely hesitated. “of course, i did,” he said confidently.

you glanced over at ja'marr, who was sitting next to joe. the second your eyes met, he suddenly avoided eye contact, looking anywhere but at you.

“go now,” you said, giving joe a knowing look.

joe sighed, leaning back in his chair. “is it a crime that i just want to compliment my girlfriend?” he asked, smirking.

you couldn’t help but smile, placing a hand on his cheek and rubbing it softly. “of course not,” you murmured. “but i just went and talked to lauren, and connor was asking where you were.”

joe groaned, knowing he was caught. “alright, alright. i’ll go.”

you grinned, watching as he reluctantly got up, shaking his head as he walked off toward connor. ja'marr let out a quiet chuckle, finally daring to look at you again.

“man’s got it bad,” he muttered, and you just laughed, sipping your drink as you watched joe go.

soon after joe returned, he was back to whispering something filthy into your ear every time you turned to look at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. the attention was flattering, of course, but you were trying so hard to ignore it.

every subtle brush of his hand, every lingering glance, every quiet chuckle in your ear—it was like he was determined to keep you flustered. and it was working.

eventually, you decided to take a breather, standing up to go catch up with some of your friends at the bar. as you walked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, like a magnetic pull, and you tried not to let the heat creep up your neck.

the bar was lined with guests chatting and laughing, drinks in hand, the atmosphere buzzing with warmth and celebration. you leaned against the counter, ordering a cocktail as you fell into conversation with a few familiar faces, the occasional burst of laughter spilling from your lips.

despite the distraction, you felt it—joe’s presence, even from across the room.

when you returned a few minutes later, the scene in front of you was a bit of a shock. ja'marr had taken your seat—your spot next to joe—leaving you standing awkwardly.

joe, a bit tipsy and clearly pleased with himself, looked up at you with a grin. “don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice slightly slurred, “i saved you a seat.” he patted his lap, the gesture both sweet and possessive.

you gave him an incredulous look, but he didn’t seem to mind, instead pulling you toward him by your hips with a soft chuckle. “come on, don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

you bit back a laugh and let him guide you down into his lap, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you. he seemed satisfied with his plan, his hand resting comfortably on your side.

and just like that, with the music still playing softly around you and the laughter of friends and family filling the room, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be: beside joe, his hand on your hip, sharing private jokes and moments like no one else existed. you didn’t need to be anywhere else. you didn’t need anything else.

it was just you and your lover.