#i think it's the right kind of shake up i need to really get back into it

[cyber333angel]

CLARK KENT X SWEETHEART!READER <33

a/n : this is pure smut yap as usual, clarks kind of submissive in this, a dash of dubcon but not really.. that’s all 😋

it started off slow, a nice dinner at your place with a movie that clark had so kindly recommended himself, then some kisses on the sofa with the TV still playing.

next thing you know your panties are pulled to the side and clarks on top of you with his muscular arms holding him above you, hesitantly but needlessly kissing at your plush lips. you moan into the kiss as you feel his bulge pressing against your cunt just waiting to be released from the fabric. you giggle when his glasses press at your forehead, his weary face apologizing when he realizes how clumsy and impatient he’s acting. “sorry- i guess im a little nervous..” you smile softly to assure him it was a silly accident, pulling clark even closer when he places his glasses on the coffee table. “its okay, i was nervous before you came here too..” and that’s all it took to ease him down in front of the girl he really liked, “really?” he asked for more reassurance and you were more then welcome to assure him again. “yes of course! clark i really like you..”

somehow in between that small but meaningful conversation something changed with you and clark, he seemed more sure of himself and even more sure on how to please you.

now you were in his lap wailing as you rode on top, holding onto clarks neck for balance and assurance. he was just so deep into you and hearing his faint pants and whimpers only made you even more wet, you get up from the crater of his neck to look at him more closely and he is a wreck. even more than you. the look on his face made you involuntarily whine, he looked so cute and overwhelmed from all your bouncing and grinding on him. with his bushy brows all furrowed and the most docile eyes, just waiting to cum and your tight cunt squeezing around him wasn’t helping. “please keep going-just a little more please..” his breath hitches out and you were more than willing to comply, going back to bucking your hips onto his dick with pleads similar to his and failing to keep your lips off his. feeling the tip of his cock reach too deep into you and touch your cervix, your back arches and you hiss at the stretch, “shit..” you hear as a whisper from the man im front of you, large hands clasping onto the globes of your ass even harsher. “s’too big-just wait clark..”

“i know nd im s-sorry, just feels so good..” and there’s no way you could have sensed that complete disregard of your pleads over his face of submission, a gasp being pulled from you when clarks suddenly plowing into you. his strong arms holding your waist down as he pushes you completely on his dick, up and down as you take all of his veiny length.

you can’t even make up a complete sentence with the pace he’s going at, showing out his unforgiving strength with each thrust. your mind starts going dumb and all you feel is full and, “so’good..” you whimper out. nails scratching and digging into the flesh of clarks back as he babbles on right back to you. “need y-you so bad..” and “taking me so good angel..” the absolute mess that was created between the two of your legs didn’t go unnoticed, the echoing of skin slapping against each other overshadowed the volume of the TV, only moans and squelchs of your mixed pleasure.

not long after you feel a quiver in your stomach along with a fullness in your tummy, picking up your head from clarks chest to look down at him, holding his face in your hands. “think m’gonna c-cum..” you tell him, his pace slowing down but still just as rough. “yeah? please cum for me, need to feel it..” you place your hands on his shoulders as clark grinds you down on his lap with ease, both of you panting as reach your release and cum. your legs shaking when you feel the ropes of cum shoot into your pulsing hole and your sensitive clit rub against clarks abdomen. you would have never guessed the cute clumsy nerd with glasses at work would fuck you like this but you did know you would never find someone like him.

and when the two of you were done, sleeping in each others arms you couldn’t stop wondering.. with his glasses off and his hair all sweaty, your boyfriend kinda looks like that superman guy you keep seeing on TV.

[cheolaholic]

ring of love; csc (09)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

chapter warnings: stalking, creep behaviour, reader receives an inappropriate package, mentions of Richard Ramirez, mentions of a threesome.

a/n;; AND WE ARE BACK TO UPLOADING BABY!! Have an early Christmas Gift <33

Something feels… off – that was the best way you could put it. A few months have passed since you started your part-time job at the cafe, but you can’t help but shake off a sense of uneasiness. You couldn’t really put a finger on it, but it’s as though someone was watching you; maybe even following you.

You feel a pair of eyes wherever you go around campus, sometimes even up to the front door of your apartment’s main entrance. It can’t have been Seungcheol or either of the boys because while Mingyu and Vernon had done an absolute shit job at “keeping a close eye” on you; you knew they would never go to such lengths to cause you such discomfort.

“Nonnie?”

“‘Sup?”

You were both sitting in the cafeteria with Vernon halfway through his food while you were poking at the sad excuse of a meatloaf. “What would you do if you felt as though someone is following you everywhere?” Vernon’s ears perked at the implication that you may be dealing with a stalker, becoming alert as he gave you his attention. “Have you seen the guy?” he asked, growing worried when you shook your head.

“When did it start?”

You shift a little in your seat, “I don’t know… Maybe a few weeks after getting that job at the cafe?”

Vernon frowns. He knew you were pretty, hell, that was the reason why several boys from his major came up to him to try and get your number. He’d always reject, saying that he wasn’t comfortable giving out your number so easily; or that if they wanted your number, they should grow a pair of balls and ask you themselves. But, he’d never think that someone would go as far as stalking you.

“Have you told Seungcheol about this?”

“He… He’s still avoiding me…” you mutter sadly, “I mean, yeah, he does reply to my texts and he even gave me the study materials I needed for my exams; but… y’know, he’s still being avoidant…”

‘Damn… It’s been months and he’s still hung up on that wet dream.’

“But, he should at least know this is going on, right?”

You shake your head again. You recall the many times Seungcheol has gotten you out of trouble, or gotten himself into trouble for you while growing up. While he brushes it off as something he’d do for you in a heartbeat, you can’t help but feel as though you were burdening him. You remembered there was one time you had accidentally broken one of his mother’s China, you were maybe 10 years-old?

Your parents had gone on a short business trip to New York and thus, you stayed with the Chois. You had accidentally bumped into a chair and the plate fell out of your grasp. Seungcheol took the blame for you, telling his parents he wasn’t looking when he set the table. He had gotten an earful from his parents, telling him he should’ve been more careful because the broken shards could’ve hurt you.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Cheollie? I-It was my fault, why are you–”

“I know, pup. But, whatever trouble you might get in, I’ll always bail you out, yeah?”

“But–”

“No ‘buts’, pup. I’ll protect you no matter how big or small the mess is.”

“Look, ___, I don’t know what’s making you think you’re a liability,” Vernon pauses to take a sip of his orange juice, “Because based on my observation, Jesus, I sound like Wonwoo hyung now… But, based on my observation, he’s more than willing to do anything for you. Study materials, late night snacks, emergency pad runs – he never says no to you.”

When you suggest that he may be doing it because he feels a sense of responsibility towards you, that he’s spent a majority of his life looking out for you; thus he’s compelled to do so even when you’re an adult, Vernon dismisses it immediately. “Look, I’ve seen Seungcheol hyung with some of the girls he’s dated. Sure, he does the usual boyfriend duties but, I don’t think he’s ever been as doting on them as he is with you.”

You look back down at your uneaten cafeteria food, feeling your appetite leave the more you stare at it. “You aren’t a liability, ___. Cheol cares for you like you mean the world to him.” You sigh as you set the fork down, pushing the tray of food away from you. “Maybe I’ll tell him if things go too far… You know any good food spots that’s still affordable? The cafeteria food today is just… nasty… I don’t know how you managed to eat this?”

“Oh, you got the meatloaf surprise,” he answers and motions you to follow him, “I usually go for the chicken katsu or jjajangmyeon! Not the best, but they’re sure as hell better than the meatloaf.”

“Speaking from experience, I presume?”

“Girlie, I had the worst food poisoning in my entire life! Anyways, have you heard of this Open Mic the school’s planning to host?”

“This assignment requires you to work in pairs,” your professor announced, “And, I’ve done you all a favour by choosing your partners for you.”

The class groans, you included as you cross your fingers and beg the Academic Gods to give you a reliable partner. “I understand that you’d all don’t want to get paired with someone whose work ethic you aren’t familiar with, but believe me when I say that it wouldn’t kill you to work with others.”

You continue to chant your prayers quietly as she begins to read out the names. “Lee ___ and Lee Chan.”

You let out a sigh of relief. You’ve worked with Chan for a group project while you were both freshmen and you’ve mentally noted him as one of the more reliable classmates. Though, your course doesn’t require you to do much group projects so that freshmen project was the first and last time you’ve interacted with, until now that is. Chan gently knocks the empty desk space next to you to pull you out of your train of thought.

“___, right?” he asked, a big smile on his lips as he took a seat next to you, “We were in that one project two years ago, right?”

You let out a small laugh, “That’s me and yes, we were.”

“I’ve seen you around campus with Hansol and a few other seniors! You work at that cafe near campus too, right? How’s the job treating you?”

‘That’s… a lot of questions…’ you think to yourself. But, you politely answered his question anyway. You tell him how you never knew cafes put so much sugar in their drinks until you started working, leading you to order your drinks with less sugar. “The pastries are freshly baked, too! I don’t know where news or rumours of them being leftovers or stored overnight came from, but they aren’t.”

You notice how Chan leans in slightly, his eyes scanning your face.

“Y’know, you’re actually prettier up close.”

His statement… To say it weirded you out would be an understatement – you were creeped the fuck out. Could he be the guy that’s been giving you the heebie-jeebies as of late? You sure hope so, or maybe not. But, either way, you tried to brush off the anxiety that’s beginning to rise in your chest.

“T-Thanks…?”

Chan opens up his laptop, tapping on a few keys on the keyboard and moments later, you receive a small text from the chatroom of the platform your school uses. “I sent you a link to a Google Doc! We could just write out our parts and brainstorm how we can link them together once we’re done!”

You nod your head, clicking into the link.

“Do you live nearby, ___?”

“Mmm… No, I actually commute to school. Occasionally, Vernon would pick me up from Sujeong Central since it’s a five minute walk from my apartment.”

It takes you a moment to realise you’ve just exposed your residential address. When Chan asks if it’d be okay to go back to your place to discuss the assignment, you reject immediately. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude or harsh,” you explained, “I’m just uncomfortable with having people I’m not familiar or close with over at my house.”

The boy nods in understanding, muttering a small apology before turning his attention to the professor as she explains the assignment.

Mingyu and Wonwoo leaned against the former’s black 2022 Genesis G90. You were working your night shift and the group, excluding Seungcheol, have taken it amongst themselves to be your personal bodyguards. They’d drive you home if you’d work the night shift, wanting to make sure you actually got home safe and not having anyone trailing you.

“Any luck in finding out who this creep could be?” Mingyu asks, looking into the windows of the cafe and returns the small wave you gave him.

“So far, zero,” the older replies, “Whoever this creep is, they’re good at covering their tracks or not being caught.”

“Do you think they’re from our university?”

“Given the location of this cafe, I’d say yes. But, we also have to factor in the dodginess of her residential area.”

“Do you think we’d catch this guy? I honestly hate seeing ___ getting so worked up over this…”

“We just need more time.”

Lost in their conversation, the two men failed to notice you picking up a box on one of the cafe tables. There was a printed paper stuck on it, stating that it was a little gift addressed to you. You thought it was cute, a customer having a crush on their barista like in the movies or books you’ve read. But, when you opened it – it was far from a romantic gesture. Mingyu noticed you frozen in place, a look of fear on your face as you stared into the box in your hand.

Nudging Wonwoo, they entered the cafe and approached you to ask what was wrong. When the older male peeks into the box, he immediately grabs it to set it aside. “Do you remember who sat here?” he asks.

You shook your head. It had been a busy day and with the amount of customers coming in and out, the crowd just blended in together; and why would you remember the face of a random stranger?

Mingyu continues to comfort you as the older begin to examine the contents of the box – several pictures of you around campus and in the cafe were printed out, alongside a pair of… men’s underwear. ‘With men like these existing, it’s no wonder why women choose bears,’ he thinks to himself, remembering the hot internet debate a few months prior.

“Do you still want to go home?” he asks as closes the box, “I’ll hold onto these until we catch the bastard.”

When you shake your head, they suggest you stay over at their place for the time being. “Are you sure? I mean, that’s nice of you both to offer me that, but I don’t want to –”

“Mingyu hasn’t been bringing girls in since hell week of his semester started,” Wonwoo adds, allowing you to resume your closing shift, “He’s cleared up his schedule too, so you’re safe from hearing two or more models having sex.”

“And, what about you?” you questioned, “I remember Cheollie mentioning you both had a threesome before.”

The man only shrugs, “Only if I feel like it. I’m either studying, gaming or streaming the majority of the time.”

“Well… If it’s safer, then I suppose I’ll take you both up on that offer. But, I don’t have any spare clothes… Should I head back home to get them?”

Mingyu mentions some of the models he slept with left their undergarments and several clothes behind. “Some of them could be your size, plus you can keep them too!”

“Wouldn’t they want them back?”

“Nah, a lot of it has been sitting in my closet for years now.”

“And, they’re loaded – they could just buy another one.”

Given how many girls Mingyu would have over, it’s no surprise that their apartments would have feminine hygiene products. But, it does surprise you to see how expensive the products were. “Oh, a majority of the models I know and fool around with only use luxury or high class brands.”

“And you bought it just for them?”

“Believe me, ___,” Wonwoo hands you a cup of tea, “If Mingyu isn’t shoving his dick into every female model he finds attractive, he’d be a good boyfriend.”

They lead you into a spare room, letting you get comfortable before they start going over the details of the creep that’s been giving you trouble. “My bet is on that Lee Chan you’re partnered with,” Mingyu says as he takes a seat next to you on the bed, Wonwoo asking him why as he takes a seat on the empty gaming chair at the desk.

“I mean, if you think about it, he said you were much prettier up close; which is already creepy in and of itself. Plus, he asked if you lived nearby and if he could go back to your place to work on the assignment!”

“On one hand, that’s a fair point; but maybe the kid is just a loser in a cute boy’s body that doesn’t know how to talk to girls, too. He probably lacks some kind of social cues.”

“Are you defending a creep’s actions now, Woo?”

“Jesus, Mingyu, I’m only giving the kid the benefit of the doubt.”

When you tell them that it’s unlikely Chan is your stalker, Wonwoo is quick to end that train of thought. “___, I’m only giving Chan the benefit of the doubt. But, that doesn’t mean he’s off the hook just yet, considering the things he’s said to you.”

“But, he looks like a sweet guy!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Just because he looks like a sweet guy, doesn’t mean he’s actually a sweet guy.”

“Yeah, like that Night Stalker dude from L.A.,” Mingyu chimes in, “Think his name was Richard Ra… Ramuda? Ramida?”

“Richard Ramirez.”

“Yeah, him! Sure, he’s got some looks, but dude’s a literal murderer! Hell, I can’t believe people would want to bang him!”

“I mean… I would fuck ghostface if given the chance…” you mutter under your breath, getting a judgemental look from the model. Thankfully, Wonwoo justified your statement. “I’m with her on that ghostface statement. It’s a niche market or target audience, it has its appeal.”

“You’re both freaks, but at least that’s a fictional character. Moving on from both of your masked people's kinks, ___, I think it’s best you let Seungcheol know about this.”

You insisted on not telling Seungcheol, continuing with the whole not wanting to be a liability defence and that you were a big girl now; you can handle yourself just fine! No matter how hard the two men tried to persuade you, you wouldn’t budge. For a brief moment, Mingyu could’ve sworn he saw Seungcheol inside you because he too shared the same stubbornness. Realising they can’t get you to change your mind, the men gave up and bid you goodnight.

“You can stay here for as long as you’d like!” the model tells you, “Maybe, even forever!”

Wonwoo scoffs, “As if Seungcheol would let her.”

gamerwoo: hey hyung cheol: sup gamerwoo: ___ would kill me if she found out i told you this gamerwoo: but just a heads up gamerwoo: she’s got a stalker gamerwoo: will let you know when you need to step in

taglist (unable to tag a few ㅠㅠ)

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwooo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock @kwonhoeshi @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ru-lin @deobiforever @belladaises @cheoliekkuma @duskunt1ldawn @hyneyedfiz @marshmallowshouse @ak6ko @chwevernonlover @jejuboo-s @tsukinluv @atinytinaa @gyros-cum-sock @soupbinlily @jungwoos-luvr @ener-energy @watermelon-sugars-things @cyberpunkhwx @ddaengpotate @nightwingsrobbinhoods @chaerrylov3r @joshuaahong @wonussmile @uliceeeeeeee @wonwoo24 @shinetogether17 @simplejihoon @luvkpopp @minhui896

[gaywarcriminals]

YQY getting hit with truth serum so he has to confess The Secret to SJ is definitely a thing, because jesus fucking christ ANYTHING to make that man talk, but I think the potential for an even larger audience is fantastic.

A scenario like SQQ's trial. Things are dug up. Other things are implied or even fabricated. YQY is on trial. He's presented with some kind of truth serum. He refuses to take it until it's clarified that it won't compel him to speak, just prevent him from lying. He takes it.

They were lying. It absolutely does compel him to answer any questions asked of him. And the results are completely unhinged.

The Xuan Su thing doesn't even come up. It doesn't need to. In an attempt to paint him as scheming and ambitious, he's asked why he became sect leader.

"So I can give Xiao Jiu whatever he wants."

The assembled crowd: ?????

Is this Xiao Jiu a....mistreess? A son? What the hell. Questioning continues, and Yue Qingyuan's insanity is put on full display.

"What if 'Xiao Jiu' wanted to be the sect leader?"

"I would make him the sect leader."

"Surely the other peak lords of Cang Qiong would object. What would you do, then?"

"Whatever I had to."

Whatever they were originally asking about gets seriously derailed as they realize that this guy, arguably the most powerful cultivator in the world, is singularly obsessed with a person he calls 'Xiao Jiu.' Why did he seek power? Xiao Jiu. What is his ultimate goal? Xiao Jiu.

It's also starting to seem like maybe Xiao Jiu isn't exactly a willing participant.

"What does Xiao Jiu ask you for?"

"To leave him alone."

Okay. So his attentions are unwanted. Yikes.

Further questioning reveals that this mysterious person seems to hate Yue Qingyuan, but is regularly subject to his attentions anyway.

The one question he won't answer is 'who is Xiao Jiu.' He's bleeding from the mouth and eyes, but he just shakes his head or says, "He told me not to call him that."

In the audience, no one noticed Shen Qingqiu's total bluescreen, because honestly? All of the peak lords are feeling pretty lost for words right now.

I dunno, I just think it's specifically interesting to a) have a public reveal that this man is a lunatic, and b) have SQQ find out the depths of YQY's devotion without being able to get the answer he wants most.

This would drive SJ absolutely insane. On the one hand he’s happy that YQY isn’t spilling every little detail of their past for these vultures to pick through, on the other hands where the fuck is this coming from??? What sense do these answers make in the mouth of the man who abandoned him? If it was anyone else saying these things he’d be wildly uncomfortable, but this is just confusing (if he were to really sit with his feelings, he might realize that any immediate sense of revolution was swept away by a long-dormant sense of possessiveness). He intends to grab YQY and shake him as soon as YQY stops giving the OPM grounds to charge him with stalking or harassment or something, and YQY will just give him guilty eyes because he things SJ is mad about every he said on the stand 😔. Actually scratch that for qijiu’s benefit the potion should still be in effect, so the moment they’re behind doors SJ can furiously ask why, if YQY doesn’t despise him, he saw fit to abandon him back then and every day since their reunion. YQY can try to hold himself back from speaking to the point of coughing up blood again, which only enrages SJ further, and eventually YQY is forced to speak his explanation through his rough and bloodied throat. SJ is have every single emotion today and has a 50/50 chance of learning what YQY’s blood tastes like (for normal kissing reasons. Normaler than usual).

On a different note, I felt palatable anxiety reading the first part of the ask because I thought you were going to say that YQY confessed about Xuan Su in public, his greatest weakness and a questionable/unnatural feat of cultivation that he could well be criticized for. I legit think that if that happened SJ would consider killing everyone else in the room to stop the secret from getting out— he doesn’t have time to process all the complicated emotions from what YQY just told him, he only knows that’s it’s intolerable for YQY to be this vulnerable in front of people SJ distrusts or despises.

[atsro-slut]

Hiya lovely! So ima project cause we love that with your amazing writing, but I was thinking about reader who cries very easily and then she gets mad/upset at Remus and when he raises his voice during an argument she just loses it and cries but is too stubborn and mad to let him comfort her? I love a little hurt/comfort now and then to balance out the fluff 🤭 Thank you and enjoy your holidaysss <3

Snowfall and Second Chances

Hi hon!! This one hit super close to home, so I hope I did it well! Enjoy!!

Remus Lupin x female!reader

After a fight with Remus, Y/N's tears won’t stop—no matter how hard she tries. When Remus tries to comfort her, she pushes him away, but he’s not giving up that easily. Can he fix things before Y/N’s stubbornness gets the best of her?

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

The Gryffindor common room was warm and lively, the fire crackling in the hearth as students laughed and relaxed after a long day. But Y/N was not in the mood to enjoy it. She sat stiffly on one of the plush couches, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a storm brewing behind her eyes. Across from her, Remus Lupin looked just as tense, though he was trying his best to remain calm.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice careful. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N shot back, her tone sharp. “Because that’s exactly what it felt like, Remus.”

The incident in question had happened during dinner in the Great Hall. Remus had made an offhand joke—something about Y/N’s habit of losing her quill at least once a day—and it had earned a round of chuckles from their friends. But to Y/N, who was already feeling off that evening, it hadn’t been funny. It had felt like a spotlight shining on her in the worst way, and now, hours later, she couldn’t shake the sting of it.

“I wasn’t mocking you,” Remus said, his voice growing firmer as his frustration bubbled beneath the surface. “It was just a joke, Y/N. You know I’d never want to hurt you.”

“Maybe you should think about how your ‘jokes’ sound before you say them,” Y/N snapped, her voice trembling. She could feel the telltale prick of tears threatening to spill over but fought desperately to keep them at bay. Crying would only make this worse.

“Merlin, Y/N!” Remus threw his hands up in exasperation, his voice rising now. “Why are you blowing this so out of proportion? I’ve apologized a dozen times already!”

And that was it. The dam broke.

The first tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek before she could stop it, followed quickly by another. She clenched her jaw, her throat tightening as the sobs she was holding back threatened to escape.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice wobbling as she tried to maintain her composure.

But it was no use. Once the tears started, there was no stopping them.

Remus’s frustration evaporated the moment he saw her cry, replaced instantly by regret. “Y/N...” he said softly, reaching out to her.

“Don’t,” she said again, pulling away from him and wiping furiously at her cheeks. “I don’t need your sympathy right now, Remus.”

“But—”

“No!” she cut him off, her voice breaking. “You raised your voice, Remus. You never raise your voice. And now you want to comfort me? Forget it.”

Y/N stood abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield her heart. She was too upset, too stubborn to let him close. Every part of her wanted to retreat, to hide away until the tears dried and the ache in her chest faded.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, her voice tight as she turned toward the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitory.

“Y/N, please don’t go like this,” Remus called after her, his voice gentle again.

But Y/N didn’t stop. If she turned around, she might crumble, and she wasn’t ready for that.

The dormitory was quiet and dark, but Y/N couldn’t sleep. She lay curled up under her blankets, staring at the ceiling as her emotions churned. She hated fighting with Remus. He was usually so patient, so kind. But tonight had been different, and she didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them.

She thought about his apology, about the hurt in his voice when he’d tried to explain himself. Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe. But that didn’t make her pain any less real.

Eventually, her exhaustion won out, and she drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the pale light of dawn streaming through the curtains. Her head felt heavy, and her eyes were puffy from crying. She groaned softly, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest.

There was a soft knock on the dormitory door.

“Y/N?”

It was Remus.

She froze, her heart leaping into her throat.

“I know you’re probably still upset with me,” he said through the door. “But... I made you something. Can I show you?”

Curiosity got the better of her. She slipped out of bed, tying her robe around her before opening the door just a crack.

Remus stood there, holding a steaming mug in one hand and a small, folded piece of parchment in the other. His expression was soft, his eyes full of remorse.

“I made you hot chocolate,” he said, holding out the mug. “And... I wrote this.”

He handed her the parchment, and she opened it slowly. Inside was a short note, written in his neat handwriting:

Dear Y/N, I’m sorry for last night. I should have been more careful with my words, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You mean the world to me, and the last thing I want is to hurt you. Please let me make it up to you. Love, Remus.

Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat as she read the note. She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with fresh tears—not of anger this time, but of gratitude.

“Remus,” she said softly.

“Can I come in?” he asked hesitantly.

She nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

They sat together on the edge of her bed, the hot chocolate warming her hands as they talked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Remus said, his voice earnest. “Sometimes I forget that you feel things so deeply, and that’s one of the things I love about you. But I was thoughtless, and I’m sorry.”

“I overreacted,” Y/N admitted, her voice small. “I know you didn’t mean to embarrass me. I was just... tired and sensitive, and then when you raised your voice, it just hit me harder than it should have.”

“You have every right to feel the way you feel,” Remus said gently. “And I’ll do better to remember that.”

Y/N looked at him, her heart swelling with affection. “And I’ll try not to be so stubborn next time.”

“Deal,” he said with a small smile.

She leaned against him, letting his warmth and steady presence soothe her. For the first time since the argument, she felt at peace.

By the time they left the dormitory, the sun was fully up, casting a golden glow over the castle. Y/N and Remus walked hand in hand, the tension of the previous night replaced by a renewed sense of closeness.

“I was thinking,” Remus said as they made their way to the Great Hall, “maybe we could go for a walk later. Just the two of us. I hear the forest trail is beautiful in the snow.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “I’d like that.”

And as they stepped into the warmth of the Great Hall, Y/N realized that even the most challenging moments could bring them closer—because with Remus, every storm eventually gave way to sunshine.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-four of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, burying his face in Bernard’s shoulder; feeling syrup-sticky and slow and warm and sweet. “Robin told me.” 

“Good boy,” Bernard says, pressing a kiss against his temple and petting the back of his head; stroking a hand across the small of his back too. “Mn. Fuck, you really are tight. Still this excited to get played with, huh?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kon pants against the other’s shoulder, rolling his hips a little faster, and everything in the whole world just feels liquid. “Play with me, Rob said you could, said I could be good for you, I’ll be so good for you, pleasepleaseplease–” 

“C’mon, yeah, just like that,” Bernard sighs breathlessly, tightening his grip on him a little more; rolling his hips up into his a little harder. “So cute. You can hold onto me with your hands too, boy, you don’t have to do it with just your ass. Or do you wanna hold my hand again, it’s alright if you–” 

“Mn” Kon chokes, rolling his hips a bit too hard, and he knows he needs to keep the super-speed out of bed with baseline humans as much as possible, but his hands just snap to Bernard, one grabbing the hand of the arm the guy has wrapped around his waist where it’s curling around his hip and the other grabbing onto his back and just–clinging, maybe, kinda, sorta. 

Definitely. 

“Fucking cute,” Bernard mutters, then presses another kiss into his hair. “Good boy, best boy, how’s it feel? You like it? Wanna come like this?” 

“I–your shirt,” Kon manages stupidly even as he clings tighter to the other and nuzzles tightly into his neck, because, like–he’s probably already gotten pre on it by now being pressed in this tight against the guy, but if he actually comes right now, he doesn't think he'll be able to concentrate enough to keep it off his– 

“S’okay if you make a little bit of a mess,” Bernard hums, nuzzling him in return; curling his fingers against his scalp and shifting the hand he has underneath his to grip his, and Kon muffles a moan against his shoulder, and there’s just no space left between them and Bernard just keeps talking and–“S’what I’m here for, right? I’m taking care of you ‘til Tim gets back. You don’t need to worry about anything else. Just lemme make you feel good.” 

“I–I–” Kon chokes, clinging to him even tighter, and Bernard nuzzles in behind his ear and bumps a couple of his earrings with his nose in the process and rolls his hips up into his without pulling back out of him at all and gives his hand the softest little squeeze, and Kon’s stamina is apparently just fucking gone because he immediately comes all over both of their stomachs with a gasping keen of a sound and–and Bernard keeps nuzzling him, keeps his arms around him, keeps his hands on him and his hips pressed up into his, and Kon literally did not even get his dick touched properly again, just kind of not-even-deliberately rubbed up between them at best, and he–and he–why’s he so–he managed to keep his TTK from letting his come get all over Bernard’s shirt, barely, but he really doesn’t even know how he did, because everything’s just so–“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I–please don’t–please–” 

“Not gonna take your toy away, boy, you can play long as you want,” Bernard murmurs, then gives his hips a pointed roll up. Kon makes an absolutely pathetic embarrassment of a sound this time, body shaking and face buried in tight against the other’s shoulder and everything just–just liquid, even as he makes the reflexive little gesture that flicks the mess of his come out from between them before it makes an actual mess, though he can’t make it all the way to the trash can with it this time and has to just–just settle for the sheets, this time. 

He’s just–he’s just all oozy, syrupy, melty liquid, all molten in his bones and bleeding through his veins and muscles and guts. The only thing he can feel that doesn’t feel like liquid right now is Bernard’s rock-hard cock hilted up so deep inside him; hilted up so perfect inside him. Literally nothing else even feels worth feeling, right now.

“Bernard,” he whines, and can’t even be embarrassed anymore. “Bernard, Bernard, s’so good, feel like I’m gonna–feel all–Bernard.” 

“You’re so cute with your toys,” Bernard coos just a little bit breathlessly, scritching lightly behind his ear. “Cutest boy, and so eager, and so pretty in pink.” 

Kon just moans uselessly into his shoulder again, too liquid and boneless in the other’s lap to keep clinging to him with anything but his TTK; feeling like something Bernard could fold up and put at the bottom of the bed for whenever he wanted it, like just some useful little gift Tim got him, like something worth the using. Like he could just stay right here as long as Bernard wanted him here, and just be useful right here as long as Bernard wanted him here. Something weighted, something warm, something Bernard can just come in as many times as he feels like, something– 

Fuck, he thinks dizzily, and can’t really think anything more coherent than that. Bernard squeezes his hand and it feels like the only thing that’s keeping him from floating right up to the ceiling, except for maybe the other’s cock, and Bernard squeezes his arm around his waist too and Kon still can’t even be embarrassed, even with the sticky mess of his come only making it to the sheets and his barely-softened cock pinned between them all oversensitive and aching and the way he can’t seem to stop shuddering. He–he’s–he’s really supposed to be better at this, he can last all night when he wants to, but he just–he just can’t–

He can’t help it, he thinks, and then manages to find a little bit of embarrassment again after all. But–it’s just–

It’s Tim, and Tim Domming for him, and Domming him maybe better than anybody else ever has just because–just because Tim’s so obviously into it too, it’s not like–like, it’s not a trade-off of different kinks he’s gonna have to pay back later or something that Tim’s doing just to humor him, or only feels like once in a blue moon, or just wants to use as an excuse to just be an asshole to him, or . . . 

No. It’s something Tim really likes. Like–clearly. Obviously. Very muchly. 

It’s something Tim really likes, and he wants to do it for him. Wants to do it–do it with him. 

Wants to do it with him enough to melt him down into useless syrup and let him be good for his boyfriend, even.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

a/n: this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.

[yentlnoctis]

"If people can explain Ace to me, I'd be happy to. However, I've never seen the musical, more any clips, boots, slimes, whatever. Nor any soc Saturday lives or nothing. Please, I need Soc information and Ace information 😭" @witchyleehibernates

Okay, this is a really long one, so BUCKLE UP.

In the script, she's described as a tomboy (from what I've heard), but I've also read some hcs that she actually likes presenting fem, but that's just a hc (edit: this is actually canon, the tomboy style is a defence mechanism -> reblog by @specific-dreamer :)). She's very bold and will tell anyone what she thinks. She's more likely to show them, though; in Friday at the drive-in, she pushes Bob off of the tire, in Tulsa '67, she very openly flips off the socs... I don't know if we have any info on her family??? (Edit: we do, @specific-dreamer added on in the reblog :))

Almost all the greaser boys are always doing lifts with her or carrying her or whatnot. She doesn't mind either. She's always having fun. They all respect her, too.

She's friends with Dally. In the scene where they all come together after Ponyboy got jumped, she did a sort or handshake with him, so I feel like they get along fine.

She has this flirty friendship with Soda. People always wonder if they're joking or not (they are). For example, after Soda's verse in Grease Got A Hold (which was all about getting girls), he says: "Ain't that right, Ace?" and she answers with: "You wish." and shakes her ass a bit. I feel like they call each other the worst sappy pet names just to piss the other off.

Anyway, Ace and Darrel. Darrel is the most gentlemanly of the greasers. Everyone's respectful, but him especially. I think that out of everyone, Ace is the only person Darrel allows himself to be a bit more at ease with. During Hoods Turned Heroes, he lifts her up, and he's smiling. He also helps her onto the greasers' car when she could easily do it herself. A few other examples bc I love them to death: during Grease Got A Hold, she yells: "I love you, Superman!" at Darrel, at the end of Hoods Turned Heroes, she jumps on his back... I can't really explain their friendship, but I love them sm.

Two-Bit and Ace!!! In my opinion, they're kind of like Ace and Soda, except their friendship more on the physical side (dancing together, cuddling under the bench at the drive-in...). It's not really flirting. Their love language is just physical touch. (They're besties, your honour.)

We don't have that much info on musical!Steve or Ace in general, so I don't have much to say about them. I'm not saying they aren't great friends. They are. She's leaning on him during GGAH, he throws her to Two-Bit in FATDI...

With Ponyboy, she shares a couple high-fives and a little twirl in Tulsa '67. I don't really have much more. I'm sorry. She doesn't really have any moments with Johnny (I think?).

Finally, romantic interests. Tilly (Ace's actress) has told us that Ace has a big fat crush on Bev/Beverly (a soc girl they added). Bev hates Ace, though. So, yeah... My personal hc is that they were friends as kids, grew up and developed crushes on each other in like middle school, dated secretly for a while, but then Bev broke it off because, as a soc, she can't be dating greasers. So, now she hates Ace and all greasers bc she's petty like that (no bev hate). I would talk about them more, but this post is already way too fucking long, so I'll end it here.

This was my (not so) short take on Ace :).

[imogen-rhitt]

“No you’re right, I shouldn’t have been so damn cryptic. You’re right. I was just panicking so badly because I thought you’d want me to just…well I thought you’d want nothing to do with me when you found out I was pregnant which of course you wouldn’t do because you’re…fucking amazing. Nope. No that doesn’t even cover it actually. Amazing is not a strong enough word.” Reaching up to cup their cheek as her thumb brushed across Theo’s bottom lip, giving them a soft smile as she sighed. “I should have guessed that would be your assumption because why wouldn’t it be. But it’s not. And I’m not. And also we should think about getting those things back to Elliot soon.” The noisy kiss on her cheek making her chuckle softly, giving their shoulder a little push but as they put their face into her neck she stroked the back of their hair, pressing a kiss to the side once more. “You don’t have to be sorry, please don’t be sorry. Come here.” Pulling their head out her neck so she could kiss them softly before wincing. “Sorry - morning breath. That’s not cute. I’ll give you a proper kiss after I brush my teeth.” 

As the request for the phone was given she happily passed it over, rubbing their shoulder as she waited to see what it was needed for, especially since so many things already seemed written out on post it’s on the table. “An app? Oh cute.” Leaning over to be able to see, a small smile on her own face although it had some nervousness behind it, this all felt so grown up and she … we’ll okay technically she was a grown up but she didn’t feel it very often. “Oh wait really? What does it suggest? Because I’m swear to god if this morning sickness goes on too long I’m going to go cra-“ breaking off at the next stream of questions. Looking at them with wide eyes, rendered speechless, because…what? “How is my fucking what?” Blinking a couple of times before shaking her head a little as if to relieve the confusion on it. “I can’t say I’ve checked recently …also I already felt sick…there is no need for those kinds of questions.” How was Theo acting like this was all so normal?! @theoxkent

"What? Of course you deserved it. I shouldn't have left in the first place but I just... panicked. I thought the baby was fuckface's. I thought you were upset because you were going to have a baby with him. I didn't imagine- There was no other explanation for me." Now sober, Theo explained their train of thought from the night before and their reaction. "I wish you wouldn't have been son damn cryptic, Immy." They chuckled but kissed her cheek noisily. Theo understood her reaction, they did. She was the one pregnant after all and that was enough to panic on its own so they didn't really blame her. "But I should have asked more questions instead of flying off the handle. I'm really sorry." They tucked their head into her neck a little as they asked for forgiveness.

"Pass me my phone." Theo asked as they pressed a kiss to her shoulder, waiting for the device and once they had it, the opened an app to show her. "I downloaded a pregnancy tracker with a lot of fun cartoons." As the app opened and without even realizing it, Theo was smiling to themselves while talking about it, telling her all they0ve learnt in the last hour. "It has a lot of tips too, things you could eat to relieve morning sickness. Have you been spotting? How's your vaginal discharge?" Theo asked as if that was the most normal thing to ask your girlfriend without skipping a beat or blushing. In the same tone they would have asked if she slept well.

[xehanortsreport]

a commission for @king-of-heartless ! being given free rein to just drawn ansem was used as an excuse to draw something i've really wanted to for a while - a little get together with some color music heartless!

this was delightful to work on, and i'm thankful for the patronage~

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck—I said slow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please can I go faster?”

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

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

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

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

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

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

“I’m sleepy.”

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

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

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

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

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

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

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

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

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

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

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

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

“Was that on purpose?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shaky?”

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

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

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

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

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

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

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

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[shouyuus]

doctor, doctor

zayne; 3,377; fluff and smut, no "y/n", knowing use of sex drugs, handjob, oral (f!receiving), face riding, shockingly soft intermission, missionary, internal creampies, banter (it's zayne duh), needy!zayne

summary: zayne volunteers as a guinea pig to test out an antidote to a new love drug. spoiler alert: the antidote sucks.

a/n: phew! i haven't written this much porn in... /checks watch/ well ever really. but im not that mad about it! it's a genre i've always felt a bit weak in so im glad to get some practice :) pls enjoy!

aphrodite made me!! masterlist

─── 黎深 YOU KNOW SOMETHING’S WRONG the second he gets home. There’s a bright flush to his cheeks, a glassy look to his eyes, and he reaches out to brace himself against the counter almost as soon as he’s through the door, sucking in a deep breath.

“Z-Zayne? What’s wrong?” you rush up to him, reaching out to press a palm to his cheek, lashes fluttering as you pull it away, startled. “Oh my god, you’re burning up!”

“No — it’s fine. I’m fine.” He tries to push you away, but can’t help the soft groan that leaves his lips as he nuzzles into your touch. You frown, letting him press into the palm of your hand before he turns to drop a kiss to your skin, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “It’s… not what you think.”

“Not what I…” you blink up at him, worry slowly being eclipsed by a trembling uncertainty.

Something’s not right, you think, but judging by the way he’s still able to hold himself steady, he’s not that sick. So then —

“Ah… fuck —” he curses, leaning forward to bury his nose into your shoulder, tugging you to him in a sudden embrace that has you squeaking, startled by the strength of his hold. And you’re not imagining it; up this close, you can feel his thready heartbeat reverberating through his chest to yours, and his arms around you — is he… trembling?

“Zayne?”

It’s so rare that he curses so easily, so openly. Usually, this kind of language is reserved for the bedroom but —

You go still in his arms, heat washing up the back of your neck into your cheeks as you feel the unmistakable hardness against your hip. Your mind grinds to a startling halt as you try to reconcile these two pieces of strange, incompatible information.

He’s sick… but he’s hard?

“Sorry — I just —” he tries to pull away, shaking his head as if to clear it but his eyes are still glazed when he stumbles back and lets himself sag against the closed front door. You let your eyes take stock of him — his ruddy cheeks and fluttering lashes, the shiver in his limbs, the clench in his jaw as he looks anywhere but at you.

“Zayne. What’ going on?”

He almost hisses at the sharp edge to your tone.

“There’s a new drug out on the market,” he says, his voice thin even as he cards a hand through his hair and tries to take a steadying breath. “It’s… being sold underground, and it’s a potent —” he swallows, tugging at his collar, and it’s only then that you notice the thin sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, “— a potent love drug.”

Your eyebrows skyrocket as you blink up at him.

“A… love drug?”

Zayne sighs, frowning slightly as he jerks at his tie, pulling the knot loose to let it hang around his neck as he thumbs at the top button of his shirt. His fingers, usually so quick and nimble, seem strangely uncoordinated. And after a second, you reach out to gently swat his hand away, popping the top button for him, blushing as he hisses out a breath and lets his head thump back against the door.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice clipped as he tries to look anywhere but at your face. “Our R&D department has been developing a cure and —”

“And?” you ask, letting your finger trace down the thin band of his exposed chest to catch on the next button of his shirt.

“And…” he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he purses his lips, “they needed willing participants to —”

Understanding floods through you like a wash of cold water. You let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You volunteered to test the antidote,” you say, staring up at his flushed face, his sweat-slick skin, the unfocused fracture to his eyes, the way his pupils are blown so wide they look almost entirely black.

You lick your lips, feeling another wave of heat crest through you as tingles shoot down your spine at the thought.

“Yes,” he answers again, sounding aggrieved and relieved both that you’ve finally understood.

“But…” you let your words trail off, letting your eyes rake down his trembling body and back up again.

Zayne sighs, shaking his head, “Well, it’s a work in progress.”

“Mm,” you hum, biting back a laugh that you know wouldn’t be entirely appropriate, given the desperate look on his face. Still, that forbidden knot had started to twist in your gut as you assess the situation.

It’s not every day that chance delivers your boyfriend so pliant and willing to your literal shared front door. And you’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“So?” you say, taking half a step back and folding your arms, reveling in the way he tips forward immediately to chase your warmth. “How do we —” you wave a hand towards him, feeling a strange, impossible fit of giggles threatening to spill from you at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Zayne slates you a rueful look before leaning back to pinch at his nose bridge.

“T-the researchers say that the effects —” he pauses to take another deep breath. You can’t help noticing the increasingly obvious bulge in his work slacks and you feel your own thighs tense as the knot in your stomach twists just a tad tighter. “The effects should wear off on their own in a few hours but…”

“But?” you prompt, lacing your hands behind your back as you teeter on the balls of your feet, feeling an ever-familiar tingle race from the nape of your neck to the tips of your toes.

“But… there’s nothing much to do except to —” Zayne’s fingers twitch as he forces himself to open his eyes and stare at a nondescript point over your shoulder, “to ride it out, as they say.”

At this, you break — you fall into a fit of giggles that has Zayne sighing again as he pushes himself off the door and making his unsteady way to the bedroom.

“W-wait! Where’re you going?” you ask, tugging at his arm.

He twists to stare at you, “I — to bed. Or I can sleep on the couch tonight if it’ll make you more —”

You roll your eyes and yank him down for a kiss. He can’t even pretend to protest as he moans and melts into the heat of your mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and feel his palms gripping at your waist, tight, and then tighter.

“Y’know… for a smart guy… you’re really kind of clueless sometimes.”

“Y-yeah?” Zayne asks, his breath hot against your lips. You nod, letting him tug you both back towards the bedroom, him nearly stumbling in his haste, you biting back another fit of giggles as he sits down hard on the edge of the bed and slots you between his legs, running his hands up and down the backs of your legs, fingers dancing towards the lace trimming of your panties.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to help you?” you ask, your voice low.

He lets out another thick groan as you cup his cheeks and tilt his head back to look at you.

“I — I don’t — I thought that maybe —” he stutters, but you shake your head.

“C’mon doc,” you say, grinning as his eyes narrow. You give his chest a light push and watch, satisfied, as he allows himself topple back onto the mattress. “Tell me where it hurts.”

He sucks in a breath between his teeth, staring at you with a look of such unadulterated love that you find yourself almost getting shy. Almost. You crawl onto the bed, nudging apart his legs, walking your fingers up this thighs as he jerks, head falling back into the pillows.

“Please…” the plea leaves his lips parted, and you feel the heat pulse between your own legs, feel your mouth water as you look down at the pliant, panting form of Zayne’s body, spread out on the bed, his chest rising and falling at quick intervals as he watches you from beneath hooded eyes.

Briefly, you consider teasing him, but disregard the thought after realizing that he’d probably driven home feeling much like this. And you reach up to tug loose the belt, making quick work of his trousers, pulling down his boxers to reveal his cock — thick and leaking so much precum that your hands come away sticky.

“A-ah — fuck.” Again, he swears, as you tentatively wrap your fingers around his girth, and it’s not the first time you’ve done this, nor will it be the last, but it never fails to surprise you (just a little) how thick he is in your hands — how your fingers don’t reach all the way around.

You give him a few solid pumps, feeling the angry veins pulse beneath your palms as you try to work up a tempo, his hips jumping as he lets out a string of deep, throaty moans that have you clenching around nothing.

“Wait — wait —” he reaches for you, his thighs jumping slightly as your rhythm slows, and he hisses out a long breath, his brows furrowed as you tease your thumb around the underside of his cock hood, allowing yourself a tiny, devious grin as he whimpers high in the back of his throat.

“Yes, doc? Did you have any… complaints?” you drag your tongue across your lips before leaning down and letting your hot breath fan over his purpling head, feeling the heat between your own legs spread through you as thick beads of precum ooze from his slit.

“Come — come here —” he motions up the bed and you cock your head, glancing back down at what you’re certain is quite the painful erection.

“You don’t want…” you tighten your hold around his shaft as he catches his lips in his teeth and groans.

“I — I do. But I want —” he swallows, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief second, “I want to taste you.”

Desire curls solid at the base of your spine as you feel yourself throbbing at the thought. Zayne’s never been anything but a devout lover, and you’d often reflected that it really does pay to have a boyfriend who has a truly occupational knowledge of human anatomy.

“Yeah?” you ask, your own voice going breathy as you inch up the mattress, his hands settling so easily on the plush of your thighs, his eyes flitting up and down your body almost as if he doesn’t quite know where to look. You lift up your skirt and tug off your panties, with the full intention of lowering yourself slowly, but with a wretched moan, Zayne pulls you down over his face hard enough for you to gasp, your weight tipping forward so hard that you have to brace your hands on the backboard to stop yourself from toppling right over.

You feel his tongue lick a long strip along the seam of your cunt, the sting of his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds you over his mouth, groaning into the sopping heat of you, his tongue already pushing into you as he gives your clit a hard suck that has your mind fizzing out into tv static.

“Z-Zayne — oh fuck —!”

He strains against you, pressing his face so far into you you’re almost afraid he’s going to suffocate, but he only holds you tighter when you try to pull away, his mouth chasing your puffy lips. You grind yourself against his face, feeling his nose nudge at your clit as he sinks his tongue ever deeper into you, fucking it into you with a perverse need.

And it doesn't take long like this, not when he's so intimately aware of all your softest parts, all your most sensitive places.

“I — ah — ah — I’m s-so —” you stutter, as you feel the familiar tightening in your belly, the coil twisting as thin tendrils of heat start to skitter up through your limbs and you feel your orgasm building inside you.

Zayne lets out a debauched moan, letting it rumble from his mouth straight into your cunt and it’s enough to have your eyes fluttering shut as you break over his mouth, whimpering, hips stuttering as the white-hot fire chases washes through you in a great wave, leaving you feeling boneless and slightly winded.

Zayne pulls away panting, licking his lips, his eyes dark as an oil spill, completely devoid of light as he stares up at you, his gaze more licentious than you’ve ever seen it before. Even in the champagne-bubble weightlessness of your post-orgasmic haze, you recognize the crystalizing need in his movements as he releases your thighs, his handprints inked into your skin, red and fresh — you’re sure they’ll still be there tomorrow.

“H-how do you want me?” you ask, your voice a little slurred as he reaches up to wipe a thumb along his bottom lip, collecting the remnants of your slick there, only to lean in and press his mouth to yours. You groan against him, the messy tang of your own juices sharp on your tongue as he kisses you, pressing you back into the mattress till you’re pinned beneath him.

“Just like this…” he whispers, and you marvel at the restraint still in his actions, even as he quickly sheds the rest of his clothing, tossing them off into the careless dark of the room.

There’s a moment, caught in-between one kiss and the next, where he pulls back and looks at you, his eyes so soft, his expression unguarded, where you wonder if you’ll ever be able to see yourself through his eyes, and a tender warmth spreads through you as you realize that this is what love has always meant to feel like. There have been fireworks, yes, and whirlwinds. There’ve been storms and sunny days. But there will always be moments like this, caught in the almost light of a moonless night, when you are so much more than the sum of your parts, added together.

When your bodies are more breath than air, skin and share, and all the parts of you that you might’ve wanted to hide from the world are here, collected in the negative space between your bodies, held and loved like buried treasure.

“I love you,” he says, quietly, simply.

You gasp as you feel him pushing into you, his cock stretching you till you’re nearly breathless.

“I — I love you too.”

Zayne nods, fucks into you till he’s bottomed out, and though you can feel his arms trembling with the effort, he holds still to let you adjust. And it’s not till you give him a tiny nod that he puffs out a held breath and pulls back to fuck right back into you again. You keen, head tossing back into the mess of sheets, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags along your clenching walls.

“I don’t — I won’t be able to —” he can’t make out a full sentence, but you don’t care, just the size and weight of him are enough to make your vision blinker out at the edges.

“Mm — h-harder — please Zayne —” and its his name more than anything that proves his undoing. He lets out a clipped grunt before straightening and pulling your legs up, shifting your hips till you’re flush against him.

“Y-yeah — I’ve got you —” he gives you calf a quick kiss before rucking his hips down, his cock ramming into your g-spot hard enough for you to see stars. And then hammering into you with a desperate speed, chasing his own pleasure and it’s all you can do to keep from being tossed over the edge, too far, too fast.

“Yes — yes — yes!” you’re babbling something, nails scrabbling at his arms, his chest, his back, at anything you can reach as he pummels your abused hole, bullying his cock deeper and deeper into you till you clench around him, your orgasm blazing through you even as he shows no signs of slowing down.

“It’s — you feel — so — tight —” his pace stutters, his voice breaking over your name as he hoists one of your legs over his hips, “I’m —”

You nod, reaching up to tug a strand of hair away from his sweat-slicked forehead.

“I-inside — you can — want you to fill me up —”

Zayne keens, thrusting forward one last time before you feel him pulsing inside you, the warm spill of his cum stuffing you full till you can feel the remnants leaking down the curve of your ass. You bite your lips, swallowing hard as Zayne jerks into you a few more times till he finally stills, the pair of you both panting, your bodies sticky now with too many bodily fluids to count.

You let out a breathy laugh as he hisses, casting you a reproachful look.

“Y-you’re still hard…”

He sighs, nodding, “Yes… it’s one of the… more tedious side effects of the drug.”

He makes to pull out but you stop him, tugging him into your chest and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“You need to tell your R&D department that their antidote is very ineffective.”

Zayne chuckles, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, the pair of you now curled into each other, his arms around you, his twitching cock still pressed inside you.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to send them a memo.”

You nuzzle further into his chest but your eyes catch on the clock hanging on the opposite wall and you frown.

“It’s only been… 43 minutes?”

Zayne glances at the clock as well before turning his gaze back towards you.

“Seems so.”

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry as you feel him throb once more inside you.

“How long… did you say the effects last for again?”

Zayne heaves a very serious-sounding sigh even as you adjust yourself to be sitting over his hips, his cock sheathed inside you as you plant your hands on his chest.

“The R&D department said anywhere from a few hours to…” he lets his words trail off, a devious glint flashing behind his eyes, “in the worst cases, a few days.”

You shiver as he casually settles his palms on your hips, rocking you forward and back. You let out a hitched moan as your over-sensitive clit drags along the skin of his lower abdomen and his cock jerks inside you.

“D-days?” you echo, swirling your hips around in a soft figure 8 that has him sucking in a harsh breath, his brows furrowing with pleasure.

“Y-yeah… I’m assuming your offer of help still s-stands?” he does his level best to keep his voice dry, but his breath hitches as you pull yourself up the length of his cock before slamming back down. And already, there’s that self-same hunger eclipsing the light in his eyes as he stares down at the place where a thick ring of white has formed around the base of his cock, more liquid seeping out of you with every moment you make.

“Mm — maybe I’ll need a f-few breaks but —” you whimper as he thrust up into you, his thighs clenching beneath you, “like you said w-we just n-need to ride it out, right?”

Zayne purses his lips in concentration as he roots his feet into the bed before fucking up into you once, twice, three times, bouncing you on his cock with the sheer strength of his legs and thighs.

“Right.”

all taglist pt 1: @faeryminnyx @trashkitty @sorapricots @tricia816xoxo @nayo3ns @veetallla @notfr0mh3r3 @sh4nn @animecrazy76 @celestialforce @celestialzdiviner @m00nchildwrites @glitching-wren @ivana013-blog @rafayelsgf @pikachuzhc @angellinnie @stardewy @zombigirlfriendsblog @storyland-ofstars @xxfaithlynxx @crazy-ink-artist

all taglist pt 2: @wowunreal @boobearymuch @livonianmaia @celestialmoni @colorfulgardenerduck @bunnylechef @rikiwaify-blog @deepspacewithrafayel @nogitsune-the @carrotsandkoos @stardustwtx @yaoduriaa @queen-serena88 @stunies @simpingdailyforthem @love-and-deepstrays @small-fry28

the rest of the tags will be in the reblog!

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

[tender-rosiey]

yoo rose I started following you a little while ago and I really liked you. I saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask for a scenario where Nanami arrives drunk and his wife takes care of him while he talks about how he loves her I liked all your stories with my businessman <3

unsteady love — nanami kento x f!reader

a/n: so glad that you do, love! <33 hope you like this one too 🫶🫶

kento stumbles slightly into your house, catching himself against the wall before you steady him, “kento… you’re drunk.”

he blinks down at you, the usually serious expression on his face replaced by something softer, more relaxed. there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I am not drunk,” he declares, his voice slurred just enough to betray him. “I’m... just—” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. “...enlightened.”

you suppress a smile and guide him to the couch, sitting him down gently. “sure, ‘enlightened.’” you shake your head, amused. “stay put, I’ll get you some water.”

as you move to the kitchen, you hear him muttering to himself. “can’t believe I’m drunk,” he grumbles, almost like he’s scolding himself, “what kind of a husband does that?”

when you return, cup in hand, he’s sitting with his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. but when you approach, he perks up immediately, watching you with a soft, slightly dazed look.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says. his voice is quieter, more sincere, and it catches you off guard for a second. nanami isn’t exactly shy about how he feels, but this is a side of him you don’t see often.

“drink,” you instruct, handing him the water to avoid the sudden rush of emotions his words bring. he takes the glass without complaint, but even as he drinks, his eyes never leave you.

after a few sips, he sets the glass down on the table and leans back again, sighing contentedly. “you take such good care of me,” he says softly, almost to himself, “I don’t deserve you.”

you chuckle at the sudden sentimental turn. “kento, you’re acting like I’ve just saved your life. you had a few drinks. you will be okay.”

he shakes his head, looking at you with those hazy, half-lidded eyes. “it is serious. you’re always here for me. always... my constant. my…” he trails off, struggling for the right words in his drunken haze, “you make everything better. I love you.”

his words are raw, unfiltered by the usual restraint he keeps on his emotions. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it that makes your heart tighten.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer. “no, you don’t get it.” he’s more insistent now, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that’s surprising given his state. “I really love you. I think about it all the time, all—the time.”

you laugh softly, though his words tug at something deep inside you. “you can tell me all about it when you’re sober.”

he doesn’t let go, though, his grip still gentle but firm. “I mean it. you make the worst days worth it. you... you’re everything.”

a soft laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity but also aware of how much the alcohol is loosening his tongue. “I know, kento. you’ve told me before.”

nanami pouts—a rare expression that looks so out of place on his usually stoic face. “but I don’t say it enough. you deserve to hear it.”

he blinks sloppily as he stares at you before murmuring, "I need to marry you."

you let out a soft laugh and kiss his cheek, "we are married, you silly man."

in a once in a lifetime incident, your husband stares at you, eyes wide, face reddening by the second. he looks down at his feet for a few moments, then you see him hum, "that's nice."

his seriousness is almost comical given the state he’s in, and you can’t help but tease him a little. “y'know, you’re awfully chatty for someone who insisted they weren’t drunk.”

he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back again and releasing your wrist, “fine, fine. maybe I’m a little drunk. but it doesn’t change the fact that I—”

before he can finish, he shifts too quickly and almost topples off the couch. you rush to catch him, but you fall with him, and he blinks, disoriented, before breaking into a lopsided smile. “maybe a lot drunk.”

“yeah, maybe,” you say with a laugh, helping him sit back up. “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

as you help him to his feet, he leans heavily against you, his arm draped over your shoulder. you guide him down the hallway, his weight familiar but the situation still amusingly foreign.

normally, he’s the one doing the taking care of—you can’t help but relish this rare moment where the roles are reversed.

once you’ve managed to get him into bed, he pulls you down next to him, refusing to let go of your hand. his eyes, though heavy with sleep, remain fixed on you with that same soft, adoring look.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion and sincerity, “we have to go to malaysia together.”

“sure,” you smile, brushing your fingers through his hair as his eyes finally flutter shut. “goodnight, kento.”

just as you’re about to pull away, his hand tightens around yours once more, and he whispers, half-asleep, “I love you.”

his words are softer now, less dramatic than before but still brimming with emotion.

you watch him for a moment, his features relaxed in the dim light, and feel a warmth spread through your chest. this side of him—unguarded, affectionate, and a little silly—is one you cherish just as much as his usual seriousness.

as he drifts off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting his words linger in the air, “I love you too.”

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[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.