#it opens up in about a day after watering and then very slowly curls back in over about 2-3 weeks

[prince-liest]

I love my Graptoveria 'Bashful' because depending on how long it's been since watering it can be...

[blueicequeen19]

The Nanny Pt. 2

Warnings: non-con, rough, unprotected sex, throat fucking, jealousy, controlling, threats of forced pregnancy, very dark Rafe 😮‍💨

The kids were finally fast asleep after another long, exhausting summer day. Not only did you have to keep up with three kids but you also had to deal with Rafe’s insatiable appetite. He’d throw away all of your panties and bottoms and insisted you only wear dresses so he had easy access. More often than not you’d wake up to him inside you, murmuring filthy words as you drifted back off to sleep. There wasn’t a moment when you weren’t sore or still felt him deep inside you when you moved.

You could barely put one foot in front of the other as you made your way down the stairs and to the back sliding door. The sudden water splashing in the pool startled you and you turned to see the pool boy fishing out toys with the net, your heart racing in your chest.

“You scared me!” JJ laughed, his muscles and tan skin on display. He’d be attractive if it weren’t for the fact he was fucking the bosses wife. But you were also fucking the boss..

“Sorry about that JJ!” You called, walking slowly backwards towards the guest house as you waved a hand.

“No worries! Happy to help! It’s good seeing you again!” JJ offers a sweet, bright grin before a flash of movement catches your eye. JJ is suddenly thrown back, the sound of skin on concrete making you cringe as curses ring out loudly.

“What the f—.” JJ is cut off, hauled up by his shirt before you can even move. The look in Rafe’s eyes was murderous as he choked JJ with both hands.

“Rafe!”

“Don’t let me catch you around here again. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. And if it wasn’t clear already you’re fired.” Rafe shoves JJ away who stumbles, coughing and clutching his throat as he makes a beeline for the back gate.

“Rafe, what was—.” Rafe spins on you next, his hand around your throat as he pins you against the side of the house. A choked cry leaves you as Rafe presses his hard body against yours.

“You’re mine. Got that? No flirting with the fucking help.” Rafe snarls, his grip on your throat loosening enough for you to suck in a breath.

“I wasn’t—.” Rafe shoves you to your knees before you can respond, yanking his cock free from his pants so it’s directly in your face. His hands clamp down on either side of your head to hold you in place.

“Choke on it until I say stop.” There’s nothing else you can do so you open your mouth, letting him shove his way in and hit the back of your throat. You immediately gag, pushing at his thighs but he doesn’t stop as he starts to fuck your throat.

“Fucking open up.” Rafe growls, letting you suck in a breath as tears fall down your cheeks before starting again. Your tongue is out and you fight to breathe through your nose as he punishes you. Not caring about the mess of saliva you’re making or the makeup burning your eyes.

“Fuck.” Rafe releases a sexy groan before pulling out and yanking you to your feet. You suck in breath after breath as he spins you, forcing your chest against the side of the house while he yanks your panties down your legs.

“I didn’t do anything!” You cry just as his hand slides between your legs to cup your sex. His chest is firm against your back as his curls two fingers inside you, making you fight back a moan. You hated how wet you were from this kind of treatment. There was no other way to describe Rafe but crazy. Utterly and completely crazy.

“Good. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t let me catch you talking to any man that’s not me.” Rafe replaces his fingers with his cock, shoving in hard and making you cry out from the stretch.

“Rafe.” You bite out, his hand snaking around to grip your throat as he pounds into you mercilessly.

“Mmm, I missed this pussy.” It had only been a few hours since he cornered you last.

“Someone will see.” You wheezed, spots appearing in your eyes as you near your peak alarmingly quick.

“They might hear too.” Rafe mocked in your ear, his pelvis slamming harder and harder against the swells of your ass. When he bit down on your neck it was impossible to stop the tsunami that crashed into you. It was so intense that you couldn’t even make a sound except for a gasp of air. Rafe laughed against your skin, trailing his tongue up your neck before biting your earlobe. You clawed at the house, desperate for something to cling to before your knees gave out.

“I’ve always wanted a big family.” Rafe murmured against your ear, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Maybe I should knock you up too so you don’t ever think about leaving me.” Panic gripped you at his threat and you attempted to twist away only for him to knock you down onto one of the pool loungers, pinning your body beneath his.

“Rafe— please— don’t.” You cried, digging your nails into his thigh as he thrust harder and harder. His hand was suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back at an uncomfortable angle as he hissed in your ear.

“Then do as I say. No talking. Smiling. Laughing. Nothing, with other men except me. Are we clear?”

“Yes! Jesus!” Rafe suddenly pulled back, hastily flipping you on your back and moving on top of your chest as he stroked his cock hard. Angrily.

You locked eyes and that seemed to trigger him. Along with your disheveled state. You watched as his eyes rolled back and he groaned loudly as he came all over your chest and face, marking you.

You remained frozen as he rode out his high, stroking himself until the last drop of cum hit your flesh. Finally, Rafe sighed in contempt before raising and tucking himself away then throwing a towel onto your chest.

“Remember what I said. Or I’ll make sure you stay pregnant with my children and never get the chance to leave.”

[artytaeh]

I literally beg of you write mattheo with mother issues, calling reader mommy when he’s being all cuddly 🙏🏻

listen, mattheo riddle would sprint to the black lake and willingly drown himself in the cold water if someone was to ever, ever know about this, but—

merlin, mattheo really has difficult days sometimes. a bad day is one thing, but when school's stupid assignments accumulate with other frustrations, such as a fistfight, some stupid comment or a quidditch practice that doesn't go as mattheo would like...

fucking hell. mattheo doesn't even have the strength to beat something up to discharge the frustration inside of him.

the thing is, days like these transform the initial sense of anger to frustration, that slowly becomes sadness. melancholy even, if you will.

do things have to be so difficult to him? at times like these, mattheo doesn't know what to do. after all, he didn't have a supportive father, much less a caring mother to cuddle his heavy feelings away.

so he goes to you.

mattheo moves on autopilot, pacing around the halls, heavy steps as he does a beeline to your bedroom. he lacks some education, you see, because it's so rare for him to knock.

when he's like this, mattheo does worse than just open the door. he barges inside, demanding as he holds back those powerful feelings gnawing his heart.

it doesn't take a long time for mattheo to embrace your waist, manhandling you into the position he needs: his head resting on your soft chest, arms around your torso, laying on top of you.

yes, mattheo will nuzzle closer and close his eyes, drowning in the comfort of you; your warmth, your scent, the comfort and safe space you provide him. huh, for someone who lived this long without it, mattheo quickly becomes addicted, and used to this feeling.

... no, he won't say a thing about it. just let him nap a bit while you play with his curly hair; please and thank you very much.

this might be one of the only times you'll hear this man whine. if you dare to go away, nevermind if the dorm is literally on fire— mattheo glares and frowns at you, lacking any bite, only a silent plead for you to stay.

sometimes, if the frustration is still bubbling inside him, things might become... sexual. intimate, even.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

the smooth and comfortable skin of your thighs serves as the most marvelous pillow for mattheo, offering him a half laying, half sitting position as he cuddles close to you.

for the life of him, this is an unspoken secret between you and him.

how would his best mates, hell, how would the entire school react if they knew how fast mattheo riddle, the supposedly tough and dominant slytherin, comes so fast like this?

mattheo hums and moans lowly, his lips curled around your nipple, sucking at the soft skin of your breast. his arm embraces your body, keeping you close— the other hand cups your other breast, much more gentle than the hungry, insatiable way that he makes you moan, his lips making your chest so, so sensitive.

that calloused hand of his squeezes your other breast, however, each time your hand tightens around his aching length— mattheo can't help but become a bit rougher as well.

fuck, mattheo can't think. he can't think, he won't be able to form one single thought at all.

so you guide him.

your voice is like the light of a lighthouse, guiding him through the darkness and intensity of the sea. mattheo swears that your voice never sounded this good, sultry and pleasant to his ears.

the moans he lets out from how your hand pumps at his length are sinful. do you have to be so cruel? no, you're being kind— taking care of him so, so well. your hand moves torturously, up and down, feeling how he throbs around those fingers that make his hips buck.

please praise him for doing so well. for once, mattheo doesn't complain or feels the need to be stubborn— do you want him to look at you? he will. is he supposed to lick or suck? he'll leave hickeys marking his territory, but please praise him. he's doing so good for you.

🗯️ : what do you say when i'm being so good to you? hm?

m : thank you. fuck, thank you so much, please don't stop. thank you, thank you...

the roles are usually reversed; mattheo is the one to dirty talk more during your intimate moments, to tease and provoke you— however, there's some strange kind of comfort and even relaxation during these occurrences, when mattheo riddle lets someone else take care of him, instead of being the one in charge all. the. time.

do not mention this to anyone either; mattheo will deny it with his life. five minutes later, as soon as you're alone, he'll give you a look that silently begs you to ignore him.

mattheo is a pda man. nevermind if you're in the privacy of your dorms, or in a crowded hallway; he likes to be touching you, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders or waist, at least holding hands.

during these times, however, mattheo becomes clingy. unbearably so; he'll hug you close, nuzzle closer, trying to have you as close as possible.

and the thing is, the word almost left his lips, once that he had been way too distracted to hold his tongue.

m : fuck, mm—

🗯️ : hm? what was that, love?

m : ... nothing, nothing. nevermind, and not a word about this.

if mattheo riddle already was embarrassed about breaking his tough guy demeanor, well, it would be a cold day in hell before anyone finds out that he almost called you mommy, this one time.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— i'm so sorry for taking so long with this drabble </3 i've been doing really slow with my rq; i'm having a really hard week :( but i'm (slowly...) working on all of them! 🗯️

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[lukecastellanlov3r]

thinking about y/n accidentally flashing Luke while changing, and him being super flustered and horny for the rest of the day, than later, y/n catches him in the bathroom moaning her name while… you know 👀

OMGG, YESS. I LITERALLY CAN IMAGINE THIS HAPPENING

Luke Castellan x Reader

Smut warning

All the counsellors had a day off from camp activities today, meaning everyone was down by the docks.

You headed down there with Luke. He had just assumed that you weren't going to swim in the lake since you had your normal shorts and camp shirt on. He didn't know that you had your bikini underneath.

"You swimming, Luke?" You asked as you guys reached the docks

"Not today, no," he shrugged, laying out his towel on the sand and sitting on it. You sighed. He never came into the water anyway. You just shrugged it off and started to pull off your camps shirt, then your shorts. You bend over to put your clothes in your bag, not realising that your bikini bottoms were riding up slightly.

Luke's eyes widened as you bent over, getting a full view of your ass. He groaned quietly, his hand already adjusting his shorts as he felt a tent forming in them.

~★~

Luke had left the docks soon after you got into the lake, which was odd. Not to mention, he was acting a bit weird around you. Fine, a lot weird. But he was weird in general, so you barely batted an eye to it.

You got out of the lake and grabbed your bag, heading towards the counsellors' shower rooms. Slowly, you push open the door and are instantly greeted with groaning. The voice sounded very familiar. And the person was.... moaning your name?

Then it hit you.

Luke.

You dropped your bag onto the floor out of pure shock. It makes a thud loud enough that his moans stop.

It takes you a while, but you work up the courage to speak after a few seconds of gruelling silence.

"Luke.....?"

"Y/n?" He calls back, his voice hoarse and shaky.

You take a few shaky and slow steps towards the shower cubicle that you heard his voice coming from and knocked softly.

"Can you.... let me in?"

There's another beat of silence before the door clicks open, and the next thing you know, you're being pulled in, and the water from the shower soaks your hair. He pins you to the wall abruptly and makes out with you like there's no tomorrow. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and explores. His hands begin to wander, and they start pushing your bikini down. They hit the shower floor with a wet slap.

You gasp quietly, pulling away from his lips as you feel his long and nimble fingers trace all the way down to your folds.

"You want this, Y/n, right?" He whispers in your ear, nipping at your ear lobe.

You let out a small mewl, and that gives him enough of an answer. He turns you around and undoes your bikini top. He drops it to the side and presses your front against the shower wall. He trails gentle and slow kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders. His hands trace down your curve, and he groans into the nape of your neck.

He guides your hands up and presses them on the wall as he bends you over. Without warning, he slips two of his fingers inside of you and starts pumping in and out of you. His fingers curled inside of your gummy walls.

"F-Fuck, Luke..... just do it already," you moaned, cleching around his fingers. He'd barely even done anything, but he already had you begging for more.

"You sure?"

"Mhmm~ just do it. Please," you mumbled

He pulls his fingers out of you, and you instantly feel empty. Not for long, though. His tip presses against your entrance before he starts to ease his length into you.

He barely got halfway before you had tears brimming your eyes, and you were moaning his name loudly.

Out of nowhere, he slams his hips into you, pushing himself completely inside you.

"You're fine, baby. Im not gonna hurt you," he murmured as i pumped in and out of you quickly.

He clamped his hand over your mouth as you started to get too loud. You were close, and so was he. You could barely keep yourself standing, and you could feel his dick twitching inside of you.

"L-Luke, 'm close," you muttered between sharp breaths and moans.

"Whenever you're ready, baby." He whispered, groaning while he bucked his hips into you faster and faster.

You both rode out your high together, loud moans ringing out through the shower. Your legs shook, and shivered as he slowly pulled out of you and his cum spilled out of you, dripping down your inner thighs

"Gods..... y/n, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that to you," he whispered.

~★~

Hey guys, sorry if this is bad, but it's my first ever fic. I'd love any tips or points. Thank you, anon, for the request.

[f1angelz]

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 — lewis hamilton x f!reader

summary: Y/N has developed a habit of crying every night due to her emotional distress. Lewis finds out about her little secret after one night of hearing her sobs. Inspired by the song “When She Cries” by Restless Heart.

content warnings: none, just kinda sad!

i wrote this when i felt super down one night 🥲 i was overthinking abt my future, and the song that inspired this fic is so close to my heart. i hope you guys like this !!

── .✦

The past few months have been hard.

Y/N didn’t really feel like herself— at all. No matter how hard she tried to, it just wasn’t happening. Her fears were constantly eating her thoughts, creating an emotional mess that she didn’t know was possible.

Everyday she would wake up in the morning and try her best to repress her thoughts with a splash of cold water on her face, and a morning kiss or text from her boyfriend, Lewis.

God knew how much she wanted to open up to Lewis, but she couldn’t— too afraid to show her vulnerable side. Especially with Lewis being busy with races and all, she didn’t want him to be burdened with her emotional and mental problems.

So she hid it.

And when all the world is sleeping, she remains awake with tears flowing from her eyes and muffled sobs on the living room couch.

It was a frequent occurrence, even when Lewis was home for the off-season.

Once she feels like Lewis has drifted off to sleep, she’d sneak out of bed and place a pillow in replacement for her presence and leaves the bedroom quietly.

As soon as she shuts the door, her eyes start to sting and well up with tears— becoming uncontrollable for the next few moments.

There she sits on the couch with a dimly lit lamp, staring blankly at the balcony view of the night sky. With each tear and sob she let out, it was a temporary solution for the pain her thoughts were causing her.

After a few hours, she’d crawl back into bed and wake up the next morning like nothing happened. Yet a part of her thoughts still remain, ready to be cried out when the night comes.

She hoped that Lewis wouldn’t find out about her. Her vulnerability.

But of course, Lewis wasn’t dumb.

When she cries, a part of him shatters completely. It made him question himself as a partner— did he do something wrong? Was he treating her right?

It was only a matter of weeks, even days for Lewis to find out. As much as Lewis wanted to help, he didn’t want to scare her away. That was the last thing he’d want to happen.

Instead, he says a little prayer on behalf of her— that her pain goes away and she may finally find whatever she needed to keep her mind and heart at ease. But as each passing night comes by, her sobs grow louder and the pain in his chest was slowly becoming unbearable.

There was one night where he really, really couldn’t take the pain of hearing her sobs. It shattered him to the core.

So he peels himself out of the sheets and leaves bed, ignoring whatever time it probably was.

He quietly opens the door and sees her on the couch, curled up with a pillow on her chest.

Y/N is quick to wipe her tears away and plaster a smile on her face, trying her best to conceal the pain.

“O-Oh! Hey, I’m sorry I left bed, I just went out to drink a glass of water in the kitchen, then I decided to stay out here for a while.” She said in between sniffles, voice hoarse, ever so obvious that she just cried.

Lewis sighs, looking at her with sympathy. He walks towards the couch and sits beside her, taking a good look.

Though the lamp was dim, he could clearly see her swollen eyes— evident that she had been crying for hours.

Y/N knew that he wouldn’t believe her very smart lie, her face gave it all away.

Without saying anything, Lewis takes her into his arms.

She felt her eyes stinging, blurring her vision as tears formed once more.

“Please tell me what’s going on, my love. It pains me to hear your cry every night..”

Y/N’s tears fall down even more, now unable to hide her vulnerability.

She sobs and Lewis holds her even tighter, stroking her arm to calm her down.

“It’s okay, let it all out. Talk to me when you’re ready.” He rests his chin on her head while his heart still aches from the oblivion of her tears.

She didn’t know what to do at that moment. Obviously, there was no point in lying about her state anymore, it would just add fuel to fire. She felt trapped, knowing that she’d have to tell Lewis about her little secret for the past few months.

But how?

Her emotions were all over the place. Words were stuck in her throat like a clogged pipe, unable to make its way out no matter how hard she tried.

“L-lew..” She manages to say in a small voice, her chest heaving up and down to catch her breath. She looks up at him with glassy eyes and fidgeting fingers, “Yes, my love?” His gaze softens, hand over hers to ease her trembling.

“It’s so h-hard..”

Lewis places a kiss on her forehead, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me now. Take your time.”

She nods, still trembling.

“Whatever it is you’re going through now, I’m here. I know it hurts, love. I hear you every night trying to keep your sobs down, but your pain is evident. If you’ll let me, I’ll ease it for you.”

“B-but I don— hick— ‘n wanna be a burden.. You’re s-so— hick— b-busy with racing, m-my— hick— p-problems shouldn’t be y-yours..”

“Oh, my love, you will never be a burden for me.. We’re a team, remember? When one is down, the other one helps them get back on their feet— and I’m the one who’s doing that now.” Lewis places a hand on her cheek, wiping her tears away.

“I’m always here no matter what. No rush, okay? Whenever you’re ready, my love.”

He gives a reassuring smile, kissing her forehead once more.

Her heart feels a little bit lighter with Lewis’ words, tears have stopped falling yet her breath was still recovering.

They fell asleep on the couch that night, entangled in each other’s embrace.

Ever since then, not a single tear was shed at night.

── .✦

[vivid-dreamscapes]

Dragon King!Bakugou, who spent many night in secret with you before finally proposing, marrying you within the month after.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who is worried you’ll feel pressured to do the after-marriage consummation ritual, so he doesn’t bring it up. But his soreness certainly do—with good intentions, of course.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who makes sure the night is perfect, having spent the day preparing everything, making sure the room was arranged to his liking. The room you two had spent so many nights before had transformed, practically gleaming with the flicker of firelight from candles and scented incense. Soft silk sheets laid over the king's bed, the room filled with the sweet scent of roses. Even a small table filled with fruit and water to replenish energy midway through sits at the beside.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who waited for you in the room patiently and calmly, but internally freaked out. After all, he was nervous about preforming this ritual with you. Not just because not most people lived through having sex with dragon royalty (yes that idea came from the webtoon The Dragon Kings Bride), but because it was you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, whose eyes immediately widened once you entered the room. They drank in the traditional consummation nightgown you had been fitted into, consisting of silky white lace that hugged every contour of your body. The bodice of the dress embroidered with elaborate patterns, the material dipping low on your chest, revealing a tantalizing amount of skin. The back of the gown completely exposed, the delicate lace wrapping around to the front in the form of a tie. Your hair adorned in flowers of his favorite variety.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who has a traditional consummation outfit of his own, a set of clothing that could only be described as borderline ancient. A simple robe of deep red and black silk drapes his shoulders, leaving his toned chest exposed. Loose, dark silk pants of the same material hang low on his hips. His arms completely bare, showcasing the intricate tattoos that wrapped around them in swirling designs. His servants had even taken the time to weave a strand of pearls through his hair. The overall image he portrays can only be described as dangerously attractive.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who informs you without a second thought that you look like a goddess. When your reply is ‘don’t insult the deities like that’, he smirks and steps closer. “Careful, my lady. Blasphemy is a very serious offense."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who sees your nervousness and guides you to the bed, hand in yours.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who lays you down on the scarlet silk sheets with a surprising gentleness for being the King of dragons.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who smiles upon hearing your a virgin, his response mumbled it or he skin of your neck as his calloused fingers brush over you collarbone, taking down the nightgown. "So, you're a virgin, my lady. The gods have clearly favored me tonight."

Dragon King!Bakugou, who starts off slow with kissing and touching, only to find out your maids had done him the favor of recommending you don’t wear underwear in the first place

Dragon King!Bakugou, who fucks you so hard your left gasping and begging, even as he tries to do it slowly so he won’t kill you.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who in the morning is left with a very alive you, curled up naked in his arms.

Dragon King!Bakugou, who opens the door with a surprisingly happy look on his face, only to find the entire castle staff waiting to hear if you’re alive or not, raising an eyebrow lazily. “Calm down. They aren’t dead. They’re…they’re fine. A little sore, but otherwise fine.”

Dragon King!Bakugou, who falls in love on sight with the little baby prince that exists nine months later as proof of the ritual having worked.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Nineteen

TW - I cannot stress this enough; Eddie's junk is not of this world

“You want hot chocolate?”

“Hot cho-co-late,” Eddie repeats carefully.

“I’m having one,” and since it’s Christmas, Steve gets out a small pot to make it properly on the stove top.

Steve’s stirring the slowly heating milk when he hears back back door open, and turns to see Eddie looking out, “Stee. Snowing.”

“Is it?” Steve comes out to look, “oh yeah. That’s nice right?”

“Pretty,” Eddie says, sticking his hand out and letting one of the big fat flakes settle on his fingers. Steve has a vivid memory of the last time they were in this doorway, watching the snow together, and just how different things are right now hits him all over again. Eddie sniffs the snowflake before shoving it in his mouth, “cold water.”

“You got it baby, come on, lets have hot chocolates and watch the snow.”

When Steve tells Eddie he can’t wear his hat to bed, Eddie pouts, but he does arrange it carefully on the desk, next to Steve’s flower crown. Steve has to blink back more stupid tears at the sight, and forces himself to take a deep breath and get into bed.

“Eybrows,” Eddie says, tracing them carefully with the point of his claw, “nose,” and then he veers off a little bit, “one mole. Two mole. Three mole.” Steve shivers where Eddie’s claw drags over his throat and then back up, shifting a little in bed, “mouth.”

“What are you doing baby?”

“Gro-seree list. All the things Eddidie likes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters to himself, “how the hell are you so smooth?” He can feel himself blushing a little, which is just ridiculous.

“Not like,” Eddie rubs a knuckle through Steve’s scraggly stubble. He really does need to shave that off; he’s not drowning in a pit of despair any more, there’s no real excuse for the sad facial hair.

“No?”

Eddie shakes his head, rubbing fingertips across the smooth apple of Steve’s cheek, “good,” and then into the stubble, “bad.”

“This is smooth,” Steve tells Eddie, running his fingertips along Eddie’s arm, “this is rough,” he rubs at the stubble on Eddie’s head to demonstrate.

“Rough bad.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll get rid of it in the morning, okay?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Breakfast morning lunch afternoon dinner night bed.”

Steve has to cogitate on that for a second, “yeah, yeah that’s right. Morning is after breakfast and before lunch. Afternoon is after lunch but before dinner.”

Eddie hums, settling down next to Steve in bed, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder, “before Hawkins Indiana, Eddidie in The Upside down.”

“That’s right baby, you got it.”

“After Monday Tuesday.”

“Yup, that’s right,” Steve yawns, “you have a good Christmas?”

“Many good. Christmas Tomorrow?”

Steve chuckles, “Christmas isn’t for a whole year. You remember what a year is?”

“January February March April...”

When Steve wakes up, it’s to the sight of Eddie’s feet right in the air. He’s lying on his back next to Steve, legs held straight up. He’s curling his toes. Sometimes all of them, sometimes just the big ones. His sleep pants have fallen down past his knees, and Steve lies there a while, just watching.

Eddie’s speaking, and Steve thinks it may have woken him despite Eddie’s obvious attempts to be very very quiet; he’s currently counting to ten. And then he says the days of the week, the months, the alphabet. He spells his name. He waves his feet around a little, and then bends his knobbly knees in turn, making circles like he’s riding an imaginary bicycle. He’s singing something to himself. ABBA, Steve finally makes out, it’s a bit mangled, ‘soopa troopa,’ the way Eddie sings it. Just the one line, over and over, ‘light’s are gonna’ blind me, shining like the sun,’ Eddie must have picked it up off the TV or the radio.

Steve must shift, or make a sound, and he gives himself away eventually, Eddie realizing he’s awake, “Stee. Morning. Breakfast food?”

“Morning baby.”

“Stee?”

“Yeah?”

“Eddidie baby, then Stee..?”

“Oh. You want a- hmmm.” Steve thinks, “how about sweetheart?”

Eddie looks terribly affronted, “Stee not food.”

Steve lifts his own leg out from under the covers, wriggling three toes at Eddie, “kind of am.”

Eddie actually makes a noise, so shocked a little puff of air escapes him as he splutters, “no!”

Steve can’t help his laughter, “too soon?”

“All tomorrows too soon!”

“Okay, okay. I won’t joke about it.” Steve thinks again, but most things he comes up with are kind of food adjacent. Joyce has kind of cornered the market on ‘honey.’ “How about love?”

“I love you.”

“I know baby, I love you too. But that’s what you could call me. Love.”

“Stee love.”

They brush their teeth together, elbow to elbow, “we really should shower.” They haven’t washed up since Christmas eve, when Steve dragged Eddie out of the pool. Steve inspects the tub; it’s streaked with disgusting gritty filth on the bottom, and the dirty blanket and clothes are still shoved into the corner of the bathroom where Steve left them.

They might be salvageable on a long enough wash, but Steve wants to get a trash bag rather than put them in his basket, they are really gross. He also hasn’t really done any meaningful amount of cleaning or tidying since the night Eddie bit his toes off...which between the injury and the moping, he felt he had a valid excuse to ignore the state of the house.

Not really now though, “I tell you what, lets have breakfast, and then do a little cleaning and some laundry, and then we shower, sound good?”

“Breakfast good.”

“Okay, I’ll just deal with this a minute,” and Eddie sits on the lid of the toilet, watching avidly as Steve shaves.

���Okay, so this goes in here,” Steve loads the washer, leaving the trash sack of really gross stuff for a separate wash later, “and then we measure the detergent like this.”

“Eddidie can?”

“Sure baby,” Steve tips the power back into the box, giving the scoop to Eddie so he can do it. Eddie carefully pours where Steve points. “Now, this is clothes, so we press this,” he points to the dial, and then the button, “so that gets rid of the dirt, and our clothes will be nice and clean.”

Eddie does it, and then grins big when the machine starts up, “done.”

“Good job, okay, so we give it a while, then we come back and set it drying, okay?”

“Okay.” Eddie waves at the machine, “bye bye dirt.”

“Help?”

“That’s real nice baby yeah, like this,” and Steve demonstrates as he moves along the book cases, around the TV, carefully dusting his mothers ornaments and picture frames, “you got it?”

“Got it.”

Steve leaves him to it, and goes and cleans the kitchen. Jon and Hopper did a great job yesterday, and Steve’s really grateful considering the amount of people who ate here, but there’s still an amount of post Christmas carnage to clear up. He takes the trash bag out since it’s filled with wrapping paper, then comes back and starts emptying the drying rack, getting the kitchen clean.

When he goes back into the lounge, Eddie’s done dusting, and he’s carefully arranging all his new things; he puts his new VHS next to the TV, ready for later.

“You want to vacuum?” Steve asks him.

“Vacuum?”

Steve retrieves it from the utility, plugging it in for Eddie and showing him how it works. “Dry?” Eddie shouts over the noise.

“No,” Steve calls back, immediately understanding the link between the hoover and the hairdryer, “clean!”

Eddie takes the hoover, and once Steve shows him how to move the plug from socket to socket, he does the whole downstairs of the house. After, they sit on the couch for a bit, Eddie’s new legs a little shaky with exertion, “you want to try a coffee?”

“Try a coffee. Want. Please.”

“Okay,” Steve makes them both a mug of coffee, making Eddie’s a little sweeter and milkier then his own, and Eddie drinks the whole thing happily. Steve figures if a beer doesn’t hurt, then a little coffee won’t either.

It turns out twenty minutes later that a bit of coffee can have side effects; they find themselves dealing with Eddie’s first poop.

“Cross the bridge,” Eddie had declared hilariously, after producing what was possibly the most heinous fart Steve had ever heard. Steve scrubs the tub while Eddie sits on the toilet, staying present but trying to give Eddie the illusion of privacy.

“Pee more bad then poop,” Eddie tells him.

“Well, at least this one doesn’t hurt, huh baby?”

“Not hurt. No ow.”

“Pee doesn’t hurt now though, does it? Just that first one?” Steve checks.

“No. No ow pee. Called first?”

“Good. That’s good.” Steve gets the shower head down to rinse away the last of the cleaning product, leaving a shiny white tub behind, “uhm...first is. One. That comes first. Monday comes first, January.”

Eddie hums, frowning like he does when he hasn’t quite grasped it yet. To be fair, Steve knows he can’t always give the best explanation for these things. “Not ow,” Eddie tells him, back onto safer ground.

“So if its not ow, we say it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie parrots back, “no ow. It doesn’t hurt. Okay.”

“That’s right baby.”

Eddie awkwardly wipes and then flushes while Steve gets the water hot for his shower, he waves at the toilet, and says, “bye bye poop,” Steve covering his face with his hand to try and muffle his snort of laughter. Eddie strips off, putting all his things in the hamper, “Stee love in tub?”

“You go first.”

Eddie frowns, “no, together.”

“I…” and Steve can’t, actually, think of a real reason why not, so he gets undressed too.

Steve shampoos and then conditions his hair while Eddie stands under the water, doing little swaps back and forth when Steve needs to rinse. Eddie’s doing a half hearted job, he keeps getting distracted by the feel of the splashing water, watching fascinated as it drips from his fingers, so Steve eventually intervenes. Steve carefully scrubbing Eddie down with the wash cloth; he’s so thin, Steve can almost make out his thigh-bones. His knees, ankles and elbows protrude and Steve could fit his fingers between Eddie’s ribs.

“You hungry? I think there’s left over cobbler in the fridge.”

Eddie nods, “cobbler. Sorry canned filling. Idge cold. Make hot?”

“Yeah I can warm it up for you.”

Once Steve’s done, Eddie limpets himself to Steve. The stubble on his head is starting to turn dark, like Eddie has a five o’clock shadow on his head, and it’s rough on Steve’s shoulder, prickling him. Steve doesn’t mind though. Steve rubs his back, following the knobs of his spine.

“We should get out,” Steve says absently.

“Maybe,” Eddie replies, making Steve snort a laugh, kissing the top of Eddie’s prickly head.

Eddie responds by leaning up to kiss Steve properly, slow and soft, “first?” He asks after.

“First what baby?”

“First kiss today?”

Steve thinks about it, “yeah. Yeap you’re right. First kiss of the day, right there.”

Eddie grins, “first kiss of the day tomorrow?”

“We can do that.”

Eddie suddenly lights up, “license first! Eddidie car after!”

“That’s it baby, exactly right,” Steve tells him, Eddie clearly finally grasping the concept.

“Called before sleep kiss?”

“That would be last. Last kiss of the day.”

“December last? Sunday?”

“Yeah, yeah baby, you got it.”

Eddie nods like there was never any doubt, leaning in to kiss Steve again. Still slow and sweet, a soft touch of lips, Eddie’s arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, holding them close. It takes a minute to register the movement, something pressing against the crease of Steve’s thigh. He leans back a little to look down.

The top of Eddie’s slit has parted; the opening wide enough to permit the...Steve doesn’t even know. It’s worming against Steve’s skin, the flesh the same color as Eddie at the base, but darkening to near black at the rounded head.

It moves freely, probably roughly the same thickness as Steve’s own cock when he’s hard. Steve watches as it moves...like it’s looking for something. It moves like a snake. Like an octopus tentacle. Nudging and casting about across the skin of Steve’s hip; when it wriggles back the other way, finding Steve’s pubic hair, it nuzzles in against it.

“Eddie,” Steve swallows thickly, stunned into a frozen state of fascination, he's pretty sure he hasn't blinked in a minute, his heart thudding loud in his ears, “what-I mean. What is that?”

“Eddidie?” Eddie says, gently reaching between them to touch Steve’s own soft cock.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes.

Eddie’s hand slides across, touching...himself? Steve guesses?...with his fingers. The...thing seems to wake up again, tangling itself with Eddie’s fingers easily. It’s very...twisty. And bendy. The thing looks like it has a, a kind of grip on Eddie’s fingers, almost.

And then the end starts to open, six petals that slowly start to peel apart, and Steve panics, jerking away, pushing Eddie’s hips away with both hands and holding him there at arms length.

Eddie’s...dick? Seems to startle, zipping back inside him like it was never there. “Holy shit. Holy shit,” Steve breathes, drawing in only slightly panicked breaths. He can feel his heart banging away in his chest, “pants.” He croaks out, desperately, “we should both put on pants.”

Part Twenty One

[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[marvelstoriesepic]

Whumpcember (day 18)

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Prompt: Poisoned

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of illness; poisoning; worried!Bucky

Author’s note: Don’t ask me where this came from, I have no idea. But, thank you for reading! <3

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

You hear him pacing outside your chamber.

His boots strike the stone floor in sharp, angry bursts.

Occasionally, the sound halts, but his voice doesn’t. He’s fuming. It started with low, threatening murmurs that soon escalated into raised voices - or rather one raised voice. He didn’t really let anyone else come to word. You can only assume he’s talking to his guards.

He’s on edge. Has been ever since your first symptoms appeared.

It started this afternoon, as you and Bucky - or Prince James to everybody else - strolled through the palace gardens.

It had been a great day, a little cold, but not terribly so. You had been laughing with him, feeding the ducks by the pond and he had playfully threatened to throw you in there himself if you told Knight Samuel about the way he had picked up some flowers for you at the edge of the water. Your laughter after that wasn’t very lady like but it just got worse when he started chasing and tickling you.

But you started to feel it as the two of you settled under the big willow tree.

It was a discomfort in your stomach, an unease that settled and burrowed, deeper the longer you dismissed it.

Bucky, of course, had picked up on your shift immediately and rushed you back inside. By then you already were pale, clammy, and lightheaded.

Now, confined to your chambers by Bucky’s orders, you’re surrounded by an entourage of healers, endlessly fretting over your condition.

They hover at your bedside, fingers continuously brushing your forehead, checking your pulse, mixing tinctures, and murmuring theories to one another in hushed voices.

There are always at least two or three of them at any given time, a constant rotation that leaves you feeling scrutinized, yet strangely detached from their fussing.

You can’t even roll over without one of them pausing to announce it to your parents and Bucky

It feels as though every thirty seconds, someone is rushing out to deliver updates to him.

He demands to be told everything; the slightest change in your complexion; the smallest shift in your breathing. He refuses to let the healers leave anything unsaid. And he takes every single one of the smallest updates on your condition with a seriousness that could have made you laugh in any other circumstance.

His clipped and commanding tone drifts in from the hall and you feel a little bad for the people receiving it.

Normally, the prince is full of composure and control, but that only ever seems to shatter when it comes to you.

You picture him out there, bristling with anger, his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists as he barks orders and questions on how this could have happened. How you could have ended up falling ill.

He barely lets anyone else talk and when someone does, it doesn’t seem to be a good enough answer, judging the unmistakable sound of something heavy - perhaps a boot or a fist - striking a wall.

You wince again at the sharp pain tormenting your stomach. Your skin feels too cold one moment and burning hot the next, as though your body can’t decide whether to shake or sweat.

The faint dizziness from earlier has grown into a persistent haze that seems to move to your vision slowly, making it a little harder to get a clear picture. You try to blink it away.

There is a bitter taste at the back of your throat that no amount of water or tea can wash away.

The healers whisper words like poison when they think you’re too weak to hear them, but you hear them all the same.

The door to your chambers creaks open. The sound is urgent, and before you know it, Bucky is at your side. His movements are stiff, almost forceful, and though he likely doesn’t mean to, he brushes a healer away in his haste to get to you.

The poor man stumbles back, his hand still clutching the damp towel he’d been using to cool your fever.

But Bucky pays him no mind. His focus is singular, and he takes the towel himself.

With a tenderness that almost undoes you, he presses the cloth to your forehead. His touch is infinitely soft. It’s the kind of touch that aches.

He looks at you, you notice.

You feel it rather than seeing it. His gaze burns hotter than your fever does. Slowly, weakly you tilt your head to face him better. It takes effort. The hotness raging beneath your skin deliberately melts away your vision, making Bucky swim before you.

But you see enough. Enough to say that he left his furiousness outside in the hall. Here, inside, with you, this is just Bucky. Bucky as worried and unfiltered as he can get when it comes to you.

Your thoughts come slow. Lazily dragging through your mind and switching directions too often for you to latch onto something specific.

The towel brushes against your temple again, and though the coolness should bring relief, his touch you notice more.

His lips are moving, you realize when your eyes start to roam his face. He’s talking to you, but his voice is not yet fully meeting your ears. His words swim just like his face, in and out of reach.

You blink sluggishly, barely able to focus, but sounds start to come in.

He, like the healers before says something about poison. And it’s not the word that leaves the pain in your chest, it’s the way he says it. With his voice so quivery and rough.

“-slow-acting poison-” you catch again, with the same tone. “-subtle enough no one noticed it until it was too late.”

He calls your name then, and you blink a few times. The heavy blue of his eyes builds its picture in your mind and you try so much to focus.

He is breathing heavily. His lips are parted. His brows are knit together and his face is morphed in a grimace of desperation and pain as he still lets his eyes sear a hole through you.

He drops his head for a moment, exhaling sharply. He releases an anguished sound with it and clears his throat. He seems to be trying to focus too, just for other reasons.

“The testers,” he continues, and the sharp pain punctures your stomach again. Because the thickness in his voice sounds too much like guilt to you. So much guilt. “They… they are in the same condition as you. Same symptoms, same timeline.”

A shaky breath rattles out of him again as he swipes the towel over your forehead once more, dabbing your skin.

His eyes flicker over your face. There is a wetness to them. His pupils can’t stay in place, moving swiftly between your own eyes as if he’s searching for signs in you. Shadows spill across his gaze, fear trembling in the sheen of his watery blues.

“I should have caught this.” His voice is a whisper but it sounds like gravel.

He can’t go down that road again right now. Not when you’re in no condition to protest and argue with him as you normally would.

You even have problems swallowing. You have to put effort into blinking.

There is no way you can tell him that this is in no way his fault.

His hand curls into a fist against your bed. “I should have known something wasn’t right,” he only continues.

He did know. He knew the second your eyebrows began to crease ever so slightly by the swift pain pouncing on your stomach.

There is no way he could have known earlier.

But you can’t tell him that.

Your voice is a fragile thing right now, not even able to build up deep inside.

Bucky shakes his head again, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. All you can do is watch. Well, try to watch.

“I’ve got the guards tearing this place apart - every pantry, every kitchen, every bloody corner. Somebody did this. Somebody thought they could hurt you, and I am going to find them.” His voice hardens with each word, but his hand softens as he reaches for yours. He threads his fingers through yours so gently and carefully, it doesn’t help with trying to breathe evenly.

“I will make them pay.” It sounds so determined, so terrifying if you were any other person.

His thumb strokes over your knuckles, while the towel still pads your face. It’s slow, and steady, grounding himself as much as you.

“But right now… right now, all that matters is you. I need you to fight this, alright? Darling? I need you to stay with me.” His voice cracks. It buckles, just not with the grace he is known for, but unevenly and unceremoniously. His next breath stumbles over itself and his gaze drops to your hand in his as though he’s ashamed to let you see the whole of his fear.

Your chest rises and falls in a slow, shallow breath, and as you exhale with an unsteadiness, it feels like you’re letting go of something you can’t quite name. The faint sound catches his attention immediately and his head snaps back up to you, again searching your eyes, your face, your body.

They don’t stray from you for a few heartbeats, as though he’s afraid he’ll lose you if he looks away for even a second.

Bucky straightens up, his presence suddenly larger. He leans closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of him bushing over your fevered skin. His free hand uncurls from his fist, white knuckles, going up to your face.

Soft fingers sweep back the strands of hair that cling to your damp face. The motion is unhurried, almost delicate, and for a moment, the coolness of his touch - or rather, his touch alone - is the only thing keeping the fading light of your awareness on for some time longer.

His thumb lingers at your temple, tracing lightly, and it is astounding to you that he managed to make you forget about the poison cursing through your veins for a tiny second.

His heart seems to have spilled entirely into his gaze because the emotions drowning there overwhelm you. They’re so deep, so afraid, so concerned. All you want is to grant him a reassuring smile. But your lips fail you.

“You are going to be okay.” It’s a plea and a promise. He speaks as if saying it out loud will carve it into stone - will make it reality. “This will not take you away from me. I’ve got you. I am right here. Please. You are going to stay with me.”

He leans closer still, as if closing the distance makes his words sink deeper, might make them take root into your fading consciousness.

His hand stays on your face, his other hand still holding the towel, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His touch is steady, although his voice isn’t.

There is a fire in his eyes, an unyielding resolve burning beneath the fear like he’s daring the universe to take you from him.

And you won’t let it take you, you tell yourself.

You will stay with him.

But you just need some sleep at the moment. And when you wake up, you will fight this unwelcome substance in your system.

But first, you have to get some sleep.

Just a little sleep.

[spiderb00]

Baths and Dinners

Daniela Avanzini x reader 

“You and your girlfriend don't have many quiet moments, but when you do, it's always perfect” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None  (Request)

Now playing – Cariño, The Marias

The keys to your apartment with Daniela were tinkling in your hands, your girlfriend's laughter echoing through the corridors of the building as she clung to your waist. You and Daniela had gone on a date, with the busy schedules of both of you, you rarely had time to spend all day together, having only a few dinner nights before returning to the busy routine of the two of you.   

Opening the door, you entered the apartment, Daniela still clinging to you as she kissed your shoulder blades. The yellowish lights of the sunset came in through the open curtains, leaving the apartment with a cozy air. You and Daniela loved the space you had together, the Latina loved going to your shared apartment after a tiring day, but now, with the two of you spending the day together and looking like a newlywed couple, she thought she couldn't wait to have a full life with you.   

"I'm dead" Daniela said, letting go of the tightness she had around your waist and throwing herself on the couch.   

"I know." You said, laughing at the drama the curly-haired girl was making. "How about a bath? Then I can prepare dinner..." You said, waiting for Daniela to evaluate your proposal.  

"Pasta?" The Latina asked, with a twinkle in her eye.   

"Whatever you want, pretty girl." You say, Daniela smiled and pulled your shirt, making you lie on top of her on the couch. 

Placing your hands on either side of Daniela's head, you supported your weight, you and the Latina smiling at each other, both of you leaning slowly until the lips of the two of you were together. The kiss was calm, tender, and conveyed all the love you both felt. The sun was fading as the minutes passed, and you wanted to stop time and be forever with the love of your life.   

Daniela's hands entered your shirt, the Latina caressed your back while savoring the kiss. Daniela's chest seemed to jump hard, every second close to you was precious to the Latina.   

"Come on, I'm dying to put on pajamas." You said, pulling the Latina's hand and making her get up from the couch.   

In the bathroom, the shower water was warm, Daniela had her back to you, while you massaged the blonde's curls. The shampoo foam getting bigger, and all you heard was the grumbles of pleasure coming out of the Latina.   

"This is so good. Thank you, baby." Daniela said, while rinsing her hair in the warm water of the shower.   

"Any time, baby." You said, hugging the waist of the lower woman and kissing her shoulder.   

After you got out of the shower, you and Daniela were in matching pajamas, ready to make dinner. The smell of sauce and pasta filled the entire kitchen, and you left your girlfriend on the stove while you opened a wine for the two of you.   

"You're so hot!" Daniela says, looking at you.  

"Do you think I'm hot just because I'm opening a wine? Weird." You said, teasing the Latina, that she wrinkled her nose and came closer to you.   

"Shut up, I'm trying to be romantic here." The Latina said, pulling your face and leaving a long kiss on your lips.  

"You're very romantic, baby." You say after parting your lips from hers, heading towards the pot.   

Daniela accompanied you, once again wrapping her arms around your waist. The Latina loved being like this with you, the closeness, your smell, the feeling of the temperature of your skin against hers, she loved everything.   

When dinner was finally ready, you and Daniela sat down on the couch. The series you and Daniela were watching recently on TV, while the two of you ate a generous plate of the pasta you had made. Daniela was leaning on you, savoring the dish, occasionally laughing at the program and giving you a few kisses on the cheek when you made some silly comment.   

"More wine, Miss Avanzini?" You said, imitating a waiter. What could you say, that was your first bottle, but you had a low alcohol content. 

"You get cute when you're drunk, baby. Maybe we should stop here." The Latina said, placing the empty plate of noodles on the coffee table.   

"It's okay, you're in charge." You said, looking at her with your eyes downcast and smiling slightly.   

"I love you." Daniela said, putting her hands on your face, pulling you into a kiss full of love.   

"I love you more." You said, looking into the blonde girl's eyes.   

just something cozy with Miss Avanzini.

I'm going through a development problem, which means I'm not being able to develop the stories so much, practically a blockage.

well, I hope you enjoyed it, and listen to The Marias, this band is fire!! My favorite song of theirs is "Ay no puedo", it's just fantastic. Stay safe,

xoxo, spider.

[heauxvibez]

Dipsea 3 2/2

Warning: Smut (18+)

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you fumbled with the key, struggling to fit it into the lock. The adrenaline made every move feel clumsy, your mind still completely consumed by what had just happened. Roman Reigns—the Roman Reigns—his smooth, rich voice, and his sweet, calm presence kept replaying in your thoughts, like a movie stuck on repeat. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you at the coffee shop, how his gaze alone commanded your attention.

You barely remembered the drive home. Everything after leaving the shop was a blur. Did you stop at all the red lights? Did you take the familiar streets or end up on the freeway without even realizing? You couldn’t even recall if you had left your half-finished latte behind or if it was still sitting in the cupholder in your car. It was like you were on autopilot, your body moving on its own while your mind was lost in the haze of him.

As soon as you stepped into your apartment, the comforting scent of pine cones and cinnamon wrapped around you like your favorite fuzzy blanket. The warmth inside was a huge difference from the chilly air you had just escaped. It was like the heat itself was welcoming you home, reminding you of how cold it had gotten outside since you left the coffee shop. The sun, which had been shining brightly earlier, was slowly dipping toward the horizon, leaving the sky pretty shades of pink, purple, and orange. The colors lightly shined into your apartment through the balcony making it feel even more homey.

The drastic temperature shift wasn’t surprising—just another typical Los Angeles evening. The day had been warm and sunny as if summer hadn’t quite let go, but by evening, those familiar cool breezes had started creeping in, growing colder by the hour. It was one of those nights where you could feel the cold seeping through the cracks of the windows, but inside, it was all nice and cozy.

You kicked off your Ugg slippers without a second thought, leaving them by the front door, too tired to care about putting them on the shoe rack. They could wait. Your keys landed with a soft jingle on the hook, and you slung your work tote over the back of the nearest dining chair, its usual resting place after a long day.

You let out a deep sigh of relief and finally allowed yourself to relax. After everything, it felt good to be home. The suds clung to your skin as you massaged them over your body, the warm water cascading down like it did every night. You couldn’t help but hum in pleasure, letting the steam and heat relax you. This was always your favorite part of the day—the moment when you could wash away everything and just be. The familiar routine followed: a hot shower, then lotioning up from head to toe, followed by a some good food. Afterward, you'd curl up, rubbing your ankles together as you lost yourself in a good fanfic or binged something on Netflix. It was your perfect form of decompression.

Once you'd exfoliated every inch of your skin and eaten, the couch practically pulled you in. Your body was clean, your belly full, and you could already feel the comforting habit of rubbing your ankles together kicking in. But not yet. First, you needed your fill of him. You grabbed your phone and settled in, sitting upright with your back pressed into the cushion, while your legs stretched out comfortably on the L-shaped section of the couch.

Your oversized t-shirt draped loosely over your body, but tonight, there were no panties sliding down to pool around your ankles like usual. You didn’t want any restrictions, nothing to keep you from fully enjoying the moment. Tonight was about pure comfort, no barriers, just you, him, and the peace of being in your own space.

You opened the familiar app, your fingers moving without a thought as you headed straight to "My Library." There, at the very top, was his glowing image, standing out above all the other audios you sometimes enjoyed but never as much as his. Those others didn’t stand a chance anymore—they’d been permanently pushed to the background, ever since he started sharing himself with this app. He was all you craved.

You’d promised yourself you’d hold off for a few days, saving his audios for those especially tough times when you needed a guaranteed release. But after actually meeting him today there was no way you could wait. He was still in your mind, and the idea of hearing him now, after he’d touched you, was too tempting to resist. Now you couldn’t stop imagining what those muscular hands would feel like around your waist, how they might slide down to slip between your legs. Those hands pressing against your body, while his fingers—so perfectly manicured—teased your clit, playing you so delicately. Your skin tingled just thinking about it.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, "I left my damn AirPods in the car." You sucked your teeth and let out a frustrated huff, annoyed with yourself. The experience just wouldn’t be the same. You refused to settle for listening to him through your phone speaker—what was the point if his voice wasn’t fully enveloping you from both sides? And just playing his audio from your phone while it sat awkwardly on your chest? That was downright criminal. You wouldn’t be able to fully hear him, and it would be like having to say “Huh?” during sex—an absolute mood killer.

You looked over to the TV, eyes landing on the sound bar sitting beneath it on the stand. The corners of your lips curled into a small smile. Sure, it wasn’t the same as having him whisper directly into your ear, but hearing his voice fill the entire living room? That had its own appeal. You could already imagine it—the smooth sound of his voice surrounding you, echoing off the walls, wrapping around your body. Yeah, this was going to have you on fire. Maybe you wouldn’t feel him in your ears, but he’d still be everywhere.

Thank God for screen mirroring. The TV lit up, instantly reflecting the same images from your phone, and you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy as you rummaged through the app. Your eyes stayed focused, fingers tapping and swiping as you scrolled through until you found it—the playlist of seductive narration that always hit the right spot. You felt a bit nervous as your gaze fell on the next audio. You tapped "read more," and the description had you practically holding your breath.

Can you handle the sounds of Joe in your ear when he describes himself touching you? Click here to find out.

Something deep inside told you that this man was about to drive you insane. You could already feel it coming and weren’t sure if you were ready for what he had in store.

With a steadying inhale, you hit play, sinking deeper into the couch, shifting your hips forward to get more comfortable. The initial sound of his breathing filled the room through the sound bar, growing louder, surrounding you, drawing you in as he began setting the scene.

"It feels good having you here with me, ya know..." Damn, he sounded just like he did we he had completely grabbed your attention at the coffee shop earlier. It was just so alluring. "Your body right here against mine, your bare back to my bare chest, somehow fitting perfectly."

Your tongue slid across your bottom lip, your body reacting instinctively to his words. You placed your hands on your stomach, twiddling your fingers, trying to focus. You had a pretty good idea where this was going, but you weren’t about to jump the gun. If Joe wanted to see how well you listened, you were going to listen. From the last two audios, you’d learned that he liked to be in control, liked to take his time, and you were determined to follow his lead. No touching yourself yet—that much you knew.

At least, you hoped you were right.

"Your hips sit perfectly between my legs, ass pressed against me in the most tempting way. Fuck, if I didn’t have these sweats on, I’d be filling you up right now..."

Your lips pressed tightly together, trying to hold back a whimper that threatened to escape. It was silly, really—you were alone, in the comfort of your own home, with no one around to hear you. But something about the way he spoke, made you feel like he could sense you. Like he'd somehow know if you made a sound, and worse, punish you for it, scolding you for interrupting with your needy noises. So instead, your thighs pressed together, trying to stifle the growing arousal the same way you did that suppressed whimper.

"My hands begin to massage your shoulders, doing their best to melt away any knots that got my baby girl stressed. I want you to relax, my love."

You closed your eyes, easily imagining his hands working your shoulders from behind, slowly easing away the tension as you sat nestled between his legs in his favorite recliner. In your mind, you could feel the firm grip of his fingers, kneading at your muscles, just as he described. Your body, propped up much like it was now, except this time, he was there behind you, doing all the work.

"Both of my hands slowly make their way down your arms, as if they're trying to smooth away the goosebumps rising on your skin. Goddamn, I got this effect on you, baby?"

You could practically feel the slow touch of his hands gliding down your arms, leaving a trail of heat in their path. The goosebumps rising on your skin, as if your body was physically reacting to his words alone. Your imagination was coming to life.

And yeah, he definitely had that effect on you. There was no denying it.

"Hell yes," you whispered into the air, "You just have no fucking clue," you moaned squeezing your thighs a bit tighter. You were no longer playing with your fingers but now fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Your fingers so desperately wanted to play with something.

"Mmm, I can tell. I love that I can make you crumble like this." his chuckles thrummed through the speaker and right into your chest, "Fucking weak for me like always."

"Ssss," he sucked air through his teeth, "My hands glide right back up your arms, across your shoulders, down your back, then under your arms, moving deliberately toward your breasts. Your soft skin melts into my hands—so smooth, so supple, so perfectly moisturized. It’s like your body is made for my touch." He let out a low moan, the sound cutting through the air.

"The scent of your body lingers around us—shea butter and vanilla—it’s intoxicating. You smell exactly how you look, baby. Appetizing. Ready to be devoured… every last bit of you."

You could hear him inhale deeply followed by a slow exhale. "And the smell of your juices, fuck… it’s in the air too. That mouth-watering scent I never get tired of."

Your own hands slid under your shirt, moving to your breasts, following his lead, mimicking the actions he described.

"I grab your breasts into my hands," his voice continued, painting the scene in vivid detail, "massaging them slowly, working in gentle circles, my fingers grazing inward. Your nipples slip between my fingertips with each caress, becoming the most beautiful kind of collateral damage."

The phantom sensation of his hands moved just as your own were. He made it feel so real.

Whimpers escaped your lips as you followed along, your hands moving to capture your breasts just as he described. Your fingers spread wide before closing in, applying slow, tender pinches that turn you on more than possible. Muscle memory kicked in, and you imagined it wasn’t your own hands but his working over your skin, making your nipples pebble and harden more with every stroke. You remembered exactly what they felt like. You could feel him there, touching you so intimately.

"I start placing slow, sensual kisses against the nape of your neck," his voice rumbled through the speakers, "As if it’s my way of softening the roughness of my hold on you. My lips sink into your skin just like my hands do."

The sound of soft kissing echoed through the room, your skin tingling as the scene played out in your head. It felt so real, the warmth of his breath against your neck, the slow press of his lips against your skin. Goosebumps rose on your arms as you imagined it, "Skin so soft, so pretty—just like you, baby girl."

You heard one kiss, then another, then another.

"The hairs of my mustache brush against the coiling curls near your ear," his voice continued, "I couldn’t help but kiss those too. You always say how much you hate the texture of your hair, but I love it. It always reminds me of how deeply you're rooted—"

Your heart fluttered at that, the tender detail of him appreciating the very thing you’d actually often criticized about yourself. It made the everything feel a bit more real. You imagined his lips brushing against your coils, kissing them softly, making you feel cherished.

"Reminds me of how deep your skin is," he murmured.

"Rich,"

"Chocolate," he whispered, his lips sounded like they were brushing against your skin.

"Beautiful," he finished, each word followed by another tender kiss, the sounds echoed.

"My kisses descend from your neck to your shoulder and then back up again," he continued, "I can feel you molding against me, our bodies fitting together perfectly. Little gasps escape your lips as you're falling apart—overstimulated, frustrated. You want to be touched so bad, don’t you?"

You were panting softly, those gentle breaths gradually getting a bit more intense. Your hands were still teasingly playing with your breasts. You gave a quick, desperate nod, your hair bouncing against your forehead as you did so.

"I know, mama. Daddy is going to give you exactly what you want, you deserve it."

"My left-hand keeps grasping your breast, fingers teasing your nipple, feeling it harden between my thumb and middle finger. It feels so good under my touch. My right-hand starts its slow journey down your stomach, savoring every inch, fully aware that your slick folds are my ultimate destination. I leisurely trace a path, enjoying the torture you must be going through.

As I reach your navel, I draw light circles around it, knowing just how sensitive you are there. I can feel your body shiver at my touch,"

Your fingertips follow along, drawing slow circles right where he is. Each little motion makes your clit pulse. You can feel your juices trickling down your slit, soaking into the fabric of your t-shirt beneath you. You've never wanted to touch yourself so badly.

"My middle finger glides right above your clit, making those same small circles with just the right amount of pressure—enough to get you worked up but not quite enough to leave you fully satisfied. It keeps you writhing beneath me, soft whimpers escaping your lips as you beg for more. Shit." he moans, his voice sending you to the moon.

"I might just nut from doing this to you, baby." He mumbles, he was starting to sound needy.

"My finger slips through your folds, effortlessly separating your lips and sinking deep into your pussy. Mmm, you're so tight, so warm, and so fucking wet for me. I pull it out, relishing the sensation, and then push it back in, this time going deeper. I can feel every little shudder and clench around my finger, and I go deep enough that I graze that spot inside you that makes you gasp. You try to hunch forward instinctively, chasing the sensation, but my grip on your chest keeps you stable, pulling you close to me, making sure you can feel every little thing."

The sounds of wetness fill the air, mixing with the sounds from the audio. Your fingers are deep inside your pussy now, moving in time, mimicking the pace perfectly.

"I just know you're losing it, baby," he murmurs, "My hair dangling against your skin, brushing softly as I lean in closer. My lips trail along your neck, kissing and teasing, while my fingers twist and turn around your sensitive bud. I’m fucking you with my fingers, curling and curving just right as I press against that sweet spot that drives you wild. I know it’s making you crazy, mama, that desperate need for more, for deeper, for everything."

"I know this shit is making your heart flutter," sloosh.

"I know this shit is making you question why I'm doing you like this," sloosh.

"I know this shit is overstimulating the fuck out of you," sloosh.

With each sentence, your fingers dig deeper, pushing you closer and closer. He wasn’t lying—he was talking you through it, and you were losing yourself, drowning in the wave of his words.

“I pull my finger out, watching your juices cling to it, glistening and thick. The further I pull away, the thinner the string becomes, stretching between us. We both just stare at it, like it’s got us hypnotized. It’s mesmerizin', ain't it?” His voice dipped lower, “I’ve been craving this, been too long since I’ve had you like this… and now, I can’t resist anymore.”

"I bring my finger to my mouth, lips wrapping around it slowly, teasingly. Mmm,” he groaned softly, as if he was savoring the taste. “Daddy’s been thinking about tasting you all day, princess. You taste so fucking good, like the sweetest thing I’ve ever had. Can’t get enough.” his words made your body ache for him.

With a soft chuckle, his voice came in closer. “Here, baby girl... just open up for me.”

You bring your finger to your mouth, savoring the taste, and let out a soft moan just like he had when your essence 'brushed against his palate'. The sweet, thick juices coat your tongue, warm and silky as they spread across your taste buds.

“You taste so fucking good, don’t you?” he teases with a smirk you could hear so clearly. The way he says it makes your skin heat up, and you can almost picture the way his lips are curling, just like they did earlier when he was looking at you.

You moaned in agreement. "Now it's your turn baby. I want you to put your fingers in this time. Let's see how long you last listening to Daddy moan in your ear..."

Your fingers slid through your wetness, middle, and ring finger working together as they moved in and out, curling slightly as you explored for that sweet spot. The soft, silky walls of your body hugged them perfectly, the strokes drawing out the knots in your belly as you continued to tease yourself.

“So soft and warm, ain’t it?” he asked, “Fuck, yesss,” you whispered breathlessly, sinking even deeper into the feeling. Your chest and stomach twisting from his voice and the way your body responded. “Shit feels good, don’t it?” he groaned, his voice rough, “Now you get why I never want to escape from being buried deep between those legs. It’s like a trap… those sweet, soft, gushy walls just pull me in, every.fucking.time.” His words came out through clenched teeth.. well, you just knew they were from the way he sounded and it was driving you absolutely insane at the thought of it.

You could feel your juices pooling beneath you, gathering at the curve of your ass, the fabric of your shirt barely holding it back. You knew it was already seeping into the couch, creating a mess you’d deal with later, but right now, that was the last thing on your mind.

“Look at it, baby,” he rasped. His breath hitched as if he could feel everything with you. You obeyed, your eyes locked on the sight of your glistening fingers, coated in your own wetness, moving slowly, as if you were savoring the moment with him.

“That’s it, princess,” he growled softly, “so fucking beautiful. Just like that, nice and slow.” your pussy pulsed with need. You imagined him right there with you, eyes dark as he watched you unravel.

His moans grew deeper, more ragged, and you matched the rhythm with your fingers. “Shit,” he groaned, “feel you dripping for me. Keep going, baby girl, don’t stop. You’re doing so good for me.”

Your breath was becoming more labored, each stroke of your palm against your clit pushing you closer to the edge. The way he spoke, the groans, the shaky breath, all of it made you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. His voice alone could bring you over and over and over. And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, his final words tipped you over the edge.

“Now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice a soft command, “cum for me. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you fall apart.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @sortudademais @empressdede @alichesmi

@msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80

@headoftheetable @trashbin-nie @saintmagx @venusesworld @mzv11

@tshepisho @cyberdejos2 @femdisa @dayaimonee @sayyestoheav3nn

[munsonsmixtapes]

i want to get stoned after a bad day and have logan fuck me stupid so i don’t have to think anymore 🫣

I felt that

You opened the door to your apartment to see Logan on your couch, exactly where he was when you left. The only difference was that now he was smoking a joint, the TV still playing whatever show he had been watching previously. You made a beeline for him, throwing yourself onto the cushion next to him while letting out a sigh.

The day had been exhausting and you had been fantasizing about coming home to Logan and and letting him having his way with you. And seeing his lips wrapped around that joint, your thoughts were running wild.

You plucked the thing from his mouth and put it in your own, inhaling the smoke before letting it float out of your mouth and Logan watched, so distracted by the action that he wasn't even made that you had taken it from him.

"Rough day?" He asked with a chuckled and you nodded, tucking yourself into his side.

"You have no idea," you sighed before taking another drag from the joint. You just needed something to take the edge off and it seemed like Logan had the same idea as he turned you to to face him, his lips meeting yours.

What started out soft and sweet quickly turned hot and heated as Logan pulled you into his lap in one swift motion, your legs resting on either side of his thighs. He then rested his hands on your hips, letting them slide up the back of your shirt as he unhooked your bra before pulling it out from under your shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Your hard nipples were very visible underneath the fabric and Logan felt his cock harden as he looked at them, feeling his mouth water as he thought about wrapping his lips around them, licking, sucking and bitting as you came over and over, going limp underneath him.

You pulled away and put the joint between his lips, letting him inhale the smoke before replacing with your own, letting him push the smoke into your mouth and you pulled away, leaning your head back to let the smoke travel out of your mouth. And Logan didn't think you could have gotten any hotter in that moment.

He grabbed you by the back of your head and pressed his lips to yours in a rough kiss, and you let the joint fall to the floor before Logan stubbed it out with his boot. You began to grind against him, causing a groan to come from the back of his throat.

You continued to move against him as your shirt came off and he swore that he was going to come right in his pants as he saw your bare chest, seeing that it was all for him. His own shirt came off and clothing was being removed left and right, the articles flying across the room as you were both desperate to see the other naked.

And before you knew it, your back was against the cushions as Logan was putting on a condom before he slowly inserted the tip, his hands pinning your arms to the sofa as he did so. You were whining underneath him, begging for him to go all the way, but he was going to need some more convincing. He always did love to tease, to keep you begging and whining until your bratty side came out.

"Logan, please," you whined, looking up at him with pleading eyes and he was close to giving in, but not quite. Maybe one more pleading look and he'd do what you wanted.

"You're not begging enough, doll," he said, his voice gravely and rough. "Don't think you want it enough."

"Please, I need you so bad. I mean, look how badly I'm dripping for you," you looked down at your cunt and Logan pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you to get a feel for himself.

"Oh yeah, you're fucking soaked. Fucking dripping on the sofa, darling. Need me to take care of you? Need me to take care of your needy cunt?" All you could do was nod and his fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, still wanting to tease.

"Swear to god, Logan," you said through grit teeth. "I'm going to-"

"You're going to what," he asked as he curled his fingers, hitting just the right spot to make you come undone. A loud moan fell from your lips and a devilish grin broke out on Logan's face as he saw that he had you right where he wanted you.

"Tell me. We both know what happens when you act like a brat, darling," he warned as continued to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt, getting off on watching you moan over and over as you were getting close.

Your hands grabbed onto his back and scratched down it, causing Logan to wince. Your nails moved up and down repeatedly and you smirked to yourself as you heard the familiar moans fall from his lips. Two could play at that game and you fully intended to win.

His fingers moved harder and faster and you stopped scratching as you reached your peak, your back arching as you did so. Your nails dugs into his skin, creating crescent shapes on each side of his lower back.

"Fuck, Logan," you moaned loudly and his fingers kept going, loving the sound of them creating the squelching sound, loving how he was able to get you so fucking wet just from his fingers.

He then pulled them out, bringing them into his mouth and licking them with a loud slurping sounds, moaning dramatically, telling you just how good you tasted.

And just before you were about to whine for him again, his cock was inside of you, pounding into you so hard that the sofa was beginning to squeak with every move, the springs underneath making loud noises as you both moved.

Your hips bucked against his as he continued to pound into you, trying to see if you could take more of him each time he went in. His cock was so deep and he could see you, feel you clenching around it as he moved so quickly that he could feel his balls slapping against him.

"Look at you," he said between labored breaths. "Taking my cock so well. Didn't think you could take it all, but here we are." His shoved all of himself inside you again and again as you still clenched around him, your legs straightening out as you did so, your fingers grabbing a the cushion underneath you as you cried for him.

"Don't stop," you told him and that only made him go harder, faster, his fingers digging into your wrists and you were hoping that it would have left marks, a physical reminder of what you had gotten to that night.

"God, fuck," you whined as you reached yet another orgasm, writhing underneath Logan as he continued, making you orgasm over and over until you were slurring your words, going dumb underneath him.

And that was when he decided to call it quits, pulling out and cleaning you up before taking you to the bedroom to get you both dressed for bed. He then laid you down on the mattress and got in beside you, pulling the covers over your bodies before pulling you to his chest, the two of you drifting off into some much needed sleep.

[yyawnjun]

SING ME TO SLEEP

0.7k wc ; sick!reader x dokyeom ; fluff!! ; being sick during summer sucks. I hope y'all are okay and are having beautiful days ; no proofread, so sorry for any mistake !! ; @kflixnet

You could hardly stand up, you were shaking, and you were starting to feel very cold. The problem was that you had chills in the middle of a really hot summer.

You were at home, waiting for your boyfriend to arrive while curled up on the couch with a blanket. He had to work all morning and would return in less than an hour. You weren't at all hungry, even though it was lunchtime.

Even yet, you forced yourself to get up and cook something easy for Dokyeom's meal because you knew he would be hungry. As soon as u stend up, you can feel your fever getting worse. And when you finished cooking, you hurried into your room and hid beneath the blankets.

You would have taken a quick nap so that you would definitely be better. Or so you thought.

Dokyeom arrived home exactly one hour later, excited to tell you about his morning training. However, he became concerned after he didn't find you in the kitchen or in the living room and did not hear your reply to his call.

As soon as he entered your room, he saw you between the blankets, still flipping back and forth from your headache.

He touched your forehead lightly and measured the difference in heat between you and him before saying, "You're hot, and you caught fever."

The thermometer quickly confirmed this as well.

"I will sleep a bit and I will feel better" you replied covering your eyes with your arm.

"Babe, I am here. Let me help you now" he said in the sweetest tone ever.

His touch on your forehead was so gentle and cool, and his words really did taste like honey. So you just nodded at him.

"I will bring you something to eat, so then you can take this med. Then I will bring you a cold towel to put on your head so the temperature will go down." He said, leaving the room quickly and returning a few minutes later.

"Just a bite, and then you can go back to rest," he said, handing you a piece of bread.

So you did as he said, and forced yourself to eat. After that you took your med and you were immediately ready to go back to sleep.

"Here is your water and some candies in case your throat starts hurting," explained the man.

He also managed - while sitting on the floor next to you for the whole time -  to place a cool towel over your forehead and curl up you with a light cover.

He muttered, "Sleep for a bit now, baby," and then caressed your head—just long enough for you to fall asleep.

He stayed with you.

He stayed at your side the entire time. He was now watching you while seated in a chair, observing your breathing and sleep. You were breathing more quickly than usual and had a constant, anxious state of sleep. You continued to move around, opening and shutting your eyes.

After a few mins, you were awake again. "If you can't sleep, I could sing for you." he asked while looking at you.

You nodded to his idea and replied with the first thing that came to mind: "You will be such a good dad."

Oh, how these words moved touched this man's heart..

He then started singing your favorite song. His voice was so soft and calm that he was able to hit every note at the exact moment, showing once more how talented both as a singer, as a person, and as a lover. 

You eventually allow yourself to be lulled by the melodies and the voice. Even if you would have stayed up to listen to him, sleep was eventually taking over.

All of sudden all of the sounds around you vanished slowly vanished, and you finally managed to rest.

He didn't move for a few minutes and leaned down to place his lips on your forehead and closed his eyes. His eyes were closed so he was focused fully on you.

"The fever has gone down." he whispered.

You were overcome by sleep, as though it had been a mystical kiss from an magical prince. He stayed a little while longer, watching as your breathing settled back into a regular pattern and you began to drift off to sleep. He only got up to go and prepare you something to eat when you woke up.

And then he came back, and he sat next to you to watch patiently.

As a prince would do for his princess, as a husband would do for his wife, and as a lover would do for his soulmate.

[greyyson-but-no]

dying to know what happens when reader from "kill the director" encounters rory 😭🫶 love love love your writing

lets dance to joy division

; prep yourself, i'm a 'rory is a villain' truther. it comes off very clearly in this lmao

the following morning, you and jess entered the diner for some sort of sustenance for the rest of the day. he hadn't exactly said what it was that you two were going to do all day, just that he had a couple ideas for what it could. the diner was somewhat busy. there were a couple tables opening up by the window, but the clock on the wall read half 11, which meant everyone that would come to the diner for breakfast had already eaten, and had left.

you and jess found two barstools by the counter for you to slide on as luke noticed your arrival and said some form of greeting. you'd ended up at the dragonfly, michel getting the two of you a room and somehow not recognizing jess at all. earlier this morning, you'd woken up with jess already out of bed and urging you to follow him into town. unsurprisingly, he had just bought you straight back to the diner.

"so you guys got anything planned for today?" luke asks, refilling our mug with more coffee, leaning against the counter as the late breakfast rush slowly petered out.

jess nodded, taking your jacket off for you. "i'm gonna show her everywhere and anywhere of importance."

the elder chucked to himself. "the lake?"

"that one's a surprise." he joked, lifting his index finger up to his lips to shush luke. of course, you had already heard the story of luke pushing jess in the water on one of his first days in town. you very very excited to see the place, get a better visualization of the situation, you know.

you took a sip of your coffee, humming along with their conversation as you tended to do. but when the bell above the door rang, luke's eyes widened and jess spun around to see who it was.

in walked rory gilmore, with heat-iron curls and a coat that looked more expensive than your whole outfit. you didn't even have to know what she looked like to see it was her. just the many stories you'd heard, the incident with miss patty yesterday evening and the way she held herself.

luke stammered. "i didn't know she was back."

jess shook his head. "apparently neither did i."

catching the sight of jess and luke, her eyes widened at the new-author's presence in the diner, face lighting up. swiftly, she made her way over to the counter, smiling. "jess! hey!"

jess naturally stepped closer to you. "rory... how've you been?"

she nodded, practically grinning. "not bad, not bad. i... uh, i moved back, as you can probably assume." when jess hummed, she still continued. "yeah no, mom and i made up, and i should be going back to yale in the fall."

"wow, um." he coughed into his fist. "that's good."

rory nodded, perky look faltering as the conversation teetered into basically nothing. jess didn't feel comfortable enough to continue the conversation and luke had already excused himself out of it to avoid the awkwardness. that left you.

so you slid off the barstool and held your hand out. "hey, you must be rory."

she hesitantly shook your hand. "yeah, and you are...?"

"y/n." you nodded, wrapping a hand around jess' arm as you tilted your head to smile at her. "jess and i are just visiting from philly, it's good to finally meet you, i've heard... a lot."

really, you didn't mean to be cold, or be a bitch. it just... happened.

rory nodded, looking between the two of you to try and connect the dots. it was clear she was struggling. there was something satisfying about her hating this situation so much. after all she did to jess, this was pretty funny. "and you two are... an item?"

"mhm." you hummed. "a year and a half, in fact."

"wow, that's commitment, jess." she laughed, turning to him and practically ignoring her conversation with you. it was becoming so obvious the kind of girl she was.

jess ignored her comment, simply tilting his head and snaking an arm around your waist. "yeah well, it was nice to see you again but we've got places to be so we better head off."

rory nodded. "yeah okay, i'll see you around."

the two of you wandered out the diner, his arm moving to around your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your hair as the door shut behind you. while you kept walking, it was evident you were both waiting to be in the clear before talking about what had just happened.

a couple seconds later, you turned the corner into one of the parks of stars hollow and both burst into laughter. jess found your waist and pulled you close.

"oh my god!" you were shaking your head, a hand over your mouth as you let your head fall against his chest. "that was... interesting."

jess smiled. "to say the least."

pulling your head back up, you caught his eyes. "its been two years and she is still not over you! i hate to say it, but i don't blame her, to be honest."

"mhm." he hummed, finding your hands and intertwining them as he looked over the details dotted around your face.

"and we didn't even get breakfast!"

jess' smile fell, pinching his lips together. "i'm really sorry, i really didn't know she was back here, i didn't know she'd turn up a luke's like that."

you furrowed your eyebrows at him. "why are you apologizing?"

"after last night's conversation i just thought-"

shaking your head, you shut him up. "like you said, you didn't know she would turn up like that. you've got no reason to apologize. so what we didn't get breakfast, so what we didn't get to have a proper chat with luke, we'll see him tonight. it's not the end of the world."

"i suppose." he shrugged, tilting his head.

resting a hand on his cheek, you smiled up at him. "and look on the bright side, i finally got to meet her, and got to be a bitch to her. you don't get to do that every day. especially to a yale idiot."

jess smiled, leaning forward to press his lips against yours in a swift peck that had you humming and smiling. "okay, that part was a fair bit satisfying."

"exactly." you smiled. "okay, now you've gotta show me around this place."

he let you go, taking your hand and dragging you in a very particular direction. "come on then..."

[7ndipity]

Take Care Of You

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, you come down with the flu. Luckily, you have Yoongi to look after you, even if you think you don’t deserve it.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of illness, swearing, teeny bit suggestive and silly at the end, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!

Masterlist

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It was still dark as you woke up shivering, your whole body aching as you rolled over, seeking out the warmth of your boyfriend. After less than two minutes though, he tried to shift out of your hold, making you whine.

“Babe, I’m melting,” He complained sleepily, trying to squirm away. “Why are you so warm?”

You only groaned weakly in response.

Yoongi’s eyes cracked open at the small, pained sound, looking down at you with sudden concern. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I don’t-”, a sudden fit of coughing seized you, shaking your whole body.

“Ah, shit.” He clicked the light on, making you wince at the sudden brightness, sitting up to get a better look at you. Your face was pale and covered with a faint sheen of sweat, your whole frame shaking violently from shivering, despite the heat rolling off of you.

“I told you you’ve been working too hard.” He sighed, feeling your forehead. “Stay here, I’m gonna go get you some medicine.”

He disappeared through the house as you curled further in on yourself, trying to ignore the pounding in your head.

You knew he was right, though you hated that he had to be proven right in this way. You’d been pushing yourself harder than usual the past few days, trying to keep up with the usual demands at work, as well trying to get ahead on a few projects in the hope that you and Yoongi could take some time off together.

He had expressed several times that he’d been worried about you, but you’d kept brushing him off, saying that you were fine, your usual response whenever he voiced those types of concerns. He had enough on his plate, oftentimes stretching himself thinner than you had this week, and you didn’t want to add the burden of looking after you to the list.

He returned with a couple pills and some water, encouraging you gently to sit up before he handed them to you.

You took the meds with a slight wince, feeling the soreness in your throat, before trying to pass the glass back to him, but he shook his head, nudging it back towards your lips.

“Drink, you need to pay extra attention to hydration if you’re sick.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You sound like Web Md.” You tried to tease him, but your voice came out too weak and cracked.

“Drink.” He said again sternly, though his eyes stayed soft.

You relented, nodding before slowly finishing the glass.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just sleep, okay?” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He helped you get settled back under the covers before returning to his side of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over you until you managed to drift back to sleep.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for, but when you opened your eyes again, it was light out, Yoongi’s side of the bed empty. You assumed he’d left for the studio, leaving you to get what rest you could, though you tried to ignore the faint pang of sadness in your chest at the thought.

Slowly, you sat up, stretching out your stiff limbs. You could tell your fever had broken, or at least lessened, you were only faintly aching now, though the dull pounding in your head was still very much present.

You decided to make the trek to the kitchen for some tea and more meds, looking for an extra sweater or hoodie to pull on for warmth before shuffling down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” You jumped slightly at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, turning to see him standing in the doorway, carrying a tray of food and tea.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in surprise.

He smirked. “I really hope you’re not so sick that you forgot I live here.”

“I mean why are you still here? Why aren’t you at the studio?” You asked.

“I told them I couldn’t come in today.” He answered, setting the tray on the bedside table.

“Why not?” You asked, confused.

“Because you’re sick,” He said as if it was obvious. “I’m not leaving to fend for yourself.”

“I’m fine-” Your argument was choked off by another fit of coughing. Yoongi quickly moved to steady you as you wobbled slightly, your legs not supporting you nearly as much as you’d hoped.

“You’re not fine.” He said softly once you’d quieted. “Please, just let me take care of you?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting him help you back to the bed, tucking the blanket in around your

legs before settling the tray on your lap.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently, handing you a cup of tea. You blinked, surprised that

he’d remembered the right herbal blend you liked for times like this.

You glanced up at him, noticing that he was watching you, waiting patiently for your response.

“My head hurts.” You admitted quietly.

“These should help.” He said, opening a bottle and handing you a couple pills. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “Not really, I just feel kinda shitty.”

“A shower might help with that.” He said, chuckling at your choice of words, happy that you still sounded like yourself. “Will you be okay on your own or do you want me to help?”

“I’ll be okay on my own.” You said softly, staring at him curiously.

“Okay. You should eat something first, though.” He said, sliding a bowl of soup over in front of you. “Then, if you want, I can set you up on the couch and we can watch one of your shows?”

When you didn’t answer, he looked up, catching the way you were staring at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You shook your head. “You’re just being really nice.” You said.

He tilted his head. “I’m always nice to you.”

“But all this-” You bit your lip. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“What are you talking about?” He said softly. “This is nothing, I’m just looking after you the way you deserve.”

You didn’t feel like it, you felt like you were getting in his way, keeping him away from his own work and responsibilities.

“Nuh-uh, I know that look.” He caught your chin with his fingers, turning your eyes back up to his, looking at you seriously. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, it isn’t true. You deserve to be taken care of, you hear me?”

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n, I love you, I want to take care of you. I actually like getting to take care of you, when you let me, that is.” He added, making you crack a tiny grin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Good, now c’mere.” He said, trying to pull you into a kiss, but you pressed a hand against his chest.

“What if you get sick?” You asked.

“I don’t give a shit. And even if I do, then you can take care of me, that’s how relationships work.” He said stubbornly, leaning in again.

You let him connect your lips for just a second before pulling away again.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” You said.

“You’re welcome.” He replied. “Now, eat your soup before it gets cold, and then you can take your shower, unless maybe now you want me to help you with it?” He raised a brow at you.

“Stop trying to flirt with me, I’m sick!” You laughed.

“Who’s trying? I’m succeeding, you blushed!” He defended, pointing to your flushed cheeks.

“I did not, I have a fever!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, Babe.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[weird-is-life]

Hate it, when you're in pain

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: Spencer has a painful migraine, so you take care of him

Warnings: use of pet names, fluff, mentions of painkillers, like one swear word

Words: 0.7k

It's dark, when you step inside your shared apartment, like almost pitch black if it weren't for a few beams of light peaking through the curtains.

"Spence?" you call out into the apartment, but no response. You know he is home tho, so you frown and go look for him.

You find him in his bed, the bedroom completely without any light. He's curled under a blanket and there're frown lines on his face as he lays on his side.

You should have guess it first thing when you stepped into the apartment. Poor Spencer is definitely having a painful migraine.

He doesn't have them very often now, but when he does, you know he is in a lot of pain. It gets pretty bad.

You think, he is asleep, but you're wrong.

"Sweetheart?" he groggily whispers, eyes barely open an inch. You quickly walk over to him, ducking down next to the bed.

You caress his cheek as you push away a few loose strands of his hair away from his face, "hi," you whisper back.

"Hurts?" you ask softly, face scrunched in a worry as you look at him.

"So fucking much," he murmurs, his eyes stay tightly shut," t-those stupid painkillers don't seem to work."

You'd laugh at Spencer getting angry at the painkillers, but you know he's hurting like crazy right now.

"I'll be right back," you mumble out. You quickly go get another painkiller, glass of water and something cold for his head.

You come back to Spencer still in the exactly same position, you found him before, but he is groaning in pain a bit. Nothing extra, just a clear sign of his current discomfort.

"I'm back," you announce and put the glass of water on the bedside table," here Spence, sit up."

You encourage him up and offer him the medicine, he looks reluctantly at it, like he doesn't believe it'll work. But you smile at him sweetly, so he swallows it.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says, his voice still full of pain, but Spencer feels like the pain is getting better with you there to care for him.

He lays back down and you bring out the cold cloth. You put it over his forehead and his temples and Spencer yelps at the coldness of it.

"Sorry," you giggle quietly, "I know it's really cold, but it should help."

"It's okay, thank you," he says as his eyelids close.

"Try to get some sleep, yeah? I'll be in the living room-"

"Don't go, please," his eyes open quickly," could you stay? I missed you today," he admits without any shame. He loves you too much to be embarrassed about anything like this.

"Of course, I could," you respond. You go lie down next to him and to your surprise, Spencer is the one to be the big spoon, immediately cuddling you close to him.

"So how was your day, lovely?" he asks out of nowhere.

You laugh," Spence, you are almost 'dying' from pain right now and you're asking me 'how was my day'?"

"Yeah, and?" he responds cockily with like zero care about it.

"You're ridiculous," you huff out with a chuckle," just shut up and sleep, handsome. I'll tell you everything about it after you feel better."

"But-"

"No but, please just sleep, yeah? I promise, we'll talk later," you take his hand in yours and kiss the back of his hand.

"Okay," he murmurs, but stays quiet. And before you know it, he's out, fast asleep. Letting out one peaceful breath after another.

You debate, whether you should slowly crawl out of Spencer's tight embrace and gets some things done in your lovely home or just stay right where you are.

You eyelids start to get heavier and heavier, so they decide it for you. You fall asleep in Spencer's hands, your limbs tangled up with his.

When the both of you wake up, it's already dark outside. But more importantly, Spencer's intense headache is gone and you two talk as you promised (and exchange kiss or two every now and then).

You wouldn't have it any other way. Spencer can talk for hours about anything and nothing at the same time. But he loves to listen to you, to your voice as you tell him about your day or anything else, much more.