#man to pull them in for a kiss and a fade to black because they about to BANG

[mifunebooty]

Sorry to anon talking to me asking for a mitchum year instead of a mitchum summer, I'm going without him see if I make it 3 days

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

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

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

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pout immediately. “Why?“

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

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you wanted to come along."

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

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

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

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

“You just love me?”

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

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

“That’s it?”

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

"I think you can do better than that."

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

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

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

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

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

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

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

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Resonance and first-aid

Summary: LIs react when they accidentally injure you during orbital trials- you brush it off, but you soon realise it makes them confront fears and their past. (All ends well, just with some fretting and worrying because the LIs have a very soft spot for you</3)

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of injury (non-graphic), vague references to myths.

SYLUS

Most of the time, resonance is easy to achieve with Sylus. The familiar surge of energy ripples through you, and a powerful wave rushes towards the charging Wanderer.

And then something hits. You feel yourself getting knocked back several feet, a feeling of burning, twisting pain coursing through you. It's not even the ball of energy itself- just tendrils of black and red, gone astray.

The Wanderer dissolves into embers, its skeletal wings crumbling to ash. Sylus dusts off his hands, the red-black mist fading from his fingertips- until he sees you wince while sheathing your sword.

"Let me see." His voice is almost unnervingly calm, devoid of his typical casual smugness after victory.

You press a hand to the darkening bruise at your waist. "Just a bruise. Some ointment can fix it."

His fingers twitch. For a man who thrives on control, the mistake is unacceptable.

"Sylus," you murmur, catching his wrist. "It’s fine."

His jaw clenches. Somewhere in his ancient, draconic memories, he was doomed with a fate where his lover would be far from fine.

You pry open his closed fist and kiss his palm, breaking the spiral. "I won't get upset over a small accident. And you can patch me up, handsome.”

He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose,

“Kitten,”

You decide to tease him- surely a little distraction wouldn't hurt. “Besides… it's not the first time you've left bruises on my skin."

His laugh is rough, but he pulls you close, his touch too gentle.

“I only take pleasure when I leave marks on you intentionally,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down your arm and settling on your elbow. “I hate the very idea of causing you pain,”

His gaze burns with an intense mix of raw, unfiltered pain- something that runs deeper than his strength and power. You reach up to stroke his cheek in consolation, eliciting a soft exhale from him as he leans into your touch.

“At least now I know how powerful your Evol is during battle,” you say with a small smile.

“Is this… your coping mechanism, sweetie? You've been doing nothing but flirting with me,” He asks dryly.

“I'm showing you there's no need to blame yourse- agh!”

Your world tilts as he sweeps you into his arms, carrying you. Mist swirls into a thick cloak, and you're back at his home in a blink.

He doesn't let you lift a single finger until he's sure your condition is stable, and until your bruise is dressed with sterile gauze above a thick layer of ointment.

“I called in sick for you,” he announces as he joins you under the covers, his warmth seeping into the shared space instantly. “You're not leaving until you're in a better condition,”

“Or what? You're gonna tie me to the bed?”

“You sound too excited for that sort of thing, kitten.”

Little did you know, he's already cleared his entire night's schedule to watch over you as you rest, the weight in his chest lifting ever so slightly when he witnesses you sleeping peacefully until the first light of dawn filters through the curtains.

_____

ZAYNE

The Wanderer’s firey breath comes from behind- Zayne reacts instantly, ice erupting in a shield. But the frost spreads, searing your back with cold. Your knees almost buckle, but you force yourself to turn and grab Zayne to resonate with him- the Wanderer dissipates, splintering into embers in the air.

Before you can fall, Zayne catches you.

"Don’t move," he orders. His usual clinical tone is too sharp, his breaths too measured.

You know why. The nightmares where he loses control- where you freeze under his hands.

"Zayne," you say softly, reaching for his hand. "Look at me, love. I’m here. I'm not going anywhere."

His fingers tremble.

"I know," he grits out, then steadies himself with another measured inhale-exhale. “Let me inspect the injury,”

You recognise this Zayne- right now, he's a combat medic, moving almost with tunnel vision to assess, diagnose and treat. You tug at the zipper of your gear, trying to shrug off the material to let him access the wound properly.

His hands stop you, “Don't make unnecessary movements. Allow me to do it instead,”

You nod, feeling your cheeks grow warm as the fabric is removed - then draped modestly across your front again.

"Minor second-degree," he mutters, noting the reddened areas with faint swelling. "No necrosis. Fortunate.”

Once he rushes you home, he fills a basin with lukewarm water and adds a mild antiseptic before dabbing at the wound. You tense from the sensation, and Zayne pauses.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly does it hurt?” He asks, voice almost stern.

You gnaw at your lip, knowing not to hide your pain from him. It'll only deepen his guilt.

So you ramble, trying to be a compliant patient for him. “Maybe… about six? Six point five? But keep going, I don't think I'll deteriorate. The antiseptic feels strange- prickly, but nothing too bad.”

He exhales quietly behind you, and you feel the warm, damp cotton dab lightly onto your skin again.

He's never talkative, but the silence is heavy with a dense web of tangled emotions that had you scrambling for ways to lessen the weight on Zayne's shoulders.

“Dr. Zayne? I have a question.” You begin.

His hand pauses yet again, but he quickly recovers. “Hm?”

“Will it be safe for me to give hugs after this treatment?”

You hear him swallow audibly, and he lets out a short sigh- the kind that's stuck between exasperation and amusement.

“If you move slowly and take extra care, then yes, you may. But cease any movement that causes the slightest discomfort,”

He bandages you like you’re glass.

Later on, you hug him, long enough to feel the tension ease just the slightest.

Nothing verbal can comfort him right now- no reassurances, no saccharine words- you know it all just gets pushed aside by the persistent, haunting nightmares that he has.

He doesn't move, doesn't try to reject the hug- and you know this is him telling you how much he needs this. So you wait, with your arms wrapped around his torso and your face pressed to his chest.

Seconds turn into minutes- then you feel the gentle, hesitant presence of his hand as he cradles the back of your head gingerly. You hug him tighter.

Your warmth and your heartbeat is enough to let him know- you're safe, and this is not a dream, and that you love him all the same.

_____

RAFAYEL

Your shoulder burns where Rafayel’s dagger grazes you- a misaimed throw meant for the Wanderer. The pain gets masked by adrenaline, but you can feel the difference when you move.

Rafayel doesn't notice the sluggishness in your movements just yet, the way you push yourself to keep up with him, hiding the crimson of your clothes within the chaotic blur of battle.

His dance is deadly and alluring, with flashes of his blade and twisting flames sending the Wanderer hurtling backwards.

It is only after the Wanderer bursts into fragments of ash and lingering crackles of energy, when he gasps.

"Don’t-" He’s there in an instant, hands hovering. No theatrics. No jokes. Just agitation.

You’ve never seen him like this.

"Raf, it’s just an accident-"

"No." His voice cracks. Eight hundred years ago, he inflicted a fatal wound- one he has never forgiven himself for.

He doesn't speak the entire way home, and dresses the cut with uncharacteristic silence, his fingers lingering as you sit and watch him work.

"You’re never, ever allowed to bleed for me again," he whispers when he's done, kneeling in front of you on the sofa like he's praying for forgiveness.

You cup his face, looking into his eyes- blue, pink, purple- flooded with an intense guilt that has you lost in the melacholy depths until you're blinking back tears yourself.

"Hey, accidents happen," You say softly, "-and I'm fine. So stop looking so guilty, fishie."

His laugh is watery, but he kisses your palm- like he’s reminding himself you’re real, and safe.

“C'mon, Raf. Please?” You ask, unsure of what you're requesting- for him to look less devastated? For him to trust you as his bodyguard?

He makes a muffled noise, avoiding your gaze now. “I hurt you, and I can't even hug you now because that's gonna make you bleed-”

You poke his cheek, hoping it draws him out from his gloomy state.

“Just because you're my bodyguard doesn't mean you can endanger yourself,” he pouts, gently taking your hands and moving them to his chest.

He lets out a shaky sigh. “Just- stay with me for a while longer.”

Later, he maneuvers you until your legs are draped sideways across his lap, and he holds you like the dearest treasure he's ever found.

(He tells you that your bodyguard duties are off for the next two months. “You're just my cutie now, Miss Bodyguard can go hibernate,” he declares.)

_____

XAVIER

Xavier’s sword swings wide as he leaps to deliver the finishing blow. There's a rare misjudgment- and it nicks your calf.

He moves in a blur, and returns to your side before the remnants of the Wanderer disappear.

"We're going to the clinic," he says, sheathing his blade. Before you can protest, he’s lifting you into his arms.

"Xavier! I can walk-"

"Apologies aren't genuine without action," His grip tightens as he looks down at you, his eyes carrying the depth of stars lost to supernovas, and a rawness so far from his usual tenderness and calm that makes your breath stutter.

At your embarrassed squirming, his brows crease. "Are you rejecting my apology?"

You huff, thinking of showing up at the Hunter's clinic in his arms. "No- you’ll- you might get tired."

He holds you with soft desperation, careful yet with a grip tight like he fears you would slip between his fingers like stardust.

"My dear partner, this is the least I can do,” he says, voice wavering. “Now hold tight, we're taking a shortcut-”

Once your wound is dressed at the clinic and you are tucked into bed- he finally, finally allows himself to unravel and apologize to you, over and over again in hushed whispers.

He only stops when you press your lips to his, his eyes widening before he embraces you, exhaling a shaky breath.

His arms remain around you until you two fall asleep, with the moon bearing witness to his silent promise of everlasting protection over you.

______

CALEB

Caleb's gun kicks back harder than expected after resonating, and he slams into you.

You throw your arm out instinctively to break the fall, but the impact still sends you both crashing to the ground.

There's a tearing pain in your shoulder, and your breath is knocked straight out of you upon impact, leaving you dazed as you watch the crumbling Wanderer scatter in the wind.

"Oh, shit," Caleb's up instantly, scanning for injuries. "You alright, pips?"

You shift, forcing yourself to sit up despite the burn in your shoulder. "Just a strain.”

But he sees the way you wince, and his jaw is set. The man who vowed you’d always be safe at his side just failed.

"Caleb," you sigh, moving to pick up your weapon. “I'm fine, I swear,”

Caleb stops you, an arm hooking around your waist from behind as he makes the weapon float back to you instead.

"Major threat was eliminated. We're safe." You protest at his sudden surge of protectiveness, catching the gun.

His laugh is rough, frayed with a sort of mirthless desperation that wrenches through you harder than moving your injured shoulder.

“We're safe,” he begins, echoing you, “but you're staying with me to get your injury checked.”

Later, he sits you on the kitchen stool to inspect the injury with meticulous precision.

“Don't bite your lips so hard,” he orders, stopping his inspection and handing you a few unwrapped Hi-Chew candies of all things. “Have these instead,”

You hum, popping the tiny eraser-shaped candies into your mouth and letting the fruity, chewy sweetness dull the pain.

When Caleb puts anti-inflammatory cream on your shoulders, you feel his touch linger.

"I'll do better next time. I'm not letting anything hurt you, Pips. And don't even think about doing any work- you'll be resting under my watch this week.”

Note: Pls protect Zayne and Rafayel poor bbs going through all that in the recnt updates make me so :(((( i love them ALSO this piece was inspired by an ask from an anon reader. thanks for reading <333

Click here for the opposite scenario

[sophiewritesworld]

Take a seat - E.M.

Eddie Munson x Plus size female Reader Warning: MDNI 18+, porn with a tiny plot Summary: Eddie wants you to sit on his face. It takes a bit of convincing.

The trailer is quiet tonight, save for the faint hum of the radio in the corner, some late-night metal station Eddie insists on keeping on low. The air smells faintly of weed and the vanilla candle you lit earlier, its flickering glow casting soft shadows across the cluttered living room. You're sprawled on the couch, one leg draped over Eddie's lap, your oversized band tee riding up enough to expose a sliver of your plush thigh. His fingers trace lazy circles there, calloused from guitar strings, but so gentle it sends a shiver up your spine.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, you know that?" Eddie's voice is low, rough with that reverent edge he gets when he's been staring at you too long. His dark eyes glint in the candlelight, fixed on you like you're the only thing in the world worth looking at. His hair's a mess, curls spilling over his shoulders, and that damn leather jacket is slung over the armrest, leaving him in a faded Black Sabbath tee that clings to his lean frame.

You laugh softly, brushing off the compliment like you always do. "Eddie, stop it. I'm just... me."

His hands stills on your thigh, fingers pressing a little firmer, not painful but insistent. "Nuh-uh. Don't do that." He leans closer, the couch creaking under his shift, and the other hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "You're a goddamn goddess, and I'm not lettin' you pretend otherwise."

Heat creeps up your neck, and you squirm under his gaze, not because you're uncomfortable but because Eddie has this way of seeing you- really seeing you- that makes your heart race. Your curves, your softness, the parts of yourself you’ve spent years learning to love—he worships them like they’re sacred. Every stretch mark, every roll, every inch of you is his personal altar, and he’s made it his mission to prove it.

“Eddie…” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss, slow and deliberate, his lips warm and tasting faintly of the cheap beer he was sipping earlier. His tongue teases yours, coaxing a soft whimper from your throat, and when he pulls back, his grin is all mischief.

“Been thinkin’ about somethin’,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers dipping just under the hem of your shorts. “Somethin’ I want us to try.”

Your brow arches, curiosity piqued. “Oh yeah? What’s that, Munson?”

His grin widens, but there's a flicker of nervousness in his eyes, like he's gauging your reaction. "I want you to sit on my face."

"Your breath catches, and for a second, you're not sure you heard him right. "What?"

"You heard me, sweetheart." His voice drops an octave, all velvet and sin. "I want you to sit on my face. Wanna feel all of you, every fuckin' inch, right there. Wanna taste you, drown in you."

Your cheeks burn, and a nervous laugh bubbles up. "Eddie, I'm... I mean, I'm not exactly small. What if I-?"

"Don't," he interrupts, his tone firm but not harsh. His hand slide to your hip, squeezing the soft flesh there like he can't get enough. "Don't you dare say what I think you're gonna say. You're not gonna hurt me. You're not too heavy. You're perfect, and I want this. I want you."

His words sink in, and the sincerity in his eyes chips away at your hesitation. Eddie's never been shy about his desire for you - hell, the man's practically feral for you ost days - but this feels different. Intimate. Vulnerable. He's offering himself up to you, begging for something that feels like a gift and a challenge all at once.

You bite your lip, considering, and he must sense your wavering because he leans in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. “C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “Let me show you how much I want you. Let me take care of you.”

Your resolve crumbles, desire pooling low in your belly. “Okay,” you whisper, barely audible. “But you tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

He pulls back, grinning like he just won the lottery. “Deal. Now get those shorts off, princess. I’ve got plans for you.”

Eddie’s bedroom is a chaotic shrine to his passions—posters plastered on the walls, guitar picks scattered on the dresser, a half-empty pack of cigarettes by the bed. But right now, all you can focus on is him, kneeling on the mattress, his hands beckoning you closer. You’re down to your underwear and that oversized tee, feeling exposed but undeniably wanted as his eyes rake over you.

“C’mere,” he says, voice thick with anticipation. You crawl onto the bed, the springs squeaking under your weight, and he reaches for you, pulling you into a searing kiss. His hands roam, greedy, one slipping under your shirt to palm your breast, the other gripping your ass like he’s anchoring himself. You moan into his mouth, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through you.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers kneading the plush curve of your hip. “Every part of you… it’s like you were made for me.”

You’re straddling his lap now, your thighs bracketing his hips, and you can feel him, hard and straining against his jeans. The friction makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to nip at your lower lip, tugging gently before soothing it with his tongue. His hands slide under your thighs, urging you to lift up, and with a playful smirk, he maneuvers you until you’re hovering over his chest.

“Eddie, wait—” you start, but he shakes his head, his hands firm on your hips.

“No waiting,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks. You’re not gettin’ outta this one.”

He guides you upward, slow and deliberate, until you’re positioned above his face. Your heart pounds, a mix of nerves and arousal, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful. Desired. His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he says, his voice reverent. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. Sit down, baby. Let me have you.”

You hesitate, still worried about your weight, but Eddie’s having none of it. He tugs you down, not forcefully but with enough insistence that you lower yourself, your thighs framing his face. The first brush of his breath against your core sends a jolt through you, and you grip the headboard for balance, your knuckles whitening.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the thin fabric of your panties. “I’ve got you.”

He nuzzles against you, his nose grazing your clit through the cotton, and you whimper, your hips twitching involuntarily. He groans, the sound muffled but unmistakably hungry, and his hands slide to your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he says, his voice thick with need. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and with a quick glance up at you—seeking permission—you nod, breathless. He slides them down, helping you lift one leg to free them, and then he’s staring at you, completely bare, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“Perfect,” he breathes, and before you can respond, his tongue darts out, a slow, deliberate lick that makes your whole body shudder. You cry out, your grip on the headboard tightening, and Eddie moans, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you.

He takes his time, exploring you with long, languid strokes, his tongue tracing every fold, every sensitive spot. He’s not rushing, savoring every second, and the sounds he’s making—low, guttural moans, like he’s the one being pleasured—only heighten your arousal. His hands knead your thighs, your ass, encouraging you to move, to grind against his face, but you’re still holding back, worried about smothering him.

“Baby,” he mumbles against you, his voice muffled but insistent. “Ride me. C’mon, I want it.”

You glance down, and the sight of him—his curls fanned out on the pillow, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening—nearly undoes you. “Eddie, are you sure?”

His eyes meet yours, fierce and unwavering. “Fuck yes, I’m sure. Sit. Down.”

The command in his voice, paired with the raw desire in his eyes, pushes you over the edge. You lower yourself fully, letting your weight settle, and Eddie groans, his hands gripping you tighter as he dives in with renewed fervor. His tongue circles your clit, then flattens, dragging slow and firm, and you can’t hold back the moan that tears from your throat. Your hips start to move, tentative at first, but his encouragement—his hands guiding you, his muffled praises—makes you bolder.

“That’s it,” he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak. “Fuck, yes, just like that. You’re so perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.”

You’re lost in it now, the pleasure building, your thighs trembling as you grind against his mouth. Eddie’s in heaven, his tongue relentless, his nose bumping your clit with every movement. He’s worshipping you, just like he promised, and the realization—that he loves this, loves you, every curve and inch—sends you spiraling toward the edge.

The room feels hotter now, the air thick with the scent of sex and the candle’s fading vanilla. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, your body trembling as Eddie works you closer to oblivion. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, squeezing your ass, urging you to move faster, harder. You’re riding his face now, unselfconscious, your thighs pressed against his cheeks, your weight fully on him, and he’s loving every second of it.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible against your skin. “You’re so good, so fuckin’ good.” His tongue plunges inside you, then flicks back to your clit, alternating between sucking and licking with a rhythm that’s driving you wild. Your hips buck, and he moans, the sound vibrating through your core, pushing you closer to the edge.

You glance down, and the sight of him—his eyes half-lidded with bliss, his lips slick with you, his hands holding you like he never wants to let go—sends a fresh wave of heat through you. “Eddie,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “I’m—I’m close.”

He doubles down, his tongue working faster, his lips closing around your clit and sucking just hard enough to make you see stars. Your thighs shake, your grip on the headboard faltering, and you lean forward, one hand tangling in his curls. He groans, the sound raw and desperate, and the vibration tips you over.

“Eddie—fuck!” Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, pleasure crashing through you, your hips grinding against his face as you ride it out. He doesn’t stop, his tongue softening but still moving, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.

You lift yourself slightly, worried you’ve been too much, but Eddie’s hands tighten on your hips, pulling you back down. “Not yet,” he rasps, his voice hoarse but hungry. “One more, baby. Gimme one more.”

You’re trembling, your thighs burning, but the need in his voice reignites something in you. “Eddie, I don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” he says, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so strong, so beautiful. Let me have you again.”

His words, his worship, make you feel invincible. You nod, settling back down, and he dives in with a renewed intensity, his tongue tracing patterns that have you gasping within seconds. This time, he’s relentless, his hands guiding your hips in a steady rhythm, his moans mingling with yours. The pleasure builds faster, sharper, and you’re already so sensitive that every touch feels electric.

“God, Eddie,” you moan, your head tipping back. “You’re so good—fuck, you’re so good.”

He hums in response, the vibration sending another jolt through you, and you can feel it, the second climax barreling toward you. Your hips move on their own, chasing the sensation, and Eddie’s right there with you, his tongue and lips and hands all working in perfect harmony. You’re his world, his everything, and he’s making sure you know it.

It hits you harder than the first, a white-hot explosion that leaves you crying out, your body shaking as you come undone. Eddie holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips, his tongue slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last wave until you’re gasping, collapsing forward onto the headboard.

This time, you lift yourself off, rolling to the side to lie beside him, your chest heaving. Eddie’s face is flushed, his lips swollen and glistening, and he’s grinning like a man who’s just conquered the world. “Holy shit,” he says, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “That was… fuck, that was everything.”

You laugh, breathless and a little dazed. “You’re insane.”

“Insane for you,” he corrects, rolling onto his side to face you. He pulls you close, his hand cupping your cheek, and kisses you, slow and deep. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it’s intimate, grounding, a reminder of what you just shared.

“You okay?” he asks, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Was that… good for you?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “More than good. That was… I don’t even have words.”

His grin widens, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna need to do that again. Like, a lot.”

You laugh, swatting his chest, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through you, the way his love, his worship, makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he says, pulling you into his arms. And as you lie there, tangled together, you know he means every word.

[l0vergirlwrites]

i think about you & nothin’ else ; spencer reid

synopsis: after a casual night out, you & spencer let your hearts & hands take control in more ways than one.

warnings: making out & heavy petting??, allusions to sex, fade to black smut, mentions of reader drinking alcohol & wearing makeup, softdom!spence & fem!reader, yearning, fluff, a few swears, spencer & reader just wanna get freaky in a cute way!!

note: this is so self indulgent, i couldn’t resist—can y’all tell i’m down bad for this man or what

minors dni with this post!

“ow, i knew i should’ve worn a different pair”

you groaned as you undid the laces of your doc marten heeled boots, revealing the black polka dotted socks spencer had gotten for you weeks ago when you pulled the bottoms of your jeans higher. spencer’s heart ached with happiness when he saw you wearing them, but he brushed it off, leaning down to help you when the right boot refused to come off.

“let me help” he murmured as he got down on one knee, his tongue poking out a little between his lips as his hands expertly pulled the boot off, adjusting the position of your sock.

as you leaned against the wall & peered down at spencer, you couldn’t help but get that sticky feeling brewing in your stomach, especially when his hand slipped up to caress your calf.

“thank you” you smiled when his eyes met yours, noticing a strand of hair curled in front of his eyes. it made him look like prince charming. “you look extra handsome like this…” you breathed, unable to hide the grin spreading on your face.

spencer squeezed your calf. “is that because i took off your shoe or because i’m on my knees?” he casually asked, smirking when he saw your slightly shocked reaction at his words. he’s not usually forward like that.

“hmmmm…” you dragged out, playing his game. “is ‘both’ an acceptable answer?”

licking his lips, spencer stood up & moved closer into your space, letting his hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing against the hem of the lace shirt you wore. “i’ll allow it just this once” he whispered, leaning down to give you the kiss you had begged him for in the taxi ride home.

slow & calculated, spencer’s lips moved against yours with purpose, thumbs pressing harder into your skin when you’d whine into his mouth. “you taste like that mojito you had” he whispered against your lips, diving back in for another kiss when your hands pawed against his chest, playing with the buttons of his white dress shirt.

you lightly laughed, moving to press kisses to his cheeks & jaw, feeling almost proud when you could see slight remnants of your lipstick marking his soft skin. “& you taste sweet” you said closer to his ear, causing spencer’s stomach to flip a thousand times, only making him lift a hand to your chin, pulling you back to his lips like a desperate man.

you weren’t sure how many minutes had passed by now, but you were content against the wall, arching into spencer’s chest with his hands anchoring your body to his own.

“couch?” he pulled away to ask, his hands sliding down to the plush of your thighs when you nodded eagerly, jumping up & wrapping your arms around his neck.

you both erupted into a fit of giggles when the back of his legs met the couch cushions abruptly, causing spencer to pull you down with him a little too fast, his head slightly knocking into your shoulder when his body fell back onto the cushions.

“shit—i’m sorry” he quickly apologized with a smile, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. but you didn’t retreat, only shaking your head as you pressed a quick kiss to his nose.

“it’s okay—just kiss me again” you smiled, tugging gently on his tie to pull him closer, as if you weren’t already perched on his lap with your legs staddling him.

so spencer kissed you again, eagerly falling back into the rhythm of what had been previously building, letting his hands run circles on your jean clad thighs as you settled onto him. your hands worked on undoing his tie to toss it onto the floor, like you’ve done so many times with your eyes closed, nudging your nose against his when he tugged on your bottom lip.

“is this okay?” you asked with a panting breath, fingers nimble as they rested in place at the top of his shirt, waiting for the go ahead to unbutton it.

“yeah, baby. go ahead” he answered, moving to kiss your jaw & neck as your fingers unbuttoned each button, one by one.

“fuck” you murmured when spencer sucked on that one spot you liked, involuntarily causing your hips to shift in his lap.

he hummed gratefully like he planned it, proud of your reaction. “you like that, hmm?” he asked teasingly, voice all low & sultry with yearning.

“gonna let me make a few marks?”.

you nodded your head & let your hips move against his again, your hands raking up & down his chest once all the buttons were freed. you swore you could feel every muscle, every rib & dent in chest, sending a tingling feeling across spencer’s skin. “yes, please”.

spencer hummed into your neck at your politeness, pressing his lips down closer to your collarbone before creating a love bite. he was smart enough to do it in places where they’d hide under your clothes so others couldn’t see, keeping them a little secret shared between the two of you.

scraping your nails across his chest, one hand moved up to his hair, tugging in the soft brown locks appreciatively at the sensations he was sending through your skin. you felt like you were on fire in the best of ways. so you continued building the friction between you two, smiling devilishly when his hands cupped your tits, thumbs massaging your nipples through the lacey fabric until they peaked.

“wanna make you feel good” you panted into his ear, earning a suppressed moan from him in return, your name sounding somehow sweeter when it escaped his mouth.

“you always do, sweetheart” he assured as he pulled back to look at you, the way you arched yourself closer to his touch. spencer could see your smudged eyeliner clearer now, & he liked it.

he liked—no, loved—everything about you. especially when you sat on top of him like this; messy hair, smudged makeup, the soft pinch of your eyebrows when he did something you liked... it made him feel eternally lucky.

“spence” you said, bringing him out of the haze he fell into when he processed your thumb brushing against his bottom lip.

“i’m here” he responded with vigour, taking ahold of your wrist so he could press a kiss into the heel of your hand. “i just can’t get over how beautiful you look right now—it’s driving me insane” he explained, desperation & love present in his tone.

it made you melt, brain going fuzzy with the need to go further than you both have gone before.

“i could say the same about you—can’t believe that you’re all mine” you bit your lip & squeezed his bare shoulders, eyes scanning his messy hair & twinkling eyes, all the way down to his toned chest, how his happy trial peeked out below his navel.

spencer hoped his neck wasn’t turning pink under your gaze.

“god, i’m so lucky” he pulled your lips to his for the millionth time, but neither of you were tired of it.

“you could get even more lucky tonight if you want to…” you proposed, pulling away & batting your eyelashes in a way that drives him wild.

you know he knows what you’re implying by the way his hands slip to your ass, squeezing the fat there, wishing your jeans were already off.

“oh yeah? what do you have in mind?”.

ugh. what a tease.

you took a deep breath, sitting up before pulling his hands to rest in front of you, nudging his fingers to brush against the button of your jeans. “take them off & find out” you said, more so commanded with a nervous breath, & spencer was more than happy to comply.

letting your fingers play with his hair again, spencer’s fingers popped your button & slowly undid the zipper of your jeans, his eyes not leaving yours. when the zipper stopped, one of his hands moved to your hip, pushing your shirt higher on your stomach, massaging your skin.

“look down, baby. you missed it”.

your words caused spencer’s eyes to dart to the opening of your jeans, his sight locking onto the small piece of red fabric with white stitching that read “lucky you” in cursive lettering. he let a surprised scoff escape his lips, only feeling more turned on. his eyes also landed on the lacy black pair of underwear you were wearing.

spencer was about to lose it.

“lucky me, indeed”.

[sematarygirls]

anxious!reader forcing rafe to watch her shitty rom coms with her? he’s secretly all grumpy but he LOVES it <3

  ⠀⠀♯┆Anxious!Reader &&. Romcoms With Rafe.ㅤ  ۪ ୧

ᰋ. ‎ ‎‎ ‎ rafe would make such a fuss about romcoms and then end up getting so invested / i was going to use 10 things i hate about you, but then, i decided to go with my personal favorite romcom‎‎—the princess bride ‎ ‎ : ‎‎ ‎ ‎WARNINGS . . . none, just fluff.   ̼ ₊

"No way. I'm not watching this chick shit," Rafe protested, making a move for the remote, but you quickly pulled back, refusing to let him take over movie night again.

"You'll like it, I promise," you reassured him, pressing on the movie titled The Princess Bride.

"Fat fuckin' chance," he scoffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. As you pressed play, he rolled his eyes, ready to settle in for a boring night of chick flicks, but deep down, he knew it made you happy so he let it happen, only putting up a fight to maintain his image.

"It's got death and sword fights and adventure," you smiled brightly at him, gushing about your favorite movie in a way that made his expression soften a fraction.

"And kissing," he pointed out, making you laugh at how he sounded exactly like the little boy at the beginning of the movie, protesting the story just because he thought it would be a silly, girly love story.

"i thought you didn't mind kissing," you smiled playfully, giving him a peck on the lips as you snuggled closer to him.

"Smartass," he muttered, but his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Fine, I'll watch your fuckin' princess movie."

"Shh, it's starting," you smiled, watching as the movie opened with the little boy sick in bed, playing a baseball game when his mother came in to inform him that his grandpa was visiting to check up on him.

The movie started slow with some boring romantic bullshit like Buttercup and Westley saying "as you wish" instead of "I love you" that had Rafe rolling his eyes, but when the presumed love interest was revealed to have died at sea by the Dread Pirate Roberts, Rafe found himself perking up. Only about 10 minutes in, and someone had already died, albeit off screen. Maybe this movie wouldn't completely suck.

He found himself increasingly invested, wishing for Westley back as soon as the guy he assumed was Princess Buttercup's new love interest, Prince Humperdink, was introduced. "This guy seems like a dick," he commented.

"Just wait," you giggled, having inside knowledge as to just how much of a dick he really was. As Princess Buttercup got kidnapped and almost died to the shrieking eels, Rafe found himself stretching out on the couch, his reluctance fading with each passing moment of action unfolding, and by the time the sword fight between the Man in Black and Inigo Montoya started, he was completely and utterly invested.

You glanced up at Rafe, smiling as you saw his brows furrowed, his blue eyes tracking the two men as they darted back and forth, each trying to best the other. The sword fight had always been your favorite scene, ever since you were a kid.

The scenes passed by, the Man in Black temporarily incapacitating Inigo and Fezzick and killing Vizzini by poisoning him before taking Princess Buttercup for himself, saying awful and mean things to her.

Finally, she snapped, shoving him down a steep hill. On the way down, he yelled, "as you wish," which had Rafe's eyes widening as he turned to look at you. "He's alive?" He asked in disbelief, making you grin and nod, loving how invested he was, especially because of his initial vehemence.

"That was completely unnecessary," you rolled your eyes as she threw herself down the hill after him instead of walking down like a normal person.

The movie continued with them venturing through the fire swamp, getting separated by Prince Humperdink and his men, Buttercup's arranged marriage to the prince, Westley being mostly killed but not fully dead and being revived by Miracle Max, and finally, the conclusion where Inigo killed the Six Fingered Man that killed his father and Westley saved Buttercup from being killed by Prince Humperdink on her "wedding" night.

"Westley should've killed him instead of just tying him up," Rafe rolled his eyes as they all rode away on white horses.

"You liked it," you teased him, grinning widely.

"I didn't say that," he protested, but he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. "But it was... not completely terrible. I guess." He glanced at you, noticing how happy you looked. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" You asked innocently, batting your lashes, still wearing that shit-eating grin.

"Like you're so proud of yourself, knowing you were right and I was wrong," he grumbled, rubbing circles on your hip.

"Well, I did say you'd like it," you reminded him, laying your head on his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," he huffed half-heartedly, rolling his eyes, pretending to be annoyed at your gloating. His arm automatically wrapped around you, however, pulling you closer.

"Thank you for watching my movie, baby," you said softly. "It meant a lot to me." And it meant even more to you that he actually liked it.

Hearing you call him "baby" in that soft, sincere voice sent a jolt of warmth through him. "Yeah, well, don't mention it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Truthfully, he'd do anything for you. He was totally and utterly in love with you. "As you wish, or whatever."

[misshuntereevee]

a continuation of the 5-star kindled moment memory, "business trip" w/ zayne... this was my first ever 5-star memory and it's everything to me so take this spicy time that picks up right after the fade to black.

content: smut and fluff

[ reminder: i'm not beta read ]

"I changed my mind. Is that okay?" He murmurs against your lips before nearly devouring your lips.

You giggle as he descends on your lips. It leveled him how honest you were. How you admitted to missing him, even though he was beating around the subject himself. You readily admitted that you needed him.

And it made him -- a man of ice and steely resolve -- feel like he was burning alive. He needed more of it. More of you.

"You're definitely allowed to change your mind," you tell him, as his lips move down to your neck. His lips start off gentle before nipping and sucking at the tender skin. You give little gasps and moans as he works his way around. One of his hands comes to grasp yours, pinning it down next to your head.

His knee comes up, pushing against your core, and you give another loud groan for him. He nearly eats the sound from your mouth, kissing you as he drags it from your lips.

"You're not thinking clearly if you think I didn't miss you," he finally admits, pulling back to drag his nose down the column of his neck. Just the scent of you was addicting. He loved you, he loved you, he loved you. The thought just pounds in his head and he has to make sure that you feel it.

You're about to say something in return when he keeps speaking. His free hand starts to roam, pulling your leg up to his waist. "Just because I can survive without you, doesn't mean I want to. You should know that."

And just like that, he seems to be done talking. His mouth descends upon yours once again, but his hands are fast, efficient at taking off your clothes. It's your top that goes first. His time as a doctor has his movements exact and sharp. Buttons are carefully undone and the top is removed.

When he sees your bra, he finally lets out a groan. "You're beautiful." His hand comes up, palming you through the cup. "You fit perfectly into my hand. I wonder..." He pushes the strap down on one side, and a breast spills out. "How sensitive you are for me right now?"

His fingers are feather-like, circling your nipple. He's going painstakingly slow and deliberate. HIs eyes drink in every movement. on your face. Every flicker of pleasure, every bite of your lip as he continues those feather-like movements.

"Zayne," you whimper, arching your back to ask for more. He chuckles, shaking his head at you. In fact, it makes him pull back. "Zayne!" You complain. "Where are you going--"

His fingers finally find the back of your bra, and the whole thing falls away. He's quick to bury his face in your breasts. His head turns, pressing kisses, nipping and sucking at the skin. Your head falls back against the couch in pleasure. He chuckles again. "I'm not going anywhere. You're being impatient."

Your hands find his hair, pulling and tugging with each wave of pleasure. "It's not my fault you feel s'good." You say, the last few words more of a groan as he drags his teeth ever so gently across your nipple.

"Oh fuck --" you gasp.

"You know I'm almost hurt you thought I didn't miss you. I thought it was a given. Maybe I should make it abundantly clear how much I missed you."

With that, his head moves further south. His fingers dip into the waistband of your shorts. Every movement is dedicated to laying you bare to him. You pull at his shirt now that he's released your hand, but that only earns you having them pinned again.

"I'm showing you how much I missed you, remember?" He chides

You groan, but it's lost into a moan the second your pants hit the floor. His mouth is everywhere. He sucks and nips at your stomach, your navel, your thighs... everywhere that he can get ahold of.

You are squirming underneath you, but he's quick to use his weight to pin you, and his hands to hold your hips down. He's not letting you escape the onslaught of pleasure.

The teasing kisses continue for what feels like at least 10 minutes, and you're dripping with the need for him. Your panties are the only thing still on, and you're almost sure they are soaked.

"Zayne," you groan. "Stop teasing me..."

He chuckles, his lips finally finding the front of the waistband of your panties. "I won't tell you again... I was showing you how much I missed you. And I missed kissing your pretty skin. How it feels under my touch..." He drags a finger down the front of your panties and you almost lose it.

"Zayne," you whine. "Please!"

It's then that he finally slips a finger under your underwear, finding your slick clit. A smirk plays at his lips as his green eyes peer up at you. "You're so wet for me. You meant it when you said you missed me, didn't you?"

He needs to hear it again. He needs to hear that you missed him as much as he missed you. There was a reason he checked the weather where you were. There was a reason he was relieved when you texted back. There was a reason he texted in the first place.

"Yes," you gasp, euphoria flooding you as finally get a bit of stimulation. "I missed you so much. I wanted to be here with you."

That's enough for him to completely give in. With something that sounds like a growl, he rubs your clit faster. You're groaning his name loudly as he works on you. It's not long before he slips a finger inside of you, and you find yourself riding his hand.

His eyes watch you in amazement as you grind down on his hand. "That's it. Good girl, show me how much you missed me," he groans, his eyes still locked on you as chase your high.

"Zayne, I'm gonna-"

Your high crashes over you, and you can faintly hear Zayne's little chuckle as you do. You feel like your legs are jelly, but you still want... no need more from him. Together, your panties are cast aside, and he gets on his knees on the couch, looking down at you as he slowly starts to undress.

You giggle, leaning up -- a hand being naughty as it chases every inch of free skin. He's not immune to your touch, his breath hitching every time you find new purchase. Finally, your hand finds his happy trail, and then his belt, aiding him. His cock springs free, standing at attention. He's already leaking pre-cum, and you can tell he's desperate for any friction on his member.

You're about to put your mouth around him when surprisingly, he shakes his head, pushing your back down against the sofa seat. "No. I need to be in you. I need to be home."

"Yes, yes, please, Zayne," you murmur almost like a chant.

His mouth leaves hot kisses on your shoulder as he positions himself to enter you. Slowly, he slides in, stretching you out in that delightful way only Zayne could. Other men had been ruined the first time he ever took you to bed.

He groans at the feeling of you fluttering around him, pausing to just feel you. "You are so tight," he groans, but then with a sharp snap of his hips, he surges even deeper than you thought possible.

His hands come up, pinning your hips down. He loves this position. He didn't care how boring it might be called. To him, nothing is better than getting to fuck into you with your love drunk eyes looking up at him. Nothing is better than seeing you blissed out and safe in his arms. "Say it again," he demands. "Say you missed me again."

And the way he's chasing your pleasure right now is evident on his face. He's chasing it just as fast as he own. Every inch of pleasure, every twitch of a smile... he's taking it all in as he purposefully angles each thrust where you need it most.

"I missed you so much," you nearly wail from both the intensity and sheer honesty of it. "I wanted to come home as soon as I left -- Zayne, I can't hold on--"

"I know. I've got you." He says, his fingers coming down to rub circles on your clit. Your head is thrown back as your orgasm starts to ram into you. You're already starting to mewl his name. "Come for me. It's okay." Despite the gruffness in his voice, gentleness can still be found and heard.

And for the second time, you come for him, this time with your walls around him. Your nails dig into his back and shoulder with the intensity of it. He doesn't even seem to notice.

That's because the second your start tightening like that around him, he's doomed. He pumps one, two and three more times before a shudder and groan falls from his lips, and a warmth fills your abdomen. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He then moves like he's about to pull back, but you hook a leg around his waist. He's surprised by your boldness, but then chuckles. "What is this-" he starts.

"Don't go. Not yet," you tell him. "I want to hold you."

Zayne presses a kiss to your forehead, shifting his weight to a comfortable position. "I'm not complaining."

[wendichester]

hii! can you something where reader is a singer with a sabrina carpenter or tate mcrae type of stage presence and she invites sam (her secret boyfriend) on stage and kinda dance with him. and at the end of the song she basically confirms their relationship to the world. thanks for reading! and if you can't do it it's okay

- 🪽

⊹ ࣪ ˖ spotlight confidential,

summary. who needs softlaunching when you can show-off to a stadium full of a people?

pairing. sam winchester x popstar!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 499

notes. thank you so much for requesting sweets! i hope you like it 😚

You always did love the way stage lights felt against your skin—warm, powerful, like little suns that only rose for you. The beat pulses through your chest, bass echoing the rhythm of your heartbeat as your voice fills the arena, your heels clicking against the sleek floor with every sassy sway of your hips.

The crowd is loud tonight, wild even, and that’s before you’ve done the fun part.

Because he’s here.

You glance offstage mid-chorus, and there he is—Sam. Six-foot-something of flannel-wrapped temptation, arms crossed, trying not to smile like he didn’t just fly in this morning because you begged him to. He thinks he’s being lowkey. But you know the way his lips twitch, the way his jaw flexes when he's trying not to get caught staring. You know him too well.

“Alright,” you purr into the mic as the bridge slows to a sultry tempo, “I think we need a little something extra tonight. Don’t you?”

The crowd howls in response. You smirk.

Your hand gestures to stage left. “Can we get a special guest up here?”

Sam’s head jerks up—what?

You beckon with a single finger, your grin wicked. “Come on, baby. Don’t make me come get you.”

He hesitates for all of three seconds before muttering something to your manager and stepping onto the stage like a man walking to his own execution. The crowd erupts. And you? You feel like you might combust with the thrill of it.

You meet him halfway, fingers sliding around his wrist as you tug him into the light. He’s blushing, definitely blushing, and that alone makes you want to kiss him stupid right there. But you settle for twirling dramatically back into the song.

You sing around him, dance around him—playful, teasing, almost a dare in your eyes. Sam doesn’t dance, not really, but he’s a good sport. His hands hover at your waist, catching you when you spin too close, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s letting you pull this off.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, barely audible over the music, grinning despite himself.

“And you love it,” you shoot back, breathless, beaming.

By the time the final chorus hits, you're pressed to him back-to-chest, his arms loose around your waist as you hit the last notes like your whole soul is behind them. The band fades out, the crowd screaming, lights dimming just enough for the moment to feel personal.

And you turn in his arms, both of you caught in a bubble of adrenaline and affection.

“I guess this makes it official,” you say into the mic, not looking away from him.

Sam arches a brow. “What does?”

You lean in, kiss him softly—sweet but unmissable.

The arena goes feral.

“That,” you say, and laugh against his mouth.

Sam buries his face in your neck like he’s trying not to smile too wide, and the last spotlight lingers just a little longer on the two of you before the stage fades to black.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[punksyeet]

- Mumbles & Massages ❥

Plot: When Jimmy’s confidence is running low, his favorite person is right there to bring him back down to earth.

Warning: Mature language, angst, & romantic fluff! <3

A/N: currently writing this at 1:45am on may 17th after jimmy lost his mitb qualifier. i haven’t written big jim in a while and, because i’m currently in my bag over his booking, this plot felt appropriate. i’m kinda just…..writing so, if this ever sees the light of day, i hope you enjoy. 💐💗

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the sound of a lock turning interrupts the silence of my living room, causing me to look up from my book and draw my attention to the front door.

dressed in a black nike sweatsuit and white air forces, with his hair freshly braided, my man appears in the doorway.

“hi baby,” i greet him, clipping my bookmark on my last read page and closing the covers together.

he lets out a heavy sigh, closing the door, before kicking off his shoes and walking over. “wassup, ma?”

i stand up and walk into his arms, laying my head on his chest and inhaling his usual woodsy vanilla scent.

he places a deep kiss into my hair and places his chin there, rocking us back and forth.

we stay there for a little while, before i pull my torso away, keeping my arms around his waist.

“how was work?” i ask, a hopeful tone in my voice.

he looks down at me, giving me a drained smile. “a lot.”

i tilt my head to the side, returning the smile, mine more empathetic. “i saw your match. i’m sorry.”

he shrugs and leans down to place a tender kiss on my forehead. “it’s aight. gotta put lil bro over, right?”

my smile fades as he walks away and into the kitchen, out of sight.

he’s not the type to just walk away from a conversation, so i can immediately tell something’s wrong.

“jon?” i call out.

no answer.

i lock the front door and walk into the kitchen after him.

he’s stood at the counter, unscrewing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“jon?” i call out again. “baby?”

“hm?” he replies, his back still turned.

i take a deep breath. “you know you can talk to me, right?”

he nods with a heavy sigh, placing his elbows down on the counter and leaning on them.

the faint sound of crickets chirping outside our kitchen window takes over for a few seconds, before i speak up again.

“look at me, jon.”

he turns around slowly and then i see it.

his cheeks freshly stained with tears, which he wipes with his sleeve.

his eyes looking droopy and tired - well, more than usual.

the tip of his nose bright red.

“i’m fine, babe. i promise. just tired. das it.”

“you don’t have to lie to me baby,” i reply.

he stares into my eyes, nostrils flaring, doing his best to blink away a fresh set of tears.

“you’re upset,” i continue, using my sleeve to wipe away my own face this time. “and you have every right to be.”

he looks up at the ceiling, runs his hands down his face, and suddenly lashes out.

one swing and his water bottle hits the floor with a hard thud.

he punches the wall, not hard enough to dent it.

“i’m tryin’ so fuckin’ hard man,” he mutters, his voice filled with emotion. “and i’m gettin’ shit for it.”

more tears roll down his face and, this time, he lets them.

i just watch him in silence, chewing on my bottom lip softly, attempting to catch my breath from quiet sobs.

him hurting like this? it fucking kills me.

“my twin is a world champion,” he continues. “my baby brother gon’ be champ soon enough. hell, even my fuckin’ cousins got a belt on ‘em too.”

he runs his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth from the dining table to the stove over again.

“and here i go. big jim. the outcast. the other uso. the backstage guy. the one without no story. the one that cracks jokes and nothin’ else. the failu-“

“jonathan,” i scold lightly, cutting him off. “don’t you fucking dare.”

he freezes and looks up at me, his mouth partially open.

“you’re not a failure,” i continue, taking a step closer. “and you know that shit.”

he blinks.

“don’t you?” i double check, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck.

he looks down, tears now spilling from his eyes like the hudson river.

i take a deep breath, and reach down to gently grab ahold of his beard, picking up his face.

“jon?” i call out again, my eyes meeting his.

once he takes notice to the fact that i’ve been crying, his heart shatters.

i can’t physically see it, but it’s written all over his face.

his expression drops.

“i’m sorry baby,” he mutters, his voice just above a whisper. “i wanna do better. for you. but i can’t. i dont got what it takes.”

“jon,” i reply, lacing my fingers in his long curls. “baby, you do. i need you to believe that.”

he sniffles and presses his forehead to mine, his eyes fluttering closed.

“you’ve proven yourself time and time again,” i continue, now barely whispering. “for god’s sake, you held championships with josh eight times and you still managed to make it this far on your own.”

a soft smile grows on his face.

“listen, it may not seem like it now, but your time will come. you’re gonna be even more incredible than you are right now. it may not be today, it may not be tomorrow. but big jim?”

i tap on his chest when referring to his character.

“he’s gonna get his big one. i have all the faith in the world in him. and i’ll be right here, by your side, to enjoy the ride with you.”

fresh tears spill from his eyes and i pull his face away to wipe them with my thumbs.

“always,” i whisper, staring into his eyes.

he gives me a grateful smile and pulls me into a hug, pressing deep kisses to my temple and taking deep breaths into my hair.

“i love you baby,” he whispers. “so fucking much.”

i hug him back just as tight, pressing kisses to his clothed shoulder. “i love you too, jon. more than you know.”

we kinda just stand there for a while, wrapped in each other. just me loving and being there for him.

which i know he needs.

he holds me tight like he never wants to let go.

and frankly? i don’t want him to either.

“now,” i finally speak, pulling away and cupping his face. “how about a hot bath and a massage, hm?”

he nods, giving me a tired but grateful smile. “sounds perfect, bae.”

i smile and stand on my tippy toes, pressing my lips to his.

he kisses back with just as much love, pulling me closer by my waist.

a couple seconds in, he lifts me up bridal style.

i burst into a fit of giggles as throws me over his shoulder and takes us upstairs.

and in true jonathan fatu fashion……well, you can only imagine what happened once we got in that tub.

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[thebigbadbatswife]

Late Night Tears

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Summary - Bruce wakes up to you crying.

Warnings - Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Comfort, Past Abuse mentions, Wrote this instead of sleeping

A/N - Same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine and Morning Glory. As always, this fic is a standalone and does not require any previous fics to be read in order to be enjoyed.

Word Count - 1.1k

As quickly as it took for him to fall asleep, something pulls Bruce from his pleasant dream. It fades into distant memory as his eyes blink open and he’s staring up at where he knows the ceiling of Wayne Manor’s master bedroom is. His eyes adjust to the pitch blackness faster than a normal man’s, thanks to his nocturnal lifestyle. 

He frowns as he lays there. While he, currently, has no idea what’s pulled him from his sleep, he knows something wrong. It’s a feeling deep within him. Settling into the pit of his stomach like the way that a stone sinks into the middle of a lake. 

It’s the result of years of training drilled into him. Instincts wired into his brain and very being to keep him alive during extremely uncertain situations. But this doesn’t fit in to that. 

He’s home. In bed. Safe and sound. There’s no danger here. 

Bruce closes his eyes and decides to listen. Just because the danger isn’t obvious doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. Maybe he’ll hear something. 

At the same time that he hears it, he also finally notices just how cold his side is. His sleepy brain fully waking up now. 

You’re no longer tucked up against his side, like you usually are when the two of you sleep together. Instead you’re all the way on the other side of the king sized bed. As far away from him as you can get without falling out of the bed. And he immediately recognises the quiet sniffling and shaky breathes of you sobbing. 

As he looks over at you, he feels his heart break a little. You are curled up into the fetal position. Both making yourself look smaller and trying to muffle your sobs with the covers.

Why didn’t you wake him? 

Deeply worried about you, Bruce sits up. He switches on the lamp on the nightstand, lightning up the dark room, and reaches for you. He pulls you back toward him, noting how you stiffen up at his touch, and tucks you back up against his chest. You snuggle against him, your hands gripping the shirt he’s worn to bed tonight as you bury your face against him. 

He doesn’t ask you if you’re okay. It’s beyond clear that, right now in this moment, you aren’t. So, as your forever devoted boyfriend, he does exactly as he knows he needs to. He holds you tightly, his hand rubbing your back, as he presses a kiss to the top of your head and softly repeats the words “I’m here”, a couple of times. Letting you know that you aren’t alone and that he’s got you. 

You cry for a while. To the point of soaking the front of shirt. Not that he cares. He can always get a clean one later. 

As your cries slowly fall silent, turning into more sniffling than full blown crying. You pull away from him and sit up, rubbing away the tears with your pyjama sleeve. Bruce sits up with you, one of his hands remaining on your lower back as he continues to do his best to soothe you. 

“Bad dream?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No. I… I couldn’t sleep and the longer that I laid awake, the more my mind started to wander and I started to think about certain memories and it just sort of snowballed,” you reply. You draw you legs up and press your forehead against them. 

Bruce doesn’t need you to explain further. He already knows about the memories responsible for your tears. They are the same ones that often cause your bad dreams as well.

Your child and teen years were, quite frankly, horrific. The abuse you endured only growing worse the more your fame grew. It was rarely physical, from what you have shared with him. Your parents preferring to use words, but they left a mark on you all the same. 

As soon as you had turned eighteen you had managed to shake off of their shackles and hadn’t heard from them for a few years. Until the first headline involving you and Bruce had hit the stands. Then, like the cockroaches they are, they had come crawling from the woodwork to hurl nothing, but abuse at you. Some of which he has heard first hand. Even now he struggles to wrap his head around how horrible someone can be to their own child.

But restraining orders don't undo years of abuse and, as good as your therapist is, your scars run deep. 

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his lap. You rest your head against his shoulder and let him entwin his fingers with yours.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he says. “You should have woken me up.”

“You barely get enough sleep as it is. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Your concern for him and his wellbeing is sweet. At the same time he doesn’t want you to suffer in silence just because he has the world’s worst sleeping schedule. He presses a feather light kiss to the tip of your nose and rests his head against your forehead. 

“You wouldn’t be disturbing me. I would rather lose sleep than have you awake and crying alone,” he replies. “Next time wake me up. I won’t be mad or upset. All I want is to make sure you’re okay.”

You nod. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about.” 

Before you can even attempt to say sorry for saying sorry, he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. He pulls away and wipes away the remnants of tears, that are still on your face, away with his thumb. Your eyes are puffy and are still shiny from unshed tears. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” 

Bruce doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s getting out of bed, with you still in his arms and carries you, bridal style, toward the en-suite. He turns the light on and sets you onto the counter. 

He removes his shirt, throwing toward the hamper before grabbing a washcloth off of the side of the bath and soaks it with cold water from the faucet. After squeezing some of the water out, he uses it to freshen up your face and gently presses it against your puffy eyes, to help reduce some of the swelling.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask as he presses the cloth against your other eye. Until now, other than the sound of running water from the tap, a silence had fallen over the two of you as he focuses on the task at hand.

“I’m thinking we’re going to go downstairs for a late night snack and some tea. Does that sound good to you?” He sets the washcloth aside, laying it out so that it can dry. 

“That sounds perfect.”

[withwritersblock]

Feelslikeimfallinginlove

~feelslikeimfallinginlove by Coldplay~

Author's Note: Requested! this isn't my proudest work but it has been a minute since I've written anything. It's more about the beginning part of falling in love with someone, maybe infatuation Summary: Quinn finally meets the beautiful girl in the lobby. Warnings: a bit of a cliffhanger I guess? Word Count: 3,125 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

Quinn usually kept to himself, especially when he was in season. Being captain came with a collection of team bonding and leadership he had to do during the season. But outside of the team and his family, he usually was alone. 

He never wanted to cross the boundary of getting to know the people in his building, he usually tried to avoid any interaction at all. Until the girl in the lobby. He hasn’t spoken to her yet, but they’ve smiled towards one another a handful of times. 

Quinn couldn’t figure out if she lived in the building, worked in the building, or knew someone who lived there. And he hoped it wasn’t a boyfriend. Today was the first game of the season and he was nervous. The team had a tough playoff exit and they had even higher expectations this season.

He took a deep breath as he adjusted the collar on his brand new black undershirt. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. He usually wore the same three suit styles over and over again. This was new. He took a deep breath as he reached for his keys and his water bottle and began jogging towards the door. He pulled the door open quickly stepping out. He shut his door, quickly locking it. He lifted his gaze to see the same girl walking out of an apartment. 

Quinn paused for a moment when he saw a guy several inches taller than himself walk out behind her. Quinn’s small smile on his lips faded as he saw the pair, which quickly turned into a trio as another girl steps out of the apartment. He watched the other girl lean up towards the tall guy and kiss him on the lips. 

Quinn would be lying if he didn’t take a sigh of relief. He finished locking his door, keeping his gaze on the floor. He began reluctantly walking towards the three of them. He needed to pass them to reach the elevator. 

“No way! You’re Quinn Hughes!” the tall guy said as Quinn stared walking. Quinn lifted his gaze, looking towards the three of them. He forced a smile on his lips. 

“Yup, that’s me,” he said awkwardly, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. 

“Y/N, you should’ve told me you live next to the Captain of the Canucks?!” he continued.

“I didn’t want to tell you because of this, Corey,” she motioned towards the guy, a giggle leaving her lips. “We’re sorry. Good luck tonight!” Y/N said excitedly, the same kind smile on her lips. Quinn met her gaze, his lips curled up softly.

“Not a big deal at all,” Quinn said, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“See, sis, not a big deal at all, can we get a photo?” he asked. Quinn nodded, “Here,” he shoved his phone towards Y/N. She laughed. Quinn felt his heartbeat quicken, it was a beautiful sound. He didn’t want to hear anything else ever again. All he ever wanted was to hear her laughter. 

She gladly took the phone and began to take a few steps back. Quinn cleared his throat as he gladly stood beside the man, putting on a forced smile. Corey pointed towards Quinn, his jaw dropped excitedly. 

Y/N slowly pulled the phone down away from her face, a wide grin on her lips. Quinn’s forced smile became more genuine. Quinn cleared his throat as he pulled away from her brother. 

“Thanks man, good luck tonight!” he said. Quinn nodded before he looked towards Y/N. Their eyes remained connected for a moment, perhaps too long, before Quinn began to walk towards the elevator.

“Thanks, enjoy the game,” he muttered as he walked towards the staircase near the elevator. He began walking down the steps alone, trying to hide the grin forming to his lips.

“How could you not tell me you lived next to Quinn motherfucking Hughes?” he overheard Corey say. Quinn laughed as he walked down the steps while shaking his head. 

~~~

The game was close but the Canucks ended up winning and Quinn got three assisted on the night. He couldn’t stop smiling the whole drive back towards his apartment. He parked in his usual parking spot to see Y/N climbing out of her car. He pressed his lips together to try and stop the smile forming to his lips.

He slowly climbed out of his car, keeping his gaze towards the ground. “Great game!” she called out towards him, standing in front of her car. He lifted his gaze as he smiled towards her. 

“Hey!” he expressed as he walked towards her, she met him as they stood together in the center of the parking garage, “Thanks, it was a bit close for comfort,” he mumbled as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. 

“I’m Y/N, I don’t think I said that earlier,” she offered, “And you guys were in control the whole time,” she said confidently crossing her arms over her chest. He chuckled nervously.

“Y/N, nice to meet you finally,” he said. He wanted to punch himself in the jaw. Why did he say that. Finally. As if he was waiting for them to meet. His eyes widened slightly and her smiled widened as she tilted her head to the side. 

“Nice to meet you too,” she said while adjusting the bag on her arm. He cleared his throat as he pointed behind him. She nodded as she began walking side by side with him. “Thank you for earlier, by the way, you made my little brother’s week,” she explained.

“No problem at all,” Quinn offered as he pulled the door open towards the lobby. Y/N smiled towards the front desk night host as the pair walked towards the elevator. “Does he live with you?” he asked, glancing behind him.

“He’s a freshman at UBC and lives at the dorms. He wanted me to take him and his girlfriend to a game. Obviously keeping the knowledge that we lived in the same building to myself,”

The elevator doors open quickly, allowing the pair to step inside. Shoulders bumping slightly as they stepped into the small space. “This is going to sound like I have a huge ego or whatever-purely just curious,” he began rambling as he pressed the button to reach the floor they shared. “If you knew who I was, why didn’t like ask for a photo or something?” he said a small laugh leaving his lips.

“I didn’t want to make it awkward,” she said while laughing.

“It wouldn’t be awkward at all,” he mumbled, turning his head towards her. She turned her head to meet his gaze, a grin on her lips as her eyes scanned his features.

“Well, now it would be be awkward,” she offered as the elevator doors opened to their apartment floor. She stepped out of the elevator first, spinning around to meet his gaze as he stepped out. 

“Why’s that?” he asked teasingly.

“You’re a completely normal person to me now,” she teased. 

He rolled his eyes playfully, “Oh really?” he asked as his gaze scanned her frame. She was beautiful. 

“Uh huh, you are simply Quinn Hughes, my neighbor, who happens to play for the Canucks,” she explained as she stopped beside her door. Quinn bit his bottom lip as he fought the grin forming to his lips. 

“Well, uh, Y/N last name I don’t know, my brothers also played tonight. I have yet to know how the game went. Would you like to come over and watch the game with me?” he asked, taking a small step towards her, his hands still in his hoodie pocket. She squinted her eyes slightly as she scanned his features. She nodded.

“Y/L/N,” she said.

His face scrunched together, a grin still evident to his lips, “A simple no would’ve sufficed,” he said while laughing.

She grinned as she rolled her eyes playfully, “It’s my last name, you ass,” she delicately pushed his arm back. “Is it okay if I take a quick shower before I come by?” she questioned.

He nodded, “Of course, I’ll see you in a bit?” he asked as he began walking backwards towards his apartment. She nodded before she spun around and began unlocking her apartment. He watched her walk inside. “Yes,” he whispered excitedly as he hopped slightly back towards his apartment door. He quickly unlocked it.

Stepping inside, he took a deep breath as he jogged towards his bathroom to quickly take another shower. He took one at the arena but he always takes a quick one when he gets home from games. He looked into the bathroom mirror as he giggled nervously. He glanced down towards his phone to see Luke was calling him. It was probably a good sign that they won.

He quickly brough the phone to his ear. “Lukey boy, did you guys win? Haven’t seen the score,” he asked as he clenched his jaw slightly as he tilted his head back.

“We won, it was close, also what the hell was that text you sent me earlier? No context nothing,” Luke said, a small chuckle leaving his throat. Quinn let out a sudden chuckle as he shook his head.

“Remember the cute girl in the lobby of my apartment?”

“Uh yes, sure, why?” Luke mumbled out. 

“She’s coming over in like twenty minutes,” he let out excitedly.

“How’d you manage that? I thought you were terrified to speak to any girl since your breakup,” he said jokingly. Quinn rolled his eyes.

“When’s the last time you spoke to any girl who weren’t dating one of your friends?” Quinn countered.

Luke laughed, “Alright, hot shot, enjoy your night. Tell me in the morning in as little details as possible please,” Luke mumbled before he hung up the phone. Quinn smirked as he quickly threw off his clothes as he jumped into the shower. 

After twenty minutes, Quinn shot up from the couch at the sound of a knock on his door. He smiled as he walked towards his apartment door. He peeked through the peep hole to see her standing outside of it with a bottle of wine in her hand. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. He felt his chest ache at the sight of her. His entire body felt hot as he examined her features in a short moment. 

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he offered as he stepped to the side allowing her to step inside. 

“I wanted to,” she mumbled as she nervously stepped inside, “Are you allowed to drink during the season? I should’ve thought about that before I brought this over,” she rambled as she tightened her grip on the wine bottle. 

“We can drink,” he let out as he held out his hand for the bottle. She nodded as she gave it to him gladly. “I only do it every once in a while though,” he mumbled as he set the bottle on the counter. She nodded as she nervously twisted the small necklace pendant between her thumb and index finger. 

“What kind of glass would you like? A big glass or a bigger glass?” he asked. She chuckled.

“A bigger glass would be great,” she mumbled as she looked towards the tv, it showed the game about to start in a few minutes. Despite it being a recording. 

“Coming right up,” he expressed as he popped open the bottle. 

“Do you watch every game your brother’s play?” she questioned as she watched the camera pan towards the starting players on the ice. She didn’t recognize any of them. 

“I try, it’s always hard when we play on the same day, but I try,” Quinn explained as he poured the glasses. Making sure the glasses were a bit on the fuller side. “If I don’t get a chance to watch the full thing, I’ll watch the highlights or something,” he explained as he walked towards her, handing her a glass.

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she followed him towards the couch. “That’s really awesome,” she said as she sat beside him. He nodded.

“It also helps watching the other team play against my brothers because I know how they play so I get to figure out how to work against the other team by watching them with my brothers. It’s kinda fun,” he explained. Her gaze was on him the entire time, admiring the way his face light up as he spoke. He shifted his gaze, meeting her eye for a moment. “Sorry,” he mumbled dropping his gaze.

“Don’t apologize, I wanna hear more,” she said tapping his knee excitedly. He chuckled nervously as he glanced towards the screen. 

“Hear more about what?” he asked as he met her gaze. She felt her lips curl up slightly as she tilted her head to the side.

“You,” she mumbled. He nodded as he brought the glass of wine towards his lips.

~The next morning~

She left around one in the morning. Despite, being together for several hours, nothing romantic transpired. They chatted as they watched the game. Learning everything and anything they could during their evening together. 

Quinn stood in his kitchen, propping his phone up as he answered the FaceTime from Jack. “Quinny!” Jack shouted into the phone. He had already been up for a handful of hours while Quinn just woke up. The time difference was something they were still getting used to, despite both being in the league for years.

“Damn, lower your voice,” Quinn mumbled as he poured some olive oil into his pan. 

“Lukey said you had a girl over last night, you putting yourself out there again?” Jack asked excitedly. 

“I-uh I guess, I don’t know,” he mumbled as he lifted the pan up and watched the oil spread around. “All we did was talk,”

“About what?” he asked teasingly. 

“I don’t know, just anything. It was nice to just talk to a girl without feeling any pressure to hook up or whatever,”

“So you don’t want to hook up with her?” he asked, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“I didn’t say that,” he chuckled, “I just want to get to know her,”

“God, you’re such a romantic,” Luke shouted into the phone from somewhere in their apartment. Quinn rolled his eyes as he looked towards the phone to see Jack laughing up a storm. 

“Just because I want to get to know a girl before I think about hooking up with her doesn’t make me a romantic,” Quinn let out, “It makes me a decent guy, which apparently you two are not,” 

“Oh whatever, Quinny,” Jack said while laughing. “Are you going to light candles and have rose petals on the bed for your first time together?” Jack teased. Quinn rolled his eyes as he fought off the smirk forming to his lips.

“Alright, bye Jack, bye Luke,” he let out in a sing-song way while he ended the FaceTime call while shaking his head. He cracked an egg as he let it fell into the pan before he tossed out the egg shell. He stared at the egg beginning to cook as he heard someone knocking on his door. He quickly turned his stove off as he jogged towards the door. He looked through the peep hole to see Y/N standing outside his door. 

He smiled to himself as he pulled it open, “Good morning, Y/N,” he said as he stepped to the side letting her walk inside.

“I can’t stay long, I have to get to work but-” she paused as she met his gaze, smiled towards his sleepy expression. “I never got your number last night,” she mumbled. He tilted his head back as he grinned. “And I figured if we are going to keep hanging out, I am going to need your number,” 

“Why are you going to need it?” he asked crossing his arms over his chest.

“Didn’t I just say?” she asked teasingly, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “I don’t want to keep appearing out of nowhere at your door, you know it’s weird,” she explained, fighting the grin on her lips. 

“Oh I see,” he let out as he held out his hand for her phone. She gladly handed him her phone. “You’re just going to miss me when I go on roadies so you want some way to contact me,” he said as he typed his name in her phone and his number. 

“I met your yesterday, like I could miss you already. That would be crazy,” she let out.

“Right right, so crazy that you decided to do this bright and early in the morning, instead of our planned hang out later tonight, right,” he teased as he slowly handed her phone back. She rolled her eyes playfully. 

“Oh whatever,” she said dramatically, “I’ve gotta go,” she said as she began walking towards the door.

“You don’t want to stay? Maybe kiss a little?” he teased. She rolled her eyes as she let out a sudden laugh. 

“I’m running late,” she said as she pulled open the door and began to walk out of the apartment. The door was slow to shut. He quickly jumped into the opening, propping open the door a little as he peeked his head out.

“That wasn’t a no!” he shouted towards her. She spun around and began to walk backwards. She had a huge grin on her lips as she shook her head. 

He returned the smile before he slipped back into his apartment. He shut the door behind him and laughed nervously as he walked back towards his kitchen.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket while he walked in front of the stove. He pulled it out to see an unknown number calling him. He smiled as he brought it towards his ear. “Hello,” he dragged out. 

“Did I hear you right, Quinn Hughes?” Y/N said on her end of the phone. 

“What’d I say?” he asked with a smirk toying to his lips. He hasn’t felt giddy like this in months, maybe even years. He missed the feeling. 

“Hmmm, that you wanted to kiss me,” she offered, a smile evident in her tone. 

“Did I say that? I don’t know if I said that,” he teased, “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

“No, no I definitely heard you say it,” 

“Maybe you imagined me saying that because you wanted to kiss me too,” 

She let out a sudden laugh, “You just admitted you said you wanted to kiss me,”

“I don’t think I did. I guess you’re just gonna have to come over and find out,”

[em-harlsnow]

i love gallavich in season 7 simply because of how grabby Mickey is. in no other season do we see him being so handsy with ian. first, there’s the collar-grab after mickey kind of kidnaps him, the way ian starts to melt into that, about to give in before mickey breaks away. then there’s the dock, and obviously the first kiss is grabby on both sides because it’s basically a violent kiss (in a good way). but the second kiss. THE SECOND ONE!! where it’s them basically licking each other, and mickey’s touching wherever he can, with his hands around ian’s collarbones and neck again. obviously, then they fuck and it’s a fade-to-black, but not before we see ian grabbing mickey’s hand and pressing it against the boat.

BUT THEN!!! THEN THERES THE SPIDER-MAN KISS!!! The way mickey’s grabbing at Ian’s back and pulling him in because he can’t get enough, because he doesn’t want ian to go, because he needs ian. he’s literally desperate.

i fucking love those episodes of season 7 because it shows exactly how much they need each other, how passionate they are and how their dynamic is basically just them fighting with sex and love. so weird, so good!

[ofbatsandballads]

“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

[mocchiixxx]

Seventeen's 95z Yandere One-Shot Trilogy # | 1: Mine First

Genre: Dark Yandere, Psychological Thriller, Twisted Romance

Choi Seungcheol | Scoups x Famous Actress Reader

Inspo Lyric: “Getting closer, I’m coming for you…”

Summary: You were never his. But he made sure you’d never belong to anyone else. A rising actress caught in the spotlight, until Choi Seungcheol, the man who’s always watched from the shadows, finally steps in. He doesn’t want fame. He wants you. And now that he has you locked away where the world can’t touch you? You’ll learn to love him. Because in his world... You were his first. And his only.

🍒Trilogy#1 • 😇Trilogy#2 • 🦌 Trilogy#3

You were never his.

But he made sure you’d never be anyone else’s either.

You were on top of the world.

Rising actress. Every endorsement, every spotlight, every envious eye was on you. And you should’ve felt untouchable.

But that feeling of being watched?

It never left.

Every red carpet felt like a trap. Every script, somehow twisted to reflect your life.

And when you opened your newest project folder, you froze. The male lead’s character?

Choi Seungcheol.

Written exactly like him.

You met him once, briefly, years ago. A casting panelist. Quiet, intense. Gave you a look that felt like a cage.

He never spoke then.

But you remembered the weight of his stare. You didn’t know he remembered everything.

The way your hand trembled during your audition. The way you smiled too politely. The way your lips shaped his name when you read your lines.

Now, he stands in your dressing room. Wearing black. Leather gloves. No smile.

“You're overworking yourself,” he says casually. Like he belongs here. Like you invited him in.

“I’m here to bring you home.”

You choke back a scream.

“You’re crazy— what the hell are you doing here—”

“Shhh.” He grabs your wrist. Not harshly. Not gently either. Enough to remind you that strength is on his side.

“I warned you before. This industry eats people like you alive.”

You try to pull back, desperately.

“You’re not my guardian.”

His eyes flash.

“No. I’m your owner.”

They find your phone in a trash can outside the building.

The press is told you’re on a health hiatus.

The world waits. But you’ve already vanished.

Because when Seungcheol said home, he meant the glass-walled cabin in the forest.

Every inch monitored.

Every door locked.

Every camera pointed at you.

You break the first week. Scream. Fight. Scratch.

He lets you.

Doesn’t flinch when you throw a chair. Only watches. Silent. Calm.

And when you collapse on the floor, shaking, he crouches beside you.

“You’re safe now.” His hands stroke your hair.

“No more lies. No more pretending. Just you and me.”

You try to hate him. You do hate him.

But hate means thinking about him. And that’s what he wants.

He breaks you down with routine. Tea exactly how you like it. Scripts on the table, roles you didn’t even audition for, but somehow he got them for you.

“I’m the reason they hired you,” he whispers once in the dark. “I’ve always been the reason.”

The worst part?

You believe him.

Months pass. Or maybe weeks. Time doesn’t work right here.

He kisses you one night, and you don’t pull away. Your body is shaking... but your lips part anyway.

And when he presses your back against the glass, moonlight making your outline visible from the outside world you can no longer reach, he tells you:

“You were always meant to be mine first.”

You shiver.

“I won’t share you. Not with fans. Not with the world. Not even with the other two who think they love you.”

You blink.

“What?”

He just smirks.

“They're getting closer. But I’ll always be ahead of them.”

He lifts your chin.

“Because unlike them, I already have you.”

You don't scream anymore.

You don’t cry.

You sit beside him at the window, hands intertwined, watching the world fade like a bad dream.

He kisses the side of your head and whispers:

“Say it.”

And for the first time—

“I’m yours, Seungcheol.”

He smiles.

A victory carved in obsession.

END. (But the others are getting closer.)

A/N: Hii! To the one who requested this, your request inbox vanished but luckily I remember the theme of your request so here it is. I hope this gets to you and hope you like this. Jeonghan and Joshua's are coming soon so stay tuned! Good day/ afternoon/night!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Zombie Apocalypse: Yandere Jujutsu Kaisen (2)

Part 1

In an alarming blur of white and black, Gojo introduces himself by jumping in front of you from above

“Hi there (Y/n)! It’s a pleasure to meet you! Chu! You’re as gorgeous as your blood tests suggest.”

“Oh, my Plasma. Please stop embarrassing yourself.”

“Yeah, even I thought that sounded freaky.”

“Well (Y/n) something you’ll find about me is that I’m a freaky guy~”

“Please stop.”

Meeting the eccentric head of the fortress puts you in a spin

Dragging you to dinner and then to some of the activities the fortress has

With a blindfold that occasionally lifts to show striking blue eyes 

You nearly forget to ask the question that introduced him in the first place

“Hey Gojo?”

“Yes, Cutie-pie?”

“Uh…can I get clearance to see the other survivors.”

He gets real quiet 

his smile fades a little but not enough to mean anything

“Why Star-face? I thought you liked all of us over here?”

“I do. I just want to see my group. It’s only been a day but–”

He puts a finger on your mouth not exactly in a shushing motion

But he ushers you away from Yuuji and Megumi who were fighting over a painting

Taking you farther away from all the other members of the fortress he leads you up some stairs

Finally reaching the roof of one of the buildings you can see the other half 

A less developed place

The homes are close, filled with people, and it’s a lot less lit than the areas you’ve been

“That’s where the other survivors go…you want to go down there?”

You hesitate but not for long

“Yeah if my group is there I think we should be together.”

He sighs running a hand through his white hair before taking off his blindfold

Now you can see the way his light eyes dart over the people below 

He laughs 

“That man…with the purple vest pushed a pregnant woman into the horde when they were cornered.”

He doesn’t look at your horrified expression 

Only pointing out a few others who’ve committed something awful

“Why do you let them stay here then? If they did these horrible things?”

“Because they came with those who need us. But too many of them practically kill themselves if they get too far away. It’s like the way parasites shape the brains of their hosts.”

You didn’t like the implication

“Gojo…why do I have the yellow wristband? And why was I separated from my group?”

He pulled you into his chest rubbing his fingers into your side

“Bug, think of it as us intervening before the Parasite gets their final claws in you. Your special and perfect for saving.”

“Wait but my group isn’t–”

“Hush, love. I’m sure you're tired. Today has been a long day for you.”

He ignores any protests from you and only gushes about what you’ll do tomorrow

You stop trying because you are tired 

Letting him lead you back to your room in the tower above the fortress

“Have a fun time, you two?”

“We had a great time!”

He kisses the black-haired scientist before helping himself into your room

He goes through your closets, the bathroom, and your bag still ranting about nonsense you don’t understand

Suguru gives a comforting pat on the back

he gives you a clean version of your pajamas before bidding you goodnight

“C’mon Satoru you’ll get to bother (Y/n) tomorrow.”

“That’s right and I don’t even have work tomorrow so I’ll be with you allll day!”

“Alright, out mister. Goodnight (Y/n) we’ll tell the kids you said so too.”

“Uh, goodnight.”

When the door finally closes you’re able to think about what he said

And then you fall asleep 

Maybe he’s got a point

“So how’d it go?”

“They were asking about the wristband.”

“The whole time?”

“Only at the end, made up somethin’ about parasites.”

“Oh, their friends? I hope you didn’t suggest they were in that town.”

“Eh-I dunno! Can’t you make up something about them being immune?”

“Maybe but it’s going to be hard convincing them.”

“Who cares? We got ‘em now, right? I’d say we try whatever we want.”

“You’re right we do got ‘em.”

They’ll just have to accept whatever we say

[sjyuns]

🗒️ 、HOW SWEET

downbad!sunghoon x fem reader 500 words warnings kissing genre fluff mikaela’s note back to my roots of simping over men w glasses

Sunghoon wonders if you know how sweet you taste.

It lingers on, the taste of you — a hint of cherry pomegranate under the tint of mauve that glazed over your lips. The cold air sends chills down his spine yet his glasses fog up at the tickle of your warm breath caressing him in winter midnight.

And it feels like summer, the way you make him feel so alive. His cheeks a shade pink as he brushes it off, blaming it on winter when it’s really you that’s to blame.

The existing fatigue from his arduous day fades into a mere shadow beneath the both of you as he presses his lips onto yours yet again.

“It’s cold Hoon, we should head in,” you murmur as you watch his glasses fog up yet again — and you want to draw heart shaped stars around the lenses of them, a symbol of your love towards him.

Your boyfriend hums, pulling you closer into his arms. “Just a while more,” he answers softly, fingers wrapped delicately around your waist, chin perched on your head.

And if the winter wind had memories, it’d remember the countless times you and Sunghoon spent in the chill, away from the comfort of your home. The gentle breeze through the leaves, yet strong enough to engulf the both of you — making you savour the warmth brought by him.

Sunghoon shifts from his comfortable position to catch your gaze, a small smile appearing on his face as he moves in to kiss you for the nth time. And you can see the tinted mauve pink that you’ve transferred onto his lips, a testament of the love shared between the both of you.

“What are you doing,” you giggle softly, the quiet atmosphere calming and alluring, as you stare at Sunghoon — clad in his favourite black Armani suit and tie, sleek black hair slightly messy after a long day of work. And you can’t help but notice the shades of pink that contrast his aloof aura.

Sunghoon stares back, admiration shining through his eyes. “It’s because you’re too pretty,” he comments, facial expressions serious and stern.

You scoff, pulling away from his embrace, and Sunghoon’s body instinctively searches for your warmth again. “I told you not to say sappy things,” you whined, “it’s cringey, Hoon,” you grimace, holding back a giggle.

“It’s not sappy, it’s real,” he reiterates, taking big steps to return by your side, fingers once again finding their way to the dip of your waist; pulling you into him, “you’re the prettiest girl in the world.”

You throw your head back in laughter, filling the once empty atmosphere with a ringing melody. “And I guess you’re the handsomest man in the world.”

“You guess?” Sunghoon probes, fingers tickling your sides as he dips down to get a taste of your lips once more.

And even with the thousand more kisses Sunghoon takes from you, he can’t seem to get over how sweet your lips taste.

© SJYUNS