#one of my favorite movies that i would rent over and over and over as a kid

[greyias]

Movie Tag Game

Tagged by: @canon-in-too-deep, @keldae, @elveny, @captainderyn -- thank you for the tag! (I finally remembered to do this)

Rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite films, then tag ten people to do the same.

Tagging: I think I'm 15 days late with Starbucks to this, so everyone's been tagged. If you haven't, then now you're tagged.

[undressrehearsal]

dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?” 

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes. 

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?” 

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed. 

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.” 

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.” 

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?” 

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?” 

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?” 

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?” 

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.” 

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?” 

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.” 

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in. 

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress. 

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?” 

You grinned. “$200.” 

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.” 

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.” 

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips. 

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling. 

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.” 

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.” 

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor. 

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?” 

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!” 

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.” 

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder. 

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone. 

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning. 

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away. 

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.” 

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you. 

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”) 

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you. 

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?” 

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-” 

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!” 

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-” 

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?” 

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?” 

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.” 

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?” 

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.” 

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing. 

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints. 

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.” 

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light. 

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies. 

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar. 

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own. 

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?” 

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands- 

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?” 

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited. 

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse. 

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk. 

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat. 

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed. 

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?” 

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.” 

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.” 

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic. 

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.” 

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else. 

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.” 

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.” 

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart. 

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there. 

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.” 

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.” 

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover. 

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer. 

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face. 

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth. 

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp. 

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest. 

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving? 

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.” 

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body. 

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue. 

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.” 

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone. 

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.” 

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin. 

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips. 

“What?” 

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no. 

“Truth,” you sighed. 

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?” 

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy. 

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing. 

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs. 

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?” 

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips. 

And you decided to play her game. 

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes. 

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.” 

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.” 

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment? 

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue. 

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach. 

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.” 

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.” 

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple. 

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones. 

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease. 

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.” 

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan. 

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye. 

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.” 

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission. 

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence? 

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them. 

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been. 

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs. 

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place. 

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….” 

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job. 

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-” 

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted. 

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-” 

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it. 

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs. 

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity. 

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple. 

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?” 

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?” 

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?” 

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.” 

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin. 

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again. 

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you. 

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.” 

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.” 

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?” 

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.” 

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?” 

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you. 

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.” 

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.” 

[flanaganfilm]

Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

[flippinpancakes64]

cullens w/ a reader who lovesss to cuddle?

The Cullens with a Cuddly S/O

Currently fighting the sleep demons rn so Idk if this will even make sense but whatever full send

Thank you for requesting and I hope you like this

Edward:

We already know he's down

I mean like half of the first book/movie is him watching Bella sleep

He just likes to be nearby

So cuddling up to your side is no burden to him

He'll ask a lot if you're too cold or if you want him to move

He just wants you to be comfortable

After you've established that you do, indeed, like his cuddles, expect them all the time

If the time or place allows him to be right by your side, he is there

"Hey I just rented a new movie, do you wanna come over and watch it?"

"What movie?"

"Uh-"

"I'm on my way, have my blankets ready."

Alice:

She's a pretty energetic person

So I feel like she'd need to either be doing something or talking

So yes she will cuddle, but she needs the TV on

Or she needs to be talking your ear off

She loves being so close though

She's like a lizard she loves the warmth

She doesn't mind if you fall asleep, she'll keep talking

But especially if it's late at night, she loves being so close to you

Btw she's the little spoon or literally laying on top of you

I would recommend investing in a nice heated blanket

Jasper:

I have a feeling he'd love it

He strikes me as the type to be able to stare at a wall for hours on end and not get bored

So he doesn't mind laying with you the whole night

He would lay in one spot for days if you wanted him to

He would be so happy when you asked him the first time though

He has a bit of a hard time grasping that you actually do love him, so small reminders like this go a long way

Is another one who's hyper-aware

Constantly making sure you're comfortable

He would find your even breaths and calm mind soothing

It's his new favorite couples activity btw

Rosalie:

I've mentioned it before but I think she's active at all hours

Either she's at school, hunting, or working on her cars

She just doesn't like to be bored

So cuddling isn't her favorite

Not to say she won't do it

Just that she won't do it for super long stretches of time

She'll cuddle for a movie, or until you go to sleep

But then she likes to get back to doing something

It's understandable, you can go to sleep, she can't

If you ask her to, though, she will stay the whole night

And she won't complain

She also doesn't have a preference on cuddling position

Emmett:

He's definitely more into like casual cuddling

Does that make sense?

Like he loves holding you close on the couch while he's watching a game

And he loves sitting you in his lap when he's playing a card game or doing homework

But he doesn't really like laying in bed for hours

So sort of similar to Rosalie

He just gets restless

He's squirmy too

He wakes you up throughout the night because he moves so much

Cruel injustice

But on the bright side, if he was able to sleep he'd be a loud ass snorer so at least you don't have to deal with that

Esme:

She would be another snuggle enjoyer

She loves the closeness of it

It makes her feel so connected to you

And she has no qualms about when or where

It's the middle of the day and she's outside working on the garden but you want to cuddle?

Okay just let her shower first

She would prefer to be the little spoon

Idk why that's just how it is

Carlisle:

Carlisle "Cuddle" Cullen

Anytime, anywhere

He just misses you a lot when he's at work

So he loves to make up for lost time by having you right there with him

Loves doing paperwork with you in his lap

Or having his arms around you at all times

And of course he will lay with you for the whole night

He tends to lay on his back

But that's just his natural

He will move however you need him to

He only cuddles fully clothed tho

He knows he's cold

So he knows you will need the extra layers between you two

Vampire! Bella:

She's always down

Sleeping is one of the things she misses the most about being human

So laying there with you while you sleep is the closest she can get to the real thing

She likes to cuddle while facing you

Face to face yk

But her one bad habit is that she forgets that she is freezing

Chronically puts her hands under your shirt or her toes behind your knees

"Ah! Cold!"

"Shit, sorry"

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[occamstfs]

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air. 

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.” 

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears. 

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole. 

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right? 

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control. 

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom. 

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view. 

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent. 

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at. 

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

[elliespuns]

Joel Miller's House

and the little details that melt my heart (make me squirm)

I truly adore Joel's cozy porch. It has the perfect ambiance for him to relax and spend quality time with Sarah on warm summer days or quiet evenings. The presence of the water kettle on the table suggests that his porch is a frequent gathering place. Noticing the pumpkins already arranged, despite the fact that the outbreak occurred on September 26th, I feel like someone might have been a bit too eager for Halloween festivities.

Who would have guessed that Joel has always been ready to rock formal Oxford shoes? Young man Joel in a dark suit, tie, and Oxfords? Fuck, I need to breathe.

I thought I was going to shriek in surprise when my eyes landed on the weathered cowboy hat perched on the wall hook. It was such a striking (sexy) contrast to the construction helmet and simple baseball cap. The mere thought of Joel donning a casual baseball hat makes me go bananas. What do they say again? "Save a horse..."

This photograph of Joel and Sarah sitting upon the table, beside Joel's spot on the couch, has forever graced my heart. This tender image speaks volumes of the pure, affectionate bond they shared. Plus, the humble bowl of peanuts resting nearby suggests that Joel probably liked these simple snacks during movie nights together.

When I realize that Joel's true intentions were to launch his own business, reading up on critical matters like "buying a contract" and "everything you need to know to create a startup", it makes me want to cry. The poor man had been working tirelessly, pouring his heart and soul into every endeavor, driven by a burning desire to one day give Sarah the life she deserved. He was doing everything within his power, leaving no stone unturned, but fate had other plans.

The precious photo of baby Joel and his father sharing a fishing trip together unleashes a flood of emotions for me every time. The faded snapshot, forever frozen in time, clearly held a special place in our man's heart, since he kept it enshrined in a frame, with a candle next to it—a tender tribute to the loving dad he lost.

The man was utterly engrossed in the plans for his new project that he was planning in silence. Now let's talk about the old framed photo on his bedside table showing his parents dancing together. It just makes my day. I'm not even going to comment on the napkins sitting there so innocently.

This framed wedding photo of a young couple sitting on the bookshelf in Joel's study has been living in my mind rent free. While the groom looks nothing like Joel, I am certain that this couple is neither his parents (Joel has other photos of them in the house) nor his brother. The question is; who are these people? What connection could they possibly have to Joel? It seems too intimate, too personal, to have a picture of any random couple in such a private sanctum as his study. Could it be that Joel bleached his hair in his youth? After all, that was a common trend in the 90s. I'm scared to even speak this aloud, folks, but what if there's a possibility this couple could actually be a younger Joel and his wife? But then again, Sarah is blond, and this woman is not! (give me reasons to think I'm mistaken in the comments because I'm going crazy over here).

Joel's ardent love for music was evident throughout his home, with a sprawling collection of CDs adorning every room. However, it was the prominent display of CDs by Axel Diggs that stood out above the rest. Probably Joel's favorite musician.

The sunglasses lying on the table by the front door give me butterflies. Joel in sunglasses? It's a crime nobody has ever given us a single photo of Joel Miller in sunglasses. Oh, and the lottery tickets scattered around? Apparently, there's a gambler lurking within the man I thought I knew so well.

As an added treat, I mustn't leave out these two absolutely precious photos that appear to show Joel's parents back in their youth. What a touching gesture by this man to have kept these on proud display all these years. My heart just swells with affection for him seeing this.

[bizbat]

When They're In Love HCS - Jason Todd

~ Fem terms used for reader

~ Partially based on these headcanons

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ You can find part two here, and part three here.

~ You can find more of my works here

Jason Todd seems like the type to fall hard and fast. He might not admit it for a while, but he's been developing feelings for you from at least the second or third time you met.

He's the type to call you "Wifey" or "The Missus" even when you aren't married and regardless of whether or not you to plan to.

He absolutely keeps a picture or two of you in his wallet, and no, he doesn't think it's cheesy in the slightest.

He's the type to lay on you. Your chest, your tummy, even your butt if you're laying on your stomach, your size and weight is irrelevant.

You'll be minding your own business, laying down and reading a book or playing on your phone, and he'll come out of nowhere and drop all 230+ lbs of muscle on your smaller body.

If you wheeze and try to crawl out from under him, try to push his giant hulking form off of you, he'll just wrap his arms around you and tell you he's tired, and just needs a few minutes of sleep.

Doesn't actually spend as much time reading as he would like to, but if you enjoy reading he'll always find time to do it with you.

If libraries had gold card memberships, he would be the one to have it. He'd rent any and as many books as you want.

Sometimes, he'll go out of his way to find books he thinks you'd like or that you can read together. Sometimes, he'll even give you old books from his personal library if he thinks you'll enjoy them as much as he did

I don't think he's be huge on giving gifts, I see him as more of a quality-time type (but i see almost all of the bats as quality-time types so take that with a grain of salt), but I do think he'd give you lots of tiny gifts all the time.

He'll pick up a quick breakfast for the both of you at the local bodega, he'll get your pet treats, he'll bring over your favorite candy or snack everytime he comes over to your place, etc.

Loves movie nights. Doesn't matter which movie it is, it could be some dumb, low budget nightmare made to babysit kids, or the best piece of visual media ever made by human hands.

He loves being able to talk to you, he loves hearing your opinions, loves hearing your voice. He'll recommend movies to watch just because he knows you'll have a lot to say about them.

I don't think he'd have a big moment where he introduces you to his entire family, I think he'd introduce you slowly, one person at a time.

I think he'd start with Dick or Cass, or Alfred, then so on and so forth. I think Tim and Damian would either be dead last, or have to find out on their own.

The only reason the others were told by Jason straight up is because they have that bare minimum amount of respect to stay out of his business. 💀

If you're a civilian, I don't think he'd want you to have anything to do with the more dangerous side of his life. It's bad enough you're dating him to begin with, he doesn't want to put you at anymore risk.

It's a somewhat different story if you're another vigilante. I still don't think he'd want you involved in his work specifically, but he would at least know you could take care of yourself if it came down to it.

He almost always wakes up before and goes to bed after you.

He likes seeing you when you're asleep, your hair a mess, or your bonnet askew.He thinks you're so cute when you're sleeping.

I don't think he'd take lots of pictures, but i don't think he'd mind if you did.

He might actually enjoy it if you just have a ton of selfies with him.

You are his lockscreen. Whether that was a decision made by you or him is still up for debate.

Doesn't care if you're more masculine or feminine, i think he'd find something to enjoy about both aspects.

Or if you were more androgynous.

He'd for sure call you "My girl".

A list of names I think he'd call you: My girl/wife, Wifey, Angel, Sweet thing, Princess, Baby

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the man LIVES for domesticity.

Even if you aren't married, you guys will act like an old married couple.

He's not my personal fave, but guess I had a lot of thoughts about him lol

[secretlovezz]

hiiiii, congrats on 1k I love your writing smm!!!

Could I please request an Eddie Munson fic with a female reader where they’re best friends and have a Horror Movie Friday every week, and at this one, she ends up sleeping over? Thank you! 💕

Scary Movie?

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: none really just fluff

Wordcount: 1059

A/N: hope I did well on your request, I'm honored that you enjoy my little writings <3

Friday has always been your favorite day of the week.

When you were little it always signified the end of the school week, free from classes with rowdy students and teachers that couldn’t control them, and though this was still a good reason for making it such a wonderful day it got even better after you met Eddie.

Eddie Munson the resident “freak” at Hawkins high and your best friend had declared Friday night as movie night not too long into your abruptly formed friendship. Every week you would head to his trailer with a wide smile on your face, a pizza, drinks, or snacks in hand and prepare for a night of random movies- almost always scary and meant to scare your socks off in a way that always made Eddie cackle- and fun. 

This week it was your turn to pick a movie and though you knew Eddie wouldn’t really like it you were fine with that as long as you didn’t have to sit through Poltergeist again.

“So what has the lady brought for us to watch this week?” Eddie sighs dramatically as he plops himself on the couch beside you, throwing his arm lazily around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You move his arm off of you to stand and he frowns groaning at the unintentional rejection.

But you smile in thought at what reaction he might have as you dig through your bag for the movie you rented ignoring his dramatics in the background. Grin widening when you grab it and whip it into the air excitedly, “Behold! The glorious film of-,” Eddie cuts you off as he reads the title deadpanned and a little annoyed no longer into the playful mood he had just been in less than a minute ago, “Gremlins? Are you serious? We’re supposed to be watching scary movies.”

Eyes rolling at him as you pop open the case to insert the movie into the player insisting, “Gremlins is totally a scary movie those little fuckers are nightmare fuel and you know it.” you swing the case to point at him as you finish speaking. Eddie crosses his arms and pouts like a child mumbling something about how they are in fact not scary and he could totally beat them but you once again ignore his antics and insert the movie. 

Walking back over to the couch you throw yourself onto it and wrap your arm around him to pull his slouched body over to you similarly to what he had done to you only minutes before. He sighs giving in almost immediately and grabs onto your legs to pull them into his lap rubbing your leg up and down with his cold hands sometimes pitching at your sweatpants. Your head rests on his shoulder rubbing your cheek against the warn fabric of his band-tee while his own cheek rests against your hair, face a little covered by the wildness of it.

The two of you watch the movie but not without Eddie's quips and mumbles about how stupid it is and soon enough you're both half asleep as the credits roll up with the names of actors and producers.

You yawn and so does he, moving to stretch your hand bumps a little roughly against Eddie’s chin and you laugh.

“I know I made fun of your choice of movie but you didn’t have’ta hit me for it,” he grumbles to which you roll your eyes and reason, “If you weren’t so close to me all the time I wouldn’t have done that.” He pinches your side and gets up doing an exaggerated stretch of his own.

As you get up to gather your things Eddie watches you brows furrowed and eyes squinted as you throw your- once his- sweater into your tote bag and he looks out the window then looks back at you. “Y’know you could just stay over, right? I mean it's pretty late and- and I think Wayne wouldn’t mind… he likes you.” He finishes his sentence with a shrug with his hand rubbing shyly on the back of his heating neck. You look at him, contemplating, and look out the window then back at him. He’s right it's late and you suck at driving at night, Eddie likes to tease and ask how you even got your license.

“Oh! Uhhh sure why not?”

The grin that appears on his face makes you feel like you’re looking at the sun- he’s absolutely beaming at you.

“Perfect! I mean cool- yeah yeah cool, um you can take the bed and i’ll sleep out here.” A giggle leaves from your lips at his poorly hidden excitement. “Or and hear me out here,” Eddie raises a singular brow anticipation for your next words over shadowing his previous embarrassment, “we share the bed. I mean the two of us could totally fit, right?” 

The flush that overtakes your best friend's face makes you giggle once more, grabbing his hand to lead him to the room as he sputters out nonsense along the way. You think this is your new favorite version of him, shattering his cocky-ness to reveal a flustered mess.

When you two make it to the room you drop his hand and toss yourself down onto his blanket covered mattress sighing as you make contact with the plushness of it.

Gathering one of his pillows in your arms and letting your head fall onto it you finally turn to him, “c’mon you're the one that said it was late, I’m tired.” He’s moving before the words even finish leaving your mouth throwing himself on top of you lazily, “you’re right,” he lets out a faux yawn, “It’s sooooo late and I’m sooooo tired.” His arms wrap around your torso tightly and shoves his face into the crook of your neck- already he was back to his normal self. You cackle and try to push him off but it’s no use because he uses all of his strength to keep you pressed against him.

He only loosens his grip to let you twist in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a koala. “Love you.” The words are whispered so gently against the shells of his ear that he almost doesn’t hear you but he does.

“Love you too”

[stealingyourbones]

I don't really get the people who think reading the comics is such a radical idea. Don't they want to learn more about them? aren't they curious what makes them tick? what insane adventures they went on? what fears they have? what makes them laugh and smile? I'm from europe so I haven't seen any of the DC shows I see mentioned every once in a while (which means I really don't get the whole Clark hates clones thing... but that's a different thing) and it's only been this year that I have enough disposable income to splurge on comics, aka I haven't read that many just yet.

But I do think the ones I have read enhance the stories I'm trying to tell, which to me is a good reason to read them ;p but besides that, they are fun! they are just really fun to read

I’m glad you’re having fun reading comics man! It’s a shame that folks don’t read them as much but you know, I can understand it. I both asked some folks in the Haunting Heroes discord server and have some of my own points to make about this.

First of all I do still believe that you should consume some form of DC media if you’re in the fandom. It’s fun and there are comics, books, movies, tv shows, and every other form of medium known to man that you can take a peek at! Idk I’m just a bit DC enjoyer and think that looking at canon media to expand on your knowledge and help create ideas you wouldn’t have had if you hadn’t looked at said piece of media.

Now onto why reading comic books is hard:

Some folks simply prefer the fandom and not the official DC content. Whether they prefer fanon, find fics more accessible, or like the people in the fandom, they’d rather just stick to the fandom.

They simply don’t know where to start. Getting into comics can be INCREDIBLY overwhelming ( DC has done their best to fix this and has messed up more than once. My go to is to reccomend folks just start reading New 52 comic runs as it’s really good for new readers to jump into the comics with any hero that might intrigue them). Big comic events span multiple comic story runs and not a cohesive line of comics, some omnibuses for stories are out of print, the 80+ years of comics are daunting as hell, and everyone has their own opinion on the best versions of a character/where to start/what to read.

Money. Comics are an expensive hobby to have. They may cost $1-$5 each on average but that price adds up over time. I have a comic collection of roughly 1,300 comics. I’d estimate its value very roughly around the $7,800 range. It’s probably far more than that though and I know damn well reselling it I won’t get half of that value back. I’m very fortunate to be a college student with disposable income and for this hobby to be the only thing I ever really spend money on besides rent and food. Some people either can’t afford them or don’t want to buy a comic they don’t know if it’s good or not.

Varying quality. Comics are a very mixed bag thing where they can be incredibly written or some of the worst pieces of media you’ve ever read. With this being the case, it can be really hard to find a comic character or writer you like if that’s your first experience. It takes a while to learn about different writers and find out who your favorite writers are. What’s harder is some writers can make absolute masterpieces with one character and the next comic run they cover it can be absolute garbage. Not only that, everyone has opinions on what is a good comic run or not. It’s impossible to find a repeatedly stated and easily accessible list on the good comics to read.

Pretentious “Canon is God” fans. Experiencing “um actually this isn’t good because this isn’t how the canon character would act” responses from people can really fucking suck and diminish their want to experience anything that’s official DC writing. I’ve seen more than one person go into this primarily fanon focused space and insult people saying their writing isn’t canonical and therefore it isn’t valid. It’s Uber Pretentious, demeaning, and actively harms peoples interests in checking out canon content.

Timelines. I already kind of said it but DC’s timelines are a mess. hell, even New 52 has some fucked up timelines making all of Batman’s previous timelines canon but happen only within a seven year period. That’s WAY too short for how much history is packed in there. The amount of crisises that happen and fully change the lore and timelines of characters is bonkers, the comic runs that bounce between different comic runs are really confusing, and the fact that there isn’t a True Starting Point for reading makes it so hard to grasp anything that’s happening. It’s one of comics biggest issues and no matter what DC has done they have yet to find a convenient solution.

Sensitive Content. Comics from DC are littered with either intentional, badly aged, or ignorantly written plot points and writing choices that will turn away readers. DC has its fair share of sexism, misogyny, abelism, racism, abuse, sexual harassment, sexual assaults, or topics casually addressed that can be very triggering for some people. Especially since a large amount of that sort of content is handled incredibly poorly. One particular writer, Alan Moore, writes sexual assault scenes with absolutely zero tact or the delicateness that a topic such as that should be held in. It’s almost solely used as a “let’s make the bad guy do the most fucked up thing they could do” throwaway plot point. Comics of the sort dissuade a lot of readers because of both the heavy content within comics and how that content can be incredibly poorly handled. This is partially why some folks would prefer to read fics. Comics are a unknown mixed grab bag when it comes to content like this and things exactly like this is known to make PTSD symptoms worse while fics have tags and can warn you before you consume the content within.

Time. A lot of folks have busy lives and just don’t have the time to read them.

The ways they intake media. Some folks might have a better time watching a long commentary video that explains a comic or their brain can’t process the comic medium very well. I can read and retain comic knowledge but even I am unique in this aspect, my memory is frightening levels of bad and is proven by science to be absolute shit. I have to reread comics at least once a month to retain the basic bare bones plot. Just because one person can easily digest what’s going on in a comic doesn’t mean everyone can.

Comics are such a big part of my life. I love them so much and they’ve gotten me through so many things. My own experience with comics isn’t the same for others and my thoughts on reading comics differs with other people. A lot of people have equally as many reasons for why they don’t read comics as you and I have for reading them.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝!𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

A/N: I picture him in his early 40s in this, daddy is a state of a mind, no? Can you imagine having such an older man as König taking care of you? UNDER THE SAME ROOF??? I WOULD UGH-- (´ཀ`」 )

Also, my requests are open again! You can send it here!

Warnings: manipulation, slight yandere?, naive!reader, dear jesus bunch of nasty smut (voyeurism, somnophilia, fingering, spanking, daddy kink)

Poorly translated German, correct me if needed!

RENDER BY DWISESZ ON TWITTER

✧°.  König’s schedule throughout the months was irregular. Sometimes he would stay at home for a few weeks and then go on a three month deployment. Another couple of days at home and another “work trip”.

✧°.  And his home was left behind unattended, food in the freezer going to waste, dust covering his favorite armchair. König had a guest bedroom, so why wouldn’t he rent the spare room to someone, who would keep an eye on the house while he’s gone?

✧°.  The price and location was tempting, so you reached out to the landlord for more details – you were a college student, who wanted something more independent than living with her parents. 

✧°.  König took a quick look at your profile picture and accepted the deal, because girls like you shouldn’t cause any problems, right? No parties, no boys invited over. You seemed to be a well behaving girl.  

✧°.  But his struggles only truly started when you finally moved in. König would find the return to the house more thrilling than ever.

✧°.  To show your gratitude to the man who took you in, you kept the house clean with no sign of dust or webs. On a regular basis you were baking cakes or cookies, so the aroma of the pastry filled the rooms. Little did you know that it only fed the housewife fantasy of your landlord.

✧°.  König would take less hours at his work and preferred to fill the reports (or any other documentation) from the home office. Just so he could observe you shuffling through the house wearing those sweat or biking shorts. Skimpy material rolling up the curve of your plump, young ass.

✧°.  Each time you passed the living room where he was working, you sent him a cute smile. You were just trying to be polite!

✧°.  König would try to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that meant you weren’t able to finish your homework on time. :( You would watch some movies together or go grocery shopping. Quickly this thing between the two of you became more than just landlord and tenant dynamics. Although you were quite clueless, it was your first ever rental!

✧°.  One evening, when you came back from late classes, you saw him sitting on a couch holding a glass of beer. Large thighs spreaded open as he kept watching the football game on the TV. And before you knew it, König pulled you onto his lap. He wanted you to watch the game with him!

✧°.  “Sit nice and pretty here, ja?” 

✧°.  He pulled you so roughly against him, that you had to prop against his muscular chest, before your face was pushed into it.

✧°.  “König, but I have to –”

✧°.  “Sush, none of that. Now, show some gratitude to your host, schatzi.”

✧°.  König certainly had more than one beer that evening, but you had none of the alcoholic beverages. You were highly aware when he started rubbing your hip and thigh and found it… really nice. Although, nothing more! It was just a friendly gesture, right? 

✧°.  You were so oblivious to his attraction towards you that his hardened length underneath your ass was a pair of keys in your naive mind. 

✧°.  Later that night, when you fell asleep in your bed (technically his), wearing only a shirt and panties, he came into your bedroom and jerked himself off right by your bedside. 

✧°.  König could only imagine how your pretty lips would wrap around his fat shaft, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. And do you know what fueled that imagination? You sucking on a cherry lollipop right in front of him earlier that day.

✧°.  During the next week, he kept peeping at you when taking a shower or changing your clothes with the doors kept ajar. How silly of you, standing just in sight of such a perverted man as König.

✧°.  It would only fuel his fantasies, when he continuously pumped his hips into his own palm covered in precum and his spit. König’s cock would twitch each time, when he imagined how divine it would finally feel to fuck your tight pussy sensless. His special, little guest. 

✧°.  König would welcome you with open arms, when you came back from the university one day, crying, because you didn’t pass one of your classes. But you were working so hard and you felt poorly about yourself now! :( 

✧°.  He would offer you to lay on a couch with him until you calmed down and you accepted, because König was such a good landlord!

✧°.  You didn’t even protest when this innocent act of affection turned into dirty desires. He laid beside you, one hand stroking your wet cheek and the other wandering under your panties. 

✧°.  You gasped loudly, when he slid one finger inside of you, explaining to you it will help you relax. It shouldn’t, but it felt so good! You wanted to press your eyes together in shame, but König patted you cheek with his hand.

✧°.  “Hey, hey, look at me, schätzchen. Yeah, that’s right, you feeling better now, yes?”

✧°.  And you nodded your head, thoughts focused on that pleasurable feeling between your legs, when he added a second finger. 

✧°.  König wouldn’t talk much about what you two did on the couch, but he definitely became more open about his desires. Since you allowed him to fuck you with his fingers, König would place his big hands all over his precious roommate – shoulders, hips, thighs or a playful slap on the ass, when you were removing the cookies from the oven. 

✧°.  One night, you came back really late (definitely after the curfew) and really drunk. He had to help you walk to your bedroom, because you were stumbling all the time, you could have hurt yourself in that state!

✧°.  You mumbled that you wanted to sleep, when König removed your clothes gently (only leaving you in your lacey, pink panties). He couldn’t believe how lucky he got, when you clung to his chest, searching for stability (in his eyes it was a reach for his attention).

✧°.  König helped you get into your cozy bed and slipped under the covers beside you. This time, he didn’t need to do much as your drunken form quickly found the way to his bulky chest. You nuzzled your spinning head onto his warm body and dozed asleep. 

✧°.  König had to take a few deep breaths, when your plump, naked breasts got squeezed between your and his chest. He didn’t want to jerk off right then, perhaps, you might help him, when you wake up?

✧°.  The next time you wanted to go to a club or simply for drinks with your friends, he stood there in the hallway with a strong hand placed onto the doors. König wasn’t letting you anywhere, you were supposed to spend time with him! :( 

✧°.  “I can take care of myself, you know.”

✧°.  “Oh, like the last time? When you pulled me into your bed, schatzi? Naked?”

✧°.  Your extremely tall and large landlord scolded you, twisting slightly the truth about your drunken state. But it was for your own good, why would you seek fun out there, when you had him in the reach of your hand?

✧°.  Despite your age difference, older and more experienced König would definitely take his time with you.

✧°.  “I–I…”

✧°.  You let go, as embarrassment burned like a flame inside, then furiously went back to your room. 

✧°.  Later, König would come to you and offer a bear hug, which you politely accepted, because he was your good host. But still was a bit mad at him for refusing to let you have fun outside the house.

✧°.  Soon enough, when he went for another deployment, you split on unclear terms. The colonel noticed you began acting bratty, disrespecting his house rules. But nonetheless left the home in your hands.

✧°.  When he came back, unexpectedly a few days earlier, you were still at university. You were such a smart girl. <3

✧°.  König couldn’t help himself but to rummage through your stuff. He sniffed your currently worn pajamas, looked at your books and then he opened the drawer with your underwear. To his surprise one specific object caught his attention. Could this be…?

✧°.  You were surprised to see his massive, trekking shoes on the shelf, when you returned home that evening. You were even more surprised, when you noticed your landlord sitting in his armchair, playing with something between his thick fingers. 

✧°.  “My, my… I leave for a few weeks and you already behave so… shamelessly. I thought of you better, schätzchen.”

✧°.  “I–I don’t know, what your talking about, I–”

✧°.  OhmyGod

✧°.  He was holding your bullet vibrator that was so small in his grasp!

✧°.  “You didn’t even bother to hide this thing.” 

✧°.  He lied on purpose, but you played along that lie. Perhaps, because you were so embarrassed that he found your toy! How could you be so silly and leave it on display? 

✧°.  You rushed to take it out of his grasp, but he acted quicker than you. König pulled you into his wide lap, forcing you ass in the air. The hem of your tennis skirt rolled up, exposing your bum to your landlord!

✧°.  “Seriously, a toy, schatzi? Were you really this needy? Maybe that’s why you failed your class, hm?”, he mocked your vulnerability. 

✧°.  Before you could even explain yourself to him, a loud smack echoed in the living room and a stinging pain on your bare ass blinded your thoughts. König continued to spank your plump bum until it turned red and you were sobbing incoherently. 

✧°.  He said disappointedly, “And I thought you were a grateful guest… All I did was for your good, you know that?”

✧°.  He rubbed your irritated flesh for a minute, before continuing the punishment. König licked his lips, already knowing how you would show him how much you missed your caring landlord. 

✧°.  “Are you going to be a good girl for me, ja?”

✧°.  “YES! Yes, I will! ‘m sorry!” 

✧°.  You agreed, face flustered in shame, when you felt how wet your panties had become. The Austrian bear lifted you up from his lap and made you straddle his large bulge, pressing onto the fabric of his cargo pants. 

✧°.  “Ride daddy nicely and I might forgive you, okay? Do you remeber what I told you, when you moved in? If you ever need anything, come to me. You’re a smart girl, you know I’m gonna take care of you, no?”

✧°.  “Y-Yes, König. I know.”, you sobbed, his big palm wiping your tears away. 

✧°.  Quickly you forgot about all of his alarming and obsessive behavior, when he filled you with his fat cock. The delicious feeling of him stretching your little pussy, dwarfed all of your worries.

✧°.  He was merciless that night, König didn’t even give you time to adjust to his size. Colonel’s strong hands gripped your hips and guided them to start moving. So you swayed your hips under that slutty skirt, you bought just for him. <3

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ check you out - robin buckley

masterlist | requests

Summary: goodness! imagine robin buckley accidentally says she was checking you out...

Warnings: she/her pronouns used on reader

Notes: this was lowkey hilarious to write

Word count: 698

⸻⊱༺ 

The door opened, the familiar bell signaling the entrance of yet another customer. Robin barely had a second to look up and catch herself from dropping the VHS tapes she carried as she watched a girl come in. Steve was just as dazzled as Robin, he stumbled out his usual “Welcome to Family Video!” line, and Robin just… stared.

Robin and Steve made eye contact, both exclaiming “Dibs!” at the exact same time. 

“She looks like she would be into more intelligent conversation anyway,” Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, rude?” Steve joked, making his way over to the girl before Robin could even respond, “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Robin sighed and crossed her arms, scouring her mind to think of an excuse to hush Steve away from the girl.

“Hey, uh, need any help around here? What are we browsing for today?” Steve flirted as he approached her.

“Just looking, I don’t have anything in mind,” she responded, a lack of interest filled her words, but it was a hint a guy such as Steve wouldn’t really get.

Robin, clearly amused, watched Steve’s desperate commentary, her mind running faster than ever. Okay, Robin, think! He is totally dumb and will fall for anything. You just have to come up with something that he will actually believe.

“Steve!” Robin exclaimed, “Can you please come help me? The computer is totally jammed again!” 

Steve sighed at Robin’s words as he muttered an apology to the girl, who didn’t really seem to mind as she kept on looking around. 

Robin stepped back as Steve approached the computer, and before he knew it, Robin had approached the girl already. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes as he realized the computer was working perfectly, watching Robin hurry away to speak to the girl instead.

“Hey! Hi, do you need any help?” Robin smiled nervously.

The girl offered a kind smile, “Thanks! I’m just unsure of what to get. Just looking for something to watch over the weekend I suppose.”

“Cool cool cool,” Robin breathed out, “Well, are you a rom-com kind of girl? Or do you like sci-fi movies and stuff?”

“Oh gosh…” She laughed, “Not a rom-com girl I don’t think… I avoid watching them alone. It's saddening, I prefer sci-fi for sure. I love horror, does that help?”

“Understandable! I’m the same,” Robin smiled, “But uh… sci-fi and horror! I can work with that.” She spoke shyly as she scanned the ‘horror’ shelf that stood behind the girl. 

The girl stood there quietly next to Robin as she looked around, Steve stood watching them from afar, having his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he noticed the girl checked Robin out — something Robin, of course, had completely missed. 

“How about…” Robin spoke as she reached over to grab one of the VHS tapes, “‘The Shining’! A total classic. It’s one of my all-time favorite movies. Have you seen it before?”

“Are you joking? I love that movie. Wouldn’t mind re-watching it, I think.”

Robin’s face lit up as the girl accepted her request. “Alright! You’re all set then! I’ll just get you checked out.” Robin paused, flustered, “I mean, I’ll check you out—Not check you out like that, uh, check out your movie! Not that I wouldn’t, you know, check you out. I mean, wait, that’s not, I mean, get your movie checked. You checked. For the movie that you’re renting! Which… yeah — pay there?” She motioned to the counter and walked off, her voice increasingly getting higher with each word.

As she followed Robin to the counter, the girl shook her head slightly, a shy smile forming as she did so. 

[unseededtoast]

When Was It Over? | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: You had suspicions that another woman was receiving Spencer’s affections, and one night your worst fears are confirmed. Heartbroken, you try to move on but find yourself contemplating when things went wrong, and when it was all over. Inspired by “Is It Over Now?” By Taylor Swift

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 6.7k

content warnings: infidelity, angst, mention of blood

a/n: thank all of you lovelies for taking the time and reading, I appreciate each and every one of you. But especially to @mirdnightmass who suggested this, thank you🫶🏼 and if you have any suggestions please send them my way!

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

Reading the words on your phone screen cause you stomach to turn with anxiety. Spencer had texted you that he will be home from a case tonight, and that he'd like to come over. Usually, this wouldn't be an issue and you'd be overjoyed to see him. But lately you suspect that there might be someone else entering the picture.

Your suspicions started small. He'd take phone calls that weren't from his boss, he would purposely order an extra coffee in the mornings to take to work, and he started working later than usual. Though you had no concrete proof of anything, it was a gut feeling that you just can't seem to shake.

But you push your anxiety aside and text Spencer back, letting him know that he's more than welcome to come over tonight. And as soon as you send the message, you put your phone away and clean your home to occupy your thoughts.

All too soon, Spencer's knocking on your door and you let him in with a smile on your face. He kisses you as he comes through, smelling oddly sweet. Fighting the urge to throw up, you convince yourself not to overreact until you're certain there's someone else in his life.

Throughout the evening, while the two of you are tangled together on the couch, you peek at him out of the corner of your eye and wonder where things started going wrong. There's a tension between the two of you, and though unspoken, its presence is well known.

You remember how only a few short months ago you would have been beyond excited to spend an evening with Spencer, and now you find yourself counting down the minutes until he leaves. He used to shower you in love and affection, but now his hand barely grazes your thigh.

When Spencer leaves for the night, he kisses your cheek and wishes you a goodnight. You realize as you shut the door that he hadn't told you that he loved you once.

- - - - -

Two weeks pass and Spencer has once again come back home from a case. This time his message asks you if you'd like to come over to his apartment. And you tell him you'll be there, but there's an odd sinking feeling residing in your chest.

Later in the evening you go to Spencer's apartment with distant memories dancing in your head. It seems like just yesterday you came here for the first time, bright eyed and head over heels in love with your boyfriend, who couldn't have been more perfect.

You walk in and place your coat on the rack beside the door, smiling at Spencer who stands with his hands in his pockets. Biting the insides of your cheeks, you wonder if he's even going to lay a finger on you tonight.

"How was your day?" He finally breaks the silence and you nod your head,

"It was okay. Just went to work and now I'm here." The conversation feels like one between new coworkers, not significant others of three years.

"Come on in, I rented your favorite movie and dinner should be here any minute." He finally takes a step towards you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head atop yours.

Feeling his arms hold you for the first time in almost a month is almost enough to drive you to tears. You take in his scent as it comforts you, and you nuzzle your head into his chest, wishing that whatever was happening between the two of you would pass and things would go back to normal. You miss Spencer's affections, your heart yearns to hear him declare his love for you.

After dinner, the two of you retire in the living room where you take your usual spot on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped over the back, and you pull it over top of you, but your heart stops once it lands in your lap.

Woven into the fabric of the blanket is a blonde hair. And it most certainly isn't yours. No, the color is wrong and it's not the right length. Your eyes are glued to the hair, blood ice in your veins and chest sore from devastation.

Spencer walks into the room after getting a glass of water, but he falls short of sitting beside you. He must've noticed something was wrong in the way you're sat on the couch.

While Spencer watches, you grab the hair between your thumb and pointer finger, pulling it through the fabric and hold it in front of you, eyes meeting Spencer's. Your hand shakes as adrenaline pumps through you, Spencer's jaw falls slack.

"What is this?" Your voice is oddly even and calm given the situation. Spencer's mouth opens and closes a few times before he clears his throat and answers you.

"A friend had to crash here for a few nights." He admits, and you wonder why you're just now hearing of this.

"Who is she?" You ask, pushing the blanket off of you and standing from the couch.

"JJ, I work with her." He says, eyes casting down to the hair still in your grasp. Your heart wildly pumps in your chest.

"So you weren't going to tell me that a woman was staying the night with you?" Finally releasing the hair from your grasp, the realization dawns on you and it's like the puzzle pieces you'd collected over the last few weeks have suddenly put themselves together.

"No, she just needed a place to sleep for a few nights." He says, like he's also trying to convince himself of the same thing.

"Spencer don't lie to me. I know you've been taking coffee to her in the mornings, you've been staying later, and the last time you came over you smelled like her." Your voice starts to shake and you step away from Spencer. Tears well in your eyes and you beg your body not to betray you right now.

"She's just a friend." Is all Spencer refutes your argument with. Your head shakes back and forth, the reality setting in.

"Spencer you've taken better care of her than you have me. Hell, last time we saw each other you barely touched me and you didn't even tell me you love me. And tonight you're doing the same thing." Your throat feels like it's closing up from battling your emotions.

As you wait for him to say something, anything, your bottom lip trembles. Where did this all go wrong? Was there anything you could've done? Could you have held him tighter or kissed him more? The questions race through your mind but are cut short by Spencer.

"I'm sorry. We were on a case and she told me she loves me. But, I promise you that she is just a friend." The words that leave his lips are like knives being dug into your eardrums. And with his words, the tears resting in your lash line fall over and cascade down your cheeks, one right after another.

"How could you? Spencer, how could you? We had everything going for us. I love you with every fiber of my being. I thought you were the love of my life. But now you're just, you're just a lying traitor." You force the words out before you completely break down. Turning away from him, you rush to collect your things.

You're not even sure you put your shoes on the right feet but you don't care. The door of Spencer's apartment swings open and you take one last look at him. His mouth is open, eyes wet, but he says nothing.

He doesn't try to stop you as you leave his apartment, and that makes you sob even harder on your way home.

Is this really how things are ending between you?

- - - - -

"Come on have some fun!" Your friend, Sarah, nudges your shoulder, interrupting your daydream. It's a Friday night and the weather is nice, so she's begging to go out.

"I don't know Sarah, I'm not really in the mood." Your tone is melancholy, and all you want to do is crawl into bed. With a huff, Sarah steps in front of you and grabs your shoulders so that you're forced to look at her.

"You need this. I haven't seen you smile in weeks. Come on, go get ready. It'll be good for you." Her voice is kind, and soft, and you know she's only trying to help. As your lifelong best friend, she's always been in your corner with support and love.

"Fine." You relent, and go find something to wear. You're in no mood for anything uncomfortable or flashy, so you settle on a loose button up and a pair of ripped jeans.

"You look so good!" Sarah tries to hype you up as she grabs her keys, but it doesn't really work. You can't feel good while you're suffering on the inside. With her arm slung around your shoulder, you accompany her to whatever she has planned for tonight.

"Really?" You deadpan ask her as you stare at the neon light adorning the front of the building. This is quite literally the last place you wanted to be tonight, but here you are.

"Yes, it'll be fun, come on." Sarah grabs your hand and drags you alongside into the bar where the music is too loud and the people are even more annoying.

Against your wishes, you line up at the bar and wait to gain the bartender's attention. You figure if you're going to be here you'll need something to numb the experience. Sarah knows you've never been a fan of crowded places so you're confused as to why she even brought you here in the first place.

Once the two of you have your drinks in hand, you find an empty table and take a seat. As you sip, you look around at the patrons; people watching has always been quite enjoyable for you. Your eyes scan the bar and land on a tall man across the way. His smile is wide, hair dark and curly, eyes bright and soft.

Blinking rapidly, you pull your eyes away from the man and order another drink. Guilt eats you from inside as you realize you had been checking out another man; albeit one that looks oddly familiar. And surely another drink will help numb the guilt as well.

Hours later and two drinks turned into four. You feel your cheeks warm from the alcohol, and you're keenly aware that your eyes are back on the tall, handsome man from earlier.

"You should go say something." Sarah says, leaning on the table as she nurses her drink. Shaking your head, you disagree.

"No, I can't." You say, almost as if convincing yourself of your own answer. You're not even sure if you and Spencer are over, you can't possibly go introduce yourself to another man.

"Come on. He's been looking at you all night." She nudges you out of your seat and through the power of liquid courage, you relent.

Turning away from Sarah, you find the man easily and take a quick deep breath. It doesn't take you long to cross the bar and in seconds, you find yourself staring up at the man's green eyes. He's got a small smile on his face, his eyes gleam with curiosity.

"Hi." You smile up at the man, who smiles back.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing talking to a man like me?" He smiles wider, showing off his perfectly white teeth. Your eyes dance from the man's smile to his eyes, relishing in their familiarity.

"My friend said I should come say something." You tell him, having nothing actually prepared to say to him beyond an introduction. The man finishes off his drink and looks over to where Sarah is. He nods,

"Well I'm glad she did. Can I get you another?" He raises the empty glass in his hand. While you feel a little tipsy, you know one more wouldn't hurt.

"Sure." You smile up at him and watch as he goes to order the two of you another drink.

While he's away, you glance over to Sarah, who's smiling at you and giving you a thumbs up across the bar. You suppress your smile, but you're thankful she's still here; she wouldn't leave you alone with a stranger and you know she'll be here to make sure you're okay. Her reassuring presence is probably why you agreed to approach the man in the first place.

The man comes back with two glasses in his hands, and he gives you one of them. He invites you back to his table, which is only a few feet away from where you are standing, and the two of you get to know each other. You learn that he's from the area, he works in finance for a fortune 500 company, and he recently got out of a long-term relationship.

You share how your relationship status is hugely unknown at this point, but spare him the details for your own pride's sake. Thankfully, he doesn't inquire and the conversation flows easily. He even makes you laugh a time or two, which hasn't happened in weeks.

As the night goes on, you find yourself sitting closer and closer to the man, drawn in by how he reminds you of someone you dearly miss. It's entirely clear to you why you're attracted to the man, but you push all of those thoughts away, the alcohol working diligently to cloud your logic and judgment and all you can focus on is the man's lips.

Not even twenty minutes later, you're pulling him in by the front of his shirt, crashing his lips onto yours. His hands hold your waist securely, and his lips move in tandem with your own. The taste of sweetness lingers between the two of you. Your body moves on its own volition, and in the heat of the moment you find yourself practically sitting in the man's lap. Thankfully, the table you two are at is tucked away in the corner, but you're still entirely visible to everyone else. However, that doesn't seem to matter as you place kisses on the man's jaw and down to his neck.

His hands move from your waist up to the first button of your shirt where he expertly undoes it. Your wet lips place another kiss on the man's neck, just underneath his ear like you're used to doing with someone else, and the feeling of another button being undone makes you realize what's happening.

Backing away from the kiss abruptly, your heart drops to your stomach. Your fingers work quickly to clasp the buttons on your shirt and you get off of the man, who looks confused and hurt.

"I'm sorry, I can't- I shouldn't have..." You trail off, giving him no specific answer as you turn around and find Sarah.

She must have been able to tell from the look on your face that you're ready to leave. And thankfully she doesn't ask you a single question on the way back to your house. The entire trip back, you stare out the window and wonder why you let that happen, and how you could've let yourself kiss another man. But mostly you just think about how it should've been Spencer.

Sarah drops you off and wishes you a goodnight, and you half-heartedly tell her goodbye.

Your mind is too preoccupied as you go through your nightly routine and by the time your head hits the pillow, your thoughts have shifted from the unknown man's lips to Spencer's.

You remember how his hands would map out every curve of your body and how his lips would kiss your tender skin, as if you'd break if he wasn't careful. Spencer would always hold you close to him as he showered you in love and affection, his hands unable to get enough of you. Even if the two of you were relaxing on the couch, he would always find a way to touch you, whether that meant you were cuddled in his arms or barely touching his shoulder.

A lone tear drips down your face as you try to sleep, missing having Spencer beside you, missing the feeling of his arms around you, and you know you'll miss seeing his gemstone eyes first thing when you wake up. You mourn the relationship, and can't help but wonder if your actions tonight were the final nail in the coffin.

That night, all you can dream about is Spencer, and how in love you used to be.

- - - - -

Awaking earlier than wanted, Spencer rubs the sleep from his eyes the best he can. It's still dark outside, but he knows that he's not going to be able to fall back asleep. And even if he did, he knows that the only thing he will dream about is you.

The past few weeks all of his dreams have centered around you. At first, they were about how you two met and your first few dates. They were vivid, almost as if they were happening all over again. He could clearly see the tulips he picked for your first date, and he remembers the shade of lipstick you wore that brought out your eyes in the best way possible.

As he makes his way through his morning routine, he's distracted by the traces of you that remain in his apartment. You still have clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush still sits on his bathroom counter. And most noticeably, your scent still lingers on his sheets.

But, his apartment now has traces of JJ too. Her blonde hair sticks to the blankets draped over the couch, her perfume embedded in the material. She had left a hair tie on his coffee table and the mug she used for coffee sits untouched in the sink.

Spencer knows that her confession of love was mainly spurred on by a life or death situation, but he would be lying if he said it didn't reawaken repressed feelings. Back in his early days at the BAU, he had been head over heels for her, but he moved on when she got together with Will. And truthfully, when he met you it was the happiest he had ever been, and he was convinced that you were his soul mate.

That was until JJ told him that she loved him.

A heavy feeling of guilt has taken residence in Spencer's chest since you walked out of his apartment. He knew that you had every right to be upset, and truthfully he doesn't know if the two of you will ever reconcile. As you walked out of the door he wanted to stop you, to beg you to stay, but he knew he couldn't. He had to let you go.

Staring at the couch, he can't help but wonder if your relationship had died the moment he let JJ stay over, the moment she laid on his couch could've been the exact moment your relationship took its last breath. Had that one decision been the beginning of the end?

And he can't help but wonder why he agreed to let her stay in the first place, after a confession of that magnitude, and why he hadn't told you. Was it his subconscious way of admitting he also has feelings for JJ, and that by allowing her to stay in his home it was an acknowledgment of that fact? Had he not told you because of the feelings he harbors for her? Would telling you force him to confront those emotions?

No matter what it may have meant, he can't help but to regret it. The look on your face as you called him a lying traitor will forever be ingrained in his mind. Spencer had never meant to hurt you, no, he loved you dearly.

As each day passes by without hearing from you, Spencer wonders if things are truly over for the two of you. His heart aches from your absence and he yearns to have you back in his arms. But he can't help but feel guilty as he realizes that he may have some of those same feelings for JJ.

- - - - -

Months had gone by since you last saw Spencer, and you finally feel like you can begin to heal. It took some time for you to process what had happened, and now you've come to be at peace with his decision. If he wanted to search for something greater, and found it in her, then there's nothing you could've done.

On a regular routine again, you enter your favorite coffee shop on your way to your new job, needing the extra caffeine. The warm air inside greets you and the rich scent of coffee fills the air.

After you order your usual, you stand off to the side to wait, pushing yourself up against a wall so that other people have room to move around. The lightly falling snow outside catches your attention and from the warmth of inside you can appreciate the beauty.

The barista calls your name out as the front door bell jingles. Grabbing your drink, you relish in how the warmth gives life back to your fingertips before turning to leave, preparing yourself to brace the bitter cold that awaits you outside.

But as your eyes land on the people who had just walked in, it seems as if the wintry cold followed you in after all. Spencer stands at the counter with a blonde haired, blue-eyed, woman next to him who looks like she just walked out of a magazine. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold, but you feel yours drain of all color. And if that wasn't enough, it's like your feet have been superglued to the floor, forcing you to watch as he orders for her with a smile on his face.

It seems he found something greater after all.

After the initial wave of sadness washes over you, you feel a familiar fire within you. Jealousy is an ugly beast, but you can't help the way your eyebrows knit together as you watch them, your thoughts consumed with how that should be you next to him, how it used to be you.

In fact, your jealously goes so far as to create hundreds of impulsive plans to earn his attention away from her. If you spilled your coffee, surely that would do the trick. Or if you tripped on your way out, that would be sure to make him look. Even the fleeting thought of jumping from the roof makes an appearance; the only consequence you can think of is how he'd surely come running straight to you.

But your imaginative plans are all for naught, as they grab their drinks and leave together. She laughs at something he said as the door shuts behind them. And you're still stuck in the middle of the coffee shop with one question floating around in your mind.

Did he really choose her over you?

- - - - -

Staring out of your window that's been frosted over with fresh snow, you can't help but to ponder how exactly you got to be where you are right now. In three days it'll be Christmas, and you've never dreaded the holiday more than you do in this moment.

A few evenings ago you had been rummaging through your closet and found the gift you planned on giving Spencer this Christmas. It was simple, but you knew he'd love it. He had always worn a purple scarf during the colder months, and when you saw this one you just knew he needed it. It was another scarf, but the seamstress who was selling it offered to stitch something on the back of it, and so you had asked her to stitch your initials on the back, so that even while he was away on cases he still had a piece of you with him.

Now the gift lays wrapped on your coffee table, where it silently taunts you with thoughts of what could've been. You stare at it, wondering if you should give it away, throw it away, send it through the mail, or do nothing with it at all.

Unable to look at the box any longer, you take it and put it with the rest of Spencer's things you intend to give back to him soon. Having his belongings in your home is slowly starting to drive you mad, and you know that in order to have any shot of getting over him, it all has to be gone.

In a momentary burst of determination, you grab the box of his belongings that sits in the back of your closet and you take it out to your car, despite the fact that the air is so cold it burns your face and that the snow is coming down at a considerable rate. You figure he's had you in his grasp for too long now and it's time to start reclaiming your home, your life, and begin piecing together who you're going to be after Spencer Reid.

The box is haphazardly shoved into your back seat and your hand quickly grazes the side of a book he had left on your nightstand, and as your luck would have it, you managed to give yourself a papercut. You hold your hand out of the car so you don't get blood on any of his things before closing the door with haste.

Your eyes cast down at the bright, crimson red blood that dots the pristine snow below your feet. Drops of blood roll down your finger and drip from the tip, each drip creating its own prominent mark in the snow. And you can't help but feel like it's more than just blood on the snow, that somehow it symbolizes how you may have very well killed what remained of your relationship with Spencer.

But he gave you no other choice.

- - - - -

Your insides twist and turn with anxiousness as you park your car along the street of a familiar curb. Looking back down at your phone screen, you confirm that this is the time you're supposed to be here before getting out of your car and picking up the box from the back seat.

After Christmas you had sent Spencer a text asking if you could come by and get your things that you had left in his apartment, and thankfully he agreed. You hadn't told him that you were bringing his things, and he hadn't asked for them, but you figured it was just common courtesy to bring them anyways. Plus you can't stand looking at the box any longer, all it does it resurface memories of a better time, one where you were happy and in love. Neither of those things are true anymore.

Walking up the stairs, you remember how excited you were the first time to come over and how you were awestruck by how well he decorated for a man. Of course you added a few things here and there over the years, but soon there will be no trace of you left. Your heart sinks with the realization that Spencer's apartment will no longer be your second home, his arms will no longer be your safe haven.

Once you reach his door, you knock lightly. You had partially hoped that he would just leave your things in the hall, and that the exchange would be easy, but of course he wouldn't do that. And within seconds of knocking on the door, he answers. His hair is messy and he's opted for his glasses today, your favorite look on him. Swallowing hard, you hold the box out in front of you.

"I think this is everything." Your voice is nothing more than a whisper. He steps further inside his apartment,

"Come on in." He invites you, and you wonder if you should accept. You know that if you walk in that a plethora of memories will invade your mind, and you know that if you don't that you may never receive the closure you need. After a few moments of contemplation, you step inside.

You place the box on the ground and put your hands in your pockets as you look around. The decorations you had placed around various locations are no longer there adorning the shelves or the walls, your spare coat no longer hangs from the rack beside the front door, and your handwritten notes are no longer on the front of the fridge. You swallow again and avert your eyes, pleading with yourself to not cry in front of him. But as your eyes move elsewhere, you spot a photograph that still hangs on the wall in his living room.

It was a sunny day in the early spring, and the two of you had just celebrated your one year anniversary. The two of you agreed that a nice picnic would be more than enough of a celebration, and honestly you were just happy that he wasn't being dragged away on a case that day. The two of you laid side by side on the blanket in the plush grass, content with one another's presence, fingers interlaced as his thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. Before the sun went down you had asked him to take the picture, and you always loved how bright his smile was that day.

"This should be everything." He comes back into the entryway with a box in his arms. You spot every little decoration you had ever brought over, along with your clothes that you had almost forgotten about. Spencer places the box on the ground as well, and you nod, clearing the emotion from your throat.

"Thank you." You say and go to pick up your box and get out of his apartment. Truthfully, there's a part within you that wants him to beg you to stay, you hope that he will profess his undying love for you and that you won't have to leave.

No matter how heartbroken you are over his decision, you know that you would take him back in a heartbeat. Your soul still aches for his touch and you're not sure that feeling will ever fade. The intensity with which you love him is passionate and all encompassing. For just another moment in his arms, you can't even begin to list everything you would give and sacrifice. His hugs were always the most comforting, his words always sweet and honeyed, his lips always soft.

Until they were for the blonde-haired woman who came in and took everything from you.

Once the box is in your hands, you give him a weak smile and are almost brought to tears just by looking at his face. Your sweet, sweet Spencer is so close yet has never been farther away. Feeling tears well in your lash line, you commit to memory just how beautiful he is for what is very well the final time you'll ever see him.

In an instant, flashes of what your future could've been runs through your mind. You see the two of you hand in hand at the end of an aisle, long nights of waiting for him to come back home only to be greeted with the most loving kisses, and countless mornings waking up in his arms. You were prepared to give him everything, but now you're left with nothing except the memories of when he still loved you.

Giving him one last chance to say something, your hope begins fizzling out. There's only one thing you want to hear him say, and you're coming to understand that you'll likely never hear those words come from his mouth.

When it's clear that there's nothing left to say, you turn and open the front door. Before the door gets closed on you, you turn to look at him just one last time. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you can almost swear you see a tear fall from his eye.

"Goodbye, Spencer." You say as a lone tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek, unable to keep them at bay any longer. Feeling your bottom lip beginning to tremble, you make yourself walk away before you have a full breakdown in the hallway right in front of him.

The ride back home is silent, except for the occasional sound of your sniffles. Before the exchange of belongings, you had held out hope that it meant that there might still be hope. But now there's nothing left to give you hope.

It seems things are really over now.

- - - - -

Spencer's phone lights up on his counter, catching his eye as he was walking by. Glancing at it quickly, he sees your name attached to the message. He picks the phone up and reads the message that reads less like a text and more like a cordial email.

"Hi, hope all is well. I was wondering if there is a time that I could come by and collect the rest of my things?"

The words make his heart sink, but he replies and lets you know when he'll be home. He knew that this day would eventually come, but he wasn't prepared for it to be so soon. Placing his phone back down on the counter, he looks around and notices just how many traces there are of you everywhere he looks.

In every part of his apartment he can easily recall a memory the two of you made there. The kitchen is where he remembers making cookies together on a friday night, the living room reminds him of the times you fell asleep in his lap, and the bedroom reminds him of all the mornings he was lucky enough to be awoken by your gentle kisses.

But he respects your wishes and begins collecting your things, committing each one to memory. With each and every little item he packs away, he finds himself becoming more and more angry with himself. He can't understand why he jeopardized the love of his life for JJ. Sure, he thought he loved her, and the two of them had spent extra time together after her confession, but after you left Spencer realized that he could never love JJ the way he loves you. And so he came to the painful conclusion that he could only ever love JJ as a close friend, but only after breaking your heart and shattering your relationship he cherished so dearly.

Spencer knows that he has forfeited every right to be with you by making those series of poor decisions but it doesn't make it any easier for him to accept.

As he packs away the rest of your things, he finally finds himself at his dresser, where some of your clothes remain. He remembers the day you brought some of your wardrobe over and he was happy to make room for you. You had told him that by keeping some of your things here that you two could spend more time together as you wouldn't have to go back and forth between homes when staying over or going out. But he never needed convincing, he would've let you do whatever you wanted as long as it kept that smile on your face.

And all too soon, you show up at his apartment with a box in your arms, filled to the brim with his belongings. As soon as he sees your face behind the door, he feels like he wants to collapse to his knees and beg for you to forgive him.

But instead, he gathers your things and returns them to you when you should be staying here. You should be wrapped up in his arms for the rest of the night. He watches as the photo on the wall catches your eye, and even he can't help but to look at it as well.

Seeing the two of you so happy together in a moment frozen in time makes his throat constrict with emotion, and he feels the tears well in his eyes. What he wouldn't give to be able to see you smile like that again, to hold and love and cherish you until the end of time.

Instead, he watches as you turn and leave his apartment. The realization hits him like a brick wall that this could very well be the last time he ever sees you, and he can't keep his composure.  A tear escapes his eye and falls as you turn around and wish him farewell.

Once the door closes behind you, Spencer finally collapses to his knees, sobs wracking through his body while he mentally curses himself for not saying more, for not fighting harder for you.

His chest hurts from crying, but he can't find it within himself to care about anything other than you. He wishes he could forget, things would be easier that way. But instead he's sentenced to a life where he has no choice but to remember everything.

That night while he lays in bed, throat raw and eyes sore, all he can think about is you. The way you fit in his arms like you were made just for him, how you would rake your fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, and how sometimes, after particularly hard cases, you would hold him close.

As the hours pass and he gives into sleep, he can almost swear he feels your arms wrapping around him while you whisper for him to "come here", like you always did. Your voice was always soft and understanding as you took him into your warm embrace.

But now the room feels colder than it ever has before, and there's nobody to blame but himself.

- - - - -

A warm spring breeze blows your hair and with it comes the sweet smell of budding flowers. The sun is shining brightly through the puffy, white clouds and for the first time in a long time, you feel at peace.

Once the snow had melted and signs of life began springing back up, it seems your spirits rose as well. Sure, some days are harder than others and you still miss Spencer, but you're able to live without the constant ache in your chest.

You've taken the time to reflect on what happened, and you have come to accept that there was nothing more you could've done. You had given him your entire heart, but that just wasn't enough for him. He searched for something better, something greater, and it seems like he found it. You only hope she makes him happier than you could have, and that she loves him well.

But no matter how hard you work on healing yourself, you can't silence the voice in the back of your mind that reminds you of just how badly you want to see him again. You yearn to even just see him from a distance, and you desperately crave to hear him tell you that he still loves you.

You wish that he could be here sharing this wonderful afternoon by your side, hand in hand and you wish that things had played out differently. Maybe you two would've been engaged, or even married, by now. After all, tomorrow would've been your five year anniversary.

No matter how much time passes you still don't think you're ready to try to get back out there, much to Sarah's disproval. It just wouldn't be fair to the other man, the way you would still see parts of Spencer in him.

With a sigh, you can't help but think of what could've been, how your future with Spencer could've been filled with happiness, laughter, love, and so much more. But no, instead you sit alone on a bench in the middle of a busy park.

After hours of soaking in the warm sun, you decide it's time to go back home. As you walk down the street you recount memories you've thought of a hundred times before and wonder if maybe your path will cross with Spencer's again someday.

Before you open your front door you stop and take a deep breath. The looming anniversary date has made you a touch more melancholy and sentimental than usual and after a long day of reflection, you're finally ready to admit something to yourself that you've been pushing away for far too long.

It's over now.

[hxxsxxng]

SUNGHOON 박성훈 - VACATION

MINORS DNI

word count: 2.9k

Genre: SMUT

Content: oral, fingering, praising, use of “daddy” and “master”, creampie, unprotected sex…. and more

Preview: You and Sunghoon deserve some relaxation time. and what better place to do it than a vacation cabin.

Authors note: I wrote this back when wattpad was really cracking down on smut, so if there is a word that is weirdly censored that’s why.

SUPPORT BY REBLOGING if you want

"Ahhh we're finally here." you say getting out of the car.

The 9 hour drive to the cold, snowy mountains has finally ended. You and your fiancée, Sunghoon, decided to rent a beautiful log cabin for the week of Christmas and you just arrived.

"Let's go check this place out!" hoon said as he was stretching.

You both walk up to the huge wooden double door and you look at each other in shock. Y'all didn't thing the place would be THAT big and fancy.

He places the key into the door and then pushes them open. The inside is huge. The furniture in the living room is nice and there is a huge, warm fireplace. You both step in and start touring the cabin.

You come across the kitchen. You are both surprised at all of the high tech equipment in there. Next is the book room. Thousands of books were just sitting on the shelf for display. Who knows how long it's been since someone actually read one.

There was also a theatre room. It seated 8 people and according to the people who let y'all rent the cabin, the sound system is really good.

"We are going to be watching a lot of movies on here babe." hoon says to you. You slightly chuckle.

You both walk down the hall way and come across the master bedroom. The carpet is nice, the room is big, and the bed was big enough to fit like 6 people. Y'all step farther in and walk into the master bathroom. The sinks were so fancy and the mirror was a full body mirror and it had not a speck a dirt on it. And across from the mirror was the bathtub. It had a part where you could sit on and it also had jets. It looked so relaxing.

After wondering around the insanely large house, you both decided to go back out to the car and grab your belongings.

You both walk back in and carry the suitcases to the bedroom and set them down. You are both exhausted and just want to relax.

"Baby do you want to go cuddle by the fire place?" Sunghoon says tiredly

He says this knowing that would would obviously say yes. Cozy cuddling is your favorite thing to do.

Sunghoon then goes and gets wood to start a fire while you fine some fuzzy blankets. You set the blankets down on the couch and go to change into something more comfortable.

You come back and he already has a nice fire going and he is already laying on the couch under the blankets. In a pouty mood, you walk over and lift up the blanket and slide under it. You closest to the fire, and him right behind you. (The spooning position)

He wraps his arm around you and you both fall asleep quickly.

2 hours go by and and barely waking up. You realize that Sunghoon is no longer laying with you. You give yourself a few seconds to wake up before going to see where he is. You hear the water running but you can't tell from where.

It can't be from the kitchen so it must be from the bathroom? you think to yourself

You walk into the master bathroom to find Sunghoon taking a warm bubble bath. Warm enough to make the mirror fog up.

His face brightens when he sees you walk in.

"You're in here, about to take a bath, in the big jet tub, and you didn't ask if I wanted to join?" you say in a fake offended voice.

"I mean, you are always welcome" he smirks

You decide to take him up on his offer. You walk over and stand next to the tub, taking off your top. Sunghoon looks at you amazed and started to touch your waist. Then, you took off your bra. He looked like he wanted to grab your chest so badly. You then slide off your pants, leaving only your panties.

"Mmmmmm are you gonna sit on my lap when you get in here?" he said suggestively.

You chuckle as you remove your final piece of clothing.

You step over the edge of the tub, feeling the hot water. It takes you a second to get used to the temperature of the water, then you submerge your body up to the middle of your waist.

Sunghoon scoots closer to you and looks deeply into your eyes, resting each of his hands on the lateral part of your upper arms. He slides his hands down and sets them on your love handles. He pulls you in for a kiss.

He continues kissing you until it turns into a full on make out session. His hands were roaming your body while yours were resting on his shoulders. He slides his hands up your waist them up to your neck, wrapping his hands around it. He softly grips your neck, as if he were choking you, but not all the way.

This simple action gave you butterflies. His hands are so big, slim, and soft and the feeling of them being wrapped around your neck was such a turn on for you, and he knew it. He probably did it for that purpose.

His hands continue to roam your body and so you start doing the same thing to him. Feeling down his muscular biceps, his chest, and down to his large thighs. He gets so turned on when you rub his thighs so you decided to calmly run your hands up and down them.

While this is all going on, you can't help but notice that he a grown a bit hard. You then reach your hand to his groin area, making contact with his member. This contact made him hum a little bit.

You slowly wrap your hands around his member and gently stroke it. Hoon, still keeping your lips connected, is starting to breathe heavier, wanting you to go further.

You moved you hand painfully slow, causing him to groan. He grips your hips and thighs in anticipation.

You finally decided to give in after what seemed like forever to him. You tighten your grip just a little bit and you pick of the pace. His breaths start to get slightly shakier, but still managing to keep his lips in direct contact with yours. Your tongues are wrestling each other's and Sunghoon playfully bites your lip ever so often.

He departs from your lips and goes to sit on the tub seat on the other side of the bathtub, leaning back. With no questions asked, you come to him right after, heel sitting in front of him. There wasn't a significant amount of water in to tub, so where wasn't a lot of water going every where.

You grab his cock with you hand and you start stroking it again. You open your mouth just a little bit and put your lips on the tip. You put more of it into your mouth, twirling your tongue around it. His favorite thing in the world is when you use your tongue a lot when you have his d¡ck in your mouth.

Slowly allowing more in to your mouth also meant that Sunghoon was slowly getting more restless. He loves seeing you bob your head up and down. He runs his fingers through the front parts of you hair, leading them up to a makeshift ponytail. The front pieces would keep falling out but he would brush them back if they did.

"Angh~ you are so good at this princess." he says

You, physically having no room to talk due to your mouth being stuffed with his perfect cock, hummed in response. Your hum made your throat vibrate and it made Sunghoon twitch a little bit. He starts to move his hips in a rhythmic motion, trying to match yours.

You speed up exponentially out of no where, surprising him. He was so shocked but he loved every second of it. His breathing is shaky and he begins to grip your har tighter. He tosses his head back while his member starts twitching.

"I'm so close baby girl,....yeah right there" he says to you.

You go down farther and farther on his dick , until eventually it was all the way in. He lets out cute moans as you feel him plant his seed in your mouth. Once you suck him dry, you pull away having your mouth hanging open, with his cvm dripping out of it.

He smiles and looks down at you. He grabs your lower jaw and closes your mouth. "Swallow it" he demands. So, no matter how strange it tasted, you swallows a mouthful is his cvm. Leaving some of it around your mouth.

"Good girl"

He switches seats with you and starts by kissing you all of your body, down your neck, chest, stomach, thighs... all of you. He runs his hands up and down your inner thighs while softly kissing them. He slides his fingers onto your sensitive area. He slowly and carefully starts rubbing your clit is circular motions.

He starts kissing you more, like sloppy kisses and he takes his fingers away and licks them, making them more wet, and then continued to manipulate your pussy.

"R-right there daddy, just like that.~" you say while letting out a quiet moan.

He massages you slower, teasing you to keep you on edge. He wants you to beg for it.

"Why did y-you do that??~" you say sadly

No response, he just looks down and smiles a little bit.

"Please keep going, I need this daddy, i need your fingers."

Sunghoon gets painfully turned on when you you any kind of praise word, like daddy, but his favorite is master. He loves the feeling of having power over you, so you saying this was bound for him to have a reaction.

The next thing you know, you feel him slip his fingers inside of you. He starts moving his fingers in and out and he knows all of the right places to do it too.

You lay back and rest your arms on the sides of the tub. You throw your head back and decide to let him take control of the moment. You try to keep your cute little moans to yourself but Sunghoon could hear them.

"Come on baby, let them out" he says

You very obviously blush. Following his request, you allow yourself to moan a little louder, it's not like anyone would hear you.

You weren't being loud enough. He wanted you to be screaming his name. Moaning uncontrollably. Tears rolling down your face. Legs shaking. All of this only for his own pleasure. Seeing you in such a weak, helpless state would only make him more horny.

He forcefully picks up his pace, making you gasp. You try to contain is but you can't. You start breathing heavily as moans continuously fall out of your mouth. You place your arms on his shoulders and you dig your nails into his upper back. This sort of stinging pain was so hot to him.

This is what he liked to see. This is what he liked to hear. Your adorable moans filling up to room while you grip his shoulders. It was heaven to him.

But it still wasn't enough. He eagerly pulls his fingers out of you and grabs you up off of the tub seat. He forcefully bends you over the edge of the tub. He has both of your hands held behind your back with one of his hands.

He grabs his member and slides it across your cl¡t a few times, building up the anticipation for the both of you.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asks you

"Yes please daddy, ruin me"

He rams his perfectly shaped cock into you without hesitation. It is the perfect fit for you.

"Fuuck~" he says under his breath. "Your pussy is so tight baby."

He starts off with slow strokes, making sure you are adjusting to the size well. You wince at the pain but it begins to start turning into pleasure quickly. Once you show that it's okay to go a little faster, he increases the pace.

He lets go of your hands and grabs both of your hips for more control. He notices the mirror was way less foggy than it was earlier.

"Looks in the mirror babe" he says

You feel embarrassed when he said this. You groan and keep your head down.

He grabs the ends your you hair with his fist pulling it back, forcing your head up.

"I said look in the damn mirror" he's says but this time, more angrily.

Your face was so red from embarrassment but also from the heat. You were moaning so loud while being forced to watch your self get fucked Sunghoon. But you have to admit, it was hot seeing the faces he made with each stroke.

"You look so pretty when I ram my dick in and out of you, princess. You are taking it like such a good girl." He praised.

He grips your hair a little tighter, giving you goosebumps. He uses his other hand to reach around you body and grab your breast in the palm of his hand. He was so skilled , it was as if he were a pornstar.

He continued at a steady pace.

You couldn't feel your body. Him repeatedly hitting your g-spot perfectly over and over again made the rest of your body go numb. Your mind is cloudy. You can't get over how insanely good he is making you feel.

"I-it feels so g-good,... m-master." these words some how managed to slip from your mouth.

"Mmm really? does this feel good too?" he proceeds you slap your ass.

Saliva begins to ooze out of your mouth. He has you drooling over him and what he's doing to you.

He slows down, but pounds into you with a lot of extra force each time. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you can barely breathe

"Do you like when I do this?" he asked

He didn't even need an answer. He knew what it was doing to you.

You were so needy for him. You would do anything he said if it meant that you could finish.

"Say my name and i'll let you cum?" he says

"d-daddy"

"Louder" he says sternly

"Daddy"

"Good Girl"

Your legs are getting weaker and are shaking like jello, you could barely hold yourself up.

Your moans start getting shakier and heavier. He picks up the pace again, trying to let you reach your max. He soon realizes that is is close to meeting his own, too.

"I love you baby." he says to you

You try to respond with "I love you too" but the sounds of your moans were masking it. You reach your all time high and you loud enough for the next town over to hear. You feel his warm liquid shoot into you as he continues with his strokes, eventually slowing down and pulling himself out of you. His cum was dripping and seeping out of your pussy while you both try and catch your breath.

He looks down at your pretty hole that he just ruined.

"Damn babe, your pussy looks so good with my cum oozing out."

He sits you back down on to the tub seat. He takes two of his fingers and slides them in you, not even giving you enough time to recooperate. He slides them in and out, making you grip the edge of the tub. You close your eyes tightly, whimpering.

He removes his fingers and sticks them in your mouth. The sweat droplets on his face was so attractive to you.

"You did so well for me today babe" he said taking his fingers out of your mouth while looking deeply into your eyes, gripping your chin.

You smile and thank him, pulling him into a kiss.

Y'all finish up in the bath tub and begin to get out. He runs to grab two towels. He returns and tosses a towel to you. He smiles and pulls you in, wrapping you both into his towel. He kisses you on the forehead.

You both walk back into the bedroom decide to get ready to sleep again, but longer than a nap of course. You both dig into your suitcases to find some pajama pants and a loose t-shirt to wear to sleep. You slip your clothes on and you plop yourself down in to the bed. You were very tired and sore.

Sunghoon leaves the room for a brief second and comes back what some warm blankets in his hand. He sets one down and he lays the other one out on top of you. He makes sure you are all warm and cozy before sliding into the bed himself. He lays the second blanket over the both of you and pulls you in closer by the waist. He leans in and kisses you on the forehead.

[leesromanova]

natasha romanoff HC's

sooo i've never written anything like this before but i literally have a doc full of little HCs i have for nat, stuff like how she treats her partner and little quirks she has and wanted to publish them here let me know if i should do a pt. 2 or if i should do any one-shots with these little HCs :)

tags: natasha x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, some alluding to smut, lol just some thoughts i've got, mentions of red room and some things i imagine she's gone through, I JUST LOVER HER SM I WANT HER TO FEEL SAFE AND LOVED AND PROTECTED AGHHH

also i didn’t have time to revise to ignore mistakes lol

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physical touch:

she was so used to being "independent" she would often ignore her urges to feel close to someone. she was very hesitant with physical touch, it was hard for her to get used to having someone with her especially when it came to dating. when it came to you, she would shy away from hugs or even holding hands, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't know how you would feel holding someone like her in your embrace. i picture her being all stoic and cold on the outside but truly, deeply, wholeheartedly craving to feel love and connection with someone. once you noticed her hesitation you talked to her, letting her know that no matter what she thought of herself, none of it was true and that she deserved to feel loved and cherished, just like everyone else. that was the first time nat realized just how much she loved being held and holding someone.

it was morning and although it was early, it was all too late for natasha's routine. she didn't care, she just couldn't let go of you. your face so calm, and your chest rising up into her arm that was wrapped around your torso. her eyes traced the lines of your features. "are you going to keep staring or should i stay still so you take a picture?" she blushed and released you, grabbing a pillow from behind her to smack you with it, making you release a laugh. "i can't even look at my girlfriend lovingly in the mornings without being teased anymore" she'd pout and turn away from you. "aw, i'm sorry, come'ere" you'd scoop your arm around her and bring her closer to your chest. "isn't it a little late for you?" you'd ask as she'd settle under your chin and wrapped her arm over your own, lacing your fingers together. "yes it is, but it's fine, i want to soak this in a little more" you smiled as she released a content sigh.

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being protective:

i think nat would definitely be the kind of girlfriend to just want to make you feel protected and safe and would go out of her way to do so, she'd probably do tiny things to show this like; always walking on the outside of the sidewalk, holding your hand or putting her hand on the small of your back in crowds, she loves handing you her jacket as soon as you shiver or if you even rub your arms to keep warm and if you'd argue saying how she must also be cold she'd respond something like "russian's don't get cold" with a raised brow, but would secretly be freezing just to be able to know that you're warm. you'd obviously know she was cold and would hold her and say "okay chilly russian, get over here".

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wearing her clothes:

going back to her sharing her jacket with you, she'd love seeing you in her clothes. it was something about seeing you, the person she loved wearing something that was hers, and later would wear the same clothes only to find them doused in your perfume, mingled with something that was so you. you two would often steal pieces of each other's closets, wearing them without realizing until the other asked "is that mine?" you had a thing for stealing nat's leather jackets when she was out on missions.

once, she came home to an empty apartment and washed herself up, she was sitting on your shared couch, watching some random james bond movie you'd rented for her. munching some of her favorite snacks, as she heard your keys in the door and saw you come in. your eyes widened once you took her in and dropped your keys on the counter. "natasha! when did you get home? i thought you were going to be gone for another week?" she looked at you dumbfounded, focusing on the leather piece on your body and how it made your eyes sparkle just the right way and accentuated every part of you that she liked, she was picturing what you'd look like in nothing but the jacket- "nat?" you closed the door behind you, reaching to take off the jacket and get closer to your girlfriend. "oh no, no, no, leave it on. i'd much rather be the one taking it off." you would laugh at the smirk she had on, rushing to meet her lips against your own in a fit of giggles. "you're ridiculous, natasha romanoff" you'd say as she pulled back to take you in once again, "oh, but you love me y/n".

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playing with your hair:

she would loveee playing with your hair, whether it was brushing her fingers through it or combing it after you'd gotten out of the shower, or simply braiding it when she had the chance, she loved the feeling of being able to replace memories from her past with moments like these with you. i assume the red room was strict with what they allowed the widow's to wear, and do as well as being extremely competitive between all the girls. she probably had to learn how to braid her own hair by watching how the other girls would do so, being afraid to be put against them in combat for trying to "make friends" with her competition. she was glad to have someone who, instead of pushing her to open up, would allow her to share what she could about her past while being a soothing balm for her trauma and making her excited for her future.

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nightmares:

her fears and memories only came at night when she closed her eyes and those tortures of her past would come flooding back. i'd assume that when she joined SHEILD mandatory therapy and counseling would be necessary. being diagnosed with PTSD among other things, she'd probably learned how to not let her past get to her and how to stable herself in the present, but all that faded away when it came to times when she couldn't escape her dreams. she sometimes didn't even remember what plagued her nights when she awoke, feeling like she'd been put through the ringer. her scars, fully healed and forgotten, would sting, and her head would be pounding, as trickles of sweat littered her body. she'd awake after trashing and fighting invisible demons in bed, struggling or crying out for help. but you'd always be there to calm her.

"nat- nat!" you shook her awake. her eyes shot open with a gasp, she saw red. "get away from me!" she screamed and got up from bed, falling to the ground and huddled herself away in the corner. her face between her knees, her whole body shaking in fear. you'd talked with Bruce about this, he said the best move would be to turn on the lights and approach slowly, letting her see her surroundings and view you, to take in the fact that you weren't a threat. you got up and turn on your lamps. "nat, natty baby, it's me- it's y/n" you would grab some water and would approach her with caution, watching as her eyes shot around the room as she fully wakes up from her nightmares. as soon as she realized where she was and who she was with, the tears would come faster. "i'm sorry- i-i'm so sorry for waking you, i had no idea- i couldn't-" you scurried up to her side "hey, hey, hey" she'd stop and turn to look at you, sniffling as she lowered her knees. "none of that baby, are you okay? i got some water, here drink" she'd take a sip and put the glass down, zoning out and dissociating from her surroundings. you grab her chin and turn her to face you, her eyes meeting your own. "where'd you go?" her lip would start trembling as tears welled in her eyes. "th-they were all around me, looking at me like a piece of meat- i couldn't even defend myself, i was powerless- they-" her eyes would look away and began to focus on something else, you could sense her getting lost in the memory again. "nat, nat hey, hey. it's okay- you're here now, you're with me, you're away from him- from them. you're safe" she'd snap out of it and would wrap her arms around you suddenly, clinging on to you like a vice. "let's get you into the shower, yeah? let's wash you up and drink some tea yeah?" she'd only nod into your neck, and you'd lift her, taking her to the bathroom to help wash away the painful remnants of a rough night.

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the end! i was planning to add more but i thought i should see how this does first and then make another addition, if you guys would like! please let me know and if you have any constructive criticism, feel free to message me! :)

[bubbles0bop]

Yuta Okkotsu Relationship Headcanons

My craving for content has led me to this

Under the cut^

Contains: Fluff!, a little bit of suggestive content, Jealousy, implied f!reader, pretty much all fluffy tho

this goes without saying but he's a cuddler- he's not the type to feel emasculated if he was the little spoon or to have you basically cradling him into your chest

you can't tell when you first get into a relationship, but he is the jealous type. he's honestly embarrassed about it so he tries to hide it at first but as you both become more comfortable, he starts to show his attachment more. Any time he catches a guy in your DMs he'll bashfully throw a couple of questions about this mystery guy before requesting you block him.

he will be very clingy for the rest of the day

he is a gift giver and he pays such close attention to the things you like online and suddenly, at the next chance he gets, they'll show up on your nightstand

he'll even do this as he's away on missions, sending you little notes, chocolates, and tokens of his affection so you know you're loved from afar 🩷

dates would be a little bit rare only because he would prefer to sit at home and do domestic activities like baking, cuddling, watching a movie, CUDDLING--

when he does take you out of dates it's usually very caring and a little bit elaborate, like taking you to the museum that you mentioned 6 months ago, or renting out a diner to yourselves (ugh i just love him- )

he's constantly attentive to you, which i think is one of his love languages. He will bring up things that even you forgot you said, "oh baby, here- i bought you this heating pad since you mentioned that your back sometimes hurts after school/work." 😭

don't even get me started about how he would treat you in your period he would feel so bad

when he'll come back from long missions, it usually means that he hasn't slept in days. he'll come to you with a nice warm hug before collapsing on the bed hoping you can cuddle him to a well needed sleep 🫶

he does like to have his personal attention, which means a lot of the time when you go out he'll either ask to go with you or hit you with the "but why can't you stay here and cuddle? 🥺"

god he's adorable. he doesn't mean to keep you away from your friends but he'll just miss you so much

I also get the vibe that he can cook so if you do decide to spend the night in, it'll consist of him treating you to your favorite meal. he'll have his sleeves rolled up while he hovers over the stove, you watching adoringly from the kitchen counter

maybe he'll even finish it off with a sweet treat 🫶

It mentions on the anime that he does have a preference for larger chests but i imagine that, like yuuji, that doesn't really affect his attraction to anyone

also i'm ngl i do kind of imagine him as kind of a closet perv, super touchy, but in a loving way

Note- let me know if you want more headcanons or if you would like other characters!