#or i need to stop reading into it too much

[shy-writer-999]

It's getting hot in here...

Summary: After a nice meal, you start to feel weird. Did you eat something funny? It turns out everyone is feeling the same, and there's only one thing to do about it. Read content warnings please!

CW: Lots of nasty sex. Afab reader, G/N language. Aphrodisiacs. TONS of zosan gay shit (like 50% of this fic). Could be considered dubcon because the aphrodisiacs are strong and reader keeps losing touch with reality, but it is consensual >_> Voyerusim, dacryphilia, begging, dry humping, edging, masturbation, "good boy," riding, prone bone, you name it. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS (VERY) NSFW CONTENT.

Something was in the water at the new island the Sunny anchored on. Or was it in the wine? The bread? The butter? You couldn’t remember what you ate. Your memory of the night was blurred—scattered scenes played through your mind the next day. Your recollection was… messy and nonsensical. You tried to recount the night.

In the early hours of the night in question, Sanji went into the island’s town to get supplies and ingredients for dinner. It was a nice day full of free time, clear skies with a slight breeze.

Nami and Robin went shopping and they wouldn’t be back on the ship in time for dinner. Brook, Usopp, Chopper, and Franky went off and did god knows what. Similarly, they wouldn’t be back in time for the evening meal. Sanji promised to make enough so they could have leftovers later.

When everyone went on their separate outings, that left you, Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji on the ship.

It was a small, simple, and delicious dinner that night. An intimate setting with just you four, a nice opportunity to hang out with part of the East Blue crew. You were soaking in some modicum of silence and peace (whenever Luffy allowed it) on the mostly empty ship.

Aside from Luffy’s chomping and smacking noises while he ate, dinner was relatively silent. Sanji and Zoro weren’t butting heads for once, either. You sat at the table, talked sparingly, and drank some of the wine that Sanji bought in town.

When dinner was over, you helped Sanji wash up (like usual), then you sat at the dinner table and did some reading.

An hour or so passed. You read your book while Sanji prepped food and cleaned the kitchen a few feet away. Gradually, the room got warmer. You opened a window, letting in some of the cool evening air, propped a door open, and sat back down again.

After a few minutes, you noticed that you felt a bit ill. Lightly perspiring, you almost shivered—your limbs felt heavy, you felt light-headed. You tried to reason it away. Did you have too much wine?

No, you didn’t. You stood up, and as you rose to your feet you realized that you felt like you were going to pass out. At the same time, your body started to buzz. You had never felt like this before. Something was seriously off.

Sanji was still in the kitchen cleaning up, and you staggered in his direction, stopping at the sink to splash some water on your face. The cold water felt great on your hot cheeks, and you could have sworn you saw steam rise up from where the cool droplets met your skin.

“My love, are you alright?” Sanji’s sweet voice shocked you out of your feverish stupor. You had almost forgotten he was there. When you turned to face him, your body pulsed and heat tingled outwards from between your legs, radiating to your whole body. He had never looked so good before.

The blonde’s eyes widened in shock—your pupils were dilated, your breathing was shallow and quick, and your face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He brought a hand to your forehead and confirmed that you had a fever. “Are you sick, dearest? You don’t look well.”

When his skin touched yours, your breath hitched. “Sanji, I don’t feel too good.”

“Do you need to go lay down? I’ll get Chopper to come take your temperature and give you something to help you feel better, okay?”

You didn’t know it, but Sanji was starting to feel ill, too. He was sweating just barely and had, up until that point, been blaming it on the fact that he just cooked and cleaned and was a bit exhausted. But what was more concerning to him was that in your feverish state you looked even more beautiful than usual—no, beautiful wasn’t the right word. In his mind he remarked that you looked fucking hot. Stunning. Sexy, even.

He could rip your clothes off here and now and ravage you, had you been up for it. But that sentiment wasn’t necessarily out of the norm, rather, it was that you were evidently sick, and he was starting to feel a bit woozy himself.

Maybe the food had turned, and he didn’t realize it, so you were both suffering from food poisoning. But that would have been very unlike him to not pick up on the food tasting rotten. It must have been something else. Did you both pick up some virus from the last island you were on? Like Nami on Little Garden that one time?

A soft whine slipped out of your lips. The noise made his stomach flip. You sounded like you were in pain but… you also sounded a bit erotic to him. In this state, his mind raced. Is that what you would sound like in bed? Whining like that?

Sanji mentally berated himself more than ever before, letting self-disgust wash over for a moment before he shook it off. When he got back to his senses (he had been staring at you for only a couple of seconds), he started to guide you to your cabin for some rest. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you to bed.”

But no matter how many internal curses he threw at himself, he felt a tent forming in his pants. Something weird was happening.

He balked at the idea that seeing you in your current state was getting him so flustered. You were ill, after all. What sort of gentleman would he be right now, if he was thirsting over you while you had a dangerously high fever and were obviously in pain?

As he tried to shrug off how odd he was starting to feel, the blonde chef guided you down the hallway and towards your room. You walked behind him and your vision started to get splotchy. With every degree your fever worsened, you felt something get more intense—was this feeling arousal? At a time like this?  

Sure enough, heat bloomed between your legs; small zaps of pleasure radiated

outwards with each step. The arousal-sickness combination was disorienting and concerning.

And not only were you just aroused, but it was coupled with wild sensitivity—as you moved, the fabric of your pants brushed down there, sending an electric shock up your spine as the tingling sensation intensified. Were you hallucinating, or was wetness seeping out of your core, saturating your panties?

The walk down the hallway felt like years.

By the time you were almost to your bed, you were soaking wet from nothing other than walking. You tried to squeeze your legs together. Was there a stain on your pants from how unreasonably wet you were? Should you hide it? The fabric of your pants was rubbing you just right, and, in the moment you sat on the bed, you convulsed in pleasure. Undeniably, you moaned. A quiet one, but a moan, no less.

You sat there for a few seconds, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as you positively buzzed in pleasure. You didn’t know what was happening, and you were unaware that you were slowly rubbing your thighs together, drawing out more tingles of pleasure. Was that an orgasm?

Sanji’s mind was racing, and he was hyperaware of everything—every shallow breath and flutter of your eyes was making his heart patter and the tent in his pants grow. He was fully erect now, and his mind was so scrambled that he didn’t even think of hiding it. He almost couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

It was from this point on that you started to question if any of this was real or if you were just having a fever dream.

Sanji stood over you, watching in what could be called a mixture of concern and rabid desire. Your eyes opened finally, and it felt like you had tunnel vision. You noticed it then—his erection, hard and big. There was a visible stain on his bulge where precum pooled into the fabric. His cock twitched when he realized your eyes were focused on it.

“A-are you okay?” Sanji asked. He didn’t know what to say. He needed to drag himself away to a bathroom and deal with this.

His words got caught in his throat as your body literally worked against your own whims. Your fingers moved like they were being controlled by a puppeteer—you watched them in third person as they trailed down your abdomen and came to rest over your throbbing core.

Looking up at him, you gave yourself a squeeze through your pants. Some erotic sound tumbled from your lips. Your fingers started to circle over the fabric of your pants where your clit must have been, and you spread your thighs a bit. You couldn’t control yourself.

“Help, Sanji,” you whispered, mouth dry. “Don’t know what’s happening. Can’t stop.” Your fingers moved faster, building a crescendo of pleasure that would crash onto you soon. You felt like you were going crazy with need. No longer focused on the fever wracking your body, your mind knew only one thing: you needed pleasure.

If you didn’t get more soon, you were worried you’d pass out. Or something would happen. Would you go crazy?

“H-help?” Sanji’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“Touch me,” you whimpered, fingers moving faster now. His jaw dropped.

Luffy suddenly staggered to the door and leaned on the frame. He was unbothered by the sight in front of him and, quite frankly, he looked a damn mess. His hair was plastered down on his forehead in sweat, he had no shirt on, and his pajama pants were riding down, showing the band of his boxers.

“Guys,” Luffy’s voice was strained. “I feel really weird.”

Your eyes darted down. Luffy was rock hard, bulge standing out against the gray fabric of his pants. His cloudy vision came to rest on your chest. With no care in the world, one of his hands reached down to start rubbing himself.

“It won’t go away no matter what I do,” Luffy rubbed the heel of his hand down the outline of his erection, and his words were broken by a loud grunt. “I came here to ask for help but it—it looks like you beat me to it.” He cracked a grimace/smile and threw his head back after a moment, leaning his whole weight on the door frame as he touched himself through the fabric.

You snuck a hand into your pants. Brushing your clit gently, you keened. You were on autopilot, incapable of controlling your actions and not the most cognizant. All you knew was you needed more, and if you didn’t get more, something bad would happen.

“Mmmphhhh,” Luffy stifled a groan as he squeezed himself, lost in his own world. “It’s like my body is on fire.”

Your vision went black around the edges—you started to rub faster, spreading your legs open wide and creeping your fingers under your panties.

Burying your hand in your underwear, you hissed in air at your teeth as your fingertips came in contact with your hot folds. Your back arched and a needy sound trickled out. “F-fuck, Sanji help me.”

Sanji froze, eyes glued on your hand that was shoved down your pants, stirring under the fabric. The stain on his pants got bigger and wetter—it was very noticeable.  

“What do you want me to do love?” He asked in a hushed, hesitant tone. He was holding onto his last shreds of reason, trying not to pounce on you, but those shreds of rationality were slipping out of his grasp like sand.

Your vision started to go black. You closed your eyes, lost in the pleasure that you pulled from yourself in a daze. Sanji reached a hand up to your core and ran a thumb up and down over the fabric above your clit. Your wetness was seeping through the layers already.

Some amount of time passed. You came and it helped you regain lucidity. When you opened your eyes—you had no clue how long it had been—you were laying on the bed and Luffy stood over you, watching intently.

Sanji was sitting at the end of the bed, now shamelessly digging his thumb into the tip of his cock, playing with his slit as clear precum seeped out of it. His hips bucked upwards a few times and you watched. You realized that you were touching yourself, moving your fingers in swift and messy need.

Luffy leaned in and pressed his lips on yours. The first few kisses were surprisingly sweet, loving, even, but they quickly turned sloppy. He maneuvered onto the bed—now, his knee was pressed against your core, a hand braced on one side of your head, and the other rested on your cheek as he kissed you passionately.

You made out for a few seconds, grinding down onto his knee a bit, aiming for friction. Your mewls were driving him and Sanji insane—the blonde continued to tease himself and stroke slowly while he watched Luffy take in every inch of you with his lips. The captain’s lips moved south.

He pulled your pants and panties off quickly, spread your thighs wide, and started to eat you out on the spot. Pressing his tongue on your clit, the captain drew soft circles around your sensitive bud, then he swiped his tongue up and down along your entrance. Luffy wasted no time slurping and greedily licking every inch and crevice of you that he could.

You started to lose touch with reality again—you realized, distantly and in third person, that whatever was wrong with you seemed like you would start to black out any time you went too long without an orgasm. As you were making this conclusion, a loud thud at the door distracted you once again.

Zoro’s body had dragged him across the ship, bringing him to your room of its own accord. He could hardly walk, slamming into the door frame, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed next to Sanji, eyes darting between Luffy eating you out and the blonde’s fist stroking and squeezed his hard on.

Your eyes shifted to Zoro, sitting with his legs spread wide on the bed next to Sanji. The swordsman started running a palm over his clothed erection. His breaths were fast, his cheeks were bright pink, he didn’t seem fully cognizant of the fact his eyes were glued on his nemesis/frenemy’s fist pumping over his cock. No one said a word for a few moments. It was a silent agreement—whatever was happening needed to be addressed, and there was only one thing to do.

It had been too long without an orgasm again for you. Your vision went black and your mind went blank. When an orgasm finally crashed into you, minutes later, it brought you back to reality and a few moments of lucidity. Your ears were greeted by a cacophony of ragged breaths and deep groans to your left.

Turning your head, your eyes were met with the sight of two people (who you thought utterly hated each other) entangled on the bed.

Sanji was completely naked, while Zoro had on short, tight, black boxer-briefs. He was on top of Sanji, rubbing and humping his own erection on Sanji’s while his brows furrowed and needy sounds trickled out of his mouth. Every few seconds, Sanji let out a whimper and arched his back off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” Sanji gasped, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as Zoro’s muscles rippled and his clothed cock brushed onto Sanji’s aching, red one.

“I f-fucking can’t,” the swordsman grunted in response, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Your eyes stayed glued on the pair, bewildered and feral, until Luffy’s tongue, buried inside of you, demanded your attention. Was he using his devil fruit powers? Head had never felt this good before. His tongue prodded the pulsing hotness of your core, sliding up and down greedily between your lips before pushing inside of you again.

The slurping noises from your captain were sinful. Your eyes crept from his head buried between your legs to the sight of his hips rutting on the sheets beneath. His cock craved friction. He wished his tongue wasn’t buried in you but something else instead.

Grabbing tufts of Luffy’s hair, you dragged his mouth closer, pressing his roaming tongue as deep as physically possible.

“L-luffy, need m-more. Please.” You begged, vision getting blurry around the edges. You felt hotter than before.

Instead of your captain’s voice in response, a loud moan from Sanji answered your pleading. Your eyes snapped to the pair of men again—Sanji was squirming under the swordsman, shuddering and clawing at Zoro’s biceps now as he grinded up into his cock.

“Cumming,” the blonde grunted, pushing his hips upward, grinding harder onto Zoro. “I’m c-cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The chef came on his own stomach while Zoro rocked his hips into the blonde’s shaft with more urgency, overstimulating him and eliciting desperate cries.

“Can’t stop,” Zoro choked out amidst his own moans and heaves for air. You were speechless. You had never witnessed this level of pure desire before.

Tears pricked in the corner of the chef’s eyes, but he didn’t tell the swordsman to stop, in fact, he rutted his hips up again and again. He was gearing up for yet another orgasm when Zoro brought him into a kiss and trailed his fingers towards the blonde’s erection.

More moments fleeted by—more gut-wrenching pleasure from Luffy’s tongue inside of you, hazy images of Sanji and Zoro grinding on each other, smearing the milky puddle of cum all over Sanji’s abdomen on Zoro’s underwear and abs.

Your eyes fixated on the outline of Zoro’s erection through the damp fabric. You were mesmerized.

Time faded into oblivion. The next memory you had was of Zoro flipping you over, onto your stomach, and climbing on top of you. He positioned you in prone bone, pressing his chest on your back. Trailing his fingers down and squeezing a rough handful of your ass, he then dipped two fingers into your hot folds and coaxed fireworks of pleasure from you.

Zoro relished how wet and ready you were for him thanks to Luffy’s previous work. He played with you for a little while, dragging his finger pads across your g-spot repeatedly and curling them upwards inside of you until you begged for more. When he pushed his cock inside, he felt so big that it was almost painful. He entered you centimeters at a time, and when he finally bottomed out and the ring of hair around the base of his cock met your flesh, his hips started to pump into yours rhythmically, gaining speed each moment that passed.

“Feels hot and s-sticky inside,” he gasped, hips shuddering into you as his tip passed your g-spot. You shifted under him the slightest bit, drawing a sensitive gasp from the swordsman. Every movement from him felt euphoric—and coupled with his weight on top of you, you felt like you were doing crazy with desire. He couldn’t fuck you fast enough.

Turning your head, you realized that Sanji had one hand wrapped around his cock again but was now in a similar position to you. He was flush with the bed, chest pressing on the covers, simultaneously stroking himself and humping the sheets as he watched Zoro fuck you.

Zoro groaned pure filth in your ear. “Just like that, baby. Fuhccckkk. Feels so good.”

Each pass of Zoro’s length inside of you and past your g-spot was met with a squelching noise from how wet you were—every roll of his hips pushed him deeper inside of you and it felt like you were floating.

As Sanji watched, his fist moved faster and so did his hips. He roughly jerked his length and rubbed his glistening tip into the covers. His cock felt hot, it was pulsing, and each brush of his flesh against the fabric made him shiver. He was working off of animal instinct alone, eyes so dilated and mind so foggy that all he knew was that he felt good and he didn’t want it to stop. He could watch the pair of you for hours. He didn’t care.

Voice husky and bathed in lust, Zoro was getting more worked up. “Say my name,” he groaned as his length passed in and out of you. “Say it.”

Before his name could exit your lips, Sanji moaned into the sheets below. “Zoro. Zoro. Hah, fuck, Zoro.” Moments later, you watched him orgasm all over the sheets below, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut.

Hearing the chef’s desperate, pathetic mewls made Zoro fuck you faster. The tip of his cock bullied your g-spot repeatedly. And just when you thought you were at the precipice of orgasm, Zoro reached a hand under you and started to rub your clit, then he bit your shoulder. The pain felt good, and the combination of sensations was overwhelming—your orgasm was intense, shocking, and ecstatic.

A fleeting thought passed through your mind—where’s Luffy?

He was perched at the end of the bed, touching himself to the sight, waiting for his turn, which he promptly took when Zoro was done with you.

The next scene in your memory was Luffy fucking you, but you weren’t quite sure how you got there. You did remember that right before Luffy touched you, he asked you softly, “Do you want to keep going? Or have you had enough?”

You croaked out an eager, “more.”

“On top?” Luffy asked, waiting for your confirmation. And when you again agreed, he shifted, so he was laying on the bed, and you were on top of him.

Sinking down on his cock, you started to ride him. His hands came to rest on your hips and his eyes looked hungry. As if he wasn’t full from the ridiculously huge meal he just ate.

Parallel to you and Luffy, Zoro had Sanji on his lap. Zoro’s chest pressed on Sanji’s back, so the chef was facing you and Luffy. The swordsman’s large, rough hand wrapped around Sanji’s front. Languidly, Zoro played with Sanji’s shaft, teasing him at a snail’s pace.

Zoro wasn’t all there mentally because of (what you deduced to be) the aphrodisiacs. It’s like he was running on pure thirst. Something in him wanted Sanji to beg and wanted to see you getting off to the sight. He was getting a kick out of the cook being absolutely pathetic. He wanted to see him be utterly shameless.

“’m gonna cum,” Sanji whimpered, writhing around on the stocky pair of hair thighs underneath him.

“Shhh. Not yet, cook. Can’t you hold on for a little bit longer? Don’t you want to watch?”

Sanji got quieter and nodded, holding his orgasm at bay as best he could while he watched you ride Luffy, who was practically growling out commands faster than you could keep up.

 “Faster.” “Faster.” “Harder.” “More.” Every time he spoke, you did as he said. You did so until your legs started to burn, until your thighs started to shake, until he was doing all the work for you, lifting you up and down on his shaft.

He pressed his tip on your spongey hot spot and wrenched pleasure from you. Zoro edged and teased Sanji within an inch of his life while the pair of them watched—it was almost cruel. The cook was in tears over how good it felt, how badly he wanted to keep cumming, and how much it was getting to his head.

“Please Z-zoro, fuck, please.” Sanji was close to his breaking point.

“Just a bit longer, curly brows, hold on.”

A few more seconds passed. It didn’t take long for Luffy to bring you to the brink of orgasm, which was what Zoro was hoping for. As you started to shake, eyes rolling back in white-hot pleasure from your orgasm, Zoro finally gave Sanji permission to cum.

You hadn’t expected the swordsman to be this controlling, this mean, and this verbal.

“Mmmphhhh. Just like that,” Zoro exhaled while he watched you cum all over Luffy’s cock. “Now you can cum.” He then murmured something in Sanji’s ear that would have left you gob smacked if you had enough wherewithal to think. “There’s a good boy.”

While Sanji painted his own stomach white, you collapsed on top of Luffy. He kissed the side of your head and started to pet your hair.

“You need a break?” He asked you, voice tender and kinder than usual. You nodded and then drifted into unconsciousness for some period of time.

Memories after this point completely faded to black. You had some notion of waking up and sucking Zoro off and then riding Sanji until he cried again, but… the images were blurred. Someone came on your face, two indiscernible figures in your memory were entangled on the sheets again, but… you drew a blank after a point.

---

When you finally came to, you concluded that whatever the fuck that was must have been a very strong aphrodisiac. You couldn’t figure out what it was in though—the wine? The water? Something in the food? Whatever it was, it must have gotten out of your system through sheer number of orgasms and hours of fucking.

You were still on your bed, under the covers and tucked in along with Luffy. Sanji and Zoro were off somewhere, presumably getting cleaned up but…? Who knows. 

You checked the clock—it was around 10:00PM. You, Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro had been going at it since 5:00PM, shortly after your early dinner. So… almost five whole hours? But you didn’t feel like it, really. You weren’t sore or anything which was a feat in itself.

Putting some clothes on, you wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. You were parched. You’d have to wait to debrief until you saw Zoro or Sanji, or until Luffy woke up.

You walked into the kitchen and were met with a sight that broke your brain for a second. Nami, Robin, Franky and Usopp were at the dinner table, chowing down on the dinner leftovers Sanji packaged up for them in cute little serving boxes. They must have just gotten back from their outings.

Your eyes flashed around the room—wine bottles were open. They were having a grand old time.

Your stomach sank. Fuck. They were about to have even grander of a time if they kept eating and drinking like that. You’d have to sit yourself out for round two—not sure you could handle it, honestly.

After that night, you came to a good understanding of the dynamics with each man in bed. Not only from your memory, but because you went in for seconds with each of them at some point. Luffy was greedy and forthcoming, but kind, like usual. Zoro was an absolute machine, filthy and verbose. And Sanji was, well, Sanji. He was doting, pathetic, and desperate. What a good variety to choose from—you were never left wanting again.

ik im gonna look back at this later and go GOD DAMN woman, were you okay? frothing at the mouth. anyway...

thanks for reading!! this was pretty challenging for me, i wanted it to be halfway decent but just couldn't get it anywhere i wanted really T-T idk if i'll ever live up to the luffy aphrodisiac kinktober fic i wrote :p

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

dividers courtesy of @issysh3ll taglist @eggrollforyou !

[kirbmey]

⠀⠀ ཐི ˚̣̣̣ ⠀⠀ husband!sylus x reader ⠀ ˚̣̣̣ ཋྀ

synopsis: where you sneak into sylus office looking for him cuz you miss him so so much! ε٩(๑> ₃ <)۶з

tw: fluff, sylus is called ‘husband’, reader is especially femenine and shy, usage of ‘kitten’, sylus smokes, he’s sickly in love!, etc.

you know you weren´t supposed to be walking around the house so late, but you were completely restless without your husband holding you tightly while you tried to sleep.

walking around the empty halls while heading to sylus office you yawn; you´ve been trying to sleep for a few hours now, even tried watching your favorite movie or holding your plushie while counting sheep but nothing worked.

so you were left with only one option, looking for him.

he stated a few times that you mustn´t disturb him while he worked, him being the busy business man that he is.

but that didn´t stop you from reaching the pome of the door, hesitant between wether you should open it or not.

once you made up your mind you swang the door open, peeking your head through the small gap to catch a glimpse of your beloved reading some documents while sipping on his favorite expensive wine. he was wearing those glasses you loved, also.

⠀⠀　　⠀⠀“just come inside, would you?", he stated, not even lifting his gaze to spot you standing in the middle of the room. he relocated his silver frame glasses on top of the bridge of his nose, scooting the big leather armchair aside so you could sit on his lap as you were accustomed to.

⠀⠀　　⠀⠀“i´m sorry, sylus, i just can´t sleep tonight." you mumble an apology while straddling him, hugging his broad shoulders and hiding your now blushed face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his manly scent.

⠀⠀　　⠀⠀“that’s okay, kitten. i was about to wrap it up here and go to bed with you, so impacient, aren´t you?" he teased with a low voice, chuckling when he heard you whine against his pale skin.

he left those documents aside, sipping the last drop of his wine and took off his glasses, placing them on the table. then, he grabbed you by the hips, holding you like a baby koala while he walked to your shared bedroom, feeling your breath slowly calm down.

he tucked your little body underneath the warm comforter, heading to the big glass window to open it and move the curtains aside, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, sitting on his designated reading nook while staring at you.

puffing the smoke out the window so the smell wouldn´t linger inside the room, he took in every single detail about the scene in front of him; how you fell asleep so quickly in his arms, how you placed your head on his pillow, how your locks framed your face.

once he was done with the cigarette he brushed his teeth, taking note of the late hours. sure, he didn´t need to sleep, but drifting away while holding you was one of the best feelings in the world to him.

he was so in love with his little cherub (｡´ ‿｀♡)

a/n: been thinking about writing for final fantasy and arcane too idk idk (๑•́ -•̀)

[tookishcombeferre]

I'm a 30 year old transmasc non-binary person. I saw the movie Atlantis: The Lost Empire when I was 7 in the theater. My dad's dad had just died, and we weren't all that close. But, it really helped me to see Milo process the death of his own grandfather at the time. I think Atlantis came out about a year(?) after my dad's dad died? Anyway, I really always related to Milo even if I couldn't understand why at the time. (Now I get it.) I just watched the movie again because I wanted to, and my toddler watched bits and pieces with me while we shared some tea. They watched me *bawl.* My mom's dad, though we never got to talk about the fullness of my experience before he died a little less than two years ago, was the only family member who just understood me with no words. He never knew my name or pronouns - so he never used them. But, he got *me.* His yard was where I could climb trees, feed birds, roughhouse, and do all the "forbidden boyish" stuff. I watched Robin Hood and The Sorcerer's Stone in his living room. I built towers up to the ceiling. I got to read Frankenstein on his porch when I was in the seventh grade. I'm pretty sure my first unabridged copy of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries was purchased for me by him. He was basically my dad or second-dad. Later, he would listen to me talk about my papers, my poems, and my stories and, in turn, I'd listen to the latest of his research in biophysics, when he was still a researcher, or I'd listen to him explain, in layman's terms, the newest experiments he would read about after he stopped doing his own stuff. These were our lost civilizations and genuine arrowheads. When Mr. Whitmore handed Milo the Shepherd's Journal and said the line "Our lives are marked by the gifts we leave our children, and this is your grandfather's gift to you." My own kid was pillowed on my shoulder. I heard that line at 7. I cried in the theater because it's sad. You don't have to have lived the line for it be sad. I needed to learn loss young so I could feel loss better older. Because, now? That line collapsed on me like a ton of bricks, but I didn't get crushed by those bricks. I had a hard hat and padding to protect me. Like I said, my grandfather was like my dad. He's not coming back. But, he has given me so much. He has left me so much, and I get to decide what I want to leave to my own kid someday. I get to decide what world, what legacy, and what I leave for my own child. Because, it wasn't just the journal that Thaddeus left for Milo. It was the values that allowed Milo to remain steadfast when standing up to people physically stronger than him. I remember that right now. Especially right now. It's not just the intellectual gifts my grandfather left me. It's the tenacity. It's the love. It's protectiveness. It's the gentleness. It's the grace. It's the desire to be curious. It's the *need* to know. It's quiet faith. It's the desire to do justice. It's the desire to see peace for the next generation. It's the desire to listen to all sides of an argument before saying my own piece while also knowing when things have gone way too far and need to be shut down. It's knowing when and how to give people space to grow in their own way and time. Because, while everyone else in my family was forcing me into dresses, my grandfather was letting me climb trees in jeans and sneakers. He also didn't bat an eyelash when I cut my hair off my junior year of high school. So, he may not be here. But, he lives in the gifts he left me. So, while, I got my vaccine at 7, it didn't take effect until 28. Even then, I'm only just starting to feel like I'm actually inoculated at 30.

We can't be afraid to keep inoculating the youth. Kids need to see death, loss, and such like in their media. Withholding it from them just makes them less equipped for these exact moments when they're older. I firmly believe that.

Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

[megamindsecretlair]

hey i just need something real nasty between husband and wife with mr.aaron (i say it key and peele😂😂) with some angst before the actual plot🤭

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, beautiful.

Made You Fall For Me

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem and male receiving), PIV, oral (female receiving), Reader is able to be picked up, use of pet names, angst. Mentions of death of a loved one, trauma. All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: It had been two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death and Terry still beat himself up over it. Tired of Terry not letting you in, you join him in the shower and show him that he has a life to lead right here and now with you. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog

Word Count: 5,371k

AO3 Link

A/N: Thank you so much for dealing with my hiatus. I'm stronger mentally than I have ever been. Definitely worked on myself and stopped being so hard on myself. The kind asks really helped me find my way back, so have this smutty fic as a giant thank you! Thank you so much for all your continued support! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry sighed as he entered the bedroom. You looked up from your phone to watch your husband. 

His tall frame moved fluidly around the space, taking off of his pants and his shirt. It was soaked through having just finished at the gym. He sat on the edge of the bed to fling off his socks and toss it in the knit hamper. 

“Hey babe,” you said. 

“Hey baby,” Terry sighed.

You stared at the back of his head as his shoulders drooped the longer he sat on the bed. He looked so…dejected. Like someone sucked the air from his tires. You leaned up and let your powder blue throw blanket fall from your shoulders.

This was the second week in a row that your husband was still in this funk. Two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death where it seemed like Terry relived it all over again. It started with a dream, the very moment he ran into the hospital carrying Summer. Hopped up on adrenaline, a bullet in his shoulder, and him looking for the next threat. 

Then he would slowly withdraw mentally, checking out of conversations. Floating through the motions of going to work and getting back home. You were worried that he would get into an accident but he was able to operate on auto-pilot, navigating the world just as he normally would. 

It was both sad and amazing that he was able to do so. But this wasn’t your husband. This was a guilt ridden man who sometimes realized that he had no family. You were his family, of course, but he had no living blood relative alive. Mike was his one and only connection and that was severed by hate and pride. 

“Baby, will you please talk to me?” You asked. You fiddled with the edge of your phone. He wasn’t facing you, but you were still nervous to look at his face. You didn’t know which would be worse. Hearing you and choosing not to speak or not hearing you at all because he was lost somewhere you couldn’t reach?  

“I-I’m trying,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. You longed to comfort him, hold him, console him in some way. But every time you reached out, he would stare at you as if he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel you. 

You didn’t know how to help him through this. You’ve lost people, sure, but you always had enough family and friends to fall back on. You didn’t know what it was like for him and he was too stubborn to let you take some of his pain. 

You moved forward and crawled on the bed towards him. He stiffened as you got closer and you wrapped your arms around him anyway. You held on and placed your hand over his heart. It beat rapidly beneath your fingers and you inwardly sighed in relief. He was still in there. His heart still beat.

“You have to stop beating yourself up about this. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself forever,” you said. You kissed his back and rested your cheek on his skin. He was always so warm, like your own personal fire pit. But due to the sweat, he was cold and clammy. 

“I was supposed to protect him. That was my one and only job,” Terry said. 

“You were supposed to love him. But what happened was out of your control,” you said. 

Terry sighed and stood up, breaking your embrace. He hung his head as he walked to the bathroom. The door closed decisively and you flinched from the harsh sound. The light turned on underneath the doorway. The shower turned on and you didn’t hear anything further. 

Some days you wanted to knock your husband’s teeth in. His overprotective instincts went into hyperdrive, past the point of what was healthy. He refused to think of himself and the consequence be damned. Other times, you just wanted to wrap him in a floofy blanket and never let him out of your sight. You couldn’t very well fault him for wanting to keep you safe when you were the exact same way. 

But this…it varied on when he’d be able to pull himself out of this. Sometimes you’d say or do something to bring him back. Sometimes he’d take a deep breath and release that dark cloud. And sometimes, he’d disappear for a whole day and return back to the sweet, loving man you married. 

But fuck this. You missed your husband. And you were tired of seeing him walk around like a zombie. You got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom.

Steam rushed out and passed over your exposed skin. You closed the door behind you and noted the discarded underwear on the floor and a red towel on the edge of the sink. Terry’s silhouette moved just behind the foggy glass doors. 

You quickly stripped, flinging your lavender sleep set to the ground with his briefs. You stuffed your bonnet beneath a shower cap and slid the glass doors back. Terry looked over his shoulder at you and you entered the spacious shower behind him. 

The custom shower with tiles painted in different shades of brown was roomy enough for about three people comfortably if they were all intimate. Water cascaded down from a waterfall shower head, pouring down over Terry’s strong body. Water dripped from the edge of his wide nose, his full lips, and his well-defined chest. You followed the trail of water down his belly and over his long, thick dick. Water fell down in his long legs and huge feet. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m taking a shower,” you said. You shoved past him and grabbed your wash cloth, pulling it under the spray of water to get it wet. 

Terry huffed. “Had to be now?” He asked.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. Instead of grabbing your favorite soap, you grabbed his and lathered up the wash cloth. 

“C’mon,” Terry said. He tugged on your arm for you to turn around. 

You did so and slapped the wash cloth against his chest. “I miss you,” you said, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth and grimaced, jaw flexing. 

You flattened both of your hands against his chest and stepped closer. Water hit your back at a lukewarm temperature. You had no clue how he could shower like this but that wasn’t the point. “I miss my husband and I need you to come back, right now,” you said. 

Terry closed his eyes and his long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His mouth worked like he wanted to say something but the words never came. Whatever he wanted to say lodged in his throat and he couldn’t choke it out.

“So after this shower, you better step out of it and remember that you did everything right for Mike. And he made his own choices. That’s not your fault. It has never been your fault. And it’s time you accept that,” you said. 

You moved the wash cloth over his skin, scrubbing him down. Soap transferred to his body in thick suds, falling down his skin. He watched you and shut his mouth as you scrubbed him all over his chest and moved on to his arms. 

His eyes never left yours as you massaged the cloth between his fingers. He sighed and hummed as you found tense spots. You rubbed him deeper in those areas, working out the tension. 

You maneuvered behind him so he could rinse and then washed his back, creating big circles of soap. You moved down to his ass, teasing him a bit. He grunted and then chuckled. Well, that was a good sign. If he was chuckling then at least he was starting to relax. 

You washed down his legs, tickling him in areas. He danced out of your way and you warned him to be careful in this slippery ass shower.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you again,” you warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and smirked. 

You worked your way back to his front. His dick twitched and bobbed in your face. You looked up at him and his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you. Fuck, he was pretty like this. Above you, staring at you, and in all his naked glory.

He needed to walk around like this more often. For your eyes only. That beautiful male body needed to be on display 24/7. 

You looked at his dick and then slowly dragged your eyes up his body and back to his striking ocean eyes. He took in a deep breath as his mouth curved upward. The rise and fall of his chest had an answering throb in your clit. You dropped to your knees on the hard flooring but it barely registered in your mind. 

Your husband worked his way back to you in the best way you both knew how. Sex was everything to the both of you. The one way you knew you were on solid ground. From the moment you two met, it had been electric and consuming. Always finding ways to touch each other or be near each other and breathe each other’s air. 

You dragged the wash cloth over his dick. At the first press of your hand, he hissed and jerked his hips towards you. You steadied your left hand on his hip and then stroked him with your right. 

He lifted his head towards the showerhead and let the water run down his face. Since he leaned back, water fell on top of your head and face but you kept looking towards him and the look on his face. 

He was hands down the most beautiful man you had ever met. And the kindest. He wasn’t always nice. He had more than enough words to say about folks that crossed him. But he was always kind, always treated people with respect. And he was a gentleman on top of it. Always opened your doors, always stood on the side of the street closest to danger. Every day, you found new ways to fall in love with your man. You only wished he’d forgive himself. 

“I love you. And I miss you. I need you to come back,” you told him. You increased the pressure, giving him long, slow strokes. All the way down to his base, squeezed, and then worked your way back to his tip. 

He groaned and rolled his neck, moving his hips. Your pussy throbbed seeing cum leak from his tip. He leaned one hand on the side of the shower, fingers pushing into the grooves. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have to let me in when things get dark, Terry. I don’t like feeling like I’m on the outside,” you told him.

Terry nodded his head and his eyes turned darker. But he didn’t look so far away now. His eyes were clearer, more present. “I hate feeling like I failed,” he said. His jaw flexed and you matched him stare for stare. 

“You did everything you possibly could. You deserve a life too. Not to punish yourself for the life Mike doesn’t have,” you said. You paused stroking and let the sound of the shower fill the room. 

Steam rose to the ceiling in wispy clouds. Soap and water rushed down Terry’s body. His chest rose and fell in heaving sighs but then evened out. Once his breathing returned to normal, you began stroking him again.

He groaned and dropped his head as you increased your strokes. You watched his face and watched the emotions play across his features. His lush lips parted and he moaned, deeply and guttural. “I’m gonna bust,” he moaned.

“Give it to me,” you whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the spray of water. You kept your same pace and three strokes later, Terry’s dick throbbed and his cum splashed onto your neck and titties. 

Terry’s moans were sweet music to your ears. You grinned evilly and kept stroking. He jerked and stuttered with chuckles and reached out to still your hands. He huffed and chuckled, giving you a saucy wink. 

He pulled you up by your arms and crushed his lips to yours as soon as you were within reach. He grabbed the cloth from your hands and hung it on the lip of the shower door. He cupped your neck in both hands and angled your face to meet his rough kisses. You moaned into his mouth. You missed this. You missed him. So damn badly.

The ache in your chest finally lifted now that your man was back. He healed and soothed with every kiss, every swipe of his tongue, every caress of his thumb on your wet skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he harshly whispered between kisses. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered back.

Terry pulled back and looked into your eyes. He narrowed his and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I will call and get help later today. There’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting. You deserve better from me,” he said.

You tilted your head and kissed his wrist. “I do. But I also know we’re in this for life. So I need you to let me in more,” you said.

Terry nodded. “I promise. Thank you, for sticking with me through this shit,” he said.

“That’s what wives are for,” you said with a giggle. 

Terry took a deep breath and then a mischievous gleam made his hazel eyes twinkle. A smirk curved his lips and he began to massage your neck. You hummed and your eyes drooped. “Husbands are for protecting you and taking care of you, right?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said slowly, eyeing him. He was up to something…

Terry flipped you around and pressed your chest against the glass shower doors. You cried out from the sudden cold on your nipples as he pushed until your titties flattened against the doors. He kicked your legs wider to spread for him and your body shivered from his casual roughness. 

“T-Terry,” you sighed. 

Terry locked your arms behind you, hooking his arm around your elbows so that you were unable to move. Terry licked the shell of your ear and you shuddered. He slipped his free hand around your throat to pull your neck back and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna make up for my bullshit,” he promised with heat laced through every syllable. 

“Terry, you don’t–”

Terry cut you off by moving his hand from your neck to his dick. He ran the tip through your dripping folds and then plunged inside with a rough thrust. “Oh shit!” You cried out, twisting your hands to try and slow him down. But because he had your arms trapped, you had no choice but to take his dick.

He angled your hips into a more comfortable position and then he slipped his hand back around your throat. He grunted with every deep thrust, filling you up, and making you take it. 

“Too much, too much,” you whined, trying to lean away from him. Terry pushed into you harder, pinning you to the door, while he continued to fuck you. Your forehead leaned on the doors and your breath fogged up the glass with your moans and sighs. 

“You can take it, baby,” he said, sinking you deeper and harder onto his length. He kissed your neck, licked and nibbled in areas, and moved upwards to your ear. “I love you so much. And I know I’ve been an ass. I haven’t been fair to you,” he whispered in your ear while he continued to dig into your guts.

You weren’t quite prepared for him to be so sweet and so nasty all at once. He gave you no time to fully hear his message or fully focus on his dick inside you so you were stuck in a twisted limbo. Suspended between absolute pleasure and your heart swelling with emotions. 

“That ends today, okay? I’ll prove that I’ll do better,” he said. He grunted and cursed under his breath. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned. 

“That’s my job as your husband. And it’s a job I take seriously,” he said. He smiled against your neck and then pulled you into a rough kiss over your shoulder. Your lips danced and played with each other as your orgasm rushed to the surface. 

You began to cry and stutter as it washed over you. Terry moaned as you squeezed around his dick. “Fuck, that’s it,” he panted into your ear. 

When you came down, Terry let your arms go. He slipped out with a grunt and stepped back. You missed the heat of him instantly. He rubbed the feeling back into your arms from having them bent back for so long. He grabbed the discarded wash cloth from the top of the shower and rinsed it out.

He lathered up with his soap and then carefully washed down your back and your ass. His finger slipped between your cheeks to tease as he washed you down and you giggled with him. 

Terry turned you around and washed down your front. Washed the cum from your chest that didn’t rinse off from the water. You smiled at each other, finding your way back with every swipe of the cloth across your titties, your tummy, and down your thighs. He ran the cloth between your legs, careful not to get soap in between, and you moaned just from having his hands on you again.

His lips on yours. His eyes seeing you again after weeks of zoning out. Hints of your husband poked through that barrier he erected and now you were let in behind the wall. You grinned at him and leaned on your toes for a kiss. 

The kiss was meant to be innocent and sweet, just something to show that you loved him. That you were there and never letting him disappear again. But Terry kissed you deeper, grabbing you about the neck once more and crushed his lips to yours. 

His tongue slipped inside and then he gently nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Terry,” you sighed. Your stomach flipped with desire. Pussy throbbing. Once wasn’t nearly enough. 

“I know,” he said. He lifted your chin and brought you in for a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss even as he maneuvered you towards the shower wall. He lifted you by the ass to wrap your legs around his hips. 

“Fuck,” you cried out. It never ceased to amaze you that he was so strong. He worked hard in the gym to take care of himself but also to lift every pound you had. He lifted without effort, without strain, and grinned when he caught the look on your face. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Terry said. He stared into your eyes as he pushed back into you. Back into your warm, wet heat and you both groaned as he pushed in slowly, all the way down to the base. 

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, clutching on for dear life. He was huge and thick. Long. He pulled back and then sank in once more, repeating this over and over to make you feel every last inch of him. Feel his mushroom head push against your soft, spongy walls welcoming him in. 

Your mouth dropped open, needing to release something. A cry, a moan, a word. Nothing came as he stroked into you, increasing with each one. Soon, he was slamming into you. His wet, loud strokes echoed in the tiled shower and your cries soon joined it. 

“You feelin’ me?” He asked. 

You nodded. You adjusted your arms around his neck and he dropped his forehead to yours. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. You locked your eyes with him and it somehow made his strokes even more intense. He throbbed inside you. 

“You feel me. Right here and now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going away again,” he moaned while he stroked. 

“Terry,” you sniffled. 

Fuck, this was all you ever wanted. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You didn’t need him to be a textbook definition of a husband. You just wanted him present and with you. Sharing his pain and his joys. Sickness and health. Better and worse. Those were the vows you swore before a room full of your close friends and family. 

“I feel you. I feel you right here,” you promised. 

Terry switched up his strokes, getting deeper than before and bottoming out. You both groaned and threw your heads back, getting lost in the sensation of him filling you up. Connecting the both of you. As close as you could possibly be to another human being. 

Terry leaned down and kissed you, playing with your lips, even as his hips slammed into you over and over. Pressure built in your belly, making your thighs quake and your arms tremble. “Terry, please, I can’t,” you begged. It was too much. It felt like you were out of control, out of your norm, unrooted. 

Terry only continued exactly what he was doing. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You can keep going,” he said. 

Your eyes swam and your vision turned blurry as you clung to him and came undone on his dick again. Your cries were loud enough to echo and bounce off of the tiled walls and ceiling, giving you a feedback loop of your own pleasure. It amplified your orgasm and you shut your eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming feeling. 

Terry kissed you all over your face, neck, and shoulders. He pumped you into you until his own hips stuttered and shot loads of thick cum into your pussy. You whined and shivered as he fucked his cum deeper and deeper. 

He slowed to a gradual stop and you stayed connected like that while you both recovered. Water still pelted the both of you and you kissed on each other, soaking up the moment. Terry leaned over and turned off the water, still holding you.

He smiled and kissed your lips. He nuzzled your nose. “Missed this,” he said.

“Me too,” you said. You kissed his cheek. 

Terry carefully stepped out of the shower with you still wrapped around him like a spider monkey. You were glad. Because now that you had him back, you weren’t ready to let him go. As if you would keep him here with you by sheer force of will. 

He moved the towel from the edge of the sink and placed you down, slipping out of you. You kissed and loved on each other while he dried the both of you off. Greedy for more, you reached between you to play with his heavy balls. 

Terry groaned and tilted his head down at you. “You sure you wanna do that?” He asked.

You continued fondling his balls, rubbing them between your fingers, and making him moan. His hips canted towards yours and you bit your lip, needing him back inside. Two orgasms weren’t enough. No number would satisfy you. 

“It’s been too long,” you pouted and looked at him. 

He chuckled and kissed you, taking possession of your poked out lip. He suckled on it and you moaned, feeling your pussy respond and ache from just this small action. 

“Get that sexy ass on our bed. Let me clean up in here and I’ll take care of that,” he said. 

You pouted again and whined but he bit your lip. “Now.” He deepened his voice and arched a perfect eyebrow at you. 

You rolled your eyes and his eyebrow lifted higher. You grinned and hopped off the sink. While being punished for your attitude would be fun, you just wanted him right now. No extras, no games. You wanted to enjoy him and enjoy his body. 

He smacked your ass as you walked out and he chuckled after you shrieked and hid your ass behind your hands. You skipped to your bedroom and laid down on your bed. Cool air blew across your damp skin but it wasn’t freezing or uncomfortable.

The temperature was just right to make you hyper aware of your body. Of the feel of your skin and the thorough fucking Terry just gave you. Your pussy was still sensitive but you couldn’t resist teasing your clit. You ran your other hand along your skin, your belly, and your titties. Squeezing your nipple between your fingers and moaning from the dual sensations. 

“Terry…” you called out, drawing out his name. If he didn’t get in here soon, you were about to take matters into your own hands. 

The afternoon sun was setting low, rich oranges and golds slanting through your curtains and casting a warm glow about your room. Most days, you hated that your place faced east and west, but on lazy days like today, it was perfect. 

Terry moved about the bathroom, you had no clue what he was doing. So you closed your eyes and continued to play with yourself. You grew wetter by the second, your mind filling in with images of Terry’s broad chest. His narrow hips. That monster he had between his legs and the unbridled pleasure he managed to provide every single time. 

God, you loved that man. In every which way you were able to get him. You didn’t have the words to convey it but you’d spend the rest of your life trying to find them. 

You moaned as your imagination took over. Replaying what happened in the shower, the look on his face, the fire in his hazel eyes. You sighed as Terry entered the room.

“Oh, you bold,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. 

You didn’t stop though. You spread your legs further and shifted on the bed so that he could get a clearer view. “All warmed up for you,” you teased. 

Terry’s eyes dropped to the core of you, at the way you held your pussy lips open. Your other hand teased around your clit in figure eights, dipping into your pussy every so often to gather up more essence. 

Terry’s tongue swiped out to lick from one side to the other. Your fingers lost their rhythm. “Keep going,” he commanded. 

You whined and started up again but you couldn’t think straight. Not with him leaning against the wall looking at you like you were a five course meal and he was a starving man. When you just couldn’t find that spot again, Terry smirked and walked closer.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You,” you said. 

Terry smirked and took his time kneeling at the edge of the bed. He grabbed your thighs and pressed his thumbs to your inner thighs, massaging them. “Fuck,” you moaned and twisted, trying to close your legs and trap his hands there.

“Naw. Open back up. That’s what you get for trying to handle it yourself,” he said. 

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” you said and smirked. Terry lifted an eyebrow but his eyes were still on your throbbing pussy. He had to see how you were clenching around nothing. Clenching and reaching for him. 

He leaned down and kissed your clit. He retreated too quickly for your blood and you whined, pushing your hips back towards his face. 

“I’m still apologizing so I won’t make you beg this time,” he said. Without further ado, he dragged his pink, juicy lips through your folds, hunting for your clit. His tongue darted out and teased, dragging the tip through your folds. His tongue was warm as it flattened against your clit and he licked.

“Fuck!” You screamed out. 

Terry smiled between your legs before getting down to business. He suckled and licked and nibbled while he feasted on your pussy. Your pussy throbbed and ached while he slurped up your essence noisily. 

“Fuck, baby. Right there,” you moaned.

Terry locked in to the spot and swirled his tongue around in tight circles. You clutched to the covers, nails digging in for dear life as you twisted and jerked. You reached down to grab onto the back of his head and push his head deeper. 

Terry placed his hands to your thighs and pinned them to the bed while he ate you out, never stopping for breath. He just ate like a man possessed until you were twitching and crying out on his tongue, reaching your climax in record time.

Terry continued to eat you out through it, whispering into your pussy how perfect and sexy you were. How much he had to make up for. Your throat was scratched raw from all the moaning you were doing, too spent to respond. To tell him that he didn’t have a damn thing to make up for. His pain was valid and he had a right to see it through, but he had to see it through. Not just disappear into his head.

None of that came through. Your vision swam as you looked at the popcorn ceiling, too blissed out to form a coherent sentence. Terry replaced the view of the ceiling, leaning down on his fists, as he smirked at you.

“Still with me?” He asked.

“Always,” you sighed. 

He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. It dipped beneath his weight, jostling you a bit. His knees pushed your legs on top of his thighs. His eyes sparkled as he slipped into you, meeting no resistance from your pussy.

“Shit,” you grunted. You pushed feebly at his chest. Not necessarily to make him stop, but fuck, you needed time to recover. Time to catch your breath. He stole the motherfucker, the least he could do was let you gain it back.

“Nothing feels better than this,” he said. He sank deeper into you, making you curl into him and squeeze his hips with your legs. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, poking your chest out for his lips to capture your nipples.

He suckled on them, going back and forth between the two, while he fucked into you lazily. Unhurried. Like he managed to pause time long enough to focus on delivering you pleasure. His eyes found yours and he smiled, his dazzling grin turning you stupid and pliant.

He groaned as he felt your body relax and he dug into you, harder, deeper, faster. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” you moaned.

“Cum with me, baby,” he said.

You whined and focused on cumming with him like he said. You could feel him throbbing inside you, close, oh so close. You panted, sweating, legs trembling, back bowing. He leaned to one side so that he could slip his free hand between your legs to play with your clit.

Your moans increased to a near panic as your orgasm came running at his beck and call. You cried out and your squeezing pussy milked him. He moaned and dropped his head as he spilled into you over and over, his body trembling from the force. 

He kissed your cheek but you otherwise laid there and enjoyed the feeling of him crushing you to the bed. Who needed oxygen anyway?

Your stomach rumbled, breaking the beautiful silence after such a powerful moment. You both laughed as it rumbled again. Terry released your hands and you covered your tummy. He pushed your hands away with his chin and then kissed your belly. 

“We’re gonna need another shower and then I need to feed my wife,” he said.

“Feed your wife or feed your wife?” You asked, waggling your eyebrows. You were spent and tired but you could find another round in you for him. Always for him. 

“Both, nasty ass,” he said. He stood up and then pulled you with him to stand as well. He gave you a sweet, tender kiss and promised over and over with both his tongue and his actions that he would become a man worthy of your love. 

The end.

I love you all. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[chleem]

Love Deception II

One shot: ceo!drew starkey x assistant!reader

Summary: In order to secure a business deal, you pose as Drew’s girlfriend at engagement party.

Genre: fake dating, slowburn, yearning, age gap (31 & 26), read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work!

⋆.˚ inspired by this tweet!

♡⸝⸝ shld this be a short series? | one

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Through the glass walls of Drew’s office, he sees you eating lunch alone. 

It was a first- staffs eat at the cafeteria, not at their desk. 

He watched for a moment longer, your eyes focused on your laptop as you ate the sad, almost tasteless-looking food. 

And as if sensing someone staring, you glance up. Drew immediately looks away, his gaze darting to his laptop home screen. 

It’s weird, awkward, and Drew hates how much he wants to invite you in. 

Loosening his tie with a quick tug, he sighs, trying to shake off the tightness that’s settled in his chest. He stands up from his desk, the decision to leave his office feeling heavier than it should. 

The moment you see his office door opening, you stop eating, looking up at him with your posture straightened. It’s as if you’ve already braced yourself for some last-minute request, a surprise meeting, or some sort of crisis.

Drew pauses in the doorway, watching your reaction. For a split second, he wonders if he should just turn back, retreat into the safety of his office. But the feeling nags at him. Something about your quiet, isolated lunch doesn’t sit right.

“There’s something I need you to look over,” he forces out the lie, “in my office.”

“Yeah- sure,” you reply, standing up. You smooth over your pencil skirt, walking over to him. 

As you pass by him, Drew catches the faintest whiff of your scent—something fresh and floral. It lingers, grounding him in the moment, and for a split second, his pulse quickens.

He’s reminded of last night, the way he had been so deeply absorbed into you. 

He swallows, trying to shake off the tension. His hand lingers at the doorframe longer than it should, almost as if trying to regain his sanity. 

You stand near his desk, and in his mind, he slightly panics about what to show you, or what to say. 

This morning, during the monthly patrols around different departments, it had already been awkward enough between the two of you. At least for Drew, since last night, his desire for you grew even more. 

Picking up the blue binder, he hands it to you. Your hands touch, and for a brief moment, there’s a jolt— enough for Drew to internally panic again. He leans against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He focuses his gaze onto the floor, waiting as you flip through the pages. 

“I checked it this morning,”

you say, confusion creeping into your voice. 

There’s a pause. Drew stiffens, the muscles in his neck tightening.

“Oh wait-“ you mumble to yourself, and Drew’s gaze flickers over to you. Your eyes squint down on one of the pages, “I typed the wrong budget.”

So there was a mistake. Huh. 

“You should check the rest,” Drew says, his voice low and almost too steady. 

He sees the way your hands curl around the binder, yet the voice that replies is awfully light, “yes, Mr Starkey.”

“Do it, in here,” Drew adds, nodding toward the small couch in the corner of his office, the one he keeps for guests.

He watches as you bend over his desk, grabbing the large stack of folders there. You then turn towards the couch, sitting down with folders on your lap. 

…what now?

Drew certainly got you to stay and accompany him, now he just needs a reason to make you eat. 

Right on cue, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Drew calls out, and the door swings open to reveal one of the staff members from the floor, holding a takeout bag.

Her eyes immediately dart over to you, and she fails to hide her surprised and slightly judgmental expression. She quickly masks it with a tight smile, “sir, your food has arrived.”

He doesn’t miss the look; instead, his expression remains neutral as he nods in your direction. Understanding, she quickly places the bag on the table, and she exits, but not before stealing another glance at you. 

Even as she walks past the office, she keeps looking through the glass walls. 

Good thing those walls are paired with smart glass technology—one press of a button and the transparency fades.

Drew hits the button without a second thought, the walls quickly turning cloudy, cutting off any further curious glances from the hallway.

Too focused on the binders, you fail to notice any of the changes. 

Drew walks over, the couch dipping under his weight as he sits down beside you. He starts unpacking the takeout, and silently thanks himself for ordering an extra Bolognese. 

As if it were second nature, he hands you the food, saying, “for you,”

He then proceeds to take the folders out of your lap, your eyes widening at his actions. 

He knows that look- you wear it during meetings, business dinners, patrols- the one where you take in everything, analyzing things in your head. It’s cute, because he knows you’re going to say something smart within a minute. 

But now, that same look makes him feel a little... off-balance. He isn’t sure what you’re thinking about this particular gesture, and suddenly, he feels the pressure of waiting for your response.

“No thanks, I have my own lunch,” you politely decline, masking a fake smile. 

You reach for the folders, but before your fingertips can even touch it, Drew shoves the fork into your hands. 

You glance up at him, only to find that he’s already digging into his own food, completely unbothered.

Okay. 

From the corner of his eye, Drew notices you start to eat as well. A small smile plays at the corner of his lips, but he quickly hides it behind a bite of his own food.

Drew watches you for a few bites, his eyes lingering on the way you eat, but he can tell right away that something’s off. The way you’re picking at your food, clearly distracted. It’s enough to make him feel a little self-conscious.

He shifts in his seat, causing his knee to bump against yours. It’s a subtle touch, and when he sees that you don’t notice it, he leaves it there. 

His fingers tap on the edge of his takeout container as he clears his throat, “something wrong?”

It must’ve came out rougher than expected, because you flinch slightly, your shoulders tensing. “No- no, it’s fine, delicious,” you emphasis on the word, forcefully stuffing a meatball into your mouth. 

You smile at him while chewing, not at all convincing. 

Drew’s tongue presses against his cheek, eyes narrowing slightly as he observes you. “…I thought we promised not to lie to each other.”

He brings up one of your first conversations, the one where you both agreed on full transparency. It was partly because of the dynamic—he was your boss, and you were his assistant—but also because he’d been genuinely curious about what was on your mind. 

It turned out to be useful last night, too, when you played the role of his fake girlfriend. You had your doubts, ones you voiced aloud, and he had listened—responding with just enough assurance to make you go along with it.

Your eyes bounce between his food to yours, slowly swallowing the one in your mouth. 

After a few seconds, you say, “everyone thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

Your head is tilted down, eyes looking up at him, almost sparkling, completely at odds with the flushed tone in your voice.

Drew’s heart misses a beat at the look, his breath catching for just a moment.

“…and they look at me like I’m the enemy.”

Oh. Is that why you ate alone? 

He’s also reminded of the fact that it was one of the things you worried about before being his fake girlfriend. Of being excluded and looked at differently by your co-workers. 

Shit. Now he feels like a total dickhead. 

“But, I agreed to be your girlfriend, so it’s fine,” your voice almost too calm, as if trying to convince both him and yourself.

Just as Drew opens his mouth, ready to apologize, you cut him off with a shift in tone.

“Oh, the Harringtons contacted,” you say, completely changing the subject. Your body shifts, leaning closer to him, your knee now brushing against the side of his thigh.

Drew nods, barely pausing his chewing. But then you add a crucial detail that makes him slow down, his fork halting mid-air.

“At their new house. Just, the four of us.”

His grip on the fork tightens for a moment, and his gaze flickers from the plate to you, a mix of curiosity and something else. "Just us?" he repeats, a little too casually.

“Yeah- but I wasn’t sure if you wanted that, so I said I’d have to check-“

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate to play-pretend with you again. “Add it into my schedule.”

“It’s tomorrow night,” your voice dropping to a hushed tone, like it would be a secret if you said it any louder.

“You got something planned?” 

A flicker of surprise flashes on your face, before you quickly shake your head. 

He sees the pink blush painted on your cheeks, the corner of your lips curling, “no, nothing,” you murmur, your fork stabbing around the Bolognese again, “I’ll add it to your schedule.” 

Are you shy? Or just reluctant to decline his request? 

Drew isn’t sure, but the flutter in his chest is undeniable.

Despite being your boss, the professional distance he should maintain, he realizes something: his little crush on you might just be growing, maybe even flourishing. The idea of spending more time like this—pretending, playing along—only makes it worse.

He catches himself, quickly returning to his meal to cover up the sudden heat creeping up his neck. 

But his thoughts don’t wander too far from you.

——

Harrington residence, 7.05PM. 

Drew presses the doorbell, standing closely beside you on the front porch.

The dim light from the overhead fixture casts a soft glow, illuminating your features. As you step out of the dark car, he notices the light makeup you’ve carefully applied.

Drew tries not to stare, but the effect is hard to ignore. 

You’re beautiful, and it physically pains him that he can’t say that to you. 

The door opens after a couple of seconds, and it’s Mr Harrington with a bright smile on his face. 

“Starkey! Hey,” Mr Harrington pulls Drew into a hug, catching him off-guard. 

Drew stiffens for a moment, but then hugs back, his arms reluctantly wrapping around Mr Harrington in a quick, half-hearted embrace.

He pulls away just as quickly, flashing a polite smile. “Good to see you, Harrington,” Drew says, trying to brush off the awkwardness that lingers from the surprise hug. His eyes flicker over to you, curious if you're as caught off guard as he was.

You are, because you’re pulled into a half-hug too. 

“Y/n,” Mr Harrington greets, “you guys can call me James,”

First name basis with clients/partners means that this business deal is definitely happening. 

“Come in, come in,” James says, moving away from the doorway. 

Drew’s hand lingers over your waist for just a moment, guiding you through the door before following in behind you. The warmth of the house immediately surrounds him, and he takes in the cozy atmosphere—a soft blend of modern comfort and lived-in charm.

It’s not what Drew expected from a high-profile client, but then again, James and his wife always had a down-to-earth vibe. The living room is cozy, bathed in warm light and tasteful décor that feels more like a home than a showcase.

“Coats here,” James points over to the coat rack just by the door, “dinner’s almost ready, you two can wait by the living room.”

“We’d love to help,” you immediately offer, shrugging off your overcoat. 

Drew’s eyes land on your outfit, a long-sleeved turtleneck dress, that hugs your figure in all the right places. 

His gaze lingers, before he quickly averts his attention, focusing on taking his own coat off. His hands reach for your coat, hanging it up for you. A murmured ‘thanks’ leaves your lips as you await James’ answer. 

“Nonsense, you’re the guests,” James says, “living room’s that way.”

With that, he leaves to the kitchen, leaving just you and Drew. 

“Should we…?” You awkwardly ask, cocking your head over to the living room. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Drew chuckles, the sound coming out throaty. 

The two of you walk side by side, and once inside, you both sit down on the large, plush couch.

Drew leans back, spreading his legs comfortably. You, on the other hand, sit up straighter, crossing your legs at the ankle, your posture a bit more reserved.

And because it felt right, Drew casually drapes his arm over the back of the couch, his hand hovering just inches away from your shoulders. 

“You nervous?” Drew asks, his voice low, almost teasing, though his eyes stay focused on you, observing for any sign of discomfort. 

But he knows you too well; professionalism at best. You wouldn’t let tension show, even if it’s thick enough to feel. 

“Just wondering…” your eyes stay glued to the huge fireplace in the living room, “if it’s real.”

A soft laugh escapes him, finding it amusing how it’s your first thought upon entering. “What?”

“I mean, you have a fake one,” you say, before turning your head to him. 

You’ve got a small smile on your face, one that’s shy yet teasing. Drew's lips twitch, fighting a smile of his own as he catches the hint of mischief in your eyes.

“So you a fireplace enthusiastic now?”

“Yes, you see this badge right here?” You press lightly on your right boob, making Drew’s eyes land on the imaginary badge. 

You then laugh at your own lame joke, the sound light and playful, and for a moment, it fills the space between you. Drew can’t help but grin, his heart fluttering at how natural this feels, like two friends hanging out, no titles, no power dynamics—just comfortable.

He likes the feeling. 

He likes it very much.  

He likes you. 

Very much. 

Your laughter dies down, and then, you finally lean back onto the couch with Drew. You’re closer to him than expected, your knees touching his again. 

Staring at your side profile, the words leave his mouth before he even processes them: “You’re beautiful.”

Fuck. 

The words hang in the air for a moment. Drew immediately feels the heat rise in his chest, his pulse quickening. 

You’re suppose to keep that to yourself, idiot. 

Then, slowly, your eyes catches his, a flicker of surprise, then, turning into something casual, as if brushing the compliment off. 

“Thanks,” you say, your voice coming out more hushed, “tried something new with the makeup.”

It’s not the makeup; it’s you. 

This time, Drew’s able to keep that comment to himself. 

“Looks great,” he murmurs, and feeling the weight of the eye contact, he looks down at his lap. 

After a few seconds, unable to bear with the silence, you add on, “learned from my niece.”

Drew raises an eyebrow at your direction, and you say more explicitly, “my niece is fourteen, and she knows way more than me.”

“Really?” Drew asks, tone laced with amusement and curiosity. 

He knows you have a niece. And a nephew. Both twins. 

He’s not supposed to know this much about your personal life. But he remembers when you mentioned your niece and nephew once a long time ago, the way your eyes softened when you talked about them.

He knows a lot more than he should, but it's not like he’s snooping. He just… pays attention.

It’s not creepy, right?

“This winged eyeliner?” You point to your eyes, “she did this.”

“Impressive,” he nods, a small smirk on his lips. 

He gets ready to ask more, to say more, when Mrs Harrington walks in, informing that dinner was ready. 

Drew stands up, and as you rise to follow Mrs. Harrington, your body brushing past him, Drew catches that familiar scent again—the floral, fresh fragrance. 

Nothing to clench against to this time, so his hands ball into fists, fingers digging into his palms, trying to suppress the sudden wave of heat flooding his chest.

“After you,” he says, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You flash him a smile, one that’s completely innocent, like you’re unaware of the effect you’re having on him. 

He forces himself to move, following you into the dining room, but it’s harder to ignore the way his pulse races with each step closer to you.

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

word count: 2.7k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i love writing in drew's pov...bc he's just down bad for me

seriously tho...if you guys like it, i can make it into a series. anyways, hope you liked this! imo, i prefer writing slow burning angst and tension scenes, rather than smut...idk, just something about it makes me blush.

a little tmi, but my drafts currently rest with casual extra III, and not a big deal final so be patient with me! my progress is slow, but trust- i only do it to deliver the best for you.

unofficial taglist aka the ppl that supported me to write another part (ily: @ecstqzy @drewwhor @melvigaristaa @wheeniemyloove

[muletia]

Ratchet is the type of bot who when asked "would you still love me if I were a worm?" would respond with "no" in the most indignant and irritated tone, only to immediately start explaining how he’d take care of you anyway <3

“Ratchet?” you ask, staring at the medic as he reads a report at his workstation.

“What?” he sighs. “I’m busy,” he adds, though he tilts his helm slightly in your direction, making it clear that you have his full attention.

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” you fire the question.

The writing stops. And although you can’t see his full faceplate, you can make out the emerging grimace of irritation.

“What kind of stupid question is that?!” he bursts out. He turns to face you, gesturing wildly. “No? Do you have any idea how much time I’d have to spend educating myself about such primitive organisms? How many hours I’d need to ensure you had the proper living conditions? I already have my hands full as it is.”

You’re convinced that he’s finished his rant and given you a clear answer, but before you can open your mouth, Ratchet adds:

“And how do you even imagine functioning, hmm? The probability of someone stepping on you would be practically certain. I’d have to keep you with me constantly to make sure you didn’t end up dead, and that’s just what I need. A worm crawling all over my keyboard, and having to warn everyone to watch out for you. No, absolutely not.”

The tension fades when he notices your smile. Ratchet falters, now realizing he’s fallen into your trap.

“Ugh, don’t talk to me for the rest of the day.”

“I’d still love you if you turned into a worm too.”

He turns away from you, but it’s not enough to hide the growing blue blush blooming across his faceplate.

[knife-enby]

Image ID: a comment from user figgypuddings reading: Adding on to the plan B point: MAKE SURE YOU READ THE WEIGHT REQUIREMENTS. Plan B is made for people under 160lbs and shows to be less effective if over this limit. There is an alternative called Ella for us plus sized folks which you can also still access online rn /end ID Description Writer's Note: in this version of the post, OP's original post is edited to include the information this commenter added. you can copy and paste this image description in any other reblog if you do not want the rest of my post commentary.

compilation of additional points from the notes:

if you have pride stickers on your car, backpack, etc. and do not feel like you will be safe in your community these next 4 years, go scrape them off now

keep asserting (to yourself and your allies) facts about the situation which are likely to be skewed by propaganda. look for information from sources you trust and find reliable

be cautious, but build community. find people you CAN trust. we cannot hunker down and be isolated -- they want us to be isolated. safety in numbers. love is necessary to grow

in addition to "abortion", don't say someone had a "miscarriage", either. several people in the notes are suggesting this may also be dangerous for the person's safety

surviving is the most important thing you can do right now. stay alive, by any means necessary.

lastly, i'd like to add some thoughts of my own:

if one is cruel and wants power, one of the most important things they must do to achieve it is break the people they want to control down. physically, emotionally, spiritually. exhausted people are easy to control; desperate people are easy to direct. things are rough right now, and lashing out is often much, much easier than any of us would like to admit. it is vital to our survival that all of us find joy, ways to unwind, victories in our personal life, and tangible forms of good. otherwise, we become susceptible to despair.

if you start feeling restless and agitated from looking at the news, you need to step away from the news and find something materially good you can do in your community. you can't make the news stop happening, but you can volunteer at a shelter for a weekend. you can go pick up trash by the lake. do something, anything with your body that makes you feel like you're capable of making a change. the news will paralyze you and then slowly kill you. social media and doomscrolling will, too. talk to someone. breathe. go to a library. do anything other than succumb to helplessness and hopelessness.

things can be okay again. i believe that genuinely. we'll get through this together, you and me.

reminders for today:

if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.

if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.

if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.

mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.

if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.

if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.

if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.

your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.

did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.

in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.

this is all i can think of at the moment, but i’ll be adding on to this as the day continues.

we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.

[dijayeah]

"You don’t trust me, do you? Let me show you how deeply I can care." //

– An argument after a dangerous mission leads to an intense reconciliation.

🔞NSFW CONTENT MDNI🔞 🐦‍⬛word count: 3.3k 🐦‍⬛synopsis: Sylus has had enough of your reckless decisions, but his frustration spirals into something far more heated, be it for the better or the worse. 🐦‍⬛contains: fem!reader x Sylus, rough sex, evol manipulation (energy attraction/detraction), possessive Sylus, biting/marking, praise-(soft) degradation kink, overstimulation, slight angst, masochistic reader, teasing, edging, intense orgasms, breeding kink undertones (but no pregnancy), aftercare, possessive but tender dynamic, the usual. 🐦‍⬛please consider following me for more similar content! 🐦‍⬛read on ao3.

The silence between you was suffocating, punctuated only by the low hum of the sleek car as it glided over the uneven terrain in the middle of nowhere. You were still catching your breath from the mission—the adrenaline crash, the heat of danger still clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Sylus sat rigid in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rested on his muscled thigh. His jaw was tight, the sharp line of his profile illuminated by the faint blue glow of the console. You knew he was upset—not at the mission’s success, but at you. For what felt like the hundredth time, his gaze flicked to you, smoldering, questioning, disappointed.

“You could’ve been killed back there,” he finally said, his voice low but cutting. “Do you have a death wish, or were you just trying to piss me off going after that wanderer?”

You bristled, turning to glare at him. “I knew what I was doing, Sylus. I didn’t need you swooping in like I’m some rookie hunter who can’t handle herself.”

“Handle herself?” He snorted, bitter and sharp. “You jumped into an unstable tunnel with no backup and barely made it out with that core. If I hadn’t been there—”

“But you were there,” you snapped, cutting him off, just as pissed off. “You always are. So why the hell are you so mad? You act as if you don't understand the kind of job I do, we do.”

He didn’t answer right away, the tension in the rover thickened like heavy smoke, and it made your throat scratchy. His large hand tightened on the wheel, knuckles pale.

“You don’t trust me,” he said finally, the words quiet but laced with something raw, emotional even. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to have your back, so you go and risk everything like it doesn’t matter if you make it out or not.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, though even as you said it, you heard the hesitation in your own voice.

Sylus laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me, kitten. I see it every time you look at me like you’re waiting for me to let you down. Like I’m one bad call away from screwing everything up for you. Well, I’ve got news: I’ve had your back from day one, even when you didn’t want it. Do you not trust me just because I'm in charge of Onychinus?”

The heat in his words matched the fire sparking in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how much you care? That’s the problem, Sylus! You care too much, and one of these days, it’s going to get you killed, be it your fucking organization or whatever this is.”

The car jerked to a stop, tires grinding against the dirt. You lurched forward slightly, the sudden halt making your breath catch. When you looked at him, his crimson eyes were burning, molten with something that made your pulse quicken.

“Maybe I care too much,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to push me away.”

Before you could respond, he leaned over, his big hand curling around your small chin, forcing you to meet his sharp red gaze. The air between you crackled, the thin veil of restraint he’d clung to snapping like a frayed tether.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” His thumb brushed against your jaw, rough and unyielding. “Let me show you how deeply I can care.”

The words hit you like a shockwave, stealing the air from your lungs. His lips crashed against yours, hungry, demanding, as if he were trying to pour every unsaid word, every bottled emotion, into that kiss. Your body reacted instinctively, your hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer.

It spiraled from there—his mouth trailing fire down your neck, his hands claiming your body like he was trying to prove a point, to you, to him, it didn't matter.

At some point, he shifted, unbuckling your belt as well as his, pulling you into his lap. The cramped space of the rover was suddenly irrelevant, every thought drowned out by the heat of him, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this reality.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough against your ear. “Say you trust me.”

You glared at him, defiant even as your body melted under his touch. “You’re such a smug bastard.”

“And you love it,” The silver-haired man shot back, his lips curling into a crooked smirk that was all teeth and arrogance. His hips bucked up sharply, driving a gasp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, kitten. Every time you glare at me, every time you fight me—you just want me to put you in your place.”

His words made your chest tighten, your breath catching as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He wasn’t wrong. The way he moved, the way he talked, how he always had to have the last word—it drove you insane. And yet here you were, rolling your hips against his large bulge like you couldn’t get enough of it, of him. God, you needed to fuck this man.

“You’re full of yourself,” you managed to gasp, though the edge in your voice was dulled by the pleasure building with every movement.

The leader of Onychinus chuckled, the sound dark and low as he leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe. But you’re the one writhing on top of me, sweetie.”

You wanted to retort, to say something sharp that would wipe the smug look off his face, but the words dissolved into a moan as his hand slid down, pushing your shirt up just enough to expose the curve of your waist. His fingers traced the line of your skin before gripping your hips again, guiding you as you moved on him.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his crimson eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a mix of hunger and frustration. “Always running off, always pushing me away—but look at you now, going nearly all pliant on me just because of my cock.”

He thrust up into you, sharp and deliberate, and you cried out, your body arching against him. His hands roamed higher, slipping beneath your shirt to splay against your arched back, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “Say you trust me.”

You bit your lip, defiance flickering in your gaze even as your body betrayed you, moving in perfect rhythm with his. “I—” Your words caught in your throat as his hand slid down, his thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs, through your tight pants.

“Hm, what was that, kitten?” he teased, his smirk widening as he worked you with practiced ease. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Fuck, Sylus,” you gasped, your head falling against his shoulder as your nails raked down his muscled arms, through the dark shirt he wore. “I trust you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice raw with emotion now, the teasing edge giving way to something deeper. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising and desperate, and you felt the tension between you snap like a tightly drawn wire. 

Sylus undressing her, teasing her with the tip of his cock, and stretching her out with his fingers first, all while keeping his sharp, in-character tone.

Sylus’s lips left yours, a string of spit still connecting you as he pulled back, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with intent. His hands roamed your body with an almost infuriating slowness, tracing every curve, every soft dip of your skin, like he was memorizing you.

“Shirt first,” he murmured, his voice low, like gravel dragged over silk. His long fingers moved to the fabric clinging to your chest, undoing each button with painstaking precision. “It’s in the way.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling between your thighs further as he peeled the shirt off your shoulders, his gaze darkening when the fabric fell to your waist. He let his thumb graze over the light lace of your bra, smirking when you shivered.

“Pretty,” he muttered, his tone soft but tinged with something sharper. “Bet you wore this for me, didn’t you, kitten?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could form a single word, his hands slid beneath the fragile straps, tugging the garment down until your tits spilled free. His gaze devoured you, and he let out a low hum of approval before leaning in, his mouth brushing over your collarbone.

“Better,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower. His large hands cupped your breasts, thumbs grazing over your perked-up nipples as he took one into his mouth, sucking softly. The warm, wet drag of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your needy core, your nails scraping against his shoulders in response.

“Sylus,” you gasped, your voice breathy and strained as you rocked against him, desperate for more.

“Patience,” he drawled, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His hands moved to your waistband, unfastening your pants with the same deliberate slowness that made you want to scream. “I’m going to take my time with you. Can’t have you breaking on me too fast.”

He tugged your pants down, dragging the fabric over your thighs with a roughness that sent a shiver through you as you helped him to get rid of them. His hands lingered on the bare skin he revealed, his fingers tracing patterns that made your breath hitch in ways only he was allowed to witness. When he finally stripped you completely, his gaze raked over you with such intensity that it felt like he was laying you bare in more ways than one.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he shifted beneath you. His own pants were next, the tailored fabric sliding down to reveal thick, muscular thighs and his cock—long, heavy, and already leaking at the pretty tip. You stared, glossed lips agape, and he noticed, his smirk widening as he wrapped a hand around his length.

“I take it you like what you see, hm?” he asked, his tone teasing as he stroked himself slowly, spreading the precum along his length. “Bet you’re already imagining how good it’s going to feel. But not yet.”

Before you could respond, his hand moved to your thigh, spreading you open further on his lap. His fingers trailed up your inner thigh, pausing just before they reached your slick heat over your panties. He let out a low chuckle at the way you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Needy little thing,” he murmured, his tone laced with pure amusement as he pushed your underwear aside. His rough thumb slid through your folds, gathering your arousal and circling your clit with infuriating precision. “Look at you. Pretty fat pussy so wet already. And I haven’t even started.”

You whimpered, your hips jerking against his hand, but he held you down easily with his free arm. He slid one finger inside you, his crimson gaze locked on your face as he curled it just right, making your breath hitch.

“Relax, sweetie,” he muttered, adding a second finger and stretching you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “You can take it. You’re going to have to, if you want this.”

His other hand fell away from your body, wrapping around his cock once more, this time tighter, the tip glistening as he dragged it through your messy folds, mesmerized. The teasing friction made your body ache, your thighs trembling as he tapped the head of his cock against your clit, smearing your sticky glistening arousal over himself.

“See that?” he murmured, his voice dark and low as he watched the way his cock slid against you, slick and obscene. “All of this? That’s mine now. Don’t forget it.”

You moaned, your nails digging into his forearms as he continued to tease you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance near his fingers before sliding back up to circle your clit again. “Sylus, please—”

“Not until you’re ready,” he cut you off, his fingers thrusting deeper, stretching you until your body softened beneath him. “And when you are, you’ll beg me for it.”

His teasing smirk was still in place as he finally pulled his fingers away then, positioning himself at your entrance. He paused, his crimson gaze locking with yours. “Gonna beg, or no?”

“I want it,” you breathed, your voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Sylus. Please.”

The smirk softened into something deeper, more dangerous, as he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making you gasp as he filled you completely. He hissed low in his throat, his head falling forward against yours as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his breath hot against your lips. “You feel even better than I imagined.”

“You asked for it,” he growled, his voice rough and strained as he thrust into you, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the cramped space of the car. “Begged for it, actually. So take it.”

His hands gripped your hips with bruising intensity, guiding your movements as you writhed on top of him. Each snap of his hips forced you to take him deeper, harder, the stretch and friction igniting every nerve in your body. Your cries filled the vehicle, but the leader of Onychinus wasn’t satisfied—not yet.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his crimson gaze flicking to where you were joined. “Such a pretty little thing, grinding on me. But I can make you feel even better.”

A faint shimmer of red pulsed from his right eye, and you felt it—an invisible pull, like his hands were everywhere at once. Your body jolted as his Evol flared, the sensation of his energy manipulating the space around you adding an electrifying layer to the way he moved inside you. You gasped as you were pulled downward with more force, his cock driving even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur.

“Fuck,” you choked out, your hands bracing against his chest, your nails raking over the taut muscle there. “Sylus—what the hell are you—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His right eye glowed brighter, the crimson shimmer swirling like molten fire. “Just making it easier for you to bounce on my cock, sweetie. Thought you wanted it rough? Or do you want it soft? Are you trying to be hard to please?”

The pull of his Evol guided your hips, lifting and dropping you in perfect rhythm with his own thrusts. It was relentless, merciless, and utterly intoxicating. Each time you were forced down, his cock filled you completely, the pressure making your head spin. Your walls clenched around him, and his growl deepened, low and feral. The car was filled with obscene squelching sounds as you both listened to them.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. “That’s all me, kitten. Every inch of you is mine right now.”

Your thighs trembled as his energy pulsed again, the invisible force amplifying the intensity of every movement. It was overwhelming in the best way, your body arching against his as your cries turned into desperate moans. You clawed at his crumpled black shirt, yanking it open further to expose more of his pale skin.

“God, Sylus,” you gasped, leaning forward to kiss along his neck, your teeth grazing the sharp line of his jaw. “S-so close—”

The crimson shimmer flickered across your body now, the heat of his energy wrapping around you like an extension of him. Every nerve in your body felt alive, hyper-sensitive to his touch, the drag of his cock, the sharp edge of his teeth as he bit down on your shoulder in response.

The bite sent a jolt of pain that melted into goosebumps, your nails digging deeper into his chest as your body instinctively arched into his even more, if that was possible. Sylus growled against your skin, his teeth leaving faint indentations before he soothed the mark with his tongue softly, a possessive gesture that made your breath catch.

“Fuck, I can feel you trembling,” he muttered, his voice thick and gravelly, the faint glow in his eye flaring brighter. His hips snapped up harder, the relentless rhythm of his Evol working with him, pushing you closer to the edge. “You gonna break for me, kitten? Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”

You whimpered in response, your mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. The heat of his energy, the rough drag of his girthy dick, the way his voice curled around your ears like a command—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Say it,” The leader of the Onychinus demanded, his hands gripping your plush ass now, the force of his thrusts slamming you down onto him as his Evol guided the motion. The shimmering red energy flickered along your skin where the two of you were connected, a physical manifestation of his control, and the sight of it made your walls flutter around him. “Say who’s fucking you this good.”

“You,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the coil in your core tightened to the point of snapping. “It’s you, Sylus. Only you.”

“Good,” he growled, his grin sharp and dangerous. “And this pretty little pussy? Mine. All mine.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body tightening around him in a vicious grip as your orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Your vision blurred, and you cried out his name, your nails leaving deep scratches on his chest as you rode out the waves of pleasure. Sylus groaned at the way you clenched around him, his thrusts turning erratic as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his head falling back against the seat as he drove into you one last time, his cock buried to the hilt as he came. His warmth filled you, hot, thick, and overwhelming, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he spilled his cum into you.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sounds the ragged breaths you both struggled to catch. Sylus’s hands softened their hold on you, sliding up to your waist as the crimson shimmer of his Evol faded into nothingness. His other hand brushed the sweat off your brow, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” he muttered, though his tone was softer now, almost fond. His fingers traced lazy circles against your skin as he leaned back to look at you, his smirk returning as his crimson eyes met yours. “A pretty one, though. I’ll give you that.”

You let out a breathless laugh, leaning forward to press a peck to his jaw. “You’re one to talk,” you murmured, your voice still shaky as you settled against his chest. “Look at you. All smug and yet ruined just as much. I wonder what Luke and Kieran would have to say if they saw their boss like this?”

His smirk widened, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. “Ruined, huh?” he repeated, his voice low and teasing. “Sweetie, from what I believe we’re just getting started.”

[cherrysolo]

I knew it, I know you.

yall have asked for a longer fic of this request, so here you go <3 instances where the reader comforts lu because of his back pain.

warnings: a wee bit of smut maybe angst too

you had been dating luigi for a couple of years now, you knew him better than anyone else. you knew all of his behaviours, every time he was frustrated and had a pout on his face, or when he would use his hands to talk during arguments. you could read him like a book, which was handy when he didn’t want to communicate. especially after having a rough time with back pain and surgery complications, you wanted to be the best partner you could be.

for instance, you guys were hiking together in hawaii, and halfway through the hike you could tell the mood completely changed. every couple of steps, lu would kind of stretch his back, or even let out a groan. it was obvious he was struggling, “baby is everything okay?” you questioned quietly, not sure how to approach this. “all good,” giving you a shy smile. you could tell he was in pain, but trying to pull through. you guys have been wanting to do this trail for months but never found time, until today. “why don’t we just go home and rest, it’s getting kind of hot out here anyways,” you suggest trying not to pry. you were already breaking a sweat and luigi was shirtless, so maybe this was a good excuse to leave. you wanted to take care of him but not baby him either. “but we made it this far, why give up now?” he snaps back. “yeah, but you’re in pain, let’s go, if we don’t stop now you’ll regret it later,” you snap right back because you want him to take care of himself, and sometimes that includes rest. “I’ll be fine,” you give him a look, raising your eyebrows. “fine, let’s go, it won’t change anything though,” he sighs grabbing your hand to walk back to the car. “I know you’re pissed at me lu, but you need to take care of yourself. I worry about you,” pleading with him to understand your side. he squeezes your hand, knowing that he does care what you say. “thank you, baby, I know you care, sometimes I do push myself too much,” he leans over to kiss your forehead. you two end up cuddling on the couch for the rest of the evening, sometimes rest is not a bad thing.

another time is when you two are intimate, it can complicate how a night can play out. communication is everything to you guys when you’re together. sometimes you could tell instantly from the way luigi moves or his face twitches that his back is starting to bother him. you always motion for him to lay back and you take charge. straddling him and grinding your hips onto him. “hmmm why don’t I take care of you lu?” you smirk down to him. lowering yourself onto him, he groans out as if it’s a sense of relief. his hands immediately fall onto your hips, gripping onto you as you bounce up and down. “you’re such a good girl, taking care of me like this,” he’d moan out. attacking your neck with kisses, pleasure taking over the room. as you guys both reach your peak, a sense of gratitude fills luigi’s heart. even though you’re showing love (literally) switching up positions or doing things for lu’s comfort makes his heart swell.

the most common thing is showing small gestures of pda. if it’s small back rubs in public, lingering kisses of comfort, or just simple whispers of “are you okay?”. you’d hug lu from behind, and ask him how his back is feeling, if he needed any ibuprofen, or wanted to go home. you were scared of overbearing him, but your affection and worry made him feel loved. he loved the way you always looked out for him even in simple situations. after a long night out, or a workout that didn’t help, you’d give him a massage or cuddle with him to relax. it was just the little gestures that meant the most. you just wanted him to be happy and healthy, without the worry of his back pain.

[zerocoded]

summary: headcannons of what caleb is like in bed.

authors note: help me i need him chronically. this is my opinion babes! i can't shut my brain off when it comes to him anymore. waiting for the 22nd to come is like waiting for my husband get back from war. everything here is what i read about his character so far, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: nsfw content • minors dni • SMUT • talks about size kink, teasing, fingering with his prosthetic bla bla, idk what else. A LOT. • this is basically word vomit, i'm sorry.

word count: 1.2k

caleb might be more conscious of his touch, especially with his bionic arm, carefully adjusting his strength to ensure comfort and gentleness.

i KNOW bro can’t keep his grunts down, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

he wants to consume you entirely, like occupy your every thought and feeling when getting intimate with you.

he’s a sucker for your reactions, so attentive to the point it makes you shy.

ALSO he’s so big—like everything about him is just massive. we know that already, right? sometimes HE forgets.

i just got a feeling that caleb's bed is enormous, like king-size for real, made for someone his size. like BIG BIG. because he's a big boy.

he kind of doesn’t fully grasp how strong he is or how big he is compared to you, like the first time he closed his hands around your throat, he gave you whiplash.

everything in his apartment is set high to accommodate him, and you struggle with it constantly.

his frame completely consumes you, overwhelming but in a way that feels safe.

one time, tara walked in on the two of you mid-moment, she was sleeping on your apartment for some reason and caleb came from the farspace fleet really missing you. she asked caleb where you were, and he just casually said "here," while tara bolted out, flustered beyond belief when she realized what was going on.

you were literally UNDER him and to anyone passing, it looked like he was alone lol.

you two have little banter all the time, thanks to growing up together as childhood friends.

tell me i'm not getting too ahead of time, but i gotta say this. when you’re pregnant, caleb has this habit of saying “shush, i’m talking to the baby” every time he rests his head on your belly.

THAT'S SO CUTE, RIGHT? URGH.

he loves being in control – not in a domineering way, but because he wants to make sure you feel completely taken care of. he’s meticulous, learning what you like and pushing those boundaries just enough to drive you wild.

his size is an obsession for him – he’s hyperaware of how much bigger he is compared to you, and he uses it to his advantage. holding your wrists in one hand, pinning you beneath him, or just the way his body completely overshadows yours—it gets him going every time.

he’s vocal, but only for you – low grunts, whispered praise, and occasionally losing control with a deep growl when you hit just the right spot. but he’s also hyperaware of how you react, loving every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips.

a possessive streak – he doesn’t say it outright, but the way his hands grip your hips or how he marks your skin with kisses is all about claiming you. his touch lingers, even when you’re just walking around afterward.

obsessed with eye contact – he insists you look at him, especially in your most vulnerable moments. “keep your eyes on me,” he murmurs, his gaze locking you in place as if the world outside the two of you doesn’t exist.

an absolute tease – he loves winding you up, taking his time until you’re begging him to stop playing around. slow kisses down your neck, feather-light touches that leave you trembling—he knows exactly what he’s doing.

his hands – they’re huge and rough, but his touch is incredibly gentle when he wants it to be. he loves how your body reacts to the contrast, and he uses it to his full advantage, whether he’s tracing your spine or gripping your thighs.

THE BIONIC ARM? OH MY GAWD.

he really hates the fact that he can't feel you - at all. but his prosthetic can come in handy sometimes 😏

he could use his arm’s advanced capabilities, like adjustable pressure or vibration, to focus on your pleasure, experimenting with new sensations. GUYS I HAD TO SAY IT.

i just know he teases you gliding the cool metal over warm, flushed skin and eliciting shivers of delight.

not him using it like your own personal vibrator. turning on subtle vibrations during a kiss or when he's fingering you.

he LOVES to explore areas like the neck, back, or thighs, using varying pressures to heighten your sensitivity.

aftercare king – he’s all about making sure you feel safe and comfortable afterward.

he’s a little shy about certain things – despite his confidence, there are moments when he feels self-conscious, like when you run your fingers along the scars on his body. but your touch soothes him, and he grows to crave the intimacy of being vulnerable with you. again, his prothetic can become a insecurity of him on these times.

unexpectedly playful – he likes to keep things fun, especially when the mood is light. sneaky touches, biting your ear just to hear you squeak, or pulling you onto his lap when you least expect it.

easily undone by you taking control – as much as he loves being in charge, when you take the lead, he absolutely melts. seeing you confident and assertive makes him lose every ounce of his composure. I JUST KNOW HE LOVES IT.

praise kink on both sides – he loves telling you how good you’re being, how beautiful you are, and how perfect you feel. but he’s also weak for your praise—if you tell him how much you want him or how amazing he’s making you feel, it’s game over.

a sucker for your scent – burying his face in your neck or your hair is his favorite thing. he associates your scent with safety and home, and it’s an instant comfort for him, even when things heat up. i just know he missed you so much while he was gone.

light experimentation – he’s always willing to try new things if it means making you happy. he might be cautious at first, but your enthusiasm has a way of bringing out his adventurous side.

he’s an absolute wreck for soft moments – when you’re tender and loving, gently tracing his features or whispering sweet things, it undoes him completely. he’s all about intensity, but those quiet, intimate moments leave him weak in the knees.

he’s competitive – if you ever tease him or play hard to get, he rises to the challenge, determined to win you over every single time. and when he does, he’ll make sure you know it.

obsessed with your reactions – he watches your every move, cataloging the way your body arches, the sounds you make, and the way your breath catches. nothing escapes his attention, and he uses that knowledge to drive you to the brink.

neck kisses – his favorite spot to tease and mark. he loves the way you shiver when his lips brush over that sensitive spot just below your ear.

secretly loves when you’re a little rough – tugging on his hair, biting his shoulder, or leaving marks on his skin? he thrives on the proof of how much you want him. it’s like a badge of honor for him.

he’s insanely attentive to detail – he remembers everything you like, from the way you gasp when he kisses your collarbone to how your breathing changes when you’re close. he uses that knowledge to make sure you’re always completely satisfied.

i need to write about him loving us ASAP, bye.

author's note: i came up with these while trying to write for caleb's love language (the thrid chapter) and i thought i could use it as a solo post hehe. see you guys next! send me a request • my masterpost

[thebreakfastgenie]

I think this undersells how interesting and fucked up Wilson is as a person. Wilson's chronic cheating is heavily implied to be because he's a compulsive fixer and people pleaser. He doesn't cheat because sex makes him feel good, he cheats because making other people people feel good makes him feel good. This is very compatible with reading him as gay and closeted, because he's not really attracted to the women as people, he's attracted to their neediness, and what he's getting out of the affairs isn't sex, it's being needed. The affair we see doesn't happen while he's married, but it crosses an even worse boundary--he starts living with a terminal patient. He tells House how it started with buying her groceries. Wilson is caring and considerate. The same traits that make him a "good" husband make him cheat, we hear about that from his ex-wife Bonnie, too. The same traits that attract his wives to him draw him away from them when someone needier comes along. I don't think Wilson is looking for a spark so much as constantly trying to satiate his need to be needed.

And House is the ultimate mistress, because House never stops being needy. Really the heart of the show is that House is endlessly needy and Wilson thrives on neediness. In a toxic codependent way, they're soulmates. That's what the blood type metaphor is about (also gay sex, it's a triple entendre). But they kind of balance each other out.

I guess what we're saying isn't really that different, I just think being closeted is kind of perpendicular to Wilson's issues, not the main drive of his behavior. He's a really interesting deconstruction of the societal script for a good guy, but House is the only one who ever calls him on it.

have i said anythign yet about how in my opinion wilson’s chronic cheating is due to the fact that he can’t accept that he’s a closeted homosexual and he is going through women looking for some kind of spark that he’ll never really find, because he’s in love with house

[seungfl0wer]

*Daddy Jisung*

Daddy Series:

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut:

-💜

•He’s such a big softy.

•It doesn’t take much of anything to persuade him.

•But that goes both ways.

•He tries to act all big and tough.

•His favorite thing to do is tightening jars so you have to ask him to open them.

•He just finds it so cute when your eyes almost light up at ‘how strong he is’.

•He’s definitely not afraid of you calling him daddy in public either.

•He use to get all flustered when you did but now.

•It just melts him almost.

•He loves makings forts with you too.

•All the stuffies, blankets and snacks all under a fort to snuggle and watch movies.

•He has so many pictures and videos of you being adorable.

•Loves the candid ones where you’re focused or just doing mundane things.

•There’s so many times where he comes home.

•Lays his head on your lap and just stares up at you with all the love in his eyes.

•He’s such a big clinger too. He just wants to constantly cuddle you or hold your hand.

•It’s like trying to separate magnets.

•He’s not super good at putting his thoughts into words so he likes making you songs.

•Has a whole mixtape of songs just for you.

•He also likes pushing your buttons just so he can see that little pout of yours.

•”Awe I’m sorry baby, but you just look adorable when you’re annoyed”

•Whenever you give him attitude it can go one of two ways.

•70% of the times it’s hip telling you to stop.

•He only gives you a few warnings before he’s really scolding you.

•”Baby, you know how to act. And this isn’t it. You know better”

ੈ♡˳Smut Below

•So the other way he likes to fix your attitude is grabbing his favorite pair of handcuffs.

•Getting you restrained and edging you till you’re apologizing like a good girl.

•He’ll build you up to so many orgasms before pulling himself away from you.

•He also enjoys just having you restrained and jerking himself off.

•This might be one of the worst ones cause he’s letting out such pretty noises and you can’t do a damn thing about it.

•Head. Receiving. Or giving.

•I fully believe he comes home on bad days and wants nothing more than to have you sitting on his face.

•He’s very needy. He’s like a dog in heat half the time.

•Rounds after rounds.

•He’s a sucker for you riding him though.

•To see your beautiful body over him bouncing in his cock.

•Super vocal.

•Talks nonstop when he’s not making noises.

•”Baby daddy just needs to taste you.”

•”Fuck baby, so messy just how I like”

•”Daddy just needs you, needs you so bad”

•”You were just giving me attitude and now you want me to let you cum? Gotta beg harder”

•Oh and remember how I said he likes taking pictures of you?

•Yeah he has a whole folder of videos and pictures that he uses while he’s away.

•Aftercare is a lot of soft talking.

•You constantly have to reassure him he didn’t hurt you.

•He can get a little emotional after a strong session.

•Scared he might have done something.

•He just loves you so absolutely much that the thought of that crushes him.

•You both always end up cuddling so close together.

•And he really loves cuddling being inside you. Sometimes it’s not even sexual.

•Just being connected like that feels the best.

��﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

[mytherapyisreading14]

Drunk Confessions

Summary: You got drunk during a night out with your best friend and accidentally send your Professor a photo of you in lingerie. Now you try to avoid him, which is not really working.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, dirty talk, dom!spencer, semi-public sex, hair pulling, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, multiple orgasms, oral sex (kinda, he comes in her mouth)

Word Count: 4,6k

Author’s Note: My last posts got so many likes, I didn’t expect that at all, thank you sm!! <3

Your alarm goes off - 8:30am. You groan. Your head is pounding and the sun shining into your room is just way too bright. Your stomach turns and you close your eyes to escape the wave of nausea. You slowly sit up and search for your phone on the nightstand. It feels like your head is going to explode. You reach out and unlock the screen, turning your alarm off.

It's way too early. And you drunk way too much last night. It was a chaotic but nice yesterday, a night full of laughter, way too much alcohol and karaoke. Your best friend celebrated her birthday and you promised to go to your favorite bar with her. You have to smile when you think back to the night and start checking your messages. You see that she already texted you this morning to find out how you are doing.

How are you?

I have the worst headache after last night

It was fun though, wanna go again tonight?

Just kidding, I feel like I need a week to recover from this

You can’t help but laugh and answer her quickly. You are about to put your phone away to finally get ready when a new chat catches your eye. You freeze in shock. It’s your Professors name. The one you’ve been crushing on since you saw him for the very first time.

Back when you found out that you were getting a new professor, you didn't expect much, a lecture like any other with someone who was only concerned with reciting his material. But then he entered. He came through the door and for a moment it seemed as if time stood still. The room, which had just been immersed in the murmur of conversation, suddenly became silent.

He was tall - taller than you expected and his presence filled the room in a way that you couldn't put into words. He wore a simple but elegant suit that somehow effortlessly fit him perfectly. His hair was a little longer, curly and fell slightly over his forehead. And then he looked up. His big, brown eyes met yours and in a split second everything became clear to you. You immediately knew you wanted, needed, this man.

Now you stare at the chat in complete horror. He recently gave you his number for a project. That's how this whole texting thing could even happen. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Obviously you can't remember texting him. You were so drunk yesterday that you can't even remember how you got home.

You open the chat - and your heart stops for a moment. It wasn't just a message that you sent him. It was a photo. Of you, in lingerie. It’s one of your favorite sets, you got it a couple of weeks ago. "I wore this for you today, Professor. Do you like it?” You wrote in addition to the photo.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. You just stare at the screen, the picture of you that you should never, ever, ever have sent. And the worst part: He read it. But didn't reply. Confusion and panic spreads through you. You jump out of bed, your feet barely finding purchase on the floor, and your heart keeps racing. You try to think clearly, but your thoughts are a complete mess.

You reach for your phone again and frantically tap on the chat with your best friend, but you pause and call her instead. "Hello?" Her voice still sounds sleepy and hungover. “Oh my God, I need your help!" you gasp and immediately start telling her everything.

The line is silent, then you hear a short laugh. "Wait a minute... what? You did that?" You close your eyes and search for the right words. But before you can say anything, it hits you like a blow. You also have a lecture with him today.

"I’m not coming today," you tell her. “You can't just cancel!" she says immediately, and you hear her getting herself settled in her bed. Her voice sounds determined, but also worried. "You know how it is, our seminar today. We can't miss it. We said that celebrating wouldn't stop us," she says. "Celebrating isn't what would stop me either. Seeing him definitely is," you say and lean back with a groan.

You close your eyes and sink even deeper into the pillows. Your stomach clenches when you think about it. She’s right, You really have to go today. But the text, the picture that you sent him - what if he wants to talk to you about it? Or worse, he reports the whole thing?

"I can't just sit in front of him today and pretend that everything is normal. I sent him a picture of me in lingerie... I can't face him. It's just... it's just too much!" There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. She still hasn't said anything, and you know she's thinking. Then you hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay, the thing with the picture, that's really... a little crazy. But hey, you can skip the lecture. Just disappear after the seminar and then hide in your apartment. Or you can go and hope that when you run into him, he'll do completely different things after you seeing this photo. I bet you looked hot, was it the new set you recently bought?” she asks and you can hear her grin even though you're on the phone.

Obviously she knows about your crush on your professor. You couldn’t stop talking about him after your first lecture and she took every opportunity to tease you about it. You look at your phone as if it were the only thing that could help you think clearly. Of course she's right. You have to go to your seminar. And you can really skip his lecture. Still, the idea that he might be thinking about it makes your heart beat faster and not just in excitement.

“You're right, I... okay, I'll come," You say after a short pause, but the thought of maybe running into him still makes you nervous. “You'll see, it won't be as bad as you think. You'll get through the seminar, it's only an hour. And then we'll be out and we can take our time for everything else. And you'll just avoid your favorite professor today," she continues to teases.

“Today? More like forever," you mutter and finally get up, even though the thought of getting out of bed still paralyzes you. “See you soon then. I'll shower and get dressed now, then I'll come. Let’s meet outside the building, okay?" you ask. "Sure!" she calls out happily. "See you soon and don’t forget to wear another fancy set for your professor today. Just in case you run into him,” she jokes.

After you hang up you put the phone on the pillow and stand there for a moment, your legs heavy, your head still about to explode. But then you take a deep breath. It'll be fine, you just have get through the seminar. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom and take painkillers first. Then you start getting ready.

You turn on the water and let it run hot. A short time later, you go into the shower. The hot steam envelops you and slowly your body feels a little alive again. The nausea subsides and the hangover becomes more bearable. After the shower, you get dressed in peace - black skirt, a comfy sweater and your favorite sneakers. You quickly walk through the apartment again to make sure you packed everything and when you leave the house, you somehow feel less like a wreck.

-

The smell of freshly served pasta is still in your nose as you say goodbye. You got lunch together after your seminar and it was nice to get a little break and talk about everything that happened. Now you are ready to leave but you still have to go to the library to get a book that you need for your upcoming assignment first.

“I still have to go to the library," you tell her, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “Are you coming with me?” you ask her. “I’m sorry, I have to pick up my sister now. But be careful, you don’t want to run into your favorite professor, or do you?” she teases again. “I’m not going to run into him. I’ll hurry up and leave immediately. I’ll call you later. See you tomorrow," you say and give her a quick wave before you set off.

-

The campus is full of students rushing through the halls, carrying their books around or sitting in groups and discussing. You slip into the library and head straight to the section where the book you need is. Unfortunately it’s at the top of the shelf and you realize that you probably won't be able to reach it. You jump up a few times, but the distance between you and the book just seems too big. You sigh. If only you were a little taller.

As you attempt the jump for the third time, you suddenly feel a presence building behind you. One that seems familiar. Your heart beats faster and a nervous tremor takes hold of you. You turn around and stare straight into Professor Reid's eyes. He is standing just inches away from you and you can hear the soft sound of his breathing.

The look he gives you is almost piercing - warm, but somehow also searching. He leans forward slightly without saying a word and effortlessly grabs the book with one hand. You avoid his gaze as he hands it to you. “Thank you," you murmur, trying to hide the slight nervous tremor in your voice. He nods and stands still for a moment.

"You weren't at my lecture today." You stare at the book in your hands and feel your stomach clench. This is not good. “I..." you take a deep breath. "I haven't been feeling so good. My head..." He waits, his eyes still fixed on you, and you get the feeling that he wants to hear more. You feel his gaze on you and when you finally raise your eyes to look into his eyes, there is a silent understanding, and for a moment you wonder if there’s more. “Sick, or...?" he asks calmly. You hesitate and bite your lip.

"I went out partying with my best friend yesterday, it was her birthday… we drank a little bit too much and... well, I'm not feeling so good today. That’s why I skipped." His expression remains neutral, but something in his gaze changes. You can hardly believe it, but it's almost as if he's interested. He frowns slightly. "I understand," he then says. "But it's not ideal to miss class, especially when important topics are involved."

You nod. “I know, Professor. I won’t happen again.” You just want to get out of this situation, and as you try to take a step back he stops you. "No, wait. I need to talk to you." You pause and turn back to him. "About what? I don’t really have the time -" you begin, pretending you don't have any idea what he wants to talk about, when he cuts you off.

"Doesn’t matter, it’s important. We'll sort it out in my office." His gaze is intense as he steps towards you. The thought of him asking you to come to his office makes your heart beat faster. The idea of ​​being alone in a room with him is tempting. "Okay," you say quietly, unable to prevent a nervous tingling from spreading in your chest. You follow him, even though your legs feel like they're made of jelly.

He leads the way, his steps calm and determined, and you can barely keep your eyes from lingering on his back. As soon as you reach the door to his office, he opens it and lets you enter first. You step in, your heart now beating loudly in your ears. The moment he closes the door behind you, you realize that it is more than just a conversation about the seminar.

The look he is giving you now is not the look of a professor. It is the look of a man who wants more than just academic discussions at this moment. And the thought that you’re alone with him in this room inevitably leaves you nervous and intrigued at the same time.

As the door closes behind you, you’re left breathless for a moment. His office is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the crowded hallways outside. The room is sparsely decorated, except for the desk covered with stacks of paper and a few personal items. He is still standing at the table, his arms loosely folded in front of his chest and looks at you.

"Sit down," he says calmly, pointing to the chair on the opposite of the desk. You hesitate, then finally sit down, your heart pounding in your chest. The nervous energy inside you grows as you try to organize your thoughts. Before he can say anything else, you can’t hold it back any longer. The words come out of you hastily, almost in a rush, and you feel your body tense.

"The picture, it was a mistake! I didn't mean to... It wasn't meant for you. I was drunk, and it was stupid of me, really. I'm sorry." You look at the table, avoiding his gaze. But as you say the last words, you immediately notice how the atmosphere in the room changes. He remains silent for a moment, but then his body language shifts slightly - his gaze becomes more intense, the tension between you almost tangible.

"Hmm," he says after a pause, his voice deep and calm, "so the picture wasn't meant for me?" You flinch when you hear his question. What exactly does he want to hear? What does he want to know from you? You try to stay calm and answer hesitantly.

"It... it's none of your business." His expression hardens instantly. "It is," he says, and his voice sounds sharper, more determined now. "Because you sent it to me." Your heart beats faster as he continues. "I don't think it was an accident, even if you were drunk. You wanted to send it to me. And you did."

A cold shiver runs down your spine. You open your mouth, trying to say something, but you can't find a way to defend yourself. Instead, you just stay still, looking at your hands, which are resting nervously on your lap.

He laughs quietly, a mocking, almost challenging laugh. "So you're really sure it was an accident, huh?" He slowly leans forward, rests his hands on the table and looks straight into your eyes. The look in his eyes has changed, and something in his expression shows you that he is the one in control.

"Do you really think I haven't noticed how you look at me in class? How you keep watching my hands? How you press your thighs together when I approach you?" His words hit you and you freeze for a moment. Your cheeks burn hot, you feel your heart pounding uncontrollably, but you keep quiet. Everything inside you screams to defend yourself, but you stay silent because you know he’s right.

"I noticed from the beginning, angel," he continues, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can’t believe he just called you that. It turns you on immensely. "I know you didn't just do it because of the party and the alcohol. You also sent it to me because you wanted to." He leans further forward, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but feel small even as you try to assert yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, but the words stick in your throat. What could you say? That he's wrong? That would be a lie. “You sent it to me," he repeats, his voice now almost like a command. "Because you wanted to show me. And I don't think it was an accident. You were drunk, yes, but you wanted me to see you like this."

Your body is paralyzed. It feels like the room has suddenly become smaller. You can hardly breathe. His words and his look have completely captured you in that moment. “I... uh," you begin, but the thought that he is in control, that he sees you like this at this moment, leaves you speechless and you’re unable form a proper sentence.

He remains silent, only his eyes continue to focus on you. "You have to understand that you can't just play with me like that." His gaze becomes more intense, and for a moment it seems as if he wants to say more but then he slowly stands up, walks around the table and stops right in front of you.

"I'll show you something," he says in a calm but unmistakable voice. "And you will understand why it wasn't just an accident." Your heart beats faster. His hand reaches for your chin, lifting it up and tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and you lean closer, craving his touch. “Get up and lock the door for me,” he says and pulls his hand away slowly.

You do as your told immediately and when you turn around, he is sitting on his chair with his legs spread. He looks so hot and you desperately clench your thighs together to relief the pressure between your legs. “Good girl. Come here,” he says and pats his thigh. You shiver in excitement and when he notices a grin spreads across his face.

You go over to him and when you stand in front of him, he pulls you down into his lap. He leans forward to whisper into your ear “That’s what you wanted, right? To be my good girl. That’s why you send me that picture. You wanted to end up here,” he says and places his hands on your hips. You press yourself closer against him and inhale his scent, he smells like cinnamon, peppermint and aftershave, it’s addictive.

However, you get interrupt by his hand reaching into your hair to pull your head back. You gasp in surprise and he leans closer to you, looking deep into your eyes again. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer,” he says and you can feel yourself getting even wetter. “Yes, that’s true. I - I always wanted that,” you manage to say and he releases your hair, satisfied with your response.

Then he leans forward and you finally feel his lips against yours. It’s even better than you always imagined and you start to grind against his leg, desperate to release the friction between your legs. But Spencer quickly stops you. “Did I allow you to move?” he asks and you shake your head.

He sighs in disappointment but before he can say anything you quickly answer him. “No, you didn’t,” you say and his grip on your hips looses a little. “That’s right. I didn’t. And you’re not allowed to move until I tell you to. You’re going to listen to me and do exactly what your told, do you understand?” he asks. “I understand.”

“See, it’s not that hard. You listen to me, you behave and you’ll get your reward. Now, do you want to ride my thigh?” he asks, his hand slowly sliding behind your back to your ass, squeezing it. “Yes, please. Can I?” you ask and he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he pulls back you can see his eyes sparkling with lust. “So polite, I like that. Yes, you can,” he says and you finally go back to moving against his thigh.

It feels good, so good and when Spencer starts to slide one hand under your shirt to grab your breasts you press closer against him. You can feel that you soaked your underwear trough and wearing only a skirt, you can already see a small wet stain on his pants. His gaze follows yours and he chuckles. “Someone’s needy,” he says and you nod, leaning against his chest, grinding down more against him.

“Spen - Spencer, I’m going to come,” you whimper but he pulls you back by your hair again. “It’s Sir for you, angel,” he says and you correct yourself immediately. “Please Sir, can I come on your thigh now?” you breath out and he grabs your hips again, stopping you.

“No, not yet,” he simply says and you whine when he stands up and you lose contact. “But I thought - “ you start but he doesn’t let you finish. He turns you around and pushes you down onto his desk. “Doesn’t matter what you thought. I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says and flips over your skirt to expose your underwear to him.

“I see, another pair then the ones you wore yesterday. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the other ones, but you look pretty anyway, angel,” he says, sliding his hands over your thighs and your ass. “Last night when you send me that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admits and you can feel your whole body reacting to his words.

A wave of confidence flashes through you. “Did I keep you up last night, Sir? Did you have to stroke your cock while you looked at my picture? Thinking about all the ways you want to fuck me?” you ask him and turn your head slightly back to look at him with a smirk on your face. His eyes darken and he tightens his grip.

“Oh you have no idea, angel. I’m going to show you exactly what I was thinking about last night,” And suddenly you feel a harsh smack on your ass. He just spanked you. And you liked it. Your breath hitches and you bit down on your lip to keep quiet. You don’t want anyone to find out what’s going on in here.

His hand strokes the spot he just hit before going further down to pull at your panties. He takes them off and stuffs them into his pocket. You are convinced you’re not going to get them back. Then you feel his long, slender fingers sliding between your legs before he presses onto your clit. You gasp in surprise and try to press against him but his grip on your hips is firm, holding you still.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you. “So fucking wet.” His eyes wander over your body down to your legs hungrily, appreciating every curve and every spot. “I’ve never seen such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine now. You’re all mine now,” he says. The way his fingers move and the way he stares at you intensely feels just way too good.

When his thumb goes back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles, you can feel how your orgasm builds up inside of you and you can no longer hold back your moans. “Spencer - Sir, feels so good. Please,… I need more,” You clench around his fingers and he quickly puts a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. “Shh, be quiet, angel. As much as I would love to hear all these lovely sounds you make, I don’t want to get interrupted. Not now, when I finally have you, after all this time.”

His fingers curl inside you and keep hitting your g -spot. You clench around them, he notices and chuckles. “Can I - please,” you stutter. “Yes angel,” he says, already knowing what you’re asking for and you come around his fingers. You never had such an intense orgasm from foreplay before, but you don’t mind. It’s even better than you always imagined.

He wants to give you a moment to recover but you want more. You somehow manage to turn around, even though your legs feel like they are going to give in any second and push yourself up on his desk. He looks surprised and opens his mouth to say something but you interrupt him by pulling him closer by his tie.

You wrap your hands around his neck and rank your fingers through his soft, brown hair before kissing him. You moan into his mouth and he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank you, Sir. That was amazing,” you say with a smirk on your face when you pull back. “Now is the time to lose your pants and relax, I want to return the favor.”

“As much as I want to see you down on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, we don’t have much time left. Office hour starts in less than 30 minutes. And I need to fuck you. So drop it and spread your legs for me. Now,” he demands and you obliged, sitting further back on his desk with your legs spread.

He takes a step back and starts to unzip his dress pants. When he takes out his cock your eyes widen. He is even bigger than you expected. “Are you on the pill?” he asks while he starts to pump his cock. “I am,” you say. “Good. I want to fuck your pussy and then, since you suggested sucking me off, come inside your mouth. I want you to taste me. You don’t swallow until I say so. Do you understand?” he asks, sliding his cock through your folds to tease you. “Yes Sir, I understand,” you whimper and he wastes no time and pushes inside you.

His first thrust already make your eyes roll back and you feel like you’re going to die from the intense pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waits and your hands are on his back, pressing him even more against your body. Everytime a whimper or a moan escapes your mouth his thrust become deeper, rougher and faster. You can feel him throb inside you and he keeps hitting your g- spot over and over again.

One of his hand is sneaking through your breast, squeezing it and toying with your nipple. You graze his back with your fingernails and make sure to leave marks on him. Your mind goes blank and you lose yourself in the pleasure completely. After a few more thrust you can feel the orgasm building up inside of you. “Close,” you breath out and he nods. “Me too. You can come on my cock now.”

You let go and your orgasm is even more intense than you expected. You moan his name so loud that he quickly covers your mouth with his hand again. He picks up his speed and a few thrusts later he pulls out of you to shove his cock into your mouth. You can feel his cum inside your mouth and taste him, just like he told you to. He watches you closely the whole time while he recovers from his own orgasm.

“Now swallow,” he says and you do. Then he pulls you forward with both of his hands to kiss you. The kiss is different this time, more gentle and caring, not just full of lust. When he pulls back you both smile. “I guess sending you this picture was not bad at all. And I was so worried.” He laughs. “I’m glad you send it, angel. Now I finally have you all to myself. It's a shame I couldn't take more time for you right now. There's a lot more I'd like to do with you,” he says with a mischievous smile on his face. “Why don’t you show me after your office hours, Sir?” you say with a smirk on your face. “Make sure to be here on time, angel.”

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 9

At the Justice League Watchtower.

Diana: Good morning everyone and thank you for coming to this pronto meeting. I known we all have busy schedules so I'll make this quick. Bruce, Clark, and I have been investigating an operation by Lex Luthor. He has been moving round large amounts of radioactive material to a secret lab in the Sahara Desert, we currently do not know what he is planning but last night the radioactivity around the base spiked. We believe that there was some leak of the radioactive materials and we need a plan to contain it.

J'ohn: Are there any civilians in the region?

Clark: No, the lab is far out into the desert. The closest town is a small village with a population of about 1000 people an hour and a half away.

Hal: I could but up a temporary shield around the lab and try to contain the radiation as much as possible.

Bruce: That would be a good start.

Arthur: This is concerning, how can I help?

Diana: There is another shipment currently on a Lexcorp boat heading towards a port in Algiers we need you to stop it.

Bruce: Oliver, you will help Arthur take control of the ship.

Oliver: Got it.

Diana: Barry, while we believe the town and its residents will be safe, we'd like to keep you on stand by just in case.

Barry: Yes ma'am!

Diana: That's all from us. Now that we are together we should start making a solid plan, we start this operation 10pm, local time in Algeria. That gives us 8 hours to prepare. Any questions?

Oliver: Just one question, who's Bruce's new kid?

Everyone turned to look at Danny.

Danny: Hi!

Bruce: This is Danny, alias Phantom, he's Jason's kid... and my grandson.

Barry (laughing): Congratulations Bruce, you're a thirty-one-year-old grandfather.

Arthur: Is he helping us with the operation?

Diana: Yes, Danny is half-ghost and immune to radiation, he'll be helpful if the radiation levels are higher than we expect.

J'onn: You have a quite mind young one.

Danny: If I let you read my thoughts there's a fifty-fifty chance your brain may get scrambled.

J'onn: I see...

Billy: I'm here! Sorry I'm late, just had to finish something before I could leave- Billy looked around the room till he saw Danny. He jumped back and covered his ears.

Clark: You ok there Billy?

Billy: Who is that kid?

Danny: I'm Bruce's grandson.

Billy: ...

Clark: Why?

J'ohn: The gods in Billy's mind all just screamed bloody murder and told him that under no circumstances, should he make Danny mad.

Everyone looked at Danny but before anyone could ask question Constantine walked in.

Constantine: You known if you're going to call a random meeting at least give us more than 3 hours to get ready- Constantine froze when he saw Danny. Shit...

Danny (grinning): Constantine!

Bruce: You two know each other?

Danny: Yes, he's the fool that sold his sold his soul to a hundred separate demons who are all now petition me to decide who actually owns his soul.

Constantine: ...

Hal: Why would they petition you?

Danny: I'm their king.

JL: What!?

Danny: And another thing Constantine, come over here. A green light encircled Constantine throwing him across the room, placing down in a chair next to Danny. You didn't pay your taxes for the last tax season.

Constantine: I- your majesty, I'm not a citizen of the Infinite Realms.

Danny: Actually you are! Danny summoned a scroll. According to section 8, subsection 45, clause B of the Infinite Realms Citizenship and Nationality Status Governing Deaths, Resurrections, and All Other Avoidances of Death Act, also known as the IRCNSGDRAOADA, due to your soul being more than 80% owned by citizens of the Infinite Realms, you too are a citizen of the Infinite Realms, and thus have to pay taxes.

Constantine: I-

Danny: You owe the Crown, aka me, $25,000.

Constantine (nervous): Would your majesty be so kind as to wave my taxes for this year, given I did not know I had to pay?

Danny: I'll give you... 120 days to come up with the money, if not I'll send the tax collectors after you.

Constantine (terrified): You- you're too kind your majesty. Constantine picked up a folder from the table. I'll just read the report... I- got to go. Constantine left the room.

Bruce (tired): Danny...

Danny: I was joking, I'll wave the his missing taxes.

Hal: Why is he so scared of tax collectors?

Danny: The tax collectors in the Infinite Realms are not just nerds with suitcases, they are nerds with suitcases that also carry paintball guns.

J'onn: Paintball guns?

Danny: The paint will never come off till you pay your taxes.

Berry: That sounds so fun!

Arthur: I'm happy to have another king on the team. Finally I have some to talk to about the duties of ruling.

Danny: Tell me about it, for some reason, people can't just do as their told.

Arthur (crying): You understand me my pain.

Clark: Where does your family find these children?

Bruce: We don't find them, they find us!

Diana: As fun as this whole conversation is we do need to prepare for the mission. Let's get to work.

JL: Yes ma'am!

(Master Post)

[nientedal]

For specific ear plugs, Loop earplugs and the Flares Calmer earplugs are some of the best I've found as an AuDHD person. Flares in particular. They take the "edges" off sounds and are so subtle I regularly forget they're changing anything until I take them out, and then the world hits me in the ears and I quickly put them back in, lol. Loops are great for blocking heavy noise, and good for those of us with small or oddly-shaped ear canals. Their unique base shape allows me to turn them in a way that "braces" them against my ear and helps keep them in place. Also, they are the least obtrusive I've found as a side sleeper.

Neither will stay put very well if you're chewing or talking a lot, but that's been true of every earplug I've ever tried. Jostling loosens things, it's simply a fact. I wanted to at least mention it, in case "I need to block sound while chewing" is your need, but for anyone else, please don't let that deter you. They are a little bit pricy for a few grams of silicone that go in your ear, but I fucking love these things. You may be able to find them more cheaply as knock-offs elsewhere, too.

As far as studying goes...

Take Notes. Take as many notes as you can in class. Not after class!! IN CLASS. Take notes like your life depends on it, and doodle in the margins to stay focused until you realize there's a new slide you need to write down. Handwriting helps stuff stick.

Then, the night before the exam at the latest, get a new notebook. Copy your notes from class into the new notebook. All of them that will be on the test. By hand.

(Remember to shake out your hands periodically! Loose fingers, loose wrists, and wrist-twist while bouncing your elbows to shake your hands out! This is a pianist's trick to help stay limber, and it works just as well for handwriting. Do Not give yourself tendonitis. Learn from my mistake. If it hurts, stop. Your grade is not worth your health. Do NOT give yourself tendonitis in your hands; it will turn into carpal tunnel and you Do Not Want That. DO NOT.)

Copy all your notes by hand. If you are able to start a few nights before, great! This will show you what you're uncertain about, based on how much you're able to remember while copying. (You may remember bits and pieces from the lecture as you copy, because your brain made an association web while you were writing by hand the first time.) If not, THAT'S OKAY!!!! Every little bit counts! Copy as much as you can the night before the test. If you are rocky on some of it, try to copy those parts twice, but if you can't, OH WELL!

Go to sleep right after you finish writing. Shake out your hands, take a shower if you must, and GO TO SLEEP while your writing memories are still fresh. This sounds kinda like woo-woo nonsense, I know, but I never learned to study in high school and this is the best I've got. (It landed me two degrees in accounting, so...meh?)

If you cannot write by hand, type. If you cannot type, banish your roommate and speak out loud. Scan the chapters with your eyes and talk to an invisible audience as if you were trying to teach them. For me, writing was best, but speaking definitely also helped.

Important: If you have the "in one eye, out the other" inability to parse boring text, reading out loud like a newscaster (or Captain Kirk) is going to be your best friend. Example:

Snell's law is a formula used to describe the relationship between the angles of incidence and refraction, when referring to light or other waves passing through a boundary between two different isotropic media, such as water, glass, or air. In optics, the law is used in ray tracing to compute the angles of incidence or refraction, and in experimental optics to find the refractive index of a material.

Boring. I cannot read this. But, if I pretend I am an overly-chipper news anchor at 6:45AM on Good Morning America:

SNELL'S LAW is a formula used to describe the relationship BETWEEN the angles of incidence and refraction, WHEN referring to LIGHT or other waves PASSING THROUGH A BOUNDARY between two different isotropic media, such as water, glass, or air. In OPTICS, the law is used in ray tracing to COMPUTE the angles of incidence or refraction, and in EXPERIMENTAL optics to FIND the refractive index of a material.

(that's not accounting, obviously, that's physics, but it's an example, don't @ me.)

It looks deranged, formatted that way, but hopefully you can see what I mean by using a newscaster voice. Speaking aloud and forcing strong emphasis drags your brain into line and helps break down concepts and clauses in complex sentences WAY BETTER than just staring at them.

...I think that's all I've got for you. Good luck out there, buddy. Please let me know if I should clarify anything, I'm really tired. Hopefully this is at least coherent.

Me: how do I study as a neurodivergent person?

Google: how to help your autistic child study

Me: how to study as an autistic adult/teen

Google: teachers guide to how to deal with autistic children

Me: how do I study as an autistic teen/adult

Google: study tips for autistic people(-written by this allistic man that will talk about autistic people like they're zoo animals)

Me: how to study as a neurodivergent adult, tips from neurodivergent person to neurodivergent students, on how to study independently as an autistic person, no reliant support needed

Google: high functioning autism and school

Me: fuck just. How do I focus during this test that I'm in rn as an AuDHD person

Google: ok, so, to focus on this thing that you currently are doing and need to get done TODAY; weeks before the test you'll need to eat healthy and exercise, meditate, study, set timers, take breaks, drink water, sleep, find the secrets to a happy life, adopt five children, sacrifice a goat, take short showers, brush your teeth

Executive dysfunction:

My fucking deadline:

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

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A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.