#the heat was def rising

[greensagephase]

reader is better than me cause if i saw this man…? if i was roommates with THIS man?? i think i would genuinely crash out everyday trying not to jump on him. LOOOOOOOKKKKKK. 😫😫😫

art by andalusia_lu on instagram!!

@zoopzaper !!! Pookie, I'm so happy to see you're more active around here!! 🥹

Omg, I'm looking respectfully, I swear!! 👀 The happy trail- the sweat - the face expression - Dios mio... I'm okay (not, currently clawing at the walls)!!😳

It's funny you say this about reader because later on in the fic, dulzura is going to - [gunshots]. Miguel is going to be working out shirtless and -[gunshots]. The hallway suddenly feels too narrow and his scent is - [gunshots]...

I'm telling you now, I have plans that I cannot share with you right now because the haters will sabotage me, but I got some stuff in the works! 😌

Thank you for the ask, pookie!! I hope you're having a lovely weekend!!!

Alondra❤️

[imaginedisish]

Modern Love (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey y'all! Here's something short and sweet. This is based on a request, so I hope the requester enjoys :) No song references here, but "Modern Love" by David Bowie seems appropriate. It's 80s, New Wave-y, and we're in an arcade in this fic, so it fits.

Summary: The team goes out to an arcade, and Logan is his usual grumpy self...but his soft spot for you is more clear than ever.

Warnings: Suggestive content (would totally write a second part with some true smut), tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, cursing, f!reader/afab!reader, grumpy!Logan, Jubilee is a cock block LOL, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 1,685 short and sweet indeed

“I do not want to be here,” Logan complains, rolling his eyes as the team strolls into the arcade. 

Jubilee skips inside, twirling with excitement. “Well, that’s just too bad, Logan!” She calls, running over to the arcade’s version of Dance Dance Revolution. Kurt is laughing, following at her heels. “Because everyone else is going to have a great time!” 

“Gambit’s winning big tonight,” Gambit says, taking Rogue’s hand in his. “Gambit’s winning chere a prize, he is.” Rogue blushes, letting Gambit pull her to one of the fake slot machines. 

Jean and Scott walk over to an older machine—Pac-Man or something similar, probably. Storm and Charles head towards the seating area near the snack bar in the back, leaving you and Logan to yourselves. Of course. You’re alone with Logan. The person you want but you know you can’t have. 

You’re friends—just friends. You’ve accepted that he’ll never see you as anything more, but it still hurts. 

“So…” You say, trailing off as Logan looks around the arcade. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not particularly,” he says back, his eyes finding yours. You can’t help but smile at that stupid, grumpy look on his face. “You like this shit?” He asks, smiling back at you. 

You shrug your shoulders, noncommittal. “I think you’d have fun if you tried,” you say, nodding towards the crane machine, and walking over. You can hear Logan’s footsteps against the carpet, following you close behind.

You peer into the glass, looking at all the stuffed animals filling the machine. Your smile widens when you spot the cute little turtle in the back—green and brown, wide eyes, and extra plush and round. Logan leans against the machine, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Which one are we going for?” He asks. We—you can’t help but replay the word in your head. There’s a “we” in this. You and Logan. 

You point to the turtle in the back row. “We’re going for that one,” you say, and his eyes find the green little thing. “Isn’t he cute?”

He shakes his head, grinning ear to ear, his grumpiness seemingly gone now. “Sure, princess, sure he is.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sound of the familiar pet name. You lean down to put a quarter in the machine, trying your best not to overthink the situation. The crane starts up, whirring to life, giving you three tries to win the stuffy. 

You maneuver the crane to the back row, just above the turtle. “Do you think that’s good?” You ask, looking towards Logan. But he isn’t looking at the machine; he’s looking at you, smirking. “What?” You ask, narrowing your eyes incredulously. 

“You’re cute when you concentrate,” Logan says, his smirk unwavering. You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he peers into the machine. He nods, his eyes finding yours again, changing the subject before you can respond to his comment. “Looks good to me.”

You swallow nervously, pressing the button on the top of the stick, sending the crane down to the stuffy. It grabs the turtle, holding it up. It looks like it’s going to make it, but it falls in the center of the glass box. You groan, annoyed as the crane moves back to position. You try again, bringing the crane to the center of the machine, just above the turtle, and dropping it again. The silver claws grip the plushy, but it’s a bad grab—the turtle slipping right out of its grasp. 

 “Fucking rigged,” you mutter, moving the crane over the turtle for the final time. “This is it,” you say, looking at Logan. He’s suddenly shifting closer to you, standing behind you and pressing his front to your back. His arms rest on either side of the crane machine’s controls, caging you in. 

“Much better view from here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. You’re distracted by how close he is. You can smell him—tobacco and pine and musk. “Let’s see if it works, princess.” This is too much. Far more than you can possibly handle. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes surveying the crane’s distance from the turtle carefully, and you press the button. The crane drops, grabbing the stuffy, and picking it up successfully. “Yes!” You say, looking back at Logan. His face is inches from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your lips. Your noses are so close, brushing together softly. He leans in, lips parted. 

“Game over!” A robotic, automated voice rings out, the crane whirling back into position. It snaps you back to reality, and you look inside the machine. There, off to the side just next to the machine’s drop box, is the turtle. 

“Shit,” you mumble, shoulders slumping with disappointment. You know it’s just a game, and you are an adult after all, but you can’t help the frown that forms across your face. “I really wanted him. I was gonna name him Bernie.”

Logan chuckles. “Bernie?” he asks, and you nod. He’s centimeters away from you again, leaning in. “Don’t sweat the loss, princess. You’re cuter than that little thing is anyw—"

“Look what Kurt and I got with our tickets!” Jubilee is suddenly in front of you, a stuffed, sparkly blue dinosaur in her hand. She’s tugging you away from Logan and across the arcade before you can protest. “You gotta dance with me!” You look back at Logan, who’s standing alone in front of the crane machine, arms tucked against his chest. 

Have fun, he mouths. And good luck. He winks at you as Jubilee whisks you off to Dance Dance Revolution. You let her pick the song, and you struggle through the round, your feet tapping to the beat. You and Jubilee are a laughing mess. You know you look absolutely ridiculous, but it’s fun. 

And yet, your mind still wanders to Logan. You think about how close he was to you, the way his lips practically brushed against yours—the ghost of a kiss. You think about the way he caged you in, pressed against your back. You’re so distracted that you don’t even realize how badly you’re fumbling all the moves; you don’t hear Jubilee calling your name. 

“Hey!” She shouts, finally bringing you back to reality. The round is over; you missed the entire second half of the dance. “Where’d you go just there?” She asks, concern hidden within her smile.  

You look over to the crane machine, expecting to see Logan, but he’s gone. In fact, you can’t find him anywhere. “Sorry Jubes, but I gotta go see about something,” you say, stepping off the platform. 

Your eyes search the arcade. Gambit and Rogue are at the ticket redemption counter, picking out a big stuffed bear. Kurt is fooling around on one of those motorcycle racing games. Storm and Charles are—uncharacteristically—sharing a soft pretzel, while Jean and Scott share a milkshake. Everyone is here and accounted for except Logan. 

That is, until you notice the puff of smoke in the corner of the glass door at the front of the arcade. You smirk, walking towards the entrance and pushing the door open. 

Logan leans against the brick wall of the building, cigar in his mouth. His head turns towards you, and he immediately takes the cigar out, dropping it to the ground and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. 

“Hi,” you whisper, standing next to him. 

He looks down at you, smiling widely. “Hi.” He’s leaning in again—so close—and a shiver runs up your spine. “Cold?” He asks, shrugging out of his leather jacket before you have a chance to answer. He helps you into the jacket one arm at a time, his eyes drinking you in once it’s on, trailing up and down your body. “Looks good on you,” he hums. “Way better than it does on me.”

You shake your head, letting your shoulder brush against his. You look over at him and suddenly notice something green and round in his hand. “What’s that?” You ask. But you already know. You recognize the little brown spots and the wide eyes. 

Logan smirks, lifting the turtle up. “Couldn’t let you go home without him,” he says, holding it out towards you. 

“No way!” You shout, ignoring the turtle and throwing your arms around Logan’s neck. It’s instinctive, natural. He tugs you in closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you so much,” you mumble into the crook of his neck. “I can’t believe you ended up playing a game at an arcade.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your temple. The sudden vulnerability of his words makes your heart tighten in your chest. You stay like that for a while, his lips ghosting your forehead, your chests pressed together. You finally lift your head, looking up at Logan. 

“Lo?” You whisper, and his gaze meets yours, flitting between your eyes and your lips. He drops the plushy onto the bench next to him and walks you back into the brick wall, caging you in, hands on either side of your waist. 

He leans in. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He brings one hand to your hip, gripping gently. “What do you need?”

“Y-you,” you stutter. “I need y—"

His lips swallow your words, fitting against yours like a puzzle piece. The kiss is slow, languid, but you can feel his need in the way he moves against you, hands slipping underneath the borrowed jacket and your shirt to explore your skin. His fingertips drag along your back, relaxing you into his touch. 

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Logan mumbles against your lips. 

Your heart flutters in your chest. “But what about the others?” You ask, nodding to the arcade.

Logan smirks, stealing another kiss. “All the more reason to get back to the mansion before they do.”

“But how are we going to—”

He grips your waist, tugging you towards the parking lot. “I took my bike, pretty girl.”

Oh?

Oh. 

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TANGLED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. just suguru needing his hair brushed for him bc he’s def so me and gets mad over the knots lol—alternative title: princess suguru and his frog <3

suguru huffs in front of your mirror—and it’s quite the frustrated huff, too—before he slams the hair brush down.

you raise a brow, “you okay over there?”

“no. ‘s knotted,” he mutters, referring to his hair. there’s a quiet grumbling of something unintelligible under his breath before he glares at himself in the mirror.

suguru loves his hair—anyone would know that just by looking at him. most guys use two-in-one shampoo (like satoru) but suguru? he practically hogs your shower space with all of the products he owns. his hair is well maintained and perfectly neat every time you see him. but sometimes, like now, it’s also a pain to brush once it’s knotted. and, well, he doesn’t handle it very well.

“you’ve been brushing for—” you pretend to check your bare wrist for the time, “—like ten minutes,” you giggle.

“very funny,” he grunts bitterly. and then, more petulantly this time, “i’m cutting it off for real this time.”

“you said that last time,” you remind him, eyes glinting with amusement.

“this time i mean it.”

“no you don’t, sugu.”

“i do,” he insists, glaring at you through the mirror, “it’s getting too long, and i don’t have the time to brush all these damn knots every two hours. so, it’s getting cut.”

“okay,” you nod casually—anyone can tell you don’t believe him.

his expression sours. suguru gets in very bad moods when his hair doesn’t cooperate, it’s evident in the way he flares his nostrils and scowls.

“you still don’t believe me? i’m being serious.”

“okay, baby,” you snort, finally deciding to take matters into your own hands as you rise from your bed and walk over. you stand behind him, reaching around him for the hair brush before gently pulling him back to stand closer. “i’ll get it for you, don’t worry. wouldn’t want your princess hair gone.”

“stop calling it that,” he groans, but the tension leaves his shoulders as soon as you gently brush through his strands, starting at the bottom and working your way up. it’s quiet for a bit—nothing but the soft sound of your humming as you work through the tangles in his long (perfect) hair.

“you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to brush it,” you tease after a few moments, “no need to throw a tantrum.”

“glad to see you’re enjoying this,” he rolls his eyes. and then, when you’ve finished and set the brush down, he turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face finds the crook of your neck.

you hum, pecking the side of his head before threading your fingers into his dark locks, stroking through the soft strands and silently marveling at the length.

“you’re so pretty, suguru,” you murmur, “did’ya know that?”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles into your skin, lips curling into a loose smile. his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“yeah,” you nod, “like a princess. my prettiest princess.”

“i thought i told you to quit with that,” he says exasperatedly—you can feel the heat from his cheeks, and you grin to yourself knowing he’s blushing as he hides his face deeper into your shoulder.

“it’s true,” you insist, “i’m no liar. i’m a truther.”

“debatable,” he mumbles. you smack his shoulder playfully, and he squeezes your hips in response. “aren’t you going to tie it for me too?” he finally asks, and you’re sure there’s a pout curled on those lips of his. you ache to kiss them—and you will, just not right now.

right now, you’ll stay like this a bit longer.

“this is real princess treatment,” you sigh dramatically, “yes your highness. i’ll tie it too.”

“thank you,” he says, thoroughly satisfied. and then, quieter, like it’s a secret only you’re supposed to know, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you happily murmur, “but that might change if you cut your hair.”

“are you only dating me for my hair?”

“yes,” you snicker playfully, “it’s the main appeal. the princess appeal.”

“you know what,” suguru says thoughtfully, “i’ll be your princess.”

“really?” you gasp in excitement, making him nod into your neck as he presses a delicate kiss to your skin.

“sure,” he grins slyly, ��and you can be the frog.”

the moment is officially ruined—and for a second, you think you might just have to cut his hair off in his sleep after that one.

come join me in the most self indulgent drabble once again. also the title being tangled even tho the reference is the princess and the frog is a tad bit funny to me jdjsjd i did giggle i can’t lie

[hungharrington]

Steve realizing his gf is stressed and forcing her to take a mid day break and she's just like babe I'm not in the mood and he's like ok let's take a break for 5 min a mere 5 min like u can def afford that and she's like fine and she sets a timer but by the time the 5 min r up Steve is already eating her out and he's like the timer is up and she's so into in and forgotten that she's like the what?? And Steve just chuckles smugly and goes back down

bro.... did u send this cos u know i've been stressed with grad school??? either way YUM i ate it tf up this was delicious thank you for gracing my inbox with it <3 fem!reader, 1.2k, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

As Steve sets his watch, your thoughts drift to the assignment sitting on your desk, due by the end of the week.

You really shouldn't be taking a break — you're not sure you can actually afford to. Well, your stress certainly makes it feel that way.

But Steve had badgered you lovingly with his wandering hands around your waist, fingers skirting beneath your shirt, and his hot kiss mouthing softly against your neck.

You probably shouldn't be taking a break but also, you're only human. Steve knows just how to press your buttons.

"I've set the timer," Steve murmurs, his voice somewhere behind you on the bed. His big hands smooth up your calves, pressing in his adoring intent. You can't see the heavy-lidded gaze he has, betraying a different intent. "Five minutes, okay?

"Okay," You agree tiredly, voice muffled into the pillow of your bed. "Work your magic, babe."

You're laying on your front, face pressed into pillow, your arms caged around your head. You're well and truly enjoying a moment to rest your eyes and you're betting it'll only get better when Steve starts his massage.

I mean, that's what you expect he meant when he begged you to let him 'help you relax' for five minutes.

Steve makes a little amused noise from behind you, fully intending on working a certain kind of magic.

His hands continue their slow peruse, his fingers spread wide and exploring the expanse of your thighs as they continue to slide up. He presses and soothes the muscles, getting you more relaxed with each touch. You huff a little sigh into the pillow, eyes sliding closed, and your body grows more pliant.

His hands keep moving up, up, up, until the fabric of your skirt is getting bunched up beneath them. Something nervous rises in your chest at the sudden new display of skin. Still, you don't move, almost eager to see what he does next.

Your face is still hidden away in the pillow when his hands begin to knead the skin where your thigh meets your ass. A soft, pleased noise wiggles loose in your chest.

Then—a ghost of a touch pulls a sudden small gasp from your lungs. A finger drags down the centre of your panties, just the slightest pressure.

"Yeah?" Steve probes gently, his voice low and raspy. The weight of his finger remains but he doesn't move it, waiting for your answer.

You're in two minds about it for only a split-second before your hair scrunches up as you nod your head against the pillow. The finger moves again, drawing down to trace over your clit lightly. Your face simmers with heat, even if you've done much nastier things with Steve before.

"Good girl," Steve praises. "Letting herself relax,"

His words sink into you, sweet as honey and warm as a sunbeam. Something twists low in your stomach and you have to resist the urge to readjust your thighs. If your face was simmering before, it's burning now.

Steve's hands move with a precision of well-known love. He knows what you like and he knows exactly how to get you riled up.

"Been working so hard, baby," He murmurs. "Know you have."

He continues his absentminded massage, hands rubbing and kneading the flesh of your ass. One finger always remains pressed against your core, petting against your slowly dampening panties in a way that makes you want to quiver. You bury your stuttering breaths into the pillow beneath you.

"Y'stop taking care of yourself, don't you?" You can barely focus on the questions as they drift out of Steve's mouth. Your eyes are closed again but this time in that growing lull of pleasure that's building up within you. "That's why I'm here though, isn't it? To help my girl relax,"

The damp spot on your panties grows under Steve's masterful strokes and soon, it's wet and sticky. You can't help but wonder if they're translucent but now—fuck, what pair are you even wearing? The thought melts away as Steve's skillful thumb finds your clit and draws a perfect circle around it, teasing you in just the way you like.

"Feelin' more relaxed?" Steve asks. You can't tell if you're imagining the smug tone in his voice but either way, he's a bastard for touching your clit and asking you a question at the same time.

You open your mouth to give an answer and let out a pitiful moan instead.

Glorious heat flames your face but you can't help how it fuels your mounting lust. He's driving you insane with these little touches.

"Good girl," Steve coos, as if your moan is the perfect answer to his question. You make another pathetic noise in response, feeling your hips rock back, desperate for a little more friction.

A disappointed whine creeps out when the touch is suddenly gone and Steve chuckles at the sound of it. "Won't be long, honey. Can you prop these up for me please?"

His hands have shifted, spread across to hold your hips lightly. You kick your legs up without question, enough to move them up, elevating your hips off the bed just barely.

Steve still gives you as praising noise, running his hands down your ass reverently. "That's it, baby. Doin' so good for me, aren't you?"

You're beyond words at this point so you answer him with another pitiful whimper. It's heaven to Steve's ears.

You hear the comforter on the bed rustle as Steve readjusts behind you and get all of a few seconds to wonder what before the heat of his breath ghosts along your inner thigh. Your tummy twists up in anticipation and you clench without thinking.

Steve chuckles again, his hands landing delicately on your either side of your hips once more.

He moves to grip a cheek in each hand and a lust-tinged embarrassment burns your face as he spreads you, your sopping cunt on display, shielded only by your soaked panties. A soft groan of appreciation pulls from his throat without permission.

"God, look at you," He murmurs.

One of his thumbs dips in, pressing beneath the elastic of your panties and moving to pull them to the side. A string of slick sticks to them and Steve groans again as he watching, this time louder. "Fuck, baby, you're soaked. Look at you, practically cryin' for it, aren't you?"

You whimper into the pillow, breath held as you wait in agony for Steve to do anything.

Faintly behind you, there's a small beep of a watch. Steve makes a disgruntled noise and shuffles for a moment, til the beeping stops.

"Five minutes, honey." He says, that almost smug tone to his words once more.

The words reach your ears but mean almost nothing to you. You have to resist the urge to arch your back and whine for him to keep going. But Steve won't have said that for nothing.

"W-What?" You manage to say, the word muffled into the pillow.

"Never mind, baby," He says, words dripping in a smugness that only drives up your body temperature. Your nipples peak in response and you feel your cunt aching for some touch. Steve obliges almost instantly, his thumb tracing down your folds. "Don’t worry bout it. You just sit there and take it like a good girl."

[reidelight]

Wake Up Call

summary: when the heat breaks down at the hotel you’re staying at, you suggest sharing a bed with spencer to keep warm throughout the night

genre: a twinge of smut and fluff

cw: 18+ MDNI, gn!reader, afab!reader, pet names (darling, love, pretty boy), slight sub!spencer if you squint hard enough, mutual pining, fade to black sex

wc: 1.8k

note: hi! this is my first fic on here :) there's def potential for a part two if y'all want it. enjoy!

You regretted not bringing a sweater to sleep in. 

While it made complete sense that the weather cooled as the sun went down, you couldn’t help but complain as the cheap motel informed you all that the heating was unfortunately down in some of the rooms. Ever the lucky ones, you and Spencer stepped foot into your shared room and are welcomed with a deceptively kind wall of chilly air.

“You’d think that with all the BAU does on a daily basis, we’d get a decent room to hunker down in,” you huff, setting down your duffle bag on the farther bed.

“Just you wait until you feel the thickness of the duvet,” Spencer chimes in, which results in a dramatic sigh falling from your lips.

It was only a matter of time before you had suggested sharing a bed to gather as much heat as possible. Seeing as Spencer was a walking heater, it made perfect sense when he crawled into your bed and even more so when you huddled close together.

Despite the good doctor’s opinions on the amount of germs passed through physical contact, he found that you bypassed any and every one of those thoughts. Simply put, he didn’t mind your germs. After the three years you two had worked together at the BAU, Spencer had developed a bit of a soft spot for you, and you for him. 

“Pretty boy,” Morgan smirked as he watched you enter with Spencer, treats in hand and the brightest smiles on your respective faces. “About time you two got together.”

“What?” Spencer squeaked, the heat rising to his cheeks. “No, they just brought me a coffee this morning.”

“Just you?” Derek turns to you, “What about me? I like coffee too, and don’t get me started on donuts.”

“So does the rest of the team, and everyone else in this office building. I can’t exactly afford enough for everyone,” you laugh, taking a seat at your desk.

“Not my fault the coffee machine broke down and maintenance hasn’t gotten around to fixing the damn thing,” Morgan groaned, tilting his head back.

“I’ll bring you one tomorrow, but it’s going on the company card,” you reply, flashing a smile to Morgan.

“Not a chance,” Hotch says as he passes through the bullpen.

Your conversation faded away as Spencer set up his desk far from your own. He couldn’t help but stare at the little heart drawn next to his name on the cup. You were his best friend, but he couldn’t help but allow his heart to flutter at the prospect of something more. Of course, he had weighed the pros and cons of asking you out, but ultimately decided it wasn’t the smartest idea. 

It was all around bad timing. You had just gotten out of a rough relationship and swore off dating for the time being. Spencer watched as men and women alike pursued you each time you’d gone out on BAU bonding nights. It made perfect sense. You were the most beautiful person Spencer had laid his eyes on, of course other people would see that too. 

Spencer had done his best not to let the idea of you in relations with another get to his head. Hell, he had spent so long trying to push away his own feelings for you. It’s not like workplace relationships were prohibited– Penelope and Kevin’s relationship was given nothing but support from the beginning. To him, there was simply no way that you would ever see him in that light. 

Apparently he had been wrong, specifically about what kind of feelings you had for him.

When he had woken up in the middle of the night, Spencer found that the blood not only rushed to his cheeks at the state of your position, but to his crotch as well. You had unknowingly curled up against his front, your head tucked underneath his chin, legs tangled together. 

For a moment, Spencer stopped breathing. You were so calm, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts running throughout his head. He felt ashamed for wanting to pull you closer and hear your sickly sweet voice moan his name. 

“Y/N? Wake up, I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled, trying to wake you.

Instead of opening your eyes, you had moved impossibly closer to his body, placing pressure onto his already aching cock. Spencer winced, simultaneously cursing and thanking whatever god above that allowed this to happen.

“Darling, I need you to wake up,” Spencer shook you again, sighing in relief once he saw your eyes flutter open.

“Was there another murder? What’s going on?” you grumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You really shouldn’t be rubbing your eyes like that. It increases the possibility of small scratches on your cornea, leading to redness, light sensitivity, and irritation,” Spencer spits out, trying his best to evade his evident nervousness.

“I just know you didn’t wake me up to tell me that,” You were slightly more awake now, still unaware of your (in Spencer’s opinion) compromised position.

“I’m sorry, I just need to get up,” Spencer rushed out, gesturing to your proximity. “Right now, preferably. I-I’m so sorry.”

Eyes wide, you shuffle away from him, apologizing profusely for moving around in your sleep. In your defense, the beds weren’t exactly the roomiest, and definitely not built for two people to sleep in comfortably at once. And he was just... so warm.

Spencer scrambled to get out of your shared bed, doing his best to cover his crotch with his hands. Already embarrassed enough, he finds himself bolting to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He rubs his hands on his face, ignoring the statement he’d spat out to you minutes prior. 

Unbeknownst to him, you had noticed his evident hard on as his lanky figure stumbled into the adjoined bathroom. Knowing your history, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think of the prospect of a hypothetical relationship blossoming between you two. Before you could overthink the idea, you found yourself following his lead and stopping at the door of the bathroom.

“Spence?” you knock gently, trying to listen for any movement beyond the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” he replied rather quickly.

“It’s completely okay, you know. You shouldn’t be ashamed for… that,” you say softly.

“Can we please forget about it? This is highly inappropriate, and I truly am sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, Spence. Who said I wanted to forget?” Spencer feels his breath fall short. “Can you let me in, love?”

How could he even begin to say no to you?

Unlocking the door, you’re greeted with a disheveled looking Spencer, cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. 

“What’s going on there, pretty boy?” you begin, taking a step closer to him.

“Look, I’m really sorry about this. I really didn’t mean to,” he begins, “W-what are you doing?” his voice falters to a whisper, afraid to speak any louder.

You placed your hands onto his wrists, gently pulling them away from his middle, allowing the view of his clothed erection on display.

“You really have nothing to be embarrassed of, Spence,” you smile, socking your head to the side. “Do you need some help taking care of that?”

“I-I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he mumbled.

“Why not? We’re friends, yeah?” Letting go of his wrists, you bring your hands to rest around his neck.

Spencer nods, instinctively putting his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“And friends help each other out,” he groans, shutting his eyes. “Say the word and I’ll stop. I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” he exclaims, gripping your hips tighter. “I’m just nervous.”

“Of what, darling? It’s only me,” you pause, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You have done this before, right?”

“Minimally, yes, but it's not just that. This could change everything. I don’t want to lose you as a friend if anything goes wrong. A-and the team! How are we going to explain any of this to them?” Spencer rambles, trying to avoid your gaze.

“We are the ones in control of this. It’s really our own prerogative to figure it all out. Either way, you’re still my best friend,” your voice fades away, lips pursing at all the thoughts running through your head.

“I am? I thought Penny was?” he spoke just above a whisper. 

“Of course you’re my best friend, dummy. You make it difficult to not love you.”

What? Spencer’s jaw drops, struggling to process the words spilling out of your mouth.

“I can understand if you don’t feel the same way–” your sentence is cut off by soft lips pressing against yours.

Following his lead, you kiss him back just as eagerly. Spencer hums into your mouth as you gently tug at the roots of his hair. You took this as a chance to slip your tongue against his, nipping at his bottom lip. He was desperate, unable to get enough of the taste of your lips. Pulling you taut against his body, you let out a shaky moan feeling his erection press against your belly.

“March 13, 2011,” he says, taking a breath. “Exactly two months after you joined the team, you didn’t seem like yourself. You were really in your head, not even Penelope could cheer you up. It also happens to be the day I worked up the courage to invite you over to mine for some wine and movies to take your mind off everything.”

You hum, taking a pause to press a short kiss to his lips. “Yeah, I remember that. It was the first time we had hung out outside the office.”

“It took every fiber in my being to not kiss you while wine drunk,” he laughs, toying with the hem of your shirt. “I think that’s the day I realized that I fell in love with you.”

“Oh, Spence,” you coo, brushing the hair from his eyes. “I probably would’ve kissed you back.”

“You’d just broken up with your partner. I couldn’t do that to you. I wanted to be a safe place, not just some guy that wanted to get in your pants.”

“I’d like to think that both those statements can exist at once.”

Spencer purses his lips, trying to hide his smile. His heart was beating out of his chest. He’d never felt lighter than he did right now.

“What do you think about letting me help with this, hm?” Spencer moans as your hands travel down his body, hovering just above his bulge.

“I don’t think we can just be friends after this,” he whispers, leaning into your touch.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[chilschuck]

ougghh these past few days i cant get this thought out of my head;;;; chilchuck with a tall-man clingy reader who's just wrapped around him at all times...

whenever the party takes a quick rest from walking they instantly have their arms around him. they r very short despite being a tall-man (lost the genetic lottery 😔 def not projecting) but still conveniently tall enough to comfortably lean their chin on top of his head

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ THIS WAS SO CUTE ANON!!! i feel that so bad, it’s hard being short out here. :”)) i loved coming up with ideas for this, as i know i’d definitely be that way with him if given the chance!!!

— CHILCHUCK: x clingy tall-man!reader

꒰ warnings: ꒱ gn!reader and sfw as always! super fluffy <33

꒰ wc: ꒱ 528

✦ i hope this is okay!! like always i had so much fun writing it!! enjoy!! <33

✦ This first started when you found out just how warm the half-foot was. You were struggling to fight off the cold one night and had noticed how delighted Izutsumi had been when she held him. Curiosity getting the better of you, you shyly asked if you could put your bedroll closer to his. Unsurprisingly to anyone in the party, you ended up with him in your arms that night.

✦ Soon enough, snuggling up beside him at night turned to you leaning into him whenever the party took a moment to rest. This grew into more of an embrace, which finally ended in you fully wrapping yourself around him every chance you got. Chilchuck wasn’t a fan of public affection, but for some reason, that soft spot he held for you let it slide. After all, it’s not like it was completely unwelcome…

✦ You weren’t very tall for, well, a tall-man, which meant you often rested your head on top of Chilchuck’s when you could. Pulling him into your arms and wrapping them around his waist, you nuzzled into the back of his neck and perched your chin atop his head often. This caused the half-foot’s cheeks to flush violently the first time you did it, but over time he’s gotten more and more used to the action.

— “Alright, we’ll take a break here and make something to eat.” Laios announced, the party breathing a sigh of relief at the chance to take a moment of rest. You immediately sought out Chilchuck, standing in front of him with your arms extended towards him. He let out a sigh, scratching the back of his head to disguise the heat rising in his cheeks. “C’mere…” He grumbled, hiding how his heart skipped a beat at your elated expression.

You sighed at having him in your arms, resting your head on his shoulder as his back was flush against your chest. He’d never admit it, but he had started to look forward to these little moments with you…

✦ Marcille couldn’t help but squeal with delight whenever she saw you hold him close, teasing Chil about how hard he had avoided forming a relationship. This would result in him barking out excuses about how you just used him for warmth, it wasn’t like that!! (Except it was, and everyone in the party was privy to the budding relationship between you two.)

✦ Especially when you noticed when Chil was exhausted, he’d wordlessly plop his head down into your lap, curling up into your side. He could be a bit clingy himself, given the right circumstances… Pet his head and run your fingers through his hair to practically hear him purr. (And to have him completely pass out.)

✦ Chilchuck began leaving room for you beside him, or even behind him, whether it was in his bedroll or when the party was taking a moment of reprieve. It became a common occurrence that there was a perfectly you-shaped space anywhere around him. Maybe soon he’d confess how he really feels, which we all know would only bring on more of the affection. (Which he couldn’t say he’d be disappointed in.)

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[milksuu]

pairing: 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

tw: mild suggestive themes, minor injury, age gap (in the mythical sense)

notes: don't know why but i wanted to try something original? if i make a part 2, def. will be nsfw. (oh and, i know sirens are usually part bird rather than fish, but we're going with the fish lol.)

Yandere!Siren who lures you by ethereal hymn from the safety of the beach sand, smirking when all those pretty little sea shells drop to your feet once you hear his voice. your hands reach for him, and his scales glitter in the dusk light as they take yours---so cold yet inviting. the biting waters tickling your skin with goosebumps. your enchanted giggles a beautiful song before a feast.

Yandere!Siren who guides your spellbound body below the shimmering waves, into a blue stasis where only you and him exist. he takes your cheeks, warm against the ice of his hands, bringing his mouth to yours with every intent to feast on your body. your lashes curl closed, and bubbles rest like pearls against your lashes, completely at bliss listening to his death song.

Yandere!Siren who stops before he grazes the heat of your lips. behind the drowning fractals of sunlight weaving through his eyes, an overlapping memory crashes against him. this wasn't the first time he's met you; you were a mere child then, and had found him during one of your silly human adventures. you'd freed him from an entrapment of netting and barb. but dared to insult him by calling him a 'pretty lobster', all while waving him off with a wooden-toy sword—a promised threat, no doubt. if it weren't for the fact you had saved him from poachers, he would've eaten you just for comparing him to those lower-living crusted things.

Yandere!Siren who curses and clicks at himself, for having even a shred of reluctance to devour your kind. he reasons a life for a life is a fair debt to pay, regardless of vitriol, and would pay it by sparing yours. he floats your listless body to the surface, and weaves you through the lapping waves back to shore.

Yandere!Siren who hesitates to dive back into the waters. not able to discern the rise and falls of your chest. he wonders if he'd held you beneath for far too long. long enough for sea water to be kept prisoner in your lungs. he drags himself to your side on the sand, hovering intimately above you. he presses his long fingers into your chest, finding your heart beat; soft but present. and although shallow, he observes the rise and fall of your chest. he wouldn't dare acknowledge the small sigh of relief in his throat.

Yandere!Siren who's gaze then roams your sun kissed skin and nipples melting through your soaked linen dress. but doesn't know why heat flushes through his tail, his heart throb at his fingertips, and scales shimmer a dusty pink. the drops falling from his hair pitter-patter on your lips, stirring you awake. he inhales sharply when you share a glance. your face and lips gilded by the afternoon glow.

"Pretty lobster..." you whisper dreamily, eyes still swimming on the lingering notes of his melody.

Yandere!Siren who half-flustered and half-scorned, wants to surrender to the reflex of plunging his sharp teeth into the suppleness of your throat. to mark you for this moment of not only sparing your life, but then having the gall to insult him—again. before he can commit to the idea, he hears the clanking of metal and footfalls of sentrymen descending the beach cliffs.

"Princess!" The soldier's call out. "Princess please, by orders of the King, return at once."

Yandere!Siren who hisses and nips at your hand in compromise to his deadlier wishes for you. He then thrusts himself back into the frigid waters, swimming a safe distance away from shore. when he deems himself veiled behind a jagged rock, he leans to watch, damning himself for certain curiosities. he watches with narrowed lashes as the guards help you to your feet. some patting the sand from your dress, one draping a shawl over your drenched form, and another bandaging your bitten hand.

Yandere!Siren who stiffens when you turn a head over your shoulder, and just like before, wave at him with a smile. that indignant human grin of yours, possibly cursing him with joy. he simmers at the thought, his face warm again, and slowly sinks himself below the surface tension. and to his own annoyance, wondering when you would come to bother him again.

[spidernuggets]

i’ve had this idea for so long and i really feel like you can do it justice because i LOVE your writing style so…

reader that knows jason’s identity but he doesn’t know that they know, so reader keeps teasing him. i think it’d be ESPECIALLY good if reader goes out of their way to buy nightwing merch or talk about how red robin is their favorite

that’s just the main idea you have full creative license over it 🫶🫶

Jason Todd x Reader

def not doing this to avoid studying chem...

"Hey, Jay, lookie!" You called him over as you entered the door of your apartment.

Jason had his nose stuck in a book as you walked in. He turned his head over to see you with a cheerful smile and a little paper bag in your hand.

"What is it?" He asked, bookmarking his novel, carefully setting it down on the coffee table.

I quietly snorted to yourself, eager to see his reaction as you pulled out a little Nightwing plush.

"Isn't it so cute!" You cheered, practically shoving the blue and black toy to his face.

Jason mentally grumbled at the sight of the plush. "Is that supposed to be Nightwing? You chose the lamest vigilante, babe," he says as his eye twitches.

You shrugged. "He's not lame! If you think about it, his ass does look good in that suit," you smirked to yourself, knowing it would get a rise out of Jason. "And besides. I mostly only got him because the stores aren't releasing a Red Robin version for another month. So I'm gonna save up some money before them," you tell him, hugging the plushie.

It seemed as if Jason's face went comically red, as you mentioned his own brother's butt. He wanted nothing more than to throw the plushie out the window, rip it apart, set it on fire. Anything to get your hands off that damn doll.

"They sell Red Hood plushies!" He tried not to complain. "Why not buy them? It's better use of your money," he grumbled, folding his arms together.

"I don't really like Red Hood," you carefully said, watching every twitch of his reaction while petting over the Nighting plush.

Jason felt like a bullet went through his heart, and he felt like hunching over to clutch his chest in agony.

"Why not! He's the best one!" He said in disbelief as you tried not to laugh over his reaction.

You shrugged a shoulder. "I dunno. He's just not a favourite of mine. Althought the thigh holsters looks great on him, woo!" You cheekily smiled, fanning yourself with your hand and biting your bottom lip as you put the plush away.

Jason felt heat rise up in his neck at the comment, ready to just blurt out that he was, in fact, the Red Hood.

"Maybe it's the giant red helmet that throws me off," you tap your chin, pretending to think as Jason made a mental note to have his helmet potentially be redesigned.

"His big red helmet is the best part.." Jason muttered to himself as he slumped on the couch. And you could've sworn you saw a pout form on his lips.

"Anyways, this toy is gonna be a great part of my collection!" You cheered as Jason perked up.

"Collection? You have more?!" He asked, disgust written all over his face as you tilted your head to the side.

"Well.. no, but I wanna start one! Oh! And I want to start a collection for Red Robin, too! I saw somewhere that they're selling a similar costume online!" You say excitingly. "I might be his biggest fan," you say while suppressing a laugh.

Jason was now on his feet, standing right in front of you. "Why not be Red Hood's biggest fan?" His pout was way more obvious now. You were surprised that he wasn't more discreet about it.

"Why are you so caught up with Red Hood?" You asked innocently.

"Uh, let's see. He's skilled, he's smart, he's strong, he's muscular and he's gorgeous!" He practically yelled as he towers over you.

You rested a hand on your hip as you leaned on one leg. "How the hell would you know he's gorgeous? He never takes his helmet off," you asked, rasing an eyebrow.

"Well- I- You know, he-" you giggled as he stammered and tripped over his words.

You decided to finally put him out of his misery, standing on your tio toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Calm down, lovely, I know you're Red Hood," you muttered against his skin.

Jason's brows scrunched together, pushing you back. "Wait, wait, wait- you knew?! And you didn't tell me?" He said in absolute shock.

"I wanted you to tell me at your own time.. but at the same time, I wanted you to tell me sooner since someone keeps showing up late to our dates for some unknown reason," You raised an eyebrow at him, not pleased with the fact that he was recently showing up pretty late to some of your dates because of his patrols.

Jason awkwardly chuckled while scratching the back of his neck. "Uh huh.. yeah- I'm.. I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to be late, baby," he muttered. But you quickly placed a soft peck to his lips.

"It's okay. You can make it up to me," you smiled in reassurance.

"But - but how did you even find out? How long have you known?"

"Uhh.." You looked up, trying to remember. "Around two months ago? And you left your holsters here. You know. The one that looks real good on your thighs," you smirked, leaning up to him as you teased him.

The heat returned back to Jason's neck, now reaching up to his ears. "Fuck.. I left them here? There weren't any guns in them, were there?" He asked with concern.

Your hand caressed his cheek. "No, don't worry. I kept the holsters in your closet."

Jason kissed your forhead as a soft thank you.

"So.. are you actually gonna keep that plushie?" He asked, referring to the Nightwing plushie you bought, a rumbling of jealousy rising in him.

You snorted as you shook your head. "No, I kept the receipt. Besides. It doesn't go with my collection."

His brows furrowed. "Collection?.."

You smiled, taking his hand and bringing him into your bedroom. You opened the closet and reached to the back, pulling out a big, brown box.

Upon opening it, the lid flew open, hardly abke to keep in the many plushies, figures, and clothing items, all based on Red Hood.

Jason's jaw dropped as he looked at all the Red Hood merchandise that you kept.

You pulled out a brown leather jacket that had the red bat symbol at the back of it.

"I've waited forever to finally wear this around the house." You say, putting on the jacket, giving Jason a twirl as yoh showed it off.

Jason breathed out a chuckle, placing his hands on your hips, pulling you close. "You look good, babe," he mumbles, his nose tickling yours. "Should wear it more often," his voice dropped, a suggestive tone laced within it.

You smirked back. "Yeah, that was the plan."

MAN HAVE I MISSED WRITING

okay, back to studying because i can practically hear Missy telling me to go study

[saintmurd0ck]

footsteps

masterlist

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader

summary: your undeniable chemistry, the perfect night. it's been a long time coming, and finally, matthew murdock is in your apartment.

warnings: NO SHE HULK SPOILERS but def inspired, matt murdock's filthy mouth, matt murdock's cocky personality, smut, p in v (unprotected), oral (f receiving), someone say size kink???

a/n: credits to @buckypascal for making gifs of the scene. also, new post format?! lastly, tagging @mattmurdockspainkink and @chronicoverachiever for being there on that night and screaming about this entire episode with me 💀🙈 love you two LOTS 💗💗

You don’t waste any time getting into the apartment. Not even to fumble for your keys. They go straight in to turn the lock, and then they're yanked out. Thrown somewhere. Anywhere.

Nothing else matters now but him. All this time; every path, every decision, every bit of banter exchanged between the two of you has come down to this moment. You’ve known Matt for a very long time, but tonight… tonight feels more than familiar. Even if you’re in brand new territory. 

The thick material of his suit grabs at your fingertips, tactile panels and armour-infused fabric gliding underneath your palms, clinging to the sweat that’s started to form. But you can’t think about that. You can’t think about being nervous, not when his mouth is on yours and his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging for entry. Right now, you shouldn’t be thinking of anything else. And rightfully so, you can’t.

Matt leans into the kiss, deepening it as a gloved hand comes up to cup your jaw, allowing for the tiniest of whimpers to slip past your lips. He stumbles, taken aback slightly at the way you’re kissing him, with a tenacity… a ferociousness he hasn’t yet experienced with you. You’re insistent, and it shows. It shows as you anchor your hand to the small of his back, nevermind that it’s all Kevlar you’re feeling and not his skin.

Oh God, his skin. The urge to see it, to touch it, to savour it, is staggering. Even though the night's only beginning, you’re impatient, and he knows it. 

It’s a good thing he’s impatient too.

“You’ve got too many clothes… uh– too much suit–” you mumble, breaking away but still maintaining your distance. Or lack thereof.

Matt chuckles against your cheek, and it sounds like a promise. “There’s a zip at the back, sweetheart.”

He pulls you forward again to nip at the column of your throat, and then to leave a mark at the base of your neck, soothing the spot only with a flicker of his tongue. You can feel him straining against you now, and he’s shifting his hips, trying to get his bulge to settle where it wants to between your legs. 

He’s antsy, and you get it. You understand. It’s not as if the two of you have been tiptoeing around each other for months, juggling a delicate balance of flirting and friendship and whatever the fuck else you’d describe your dynamic as.

But here you are.

Here you are.

You will yourself to pull it together as you kick your shoes off, Matt doing the same. He sets himself back upright promptly to remove his gloves, and then his helmet. You’re a little surprised at how haphazardly he tosses it onto the couch – a perfect throw, of course – considering that the suit is new and his helmet… well, his helmet cements his moniker, right? And–

Oh, enough about the helmet already. 

His hair is ruffled, chesnut brown going a little orange when it catches in the yellow apartment light. He throws a billy club at the switch on your wall, muttering something about, ‘who needs a light, anyway?’ 

He’s handsome, and all he’s doing is standing there, his stance a little wide, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You don’t need to tell him how he makes you feel; he knows it so acutely it’s as if he’s cracked open a window to your innermost desires. You suck your cheeks in, feeling heat rise to your face as you approach him. Your expression goes dark and you think you have to stop in your tracks, if only to squeeze your legs together, but your body overrides that sensation. It tells you to keep going, to disregard the second heartbeat that's manifested, so you do, fingers fumbling for the strap on the back of Matt’s neck that conceals the zip.

It’s an almost wordless exchange except for what’s whispered under your breaths; the ‘is this okay?’s and ‘yes’es that flow so easily. He reassures you as you struggle with his suit, telling you ‘it’s– the zip’s right there’ and ‘c’mon sweetheart, you got it’. And you do, in fact, got it, because now you’re tugging it down his back, exposing every inch of his delicious self to the ether and beyond.  

The zip goes down to his tailbone, and the second it has no more give, you’re pushing the suit off his shoulders, coaxing the material down and off. Down and off. You’ll admire him later. There’s something else in the way first.

When you get to his waist, you repeat your newfound mantra. Down and off. Down and off. You don’t care that his abs look carved from marble, like a statue handcrafted by Michelangelo himself, or that his cock – holy fuck, his cock – is almost staring you in the face – the suit goes over his ass, down his thighs, and he kicks it off, stepping on the pant legs to get the last of the fabric off his ankles. 

Now, you can look at him. And look you do.

“You know I can tell that you’re eye-fucking me, right?” he grins, lifting his arms away from his body slightly, palms turned to face you. He’s caught in an almost-shrug. 

You wave his words off to run your gaze up and down his frame, starting with his broad shoulders, the scars flecking his torso, and the tiniest trail of hair from his navel to beyond his boxers. His abs contract a little with every intake of breath, flexing and rippling as if they have a mind of their own. Your eyes continue to glaze over his body, working methodically from head to toe, focusing on a different part of him each time. You can barely recognise the quiver in your own breathing when you’re done.

“Bedroom,” you command, taking one of his hands in yours, squeezing it tightly as you lead him away.

He answers with a smile.

Then, as you approach the threshold of your door, of the very place you’ve thought about having him over and over and over again, his hand slides up to tighten at your wrist. He spins you towards him, backing you up until you’re against the wall. He pins you in place, and then his lips meet yours. This time it’s intimate, and not just because of what’s about to happen. It’s intimate for all the right reasons, for all the times he’s made you laugh, or listened to you grumble about the stressors of the world. It’s for every time he’s come to you, battered and bruised, close to broken, and every time you’ve nursed him back to sanity. To health. Matthew Murdock was — is — your one-in-a-million. 

Your one-in-a-million groans as he nips at your pulse, using his knee to knock your legs apart. You’re lost now with both hands tangled in his hair, while his begin to roam over your breasts before settling on your hips. Matt moves his thigh in between your legs, and presses it upwards where he hears you throb. You bear down on the hard muscle, a steady stream of moans accompanying the arching of your back. That’s the gratification you’ve been seeking, the pleasure he knows you deserve. And that he can give. 

“There you go,” he purrs, waiting for your arms to go slack so he can slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders. That moment comes easily as he grinds his thigh into your pussy harder. You wonder if he can feel the growing, damp spot in your panties — his sharp exhale tells you everything you need to hear. 

He reaches behind you to unhook your bra with an ease that surprises you, and then everything else follows: your dress, your panties, his boxer briefs — they’re nothing more than meaningless clothes, troublesome barriers, as they fall to the floor into one clumsy pile. 

And, for a moment, as the two of you step inside the bedroom, you linger there, arms wrapped around his waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He’s inhaling your scent, committing you to memory, as if nothing else – nothing – will ever come close to this. To you. He’s warm under your touch, and although his muscles are rock solid, he’s soft. He’s always had a gentle quality about him, and it’s become more apparent with every subsequent layer removed, physical and mental.

Matt braces his hands on your hips, squeezing ever-so-lightly to hold you there. Right now, he towers over you, still emanating that faint devil energy that always becomes more prominent with the suit, but you know you’re safe. It’s safe with him, and it always has been. He tilts his chin downwards, feeling your breath fan across his face.

He chuckles softly, and the sound makes your body erupt into goosebumps. It doesn’t help your case, but he drags his fingertips up your arms, touch featherlight and leaving you wanting more. He says your name, and it rolls off his tongue.

When he says it, it sounds like it was made for him.

He whispers your name again as he kicks the bedroom door shut, scooping you up to lay you out on the bed.

. . .

Moments later, there he is, forearms bracketing your face, mouth on your body, mapping every contour and curve you have to offer. He’s hungry for you, leaving wet kisses on your collarbones, moving further down to play with your breasts. He latches himself onto your nipple, sucking and circling with his tongue, grinding himself into your mattress in rhythm to your moans. You’re positive the dampness pooling between your thighs is trickling down them now. And that’s all thanks to him. Matthew. 

Your Matthew. 

He continues down your stomach, marking you as he pleases. You’re looking at him through your eyelashes, one hand curled tightly in his hair, trying to control your breathing, but it’s difficult. That coil in your stomach, the one that’s been loaded since the first time you laid eyes on Matthew Murdock… it’s reaching breaking point. And you need to let go. 

For a moment Matt’s expression is pained, but it shifts back to focus as he nears your pussy, licking his lips to affirm the scent of your arousal sitting heavy in the air. You realise his expression is one of discomfort, but only because he wants you. He doesn’t know how much control he has over his own body. He wants to drag this out, to have you until the night gives way to the morning sun, but he needs you, more than he’s needed anything else in his life. So, there isn’t much pretense as he slides his palms under your ass and lifts your pussy to his face. 

God, his tongue feels like heaven. 

He licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting you for all you are, before moving to your clit, drawing tight circles with the tip of his tongue. Still, Matt needs more. Somehow, this isn’t enough. It feels as if he’s waited his entire goddamn life for this, and if that’s how long eternity feels like, then he’s going to take advantage of every moment, of every chance to study your body and burn your pleasure into the fabric of his brain. Tasting you like this isn’t enough, so he flexes his arms, and he tightens his core, and rolls you with him until he’s lying on his back.

Matt Murdock eating your pussy is one thing, but Matt Murdock eating your pussy as you’re sitting on his face?

“Fuck– fuck, Matt, just like that,” you gasp, one hand outstretched towards your headboard, the other wound in his hair. 

He says something, but it’s muffled against your cunt, and it only makes you clench harder. With the way he’s lapping at you, and then the way his tongue begins to stretch you out, you realise you’re going to implode very, very soon. 

He lifts you off his mouth, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Now, angel, would you like to cum for me now? Or do you want my cock?”

Maybe it's the way your banter works, but the retort flies from your lips faster than intended. “Do you really have to ask?”

His mood switches in an instant, and it should scare you — but it stirs up something wicked inside. It’s as if Matt can read your mind, or pick at this new unravelling thread, because he flattens his tongue against you again, as if something’s changed in your arousal.

“I was being nice,” he growls, and something like taunting flashes across his face. He’s testing the waters a little. Maybe he’s trying to figure out exactly how you like to take it.

“Yeah?” you respond, smugness lining your tone. You shuffle downwards to where he’s holding up his cock, having stroked it once… twice, just to show off his impressive size. 

There it is again, that taunting.

Well, lucky for him, he’s not the only hellraiser this side of town.

You have him buried to the hilt in one agonisingly smooth motion, squeezing your thighs at his sides as his cock nudges against the spot that edges your vision in white.

He hisses as string after string of curses tumble from his lips, as suddenly he's enveloped in your warmth and your wetness, unable to think and almost unable to move. He has his hands on your waist, gripping so tightly you think it'll bruise, arms and abs flexing as he fights every urge within himself to cum inside you without giving you what you deserve.

He's pretty when he moans, and it's not just the blissed out expression on his face as you begin to move. His sounds are rich, and a little husky, laced with the kind of desperation you didn't think he could possess. You start to roll your hips, planting your palms on his broad chest as he lets you guide him into oblivion. Every drag of his cock along your walls sets your nerves alight, and he makes you feel so full you think you might burst.

He pleads your name. He begs you to go faster.

"What do you want, Matthew?" you drawl, lifting your hips up to bounce on his length, to writhe on top of him the way you realise he loves.

He's desperate, yet the authority in his voice remains. "Want you to cum for me, angel."

Your nose scrunches as you fuck yourself on him, breathing coming out in heavy pants as he hits that spot over and over and over again. His mouth curves into a devilish chuckle as you explode on his cock, fingernails digging into his skin as you pulsate and flood around him.

He takes this opportunity to reclaim his dominance, to flip you onto your back, pushing you into the sheets as he drives himself into you. His hips snap against yours ruthlessly as his forearms cradle your head and his mouth meets yours. The intimacy prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, and clearly you still have a couple good thoughts left in you, because Matt's got a weakness for this.

He breaks away from the kiss to tip his head back and groan, allowing you to pull him in deeper. Sweat blooms across his hairline as he lowers his weight on your body, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing you in and holding you so damn close. His rhythm never falters, but his strokes change, especially as he uses his hands to push your legs back as far as they'll go.

And, as if what he's doing isn't good enough, he wrestles one hand free to rub your clit.

Oh, holy shit. If this is how you die, so be it. So fucking be it.

"Matty," you whimper, interlacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss you again.

"Yeah, angel," he rasps, and his lips are back on yours. They're soft, and yielding, and flawlessly moulded to you.

"Matty," you whisper, and you take him over the edge with you.

. . .

In the afterglow, with the ghost of a kiss lingering faintly on your lips, you turn to him. He punctuates your question with a sentence of his own.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Come to New York with me."

You think of the invisible footsteps right outside your bedroom door; the ones an eternity in the making. You think of how it'd be to leave your own in his apartment, to leave him with what he's given you.

It scares you a little, because your life is here. Away from New York.

It scares you because your answer is overwhelmingly easy.

From the tentative smile on Matt's face, and the blush spreading across his cheeks, you know it's the right one.

[little-diable]

The Devil is Among Us - Tom Riddle (smut)

I just love writing priest!Riddle, he's def my fave. Nevertheless, remember: Don't like it, don't read it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is in a desperate need, asking the Devil himself to help her with the daily struggles she keeps on facing. But what will she do when suddenly her local priest turns up?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unrpotected piv, blowjob, loss of virginity, praise kink, sex in a church, mentions blood, power play, religious connotations, biblical beings

Pairing: Priest/Devil!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (3k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

The candles danced in the thick blanket of darkness surrounding (y/n), knees pressed to the ground, hands tightly gripping the leatherbound book she was reading. No sound could be heard, nothing but a bone-chilling silence that made goosebumps rise on her skin, unsure if she should keep on doing this. 

For a moment (y/n)’s eyes flickered up from the page she was reading, studying the pentagram she had drawn on the ground, following every step of the ritual. Her heart was pounding, roaring in her chest in hopes of ripping her away from this scene before she could take the last step. But she was determined, set on following through with the ritual she had been studying for nights on end.

With a deep breath sucked into her lungs, (y/n) reached for the knife laying next to her, trembling hand pushing it closer to the candles. She watched the reflection of the flames dance in the shiny blade, heating up the material before she brought the blade back to her wrist. A hiss rolled off her tongue as she cut her skin, collecting drops of her blood in the old goblet she had thrifted weeks ago. 

The first words began to roll off her tongue, latin words she knew by heart, forcing them into her brain. Her eyes fluttered close as (y/n) rose to her feet, positioning herself in the middle of the pentagram, letting the blood drip down onto the candles, while she kept speaking the words. 

Her body couldn’t stop trembling, sensing the danger before her mind could pick up on it, but (y/n) couldn’t stop now, not after waiting for this very night to come upon her for weeks. She had prepared everything, carefully, not daring to tell anybody about what she was doing, trying to summon the Devil, the one that could help free her from the mess she found herself stuck in. All she needed was some of his help, ripping those from (y/n) that talked down on her, that pushed her away from gatherings, treating her like an outcast. 

As soon as the last word was spoken, the goblet fell from her hands, clashing to the ground with a sound so shrill, (y/n) couldn’t help but jerk in surprise. She held still, kept her mouth shut, waiting for something to happen, anything, and yet nothing did. Seconds kept fading by, seconds turning into one minute, then two, then three – till the first wave of defeat began to flush through her. 

With a sigh leaving her (y/n) found herself groaning, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion, wondering what she had done wrong. But before another sound of hers could echo through the dark basement, the sound of somebody slowly clapping their hands filled the room, making her eyes snap towards the dark corner across from her. The sound of chuckles rang in her ears, eyes desperately trying to focus on the person hiding away from her. 

“I have to say, (y/n), I’m impressed.” A familiar voice filled the basement, and yet (y/n) couldn’t pinpoint where she knew the male voice from. Fear filled her body, thumping through her veins as she began to take a step back, almost knocking over the candles. “What? First you summon me, and now you’re afraid of me? C’mon, (y/n), I expected better from you.”

The sound of a chair being pushed back left her gasping, boots meeting the cold ground till the man’s frame was exposed to her. Her eyes met an all too familiar pair of pupils staring at her, making her gasp in surprise.

“Priest Riddle? What are you doing here? How did you –” the sound of laughter once again interrupted (y/n), forcing the young woman to keep quiet. The man kept walking closer, till he came to halt in front of her trembling frame, staring down on her with a smirk tugging on his lips. He picked the goblet up, thumb collecting a few last drops of her blood before he pressed his now red digit against her parted lips. 

“So naive, so stupid, don’t disappoint me, (y/n). You know why I’m here.” Shaky breaths left her, shaking her head as if she was trying to wake from this nightmare. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. 

“You’re a priest, how – how could you possibly be Him?” It was nothing but a whisper, a sound so quiet even her own two ears struggled to pick up on it. He tilted his head, didn’t break eye contact once as his hand began to move down her throat, finding its way to her chest. (Y/n) felt her heart skipping beats, a power so strong was pressing down on the strong muscle, she failed to keep on breathing. 

“Haven’t you heard? I like to keep those close who fear me, I enjoy their whimpers, how they ache for guidance because they fear ending up in my claws. It's pathetic.” Only as he pulled his hand away did she manage to suck another breath into her lungs, glassy eyes searching his firey ones. “You asked me here, because you want something from me. Speak freely, (y/n).”

“I,” she stumbled over her words, no longer able to remember why she had tried to call the Devil himself, no longer remembering the pain she was forced to endure day in, night out. Her eyes couldn’t leave his features, the smirk that had an awfully unfamiliar touch to it, not fitting the face of the priest she had known for years. “Do you remember what I told you last month? In the confessionary?” 

“I do, of course I do.” The softness of his voice left her heart roaring, torn between her fear and her curiosity, body moving closer before her mind could pick up on the movement. His eyes followed her around, like a moth drawn to a flame, like a sinner drawn to the Devil, a perfect match. 

“I want it all to stop, the rumours, the pain, everything.” A hum left the tall man, he pondered over her words, eyes flickering down to her fingers, watching her fumble with the fabric of her blouse. His cold hand found her chin, forcing her eyes back to meet his, the pupils that have seen more pain than one could even begin to understand. 

“You know it’ll come with a price, don’t you?” Her pupils grew wide once again, clearly (y/n) hadn’t thought about the price she’d have to pay, wondering what he may ask of her. 

“Do I have to sell my soul to you?” The words leaving her lips in nothing but a whisper left the man chuckling, head thrown back to release the sound. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as if he was trying to keep her frozen to the spot, not daring to let go of her warm skin just yet. 

“Whoever told you that clearly wanted to frighten you, sweet (y/n). No, I don’t want your soul, but your body. Give yourself to me, and I will follow your request.” She choked on her breath, unable to rip herself free as he tightened his grip even further. Her heart once again picked up its pounding pace, roaring in her chest, begging (y/n) to pull back. No man had ever touched her, not one man had been able to reach for her heart nor her soul, hidden from greedy eyes and greedy fingers. 

“Can I think about it?” He shook his head, wordlessly circling her in even further, forcing (y/n) to make her decision right there, right then. “Okay. I will do it.”

“Good girl,” the praise left her shuddering, straightening her back as goosebumps rose on her skin. All he could do was laugh, watching her body tense at his words, very well aware that he’ll have his fun with (y/n), the one he had been watching from afar, expecting this very day to roll upon them. “I’ll expect to see you tomorrow for my morning service, (y/n).”

And with a nod thrown his way, (y/n) watched him disappear in front of her wide eyes, leaving her to wonder if this had been a dream, a trick of her brain. 

……

With her eyes set on the tall man, (y/n) followed the others, walking closer and closer to receive the body of Christ. Her heart was pounding, wondering if he’d say something to her, if he’d tease her once again. Just the mere thought about what she had experienced yesterday evening left her feeling uneasy, thighs trembling. 

“Open your mouth, (y/n).” The command forced a sigh from her, lips slowly parting to expose her tongue to him. Without breaking eye contact he pushed the host down on the strong muscle, making him smirk as he watched her pupils dilate. With a nod thrown her way, he allowed her to turn back to the waiting crowd, none of them seemed to pick up on the shudders his touch shot down her spine, none of them seemed to pick up on the way her skin grew hotter with every passing second. 

The Devil had her trapped, caught in a dark web of lies, of pretending, a web she couldn’t break from. 

No longer could (y/n) spare any attention to the end of the service, hanging onto his every word without picking up on what he was actually speaking, imagination running wild, forcing sinful pictures into her mind. She could only guess that he’d be ruthless with her, he will take what he is aching for – that much she was sure of. 

Only as he ended the service with one last “Amen” leaving him did (y/n) snap out of her trance, eyes watching the others pour out of the church, while she stayed seated. He leaned back against the altar, arms crossed in front of his chest as he wordlessly forced her to walk towards him, almost stumbling over her feet as the pull inside her grew stronger and stronger. 

“Kneel.” The word echoed through the empty church, making her eyes snap up to meet his as (y/n) fell to her knees in front of him. She watched him loosen his white collar, plastic placed down on the altar before he began to roll up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. “Will you stick to your promise, sweet (y/n)?”

“I will.” Her whisper left him smirking once again, eyebrows raised as he waited for her to keep on speaking. “I will give myself to you. But how will I know that I can trust you? You’re fooling those around you, all of it is blasphemy, is it not?” 

The man’s deep laughter rumbled through him, shaking his head as he reached for her jaw just like he had done yesterday evening. His thumb was forced into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue to make (y/n) suck on the finger, drawing a raspy groan from him. “You’ve always been my favourite, (y/n). I knew you’d be good, such a good girl for me. A deal is a deal, I won’t back out, you have my word.” 

Trusting the word of the Devil, how pathetic, how naive of her. 

“What should I call you?” Her whispered question was left unanswered, drowned out by the sound of him undoing his trousers, exposing his throbbing cock to her curious eyes. She stared at him without moving, unable to speak another word, mouth growing dry, throat growing tight. She had never seen a man naked before, had never even dared to imagine what she was seeing now, and yet (y/n) couldn’t stop the anticipation from thumbing through her veins, making her tremble for more.  

“Part those pretty lips for me, darling.” He pushed his cock past her lips, leaving her to instantly choke. Water filled her pupils, blurring her sight for a moment. The man didn’t hold back, his hand found the back of her head, forcing her to pick up a bobbing motion. Without seeking any further guidance her hands moved up his thighs, grasping his cock. 

It took her a few tries to adjust, but (y/n) was determined, set on pleasing the man who’d help her out, the being with a soul so dark, her mind couldn’t even begin to understand what he was capable of. Her hands trembled, struggling to move in sync with the speed of her bobbing motion, taking him deeper and deeper. He was a groaning mess, producing sounds that left her cunt begging for his attention, needing to be touched like she had never been touched before. 

“Mhm, I should keep you, make you mine for eternity. I know you’d do well serving me.” (Y/n) could only whimper around him, not expecting him to jerk his hips, fucking her mouth without a warning rolling off his tongue. Spit dripped from her mouth, strings of saliva connected her lips to the tip of his cock as he allowed her to pull away, catching her breath as her hands kept moving. “Fuck, look at you, so oblivious, so naive, and yet your hands know how to touch me.”

An unfamiliar sense of pride flushed through her, taking him into her mouth once again. (Y/n) was eager, set on proving her worth to the king of darkness, the one all sinners followed through the darkest night. She was his, had sold her soul without knowing so, and yet (y/n) felt protected, safe, and appreciated by him. A trick of his mind that forced her to do whatever he asked of her. 

“Tell me, are you ready to take me?” The question left her swallowing, unable to reply, not knowing what was awaiting her. He didn’t give her any time to ponder on the question, pulled away from her to pick her up, setting her down on the cold altar. Her gasps rang in their ears, making him chuckle with a dark expression tugging on his features. There was no way out, she was stuck, forced to the being without any chance to snap the unbreakable bond. 

He spread her legs, hands disappearing underneath her skirt, feeling the damp fabric of her panties. She didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare move, wondering what would happen, how he’d touch her, how he’d make her feel. Her heart was pounding, mind racing, paying attention to his every touch. 

“You’re soaked, dripping for me, so inexperienced, but your body knows just what it wants, doesn’t it?” (Y/n) could only nod her head, allowing him to pull her panties down her legs, making the cold air hit her warm skin. A moan ripped through her as his fingers brushed through her slit, pumping into her without giving (y/n) the chance to adjust. He fucked her with his fingers, rubbed her pulsing bundle of nerves with his cold thumb, making her writhe. 

“Oh god, feels good.” Her head rolled back, hands finding his forearms, desperate to hold onto the ancient being. She barely picked up on the teasing words he spoke, couldn’t care about the things he was speaking, fully focused on the new sensation, hoping that this moment would last forever. 

“God isn’t around, He won’t help you, not as long as you’re mine.” Darkness engulfed her as (y/n)’s eyes fluttered close, drawing sobs, moans, and whimpers from her body, sounds growing louder as he pulled away, as he stopped touching her. Her hazy eyes watched him align himself with her cunt, slowly pushing into her, making her body tremble in pain. 

It took her a while to adjust to the stretch, needing to breathe through the pain, while he slowly fucked into her. With their eyes connected, he placed one hand down on the altar, while the other found the back of her neck, forcing her lips to meet his, officially sealing their deal without (y/n) knowing so. He had claimed her, had made her the devil’s toy, nothing would ever free her from him. The being tasted of darkness, of a rich darkness that was so unfamiliar she’d never taste it again. 

Curses left her, words he found himself chuckling about as he built up the pace of his thrusts, ruthlessly, merciless fucking (y/n) on the holy altar. There was nothing sweet about the first time she was touched, and yet (y/n) felt grateful that he was the one touching her, that she had given herself to him, to him only. 

Her walls clenched around his cock whenever he nudged her sweet spot, murmuring a soft “Touch yourself” against her neck. With trembling fingers she began to rub her clit, eyes fluttering close once again, arching her chest against his. (Y/n) felt him suck marks into her skin, marks she’d carry around with herself till her last day on this very earth, forever marked by the Devil himself. 

No words helped her express the intense feeling building itself up inside of her, thumping through her veins, making her quiver. She came with a gasp, clinging onto her orgasm in hopes of prolonging the feeling. He kept on fucking her, even as her body trembled from the overstimulation, begging him to give in.  

With his hand finding her jaw, holding onto her, he came inside of her, painting her walls white with a deep groan clawing through him. She felt his heat filling her, stretching itself through her body, a sensation she’d forever remember, stuck in the holy halls, closer to God than she had ever been before. 

“I expect you to return, you’re mine now, you belong to me. I will take care of my end of the deal. But know that there’s no way back.”

[imaginedisish]

My Love All Mine (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Not a request. Just a VERY slutty thot I had last night. Inspired by "My Love All Mine" by Mitski. Genuinely, this is one of the filthiest things I've ever written. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan told you to stay in his bed so he could have you when he got home from a mission, but he finds you in the kitchen instead...and he isn’t happy.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit sexual content! MINORS DNI!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Porn without plot (literally), multiple orgasms, (uh...they're in the kitchen? kitchen warning?), overstimulation, softdom!Logan, established relationship, f!reader/afab!reader, Logan is one starving and reckless man, disrespecting Scott, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 2,288 told y'all there's no plot

It’s late—the moon high in the sky. But you can’t sleep—not without Logan next to you. You know he’ll be back soon—he was only sent on a quick diplomatic day mission with Hank. Charles said Logan needed to control his anger, to learn from the best, and he was right. The trip would certainly do him some good. But it was still brutal, waiting in bed for him, alone. 

You had thrown one of his shirts on a few minutes ago, refusing to wear anything of your own save for your panties. You wanted to smell him—to find a way to keep him close even while he’s gone. And sure enough, the shirt was all tobacco and pine and musk and Logan. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need him. 

Too bad you’ll have to wait. He asked you to stay in his bed. Wanna fuck you right when I get home, pretty girl. You were happy to oblige earlier, but it’s getting late, and you’re getting bored—impatient. You swing your legs around the side of Logan’s bed and stand, heading out the bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen. 

A snack could help. A snack could distract you.

The kitchen is dark, and everyone is fast asleep. You rummage through the cabinets, hoping no one can hear you. You find a package of store-bought cookies with a sticky note that has Scott’s name written on it. After considering—albeit very briefly—you tear Scott’s little note off and toss it to the side. You rip open the package. He won’t care if you have a cookie. It’s just one, after all. You grab one, bringing it to your lips—

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You jump, dropping the cookie on the counter at the sound of the familiar voice. You look across the dimly lit kitchen to see Logan standing in the doorway. 

“Lo?” You whisper. 

He hums, approaching you slowly, sizing you up. He’s towering over you, caging you in, hands firmly gripping the counter on either side of your waist. “Is this my shirt?” He asks, his hand dropping to brush your thighs, pinching the hem of the tee between his pointer finger and thumb. 

“Didn’t know when you’d get back…” You trail off, heat rising to your chest. You can feel that all too familiar ache building between your thighs. “M-missed you.” Logan smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. “Missed you too, pretty girl.” He hikes the shirt up and around your waist, revealing your panties. “No shorts, huh?” 

“N-no,” you pant, suddenly nervous. “Lo, someone might see, someone could—"

“Let them,” he husks, pressing his chest to yours. “No bra either, hm?” He lets the shirt fall as his fingertips slip underneath and trail up to your breasts. He squeezes your tits, messaging them gently, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your nipples. 

“Logan,” you whine, struggling to suppress your moans. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Let them know whose girl you are.” That heat between your legs is burning now, flames lighting your every nerve ending on fire. 

“Yours,” you whisper. Logan pinches your nipples, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. 

He hums. “All fucking mine.” And then he’s grabbing your ass and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as your bare thighs meet the cold granite countertop. Logan bites your lower lip teasingly, his kisses becoming rushed and frantic. He squeezes your tits once more before he slides down your body to the floor below. 

He settles between your legs, one hand on your hip while the other teases your all too-clothed cunt. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, this thumb brushing over your folds. “Fucking soaked, princess,” he grunts, pleased. “All this for me?

“Y-yes,” you choke. “All for you.”

He chuckles against you, his laughter vibrating through your core. “Could smell you when I walked in. Can’t wait to taste you.” You shudder at his words, at the way they make you feel—your heart fluttering in your chest, ready to burst. 

Logan hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and yanks them down, throwing them to the side. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands. “Logan,” you whisper. “What if someone sees?”

He answers with a long stripe through your folds up to your clit. “I said I was gonna fuck you when I got home,” he mumbles against you, licking another long stripe. “And you weren’t in my bed, so this’ll have to do.”

His lips wrap around your clit, pulling the bud into his mouth and sucking roughly. You squirm, involuntarily moving your hips away from Logan at the sudden pleasure. Logan smiles against you, wrapping a hand around your back to hold you in place, to give himself more leverage to bury his face deep into your cunt.

“You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you, pretty girl,” he growls. His tongue swirls around your clit as his free hand teasingly climbs up your inner thigh. His fingers find your folds, stroking gently, spreading your slick. And then two of his fingers are sinking inside you, deep, down to the knuckles. 

Your walls flutter around him. Logan slides out and pushes back in deeper, lapping hungrily at your clit. “Tastes so fucking good, princess,” he praises. “Pretty little pussy, so tight.”

You curse under your breath as his thrusts pick up, fingers slamming into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. “Lo,” you pant, needy and helpless. 

His teeth graze your clit, and you moan, louder than before. You bite your lip, doing your all to hold yourself back. “That feel good, sweetheart?” He does it again, grazing harder this time, taking the bud into his mouth and biting softly. You try to stifle your moan, but it chokes its way out. 

“No holding back,” he chides, sucking your clit in between sentences. “Let them know who’s making you feel this good. Want everyone to know who you belong to.”

“Logan,” you hum, his fingers dragging against your walls, scissoring inside you. You’re already so close, clenching and contracting around him. “I-I…” but you can’t get the sentence out, can’t even make a coherent thought. 

“Use your words, pretty girl,” Logan demands, relentlessly lapping at your clit, pumping in and out fast and hard. “What do you need?” 

“Y-you…” you murmur. “I’m s-so close,” you finally spit out.

Logan tugs you closer, forcing himself deeper as he draws soft circles into your back. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he husks, his tongue flicking your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers, wanna taste it.”

“F-fuck, Logan,” you stutter. He’s plunging deeper still, slipping in a third finger. And that’s when you feel it. The tension snaps. Heat rolls through you, spilling out of you. He’s still sucking on your clit, savoring the taste of you as you let go for him. 

You’re a trembling mess, thighs shaking as you ride out your orgasm. “That’s it, I’ve got you,” he soothes in between laps. His pumps slow as you come down from your high. His thumb strokes your back comfortingly. He pulls his fingers from you, but his face is still buried inside your cunt, his tongue lapping ravenously. 

He’s a man starved, showing no signs of stopping. You reach out, running your hands through his hair, dragging your nails across his scalp. He grunts against you, the bass of his voice going straight to your core. “Logan,” you whisper. His teeth nip at your clit, and you jolt, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. But he isn’t taking the hint. “Logan,” you call again. He still doesn’t move. 

“I said you weren’t going anywhere,” he pauses, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds, looking up at you under lust-filled eyes. “Until I’m finished.” His fingers are prodding at your entrance again. “And darlin’,” he grunts, sliding three fingers back inside. “I’m not finished yet.”

He’s pumping with more vigor now, more force. It’s already too much; already more than you can take. His tongue circles your clit, the pressure rocking you to your core. You’re a whimpering mess as he thrusts into you, moaning his name, praying to him like he’s a god. 

“Lo,” you mumble. “I’m a-already…” You throw your head back, fucked out beyond belief. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he coos between flits, his fingers slamming into you. “You gonna give me another one? You gonna let me taste your come again?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking roughly. 

“Good girl,” he mutters against you, your walls contracting around him at his praise. He can feel you squeezing him; he knows full well what he’s doing to you, and just how close you are. He smirks against your cunt. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

And with one more thrust, you’re coming undone around him. It’s more forceful this time, sudden and uncontrolled. You know Logan likes you like this, quivering underneath him; because of him. 

He’s slowing down again, his fingers setting a lazy, dragging pace until they stall inside you. Your eyes flutter shut as he slides out. His tongue laps once more before he pulls away from you. 

You open your eyes, leaning back on your forearms, watching as Logan stands. He brings his fingers to his open mouth and stuffs them inside, sucking, savoring the taste of you, and then pulling them out with a pop. Your walls flutter around nothing at the sight.

“You taste so fucking good, pretty girl,” he huffs. He grabs your hips, yanking them just over the counter. He steps in between your legs, unbuckling his belt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor. He’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down his zipper, shoving the denim down his legs along with his boxers.

You sit up, reaching out towards him, but Logan pushes you down against the counter. He pins your hands above your head with one hand, while his other guides his cock to your entrance. “You gonna let me fuck you into this counter, sweetheart?” He hovers over you, his eyes tracking your every move.

“Y-yes,” you whine. “N-need you, Lo.” 

And then he’s slamming into you, down to the hilt. He’s filling you up and splitting you open with a single thrust. You’ll never get used to just how big he is, no matter how many times he fucks you. 

“Fuck,” he growls, swallowing your moans with a kiss. “Feels so good, so tight, pretty girl.” He pulls out and plunges back in, deeper this time. “Thought about you all day, beautiful.”

“Th-thought about you too, Lo,” you whine as he builds his pace. His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking the bud gently with his thumb. You arch your back at the touch, your chest pressing against his. 

“Needed this fucking pussy,” he grunts, his hips snapping into yours. “Need you. Always need you.” His words alone could send you over the edge. His thumb circles around your core, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. 

He’s hovering over you, still pinning your wrists down to the counter, offering him stability and balance. He pounds into you, hitting that sweet spot with every pump. You know you can’t last much longer, not with Logan’s lips at your ear, whispering sweet praises. So fucking good. Feels perfect, always so perfect. He’s right. He fits inside you like you were made for each other, like it was always meant to be this way. 

Your walls squeeze him tightly, threatening to let go, to come crashing down around him. He ruts into you, hips rocking against yours. He adds more pressure to your clit, his thumb stroking faster, harder. “Lo,” you call out. “C-close again,” you stammer. 

“Can feel you, beautiful,” he coos. “Gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” You can feel his pace faltering, growing sloppier. He’s close, too—not far behind. “Wanna feel you come on my cock, pretty girl. Know you can do it.”

“F-fuck,” you stammer as he flicks your clit, circling roughly. He’s throbbing as he slams into you, hit after hit. “Logan,” you whine. “I’m gonna—” 

It happens all at once. You’re crashing, pleasure raging through your body. It tears through you, burning, spreading. Logan is right behind, filling you up, coming deep inside as you clench down around him. He releases your hands from his pin and shifts so that he’s pulling you into his chest as you finish. You’re sitting up, slumping against him, still riding out your orgasm. 

He pumps in and out a few more times until he’s still inside you. He strokes your clit gently, soothingly, letting you down easy from your peak. He pulls out, his arms wrapping around your back and tugging you closer. He holds you tightly, limp in his arms.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “Missed you,” he whispers, all soft now. His cocky attitude is gone—his needs satiated. Now he’s all gentle kisses and soothing rubs up and down your back. 

“Missed you more,” you answer, smiling as you look up at him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t think that’s possible, sweetheart.” His fingers trace shapes into your back. “And princess?” He mumbles. You nod against him. “Don’t think I’m finished with you just yet.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Never gonna be finished with you.”

tags: @figsnpassionfruits @slaymewithaspoon @hunbomb @lanassmarty @zxaera @silversprings-mp3 @velvrei

[mashiraostail]

Hii! can i request your take on how wyll would react to a partner that is just ridiculously into him? like, they blush and giggle everytime he makes a joke, anytime they talk to him in camp they are def staring at his stomach, they cling to him at every opportunity. that kinda thing.

i LOVE your writing btw

this how i am with Wyll in my play through he goes "well met" and im kicking my legs and giggling

sorry i've been kinda MIA turns out being an adult with responsibilities like lowkey takes up a lot of my time.

Wyll doesn't like to flatter himself, he's the Blade of Frontiers that's special enough. He doesn't also have to be the apple of every wayward adventure's eye, he doesn't have to be anything particularly special to look at. So he doesn't, flatter himself that is, he doesn't immediately think that he's the reason his newest traveling companion is fluttering and blushing and stumbling in every direction. He figures you're just like that, excitable and always happy to see a familiar face in such a treacherous situation. He decides that he's more than happy to be that familiar face for you. It had been that way since your first meeting at the grove, you had reached out and rested a hand on his bicep as you invited him to join your camp and something about the twinge of color in your face and the way you struggled to hold his gaze made him feel glad to have been invited, he accepted easily. He briefly wonders if perhaps your constant watching and nervous fluttering comes from a place of distrust, distrust in his eye, in his pact, and in his history, that concern didn't last long.

As you traveled together it only became worse, the less clothing he had on the fewer syllables you could choke out at him, all of his jokes were the funniest things you'd ever heard and if you had any say in the matter you would always walk beside him. He didn't mind, actually the opposite, and he wondered when it might be time to start flattering himself with the notion that you would enjoy more than just friendly conversation.

He can feel your eyes on him, which isn't unusual, but lately it seems to be more. What could have been mistaken before for an excitability about or a desire for friendship and a familiar face was slowly morphing into something more tangibly lustful. He could feel your eyes on his stomach, gliding down the wiry trail of hair below his navel, darting between the protrusion of his hipbones, down the V of his shirt collar and over the veins in his bicep. When you spoke your eyes fluttered between his face and his body and if it were anybody else he wondered if he would feel as flattered as he did right now.

Often he finds himself looking for a reason to go to you, maybe he likes flattering himself or maybe he just likes you. He'll bring you books to read on relevant topics like mind-flayers and mind-flayer transformations, areas you're going to travel through, enemies you'll have to fall and so on. When the day is out and you all settle in at camp he's usually looking for you first of all.

"There you are-"

You try to not go so dutifully to him, you know your oogling is obvious, you'd feel more guilty if his distaste of it were clearer but you couldn't get a read on him and you couldn't help yourself at the best of times. It was especially hard to get a read on him when he seemed to be looking for you almost as often as you were thinking of or looking at him.

"Wyll." You're sitting by the camp fire, back against a log when you see him walking towards you, or hear him call out for you.

"I was looking for you." He stops barely a foot away, looking down at you. You instantly feel heat rise up your chest, you can feel it pool between your collar bones and climb slowly up your neck, the color burns your cheeks.

"You were....looking for me?" And gods help you, you try to look at his face, his face is as lovely as the rest of him but at night you get to see his uncovered arms and stomach and you can't help but desperately want to see it all.

"I found something for you today, it slipped my mind earlier but I saw it in my pack and remembered you." He's holding a book up, "I hope I can blame this forgetfulness on our unwanted passengers." He taps his temple, "otherwise I fear what will happen to me in my old age."

The worst part of it all is you're extremely capable, Wyll's watched you fell hundreds of enemies by now, and that's in the past week alone. But somehow all he had to do was crack a light joke and you were giggling and smiling at him like a school child. Though he didn't seem disdainful of it, he actually looked rather proud, so the embarrassment about it was reserved for you alone.

"It's a book about the Underdark and the Myconid colonies there. I'm not sure what it was doing in that empty tavern basement but...I guess my old habits can still come in handy sometimes." He shrugs and holds it out to you, "I figured you would like to read it."

"Thank you for thinking of me." You're sure he can see the wash of color over your skin darken, especially so when he reaches out his pointer finger to brush against your hand as you take the book from him.

"Don't thank me, it's easy." He shrugs and procures an apple and a dagger, though he's probably had them the whole time and you only tore your eyes away from his chest to notice now. "Room for one more? I can share this apple as repayment." He nods at the empty spot beside you and tries not to laugh as you flounder to sit up and make room for him.

"What's gotten into you lately?" He's still standing as he begins to peel the apple with the slightly dulled blade, pushing it occasionally against the pad of his thumb, he drops the scraps for the cub and Scratch who come dutifully to him, "you seem jumpier than usual."

What had gotten into you was Wyll's incessant need to test the water with you. He'd sit by you and your thighs would touch and you would be able to feel his breath on your shoulder when he spoke; he'd offer to take your bowl after dinner and cover your hand with his when he did, and he would laugh at you, and rest his hand on his stomach where he must know you would look. He'd watch you preen and purr at the attention, and you would go to him like a moth to a flame and he would celebrate the victory of it as if he hadn't had you all along.

"I'm just...exhausted." You rub your face to sell the lie, and it was certainly a lie, you couldn't feel tired around Wyll only jumpy, clingy and nervous.

"Really?" He frowns, "shall I leave you then?"

His frown was enough to make your chest and stomach bloom with excitement, he wanted to stay with you.

"No! I can't sleep so early.... I'll be up all night. I'd like your company."

You watch the subtle flex and give of his bicep and forearm, illuminated in the firelight, as he rounds the edge of the dagger across the apple's skin, the vein on the back of his hand gently protrudes as the blade of the dagger presses against his thumbprint. Every twist of the dagger brought his biceps to life, the steady strength of his arm coaxing the apple's skin to surrender in slow, deliberate ribbons; and you genuinely aren't sure what to do with it all. You wanted to feel his biceps ripple under your hands, watching the practiced ease with which he moved made you wonder what else he was well practiced for.

"We should have somebody paint you a picture. when we get to the city." He slices of a bit of the peeled apple and offers it to you, "it would last you longer."

"A painting wouldn't do you justice." You take it from him as he sits down, you hear him kiss his teeth and laugh through his nose.

"Careful, you won't like me with a big head. What are you trying to butter me up for, exactly?" He slices himself a cube of the apple and despite the shame anyone else would feel at his previous words you can't help but watch as his teeth sink into the apple with a crunch. You watch the flex and pop of his jaw as he chews and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. If he can tell you're watching he doesn't seem to mind.

"Nothing in particular." You shake your head at him and accept another small chunk of the fruit he was cutting.

"Ah." He twirls it in his hands, "but you are trying to butter me up then?"

"I don't know if I would call it that, I just can't help myself."

"You know, at first I worried you just didn't trust me." He offers a chunk of apple to the cub and scratch before throwing it into the distance, they run after it and he grins, "but now I'm worried I'm becoming vain, thanks to you."

"Vain?" You pique, "why's that?"

"I can tell you're always looking, and I'm preening like a peacock for you. Dunno why, you'd caught something the second you met me, didn't you?" He nudges his shoulder against you before going on, the flush rising again to your face was all the answer he needed, "I'll tell you the truth, if you'd like to hear it, I aim to live by the standards of a gentleman. The kind of man my father would have been proud to raise. I like to do things properly, slowly, deliberately." He sets the dagger down, "but, when we met, I could feel you looking at me at camp that night, the way you talked to me, and preened for me, it felt good. I felt like I wouldn't have minded to throw away those standards, to enjoy you the way you seemed to enjoy me."

"So why didn't you?" You sounded almost petulant, and you were looking up at him with so much earnest that he wondered again what would be so bad about throwing caution to the wind.

"Just because I wouldn't have minded to do something doesn't mean it would be the right thing to do. I am glad to take my time with this, no matter how difficult I find it at times. It's rewarding to...enjoy flattering myself with your attention while I consider, with time, all the ways I'd like to return it. You deserve much more than a lustful, needy, late night tryst, as wonderful as it may sound in the heat of the moment. You deserve all the careful time and consideration I can muster the will power to afford...I only want you to know that I understand you, and I feel the same way. When the time is right, and when I can give you the sort of night you deserve, you'll have me. I promise."

If you were to ask Wyll he would tell you he honestly had no idea how he kept his head from growing to big to fit in camp. Gods, you were practically purring in his lap and all he had offered up were some honeyed words and close contact. He'd never tell, but maybe it was all a bit self indulgent because gods did he love watching you bloom for him, he didn't mind letting you push the envelope, put your hands on his chest, let them wander a bit, he had more than enough will power to deny himself in the end and it would all be worth it when he finally found the right time to have you, or at least when he finally ran out of will power.

He wouldn't mind waiting until then anyways, not when you gave him enough attention to hold him over for a life time.

[spideysbruh]

announcement of all announcements

liked by y/n, ayoedebiri and 3,166,928 others

tchalamet my angel girl🩷

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rachelzegler im gonna cry yall are too cute

liked by tchalamet and y/n

timmyswonka my favorite married couple

coolgirlyn I'm gonna kms he loves her so much🥺🫶🫶

y/n i love you my beautiful boy

tchalamet liked

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh, rachelzegler and 872,288 others

y/n my perfect boy 🫶

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ynsdelicate they've been in that honeymoon phase for so long all the haters are maddd !!!

sabxyn no fr like they've been married for what, three years now ?? and they still act the same, if anything they're even more in love !!!!

tchalamet I love you my beautiful wife

y/n liked

rollercoasteryn BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BOYYY 🗣🗣🎶

ynsheadphones they're so classic (but modern) old hollywood celebs I swear

timmyxyn what ? 😭

modernyn I love how even their comments on each other's posts match LOL

@popcrave just tweeted- BREAKING: a source close to the couple have revealed that Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n are expecting a baby that will be due in several months! Sounds like congratulations are in order for the happy couple!!

@ynscurtains replied- sooo happy for them if true but damn you're just revealing all this against their will...

@timolaurie replied- yk there's a lil thing called privacy, right?

@timmyxyn replied- I hope they sue yall im so fr

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- ✨️

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 3,726,277 others

y/n Golden Globes ✨️🩷📸

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tsgf brooo she's def pregnant lmaooo

lacyyn why can't any of these comments mind their business I swearrr

ynslipgloss the way timothée was like always right by her the whole night 🥺🫶🫶🫶

timotheepaul BROOO I NOTICED THAT TOO he seemed so protective tonight

lacyyn well he's gotta protect her and their child LMAO

ryanszest the dress... so obvious that she's pregnant now fr

florencepugh so beautiful !!

y/n liked

lavenderyn timmys hands were always on her waist or holding hers im gonna cry

liked by y/n, zendaya and 3,754,544 others

tchalamet the sun rises and sets with you

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zestyyn BRO 😭😭😭

spideyyn that's fr the mother of his child

amoebayn the 'heat' reference 🥺😔

lauriesvest what does it mean I'm slow

amoebayn basically that she's like the center of his world, she means everything to him

goodgirlyn CRYING

y/n what did I do to deserve you 🥺

tchalamet just being your perfect beautiful self

glistenyn the way all the recent photos are hiding her front side 💀

polaroidtim tbh the second pic DEF looks like they could be hiding a lil belly 😳

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh, rachelzegler and 4,817,277 others

y/n yall are so nosy istg 🙄 (very happy can't wait to meet our baby girl in two months🩷)

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ynssocks NO FUCKING WAYYYY

legendaryyn BROOOOO OMG A GIRLLL 🥺🥺

tchalamet you are going to be the best mom ever

y/n liked

rachelzegler CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BLESSINGGG

y/n and tchalamet liked

tsgf ungrateful ass omg

ynscurtains stay mad !!!

noodleytim this is going to be the cutest baby ever I swear

sabrinacarpenter so excited for you guys!! I'm literally gonna be an aunt 🙄

y/n liked

timmytimstan she baby trapped him omg

ynsdune huh ??? yall are so weird omg they're literally married

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- my girls 💕

@y/n just tweeted- my weirdest craving so far has been the hot fritos paired with oreo ice cream... it's yummy i swear 😔

@realchalamet replied- it lowkey kind of is...

@y/n liked

@snowyyn replied- man what the hell

@medallionyn replied- she's so weird I love her

liked by y/n, tomholland2013 and 8,976,577 others

tchalamet any day now ���� I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else.

comments on this post are limited

zendaya yall are gonna be the best parents I swear

y/n 😳😳🤭🩷🩷🩷😘

tchalamet liked

y/n just posted a story!

caption- the progress pics 😭😭💔 can't believe im almost done.

liked by tchalamet, hallebailey, florencepugh and 6,682,828 others

y/n our daughter arrived a few days ago early in the morning. she's perfect. thank you to everyone who wished us well!

comments on this post have been limited

zendaya !!!! so happy for you two 😭🫶💕 imma spoil her soooo much

liked by y/n

hallebailey congratulations my girl !! 🥰

liked by y/n, florencepugh and 11,176,871 others

tchalamet my wife is a superhero. thank you y/n for giving us our little girl and making me a dad. I know it wasn't easy, but you did it with such grace and beauty. I love you and our little family. you can squeeze my hand as hard as you need to forever and ever.

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yntimstan "YOU CAN SQUEEZE MY HAND AS HARD AS YOU NEED TO"😭😭😭💕💕💕💕🫶🫶🫶🫶

dunesarrakis WHATS HER NAMEEEE

goldenyn CRYINGGG

tomholland2013 congratulations mates !!

rachelzegler so happy for yall 🫶🫶

y/n when is auntie rachel gonna meet her niece

tchalamet just posted a story!

*

[iwantghostsbigdick]

IM NEW TO TUMBLR AND I SUCK AT WRITING SO GIVE ME TIPS!!!!

you and ghost have to camp out in a very small tent after a mission and he gets all cuddly and soft cause he doesn't like the cold

you scoffed, and slowly shifted into the middle of the bed; wrapping the small amount of covers over yourself- (before theyre snatched away) as you heard the little pitter-patter of the rain hitting against the outside of the tent, how the fog outside crept indoors, making the tent feel icy. Ghosts low gravelly voice growled out from under the balaclava as he leaned up on his arms.

"The rain won’t let up soon. It’s suppose' to d' this for the entire week. The snow' will soon folla.” he said, his mood growing darker as he looked at you.

"I don’t want to sleep near you. Move furtha' over.” he huffed. (def placing up a strong barrier to seem tuff!!)

"Im against the wall of the tent, I'm getting wet." you hiss, glaring at him through his balaclava, obviously taking up more space than he should.

He huffs out a scoff, "Good.” he says in a thick accent in response to your glare. He was laying on his side, only his icy eyes visible.

"You bloody deserve it. If y' moved over more, maybe I’d consida letting y' under th' covers tonigh'.” he added. His tone was sharp and cold, unbothered by the cold weather. He acted like he didnt seem to be phased by it.

His words dug deep, like a knife stabbed into you, but not just deep- it was rooted, and twisting, plunging deeper and staying in that spot painfully.

It hurt to be spoke to like that from someone you respect.

He sat up as you scooted over to the side of the tent, his tone still cold, though the gravelly british accent was softer as he tried to get as close to you as he could without having to lay next to you.

"Don’t gi'me tha' look..” he mumbled, though his voice was a little hard to understand under the balaclava.

Ghost couldn't help but feel a little pity as he glared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His arms stretched out, a little shiver running through his body. With how close you were, you could feel his warmth radiating off of him.

For a moment, Simon thought of when he was a child, how his father treated him, how he was left to rot and freeze.

How he felt abandoned.

His arm extended, a little gesture for you to come closer to him as he saw you shiver.

He was still keeping his balaclava on, but you could tell from the way his expression softened that he was concerned for you.

"Com' ere. You can’t sleep in the cold.” he sighed, his tone still cold, though it was a kinder cold than you had heard from him yet.

Though, his words before stuck in your brain. *If you move over, maybe I’ll consider letting you be under the covers tonight.*

So, you watched as he sat there, not moving, eyes still sharp through the balaclava, but the cold tone gone, the heat radiating off of him made the tent warmer, though still cold.

There was silence between the two of you, Ghost laying there, patiently, waiting for you to comply with his silent gestures.

The balaclava gave him a dark look, like he was glaring through your soul, despite the warmth radiating from his body.

The tent wasn’t large, but with the two of you so close, the warmth was a nice contrast to the chill air. As you inched toward him, his arms moved around you. He wrapped them tight around you, and your body was finally out of the cold air. His body heat flooded over you as you could feel his warm fog against your skin. But Ghost didn't let you out of his grasp,

No, he pulled you closer as his arms wrapped around you. You could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. He squeezed you tight as he kept you close to him. The rain continued to pelt against the tent as Simon lay with you. He was quiet, he didn't say anything. But this wasn't an awkward type of quiet, this was a good quiet. He didn't need to groan, or scoff, or mumble curses..

He didn't need to. For the first time in a long time, he was content just to hold someone in his arms, to have someone in his presence. His grip was firm on you. His embrace was tight, yet he relaxed with you in his arms.

You could feel his shoulders drop, and his breathing become more shallow and he held you against his vest, like you were a part of him, you were his savior, his lifeline.

(I WROTE THIS IN 45 MINS)

[liyawritesss]

ɪɴꜱᴏᴍɴɪᴀᴄ! ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ + ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴄᴀᴛ

Characters: Insomniac!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would Miles’ life be like if he had his own Black Cat? With Felicia Hardy gone, someones gotta be the elusive, sweet-worded kitty cat to the all too pent up Spider-hero.

Warnings: A little bit of flirting mentions, but that’s about it!

A/N: Wow, I had this idea for the longest time, and somebody actually read my mind! I def wanna make this into a bigger thing, but for right now I’m just easing myself back into writing since I had a real bad writer’s block. Maybe with some time, I’ll be able to develop this into something more!

Edit: for some reason I had trouble posting this with the ask attached that requested this originally. And it was anonymous so I can't at the requester, but if you're still around, I hope this satisfies you!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoir @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @movie-enhusiast22 @l0stari @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream @bayb @ykimobessed @soilmayo

Tag Notes: If your name is not greyed, I couldn't tag you for some reason! Sorry about that. Also, I will now be including Insomniac!Miles in these Spiderverse! tags I have!

Sign Up For My Taglist Here

First and foremost I think that Miles would want to think you’re cool as hell, but given what he knows about Felicia Hardy and subsequently Peter and her’s relationship, homeboy is trying NOT to have history repeat itself with you. Because no matter how cool your outfit is or the fact that you pack a mean punch, you’re bad news and he needs to keep you at arms length. But when he gets to know you, that obviously becomes harder and harder the more the two of you cross paths.

I like to think that you guys meet in school first. You’re a new student this semester, placed right in Miles’ homeroom. You weren’t hard to notice with your striking white hair, always had earbuds in your ears, and could be caught humming tunes throughout the day. You become friends due to your shared love for music and art, and when you start using the same excuses he’d use for his friends and family about why you couldn’t hang out as often anymore, he’s too blindsided by your friendship (and the teeny tiny crush he’s developed) to question it

Though when the two of you meet mask to mask, however, it’s a different story. You play this elusive and secretive role so good as much as he considers you a rival, Miles also finds himself admiring the way that you’re so graceful with your getaways, and the fact that you are always teasing him doesn’t help either.

You laid it on thick, but after a while of swinging around the city trying to catch you, he’d gotten used to your flirting and the jabs you’d take at him, even throwing back a few of his own. He’s a smooth kid, learned the game from his uncle of course, and just as hot as you’d get him under the mask, you found yourself trying to keep down the heat rising to your ears whenever he came back with something clever and sweet. It was a sweet cat and mouse game the two of you played - even though technically one of you wasn’t a mouse.

The jig is up, however, when a bigger threat the city is posed and you’re caught in the middle of it and are badly injured when trying to fight it off. Miles is quick to rescue you, but the pride he feels from saving the elusive Black Cat is short-lived when he realizes that the face of the vigilante behind the half torn mask is none other than someone he considers one of  his best friends.

It gets awkward after that, and you’re quick to catch on as to why, because you, having deduced who the black and red-clad secondary Spiderman of New York truly was, knew how this would go if a conversation wasn’t had. And you tell him straight up that this life isn’t a game to you; you’ve been brought up in it and know the dangers and the risks, so he can’t talk you out of it. And if it was a deal breaker to your friendship, then, even though it would hurt like hell, you would have no problem in cutting Miles off.

And just like that, what Miles feared had come true - it was the same story with Peter and Felicia all over again - and yet, he still made an effort to try and see things from your perspective, to make it to where history didn’t HAVE to repeat itself, knowing that any feelings he’d have for you were no good in his line of work.

You know it too, though. Whatever budding feelings that were happening between the two of you couldn’t come to fruition, because Miles was a superhero for the people, and you were just a street cat looking out for yourself. There was a stark difference in the way each of you looked over your shoulders for constant threats to your existences, yours debatably being worse than Miles’ and you couldn’t drag him down with you.

But there still was this string that kept the two of you together. Perhaps it was the fact that you still had classes together in school. Perhaps it was the fact that you lived right next to each other and it was impossible to avoid one another throughout the day. Or perhaps it was the fact that, despite being two completely different people in two completely different lives, with and without the mask, you both still wanted to make it work; whatever would be between the two of you.

Even though you butt heads like water to a flame, Miles protected you with all his might, and you helped him in the hardest of cases with any intel you could gather. No, you couldn’t be together, but you’d still look out for each other; there was no avoiding that. You were his Black Cat, after all. And he was your Little Spider