#this is... dare i say.... a big mood

[purecommemasolitude]

gethsemane (i only want to say) you will ALWAYS be famous

[rocketonthemoon]

I put a new shirt on this morning and it was immediately too tight around my arms I'm almost there

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ POPPING YOUR CHERRY

જ⁀➴ Nanami was patient until you were ready, giving you a night full of pleasure and taking your virginity in a gentle way

ﾉ including: Nanami Kento

ﾉ cw: fem!reader, no dynamics, soft sex, oral (reader giving and receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy job, creampie, lots of pet names, consent checks, gentle aftercare, slight body worship

ﾉ wordcount: 4.3k (whoopsie)

ﾉ info: I need this man so badly I can not tell you | Requests are open!

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED (share your thoughts!)

Nanami has been nothing but kind and patient with you ever since you two met, sure he had his moments where he snapped at you due to stress at his work but you never took it to heart, almost feeling bad that you didn't quite know how to help him since he always brushed you off before he would say something he regrets and you gave him the desired space. He would always come back to you after a long and hot shower, muscles relaxed, his mood way better.

It wasn't until you happened to walk past his big bathroom when he took one of these showers when you found out what was really going on. Through the noise of the water hitting the tiled floor you could hear soft groans, followed by a few mumbled words… Was he masturbating?

Your hand gently knocked against the closed door before you could stop it from happening, a few grumbles to be heard from the inside of the room. “It's open!” He called out mere seconds later, his thick shaft still resting heavy in his palm, body hidden away behind the steamed glass of the shower. Swiftly you entered the bathroom and went straight for the shower, your clothes falling in a trail as you approached your lover. “May I join?” You called out slightly hesitant, your cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing him like this for the first time, but silence filled the room until he eventually spoke a small “Yes”, unable to resist you any longer. Nanami wanted to take things slow with you, knowing you're inexperienced so he waited for you to make a move, to give a sign that you want him as much as he wants you - he was craving you, the image of your body clad in the beautiful sundress you wore once stuck in his head and leaving little space for imagination what your body beneath might look like. The thought of you was his sweet salvation and his downfall late at night when he couldn't sleep or during the day when he couldn't focus. Only you.

After taking a deep and shaky breath you opened the milky glass door of the shower, steam clouding your vision for mere seconds before it evaporated enough to see your lover standing in front of you, not daring to look down where you saw his cock standing proudly in the corner of your eyes.

Noticing how you seemed to be frozen to the spot, Nanami tried to cover his manhood with his large hands, his eyes staying respectfully on your face, not once wandering. “Changed your mind?” He asked with a soft voice, not a hint of pressure behind his words, just curiosity, but you quickly shook your head no to let him know that you did not change your mind. With a careful step you joined the blonde man in the shower, hot water cascading down your figure yet his eyes remained trained on your face.

“Warm enough?” He asked caring, his voice soft as silk when he spoke which seemed to calm your breath a little. “It could be a bit warmer… if you don't mind,” you mumble, feeling a little awkward for intruding on him during such a private moment and now you just stand around in front of him, fidgeting nervously with your hands while he reached out to the faucet, brushing past the soft skin of your arm which you had draped over your chest in a rather shy manner. This simple touch alone left your skin to erupt with goosebumps and your eyes wandered over his strong arms, ending at his chest before you looked to the dark tiled wall once more, the rippling muscles beneath his skin embedded in your brain now. “You don't have to be so reserved. I'm your partner after all,” he pointed out lightly, not minding your eyes on him and as much as he wanted to just push you against the wall and take you, he remained patient and caring. He knew this was a rather big step for you to take already and he didn't want to scare you with anything, but you simply nodded, unsure arms wrapping around his torso in a gentle hug.

Nanami held back a chuckle upon this sweet and innocent gesture, holding you close to his body underneath the big rainshower, hot water cascading down both your bodies now. He would lie if he said that your soft skin and your perked nipples pressed against him in such an intimate way didn't affect him but his body betrayed him already - his erection twitching against your stomach and letting you feel just how badly he needed you. He cleared his throat and was ready to mumble out an apology for being inappropriate during such a delicate moment, but you looked up at him with a newfound hunger hidden behind your eyes.

Without hesitation the blonde man leaned down to capture your soft lips in a heated kiss, his tongue no stranger to your mouth as the kiss grew heated like oh so many times before. The butterflies were doing cartwheels in your stomach when his large hands reached down to hold your hips, pulling you impossibly close to his body in an effort to get you even closer until you had to break the kiss for air, his kisses traveling to your neck and it was evident that both of you yearned for more than just a makeout session.

By the time your hand stroked over his rock hard abs it was clear to him and he nodded almost breathless, craving the touch of your soft hand wrapped around his shaft for the first time and when you finally did he couldn't hold back a relieved groan. Nanami’s lips returned to yours once again as he guided your much smaller hand up and down the length of his cock, showing you just the way he liked it, but the way your hand barely managed to wrap around his girth left his head spinning, desperate to maintain focus when his hands crept over to your body once more. Calloused hands resting on your hip and just below your chest, your nodding of wordless consent was all he needed to let his hands travel further, one pulling you closer as the other started kneading your chest. “You're so beautiful, doll” he managed to rasp out as his kisses returned to your neck once more, his low moans and pants filling your senses as your hand worked on his length to help him get off.

Your soft whines didn't go unnoticed by him when he gently rolled your pebbled nipple between his thumb and index finger, his lips now trailing down to take care of your neglected breast, the warmth of his mouth engulfing one nipple while his fingers played with the other and you started to rub your thighs together in desperation. “Let me take care of you,” he mouthed against the soft flesh of your boobs and you could only nod, your hand working faster on him as his teeth tugged on your nipple ever so gently. He should have felt ashamed for being selfish, but your hands working on him got him off faster than his own ever could, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach and hands only to be washed away by the water right away, his head resting in the crook of your neck for a short moment, but before you knew it, his fingers were brushing against your thighs, begging for you to open up for him, which you did.

Skilled fingers caressed your inner thighs until he finally reached your core and just as he touched the part where you needed him most his sweet touch disappeared, a small chuckle vibrating through his chest which caught your attention. “We should take this to the bedroom, I want to take my time with you” he mumbled into your ear, his voice hoarse from how aroused he's gotten by the thought of finally claiming you as his entirely. You didn't need to answer him either, the way you turned off the water within a mere second was answer enough and he shook his head at how eager you seemed to be.

Leaving the warmth of the shower first, Nanami went to get a fresh towel for you, the soft fabric smelling like orchids and cotton, something you've started associating with him - with home. Just as he wrapped it around you, one hand stretched out to help you out of the shower and guided you to the bedroom you've been to a hundred times before. You should know the way by now but perhaps the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to fall off, was all you could focus on. You were grateful for when he gently scooped you up into his strong arms, the hint of chest hair tickling your skin before you were placed onto the bed with utmost care.

Warm hands untucked the towel from around your body to reveal your beauty to him, your body entirely exposed but you didn't feel the need to cover up, his gaze letting the heat rush to your cheeks. He made you feel wanted, desired like you're the most beautiful woman on earth - and to him you were. You were perfect in every single way, almost feeling bad that he's about to ruin you like this but he craved to hear you whimper and whine for more, pawing at his sculpted body when he takes you past the edge, begging for him, pleading to fill you up - making you his entirely.

Of course he will take his sweet time until he is sure that you can handle him, the thought of hurting you made his heart clench and… he's been staring for too long, your sweet giggle filling his ears. You broke the shell of the stoic man, you could make him crawl to you if you'd only ask. He was fully devoted to you and your love, craving you, his body screaming for you in every way - it was almost scaring him but he was undoubtedly yours.

Kneeling down just in front of the bed he pulled your body closer, your beautiful legs now resting over his shoulders until your glistening folds were right in front of his face, his blonde hair tickling your thighs when he started pressing open mouthed kisses along your supple flesh. Minutes that felt like hours passed and you needed him, going crazy with how badly you yearned for his pleasure until your hands found their way into his silk like hair, pulling him towards your core with pleading eyes. “Patience, doll” he whispered, his warm breath fanning over your folds and eliciting goosebumps over your body. You've never had someone this close to your heat but it was Nanami - you had no reason to grow shy nor embarrassed over your feelings for him, his rock hard cock letting you know that he was equally eager for this.

His amber eyes held nothing but warmth in them when he pressed a kiss to the mound of your core, looking for any sign of discomfort in yours. “Yellow if it's too much, red if you need me to stop” his words cut the silence in the room, accompanied by the thumping of your heart now picking up, almost sounding like a war drum. You nodded, unable to form words in the anticipation laced with nervousness but it was enough for the man between your legs, trusting you to let him know if you weren't ready to go on and you knew he would never pressure you into anything.

Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his kisses travel over your mound onto your folds until his thumbs ever so gently parted them, exposing your wetness to him. Unsure what to expect you gasped softly when the first kitten lick of his tongue brushed over your exposed clit, fingers digging into his scalp at the sensation. You could feel him smile at your reaction, his tongue traveling through your folds in a zigzag motion only to circle your bundle of nerves, alternating between gently flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until you were helplessly bucking against his face, the pleasure washing over you which caught you entirely off guard with its intensity that you couldn't even warn your lover - but he knew.

Nanami's tongue kept playing with your clit until he heard the cry of his name leave your throat, begging him, for what you didn't even know yourself but the orgasm that followed was better than any you've given to yourself.

Allowing you to calm down, his tongue slowed down its assault on your sensitive nub only to travel further down, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. The slurping noises were lewd but you didn't want him to stop, neither when he pushed his tongue into your entrance, nor when his thumb came down to rub small circles at your overly sensitive clit. Nanami was entirely lost in your taste, eyes fluttering shut and breaking eye contact for a moment and it made you swoon, seeing how much he enjoyed this - how pleasing you was pleasing him. Your juices kept coating his tongue, followed by soft groans against your heat only for his tongue to leave your entrance and return to your clit once more.

“God. You're so addictive” he mumbled into you, the hand which rested on your thigh now joining his tongue, his index finger gently circling your entrance to gauge a reaction from you, seeing if you show any signs of it being too much, but you were babbling at this moment, cunt clenching around nothing when his tongue started his assault on your bundle of nerves once more. Nanami was certain that you needed this as much as he did, ever so gently pushing his finger into your untouched hole just to feel how tight you clench around him from the intrusion. Nodding you started grinding against his face and finger, needing him deeper, needing more and he heard you, briefly pulling his finger out of you before replacing it with his middle- and ringfinger. Your cunt sucked them in, almost struggling to accommodate his thick digits - the stretch much more than your fingers ever managed and when he curled them into your sweet spot it was over for you once again. A loud whine erupted from your throat as the squelching noises of your pussy grew in volume “Ke-Kento… too much!” You whimpered helplessly to get him to slow down but the second your sweet voice reached his ears a clear stream of liquid splashed out of you and against his tongue. His fingers slowed down the moment you begged for it but your orgasm already washed over you, legs shaking violently on his shoulders when he lapped up the juices that just squirted out of you.

Your ears were ringing as your lungs desperately tried to get air back into them, not even noticing how your lover was raking his hands over your thighs in a caring manner, absolutely mesmerized by you. He knew very well that your body was pushed past its boundaries so he wanted to stop or at least give you a break but you finally came back to your senses, your gaze still hungry despite looking utterly fucked out by just his tongue and fingers. “Don't stop… please,” you whimpered, begging him for more. Oh you little vixen, knowing exactly how to play his heartstrings - how is he supposed to deny you such a request when he could devour you whole?

A single kiss was pressed to your right thigh before he put it down onto the bed, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle when he caught a glimpse of your frown. “You're going to be the death of me, love” he mumbled amused, your left leg now lined up with his chest and shoulder as he stood between your thighs. The feeling of his cock resting just above your heat made you want to scream, the kiss that was placed upon your ankle provoked the smallest whimper to erupt out of you. “Please Kento,” You encouraged him, being entirely certain about going this step with him and he nodded, thumbs spreading your folds once more to get a view on how wet he got you, a small puddle forming underneath your ass on the bed and he deemed it good enough to drag his length through your cunt, slowly.

Nanami wouldn't last long if he made love to you now, far too riled up from all your moans, your taste and the way you squirted just from two of his fingers working their magic on you. “Ken… i need you” you begged, soft voice sounding strained now, almost desperate but he only picked up his pace slightly, his tip now nudging your clit just the right ways to have you mewling for him once again, hands digging into the bedsheets from how sensitive you were by now and it needed everything inside of him to not push his cock inside of you when he felt close.

You could feel the twitching of his shaft against your wet cunt, heavy balls clenching as he spilled his seed over your heat and lower stomach, his head thrown back while a guttural moan left his throat. You really were going to be the death of him - now he was certain. Seeing your little pussy covered in cum did things to him, eyes darkening when he dragged the head of his cock through your folds once again to collect your mixed juices, only stopping when he arrived at your entrance. One last time his eyes wandered up your body to rest on your half closed eyes, looking so tired but so happy at the same time.

Nanami needed to make sure that you still wanted this since you were almost at a point of no return. Sensing his hesitation you reached your palm out towards him, letting the man that stood tall like a tree between your legs lower himself so you may cup his cheek in the most loving way. “I want you, Kento Nanami. I've never been more sure of something in my life before,” you whispered softly, the room around you falling quiet once more, only your heartbeats to be heard, hammering against your chests and begging to be united.

Your gentle giant couldn't ask for more from you, hearing you say it loud and clear - you wanted him, wanted this. His soft lips captured yours in an enchanting kiss and taking your mind entirely off of the way the bulbous head of his dick slowly pushed past your tight entrance and molding you to be his.

A hiccup caused by your pain interrupted the sensual kiss but Nanami was quick to help you, halting his advances when his length was halfway inside of you, taking your virginity with utmost care. “Shh… you're doing so good for me, doll. Do you want me to stop?” His voice sounded strained, yet caring and it was clear that it took everything in him to not thrust the remaining half into you which was greatly appreciated. His forehead connected with yours after he pressed a kiss to yours, waiting for you to say something, anything. “G-green” your voice cut through the silence and allowed him to go on which he did, one of his hands still holding your leg to his chest while the other intertwined with yours, lips returning to yours in a desperate attempt to ground himself so he won't lose control. Hurting you was the last thing Nanami wanted to do after all.

His balls rested heavy against you when he finally bottomed out, his deep groan echoing off the walls when you raked your fingers over his well defined back, feeling every ripple of his muscles beneath his pale skin. “Taking me so- fuck… so well,” he moaned breathless when his hips started to move with small thrusts, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek and you're not sure if it was from the pain or the fact that he made you feel so incredibly good. Weakly you nodded your head, drinking the praise in like it's the essence that's keeping you alive. “My good girl,” he continued, hips meeting yours with every word and he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest at any moment, seeing your jaw slowly going slack and your moans growing in volume to create this lewd image of his usually so sweet love.

Nanami had to halt, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from the way you manage to steal his breath, your wet cunt gripping him like a vice and trying to milk him from all he's worth and he wanted to just fuck you senseless right then and there, hips pistonning into you like his life depended on it… but he didn't - he couldn't. Not this time at least. Instead his hips moved in slow but deep, rhythmic thrusts which let him feel every ridge inside your heat and only adding to his bottomless hunger for you. You were moaning beneath him, angelic sounds to his ears but when he straightened up so he was no longer bending over you on the bed you suddenly cried out his name in pleasure, soft moans turning desperate for more.

The new angle made you feel even fuller than before, his tip angled perfectly to hit your sweet spot with every gentle thrust until your glossy eyes landed on his almost closed ones, nodding over and over “I know you're close, princess. Just let go,” he encouraged you, his thrusts picking up their pace to push against your sweet spot repeatedly until your toes curled and your back arched so perfectly off the mattress. His thumb rubbed tight circles onto your sensitive clit to drag out this earth shattering orgasm as long as possible - you deserved a first time to remember fondly after all but he just doesn't stop. Your breathless whines turned into cries for him, for more, for him to not stop. You were high on this feeling he gave to you, his hips rutting into you aimlessly at this point and his head was thrown back as his moans mixed with yours. “One more, just- fuck! Just one more,” he groaned with a rough voice, needing to feel you clench around him in bliss again before he allowed himself to follow you.

When your pussy clenched around him as another orgasm rippled through your beautiful body, he finally understood why they call it a little death. His hips thrusted into you a final time, burying himself as deep as he physically could while his dick twitched wildly inside of you and you could feel the way his balls contracted, slowly filling you up with his release.

Nanami's vision went white for a moment, pure bliss taking over and his body feeling like he was floating on cloud nine - this is why they call it a little death. You were going to be his own piece of heaven, your core gripping his cock so tightly he felt like it was hard to breathe but at the same time you were the oxygen his lungs needed.

His barely there thrusts finally came to a stop and he lifted your leg off his chest and shoulder before lifting your body against his chest so you could be as close as possible without having to slip out. The way he fell onto the bed with you was almost clumsy but he didn't want to let go of you, not even for a fraction of a second.

His big hand came up to wipe a strand of hair behind your ear, a tired smile on his lips “Are you okay, doll?” he asks with his voice like silk, needing to know if you're fine and you nodded tired, laying on top of him now with your bodies still connected. Even with his own seed running out of you and onto his body and the bed beneath he made no effort to move, the moment too perfect. Your body was draped over his, your limbs ever so tired as his hands ran up and down your back which was sticky from the sweat but he didn't mind it for one second. This moment dragged on for a while, gentle touches and even gentler kisses shared between lovers until your breath started to even out. In your half awake state you barely noticed how he carefully picked up your tired body to carry you into the room where it all began, only registering it when the sound of the water running and the scent of lavender filled your exhausted senses. “You can just rest, I'll clean you up” he whispered and lowered you into the warm water of the bathtub, following you mere seconds after where he let you rest against his chest again. You let your eyes remain closed when he picked up the softest washcloth, slowly dragging it over your arms, your torso, your legs and lastly over your sore pussy, still leaking his cum. There was nothing sexual in his touch, only tender care as he made sure to clean your body from any filth so you may rest and let him take care of you so you could wake in the bed to the smell of breakfast in the morning…

[nanaminokanojo]

MASTERLIST

Sukuna is pissed.

The reason? You moved away from him in your sleep when he wanted to hold you close.

In your own subtle ways, you've always complained about how unaffectionate he is. You didn't explicitly say it, but he did notice how your mood would shift, your pretty little smiles barely masking your disappointment when he would do or say anything remotely cold or mean. And now that he was giving you what you wanted, you just roll away from him, depriving him of your warmth and the affection he expects you to reward him.

How you even managed to escape four of his arms to find your own corner of the bed was a big puzzle to him. You've always slept peacefully pressed to his side on most nights, and you didn't really move much once he had two of his arms wrapped around your frail form. Perhaps you were doing it on purpose after he had evidently upset you during supper by dismissing you when you asked about his day. There was nothing to tell, and though he understands that your concerns came from a good place, he still refused to tell you of the horrors of the world he found himself so deeply embroiled in.

Sukuna, however, brushed off the idea. You wouldn't dare. Or would you? He was just protecting you. Why would you hold that against him?

He chose not to entertain the thought, thinking it was just you moving in your sleep. And so, he reached for you, gently placing his arms over and underneath you to pull you closer. But it hadn't even been a minute of him holding you when you started letting out these seemingly irritated noises and shortly after, you were turning your back on him.

"What –" He stopped himself when you breathed in deeply, half expecting to hear sobs if you were truly upset with him, but then, your breathing rhythm returned to normal. You were still fast asleep.

Sukuna shrugged, already feeling his temper rising at the thought that you could sleep just fine without him. The thought of it annoyed him, and that was an understatement. He decided to move closer to you then, but as soon as he did, pressing your back on his bare chest, you started squirming, a dissatisfied groan leaving your lips.

At that, he rose slightly on his elbow, taking offense. "Woman, what is your problem?" he demanded, making you lie down flat on your back, startling you. "Is something ailing you?" This time, he spoke gently, watching as you slowly blinked up at his frowning face like you haven't got a clue what he's talking about. And then you closed your eyes before favoring your left side, going back to sleep.

"You –"

"What?" you whined without facing him, annoyed that your sleep was being disturbed.

Sukuna scoffed. You've really done it this time. Nobody dared speak to him that way. "What now? You don't want me anymore? I thought you wanted –"

In one swift movement, he found himself being tackled onto the bed as you turned around and threw yourself against him, immediately finding your spot in the crook of his neck. His two left arms instinctively wrapped around you, keeping you cradled in them as you snuggled closer, planting a kiss under his collarbone as if to appease him before you were falling back asleep.

"You could have just stayed like this –"

"Shh."

Did you just shush him? And as if to punctuate it, you raised your hand, your fingers blindly yet tenderly brushing his lips and staying there.

"Wife, you are aware I have two mouths, aren't you?" he spoke against your fingers, fighting a smile.

You moved your head back to smirk at him as you threw a leg over his abdomen right where his other mouth was, your thigh preventing it from saying anything.

"There. Problem solved."

[zhelin-thames]

The Joker was ranting again, his shrill laughter echoing off the walls of the Justice League’s holding cells. Danny Fenton—or as they knew him, the Ghost King—leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face. The tension in the room was palpable, the League standing by in case the infamous clown decided to get creative. But Danny wasn’t worried. He’d dealt with worse.

“You think you’re so scary, huh?” Danny muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. The Joker’s grin faltered for a split second before he burst into laughter again, clearly unfazed—or pretending to be. Danny rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. You’re just loud and messy. Real fear doesn’t need a laugh track.”

The room went silent. Superman shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Danny and the Joker. Batman’s eyes narrowed, taking in the Ghost King’s uncharacteristic venom.

It wasn’t that Danny was usually chatty during these encounters, but his utter disdain for the Joker—his unwillingness to engage in anything more than curt dismissal—was becoming a pattern. Everyone noticed it, and no one dared ask. The Joker, for his part, didn’t push further. Something in Danny’s glowing green eyes made even him hesitate.

But when Jonathan Crane—the Scarecrow—was brought in a few weeks later, the mood shifted entirely.

Crane was quiet as he was escorted into a separate cell, his lanky frame hunched but his eyes sharp, calculating. The League had just wrapped up an exhausting mission to stop one of his fear toxin rampages, and they were still on edge. Crane didn’t bother with his usual monologues, which was unusual enough to make everyone uneasy.

Except Danny.

As soon as Danny saw Crane, he snorted. Loudly. The kind of derisive snort that made Wonder Woman glance his way in confusion. “This guy?” Danny said, pointing at Crane with his thumb. “Seriously?”

Crane’s head tilted ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued. “The Ghost King,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “A being of great power and…fear. How delightful.”

“Don’t,” Danny interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I’ve heard it before. And honestly? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Crane blinked, caught off guard. “Embarrassing myself?”

Danny sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I get it. You’re all about fear. Big bad Scarecrow, master of terror, blah blah blah. But do you even know what fear is? Real fear? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a guy with some glorified bug spray.”

The room went dead silent. Flash stifled a laugh. Batman’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering between Danny and Crane. The Scarecrow, however, didn’t seem angry. If anything, he looked…intrigued.

“And what,” Crane asked slowly, “would you consider real fear, Your Highness?”

Danny’s eyes glowed brighter, his voice dropping an octave. “Real fear is the kind that makes your soul ache. It’s the kind of fear that lingers in the dark corners of your mind, whispering that you’re not enough, that you’ll never be enough. It’s watching everything you love slip away and knowing you can’t stop it. It’s the void staring back at you and realizing it doesn’t care.”

He leaned forward, his face inches from the glass separating them. “Your little toxins? They’re cheap tricks. Flashy illusions. A waste of potential. You could actually do something with all your knowledge, but instead, you play Halloween in Gotham like some knockoff horror movie villain.”

Crane didn’t reply immediately. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. The others stared at Danny, half-impressed, half-confused. Even Batman’s ever-stoic expression had a flicker of something resembling surprise.

Finally, Crane chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “But fear, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps one day, you’ll see the artistry in my work.”

Danny scoffed again, turning to leave. “Don’t hold your breath, Doc. You’d pass out before you made anything actually scary.”

As Danny walked away, Superman stepped up beside him, lowering his voice. “You’ve faced worse, haven’t you?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve been worse. That guy? He’s just a waste of scary.”

Superman frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Danny smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Stick around, Big Blue. Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

[meowdei]

if you hold me without hurting me (you’ll be the first who ever did) — ft. sylus

synopsis: sylus is too causal with accepting pain. you don’t like seeing him hurt, so the best solution you can come up with is seeing him in pleasure

❤︎ word count: 2.4k words — it’s a miracle i kept it this short

❤︎ before you read: female hunter reader ; mature content. not suitable for minors ; not an established relationship but implied romantic connection. idk it’s complicated LOL ; injured sylus ; described blood and injuries ; evol inhibitors to make his injuries a bit more serious ; not proof read : hand jobs ; banter ; that’s pretty much it just wanted to write him cumming

❤︎ comments: i am posting this 3 mins before i need to leave for work this man has me hustling before my hustle rip

The safe house is quiet. Not including the sounds of Sylus’s low, pained grunts as you dress his wounds, it’s quiet. You’re quiet, and it’s unsettling—on a typical day, you’re more than half the noise.

(In a good way, of course. Sylus is not a liar by any means, and saying he doesn’t like the constant sound of your voice as you talk would be a ridiculously big lie. He values the truth in things.)

It means you’re brooding. Sulky, petulant brooding. He’ll just have to fix that, he thinks—and soon, too.

“I’ll have to trouble you a bit longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence as he glances at his arm.

You glance up and stare at the damage: a stab wound to his abdomen, a gash on his arm, and ugly, unwelcome bruises littering across soft, slightly tanned skin.

You frown. It borders on a scowl. He watches as you carefully stitch the wound closed on his lower belly with precise fingers. (Faintly, his mind registers that you’re good at this. Too good at this. He doesn’t like the implications of that—not for his own case and especially not for yours.)

“Does it hurt?” You mumble, finally.

Sylus is not a liar by any means, so he hums, titling your chin up and forcing you to pause. “Yes,” he says truthfully. You’d never guess he was in pain just by the look on his face—but there are always signs if you look close enough.

Sticky, sweaty skin. Deep, labored breaths. Slumped posture that’s so far from his usual tall, towering stance. He looks just a bit tired, too. Like sleeping (something he rarely does enough to be considered healthy) would be his ideal course of action right now.

You frown at his admission. “I told you not to get so close,” you huff, “you never wait for me.”

He chuckles. Deep, slow. Every time Sylus laughs, you’re reminded how powerful he is. How even through the sound of his amusement alone, he sounds important. Wealthy, too, if you’re being honest—he laughs like the rich. But that’s always amused you more than it’s impressed.

“You seem rather distraught, love. Dare I say….you’re concerned?”

“You’re too smart to act this stupid,” you spit.

He grins. It’s large, wide, and all too smug for someone who’s under your hands as you mend back torn skin. Gently, he hums, “so the kitten bears her fangs. How cute.”

Your mood is getting increasingly worse. Sylus knows that—but sometimes, he’s a little selfish. Pushing you harder, cornering you against the wall with smart words and sly teasing is the only way to make you open up sometimes.

And, well, Sylus is no liar. He can’t say he hates getting under your skin entirely—it makes you look at him. And he likes your attention. But more than that, he likes knowing you care.

“You don’t think I’m capable,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes.

“And when did I say that, Miss Hunter?”

“You don’t have to say it, I just know. Otherwise, you’d listen when I tell you to wait,” comes your agitated reply.

Sylus does not wait for you. He jumps into a fight without letting you step foot onto the battlefield. Most times, it’s a minor form of irritation on your end when you’re itching to get in a good few hits. Sometimes, like now, it makes your emotions saturated in every form of distress.

Anger. Sadness. Regret. Panic. All of it simmers and simmers until you feel you’re overflowing with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

He pays the price today—one sloppy dodge of a blade, and it impales his lower abdomen with precision, lacing him with something. Something that evidently is rather good at repressing his evol—he can’t fight nearly as well let alone heal.

You can’t help but feel useless. More than anything, under appreciated. Maybe, if he’d waited just a moment so you could have covered him, then maybe your night would end with less blood on your hands and less pain on his.

“You’re also too bright to act this dim,” he says lowly, voice just a bit tight with pain. You tighten his stitches, and he doesn’t even grimace despite the clearly unpleasant sensation.

“Do tell me,” you glare, “just what am I being dim about?”

“If you think I don’t recognize your capabilities,” he drawls, studying the knife that once tore through his flesh slowly. It’ll be analyzed at the base. You’re certain he’ll figure out just what the blade was laced with and trace it back to its origins soon enough. He sets it down and meets your eyes—deep, rich crimson bleeding into your gaze. “Then maybe you’re not as good at seeing the bigger picture as I thought.”

“That you’re a smug bastard who likes to prove you’re better on your own?”

“That I care about you,” he says plainly. “I can handle it. It’s better you than me.”

“You could have died,” you hiss, “if I wasn’t there—”

“I’d have lived either way,” he says smugly. “Killing me is a rather difficult thing to do. Inflicting pain, on the other hand….well, at least it keeps things interesting.”

Your face drops. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s so right. You can injure him all you want, but he heals fast enough that he’s here to stay. Like an annoying thorn that keeps pricking you as you pick roses. Like a weed that just keeps growing back the more you tear them from the ground. He comes back. Annoying as he is, he comes back. And you don’t mind that so much—you think you might even need it that way.

But it always hurts. He bleeds red just like any other person. Grimaces here and there despite how accustomed he is to the agony. Somewhere along the line, his pain became yours.

And you can’t help but be hyper aware of how much you despise it.

“I hate when you’re hurt,” you whisper.

“I’ll live,” he soothes, cupping your cheek and swiping a stray tear with a large, callused thumb. You shiver, pouting slightly at the words. “I’ve had worse.”

“But you still feel the pain.”

“Can anyone really avoid that, sweetie?” He raises an amused brow.

Before he can open his mouth to add more, you lean closer, careful not to hurt his wound as you press against his chest and bury your head into his neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

His breath hitches, and you think you’ve finally gotten through that thick, stubborn front of his.

“If it hurts,” you murmur, “then I can make it feel good.”

He shivers—barely, of course. But he shivers. It’s a small win. “Oh?” He asks carefully, his good arm curling around your waist to keep you in place. “And how so?”

You press a lingering kiss to his jaw. Your lips are not strangers to Sylus. They know him as well as he knows them too, but you’ve always danced along the edge of more than friends and less than lovers. One second, you think you’ve crossed over the line with graceful steps, the next you fall ten steps back.

Right now, you think you don’t care. Line be damned and whether you’re just friends or lovers, you couldn’t be more unbothered.

“I don’t like when people touch you,” you admit, “not at all. But especially not so….rough.”

“Mmh, jealous are we? Don’t worry, you’re the only one I willingly let touch me,” he grins. You roll your eyes, watching as he shuffles back to lean against the couch and relax.

“I should be the only one who touches you,” you say with an air of petulance.

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, placating your mood, “then show me something more gentle,” he whispers.

You smile. It’s the first one of the night, lips curling against the shell of his ear as you breathe, “oh I intend to.”

Just like that, your hand trails up his thigh, carefully tracing along the inner edge of his leg before your palm roams over his crotch. There’s a bulge forming as if on command. Your ego boosts just a little—for all his strength and endurance, one brief, mere little touch from you forces his body to react against his will.

“Is this really where you should be putting in all your effort?” His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears flush a pretty, soft little pink, “my arm still has an open wound, you know.”

“You’ve had worse,” you repeat his words back to him, “but let me show you better.”

It’s quick work, unblocking his belt and unzipping him just enough to gently pull out his half-hard cock. You glance down, smiling at the small bead of pre cum that leaks from the tip, forming a kind little opportunity for you to watch him squirm as your thumb grazes his cockhead to collect it.

You smear it along his length as you slowly stroke him to full hardness, and he offers you a shaky little huffed out, “fuck,” under his breath.

“Does that hurt, too?” You hum, nose pressing into his jaw as you kiss his neck.

“No,” he sighs, melting into you, “no it feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Do you see how nice it is when you just trust me?” You scold, “now apply this to the battlefield, too.”

He chuckles deeply at that, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to fuck his hips into your fist—his stitches are still fragile enough that he doesn’t want to risk tearing them. Instead, he has to trust that you’ll give him what he needs, all on your own.

“I’d rather get hurt and be spoiled like this,” he mumbles, “than risk anything happing to you. Seems like a better option if you ask me.”

“So stubborn,” you click your teeth.

Sylus is not a liar. You know that. If he says you’re capable, then you believe him—and if he says that he’d rather take the brunt of injuries and the pain that comes with them just to finish a fight before you can be involved, you know it’s not a lie. But you don’t always like the truth. You don’t like knowing he uses himself as a shield of sorts for you, as some wall between you and pain or maybe even death just because he can. Just because he heals. Just because he thinks he should.

You don’t always like the truth. Sometimes, you’d rather live in a lie.

So you tell yourself he thinks you’re less than him. That you’re lacking and beneath his approval and you have something to prove—so your hand tightens around his thick, reddened cock and you stroke fast. Quick and to the point.

Enough to have him groaning with an arm instinctively moving to cover his eyes as he throws his head back—only he hisses, feeling the stinging tug on his gash as he moves.

You hum, guiding his arm back down as you cup his cheek and murmur, “careful now. You’re hurt—I wonder whose fault that is.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment—but one swipe of your thumb through his slit has them rolling back in pleasure before he can glare at you. “You’re rather smug today,” he huffs, “do you like seeing me defenseless, sweetheart?”

“Not for the reasons you might think,” you say sweetly, grinning as you peck his cheek. Right where you cut him the first time you met. Right where you think you’ll always have to soothe so he knows you didn’t mean it.

Not anymore, at least.

“You’re far from the innocent kitten you seem to be,” he grins, huffing out a soft laugh as it tapers off into a light, breathy moan.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to make you forget the pain?”

“Oh yes,” he grins. Suddenly, a wave of red wraps around your hand and forces your grip to tighten. “I’ve forgotten I was injured at all.”

His evol, you realize—it’s back.

You stare at the gash on his arm—crimson on crimson as the flurry of his power replaces the blood, leaving behind soft, healthy skin. Not a scar left behind. Not a trace of pain. Not even a faint line of where torn flesh mended together and became new.

He’s had worse, you remember. And he comes back from it every damn time.

Still, you think—you’re going to give him better.

“I don’t want you hurting because of me,” you breathe, leaning into his chest and pressing your weight against him without worry, now. Your hand fists his shirt as his arms wrap around you and keep you close.

Your hand glides along his girth between your bodies, working him up slowly, slowly, slowly until it all feels like it’ll come crashing down all at once. His breath hitches as he lets out a light groan of your name.

It sounds pretty on his tongue. You’re more determined to pull nicer sounds from him, too, so you kiss under his ear lobe, sucking gently on the skin and feeling him let out a soft, labored gasp.

“Will you spoil me like this every time I’m hurt?” Sylus breathes.

You scowl and hiss, “no. Absolutely not. Then you’ll just get hurt more.”

He smiles smugly at the retort, biting his lip as you squeeze your fist around him tighter. “A smart little kitten, aren’t you? Sharpening your claws.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like me enough to worry. I think that says enough.”

“Asshole,” you glare.

He’s shameless, you think. Because the insult brings him to the edge, his mouth falling open to a beautiful face of bliss, body quivering under you in soft tremors of pleasure. Sylus is beautiful. Dark, rough around the edges, and uncut stone with sharp corners. Beautiful enough to want, dangerous enough to slice your fingers if you don’t know how to touch him properly.

You admire him as he spills into your hands, his lips desperately searching yours as he leans closer and pulls you into a kiss, heavy breaths pouring into your mouth as he gives himself to you.

“Good,” he pants, “you…you make me feel so good.”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be here for,” you murmur, “so you don’t have to feel pain.”

You stroke him through his orgasm, until he’s soft and pliant and limp under your touch. Gently, you stroke his cheek with a thumb as you cup his face. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

“As capable as you are,” he says quietly, “I like the idea of you spending your energy in other fields of expertise. Sue me.”

“I should,” you purse your lips. “Sue you for all you’re worth.”

“It’ll be worth the troubles,” he says smugly, “you’ll get quite the sum if you manage to.”

And he’s not a liar, either—so you scoff at his smug, truth-telling grin before giving his curved lips a small peck.

Girl . Idk

[luvnette]

-𝐶𝑜𝑤𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙!𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑘𝑎 𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 𝐴𝑙𝑝ℎ𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑡-

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Cowgirl!Sevika x Fem!Reader

𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡/𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: NSFW, mdni, gentle and rough sex, aftercare, idk what to put here- if there’s a letter that u don’t like, you don’t have to read it<3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

She’s so, so sweet. She’ll help you calm down from your sex-high, gently fondling your trembling body. If your lovemaking was messy, she’d clean the both of you with a cloth and some warm water.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Cowgirl!Sevika really likes her muscles in general. She thinks that they’re not like men’s since they’re a little more chubby, and she worked hard to get them.

On you, it’s your thighs and your tummy. She loves to cover them in kisses and hickeys- and cum. But she could get off to any part of your body, legs, tits, hands- you name it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This woman LOVES to eat, spread and play with juices, no matter if they’re her own or yours. She will make sure the sex you have is messy and I will die on this hill.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She would really like to fuck you on her horse enjoying the sunset together, her sitting behind you in the saddle, eagerly fingering your tight walls, your juices staining the leather while she coos sweet praises in your ear.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before Cowgirl!Sevika met you, she used to flirt with a bunch of hookers at saloons, eventually finding a hidden spot to have a quicky. She might not be the most experienced person, but she definitely knows how to make you see stars (and she’s more than happy to learn).

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl!Sevika loves the basic stuff- Scissoring, 69, dry humping, face sitting or tribbing. With a strap on it’s either (reverse) cowgirl, doggy, missionary or spooning. She’s also a huge fan of anal.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on why you’re having sex- if she’s punishing or brat taming you she’s obviously more serious. But when you’re just lovemaking and something silly happens, sure- she’ll let out a few chuckles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She doesn’t give a shit about her or her partners pubic hair. She has a full and surprisingly soft bush and a happy trail. The colour is slightly browner than the one on her head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, it depends on the context. She’s normally rather gentle since she’s so big, unless you’re both in the mood for something rougher.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

She used to do it a lot when she was younger and single, but she’s not really able to relax while masturbating anymore. She always feels guilty to jerk off to you without actually pleasing you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Cowgirl!Sevika has quite a few kinks and fetishes: mommy kink, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, age play, orgasm control, cum play, gagging, choking, spanking, praise kink and a small piss kink (as long as it’s squirt).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She prefers it quiet and intimate in your shared bed rather than taking a risk of being caught somewhere in an alley (she can’t help it if she’s drunk though). Sometimes, you two take a little trip to a really pretty spot she found, a small lake surrounded by nature. She’ll set up a tent and make out with you in the water on hot summer nights.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

To be honest, everything. You’re cooking/baking and stirring? Be prepared for her to thrust her hips against your ass. You’re crocheting something? How dare you turn her on like that?! The one thing that really drives her wild are sundresses though.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Gunplay or knifeplay are a total no-go for her. She’s too scared to hurt you by accident. Strap sucking and bondage aren’t really her thing either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As already mentioned, she doesn’t like strap sucking since it won’t satisfy you or her. But she’s a great pussy eater, her thick tongue lapping over your cunt while her nose bumps against your clit. She prefers to give, but won’t complain when you eat her out from time to time.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

She’s usually on the more passionate side, she loves to watch your orgasm slowly building up. But as soon as you’re misbehaving, her pace quickens and she’ll eventually get rougher.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

No. Cowgirl!Sevika wants to take her time with you, making sure you’re completely satisfied. She feels like sex has to be an act of love, especially in a relationship.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Well, she doesn’t exactly hates risky, public sex here and there, but it mostly happens because she’s drunk or she wants to make someone jealous. She’s always open to new stuff as long as it won’t hurt you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

She might be 41, but this woman can last up to five rounds. They usually take about 10-30 minutes, but she’ll need a few breaks in between.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Since it’s the wild west, there’s not a big variety. She owns a strap on and a dildo, that’s all.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Cowgirl!Sevika can be quite the tease- she’ll edge you for nearly an hour sometimes, tickle you while sex or just simply mock you with words.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

She mostly grunts, growls, snarls or chuckles and all those sounds are never really loud. But sometimes a small moan or whimper escapes her throat while you satisfy her.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cowgirl!Sevika will give you her hat while you ride or hump her.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

She has a very beautiful innie. Her soft folds are light brown, becoming slightly pinkish around the entrance. Her clit is big and sensitive.

Her strap on the other side is around 8 inches long and has a girth that isn’t too thick nor too small, it fits perfectly inside you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Her sex drive adjusted to yours as soon as she met you, but it will always be quite high, especially when she’s stressed out or simply bored.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Cowgirl!Sevika falls asleep shortly after you, making sure you’re comfortable and taken care of. She’s a big spoon and will press you tightly against her warm body, gently tracing your sensitive skin before she slowly dozes off to sleep.

[emisluvr]

every1 always write mean dom hoon.. but what about soft dom hoon 👀 i feel like he'd def have his soft moments hehe like if hes in a lovey dovey mood

omgg yes anon you're so smart :3 yes he looks like a mean dom and WILL be one when he chooses to but also.. he looks like a softie at the same time ☹️

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), lots of praise, body admiration, kissing, pet names, hoon being a big softie

when sunghoon is a soft dom, your intimate moments usually consist of lotsss of praising.. and gentlest touches.

"let me take care of you, baby. just relax for me.." he mumbles, watching you squirm under him as he lifts your legs up to your chest, aligning his leaking cock with your throbbing core as he slides it in.

you whimper in response, eyes fluttering shut as your head turns to the side.

"look at me, pretty girl. it’s okay," he reassures, fingers brushing over your chin so your gaze can meet his again.

his cock pumps in and out of you almost too perfectly, his tip kissing your sweet spot with every movement. you try your best to contain your moans, chewing on your lip so your mouth doesn’t dare open.

"let me hear you, hm? you’re so beautiful when you moan for me," he says, hands resting on your waist as he drives his cock deeper inside you, purposely trying to get more noise out of you.

"m-mmh! hoon, fuck!" you scream out, the sudden and extreme wave of pleasure making your hips jerk up.

he holds onto your hips in an attempt to calm you down. "shh.. it’s okay, doll. you’re taking it so well," he says, his upper body leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

he doesn’t pull away though—and neither can you, the back of your head mushed against the sheets. instead, he lets you both melt into the kiss, slowing his pace just enough for you to cum soon, but still letting a few more pretty moans slip into his mouth.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[darkbluekies]

Silas, Jerry & Hedwig drabbles: paying ransom

Yandere!mafia oc, yandere!female!mafia oc, yandere!richgirl oc

Warnings: darling is kidnapped so expect a darker atmosphere, death/killing, beating,

Silas:

His entrance is always enough to bring chills down your back, but this time his anger is not directed towards you. He walks quickly, hands in his pocket, eyes dark enough to swallow someone whole. He stops in front of the one holding you, nodding at SIC. SIC rolls his eyes and takes out a familiar white USB from his inner pocket.

"If you want this you'll let my spouse go first", Silas says coldly.

"How do I know that you won't dash?" the one holding you asks mockingly.

"Swear on my life."

You're let go, roughly. In less than a second, SIC steps forward, handing over the USB and pulling you out of harms way, throwing you back to Silas, who catches you. Silas's arms wrap around you as he hides you on his black coat. Your body cold and stiff after hours of kept captive.

"Nice doing business with you, Silas", the man holding the USB says.

Silas glares at him. "Keep your mouth shut before I change my mind and kill you. You should already have scurried away from here because the Gods know how badly I want to rip your tongue out."

He doesn't wait a second longer before pulling you with him as the three of you start to walk. He holds you tigthly against him.

"SIC", he says.

"Yeah?"

"Kill them."

"On it."

Jerry:

"Big men like you wouldn't resort to such a coward move such as kidnapping a weak being that can't defend themselves, would you?"

She smiles, but it's all sharp and predatory. She's shaking, wanting to kill more than ever.

"You seem to be in a good mood", the man holding you says.

"Good mood?" Jerry scoffs, taking a step forward. "If me being in a good mood means having to get my ass up at the crack of dawn, pay my yearly salary to get the person that I care about back is me being in a good mood, then I'm having a fucking blast."

She nods at her man to bring out the ransom—a member of the kidnappers gang. Jerry's not been gentle on him. He's in a much more critical condition than you, which doesn't surprise you. Jerry's violent, and even more violent when someone fucks with her.

"Here", she says, throwing a stack of cash on the stone floor. "Your blood money. Use it wisely, I've worked my ass off to get it. Now give me my pet."

The man smirks. "Pet?"

She bites back a groan. "Give them to me."

The man chuckles but releases you. You take a cautious step forward, unsure if you're allowed to move. Jerry waves at you to come over. You hurry, wanting to pass over to the other side. She grabs your arm, pulling you close, eyes searching your body.

"Are you hurt?" she whispers.

"I'm fine", you reply.

"Good."

She doesn't let go of your hand. She's planning to return later and kill them. Slowly.

Hedwig:

She dumps the money on the floor. You've never seen her like this. Never seen her ... dark like this. There's not a single ounce of Hedwig in those hazel eyes, and for a few seconds, you even doubt that it is Hedwig.

And you've never seen the men she's brought.

"There", she says shortly, shaking with anger. "There's your fucking money!"

"Is it the full amount?" one of the men roughly holding your shoulder asks.

"What? Do you want to count it? It'll take a while, and the cops could come any second. I swear that it's the right amount."

The men holding you exchange a look. They let you go, pushing you forward. Yous tumble over the parking lot's rough surface. Body weak and beaten. They didn't even have to hurt you. Hedwig would have paid the ransom without hesitation.

"Come here, darling", she breathes out, holding out her hand.

You stumble into her arms. She wraps them around you, her warm coat too gentle on your bruised body. You choke out a sob.

"It's okay", she whispers, rubbing your back. "It's okay, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

She holds you as she glares at the men who had dared to take you.

"Don't ever touch my boyfriend/girlfriend again", she warns, voice rougher than you've ever heard her.

With that said, she leads you away, back to the safety of her mansion where nothing will ever touch you again. The men she has brought, her hitmen, will finish the job.

[pathologicalreid]

everything is gonna be alright | s.r.

in which Spencer comforts your seven year old when he feels like he's unable to live up to the expectations set for him

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: dyslexia, boy dad!spencer, bearcia, bullying, feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders at only seven. word count: 1.96k a/n: listen i know i'm usually pushing the girl dad!spencer agenda but there's something about boy dad!spencer that i think would be so healing for him and i especially love jamie and his little teddy bear with matching glasses :-(

There was a heavy fog that had settled itself over the Reid household, Spencer could feel it in the air the moment he walked through the front door. Instead of being met by two running kids, excited to see their father after he was gone for two days, he found you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. 

Your youngest was sat at the kitchen table, scrawling the answers to her math homework on a worksheet while music played softly in the background. It might’ve looked perfect to the average passerby, but something was missing from the image. Someone. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, leaving his go bag in the mudroom and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

Not looking up from the cutting board, you hummed in response, “Hey, baby.” Any other day, he might’ve assumed he’d done something wrong to cause you to be short with him, but this time he knew. It was what the day had done to you that had caused your sour mood, not caused by the actions of another person. 

Spencer squeezed your hip comfortingly, “How did it go?” He asked, your five minute phone call before the jet had taken off hadn’t left much time for details, just the Reader’s Digest version. 

This time, you set the knife down, laying your palms flat on the countertop and sighing, “Exactly the way we expected it to.” You were disappointed, despite the fact that you’d been given the answer you’d been expecting, you had dared to dream. A mistake, as it turned out. “He’s upstairs in his room. I couldn’t get him to come out for a snack after we got home, but I thought maybe he’d let you in.”

He nodded in understanding, “I’ll go check on him.” He offered, separating himself from you before making his way to the kitchen table, “Hi, Rosie.” 

Your three year old sighed despondently, “Hi, daddy.” Her voice was tired, as if spending the day at preschool had really taken it out of her. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asked, making a quick pit stop to crouch next to her, a small cushion beneath her so she could properly reach the tabletop. 

She pouted down at him, “Math.” 

Her disdain for the subject had become apparent in the weeks since the school year had started, while she seemed to enjoy every other subject that school had to offer, she and math were off to a bad start. Though, calling her homework math was a bit of a reach, all she needed to do was color in the correct number of fruits for each problem. Spencer certainly wasn’t going to be the one to point this out to her. “How about this? What if you finish up your work, and I’ll come back down and check your work before we put it back in your packpack?” 

Rosie beamed at his proper use of the word packpack, nodding excitedly at the offer of having her dad check her homework. She turned back to her worksheet, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Are you gonna see bubby?” 

Spencer nodded softly, “Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to him for a little bit.” 

“Mommy says bubby’s sad,” she told him mournfully. “Can you make him happy?” 

He frowned at the sensitivity of your youngest child, her wish to make everyone happy had a tendency to make him sad. It wasn’t the first time his heart ached at his inability to make the entire world happy, just to put a smile on his daughter’s face. “I’m certainly going to try my best,” Spencer answered, reassuring her that he’d do what he could to make her big brother smile. 

Ruffling her hair, Spencer stood up and walked away, making his way upstairs to James’ room. Unsure of what he was walking into, he paused before knocking on the door. It was silent for a moment, the soft scratching of paper could be heard on the other side before a small voice spoke, “Yeah?”

Slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open so Jamie could see who was home. “Hey, buddy,” Spencer whispered, his heart breaking at the red-rimmed eyes that stared back at him. 

“Hi,” Jamie said meekly, shoving something behind his pillows before fiddling with the colored pencil in his hand. “Is it dinnertime?” 

Spencer shook his head, walking inside and closing the door behind him, making sure no little siblings would accidentally wander into his room. “Not yet, I just got back though, and I wanted to see you before we had to sit down to eat.” He sat down on Jamie’s bed, leaning against the wall and peeking at the page he was drawing on, “What are we working on?” 

Silently, Jamie handed the paper over, letting his father look at his most recent project, “Scarabs,” Jamie answered, pointing to the one that was still being colored in. “Rosie thought they were scary, but I told her they were rainbow colors,” he explained patiently. “She wants a purple one to put in her cubby at school.” 

He looked around his son’s room, all along the walls were different drawings that he had done over the past few years. His sister’s room had one wall that was dedicated to drawings from her big brother, the fridge was almost solely occupied by his artwork, and each member of the BAU had a specially made drawing for them. Bugs had been his favorite lately, a common interest for seven year old boys, and when he wasn’t chasing his little sister around with pictures of spiders, Spencer found himself in complete adoration of his son’s talent. “Do you remember the word I told you to describe the rainbow scarabs?” 

“Iridescent,” Jamie answered, sounding out the word from memory and pointing to the sticky note that Spencer had made for him, now hanging over his bed in a place of honor. “I wanted to make this one yellow,” he said, pointing to a colorless beetle on his paper, “but the colored pencil is running out.” 

Spencer hummed thoughtfully at the sight of the yellow colored pencil, sharpened into an oblivion, nothing but a nub. “We’ll get you new ones this weekend,” he offered. “We can go to the art store near mommy’s work, and you can pick whichever ones you want.” 

Your son shook his head dismissively, “No, I can just use the crayons.” He pointed to his art supplies, separated by things he was allowed to use in his bed and things that were for deskwork only. Too many sets of sheets had been ruined before you had to put those rules in place. 

“We’ll get you the colored pencils,” Spencer repeated, worry flooding his chest, that Jamie was somehow punishing himself for things outside of his control. 

Jamie nodded, setting down his yellow-green colored pencil and shifting uncomfortably on his bed, “I’m sorry.” 

And there it was, the proverbial shoe that Spencer had been waiting to be dropped. Of course, Spencer already knew what had happened, and there was no reason to make your seven year old recount the events of the day. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Spencer assured him, ruffling his hair softly and silently willing the solemn expression on his son’s face to go away. 

His creative, gentle, caring, perfect son had been taken down by a test result, and it broke his heart that he couldn’t do anything to make it all go away. “Am I stupid?” 

“No,” Spencer answered immediately, nipping any use of the word stupid in reference to his son in the bud. He would never tolerate anything like it. Stupid, dumb, idiot - they’d all be banned words in this household if that was what James needed. “You’re not stupid,” he corrected him, “You have a learning disorder. Being dyslexic doesn’t mean you’re stupid. In fact, I never, ever want to hear you use that word again, okay?” 

Jamie nodded slowly, fully processing his father’s words. “Is that why I can’t read good?” 

He opened his arms for Jamie, letting him climb into his father’s lap like he had when he was much smaller, but Spencer’s arms would always be open for him. “Yeah,” Spencer admitted, “Do you remember when you told mommy and me that when you read sometimes the letters get all mixed up?” 

The seven year old nodded, “Yeah, and we had alphabet soup for dinner.” 

When you first decided to get Jamie tested for dyslexia, you’d sent Rosie to be doted on by the BAU ladies for an evening so you could talk to Jamie in private, and you’d given him alphabet soup because he said that was what his brain looked like. It had given you something to use when you explained dyslexia and that you wanted to get him tested. 

You’d gone in for the test last week, but this afternoon was when you went over the results with the educational psychologist. It had turned out exactly how you suspected, but no number of childcare books could’ve prepared Spencer for how awful it was that his son was being so hard on himself. “That’s all it is, Jamie. Your brain just works differently than other people’s. It doesn’t make you any less intelligent, okay?” 

Jamie didn’t look entirely convinced, “Roger told me that I was dumb when I couldn’t do my reading aloud in class.” 

Spencer’s chest ached, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard Roger’s name in relation to name-calling. He just hoped that was the extent of the bullying, making a mental note to call his teacher tomorrow. “Roger’s wrong, and I’d imagine he has no idea what he’s talking about. You’re not dumb, you’re lightyears from it, really,” Spencer promised him. “You just need a little help figuring out what works for your brain, and mommy and I are going to help you, okay?” 

Nervously, Jamie nodded, “Okay.” He smiled shyly up at Spencer, “You’ll help me read?” 

“Yes,” Spencer confirmed, hoping Jamie knew how much he intended on keeping this promise. “We can read together every night if you’d like. In person or over the phone - whatever you need, lovey.” 

Leaning his head against his father’s shoulder, Jamie sighed in relief, “Thank you.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Jamie’s head before asking, “What were you hiding in your pillows when I came in?” The question made him nervous, afraid of the answer and hoping it was something simple like a snack that he’d snuck from the pantry, which is why he was surprised when Jamie clambered off of his lap, producing a familiar stuffed animal that had been wedged between the pillows. 

The brown bear brought a warm feeling to Spencer’s heart, recognizing it immediately without seeing its face. “I don’t sleep with him every night,” Jamie insisted, feeling the need to defend himself. 

Spencer shook his head, “You can sleep with Bearcia all you need, bubby,” using Rosie’s nickname for her older brother. “And you don’t need to hide him beneath your pillows,” he mock scolded, “He won’t be able to breathe.” 

Jamie looked fondly at the bear, and Spencer wondered if he thought of the same memories as him when looking at the thick black frames, stitched on by his namesake, that so closely mirrored the frames of James’ own glasses. “Then maybe he can stay on my bed again,” Jamie concluded, holding the bear tightly in his arms, just like he did when he was three and the scariest thing out there was thunder and lightning. 

Smiling at the memory, Spencer reached out, gently pushing Jamie’s glasses up on his nose before repeating the motion for Bearcia. “I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Spencer agreed.

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing his way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Toy (Wolverine)

Description: Logan is pissed and takes it out on Y/N, sexually.

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 988

Request: what if logan came home from a rough mission and jus took all that anger out on y/n 🤭🤭🤭

Logan was fuming, I mean he was pissed. Wade and him went on a mission and it almost didn’t go their way. Wade being Wade had to be joking and laughing during the mission but Logan wasn’t in the mood. Nothing about killing those guys was funny but Wade had to make it. His fingers gripped the wheel so hard he was turning red.

His face was red, hell his dick was even red at this point. He couldn’t wait to get home and fuck his little toy. Y/N was in for a treat when he got back. He didn’t care if Wade heard or even watched. He just needed to let off some steam. He was so in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Wade trying to talk to him, “What?” He snapped at the merc. “I was just saying that we should have Tacos tonight.” Wade said and Logan rolled his eyes, “Yeah sure whatever.” He didn’t care about dinner right now.

Only Y/N’s sweet tight pussy. The ride home felt like forever but when they got back he didn’t even turn the car off, he just stormed into the apartment. Y/N sat on the couch watching TV when Logan came in and oh did he look mad. She quickly got up, “What’s wrong?” She asked him but he ignored her and threw her over his shoulder ignoring her protest. He took her to his room not caring about the door being shut or not. He threw her on the bed and she stared up at him in shock and lust.

He pulled her legs to the end of the bed and pulled down her sweats, “I need to taste this pussy.” He growled and yanked her panties down. The fresh scent of her arousal hit his nose as her pussy was now bare to him and wetter than ever. He wasted no time and shoved his face in between her legs causing her to moan out. He placed both hands on each thigh to make sure she doesn’t close around his head. She threw her head back as she felt his tongue explore her with all his might. He was mad, so furious with the mission and this was the only way he could let it out without getting violent.

It was either this or kill Wade. Her hands laced themselves in his hair and he growled against her causing a vibration to shoot through her body. She whined his name and started to move her hips but he held her in place. He was grunting and growling against her pussy like an animal. “So wet.” He mumbled against her. “Mine.” She enjoyed him being possessive and didn’t dare to ask why he was like this. “Logan fuck baby. You’re so good.” She praised him.

His grip on her thighs tightened and she hissed at the pain. It was definitely gonna leave a bruise or two. His nose started bumping against her clit on the perfect angle. It was over from there. She was cumming and screaming his name. Her eyes were rolled back and he never slowed for a minute until she struggled against him to push him away. She looked at him and her jaw dropped. His mouth was covered in her slick and he wore a dangerous smirk. Hair all messy from her grabbing it. He looked sexy.

He stood up without a word and got undressed. She was in awe at the sight of his abs. His abs were perfect and it made her pussy pulse. He crawled on top of her and growled, “Are you gonna take it like a good girl?” Of course she was. She had never been more turned on in her life. She nodded and he grabbed her face, “Say it.” He demanded. “Yes.” She whispered. “Good.” He said and lined his thick cock up with her entrance. He sighed at how great her pussy was and how it held him. She whimpered at the feeling of being stretched out by such a big cock. “Fuck, you have the perfect pussy sweet girl. Love it so much.” He bottomed out and smirked.

She stared up at him with want and even though he was being rough with her. She wanted it and so much more. He started thrusting rough and hard, completely taking her breath away. She was gasping and moaning. She could hardly keep her eyes open. “Eyes on me, doll.” He said and she opened them. They made eye contact and he smirked at her again. Her mouth was open and all types of pornographic noises were leaving her mouth for him. “Fuck.” He grunted and closed his eyes.

She stared up at him and watched his face fall into a pleasurable expression. He was so hot. He was rearranging her guts and all she wanted to do was kiss him. So she did. The kiss wasn’t passionate or soft, it was rough and messy. He was twitching inside of her after a few minutes, “Fuck i’m close baby. I’m gonna fill you up.” He warned her and she nodded. “Please Lo, please cum in me. I need it so bad.” Her words egged him on even more. They had never talked like this to each other before. “Yeah sweet girl. I can feel that pussy wanting to cum too. Cum for me baby.” Her pussy clenched around him and he came hard.

She gasped loudly and she came with him. Her hips slowly moved to ride out their orgasms before he collapsed next to her out of breath. “Shit.” She said and looked over at him. “The mission sucked ass and Wade pissed me off.” He told her and she nodded, “Glad I could be of help.” She said, He turned towards her and pulled her on top of him, “You’re my sweet toy to use and to play with. Never forget that.”

[twistedsistas-stuff]

School Daze Pt2

Sammie Moore x Reader

Modern 90s/2000s College AU

Warnings…. : We ramp up . A lot be ready

—————————————

It hit the second y’all stepped back onto the floor.
That first beat—Cassie’s voice, slick and teasing—melting into the smoke and lights.

“I love it when they try to get scandalous…”

You heard the bass before you felt it, but when you did?


It thumped right in your chest, thudded behind your ribs, slowed your breath.

Sammie moved behind you, slow as syrup, heat rolling off him in waves.


Didn’t say a word—just slid one arm around your waist, the other guiding your hand to the rhythm.

Your back met his chest.
Solid. Warm. There.

And then y’all moved.
Not fast. Not for show.


Just that slow rock—hips synced, tension thick between you like honey caught between fingers.

You could feel every inch of him.
His hands. His breath at your neck.
His belt at your lower back.


That damn cup burnin’ through your bloodstream like kerosene.

The music dipped, and so did you—just a lil. Just enough to let him feel it.

If you felt that… he did too.

You exhaled, low. Couldn’t even look at him now. Too much.


The air felt tighter. Sweat curling behind your knee. His hand moved lower—resting on your hip now, like he owned the beat between you.

And when you pressed back just a hair more, when you let your shoulder touch his jaw, when you dipped like the music asked for it?

He groaned.
Not loud. Just enough. Just for you.

HIS POV

Man, she moved like a sin he wanted to commit twice.
Once for the thrill.


Once for the memory.

From the second they stepped back in the room and that Cassie track dropped?
He knew he was in trouble.

But when she leaned into him—body soft, back warm, ass tucked just right against him like she meant to do it?

Yeah. Trouble don’t even cover it.

She didn’t dance like the other girls, all wild and bouncin’ for attention.


Nah. She was calm. Controlled. Like she knew what she had and how to use it.
That slow grind?


That little dip?


That breath she let out when she felt him?

Yeah. He felt her too. All of her.

And Lord, was that cup not helpin’.


His head already buzzin’, body loose, lips still tinglin’ from that sip she took.


From the way she looked up at him like she ain’t know what she was doin’.
Like she did know—and just wanted to watch him squirm.

He slid his hand down to her hip, grip firmin’ when she backed it up again, just to test him.

She want me to break.
That’s what it felt like. A dare. A whole invitation.

His eyes dropped—watchin’ the curve of her waist, how her skirt rode up the back of her thighs with each roll.


Lord… if we wasn’t in public…

He bit his lip. Didn’t even know what the DJ was playin’ anymore.
Didn’t care.

Only sound he could hear was her breath hitchin’, and the voice in his own head sayin’,
Go 'head and get lost in her. Just once.

She reached back—just grazin’ his thigh, like she wasn’t even thinkin’—and he swore to God he almost lost it.

Y’all still on the floor, stuck in it.


By now, that beat had bled into your bloodstream. The bass wasn’t just music—it was movement, it was mood, it was him.
That body behind yours? Still pressed close. Still guiding you like the two of y’all was made to move in time.


He smelled like cologne, weed, and warm skin. Like trouble and comfort and heat all at once.

His hand had found your waist for good now, thumb rubbin’ slow over your side, like he was memorizing you through his palm.
You shifted against him once and felt it—the proof that you weren’t the only one feelin’ that tension.


And still… he ain’t let go.

Your girls were posted up on the other side of the floor, catching it all.


Jada gave you that big-eyed “bitch…” look, sippin’ her drink like she was watchin’ TV.
Tay shook her head, smirking, mouthing “Y’all nasty.”


You just laughed, face hot, body hotter, caught in Sammie’s hold like it was home.

His voice dipped low at your ear. His hand going up your sides, nails catching lightly. His big hand met your chin turning your face to meet his heavy gaze.


“Why you keep lookin’ at them? Eyes on me, baby.”

You turned fully into him finally, arms slipping around his neck without even thinkin’.
“I’m tryin’,” you said. “You makin’ that real hard.”

He smirked, that slow grin that didn’t mean no good.


Or maybe it did. Maybe it meant all good.

Y’all danced close for two more songs. Real close. Like the world got small and the only thing in it was his breath, your skin, and that beat.

Then, somewhere in between another song. Another dark bassline, Sammie leaned in and said real low,


“You ready to go?”

You ain’t even hesitate. Just nodded.

His car was black on black.

Tall, wide-bodied, tinted windows deep as night. The kind of ride you could stretch out in.

Get lost in.

He opened the passenger door like he had manners. Like you wasn’t two songs away from grindin’ your soul out on that dance floor.

Inside, the car smelled like him.
Leather and mint gum. That cologne he wore when he knew he’d be close to somebody.

He started the engine, one hand on the wheel, the other still warm from your waist.
You were leaned back, breath steadyin’, tryin’ not to look over too much.


He looked too good when he drove—lips parted, chain glintin', hand flexin’ on the wheel like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

“You always drive like this?” you asked, voice soft.

He glanced at you, smile pullin’ up on one side shinin’ under the yellow street lights.


“Like what?”

“Like you own the city.”

He laughed. “Don’t gotta own it. Just gotta know how to move in it.”


Then his tone dropped a little. Slowed down.

“Same way I’m movin’ with you.”

You looked over, caught his eyes. Still red from the weed. Still heavy.
But locked on you now.

“I ain’t playin’ with you,” he said, voice low, serious. “I know I got a reputation. You probably heard a hundred things.”


He paused, turned the wheel slow as he made the turn toward his dorm.


“But I don’t move like that with just anybody. You feel me?”

You didn’t say nothin’ at first. Just watched him.


And when you nodded, it was slow, honest.

“I feel you.”

He nodded too, like that sealed something.


“Good,” he said, pulling up in front of his dorm, engine humming.


“’Cause I’m finna show you how serious I really am.”

And he meant it. You could feel it in how he looked at you—like he already saw the whole night stretchin’ out in front of him, and he wanted every second with you in it.

He got out first, circled the car, opened your door again like a promise.

Then y’all headed inside quiet feet, loud hearts, and something big waiting on the other side of that dorm door.

The hall was quiet when y’all stepped in—
that thick kind of quiet that came with 2 a.m. heat and half-lit dorm lights. His building had that older campus feel: creaky floors, doors that needed shouldering, silence broken only by the low hum of somebody’s playlist bleeding through concrete walls.

Sammie walked a little ahead, hand still locked with yours, like if he let go you might vanish.

You took in the way his shoulders moved under that hoodie, slow, purposeful, like he didn’t rush nothing—especially not this.

When he stopped at his door, he turned to you, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“You good?” he asked, voice a little softer now, like it was just for you.

You nodded once.

He opened the door and stepped aside, letting you in first.

His room smelled like sandalwood and clean linen.


Dark walls, soft LED strip light glowing purple-blue behind the headboard.


Bed big—pushed against the corner, covers neat, pillows fluffed like he knew how to keep shit tight.


Shoes lined up near the closet. Desk stacked with books and old lyric notebooks.
And in the corner? A speaker low-key humming something smooth, bass barely there but felt in your ribs.

The vibe? Intentional.


Like he been waitin’ on a night like this.

He closed the door behind y’all slow, then locked it with a soft click that made your breath catch.


He didn’t rush. Just slid his hoodie off, dropped it over the chair, then turned to you with that same unreadable look.

“You alright?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You nodded. “Yeah… it’s just—”

“I know,” he said. Stepped closer, not touching, but there. “You don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do. I just wanted time with you. Just you.”

That made something loosen in your chest. The way he stood still, letting you choose the next step.

You took it.

He met you halfway.

He touched you slow. Careful. Like he was tryna memorize the way you breathed.
Both hands on your waist, then slid up your sides, thumbs stroking gently like he was grounding you there.

“I been thinkin’ bout this,” he murmured, forehead leaning down to yours. “Bout how you’d feel up close. How you’d taste when you finally let me in.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You rose up just enough to kiss him.

And he kissed you back like a man who meant it.

No rush, no show. Just warmth and pressure, lips soft but insistent, like he’d been waiting all semester to get it right.

One hand moved to the back of your neck, the other slid low, holding you still as his mouth moved over yours again, deeper this time. Tongue sliding slow, teeth catching just a little like he needed to claim it. Claim you.

You leaned into it. Into him.

Into the safety of his grip, the hunger in his touch, and the soft rasp of him whispering your name like it was a blessing he was scared to lose.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searching yours, voice husky now.

“You still good?”

You nodded, breath caught in your chest.

“Good,” he said, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then down to your neck. “’Cause I’m not gon’ rush this. I want all of it. All of you.”

He touched you like he had time—
but kissed you like he ain’t had none.

The first press of his lips was soft, sure… but it didn’t stay that way.


Nah, Sammie kissed you like a man who’d been starving.


Tongue sliding past yours slow, deliberate, tasting you deep like he meant to memorize the way you moaned into his mouth.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb strokin’ the corner of your mouth just to feel how wet he made you.

He tilted his head, deepened it—mouth opening wider, tongue rolling with yours, slow and filthy.


Breath mingled. Teeth clashed just a lil when he got greedy, biting your bottom lip like he couldn’t help it.

“Mm,” he groaned, pulling back half a breath to look at you—your lips glossy, your eyes heavy, pupils wide.


Then he leaned back in, messier this time.
Sucked your bottom lip like it owed him somethin’.


Then kissed you again—deeper, wetter. Letting his hand slide down your back, tugging you into him like he needed you flush against every inch of him.

Your fingers running over his waves now, scratchin just a little.

“Ain’t nothin’ soft about this,” he muttered against your mouth, breath ragged. “You don’t even know what you doin’ to me.”

And when he kissed you again?


It was open-mouthed, tongue deep, hands on your waist, your ass, your neck—
like he needed to feel all of you at once.
Like he’d lose his damn mind if he didn’t.

Sammie backed you toward the bed like he been plannin’ this moment since the first day y’all locked eyes across that lecture hall.


The kiss ain’t break—not even when his fingers found the hem of his shirt and peeled it over his head in one smooth motion.

God.

He stood there bare-chested, all golden brown skin and lean muscle, ink spillin’ down his arms like it’d been drawn just for you.


The streetlight glow from the blinds cut across his chest, highlightin’ every line, every shadow— and you swear your breath hitched.

He caught that.

Grinned low. Stepped in close.

“You starin’, baby,” he whispered, voice dark silk. “You got a problem?”

You just shook your head, eyes stuck to him like he was scripture and you been sinnin’.
He reached for the hem of your top, slow, giving you time to stop him—but you didn’t.
Didn’t even blink.

He slid it up and off, knuckles ghostin’ over your ribs, your arms, your softness.
Let out a breath when he saw you under it.

“Damn,” he said, almost reverent. “You don’t even know how fine you are, do you?”

You bit your lip, feelin’ all kinds of shy now—but he was already leanin’ in again, lips trailin’ soft down your neck.


Then he kissed it again.
Sucked.
Bit.

His tongue circled the spot before he marked it—deep, dark, deliberate.

“Let Elias see that shit,” Sammie murmured, his voice low and dirty against your throat. “Let him know who you with now.”

You whimpered. Didn’t even mean to.

He smirked, hands sliding down your back as his mouth traveled lower.


Kisses slow and wet across your chest, between your breasts.
Then he wrapped his lips around one nipple, tongue rollin’ lazy while he pinched the other between his fingers.

You gasped, back archin’.

“Mmm, yeah,” he hummed, switching sides. “That’s it. Just let me take my time.”

His mouth was hot, suckin’ slow, teeth grazin’ soft before he soothed with his tongue.
His hand slid down your side, grip firm but gentle—like he was learnin’ every inch of you with touch alone.

“You don’t even know…” he breathed, lips still on your skin. “You don’t know half the shit I’d do to you if you let me.”

Sammie’s lips trailed down your chest, across your ribs, and lower still—hot kisses laid like offerings down your stomach.


His tongue followed the dip of your navel, slick and slow, makin’ your breath hitch in your throat.

Then he reached the top of your skirt.
Paused.


Let his tongue slide just under the waistband.

And when you looked down—eyes dark, lips parted—he looked up.

Mouth curved.
Eyes low.


Bit down, just a little, right there at your hipbone. Watching you flinch, watching your thighs tense like they ain’t know whether to run or pull him in closer.

Then he came back up.
Real slow.


Body draggin’ against yours like he needed to feel every inch of you.

By the time he was standin’ tall again, chest to chest, he was starin’ down at you—dark and deep and real quiet.

Like he could see somethin’ in you you ain’t even know was there.

You couldn’t breathe.
Not right.


Not when he was that close, just watchin’ you fall apart slow from nothin’ but the space between y’all.

Then his hands were on your waist—
And he picked you up like you weighed nothin’.


Laid you out on his bed like a secret.

He stepped back only to drag his shirt off the floor. Tossed it.


Then turned back, knockin’ your knees apart with his hand like he had every right.

You gasped—sharp and soft at the same time.

His palms slid down your thighs, warm and wide, squeezin’ slow.
Tighter the lower he got.


'Til he reached the edge of your panties, thumbs draggin’ just underneath the lace, pullin’ it down slow like a tease.

He stopped.


Watched you squirm, watched your hips tilt up like your body was beggin’ before your mouth could.


A moan slipped out your lips, quiet but raw.

Then he pulled back.

And the sound that came next—
crack—his palm meeting the inside of your thigh.


Sharp and sudden.

You flinched, legs tryna snap closed, but his hands caught you.


Held you open.


Pressed you down.

He leaned in, voice low and firm right against your ear.

“Say what you want, baby.”

He kissed behind your ear, breath hot.

“Say it.”

You blinked up at him—chest rising, lips glossy, body humming from that sting still warming your thigh.

His hands were still there, firm on your skin, keeping you open. Keeping you honest.

He waited.

Didn’t rush you.
Didn’t say a word.


Just stood there over you—all dark eyes and quiet breath, like he knew what was coming and wanted to hear you say it anyway.

Your mouth parted slow. Voice soft.
Almost trembling.

“I need you…”

His eyes dipped lower, watching your mouth.

You swallowed.

“I need your hands on me.”
A breath. “Your mouth…”


Another. “I need you here. Now.”

That last word cracked somethin’.

He growled—low, deep, his whole body tightening as he leaned in.

“That’s all you had to say.”

Then his hands were back—stronger this time, sliding up your thighs like he was claimin’ ‘em.


He kissed right where he slapped, slow and deep, suckin’ soft enough to soothe but hard enough to leave a memory.

His breath dragged down the inside of your thigh, kiss after kiss, until he reached the spot where your panties still clung wet to your heat.

He looked up again.

“Let me show you what serious really feel like.”

And then he pulled those panties to the side. His breath dragged warm across your skin, lips hovering just barely above the place where you burned most.

He kissed the inside of your thigh again—slow, reverent—then looked up at you through heavy lashes.

"You ready?" he murmured, voice already thick, already gone.

You nodded, biting your lip—but it didn’t matter.


He was already there.

His tongue met you slow. Careful. Like he was tryna learn you first before he took his time and owned it.

Long, deliberate licks that melted into you. He groaned low when he tasted you, the sound vibrating straight through your center. His grip tightened on your thighs, pulling you deeper into his mouth like he couldn’t get close enough.

"Mm," he moaned against you, lips wet, voice shudderin’. "Taste too fuckin’ good, baby..."

You whined, back arching, but his hand was quick—flat on your lower belly, big and warm, pinning you down. His palm pressed firm, just above where his tongue was working, doubling the pressure. That ache? It intensified.

Your breath hitched.

"Yeah, I know," he said, low and gravelly, like he felt the shift in your body. "That’s it. You feel that?"

You nodded, eyes rolling back, fingers gripping the sheets.

"Say it," he said, licking slower now—torture-sweet, circling your clit like it was his to worship. "Let me hear you."

“I feel it,” you gasped, chest rising, hips trying to move—but that hand stayed heavy, commanding.

He growled again, deeper this time, like your pleasure was his high.

"Fuck," he whispered, "you moanin’ got my dick so hard. Keep talkin’, girl… keep talkin’ to me."

He slid one thick finger into you—slow and smooth—then another, filling you up while his mouth stayed locked on that pulsing spot. He curled his fingers just right, thumb never leavin’ your clit, and that pressure that stretch… it had you trembling.

You cried out his name, voice breaking, thighs shuddering around his head.

He just moaned louder.

"That’s right," he murmured, lips wet, fingers fucking deeper. "Knew you could take it. Knew you was gone be so damn good for me."

His other hand came up to hold your waist, holding you steady, guiding you through the storm he was building slow and steady. Your hips moved on instinct now—rolling into his mouth, chasing that heat.

"You like that, huh?" he teased, breath hot against you between strokes. "This what you wanted, baby? Hm?"

“Yes—yes, Sammie—don’t stop, please—”

He groaned hard. “Shiiit. You sound so good beggin’.”

He sucked harder now—lips sealing over you, tongue flicking fast while his fingers stroked deeper, faster, curling up like they was made to be there.

"Come for me," he whispered, voice thick and close. "Right here. In my mouth. Let me feel you lose it."

“Give it to me baby”

And Lord, when it hit—it hit like lightning. Your body bowed. Your hands flew to his head. And he held you through it—tongue never lettin’ up, fingers still steady, moanin’ right there with you like your release was feeding his soul.

You couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.
All you could do was feel.

And Sammie?

He didn’t move.
Didn’t back off.

He just kissed his way up your trembling body, slow as hell, lickin’ and biting as he climbed.

When he reached your lips, he hovered. Smirking. Breath ragged.

"You still think I just be talkin’?"

Your eyes fluttered open, lips parted, breath stolen. You couldn’t even answer.

He grinned wider, kissin’ you soft—letting you taste yourself off his lips.

"Good. ‘Cause that was just the start, baby."

He crawled up slow, muscles flexin’ with every shift. You could feel the heat rollin’ off his body before he even touched you again.

Your breath hitched. You tried to keep your eyes on his—but they dropped. Like his pants, like his underwear. Couldn’t help it. He was thick, heavy, pretty as sin. Veins like tension, dark and full, resting bold between his thighs. Your mouth went dry just lookin’.

He watched your reaction like it fed him, like your eyes turned him on. They did. He never broke eye contact until now. Head tilting down a nasty string of spit leaving his lips.


One hand stroking slow, slick with his own spit, he leaned forward, close enough for his breath to brush your cheek.

“Still want it?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Or you just gon’ sit there lookin’ scared and sweet?”

You stared up at him, heart in your throat.

“I want it,” you whispered.

“Nah,” he murmured, mouth grazing your ear, “you said that soft like a secret. Say it like you mean it. Say it like you tryna earn it.”

Your thighs flexed under his grip. He pressed down, big hands sliding from your knees to your hips, thumbs hooking the hem of your underwear, not pulling—just holding.

Teasin’. Waitin’.

“I want you inside me,” you said, breath shaky. “Now.”

That did it.

His jaw locked. He let out a low, primal sound from deep in his chest. Then he moved.

One hand under your thigh, the other bracing beside your head, he lined himself up slow, dragging the weight of him right over your slick heat—teasing, nudging, not yet, not yet—just enough to make you cry out.

His eyes flicked up, half-lidded, heavy from weed and want.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s mine now.”

Then he pushed in—slow. Deep. Stretchin’ you open like he was meant to be there.

Your back arched off the sheets. A moan slipped from your lips, thick and trembling.

And he moaned too. That sound low, rough, like your pleasure was feeding him from the inside out. He pressed his forehead to yours, both of y’all breathing each other in.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Let me feel it, baby… let me have it.”

He stayed right there—deep, slow, his hips pressing down til you felt every bit of him fill you up, stretchin’ you just right. The weight of him settled heavy over you, chest to chest, hips snug against yours. You could feel the pressure where your thighs stretched wide beneath him, feel the tremble in your legs where his body kept you open—just for him.

“Mm,” he hummed low, rockin’ his hips shallow once, twice. “You feel that?”

You couldn’t speak—only nod, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Nah, talk to me,” he said, voice dark honey in your ear. His forehead found yours, skin hot and damp, his nose brushin’ yours. “Tell me how you feel.”

You finally breathed out, soft and shaky. “Full... so full.”

He let that sit, then pushed in just a lil deeper—your back archin’, mouth open.

“Yeah,” he breathed, jaw tight as he watched your face twist up. “That’s it. That’s how you supposed to feel.”

His hips rolled slow again, but heavier now, drivin’ deeper, makin’ the mattress dip. Your brows pulled in tight like you was in pain, but the moan that left your throat told a different story—long, loud, from the bottom of your soul.

“Uh uh,” Sammie whispered, thumb slidin’ up to your cheek, still movin’ inside you. “Don’t close them eyes, baby. Look at me.”

You tried, God knows you tried, but the way he was stretchin’ you, hittin’ deep like he was tryna plant roots, it had your lashes flutterin’. Still—you looked. Right into his eyes, heavy and full of something wild.

“There she go,” he muttered, mouth fallin’ to your neck again, suckin’, lickin’ the same spot he’d marked earlier like he was claimin’ it all over again. “You mine, ain’t you? Look at me while I love you like it.”

Then he thrust deep—once—stayin’ there, buried to the base, and your whole body reacted. Jaw dropped, legs tremblin’, a high-pitched cry tumblin’ from your lips like you was confessin’ somethin’ holy.

He kissed your open mouth, his tongue slippin’ in slow, draggin’ against yours lazy and wet.

“You feel that?” he said again, voice all gravel and sex, hips grindin’ down while he stayed rooted deep inside you. “Ain’t nobody ever gone touch you like this. I mean that.”

His mouth found your collarbone, then your chest, speakin’ right against your skin in a whisper just for you. “I could stay here all night. Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Your fingers curled tight in the sheets, body tremblin’ under him, and your voice cracked when you gasped out, “Sammie—baby—I’m... I’m about to…”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, that glisten in your eyes, the rawness in your voice. His lips parted like he’d been waitin’ on that.

“Aww yeah,” he muttered, sittin’ up a little, his hands slidin’ under your thighs. “I got you, baby. Say that again.”

“I’m close,” you whimpered, voice small but real. “I’m about to come…”

He didn’t hesitate—lifted your legs and pushed them over his shoulders in one smooth motion, settlin’ deep between them, the new angle hittin’ so much deeper you cried out. Your hands flew to his arms, nails draggin’ down his skin as he filled every inch of you.

“F--k,” he hissed, jaw tight as his hips pressed forward, slow and deep, bottomin’ out again. “Right there? Yeah... I feel it. You grip me so good, baby. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The pressure inside you was unbearable now, too much and not enough, and your breath came out in stutters as your body arched into his.

“Right there—don’t stop—don’t stop—” you begged, over and over, eyes squeezed shut til he grabbed your chin.

“Look at me,” Sammie said, voice thick with it, deep and damn near reverent. “Come for me. Right here—while I’m deep in you. Let me see you do it.

Your eyes fluttered open and that was it—one hard thrust, all that pressure snapped and your whole body clenched tight around him, a cry rippin’ out your throat that didn’t even sound like you.

He didn’t stop—kept rollin’ his hips through it, eyes locked on yours, hands holdin’ your thighs tight like he needed to feel every shake and twitch.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice raw and hoarse. “That’s mine. You hear me?”

You couldn’t even speak—just nodded, tears pricking your lashes from how good it felt, how deep he was, how seen.

He leaned down slow, folding your legs with him, his body pressed full against yours again, and kissed the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your temple.

“You so good, baby. So damn good,” he whispered, still movin’ inside you, slower now, but no less deep. “I ain’t even close to done with you yet.”

Your body was still tremblin’ from everything he pulled outta you—like you ain't know where you stopped and he began. Breath shallow, legs limp, brain syrupy. But Sammie wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Turn over,” he whispered, voice dark and low, hand already slippin’ under your thigh, guiding you like you was something delicate. And you was, the way he had you.

You rolled over slow, body pliant, melted, barely holdin’ yourself up. He helped—pulled your hips back gentle, then firm, settlin’ you just where he wanted.

You let out the softest sound when his hand smoothed down your spine and settled on your ass, thumb pressin’ in before he rubbed slow circles. He watched the curve of you like art.

“You was talkin’ big earlier,” he murmured, voice teasing, thick with heat. “Where that mean girl at now?”

You whined—just breath and need—and he laughed low, hand comin’ down right where your thigh met the soft of your cheek. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and hot.

You gasped, hips twitchin’ back toward him. “I’m sorry…”

“Mmm?” he mocked, draggin’ his palm across the sting. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, sweet and airy, like your whole mouth was made of honey and heat.

He leaned in, his breath warm on your neck. “You sound so polite now,” he said, slidin’ back in slow—too slow, like he was tryna make you feel every stretch, every inch.

You gasped, tried to crawl forward, but his arm caught you, pulled you right back.

“Nah,” he growled in your ear. “Where you goin’, huh? Don’t run now.”

His arms caged around you, one hand on your face, thumb strokin’ your cheek, the other holdin’ you steady by the waist. His chest pressed to your back, his voice hummin’ against your skin.

“Gimme your mouth,” he said, and that tone? It broke somethin’ soft inside you.

You whined, head fallin’ back onto his shoulder. He turned you, guided your lips to his, and when you kissed him—messy, open, not even fully there—he moaned with you, deep in his chest.

“Yeah… that’s it, baby.”

He rolled his hips in slow circles, hittin’ every angle, every nerve that had you damn near sobbin’. Your eyes rolled, mouth fallin’ open. You couldn’t stop the tears this time—not from pain, but from pressure, from pleasure, from the way he was fillin’ you up and breakin’ you open at the same time.

“Oh God,” you cried out, voice small and wrecked.

He chuckled, mouth close to your ear. “You cryin’, baby?”

You nodded, snifflin’, tryin’ to catch your breath.

“Awww,” he cooed, tongue flickin’ out to catch one of the tears rollin’ down your cheek. “Why you cryin’, huh? I’m right here. You takin’ it so good, don’t even know how proud I am of you.”

His hips picked up, strokes deeper, harder, the bed creakin’, breath catchin’, moans minglin’.

Every time you thought he’d let you rest, he brought you right back—touchin’ more, sayin’ more, keepin’ your body singin’ and your mind half gone.

And through all of it—his voice, his body, his heat—he made sure you ain’t feel like just another girl. You felt like his.

Like the only one who could take it.

He was still in it, still moving like he ain’t ready to let go. Sweat beading down his spine, arms flexed around you like he needed you close to breathe right.

You could feel it—how close he was, how heavy each stroke got, how his breath hitched every time you clenched. But he didn’t pull out.

Nah. Instead, one hand slipped down, fingers finding that spot again, that swollen soft place already worked raw by him. He rubbed you slow at first—real slow, just like before—but then faster, tighter, matchin’ the rhythm of his hips.

You cried out, hips tryin’ to rise off the bed, body archin’ against the pressure, but he stayed with you, pushed you back down with one arm across your lower back.

“Uh uh,” he murmured, voice damn near reverent. “You got it, baby… You can take it. Go on and give it to me.”

You tried to hold on, but your body didn’t listen. The buildup came hot and sharp, a wave crestin’ over you. Then it broke—hard. You let go with a choked-out moan, your body jerkin’, tremblin’, a rush leavin’ you breathless and shakin’.

He groaned deep in his chest when he felt it, that wet heat floodin’ between y’all. His rhythm faltered, hips stutterin’, and then he buried himself deep with a strained sound, his whole body stillin’ as he let go too, chest pressed to your back, breath hot on your shoulder.

For a long second, neither of y’all moved. Just breathin’. Tryin’ to come back down.

Then Sammie finally shifted, pulling out slow, gentle even now. You whimpered at the loss, but he kissed your spine before disappearin’ for a moment.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was back, warm towel in hand, cleanin’ you up like you was something sacred. Like he owed it to you.

You watched him—watched the way his face went soft while he moved. No way he just did all that and now he was here, up, calm, movin’ like he ain’t just rearranged your whole soul. You was limp, starin’, infatuated.

He caught your gaze, smirked a little. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just blinked slow, still wrecked, still floatin’.

He climbed into the bed beside you, tugged you into him like muscle memory. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you melted into it, lettin’ him guide you back into warmth, into stillness.

He reached for the remote, thumb pressin’ without lookin’. The soft hum of My Wife and Kids came through the static. Familiar. Gentle. Background comfort.

You felt him nuzzle against your neck, his breath minty now, like he’d chewed a piece of gum while you wasn’t lookin’. He always did stuff like that—quiet gestures, things he never made a big deal of.

Then you felt him smile. Not that gold-toothed grin from earlier. This one was softer. Honest. A smile you could only call diamond—it sparkled without tryin’.

“I’m serious about you,” he said, low in your ear. “You serious about me?”

You turned, eyes still heavy. “I’m serious, Sam.”

He grinned, kissed your nose, and you yawned, wrigglin’ back so your spine curved into his chest. He adjusted the covers around y’all, his arm tucked under your head, the other around your stomach, pulling you tight like he couldn’t risk you slippin’ away in the night.

The room settled, the only sounds left were the soft laugh track on TV and his breath steady against your neck.

You both fell asleep like that—quiet, tangled, warm. Him wrapped around you like a promise you could trust. And you? You slept with a smile tucked against your cheek, knowin’ you was finally, fully wanted. Not just for the night. But for real.

—————————

Yall nasty😏

[skzstarl0ver]

──୨ৎThe Roommate Rulebreaker୨ৎ──

Seungmin x reader / roomates to lovers / slow burn / smut / chapters

**involves!!** tension, cursing, dirty talk, fingering, teasing

enjoy xx (open for request)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

You only agreed to room with Seungmin because he was “safe.”

Smart, sarcastic, emotionally unavailable—your mutual friend described him as a “walking beige wall with a killer jawline.”

“Don’t worry,” she had said, half-drunk off margaritas. “He’s not a flirter. He’s annoyingly responsible. You’ll forget he’s even a guy.”

Lies. All of them.

Because three weeks into living with him, you knew exactly what kind of danger you’d signed up for.

The annoyingly responsible part? Sure. Seungmin was neat, polite, cooked his own meals, paid rent on time.

But the rest? Not so much.

He walked around shirtless in the mornings, hair messy, coffee mug in hand, muttering sleepy curses under his breath. He had a laugh that made your stomach flutter, and an ability to make you feel seen in moments that had no business feeling intimate.

Worst of all?

The rules.

“We don’t hook up with roommates. Ever.” That was the first thing he said the day you moved in.

You’d nodded like it was no big deal.

But then he smiled at you—half-smirk, half-dare—and you felt something twist inside you.

And now? Now it’s month two, and you’re biting your lip every time he leans over the couch, every time he lets out a breathy laugh too close to your ear, every time he says your name like it means something.

You haven’t touched. Haven’t flirted. Haven’t even looked at each other for too long.

But every day, the air between you grows heavier.

And you don’t know how much longer either of you can pretend.

_

Game night was supposed to be a distraction.

Jisung brought beer, Minho brought snacks, and you brought your best attempt at pretending your very hot, very frustrating roommate didn’t make your pulse race every time he walked past you shirtless.

Which, tonight, he did. Twice. With zero shame.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, oversized hoodie covering your legs, pretending not to watch him stretch as he grabbed a drink from the fridge. You weren’t even into him, but the way that hoodie lifted just enough to show the waistband of his sweats?

Criminal.

“Truth or dare,” Jisung says, snapping you back. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t be lame.”

You glance around. The circle’s cozy—dim lights, soft music in the background, snacks half-eaten, everyone tipsy enough to let their guards down. Seungmin’s sitting on the floor, right across from you, one arm lazily thrown over the back of the couch, eyes on you like he already knows what you’ll choose.

“Truth,” you say.

“Lame,” Jisung groans. “Okay. Who in this room would you sleep with?”

The question hits like a slap. You freeze. The room goes still, laughter dying down like someone turned the volume off.

You could lie. Make a joke. Say Minho and watch him roll his eyes.

But you look at Seungmin—just for a second too long. He blinks, then looks away, jaw tense.

You clear your throat. “Pass.”

“Pass?” Minho snorts. “Weak.”

“Fine,” you say, grabbing a beer. “Dare next round.”

Jisung grins. “Say less.”

Thirty minutes later, the mood is looser again. Someone dared Minho to do a sexy dance, which traumatized everyone in the best way. Seungmin’s been suspiciously quiet, but you chalk it up to competitiveness—he always got weird when he wasn’t winning.

“Your turn,” Jisung says, pointing to you. “Truth or dare.”

You hesitate. Seungmin’s still watching you, beer in hand, eyes a little darker now. There’s a glint in them—sharp and unreadable.

You want to flinch away from it. But you don’t.

“Dare.”

Minho smirks. “I dare you… to sit on Seungmin’s lap for a full minute.”

The room hollers.

You freeze.

Seungmin doesn’t move. He raises an eyebrow at you, calm as ever, but there’s tension in the way his hand curls around his bottle. He’s daring you to say no. To back down.

So you don’t.

“Fine,” you say. You get up slowly, your heartbeat louder than the music now. Cross the floor. Sit.

His thighs are warm, solid beneath you. Your hands rest on your knees, trying to be casual, but he’s not making it easy. One of his hands settles on your waist—just to steady you, you tell yourself—but it lingers.

You feel every breath he takes. His voice is low when he leans in.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

His hand flexes slightly. “You sure?”

You nod.

He laughs, soft and breathy, like he’s losing patience. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

He doesn’t answer. The minute ends.

You stand. The game moves on. But when you sit back down, you can still feel the heat of him on your skin.

Later that night, you pass each other in the hallway. Your fingers brush. You both pause.

Neither of you says a word.

But the rule you swore you’d follow? It’s already starting to break.

_

It starts with rain.

Not the romantic, slow kind—but loud, unrelenting thunder that shakes the windows. You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket and some half-forgotten show playing in the background. You don’t even remember how long Seungmin’s been sitting beside you.

Close, but not too close. As usual.

You’re both quiet. Like something might break if either of you speaks.

"Storm’s bad tonight," you say softly.

He hums in agreement, eyes on the screen—but not watching.

You should move. Say goodnight. Go to your room and sleep off the weird energy that’s been building since lap-gate at game night.

But you don’t.

Instead, you risk it.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur.

Seungmin glances over, cautious. “Yeah.”

“That night,” you start. Your voice dips. “You looked at me like… like you wanted something.”

His throat bobs with a swallow. He shifts slightly, but doesn’t pull away. “You were on my lap,” he says, tone flat—but his eyes? Not cold at all. “Hard not to look.”

You bite your lip. “You know what I mean.”

He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he admits. “I know.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and loaded.

“Did you want to kiss me?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His eyes snap to yours.

He looks at you—really looks—and something in him cracks.

“I always want to kiss you.”

Your breath catches. He leans forward, slowly, cautiously, like he's giving you every chance to run.

You don’t.

His face is inches from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath, see the flicker of hesitation behind his gaze.

But then—right when your lips are about to touch—he stops.

“Shit,” he mutters, pulling back like it hurts. “We can’t.”

You blink, dazed. “Why not?”

“Because the second I kiss you,” he says quietly, “I won’t stop.”

You stare at him, heart pounding. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” he says. “Because you’re my roommate. And I’m not stupid enough to think this wouldn’t ruin everything.”

You want to argue. Scream. Ask why he didn’t stop looking at you like that every time you walked into a room. But instead, you nod.

Because you get it.

Because you feel it too.

You stand, the blanket falling from your shoulders. “Goodnight, Seungmin.”

He watches you walk away—but doesn’t say anything.

Behind your closed door, you lean against the wall and exhale, chest tight, lips aching with the ghost of a kiss that never happened.

But the rule?

It’s not just bending anymore. It’s fracturing.

_

You weren’t trying to make a statement.

You’d just forgotten to grab your clothes before showering. A simple mistake. One that shouldn’t mean anything.

But now you’re standing in the hallway in a towel—damp skin, flushed cheeks, hair dripping—and of course, he’s there.

Seungmin looks up from the fridge like someone just punched him in the chest.

You freeze.

So does he.

It’s the kind of silence that hums—too loud, too charged, too full of everything you’ve both been refusing to say.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“You—uh—forgot your clothes?” he asks, voice slightly rougher than usual.

You nod. “Didn’t think you’d be out here.”

“Right.”

His eyes trail down your body before he can stop himself. He catches it. Forces his gaze back to the orange juice like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe.

But it’s too late. You saw it—the flicker of raw want.

And maybe you’re not entirely innocent either. Maybe you stand a little straighter. Tilt your head. Say:

“You walked around shirtless for two months and expected me to not return the favor?”

His eyes cut to you—sharper now. Darker.

“You walked around like that on purpose?” he says quietly.

You cross your arms, your towel tightening with the movement. “And what if I did?”

A pause.

He shuts the fridge without looking. Sets the juice down too hard. Walks toward you slowly, like he’s crossing a line he already knows he won’t come back from.

He stops in front of you, close enough that the heat of his body fogs up your already-overheated skin.

“Then I guess I have to show you what that does to me.”

Your breath catches.

And he does—slowly.

His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight. His touch drifts down your throat, then pauses at the knot of your towel, like he’s giving you time to stop him.

You don’t.

“Do you want me to?” he asks. Voice low. Dead serious.

You nod.

That’s all it takes.

The towel’s gone in seconds. You gasp—more from the rush of finally than from the chill. His hands are everywhere at once—hot, hungry, controlled but barely. One at your waist, the other gripping your hip like he needs the anchor or he’ll lose it.

He crowds you against the hallway wall. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over your ear. “Every night, I hear you moving around. Smell your perfume. Watch you steal my hoodies and pretend it’s innocent.”

You gasp as his mouth brushes your neck. He bites down—light, teasing—and your knees go weak.

“Been walking around this apartment like a test I wasn’t supposed to pass,” he growls.

“Then fail,” you whisper. “Go ahead.”

He does.

His hand slips between your legs. No teasing this time. Just purpose. Pressure. And oh god—

You moan his name without thinking. He hisses. “Say that again.”

“Seungmin,” you gasp.

“Fuck,” he growls, dragging his mouth down your collarbone, your chest. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

But you do. Because your head is spinning, your body is buzzing, and the rule?

It’s not just broken.

It’s obliterated.

His hand slides between your thighs—warm, confident, maddeningly slow.

You gasp, body already hypersensitive from the way he pinned you against the wall like you belonged there. And maybe, tonight, you do.

“Still acting like this is innocent?” he mutters, voice rough against your neck as his fingers trace a line up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you need him.

You whimper. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He leans in, mouth brushing yours—but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He’s torturing you, hovering so close you can feel every word against your lips.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers slowly through your folds now—just enough to make you gasp, not enough to give relief. “Wearing those little sleep shorts. Moaning through the walls when you’re dreaming. Or pretending to sleep.”

You open your mouth to speak—to deny it maybe—but his thumb circles your clit and your brain goes static.

“Oh—fuck, Seungmin.”

He hums, pleased. “There’s my name again.”

He presses his fingers in—slow, deliberate. Two, deep, filling. Your back arches against the wall, and he uses his free hand to steady your hips as he curls just right.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. His hoodie still clings to him, and you realize—he’s fully dressed. You’re bare. Exposed. Completely his.

And he knows it.

“You’re shaking,” he says lowly, eyes devouring you.

“I’m—” You suck in a breath. “Not used to this.”

He stills. His voice softens just a little. “You want me to stop?”

Your hand grabs his wrist. “Don’t you dare.”

That earns a wicked grin. “Good.”

His mouth finally crashes into yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not patient.

It’s weeks of tension, jealousy, frustration, late-night fantasizing finally breaking loose all at once.

You moan into him and he groans low in his throat, fingers thrusting faster now, hips pressing you harder into the wall like he needs to keep you pinned there or you’ll both fly apart.

He pulls back, lips kiss-swollen. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“My name. Like you said it before.”

“Seungmin,” you whisper, breathless.

He growls—and you swear you feel him tremble at the sound.

Then his fingers curl just right, and the pleasure builds so fast your knees give out, body shuddering as you come undone in his hands, against his chest, with his name on your lips and his breath hot against your skin.

He catches you when you sag, presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Still think the rule was a good idea?” he mutters.

You laugh, dazed. “Fuck the rule.”

His eyes spark. “That’s the plan.”

[from-izzy]

MY ALL | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

“Thank you for giving it your all.”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » friends to lovers, school au, non-idol au

genre » fluffy fluffy fluff fluff sfw!!, san being shy, but not so shy, san is just in love with you hehe, wooyoung being a whole mood and a half tbh

word count; estimated reading time » 1949; ~7 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » pet names

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist

happiest birthday to my child @mars101 !! i can't believe you're all grown up now 😭 here's my little gift to you that is loosely based on your irl events (hehe) 🤭 a bit messy and i wish i planned my time better 😔 but i hope this makes you smile a bit 🥹 thank you to @jaehunnyy for beta reading!! 💗

Being best friends with Wooyoung meant that you live a very interesting life. His chaoticness and his willingness to always have you as his partner in crime mean that you’re always on the verge of getting detention. His chattiness and loud volume in class mean that you’re not safe from detention even during class. You come to school each day with a raised eyebrow whenever Wooyoung is in view, but recently your crossed arms and deadpanned face have changed to widened eyes and flaming hot cheeks.

“You’re what?!” The hallway booms with his voice, attracting attention from nearby students. The slap on his shoulder had him apologising. “You’re going on a date?! With San?!”

“Stop repeating what I said!” You warned through gritted teeth. “Oh my God, Wooyoung, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Yes, Choi San. The friend that Wooyoung introduced some time ago. It’s safe to say, with the number of times your name has come up in conversations between him and San, that the latter has his cheeks flaming in the same way that you have yours like now. Wooyoung has been pushing the two of you to go on more adventures together, but has always been met with nervous chuckles and stolen glances. At the very least, if he’s going to be a third wheel, he wants to be a proper third wheel. 

“We’re going before his volleyball game toda-“

“You’re going today?!” Wooyoung cheers. “Oh my God, my days of listening to his lovesick rants are over! We cheer for a better tomorrow!”

“Jung Wooyoung, keep it down!” The disciplinary teacher warns him for the first time today.

You have got to give a massive thank you to whoever made half-days at school a thing. If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t be sitting in the seat of Choi San’s car, driving to the mall to get lunch before his big game. As expected, San is a gentleman: opening the door for you, making sure your seat is comfortable, asking what song you want to blast, making sure the aircon is at the right temperature, but most of all, he’s holding your hand. He says it’s for safety measures in case he breaks unexpectedly, but we all know with his little adorable stutter and the tapping on his wheel, that it’s something else.

���I said, I believe you!” Your laugh echoes through the space of his car.

San groans next to you, his heart rapidly beating at the sound of your happiness. “Sure, you do…”

He worries that his palms are going to get too sweaty for your liking. Because then, you would have to let go, and it would just be so embarrassing for him to do so. He doesn’t want to let your hand go. He’s annoyed at the few seconds that he had to have both hands on the wheel; otherwise, he’s too shaky for safety. He doesn’t even want you out of his sight, despite how he hasn’t been able to look at your beautiful eyes ever since he greeted you when picking you up. He’s tried, so let’s give him some credit. But with such a beautiful girl next to him, even daring to look towards you would distract his focus for the rest of the drive. So (un)fortunately, he only has your hand for now.

“What did you want to get for lunch? Any cravings?”

“No,” you answer immediately. “As long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.”

San could swear the world stopped turning for a second. Your words haven’t fully registered in his head, but he almost swerves his car to the side of the road when he does. You leisurely rest against the seat, catching the way San’s lips try to form coherent words, but failing exasperatedly with a huge sigh after. His cheekbones blush a deeper pink while you cover his hand that’s over yours with your other one. The light swipes against his knuckles made him forget momentarily how to breathe, and he swore you could feel his heartbeat from his hand.

Throughout the ride, he made it his mission to hear your laughs because of his jokes or the things he said. But in the end, you're chuckling, and it's because of him.

You and San didn't have a lot of time before needing to head back to school in preparation for his game. Yet, you both swore to make every second count; and every gesture at least.

As much as San wants to hold your hand, he respects your space and wants to ask for permission first. However, the current situation is just like the one in the car: he's speechless. Even the fact that you're walking beside him feels like a dream, and he's satisfied with everything as it is. That is, until his lips forms a mind of its own, and takes control of the situation for him.

“Oh! We should go eat ther-”

“Can I hold your hand?” At the sudden question, you couldn't help but stop at your place. San, gazing at the way your eyes are widened slightly, starts to scratch the back of his neck. “W-What were you saying?” A forceful laugh from the embarrassed man, “Oh, right! Let's go ther-”

His body almost jolts at the touch of your warm palm kissing his. San would've melted to the marbled floor if it wasn't for you dragging him to the restaurant, briefly looking back to check his reaction. From the corner of his eye, he sees the way you playfully shake your head as you guide the way to the restaurant. You did all the talking while the boy beside you intertwined your fingers together, refusing to let go even at the table and looking through the menu.

“You only need one hand anyway,” he reasons. “Just…put it against the table and flip through the pages…” 

He's not wrong about that. “Cute,” you compliment him under your breath. 

Your hand stays enveloped within his, and your thumb soothingly swipes over the side of the index. The small talk indulges him into a state of calmness, taking in your features one by one as you filll the space with your cheerful tone and wide smile. The bright aura that you radiate puts San in a sure state: that he will give his all for you to be his.

With both your hunger satisfied, a carpool karaoke commences as San drives you both back to school for his volleyball game. It’s only when you get to the car that your hand finally separates from San’s, and you begin to realise how natural it feels to be around him. Singing songs, shouting the lyrics, swaying your bodies to the rhythm all felt so natural and easy when you’re near him. The initial nervousness that San had at the start of the day now seems unfamiliar, his heart rapidly beating against his chest for a similar yet sure feeling blossoming further.

You walk into the indoor gymnasium hand-in-hand, greeted by Wooyoung’s widely open jaw reaching the floor. He took the attention of nearby people with his squealing and finger, directing you and San to the entrance of the hallway. The pair of eyes had you hiding behind his frame, cursing your best friend mentally, even though he’s celebrating your win. 

“Don’t hide,” San tries to ease you. “I want to proudly show you off.”

His shirt tightens around his chest as you clump its back material inside your palm. You're flustered at the sudden confidence unlike the him whom you've been spending time with for the past few hours. His neck turns to see you already staring at him with widened eyes. He rumages through his bag, revealing two matching cat keyrings. He keeps the black cat for himself, an animal that you’ve commented looks like him, and gifts you the matching white.

Now, with him facing you, he’s able to land a soft kiss on your forehead. “If I win,” he gulps without fully pulling away, “will you be my girlfriend?”

“Oh,” is the first word that you unconsciously stammer. San smiles, his dimples only making you warmer. Unable to trust your ability to form words, you nod to him once, twice…multiple times.

“Okay,” he inhales sharply. He spares a glance at his competitors of the day. They’re known to be quite vicious in their plays, their teamwork is commented to be one of the best in the state, as they have placed highly in interschool volleyball competitions. 

But Choi San has you.

You’re here, in front of him, to cheer and support him. 

San unzips his jacket, handing the clothing to you. “Is it okay if I ask you to wear this?” Your head shake invites San to drape the material over your shoulder. A whistle blows behind him, the rest of his teammates coming together for a warmup before the game. You keep your eyes on him, unable to look away. Feeling your stare on the side of his face, San leaves you with a few final words: “I’ll give it my all.”

You stand still at the entrance of the room, only managing to stumble to the seat that Wooyoung saved for you minutes after dozing off. Immediately, the smirk on your best friend’s face earns him a hard shoulder smack.

“What was that for?”

“For the second-hand embarrassment! Shut up and watch the game!” 

You kept your eyes only on one player, even if the ball wasn’t in his possession. Even though you’ve been to many of his games before, you’ve never dared to openly pay close, special attention to him. But now with the remnants of his cologne over your figure, and his words filling your head, you couldn’t help but put all your attention on the boy who flawlessly blocks the spikes and offences. 

And now, at match point, the whole place is encouraging their sides, fueling competitiveness for the players on the court. San, thankful for the support, looks over to you in the hopes of catching your gaze. Maybe that’s the best thing he’s done because you mouth a ‘you got this’ with your fists next to your face as encouragement. He inhales deeply, putting the last of his energy and focus into this round.

The next thing he knows, his team huddles together, patting each other's backs and jumping to rid themselves of the excess adrenaline from the final score. From the corner of San’s eye, his coach releases the tension in his body by exhaling on the bench. He spends the next few minutes celebrating with his friends before slipping away from them.

“Go,” Wooyoung bumps your shoulder. With no hesitation, you playfully roll your eyes at him before nearly missing a step in your rush to meet a certain player. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” San holds your shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere, bubs.”

You acknowledge that, pressing a quick peck on his cheek. “I know.” Your fingers sweep his hair away from his face, unintentionally tickling him and erupting him into soft giggles. “You really gave it your all there. I’m proud of you.”

The boy hums, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you towards him. You couldn’t properly prepare for it, resting your palms on his defined chest as he dips his head to you. “I’m sorry that I’m sweaty, but can I kiss you?”

You’re the one who cups his cheek, guiding his lips to touch yours. Both your lips stretch into a smile at the contact, and San slides to join his hands together at your lower back.

“Choi San,” you say between kisses.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for giving it your all.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist

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[chanelrolls]

cw: pseudocest, (if you're uncomfortable w this, please choose to scroll away.) gets more suggestive as it goes

big brother!caleb is the type of older brother figure who shows his care through actions more than words. he’ll ruffle your hair on the way out, toss you a towel if you’re crying without asking what happened, and stand behind you silently when you’re confronting someone who wronged you.

big brother!caleb insists that he’s “chill,” but he lowkey screens anyone who tries to get close to you. you’re not allowed to know this, but he’s stalked your classmate’s socials before and memorized license plates if someone picks you up. just in case.

big brother!caleb is the kind of guy who lets you win in video games once, only to completely obliterate you in the rematch while saying, “nah, i just gave you a head start earlier.”

big brother!caleb knows how to read moods frighteningly well. if you’re pretending to be okay, he’ll casually bring your favorite snack and plop down beside you, nudging your knee with a, “so, we gonna talk about it or should i just sit here until you do?”

big brother!caleb teases you relentlessly (intentionally going in your room for no particular reason and leaving with the door open, stealing your snacks at midnight, reads your diary, tickles you in your weakest spots, etc.) but never crosses the line. if anyone else tries the same thing, though? they’re getting the scariest smile he can muster. “you think you’re funny? try it again, i dare you.”

big brother!caleb will 100% fight someone on your behalf and then lecture you for putting yourself in danger. “next time, tell me. that’s what older brothers are for, idiot.”

big brother!caleb calls you “shortie,” “squirt,” or “kid” even if you’re the same age or taller. it’s about the vibe, not the height.

big brother!caleb always insists on walking on the outer side of the sidewalk, like it’s not even a big deal. if you point it out, he just shrugs and says, “habit.” but you notice he never forgets to do it, even when he’s distracted or in a rush.

big brother!caleb when you’re out together and someone flirts with you, he becomes suspiciously territorial. arm slung over your shoulder, leaning in too close, “they bothering you, kid?” with a playful grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

big brother!caleb remembers every detail about your preferences. like how you hate soggy fries, that you always tap your pen when you're nervous, and that you like your tea exactly two and a half spoons of honey sweet. he never says anything about it, just... adjusts things quietly.

big brother!caleb sends you playlists with songs he says “just reminded me of you, i guess,” and sends them like it’s not the most thoughtful thing in the world. if you ask why, he deflects, “dunno, lyrics were funny.”

big brother!caleb hates when you cry. not in a “don’t cry” kind of way, but in a visible shift in demeanor kind of way. the teasing vanishes. he sits next to you, gently nudges your leg with his, and murmurs, “you don’t have to talk. just breathe, alright? i’m here.”

big brother!caleb when you fall asleep around him, he watches over you like a guard dog. phone in one hand, hoodie draped over you, eyes sharp. someone could cough too loudly across the room and he’d glare.

big brother!caleb just looks at you a little too long sometimes. like he’s trying to memorize something. and when you ask what, he’ll just smirk and go, “nuthin. just makin’ sure you’re real.”

big brother!caleb always saw you as his little sister, his kid. but one night, you walk out of your room half-asleep, wearing one of his shirts, rubbing your eyes like a sleepy kitten, and something in his chest just… short circuits. he blinks, looks away, jaw clenched, thinking, “get a grip, dude.”

big brother!caleb starts overthinking everything. when you tug on his sleeve to get his attention, when you fall asleep leaning on his shoulder during movie nights, when you call him “calebie” in that teasing, singsong voice, it all messes with his head. he tells himself, “she’s just being annoying again,” but his ears still burn every time.

big brother!caleb becomes weirdly avoidant. a little too quick to leave the room when you're in your pajamas, suddenly “busy” when you ask to cuddle during storms like you always used to. he doesn’t want to be a creep. doesn’t want to ruin what you have. but at the same time, he finds himself wondering what it would be like to hold you longer, tighter, and differently.

big brother!caleb is territorial. again! the worst is when you go out with other guys. he’s not even subtle, already arms crossed and jaw clenched, tossing out lines like, “you trust him?” or “if he touches you wrong, you call me, yeah?” he tells himself it’s protective sibling duty. but when he sees you smiling at someone else the way you used to smile only at him… it burns.

big brother!caleb when you walk out of the bathroom wearing just a towel. he’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone, and looks up just as you mutter, “forgot my clothes.” instant freeze. you’re nonchalant, but caleb's brain blue screens. he stares at the wall, his neck stiff like he’s being held at gunpoint. “y-you tryna get yourself killed or what?” he snaps, tossing a hoodie at you without looking. but his ears? flaming.

big brother!caleb when you catch him watching something… explicit. you walk in unannounced and there’s that split-second delay where he fumbles with the remote, panic in his eyes. “pipsqueak, knock next time!” he barks, face redder than a tomato. you laugh your ass off, but what stays with him is how not embarrassed you were. and for the rest of the day, he can’t stop thinking about what it would be like if you were the one making those sounds—

big brother!caleb when you ask him for dating advice. you lean on his bed, kicking your feet, and say, “hey… do you think i’m girlfriend material?” caleb’s jaw tightens. he tries to play it cool, spouting generic guy logic, but his stomach is twisting. when you say you might ask someone out, he blurts, “he’s not good enough.” then pretends he was “just joking.” he wasn’t.

big brother!caleb when you fall asleep in his bed, again. you claim it’s just because your room was cold. but he finds himself lying stiffly beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest, wondering if you can hear how fast his heart is beating. when you unconsciously cuddle closer and mumble his name in your sleep, he stares at the ceiling thinking, “this is bad. this is so bad.”

big brother!caleb when you tease him with another girl. you nudge him toward a pretty girl at a party, whispering, “she keeps looking at you.” caleb shrugs her off with a weak excuse, but his jaw clenches when you smirk, asking, “what, not your type?” later, when you’re alone, he mutters, “stop doing that.” when you press, he won’t explain, because how is he supposed to say you’re his type without ruining everything?

big brother!caleb is definitely the type to watch you on your sleep, sometimes massaging your hair or even testing his limits by dragging a hand across your thigh.

big brother!caleb goes through talking stages only for the sole purpose of distracting himself from his growing feelings for you. and suspiciously, all of the girls he's talked to looks like you.