#which had me responding with ''IT SAYS WHAT?''

[gyuswhore]

Honeymoon Avenue

Jeon Wonwoo x f!reader | @highvern birth special

word count: 8.7k

contains: newlyweds!reader and wonwoo, minor injuries, lots of fluff, multiple smut scenes (MINORS DNI), they're sick and in love its gross

synopsis: You and Wonwoo have said your I dos in front of the entire world, and now it's time to uphold them when it's just you and him.

[a/n]: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY ONE AND ONLY MY GUIDING STAR MY WIFE AND PARTNER IN CRIME CAMOTHY @highvern I love you so much this fic is purely to torture you and only you and no one else. you asked for honeymoon wonu and you are receiving honeymoon wonu. I hope you enjoy it ily ily ily

thank you so much to @starlightkyeom for betaing and listening to me yap about this, I love u to the moon and back, and thank you to @shadowkoo for all the help on the banner, ly raven <333

ps: heads up that is isn't very plot heavy I tried something new this time and attempted to let it flow as it came out. hope it holds up!! if you aren't cam then u must pay taxes in A) going to her blog and wishing her a happy birthday, and B) tell me ur thots about the fic in da reblogs heh!!! :3

masterlist

You let out the deepest exhale of your life. 

Haphazardly strewn chairs, and you find the nearest one and plop yourself and your skewed reception dress on the padding. Your numb feet don’t have a chance to thank you immediately, but the tingly feeling means they aren’t entirely a lost cause. 

Slouching as far as your shoulders would go, you pan the nearly empty venue, one that now looks like you accidentally slipped a tornado an invitation. Your eyes land on where Wonwoo is saying goodbye to the last few guests who definitely did not pay heed to your request for temperance at the bar. The uncle grips his bicep like a vice, blubbering congratulations you could hear all the way where you sat. 

Wonwoo’s suit jacket and waistcoat are gone with the wind, hair tousled and spiking every which way—near inverse of the gelled, waxed and styled they sat earlier in the day; the first time you laid eyes on him standing at the altar with the sun in his eyes. The crisp of his shirt is now wrinkled from the dancing and the hugging and every other excessive movement he had to subject himself to today.  The final stragglers are your family, your sister already moving over to push you out of your chair. 

“I just sat down!” you whine, not caring for decorum with the absolute day you’ve had. 

“Go on with him, you have a flight to catch!” she stresses. “We’ll handle everything here.”

Wonwoo catches the last bit as he returns, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Blatantly, you stare. “Handle what?”

“You guys should go ahead first,” she says. 

“We have some time till we need to start rushing,” he responds, twisting his arm to look at the watch on his wrist. The lights are back on, so you can see him significantly clearer without the disco lights and low spotlights. His forearm is practically in your face, and if you weren’t so exhausted you would’ve taken a dive at the divot, teeth first. 

But you don’t, because what stares you both in the face right now is a month long getaway of blue sky, green waters and lots and lots and lots of completely alone time. Since your sister is already so keen to get rid of you both, Wonwoo decides for you as he excuses himself to grab his strewn clothes. 

She turns to you in his absence, and you immediately know there’s a grenade smoking behind her goading grin. “Well…?”

Brows raised, you’re defiant in your decision to remain nonchalant. “Well what?”

“Are you excited?”

“Of course I am, I just got married.”

“I mean the honeymoon.”

“Who isn’t dying to go Seychelles?” 

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

You shoot her an equally infuriating smile, “You can’t be mean to me today.”

“I already have,” she responds. 

You don’t have a chance to be annoyed because Wonwoo is back, clothes draped over his arm as you are suddenly ushered into saying your last goodbyes. Flats on and heels in hand, ready to peacefully stroll out of the building you got married in. 

You hook your arm around his as you cross the threshold out, the wind pleasant in the pitch black night. Walking to the car, the one you bought together, you feel like the threat of your dangerously full heart might finally erupt. 

All day has been a rushing incline of adrenaline, from the moment you woke up, sticky eyed with bridesmaids over your head, to getting into your dress, to standing behind the giant oak doors that led you to the altar of your future. To the moment you heard the love of your life say I do for everyone who mattered to hear. 

It’s late, and your flats crunch under gravel, pressuring every sore point in your foot. But you don’t care. One of Wonwoo’s arms is draped by his coat, and the other by you, a pressing silence falling over your pair. At peace. 

“I’m glad we didn’t have a grand exit,” Wonwoo speaks your thoughts. 

“Mhm,” you reply. “I like this better.” You look up at him as he halts his steps for a minute, and he leans down to kiss you for the nth time that night. All smiles. 

The finality of an Exit felt like a staggering halt to your special day. You already knew you’d never want it to end, opting to let the night trickle out, ending it with just you left on the floor. 

Something told you this would be more memorable anyway. 

Everything’s packed and ready when you get home, a service to present you from past you. You turn to Wonwoo, who’s toeing his shoes off, who also was a horrendous sport when it came to packing early. 

“Aren’t you glad we did this beforehand?” you taunt, waving your hands at the packed bags near the door. He only smirks, leaning in to grab your face and kiss you again. 

“Of course, wife’s always right,” he mumbles against your lips, and the giddy feeling that’s been simmering all day gushes once again. 

Wife. 

“Welcome to the rest of your life.”

The dim bathroom light seeps into the bedroom, where you scratch your skin with makeup wipes to get the first layer off your tired face. It’s easy to slouch, wanting nothing more than to lay back against the pillows and fall asleep, fully dressed. You’re aware of all the outside germs you’re transferring onto your pristine sheets, but also cannot find the strength to care.

The water shuts off, and you take it as your cue to slug off the bed and take off your dress. Reaching over, your fingers grapple for the hook with no avail, arms already showing the first inklings of a very sore weekend. The zipper isn’t even within your vicinity, fingers aiming for nothing but skin and fabric. 

You smell Wonwoo before you can register he’s out of the shower, the humidity carrying the scent of his body wash to where you stood on the other side of the room. It takes no time for you to feel both his hands on your waist, pulling you towards him before you can open your mouth to ask. 

Cold fingers brush the skin above the hook of your dress, and it takes an effort to not melt into the carpet entirely. The dress is unhooked, the zipper pulled down as you feel the fabric release you into the bedroom air. He helps you push it over your hips, letting it pool onto the floor. 

The sigh you release lingers in the air, prompting him to put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing your shoulders, thumbs digging into the back of your neck to release all the pent up tension. Then your upper arms, where he pulls you even closer, bare back hitting his damp chest. 

“Tired?” he mumbles, arms circling around you and squeezing you tight. 

Leaning back is the easiest thing you’ve ever done, only humming in response as you close your eyes, head against his shoulder. Droplets hit your skin in a cold cascade, his hair still wet. His hands roam around any expanse of skin he can find without releasing his pressure on your form, squeezing and massaging. The weight is welcomed, nearly falling asleep by the time he’s mouthing at your shoulder, breathing in the sweat of your skin.  

“Are you gonna need help in the shower?” he asks. You know he’s not being cheeky, and you consider saying yes seeing as you’re five seconds from falling asleep standing up. 

“I think I’ll be fine,” you mumble. “I’ll keep the door open in case I crack my skull on the tile.”

“Can’t have you dying on our wedding night,” he says.

“Enjoy the life insurance payout,” you crack one eye open, staring up at him.

“How many hours have we been married?” he muses. 

You want to kiss him, suddenly slammed with a tsunami’s force of affection for the man that holds your leaning body against him like an ever-present pillar. Married. 

He lets you go, but not before helping you pick out every last bobby pin in your hair, during which he remains in nothing but the damp towel around his waist. At one point you face him, forehead on his chest as he unravels your hair from the crown. 

“Your towel’s inside, I’ll grab your clothes,” he says when he releases you, letting you walk into the bathroom to wash off the day. 

Simply raising your arms to shampoo your hair is turning out to be a conquest despite the fumes of the scorching water invading your vision. The door is half open, and you can hear Wonwoo shuffling about in the bedroom, no doubt fixing the last bits before you have to leave for the airport. 

Immediately, you sigh, the thought of loading and unloading the uber, going through security, checking your bags and then the god-knows-how-many hours of flight time settling in your bones like an additional phantom ache. By the time you’re done, towel wrapped around your chest and droplets of water still cooling your skin after a half hearted attempt at drying yourself, you’re spent. 

Wonwoo is zipping up a bag when you emerge, unfortunately wearing clothes now. 

“You wanna sit in the towel while I dry your hair,” he asks, already pulling out the hair dryer from the drawer. 

“Are you done packing?” you ask, frowning. 

“Just your toothbrush left.” He plugs it into the outlet. “I’ll grab it while you change.” 

Forehead leaning on his tummy, he tousles the wet mop of your hair as the dryer fills the room with its white noise. That, paired with the bed where you sit, once again, is turning out to be a seductor of a lifetime. 

When he’s done, and brushing out the tangles in your hair, you find the strength to ask him. “Why aren’t you as tired as I am?” 

He chuckles, eyes focused on a knot that’s giving him a hard time. “For starters I slept for five extra hours. You know, considering my side of the party didn’t need to cake their faces.” 

“You didn’t like my makeup?” you jab in jest. 

“I loved it,” he responds, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. “We’ll talk about it on the plane, considering you don’t fall asleep before we can even take off.”

“Or in the car. Or in the lounge.” You yawn openly. “Or right now.” 

When you stand up, you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to touch him for a little bit before attempting to put on clothes. His lips find the crook of your neck immediately, hands gripping you through your towel. 

“I love you,” you mumble against his skin. 

“I love you more,” he responds. “I know I already said it a thousand times, but this is still the happiest I’ve ever been.” 

You have to bite back a snarky reply, but you feel the pool in your eyes anyway. Inexplicably, you hold on to him tighter. Worried if you opened your mouth you’d begin to sob—again. 

He does let go of you, but only when his eyes land on the time. You’re dressed by the time he’s called the Uber and grabbed your toothbrush, shoving it into the front pocket of one of the bags. You’re quite useless the entire time, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind as he loads your limited bags into the trunk. 

You manage to keep your eyes open on the ride to the airport, manage to not be a nuisance as you check in, and make it to the lounge with limited hassle. 

“We only need to wait like twenty minutes, we were pretty on time,” he mentions, handing you a to-go cup of coffee the approximate size of your face. “We get to board first anyway.”

Months ago, while you were thick in the trenches of wedding planning, you went back and forth for a very long time about flight tickets. Not your destination, but the decision between business and economy was a conversation that stretched over weeks. 

Today, with your jelly arms and mushy mind, you thank your heavenly stars through bites of fancy lounge sushi for making the collective decision to splurge. Wonwoo is taking it upon himself to let your friends and family know you’d checked in, while you lean wholly against his arm, dreaming about the flat, comforter clad surface of your plane seat, and the joy you’re going to have for the hours to come. 

Inhaling the amount of coffee that you did in the lounge meant the prior sleep in your eyes had decided to evacuate for the time being, getting tucked into your seat soon after take off. 

To be clear, you were more than happy with your decision on the seat, but you realise quickly that you and Wonwoo are blocked out by a divider between you, closing you off. You assume you were pouting at the realization, because you hear him ask. 

“Don’t like the seat?” 

“No, I do,” you say. “But you’re so far away.”

He smiles, close mouthed, the one where it looks like he might be smirking. An arm snakes over the console, elbow towards you as his forearm rests against it. Immediately, like this was nothing but a usual drive in your car, you lean your head against his arm, your own two arms wrapping around his. 

There’s nothing in the air except the whirring of the plane's engine, the quiet chatter of the cabin as the crew prepares for turndown service. 

A realisation befalls you, that this is the first time you’ve been able to sit down with Wonwoo today, without the constant buzzing in your brain about everything that has gone wrong and what could go wrong. It might be your defeated conscious talking, but it may have even been months. 

Shifting your head so you can look up at him, you speak, “We have to stay married. ‘Cause I don’t think I can plan an entire wedding again.”

“So no vow renewals?”

You raise your brows, surprised this was something he’d be interested in. “Maybe when we’re sixty.”

“Oh,” he frowns. “I was thinking more like every five years.”

“God.”

“I’m glad we decided to do this,” he says. 

“The seats?” you ask. 

He looks at you, and you raise your head from his arm. 

“Getting married.”

“That sounds like an afterthought.” 

“I was nervy,” he says. “It’s like coming out the other side of a roller coaster. Took guts but you’re glad you did it.”

“Glad our special day was a vomit inducing experience for you.”

“Didn’t you cry five times while getting ready?” he jabs. 

Scowling, you turn away. “Who told you that?”

“So you can throttle them in their sleep?”

It was no use, since you were both crying at the altar, but you have a bone to pick with your sister once you’re back home. 

“Go to sleep,” you grumble, removing yourself from his arm. He only laughs, grabbing your arm with a force that pulls you back in. 

He leans into your ear, familiar press of his lips against the skin. “You looked beautiful today.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Similar to this, with his lips pressed against your ear, hours ago on the dancefloor, he said the same thing. Over and over and over. 

“I’m gonna confess something,” he whispers. For a wild moment, your heart is in your throat. 

“What?” you ask sharply. 

“When I went home after our first date—”

“You noted my drink order?”

He nods against your head, “That. And I dreamt of you.”

“Was I pretty?” 

“Prettiest. Big smile like it was the happiest day of your life. In a white dress.”

It’s silent for a moment as neither of you move. The lump in your throat is ever present, breath quickening as you brace for the waterworks. 

“Dang,” is all you say in a watery voice, one that earns you a laugh from him. The absurdity is not lost on you. “What other secrets do you possess?”

“Just that,” he responds. “Didn’t wanna tell you before. Thought you’d freak out and run away.”

“Idiot,” you mumble against his hoodie, tears wetting your lashes. 

You don’t get to continue, because a flight attendant hovers over your joint seats, asking if you’d like to turn down for the night. 

Wonwoo answers for both you and your aching bones. Fatigue would make you gloss over many things about the aftermath of your wedding night for years to come, but you’ll always remember the first night asleep next to your husband over rocky terrain in the sky, with so much changed, yet nothing at all. 

Your first night in Seychelles was a blur, mostly because you both ate room service in expensive robes and watched The Pitt before falling asleep again. 

Eyes closed, you know it’s sunny with the exceeding warmth in the room and the light against your eyelids. Opening them takes a minute, no desire to move in the morning light. At least you think it’s morning. 

Shifting around, you realise you fell asleep in your robe, the tie unravelled, turning it into a loose shrug over your naked form. Through bleary eyes, your eyes meet the linen curtains and how they blow in the wind that pours through the open sliding doors. Blue skies and hanging branches of deep green trees are all you see, and your husband, standing over the railing overlooking your private pool. 

Maybe it was the haze of being half asleep, but for a second it feels like a dream. He’s in a white T-shirt, messy hair indicating he didn’t wake too long before you did, basking in the sunlit glow of the morning. His back is to you, but it’s enough. 

He hardly notices you get up and walk to the bathroom, the rustling of the trees masking most of your movements. When you’re done washing up, robe tightened around your waist, you emerge onto the makeshift porch of your hotel suite. 

Arms immediately make their way around his waist, alerting him of your presence. “Morning,” you mumble into his shirt. 

“Morning, baby,” he shifts so he can hold you too, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. “Sleep well.”

“As well as I could.” It was a frivolous question, considering he was well aware you could sleep well on pavement if he was next to you, presence inches away. 

“It’s so pretty in the day,” you comment. The private pool was one thing, but the way the trees and plants hovered over the open area, swaying in the breeze left the impression they’d situated the room in the middle of a jungle. 

“Mhm,” he responds, having had his fill of the view of the hotel, currently more interested in the bare expanse of your neck. His lips trail over the skin, leaving kisses and gentle nips, now caging you between him and the railing. “Pretty.”

Of course, the obvious connotations of a honeymoon hadn’t escaped you—in the weeks leading up to your wedding, there wasn’t a loved one who would let you. But it feels like a delayed reaction after the hectic 48 hours you’ve had, finally at peace in what feels like the most beautiful place in the world. 

You let him grope you over the fabric, let his mouth run over every sliver of skin he can find. Facing him, your hands find the back of his neck to pull him down towards you, mouth to mouth properly. 

You melt, sighing into his mouth as he moves impossibly closer, pressing you against the railing as your head moves further back. Mouthing at your jaw, he lets you push him back in through the open door. 

He understands when you’re being pushed right back into your unmade bed. Pulling at the mountain of comforters, he lets them drop to the floor. “God it’s been torture,” he groans, hands moving up your thighs, through the irregular folds of your robe, cool palms against your hot skin. 

“You wanted to leave right after the reception,” you tease. The robe remains tied, and you make no move to undo it yourself. 

“Didn’t realise I’d have to hold back for this long,” he says, hands reaching the knot. His mouth is back on yours as he undoes it, pulling agonizingly slow. 

Tucking his hands into the undone robe, he runs them over your naked body underneath, pulling the fabric away from your body. Migrating down your neck, his hot breath mixes with the wind coming through the outside, casting shivers down your spine. 

Mouth over your breast, his teeth graze over your skin as he sucks. His free hand gropes your other breast, fingers pinching and flicking over the erect nipple. Head thrown back, you can’t stop the way your hips gyrate on nothing, moving to feel friction of any sort. 

He only lets go when your hands grapple at his shirt, noises of frustration for every passing moment you couldn’t feel his skin on yours. Shirt thrown somewhere behind him, his shorts follow, before ripping the robe off you entirely, leaving you completely bare. 

Moving higher up against the bed, Wonwoo situates himself like he’s about to live there, hands pushing your thighs apart as wide as they could go. In the morning light, he stares his fill of the glistening swells of your core. Fingers grazing over the back of your thighs, he massages the skin closer and closer to where you need him most. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, moving back up to kiss you one more time, deep and long. 

Distracted, his thumb pressing a stripe down your clit catches you by surprise, gasping into his mouth at the feeling. His thumb reaches your hole, catching the wetness at the entrance, dipping shallowly. Travelling back up, he presses into the centre of your clit beginning with tight circles around the area. 

Whining into his mouth, your hands travel to his shoulder, down his arms to grip the muscle. Your other hand grips the sheet as he presses harder into your clit, localising his torture to one tiny area, occasionally rubbing all over. 

“Wonwoo,” you moan into his mouth, hardly kissing anymore as you pant into his mouth. 

Two fingers push into your hole, the pads pushing up against your walls as his knuckles graze over them. He begins to pump in and out, scissoring his fingers to open you wider. The feeling has you throwing your head back, breathless. 

When he removes his fingers you nearly scream, but his hand is at the waistband of his boxers, just as desperate as you feel. The tent is obvious even as he pulls the fabric down, watching his painfully erect member slap against his stomach. Your hands wrap around his own that lay at the base, caressing past to pump him as he positions himself between you. 

It’s hypnotising, the redness of his tip, the way it leaks onto your fingers after just a few strokes. Wonwoo’s face is pained, and you realise he may have been serious about feeling tortured. 

Not that you were any less desperate, but the agony of needing to remain celibate for the weeks leading up to your wedding weren’t planned—you could hardly find time to eat and sleep. It flew over you, that it might've been a little tougher on him than it was on you, but when you pull him in closer, you make sure that changes. 

Knees bent, he pushes your thighs apart as he settles in. He sinks in slowly, “Oh this is gonna be quick.”

You don’t mind, because you’ve remained untouched long enough to not last very long either. “Right there with you,” you groan out, engulfed by the stretch. 

He’s slack jawed, hair falling over his eyes as he struggles to keep his eyes open. His fingers dig into the plump your thighs, gripping them like they were the only things keeping him tied down to earth. 

It’s bliss, even as he remains stationary for a moment, buried into you till the hilt. Slowly, he pulls out, rocking back in. He picks up the pace, folding your legs over as he watches the way he disappears into your wet pussy, milky white beginning to rim at the base of his cock, a mix of your slick wetness and his precum. He nearly cums at the sight. 

Your fingers play with your stiff nipples, head thrown back as you moan without a care of your volume or coherence, Wonwoo’s name on your lips like a mantra. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it in circles as you whine loudly at the feeling. 

“You feel so good,” he moans, hips snapping up to slap against the back of your thighs. “So good, you’re so good.”

Eyes blown open as he slams a hard one into you, his groaning and moaning ensuing another warm gush out of you. 

Wonwoo pauses for a moment, ducking closer to lay his forehead on yours, his spread legs keeping yours apart, hands coming up to cup the top of your head to protect you from the hard headboard. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear with effort. “I love you so much.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” half sobbing. 

“You’re amazing,” he blabs, words hardly coherent. “All mine. Mine forever. All of you.”

His words, paired with the hand that grazes over your tits, down to your swollen clit to rub it harsher than before, is enough to send you careening over the edge. 

“Won—oh my god, Wonwoo I’m cumming,” you moan so loud you’re sure it’s carrying over. But you don’t care, because you wonder how you went so long without clenching around his dick like this, gushing over him as he pounded into you like it was his last day on earth. 

He holds you steady as he rides you through it, the contracting of your walls pushing him into his own orgasm, shuddering in your hold as his thrusts become increasingly sloppy yet running with force. 

It’s euphoric, hot spurts of his cum painting your walls, leaving his traces where no one else could ever touch you. The thought sends him into overdrive, thrusting into you long past his release dripping out of you, pooling onto the pristine sheets, glazed over your gorgeous skin. 

Resting his head against your collarbone, he breathes in the salt of your sweat, mixed with the scent he calls home. 

It feels like an eternity, both of you silent as the wind blows into the room over your sweaty forms, laying there in each other’s arms. Wonwoo continues to keep his mouth on you, your shoulders, tummy, waist, worshipping every last inch of your being as you catch your breath intertwined in his heat. He’s at your knees where your legs fold, hand wrapped around your ankle as he caresses it with his thumb, leaving kisses above your knee. 

For a moment, he rests his head against your thigh, and the world becomes clearer. His silhouette against the light, the nature beyond your crystal windows. The weight of him now, the traces of his touch that persist, to lay here bare for your lover for life—a glimpse into the rest of time. 

The moment is ruined when you feel your stomach growl, and Wonwoo is close enough to hear the rumble. He shifts so he can look at you, “Shower time? I think I saw a restaurant downstairs.”

The shower went from quick to an extra thirty minutes, considering you’d hardly washed the shampoo off before he pushes you against the tiled wall to kiss you breathless, water going cold over you as he works you with his fingers again, the thudding of water hitting the shower floor paired with the squelching of his fingers dipping in and out of your already spent hole, and the pants and moans that fill your ears. 

He needs to help you into your clothes after that, which he chuckles through before pulling you to the hotel restaurant. Housing down everything in sight, Wonwoo remembers to keep your glass full in an attempt to keep you from choking on croissants of all things. 

“Do you wanna hit the beach after this?” you ask.

“I was thinking about a nap before that,” he says, belting out a burp that earns him a kick under the table. It shakes, earning you looks from the rest of the vacationers. He only laughs, “But I could nap on the beach.”

Wonwoo does not, in fact, nap on the beach and instead follows your example as you pack a book in your beach bag, realising very quickly he brought none of his own, choosing to snipe one of the many you brought for yourself. 

It’s you needing to turn your brain on this time, because the random book he’s grabbed has him so enraptured at the synopsis you have to pull him away from slamming directly into people and poles alike. There’s posters and notices as you walk through the connection that leads to the beach; cocktail classes, trivia nights, and tutorials on Seychellois cuisine. 

“Isn’t this that movie you watched on the plane?” he asks, reading the Crazy Rich Asians on the front cover. 

“Mhm, didn’t mean to pack that, I’m reading the sequel right now,” you hum as you look for the path that leads to the beach, hand in his. 

It’s a gamble as the view of the white sands and water come into view, visibly smiling as you see the near empty sands. It was the off season, which you expected to mean less of a crowd. 

Finding a double beach chair is easy, dumping your things as you make yourself comfortable. “Water’s nice.” Wonwoo comments, and you wonder if you did wrong with keeping your bathing suit away for today. 

Squeezing a generous amount of sunscreen onto your hands, you agree with him as you dot his face with sunblock. He lets you rub it in as he looks over the water, perfectly aware that he’d never willingly put sunscreen on his face if it were up to him. He’s done, and he settles in while you protect yourself. 

Leaning against Wonwoo’s arm, you’ve both grabbed your books under the giant parasol. The sun is out and warm just right, deep sounds of crashing waves, and the smell of salt—-you feel giddy. 

The beachside bar is seconds away from bringing you your cocktails when his hand finds your thigh, tracing his fingers over the skin, while his other holds open the book he’s reading, twisting the cover back like a heathen. 

It’s perfect. 

“These are good,” Wonwoo pauses to comment, brows furrowing at the flavour of your espresso martini and his cosmopolitan. 

“I think I saw something about a cocktail class at the hotel. We could try it later.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, sipping his drink again. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, but both your glasses are now empty and Wonwoo seems to be growing distracted after a few hours. It’s still late afternoon upon you as he announces he’s going to dip his feet in the water.

You think about it, and walk to the shallow end behind him, leaving your flip flops near the chairs. The sand is plush beneath your feet, cool between your toes despite the warm afternoon. Walking closer, the water is almost blinding with the way the sun dances on its crystal surface, waves breaking and sending pleasant sprays as you walk closer. 

You gasp audibly as the water touches you, turning to look at Wonwoo wide eyed and giddy. Colder than you’d expected, washing over your ankles and shins as you walk further into the water, pulling up the hems of your skirt to keep it from getting wet. 

Wonwoo leans down to touch the water, fingers dipping into the clear, coming up to splash you with a handful. It earns him a yelp from you as he laughs, but you soon recover and send another one right back. You don’t panic till you see both of his hands cup enough water to practically drown you. 

“Wonwoo, I didn’t bring extra clothes!” you yell, already running away. 

The irony doesn’t escape you, considering sprinting through the water has wet your clothes more than his splashes. But you're laughing harder than your breath can catch, and even more so when his wet hands grab you by the torso and pull you back in a lurch, suspended in the air for a moment. 

“Wonwoo!” 

It’s funny for a few minutes, still encased in a fit of giggles as you kick at the water. Until it isn’t.

Wonwoo separates from you for a moment, venturing a little deeper into the water, swearing he saw a ring of colourful fish swim past the shallow end. You’re in the middle of convincing yourself to follow him when you hear him suddenly splash at the water with shocking force. 

Stunned, you hardly register what’s just happened, thinking you’ve just heard him yell. He’s out of the water before you, hunched over and grabbing at his calf. By the time you reach him, you can see it. 

An ugly red slash across his calf, long and thin. It looks like a chemical burn. 

“What—”

“Shit,” he curses. An anomaly, considering you’ve only heard Wonwoo curse about five times in the years you’ve known him. 

“What is that?” you ask, immediately on your knees to get a closer look. It’s growing redder by the second, the swelling clear. 

Wonwoo stretches over to try to see, “That might’ve been a jellyfish.”

“You weren’t even in that deep!” 

“Deep enough I guess,” he winces. 

Bringing him to the shallow end, you try to pour more seawater on his reddened skin, hoping your memory is serving you right and you aren’t just making it worse. 

A few minutes later, a life guard is applying a topical cream on the area and giving you instructions to let the wound soak in warm water, assuring him he can get back in the pool in a couple days. 

Once the shock wears off, it’s almost a little funny. “That’s a story we’re gonna be telling forever,” you mumble as he gets up from the table in the tiny lifeguard tent. 

The man turns to you, “It happens sometimes, people usually just sleep on it and have a great rest of their vacation. Don’t worry about it too much.”

You thank him as you mutually decide to call it a day, moving back towards the hotel. Wonwoo seems alright, walking fine as he holds your hand talking about dinner plans. You suggest room service by the pool so he can keep off his leg, but insists he wants to try the traditional spot just outside the hotel. 

Heeding, you let him pull you back into the hotel room to clean up and rest. Except this time he’s serious about the nap. 

Wonwoo doesn’t fight you when you suggest staying off the beach today, choosing to occupy yourselves with the cocktail class instead. 

It’s in the hotel so you don’t have to leave the premises, the venue moderately full when you enter the room. The instructor introduces himself as Marcus, taking the time to make small talk with you both as you wait for everyone else to file in. His face lights up when Wonwoo tells him this was your honeymoon, very outwardly enthusiastic about having a couple in the class. 

So much so, that when the class eventually does begin, you hear a loud call for congratulations from the room for the only newlyweds (you). Mortified a little, you both fluster in your thank yous, attempting to move the attention back to the front where Marcus remains jovial as ever. 

“I think that’s too much ice,” you comment, attempting to compare the pile in your glass to Marcus’ up front. 

“No, it’s one scoop. It’s what he said,” Wonwoo says, but he’s beginning to look a little lost. 

“Doesn’t that look like a lot?” you ask, not convinced. But there isn’t much you can do about it, because you’re suddenly being asked to find one of the syrups on the counter, still rummaging while Marcus is already two steps ahead of you. 

It’s hard not to giggle, the energy from your station overwrought. But as you finally make your first drink after 20 whole minutes, you stand with straight shoulders. 

It’s another two hours of this, spilling precious spirits on the counter, floor and yourself, hands stained with syrups and fingers numb from picking up the giant spill of ice courtesy of your husband. You have to duck under the table for a moment, knowing your chortles would disrupt the class even more than you’ve done unintentionally already. 

Making cocktails meant drinking cocktails as you made even more cocktails. Marcus only seems to encourage the class to get day drunk, but that only resulted in added chaos. 

But even when you’re back in your hotel room, tipsy and giggly, you’re glad you did it. 

Wonwoo is spread eagle on the bed, still laughing about tripping over air in the hotel lobby. You join him, tucking yourself into his arm. Head lolling over to look at you, he dips his head down to kiss you, lips over your own in a close mouth peck. He doesn’t stop, lingering with every press to your mouth, still slightly smiling against your lips. 

“It’s been a day and this is already the best trip of my life,” he mutters against your lips. You’re very aware of it this time, a habit he’s had forever. 

You flashback for a moment, and suddenly you’re both a lot younger, alot less wise with constantly flushed cheeks in each other’s presence. It’s at the door of your old apartment, the same one where he would take you in more ways than one in the following months and years. 

But for now, it was your third date, and you were shifting your weight between your feet, trying not to feel disappointed as he bid you a goodnight with nothing but a smile and a wave. Mustering a smile of your own, you unlock the door and begin to walk in. 

Except instead of descending steps, there’s a pause. And Wonwoo was back before you could even cross the threshold. He didn’t ask when he cupped your face and planted one on you, mouth to mouth for the very first time, one hand over your door handle and the other on his wrist. 

“Sorry that took so long,” he mumbled against your mouth, the first time of many, sheepish smile on his face. 

But your heart felt like it was about to burst, so you went in for another one, opening your mouth to kiss him properly. And then the door had shut behind you both, and you’d dragged him inside. 

Tipsy haze and a little love drunk in your hotel room, on your honeymoon, you laugh against his mouth. “What,” he asks, laughing with you over nothing. 

“I’m glad you didn’t chicken out that night. After the drive in.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t need any more information, because the events of the day were ingrained into his mind like a brand. Not your first date, but your third, where he almost didn’t kiss you, where he almost never took the steps back up the stairs, where you almost slammed the door in his face. 

“I don’t think I would’ve wanted a fourth if you didn’t do it,” you say, eyes locked in on him. 

The thought scares him, that tiny mistake that never happened, how it would have altered the trajectory of his life. It’s terrifying, dread settling into his stomach. To this day he’s unsure why he’d hesitated as much as he did, especially considering he dreamt of your wedding the first night after he’d laid eyes on you. 

“You looked sad,” he says. “Disappointed. Just, not happy. I thought that meant you didn’t enjoy yourself, but…I was on the staircase when I realised I felt sad too.” 

He leans into you, lips planting kisses on the apples of your cheeks, to your fluttering eyelids, “Didn’t think much after that. Glad I didn’t, because I probably would have chickened out in the end.”

“We’re married,” you whisper like it’s a secret. “Can you believe that?”

“I can’t. Sometimes I still wake up and think I dreamt you up.”

“Are you calling me unreal?”

“Because you are,” he says. “I’m not sure how you exist.” 

That sticky feeling engulfs you again, and you know it’s because you’re a little drunk, but you’ve been teary enough to last you a lifetime just these past few days. Before you turn into a blubbering mess, you push yourself up. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I’m gonna go ahead and be unreal and not exist in the pool we are yet to use.”

He stares as you get up, walking to your open suitcase to rummage around for your stack of bathing suits. He remains on the bed, head propped up with his arm as he watches, content. 

You don’t bother with going to the bathroom, stripping off your shirt and shorts in the room. You fish out a green piece, only to hear a refute. 

“Where’s the yellow?” he asks, and you fish around to come out with the butter yellow two piece you didn’t realise he even knew you had. 

“Actually,” he slips off the bed, walking over to open the sliding doors that lead to the outside, glancing around. “Do you really need it?”

You only give him a look, proceeding to go to the bathroom to change out of your underwear anyway. He makes a noise of disapproval, but you respond with the loud sound of the door locking shut. 

When you emerge Wonwoo has soothed himself by taking a dip into the pool himself. You have to laugh, watching him paddle through the water with his swim goggles on. 

“Does it hurt? The sting?” you call out as you sit by the edge of the pool, dipping your feet in the water to start yourself off. 

He breaks the surface, hair flat over his head like a bowl. He spits out a mouthful of water before calling out, “No! I put the topical on this morning, I think it’s working.” 

If that were you, you’d probably be out of commission for the rest of the holiday, but as he dives back in to check how long he can hold his breath for, you want to applaud him. You jump in after a few minutes, finally getting yourself wet. 

Wonwoo comes over to you, letting you wrap your legs around him as you float as one. You do, however, rip the goggles right off his face. He doesn’t refute, letting them sink to the bottom of the pool. 

“Don’t you think I’m so strong?” he asks. 

“I’d say the water’s doing most of the work,” you note. 

“I meant my fatal injury.”

“Hardly fatal if you’re making jokes about it,” you snort. “Do you feel like a man?”

“Yeah.” He’s smiling a dumb smile, and you know he can hardly see a thing without his glasses. “Are you impressed?”

“So impressed,” you sigh, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. 

You let him go for a little bit, wanting to float by yourself for a while. As the sky breaks through branches of low hanging trees and giant green flats of leaves, you realise your not-soberness is probably contributing to how psychedelic the view looks. 

But you aren’t complaining, content with the weightless feeling. 

Wonwoo can’t help himself from meddling for too long, because suddenly you're being lifted off the surface just to be dunked under the water, flailing for a moment before breaking the surface. 

“Wonwoo!” you screech, but he’s already on the opposite end of the pool, laughing maniacally. You’re rethinking your stance on drunk Wonwoo, because you aren’t liking him too much. 

He’s unfortunately a faster swimmer, but you have him cornered in the pool. He makes to go below, escaping your wrath of you and your dripping wet hair, but instead you hear him yell. 

Through the water, you watch him grab his calf, face contorted like he banged the sting wound on the wall of the pool. Immediately, you move forward to check on him.

“Does it hurt?” you ask sharply, mind already racing to where the topical was inside the room.  

But you should’ve known, because as soon as you’re close enough for him to grab, you’re being snatched off guard and caged between him and the pool wall. 

You want to stay mad at him, but it’s difficult when you note how his shoulders are blocking the entire sun from view, casting you in a shadow shaped like your husband. 

“What was that for?”

He only shrugs, hands roaming the expanse of your skin in the water. “I missed you.” 

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to break free. He blocks you, whining as he buries his face into your neck. “I said I missed you.” 

Another thing about drunk Wonwoo—his sex drive shoots for the clouds. 

Even now as he’s mouthing the side of your neck, you can feel him through his swim trunks, pressing you against the pool wall, water spilling over the edge. His input on your choice of swimwear should’ve been your sign, but as he fiddles with the straps of your bottoms, you decide to resign into him. 

Water is Wonwoo’s biggest enemy as he finds out how difficult it is to create friction like this, the tent in his bottoms pressing against your stomach. You decide you’re going to be nice, palming him through his trunks. Your other hand is around his middle, roaming to his front as you let them wander over his skin. 

He groans contently into your neck, coming up to take your mouth. His tongue pushes in, and you let him lick and suck on your tongue, pulling away only to go right back in. It seems your hands aren’t enough, because he’s suddenly gripping you by the sides and pulling you out of the water, finding yourself sitting by the poolside. 

There’s water everywhere as you get a headstart, but he’s enthusiastic even while tipsy, lifting you off the ground at the steps. To your surprise, he doesn’t head for the bedroom, and instead places you on one of the beach chairs on the porch. 

“Wonwoo,” you begin, slightly scandalised. 

“It’s just us,” he says, nipping at the shell of your ear. 

It was sheltered enough, canopied but exposed enough to have you giggling through it. Wonwoo is an efficient man, not a second wasted as he rids you of your bottoms, his own swimming trunks coming off, landing somewhere on the floor with a wet thwack. 

He’s sinking into you within seconds, hovering over you as he mouths your cleavage spilling out of your bikini top, licking and dragging his tongue over your skin. You move to take it off, but he stops you. 

“No,” he says sharply, pinning your hands in front of you. “Stays on.”

So maybe you underestimated how much he liked it, but you can’t bother to think about it when he picks up his pace, slamming into you so hard the chair rattles and shakes beneath you. Your wrists remained tied with his hand, reaching out as far as you can to touch his stomach, needing to feel him somehow. 

The noises you're making are only fueling him, hand coming up to squeeze your breast through the wet fabric, slipping his fingers underneath to play with your nipple, erect from the cold. His knees are in place steadfast on either side of the beach chair, and you have to ask.

“Isn’t that–humph–burning?” you ask through pants. 

“Don’t,” he thrusts up hard, “care.”

Taking a moment, you look up at him, and he’s enamoured with the sight of your wet body in front of him, but all you can see is how he manages to encase you with his body alone, the flop his hair over his beautiful eyes, How pretty he looks in the partial shade. How in love he looks with you. 

His thrusts are getting sloppier, and you’re moaning so loud it’s beginning to hurt your throat. “Wonwoo, I think—”

“Me too, me too, me too,” he babbles as he feels the familiar clamp of your walls around him, the mesmerizing arch of your back, the way you rip your hands from his hold, only to seize his arms to ground yourself as you ride out your high. He doesn’t fail to abuse your clit, fingers pressing and rubbing just hard enough to send you to a place so far away from here. 

“Oh…Wonwoo, fuck, that’s so–so good.” It sounds like a sob, and maybe you are crying a little bit. 

He follows you on your descent, hips harried and face contorted like he’s forgotten how to hold himself back. He cums inside you, and you can’t help moaning at the feeling. 

He’s hardly brought himself down to Earth when you’re being yanked towards the side of the beach chair, legs over the edge. There’s a loud groan from the chair as it's yanked to the side so Wonwoo can sit on the floor in front of you. 

Legs thrown over his shoulder, he watches as the white of his cum leaks out of your raw hole, the sight nearly giving him another erection before he can even dry off. His mouth meets your cunt, lapping at the mix of his cum and your release off your thighs, your hole, spilled over your clit. 

You’re overstimulated, but you only prop yourself on your forearms to watch him suck on your clit like he was starved, tongue flat on the muscle as he rubs against your folds. His finger pushes through your entrance, the sound downright sinful as he pumps his cum in and out of your hole. The second orgasm hits you like a truck, shaking like you’d lost yourself on the chair as you finish hard. Seeing stars in daylight, painting the blue sky. 

When Wonwoo emerges, eyes dazed and a slight smirk on his face, he’s panting, leaning against your thighs. He places one last open mouthed kiss against your thigh before dealing with your jellied form, slumping against the chair as you attempt to relearn how to breathe. 

“You–” you pant. “We need to get drunk more often.”

He only grins at your suggestion to turn into alcoholics for the sake of mind blowing sex.

“I love you,” he says as he scoops you up into his arms, and you want to ask what ounce of superhuman strength he even had left to pull you into a sitting position, seeing as your own muscles are of no help whatsoever. 

Your legs are swung across his thighs as you sit on his lap till you can recover. His mouth is covered in your bodily fluids, but you’re reminded what love feels like when you let him kiss you all over regardless. 

“I love you too,” you say. “And I’ll keep loving you if you keep eating me out like that.”

“What happened to unconditional love?” he laughs. 

You push back the wet mop of his hair, letting his face come into full view. 

“Still unconditional,” you respond. “Always unconditional.”

He leans in to kiss you, and you immediately taste the salt on his tongue, but all you want is to move deeper. 

“Unconditional,” he mumbles into your mouth, and you're immediately smiling. 

He pulls away for a moment, staring at you for a moment. “I think you’ve recovered.”

“Hm?” you question. 

You know the answer when you’re suddenly being yanked by the hand back inside. “Wonwoo,” you scream as he gives you no room to prepare, pulling you indoors while the sliding door slams shut behind you. 

Yeah. You like how forever is turning out. 

[finelinevogue]

(no) need for speed

summary - you’re forced to do go karting with Lando even though you’re not a great driver

pairing - lando norris x girlfriend!reader

word count - ~1k

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

You pouted as Lando placed a helmet over your head, tucking your balaclava onto your chin properly to make sure you were safe.

He chuckled as he paid attention to what he was doing rather than you, making your pout impossible to disappear.

“You agreed to do this.” He said.

“And why didn’t you stop me, huh? Such a bad boyfriend.” You closed your visor aggressively, continuing your tantrum.

Your visor immediately went back up, Lando holding both sides of your helmet so he could focus your gaze on his now that he was finished.

“Bad boyfriend?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Hmph.”

“Who said he’d drive you to get you a McFlurry after this?”

“You.” You rolled your eyes.

“Does that sound like something a bad boyfriend would do?”

“No.” Your eyes softened, hoping he didn’t actually believe what you were saying.

Lando had known you for three years now, so there was part of you that hoped he would know when you were messing around. Like now, for example.

You were taking out your anxiety on him, which was unfair but Lando knew that that’s all it was.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll be right out there with you.” He promised, resting his forehead against the top of your helmet to be closer to you.

“I know.”

“And it’s just for a socials video. Nothing life-altering.”

“It’ll be life-altering if I crash.”

“I won’t let that happen. Plus you know if anyone’s going to crash it’s going to be me, babe.” Lando laughed and it managed to pull a smile out of you too.

“Okay.”

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

Lando’s hands leave your helmet. You turned around to walk towards your kart, Lando patting your arse gently as you did so.

You turned around to give him a ‘really’ look and he just had the biggest grin on his face.

“What?” You asked.

“You look so unfairly good in a racing suit.” He smirked, shaking his head as he blushed a little. It was crazy to think that you managed to get him this flustered still.

You gave him a quick pose before continuing to move to your kart.

You stood next to it and waited for Lando to give you a hand to step into it.

Next to you both were the social media managers for McLaren, along with a team of videographers, in order to film you both for some content.

You held onto Lando’s hand tightly as you stepped inside the kart, before weaning yourself down into the seat. Lando crouched down beside you to help put your seatbelt on correctly, checking it wasn’t too tight.

“All good?”

“Yep.” You said.

“Okay. Let’s race.”

“What about your helmet?” You asked with concern.

“I’ve had enough practice putting it on.” He laughed, rubbing your cheek with his thumb through the visor.

He then got up and walked towards the kart behind yours on the racing track. You turned around to make sure he got his helmet on okay and watched as he effortlessly got into his kart.

You held up a thumb for him.

He responded by putting up his thumb.

A worker of the go karting facility explained the rules and such you again, making sure you were okay, before leaving you to have a moment.

The lights above the starting line flickered red as they prepared you to start.

You heard Lando rev the engine of his kart behind you and you couldn’t help but smile over how crazy this was. You were about to go head to head with an F1 driver and you had taken 4 times to pass your driving test.

The red lights started to light up in a row and you waited until they went green before stepping on the gas pedal.

Lando went straight past you, even though he was behind you to start, before you had even the opportunity to step on the pedal.

You could imagine him laughing to himself as he sped past.

You grumbled to yourself before speeding off yourself.

You took a left at the first bend, swerving so you wouldn’t hit the barriers. Lando was well ahead by the time you came around the corner.

You pressed on the pedal again, flooring it until you came to the next corner. You steered sharply, clearing the corner before driving down the next straight.

It was a very easy course.

However, it wasn’t something that Lando pointed out or even insinuated considering that this is probably the easiest course he’s ever driven.

Ten laps later and Lando having passed you four times already, you picked up a bit of speed to see if you could keep up with him.

It only took one turn for that to go wrong though.

You steered a little too excitedly into the bend and span in your kart.

You pressed your brakes immediately and tried to steer out of it, but you were already spinning.

“Shit.” You swore repeatedly.

Then came the impact.

Your body shook as your kart impacted with the side of the wall. It wasn’t as bad of an impact as if you hadn’t pressed the breaks, but it ricocheted through your body all the same.

How did F1 drivers do this going five times faster?

You’d only crashed for ten seconds before Lando’s kart pulls in swiftly behind yours. He doesn’t check anything before leaving his kart and running over to you.

He lifted your visor first before lifting his. He had to see you with his own eyes, not through a screen.

“You hear me?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head because you didn’t think so. Only your pride was.

He reached under your helmet to unclasp it, before taking it off for you.

His hands brushed over your face and hair to check for anything significant. Even though he could see nothing was visibly wrong, he was still worried.

“Had to prove me wrong didn’t you? Had to prove that you could crash?” He tried to joke and bring a sense of humour to the situation, but even you could tell he wasn’t too happy.

You smiled, but didn’t laugh because your body was shaking a little from the shock.

“Alright c’mon. Out you get.” He tucked his hands under your armpits and lifted you up as you pushed up with your legs.

“I’m okay.”

“Just give me peace of mind, please.” He insisted.

Once you were out of the kart Lando pressed his hands over crucial parts of your body to double check that everything was okay and nothing hurt.

Lando was assured that you were okay after you gave a quick kiss to the side of his helmet.

You couldn’t help but get flustered - like every other time - at Lando wearing his helmet.

You watched Lando’s eyes crinkle, “What?”

“You look good with your helmet on.”

“Oh do I? Seems like someone is doing better than I thought then.” He chuckled, making you blush.

“I’m okay. Better with you.” You gave him a reassuring smile. “Let’s not do this again though.”

“Yeah, too right. I’ll do all the driving from now on, otherwise I’ll be in an early grave thanks to you.”

“Sounds fine to me.”

<•>

You’re getting changed out of your racing suit in the changing room when you notice it.

A big purple bruise on your thigh from where your body hit against the side of the kart. It’s not huge but it’s big enough that it will hurt when you lay on it.

You slipped on your jeans and Lando’s borrowed hoodie, wincing when your jeans made contact with your skin.

Lando 🧡 : u ready yet? xx

You: 5 mins

You: think i’ve hurt myself 🥲

You didn’t get a respond from Lando but a minute later he comes bounding into the changing room, a lady behind him shouting that he isn’t allowed in here.

“Hey.” He sounded rushed, running his hand through his freshly showered hair.

“What are you doing?”

“You said you were hurt.”

You smiled and then pouted over how much he cared about you. It made your heart twinge with an overwhelming amount of love for him.

“It’s just a bruise on my leg.”

“Wrapping you in bubble wrap next time.” He shook his head before giving you a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Alright,” He gave you another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll get that McFlurry afterwards. You deserve it.”

“Yes, because I’m such a great driver.” You smiled, giving him a tight hug before he left you.

“I love you, babe, but even I can’t agree with that.”

[movrningstxrs]

CRITICAL HIT

PAIRING: jason todd x fem!reader

SUMMARY: what happens when you take a hit that’s meant for jason? only his worst nightmare come true

NOTES: 2k, established relationship, vigilante!reader, language, canon-typical blood and violence, medical inaccuracies, jason is not having a good time, slight angst with a happy ending. reader’s alias is nightingale (original, i know), and she’s black canary’s protégée because i love her

REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated

To the others, watching you and Jason fight was like watching a dance. Agile, graceful, and not a single step wasted or unnecessary. The pure rhythm and harmony that you two managed to achieve was truly awe-inspiring, yet it was only made possible after so many years spent fighting together, side-by-side, surviving death and other tribulations. Thus, it was no wonder that your relationship blossomed from simple ‘dance partners’ to something more.

Although it was difficult to name the exact label that defined your relationship—what with Jason being so selective with the information regarding his personal life and you choosing to simply follow your partner’s lead—it was clear to everyone that there was a mutual and ardent love shared between the two of you.

You changed Jason for the better, though you often argued that he didn’t need ‘fixing.’ He only needed someone kind enough to love him, to be there for him, and to listen to him, patiently, lovingly, and with grace. You just happened to be that person.

And God help anyone who dared to hurt Jason Todd’s person.

“I think that’s almost all of them,” you announced with a sigh of relief.

The rusty and dilapidated warehouse was littered with various goons, bloodied and beaten, and all of whom were in the process of being swiftly restrained after a successful raid on the illegal weapon shipments being stored there. The battle had been drawn out and arduous, but it was finally over, and all that was left was to wait for the GCPD to come and collect their soon-to-be jailbirds.

“Good job, everyone,” Bruce commended. “Remain vigilant as we wait for Gordon and his men to arrive.”

“Roger that, B,” Dick said with a playful salute, Tim and Damian responding with their own tired nods of affirmation.

“Got it, Batman!” you cheerfully confirmed.

“Heard,” Jason acknowledged, wincing as he rolled his shoulder and assessed the damage from the bullet that had clipped him minutes earlier. It hurt like a bitch, but in his line of work, it was minimal at worst, which was a lot more than he could say for the sad schmucks that lay before him.

And to think, the two of you had missed date night for this. Surely, Bruce owed you guys a nice luxury dinner, preferably on his black card, but that was a point of contention for another time. For now, all Jason wanted was a hot shower and some sleep.

“Hood, can you help me with this?” you requested while struggling to secure the last guy.

“Sure, birdie,” Jason replied, the answer coming easily to him as he settled next to you and retrieved the zip ties from your awaiting hands. The cute, appreciative smile that you sent his way was enough to spontaneously lighten his mood and ease the weariness soaking into his bones.

One last task before the two of you could go back home and wash the grime and exhaustion of the night away. One last task before you were free to be in his arms again. One last task before the call of sleep lured him in like a siren to a sailor, welcoming him into its gentle and peaceful embrace.

One last task, Jason repeated to himself.

And maybe if he wasn’t so distracted, tired and struggling to cope with the fatigue of tonight’s events, Jason would’ve noticed the slight movement coming from the corner of his eye. Maybe he would’ve reacted faster, like he normally would, the moment the crook drew one of Jason’s very own guns from its holster and pointed it squarely at the vigilante’s chest with a wide, bloody grin. And maybe—just maybe—if Jason had moved the slightest bit sooner, you wouldn’t have felt the need to throw yourself in front to protect him.

BANG!

A single gunshot thundered through the warehouse, rattling the broken windows and carrying through the open rafters, before your body crumpled to the ground with a pained, choked gasp.

Jason, meanwhile, merely snapped.

He had no time to truly register what had happened before his brain went into complete autopilot. His body launched itself forward as his fists connected with the man’s face over and over and over again. Blood began to mar his hands, and his knuckles bruised with every crazed swing he took, but Jason didn’t care. He only wanted the man to hurt, to feel a fraction of the pain that he had inflicted on you.

“Red Hood, stop! You’ll kill him!” Dick attempted to reason as he fought to pull Jason away.

“That’s the point, dickhead!”

“Are you serious right now? Reevaluate your priorities, Hood!” Tim argued, ever the rational one. “Nightingale’s in need of immediate medical attention, or she’ll die! Is that what you want?!”

“Don’t fucking say her name!” Jason snarled through gritted teeth as his anger quickly redirected to the younger male.

“Enough, all of you!” Bruce commanded, immediately defaulting to the stoic and efficient leader that he was. In his arms, you could quietly be heard gasping for low, shallow breaths, as a tight layer of gauze was crudely wrapped around your chest in an effort to staunch the bleeding.

God, while he had been too busy letting his anger and rage control him, Bruce had been the one to render you first aid. And as the damning realization hit him, Jason’s body instantly went numb. He dreaded to think what would’ve happened if it was only the two of you. Had he truly been so careless as to let you bleed out while he enacted some stupid form of vengeance? Were his priorities really so skewed?

Some partner he was, Jason thought bitterly.

“She’s still breathing, but she’ll need to be operated on,” Bruce explained as he began to make his way toward the exit. “Robin, Red Hood, you’re with me. Nightwing and Red Robin, you two will stay here and report to Commissioner Gordon on tonight’s mission.”

A noise of confirmation left everyone’s mouth as Jason trailed behind Bruce like a dazed, lost soul. No longer was he the big bad Red Hood that Gotham’s criminal underbelly feared and loathed. Instead, in his place was the scared and broken boy who had faced a distant, ticking countdown and ultimately failed to save another woman in his life.

“Here,” Dick interrupted before Jason could get too far, handing back to him his gun.

“Keep it for now,” Jason instructed, staring at the weapon in disgust. “I-I can’t—”

“Yeah, of course,” Dick gently reassured as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s arm. “It’ll be okay, little wing. She’ll be okay.”

Jason could only pray that he was right.

The journey back to the Cave passed by in a rushed blur. Rain pelted against his helmet as Jason pushed his bike to its absolute limits. He was an emotional wreck as he weaved through Gotham’s late-night traffic with reckless abandon, his mind entirely focused on one concern: your safety.

By the time Jason arrived back at base, Alfred had already been notified of the situation, as the Cave’s medical bay had been immaculately and meticulously prepared for your operation. As Alfred readied to roll you away on a stretcher, donned in a sterile set of gloves and scrubs, he turned to Jason with a meaningful look.

“I shall do everything in my power, Master Jason,” the old butler promised him.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jason replied, his smile strained.

All he could do now was wait.

“Aren’t you a sad sight,” Damian noted the second Jason discarded his helmet. The latter was clearly distressed, as the dark shadows underneath his eyes only helped to showcase the pure devastation reflected in his features, and his tall and imposing stature was rendered useless with the way he anxiously curled in on himself.

“Yeah, I wonder why?” Jason sarcastically scoffed.

Damian lightly pursed his lips before trying again. “She’s stronger than you think. She’ll make it through this. So stop looking so pathetic and have some faith.”

“I know that. Fuck, I know that!” Jason cried in anguish. “I just can’t stop replaying that damn moment in my head!”

Similar to a broken record player, the scene of you jumping in front to protect him repeated itself over and over again in his brain. Like gasoline to a fire, his insecurities weaponized the scarring memory to mock and taunt him. Again and again, they condemned him, telling him that he was weak, that he would never be good enough, and that he couldn’t save anyone, no matter how hard he tried.

It was his gun, his inaction, his fault.

“If she was the one in danger,” Damian thoughtfully put forth. “Would you have thrown yourself in the way to save her?”

“Of course I would!” Jason snapped. “What kind of question is that?!”

“There you have it,” Damian stated, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “You two are a pair of reckless, lovesick fools who’d readily die for one another in a heartbeat. Exasperatingly cliché and disgustingly sweet in my opinion, but that’s beside the point. What happened tonight was a choice. Because she loves you enough to have made that choice. We are vigilantes. Injuries and even death are a part of our daily lives. What matters is not how they happen, but how we decide to handle and overcome them.”

“…When the hell did you get so mature, demon brat?” Jason questioned wryly, feeling the weight of tonight’s tragedy slowly lift from his heart.

“You must’ve been in a far worse state than I had initially realized. If you haven’t noticed, I’m clearly the most mature out of all of us,” Damian retorted as he turned to leave, the fabric of his cape dramatically flaring out behind him. “Father included.”

Hours would come to pass as Jason remained ever watchful and vigilant while seated by your side. Alfred, the miracle worker that he was, had successfully managed to stop the bleeding and save your life. For that, Jason was forever indebted to him, even if the older gentleman would never allow for such a ‘silly’ claim. Still, Jason was so grateful.

Before long, a low groan escaped past your lips as your eyes started to slowly flutter open, and Jason held his breath as you tilted your head back to meet his concerned gaze.

“Jay,” you began. “My body hurts.”

“Y-yeah, getting shot will do that to you,” Jason mused, his words punctuated with a tearful laugh.

“Oh, Jay. I-I’m sorry,” you said mournfully. “Please don’t cry.”

“How could I not?” he rasped, tears dotting the corners of his eyes. “Pretty bird, you almost died!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized for the second time. “But when I saw that he had a gun pointed right at you, m-my body just reacted on its own. I don’t regret it, though. Not if it meant protecting you.”

“My girl. My brave, stupid girl,” Jason eventually relented, a soft and affectionate chuckle leaving his body when he noticed your slight pout of mock offence.

Cradling your hand like fragile glass, his thumb found solace against the steady thrum of your pulse, a soothing and concrete reminder that you were here, present, right next to him, and undeniably alive. A minute of comfortable silence lapsed before Jason finally made his decision, steeling his nerves as he brought up the one topic that never seemed to ever fully escape the back of his mind.

The way he said your name was so sweet. “Have you ever thought about marriage? W-with me?”

You blinked once, twice, stunned, before a comically flustered expression took over the entirety of your face. “O-o-of course I have! Oh my gosh, right now?!”

“No, no! I mean, sure! I-if you want!” Jason sputtered as he struggled to temper his nervousness. “J-just whenever you’re ready. Tonight made me realize that I can’t live without you. So, will you marry me, pretty bird?”

Your smile was so heartwarmingly bright, and there was no doubt or dishonesty in your voice as you answered, “I would be more than happy to marry you, Jason Peter Todd.”

[teaboot]

hi! friend problems anon here. So, I've known this girl and her sister for my whole life, lets call them sis 1 and sis 2. Sis 1 is around my age so I've connected more with her, but in the past 5 years sis 2 has been the person I text most, and is the person i tell most things and we've got a roleplay going. This itself isn't the problem, i'm good friends with both sisters. This is just to state like, how much of a connection we've had BEFORE I started having issues. Sis 2 likes to talk a lot about her friends and school and such, while I'm more introverted and very very focused on my fixations and such. I love talking to her, and I love listening to her talk, really I do. But sometimes I say some things about my interests or hey this cool thing happened on tumblr today (this is my first social media account but I'm not super young? so it feels like a big milestone for me and I wish the people in my life cared more about that) And it kind of feels like she doesn't really care? like she responds a little about a small detail about what I said and then continues with the rp. or just doesn't reply. or talks about doing things with her friends that I kind of feel left out about. And it makes me feel like I don't really matter. And this isn't a recent thing either, its just been building up in me. So I sent a message about it, which the app SAID she saw, but she then didn't reply or speak for the whole day. which. obviously made me upset and i deleted the message. So last night i asked sis 1 if she was mad at me, and sis 2 came back the very minute I sent the message. So I asked her what that was about, that i sent a message to, and she said "the app sometimes says i've seen things when I haven't, whatd you say?" And I sent the message again, and again it said she saw it. and she still has not responded. and I don't know what to do because whats the point of talking things out if she's not even going to talk. TLDR My good friend makes me feel like what I have to say doesn't really matter, or that she doesn't care enough to make it matter, and when I tried to talk to about it she ghosted for a day. then i talked to her sister about it and she reappeared, only to ghost again when i resent the message

I think- and I’m not close enough to this to be certain, so you’d know better than me- that there’s a chance that, while she IS a friend who you can enjoy some level of trust and mutual enjoyment with, she may not feel capable or comfortable handling the deeper connection you’re reaching out for.

This doesn’t mean she’s a bad friend, or that she doesn’t care about you- but if it is the case, then she may just not be the right person for that kind of connection.

My mother told me once, when I was having a hard time with my bio father and feeling like he was emotionally available but physically absent, like he SAID he loved me but didn’t take the initiative to be present- “we can’t make people love us the way we need to be loved.”

I love my bio father. I love him deeply. He did his best, and he never once hurt me on purpose, and he’d let me cry when I was sad and hang up my drawings on his fridge and let me nap with him on the couch, but he was never the kind of man who could be there. He was never the kind of man who would go out in public, in crowds, or to my school- and no matter how I explained it or how I asked, it never seemed to click for him that sometimes, when you love someone, you suck it up and do boring shit you don’t want to do.

He loved me. He still loves me. But if I need someone to attend an award ceremony, or a school competition, he was never going to be that person.

My mom- she was similar. She’d show up, when she could, and she wouldn’t complain- would talk and talk about how proud she was, and support anything I set out to do, but work kept her away, and she didn’t really grasp emotional availability. Emotional intimacy, or being vulnerable.

So if I needed someone to rub my back while I cried and talk about my fears, I went to my bio father, and if I needed someone to cheer me on from the bleachers or get back at a bully, I’d go to my mom.

I have friends now as an adult who I go to when I’m sad, or depressed, or need to talk about the past, and they do the same with me.

I have other friends who I see far more often but will likely never know that side of me.

I know my bus driver by name, about her family and her cats and her favourite lipstick, and she knows about my work and what I do at the gym, and talking to her is nice. I enjoy her company. But she’s never going to come to my house for coffee, or know about my relationship with my step-parents.

Because nobody can be everything. Almost nobody in the world can be everything, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you- the way they express the love they have for you just doesn’t match the love you need to have in order to feel loved.

If you want to have that conversation with her, if you really want her to try to be that person, you can have that conversation, but she may be looking for something else that YOU aren’t able to provide HER.

Maybe that can be discussed. Maybe you can both work towards the middle. Or maybe that’s just not in the cards, and you can enjoy what you DO get out of your relationship as it is, and seek that other support elsewhere.

Which is to say, I doubt very much that she doesn’t care about you or your feelings- but she may just not be the right person to provide what you’re seeking.

You don’t buy your squid at the gas station, after all. It doesn’t mean you can’t still go to the gas station

[evandorkin]

On Depression

I get messages from some folks about my work helping them get through some difficult times, and I'm almost always asked not to respond to them publicly. I am a goofus and I haven't figured out how to message folks privately, but I don't like to not reply, even if folks say it's okay to not respond. Briefly, as someone who has been dealing with their own anxiety and depression issues my entire life, I am thankful if my work provides any sort of relief or distraction or solace to anyone wrestling with the same things. I have been in therapy three times in my adult life, my current therapist, who I have been seeing steadily for about six years, has done a lot for me in helping me deal with my emotional situation. I am also on medication. Therapy can be expensive and hard for some people, it can also be frustrating to not connect with a particular therapist. It's not a magic bullet, the same goes for medication, more or less. I've discussed my anxiety and depression sometimes in my comics, most openly in Dork #7, which is partially about a breakdown I had in the late 90s. I still deal with the same issues. Before I got back to therapy years ago I went through a very horrible time and at one point tried to harm myself -- fortunately, I'm inept with knots and all I did was collapse on the floor. I also used a helpline one night where I was spiraling badly and it helped me get through it before I could do anything drastic. I'm currently dealing with a bad bout of depression but I'm able to push through it, knowing it can and will end at some point, and I want to be here to take advantage of that when it happens. I want to stay curious about what happens next, I want to be here for those I feel responsible for, for my friends and family, my readers, my cat, Winky. I want to make more comics, read more comics, see things, maybe go places if life allows. Some days I can barely get out of bed, but that doesn't happen as often as it used to. If I wasn't here I wouldn't know about all of you out there enjoying the Eltingville Club, and get to answer your questions. If you are feeling like you don't want to be here, please consider using one of these helplines, or turning to someone who can help, or seek treatment. Anything other than trying to stick it out alone and risk spiraling. We are not at our healthiest when we are depressed, which I know sounds obvious, but it's why we should never make important decisions about our lives when depression has us in its grip.

Again, I'm not a therapist or mental health professional, just a fellow traveler. Here's two lifeline numbers if anyone needs them. Take care of yourselves out there.

[lucygraysboy]

“yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” jesse waves his hand in a dismissive manner, cheeks growing rosy and an awkward smile blooming on his lips. he’s not used to being treated like a hero and doesn’t actually think he’s done anything worthy of such hearty gratitude. if he was the one struggling to swim to the surface, he’d hope billy’s girl would try to help him out, too. animosities aside. his moral compass is skewed but at the end of the day his heart is in the right place — billy will always be his little brother, no matter how often they argue or how long they go without talking to each other, and lucy gray… well, billy loves her. “i lost my flip flops,” billy grumbles when jesse wraps his arm around his waist, helping him up the trail. both of them look down at his bare feet. it’s hard to see in the darkness, on the trail where the pines don’t allow for more than a sliver of moonlight to shine through, but the blond still lets out a chuckle and taps his friend on the back. “go on, billy boy. we’ll find ‘em in the mornin’.” they do manage to stumble upon pat garrett’s flashlight, though. jesse turns it on and lights the way, occasionally looking over his shoulder and purposely slowing down to keep a close eye on lucy gray. he doesn’t want to hear more about this brawl that ensured between billy and pat, or whatever had happened earlier between him and his girl. it’s none of jesse’s business and it only makes him feel awkward, having to witness this.

billy spins in his arms, regaining more control over his body and frowning at lucy gray’s words. “i never called you a floozy! i said you’s a cheater, which you are by the way! but that don’t mean i don’t care ‘bout some asshole tryin’ to feel you up on a boat! so i put ‘im in ‘is place, what’s so terrible ‘bout that? are you gon’ defend ‘im too now?! won’t touch you again, ’s all that matters,” the cowboy grumbles, pressing his fingertips to his torn brow and wincing when they come back bloody. he’s supposed to be back on set in a week! now he’s getting angry again. well, at least until lucy gray mentions ice. that would indeed feel good on his face, on his lip that seems to be pulsing more furiously with each step and on his brow. he’d have to agree with her openly so he says nothing, just leans back on jesse as they keep walking. pines and rocks making the soles of his feet hurt. “why was you gettin’ down there in the water all by yourself anyway? huh? a few bucks in soap and shampoo really worth losin’ your life for?” he asks, his voice angry, annoyed even though the bite’s gone now. he doesn’t have the energy for another fight. “thanks, jesse. thanks for savin’ my reckless ex-girlfriend’s life. she can’t take care of herself.” jesse just runs a hand over his face, unsure how many times he can repeat the phrase don’t mention it before they take it literally and shut up. “blah, blah, blah.” billy turns around again, making that hand gesture, where his fingers and thumb repeatedly snap together, indicating her pointless babbling. jesse has to grab him by said hand and urge him forward. “you know, jess, he sent her pictures of his fuckin’ filly! an’ she got mad at me!” the blond just raises his eyebrows, lets out a hum and keeps them walking, feeling way more awkward than he did as a kid when his parents were arguing in front of him.

when they reach the campsite, the bonfire’s still burning and the light above the steps to the old RV is on. pat’s sitting on a folding chair, clutching his side and hissing as doc examines his jaw and the insides of his mouth. apparently one of his teeth is a bit wobbly now. they say nothing when they see billy, lucy gray and jesse. doc lifts his hand in a silent hello and jesse responds the same way. pat and billy eye each other for a moment, but then billy begins to walk back to the camper without a word. pat, being pat, sticks his foot out and trips him. jesse grabs his stumbling friend by the shoulder and just as billy attempts to retaliate insists, “let it go, billy boy. let it go.” he hands him a cool beer bottle to put on his swollen lip, but billy turns it down and heads straight for his bunk, making sure to wipe his dirty feet on pat’s fart-filled sleepin’ bag before climbing up. 

“thank you for that too, for comin’ just in time jesse.” what a rare moment in time, lucy gray treating him with sincere appreciation and kindness. really, he’s done a lot of shit. but what the hell would she have done if not for them coming out? it’s a confusing feeling, knowing all the bad jesse has still done but he did her a favor she can’t be more grateful for… and she’d go as far to say he helped her from drowning. billy would have been too late if her feet hadn’t become untangled from her skirt. “thank you,” for the towel. wringing her hair out again, she stands wobbly in discomfort and from her nerves that still has her hands and limbs shaking. shuffling over, slipping her feet into her flip flops, “it’s not the time for it! you idiot! since you don’t care about my honor anyway— when you disrespect me callin’ me a floozy. and be honest billy, you only beat up pat not to defend me, but to show him dominance.” since living like a monk is all that’s on his mind, he thought pat was going to get a night with her. “to get your rocks off, from all that psychotic anger you were just filled with.” the tiny brunette scowls, “who doesn’t want to sleep at this point?” after what he’s done, his messed up face would break her heart any other time— but right now, he just deserves it. dragging herself along behind jesse because she IS going but not stopping with the comments, she’s looking to billy as they begin to walk, “won’t be any ice to apply to all that bullshit either.” be lucky if he finds a piece in one of the coolers, gesturing to his bloodied face. “how awful.” to get beaten like that, to have water still stuck in her nose she’s trying to blow into her shirt, to be soaking wet in her fresh clean clothes she JUST put back on. it’s really adding fuel to her low and depressed and terrible mood. hating every single damn step of the way, has her tensed, walking uncomfortably and ready to slam her face against a boulder. “mhm, no thanks to you,” she repeats, “you know i can’t swim. and you didn’t give a damn. what if jesse hadn’t came? you’d felt real bad once i wasn’t there to argue with anymore. to accuse bein’ a whore. a cheater. and whatever else horrific ideas you’ve copped up ‘bout me. and river? shut up, billy. just shut the hell up…textin’ any man on the face of this earth is the last thing I EVER will be doin’ again. i’ve had my fair share of men, by now. real dad who leaves me, preacher who berates me consistently and leaves me, best friend who leaves me, billy taupe who belittled me n’ my worth and leaves me, best friend who comes back into my life and sets us up off lies, that last guy who just had his own problems, best friend who comes back into my life again and then says i’m this and that. pat bein’ a sicko. so i don’t reckon all this, i know i’m long done with men.” who cares if jesse is hearing it all, she doesn’t give one flyin’ possum airing out all her dirty laundry. she doesn’t care about anything right this moment.

[clownhousemargarita]

“baby.” ┆ jax .𖥔 ݁ ˖

────────────── ⋆ ₍ᐢ. ༝ .ᐢ₎ ⋆ ──────────────

“jax?” your voice bounced off the hallway walls, you immediately covered your mouth in shock of how loud you were at such a late..time? yeah. sure, let’s say time. you followed your call out with a whisper, “jax? baby? where’d you go?”

you knew when he was upset, he made it obvious. he has different levels of upset — pouty bitch, irritated thumper, and ‘im putting your name in the suggestion box to abstract’.

thankfully we were at pouty bitch. it seemed that the adventure was boring, and he was cranky and tired. if he’s not constantly being entertained, he becomes hyper aware of his reality bending situation. you heard a muffled groan coming from his room, you assumed he had heard you the first time and welcomed you to find him.

you roll your eyes and make your way to his room, opening the door with the key you stole from him awhile back. you believe thats what made him fall in love with you. you were sneaky and playful. he loved that about you.

you found him in a pitiful state, his limbs not even laying in a proper way — one leg on the floor, the other sprawled out on the bed, his arms in two different directions and his head hanging off the bed. you were unsure how he wasn’t slipping down onto the floor. “are you three years old?” you put your hand on your hip with a unamused expression on your face.

he groaned again and actually allowed himself to slip off his bed, you guess he was just holding his place in that stupid position. “i’ll f$&k you up, man.” he responded pointing his finger at you. he wasn’t even facing you. you sigh and close the door behind you, reverting the key back into your pocket. “cmere.” you walk over to pick him up, he was a very light boy.

you sit down on the bed with your knees up, laying your back on his pillows. positioning him to sit on your lap, which he usually resisted as he likes it the other way around. but in his sluggish state he just let you mess around with him like a rag doll. he laid against you, his head in the crook of your neck and his hands set on your hips. you noticed the way he tightened his grip on your hips.

“im real baby.” you said softly, knowing thats what he was trying to feel. how real you were against him. “you’re real.” he repeated, sighing in relief. “you promise.” his voice upset you. your poor baby. “pinky.” you rubbed his back, he leaned back to make eye contact with you, his face went from an exhausted expression to his signature conniving smile. you smiled back at him, yours similar to his.

“you look real good right now.” he whispered, leaning in closer to you. you giggled and turned away shyly. “i look the same as i do everyday, stupid.” it’s true, you did. you all did.

“nah uh, your face is cuter than normal. maybe its the ‘taking care of me’ expression, makes me wanna do unspeakable things to you.”

you laugh and push his smiling face away in embarrassment. “shut up!” he giggled and kissed your cheek. you returned a kiss to his lips, pushing him on his back and climbing on top of him while continuing the kiss. he wrapped his arms around your neck and you set yours on his waist. he suddenly pulled away, a blank expression on his face.

“are we getting freaky.”

“bro.”

“can we?”

“never ask like that again.”

“may we get freaky?”

you pretended to get up from your dominate spot as he laughed and pulled you back down. “my bad, i was being polite.” you held back your giggling. “very considerate.” he nodded in agreement.

“i love you.” he said suddenly. no, it wasn’t the first time you two said that to each other, but he seemed so shy about admitting that unprompted. it wasn’t genuine, like he thought out loud. you smiled sweetly,

“i love you more baby.”

──────────── ִ ʚ♡ɞ ────────────

~ clown 𓆩♡𓆪┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ 7/13/25

[the-fanss]

Threads - Part 2

Note: omg guys thank you for liking the first part so much!! I wasn’t expecting so many people to like it lol, it’s a little self indulgent. The next update might take a few days purely because it’s one of my partner’s birthdays so I’m making this one a bit longer :>

~Reader~

I swear to god Rumi why would you release a song when your voice has been bothering you so much?? I think to myself as the girls message me about what’s going on. Last night after I got home Rumi released Huntrix’s new song Golden when they were all supposed to be on a three week break. I know for a fact Bobby must be stressed because these girls keep him on his toes.

“Rumi if you weren’t feeling well with your voice gone why would you release music. Stress isn’t going to help.” I say sitting with the three girls after a cancelled show and they wanted to get food.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t feeling bad when it happened. I think I just need some rest?” She responded looking down.

“It’s okay Bobby can handle it!” and speak of the devil right as Zoey says that Bobby calls. “Girls I can’t handle this!” Poor man sounds stressed and overwhelmed. He’s talking to the girls about next steps going forward as I observe Rumi and how tense she looks.

We weren’t always friends it was more of a forced proximity to each other that brought us to get to know one another. Zoey is easy to get to know because she loves to please people and she’s so social, Mira was harder to read but I’m so happy I got to know her, and Rumi… she always seemed like she had something to hide and sometimes things didn’t add up but eventually because of us working together a lot we just started to get closer.

“I know I’m not your manager or in charge of schedules for you but how about if you want to still promote without wearing out your voice you just do some game shows?” I say after the girls finish talking to Bobby.

“It wouldn’t be a horrible idea..” Rumi starts, “But a lot of those shows right now are focusing on newly debuted groups to get their name out there for idol awards in a few weeks.”

“True but it could help us get our new song out there and get people excited to connect with us more too.” Mira pointed out going along with my idea. Zoey just nodded along enjoying her food and seemed happy that Rumi was back after running off.

“I can see if I can send some shows for you to do to Bobby if that helps. Some of them are going to be at a few of my venues.” I say checking availability for the next few weeks on my phone.

“You really don’t have to do that..” Rumi starts unsure of herself. I look up from my phone and my eyes catch some of the threads connected to her. Some have turned a golden color, a lot of red is mixed in which are more than likely fans of the group. Zoey and Mira have the same. Threads have different colors for each connection. Adoration is red, friendship can be a deep blue color, but I haven’t seen golden ones before. Sometimes specialized threads can have a specific color depending on who it’s tied to but it varies from person to person, and the weaker the connection you have to a person the less visible the thread becomes. It’s always been interesting and I don’t know why I can see these in the first place. The girls know I can see them and have asked on occasion before if I can see soulmates which made me laugh. I haven’t believed in those in years, the real world doesn’t have one set person for you and that’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way, it’s just fairytales at that point.

After a while of sitting and talking Zoey brings up how tomorrow they should go to this herbal specialist to get tonics to help Rumi’s voice and it’s not a horrible idea but honestly in my opinion a doctor sounds better suited.

“(Reader) do you want to join us? It would give you a chance to be out of your place for a bit” Zoey starts, “After we can grab snacks and hang out with each other. I have so many cute videos about turtles to show you.” I smile a bit at that but just say that I’ll let her know. I may not work but I do value my alone time. I work in a very social setting and any time off is spent decompressing and spending time with my pet.

The next day I am with the girls anyways. In sweatpants and a tank top showing off a few of my tattoos. I don’t have too many and I normally cover them up especially because of the more conservative vibe in South Korea.

“It should be right up ahead!” Zoey says looking at her phone for directions and bringing us to this hole-in-the-wall doctors office.

“Looks trustworthy to me” Rumi says caving into Zoey’s suggestion. I just look at the door and can already tell that this place is something I won’t be stepping into.

“You guys have fun with that, I’m going to go shop around a little bit.” I say already splitting off from the group. Of If I was going to be tagging along I might as well run some errands.

“Be safe and we will text you when we’re done.” Mira says waving me off and following Rumi and Zoey into the building.

I start to walk away and get to Main Street and see some yellow fliers posted talking about a street performance in about an hour. It’s not an uncommon sighting, I’ve seen so many of these street performances on YouTube and just out walking around. It helps gain popularity and any publicity is good publicity. Not paying attention fully I bump shoulders with someone a g a i n, I really need to start paying attention to people and where I’m walking. Right as I’m about to apologize it’s too late. I recognize the person I have bumped into for the second time.

“It’s you! I’m so sorry, I really do need to pay attention to where I’m going” I say taking a deep bow in apologies.

“We meet again. You really need to pay attention.” The blue haired dude says. Standing up straight I look at the blue haired guy again. Making eye contact with him he stiffens up and looks tense out of nowhere.

“Yeah I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I really don’t mean to run into you” I say deadpanned. He doesn’t have to be so rude about it but I guess if I was bumped into by the same person twice I would get a bit miffed. I looked at him again and noticed how despite seeing him briefly he now has a few light threads on him. Huh… okay maybe I just didn’t see them before because it was late? Probably. Finally taking in my surroundings I notice four men standing off to the side focusing on us.

“Oh uhm.. I’m sorry for taking your time” I start to say until I’m cut off by one of the pink haired guys.

“Who is this Baby?” He asks who I now assume is Baby. What a strange name..

“I don’t know, she’s bumped into me twice now.” Baby says switching into an even more uncaring tone.

“Well well. For someone so… attractive, I would think it’s fate to run into you more than once. I’m Abby.” This Abby person says taking my hand.

“Uhm… same to you I guess??” I respond taking my hand away. I swear I could see his eyes light up to something that wasn’t his eye color as he took my hand and stranger danger. Must be the outside reflections.

“We are doing a performance nearby if you want to catch it.” Someone says from the side of me and this man… he is fucking h o t. He hands me one of the fliers I saw earlier. Ohh so this is the group. “We would love to feed off your energy being there.” He says but the way he phrases it makes it sounds like there’s a joke I’m not getting there.

“I’ll try to swing by but I am with some friends who are in a store nearby. It’s up to them.” I say already ready to walk off. Something about the way these people are staring at me feels heavy and I don’t want to find out what it is.

“We would absolutely adore it if you did.” Says the other pink haired guy and grabs my hand to kiss very quickly.

“Woah back up now. I’ll try to be if I can but no promises.” I say already starting to back away from the group. There is one more and he’s been quiet the whole time. He just stares I think? I can’t tell from the hair covering his eyes.

Walking off I wipe off my hand because ew, despite how attractive they were who just randomly kisses a stranger’s hand??

~Saja Boys~

“You never said she smelled like that.” Jinu says to Baby watching the woman walk away.

“I said she has a scent. It seems to be pulling me in.” Baby responds still looking after your retreating figure.

“THAT was the person who bumped you? Damn, if it was me I wouldn’t let her leave even despite the pull I’m feeling.” Abby says definitely checking out the figure walking away.

“We can’t get distracted. We have a job to do and we need to do it quickly to rope these people in. We can worry about her later, she seems human so we can grab her in the after math.” Jinu says still looking after you.

“But her scent, she smelled so good. She’s definitely tied to us.. it’s OUR scent on her.” Romance chimes.

“It is but we can’t be concerned about it at the moment. Let’s get going.” Says Jinu forcing himself to walk away. All of the Saja boys know about Soulmates. It’s something that’s big for a demon to find. However it’s not normal to have a human soulmate. It can happen sure, there’s been times where it’s happened before, the soulmate with always smell like the other person and in this case it seems like she has the smell of all the boys.

“We need to stay focused.” Jinu says again. Whether it’s to himself or not, he has to keep the goal in mind. He cannot get distracted at this very important moment.

Note: Second part is now here yay!! I’m thinking of making a post explaining soulmates and how the reader’s powers work so there won’t be confusion but I’ll decide on that later. If you want to be tagged let me know! -Luka

Taglist: @libdarkheart @calmmell @elli4ever @lvfleur @kahoonie @inojinieeee @isabellamorettosworld

[cvldbones]

a friend of mine just reminded me of one of my favorite fic tropes, which is when one character in a pairing suddenly wakes up in the future where they’re together. and thinking about mel or frank waking up the day after their first shift in the future where they have a whole life is making me crazy

anon i've been thinking about this all day. i do not have enough thoughts to write something tangible unfortunately but like the buzz would go soooo hard

the first thing he notices is the ring on his finger. it's silver. fitted. he stares at his hand like it's on fire, trying to remember when the hell abby replaced it. they'd been talking about it for months - he'd lost some weight when he started the drugs and blamed it on his new marathon training regimen, which she, thankfully, believed - but the last thing he remembers from last night is her tear-streaked face as she slammed the door to their bedroom in his face. his back seizing a little as he tried to get comfortable on the couch. his hands itching for a pill. (all his extras were in their bathroom.)

but he is, quite notably, not on his couch in his living room. he doesn't think this room is even in his house, actually, because the walls are a pretty pale blue, and abby is the type of person to bring home four shades of white and ask, which one? (as if he could tell a difference? he's a doctor not a damn warlock.) the comforter, too. that's different. the one in his and abby's room is a thick, heavy duvet, the kind of thing he's always tossing off halfway through the night because he's sweating. but this is a soft, worn cotton. a quilt that feels like it's been washed a hundred times and just gets better each time.

frank stares around the room. is he hallucinating? that's not one of the symptoms he remembers from withdrawal the first time. but that had been opiates, so maybe benzos are different? he's wracking his brain to come up with an explanation when the door opens and he completely fucking short-circuits, because --

"mel?" he says, strangled.

she's wearing his t-shirt. that is the only thing he is 100% certain about right now. it's his favorite one from college, and he can see a hole near the armpit, and she's just... she's only wearing that. a pair of seamless underwear. hair tousled like someone had been running their hands through it.

she's leaning against the door frame. "you better get up if you don't want to be late," she chides, expression soft.

and, okay: he liked mel yesterday. she was sweet and sensitive and fucking good at the work in a way that was both innate and evidence of hard work, and she'd looked at him and seen past the tough facade he put up for his other colleagues. and she hadn't looked away.

but that still did not explain why she was half-naked in the same house as him wearing his fucking t-shirt and -

"is that a wedding ring?" he asked, staring at her left hand. she'd brushed some of her hair behind her ear petulantly, and there was the tiniest refraction of light, prisms dancing along the room thanks to the small beam of sun through the half-open curtains.

"ha, ha," she says with a roll of her eyes. "what's next, you come here often? i think you've used that one already this week."

"i've - "

"seriously, abby said she would kill us if we were late, so get up. especially," she adds over her shoulder, smile gone teasing, "if you want to join me in the shower."

he doesn't have time to respond. his entire soul leaves his body as she shucks off her - his - shirt and tosses it on the bed, leaving the room with a sly glint in her eye.

"what the fuck," he mutters under his breath.

[yintual]

 ㅤ( 🍺 ) ㅤ O1.1OAM; ㅤ𝗺𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻'𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗿

sunghoon already knows you're his (even if you don't say it) 𖹭 703% > ﹏ <。 𝗰𝘄 # kisses ﾟ situationship +drinking!

park sunghoon is an enigma.

it’s almost unfair. he doesn’t even have to try—doesn’t even care about who’s watching—and his quiet presence still somehow demands the attention of every room he’s in.

you can hardly be blamed for the way your own gaze keeps drifting in his direction. maybe it was the sheer effortless ease in the way he held himself. 

maybe there’s something about the way he sits, one arm slung lazily over the back of a seat, or something about how the sharp planes of his face catch the golden bar lights just right.., making him seem not unlike an entity straight from heaven.

or maybe, it’s just how effortless sunghoon makes everything seem.

he doesn’t spare a single glance in your direction. not yet, anyway. right now he’s too busy laughing at something heeseung said. that damned low, quiet laugh of his. 

you find yourself leaning forward slightly to hear it better.

in another unconscious attempt, you realize, you’ve been trying. 

to get him to look at you, that is. 

passing him a shot glass so that your fingertips brush against his, making comments alluding to things you know he’d usually respond to. the most response you get is a barely there flicker of amusement in his expression.

you finally give up, settling back into your seat with a sigh that’s heavier than necessary.

jake, seated right next to you—close enough that his shoulder brushes yours every so often—ducks his head closer to yours, brows creasing, as he asks, “you okay, there? been acting kinda off all night…”

bless his heart. he’s the epitome of a concerned friend. and as a bonus, he’s helping you out so much without even knowing it. 

leaning into the touch, you shake your head no, assuring him you’re only tired.

this time, you don’t check back to see if the man seated right across you is watching. you can practically feel his gaze clinging onto you, heavy and unrelenting.

and then, sunghoon just waits. 

he downs a few more drinks—bides his time with all the calm in the world. it takes almost everything in you to match his facade for the rest of the night. 

which is when he makes his move.

-

you barely make it out of the bar, before he’s on you. 

by the time you can blink, even start to process what he’s thinking in that pretty head of his, he has you cornered against the wall. 

… you’re in the alley, right next to the bar. very much still out in the open for any one of your friends to walk in on.

but you don’t really care, to be honest. not when he has one hand braced on the wall beside your head, the other just shy of resting on your hip. 

you check your phone out of habit and offhandedly mention something jake just texted. “he’s asking where we are … we should probably be heading back soon.” 

sunghoon can tell that it’s supposed to be bait, though you frame it up all cute like a suggestion. 

so he takes it.

angling your chin higher, his lips are on yours so fast that you can’t help but let out a muffled gasp—which he wastes no time in taking complete advantage of, allowing his tongue to slide in against yours.

the kiss is all hasty movements and shared breaths as you loop your arms around his neck dragging him closer still. his arm finally wraps around your waist, pulling you in as if he’s read your mind.

he pulls away first, looking amused at how you chase after his lips like you don’t even know you’re doing it. 

his hand catches your jaw—firm, but not harsh—holding you in place. sunghoon lowers his mouth to your neck, then, leaving behind slow nips and bites which are just enough to leave your breath stuttering.

when you whine about how mean he is to you, he only smiles in that cocky way of his.

“didn’t you say you had to go back to jake a minute ago?” you can practically feel him smirk against your skin, “so why’re you still here with me?”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @luvvchn @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina @puma-riki @starniras ⋆

        𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖱𝖠! [ <3 ] one thing about me is i will revamp old fics like im being paid to do it. this hc was originally for haechan! 😇 #loredrop ++ HIMYM REFERENCE I LIVE LOVE LAUGH HIMYM ++ not edited asf

ㅤㅤㅤ© YiNTUAL ♡ 2025

[sadeeeeee]

Unleashed Desires

a/n: this will be my first time on here writing smut feedback is always encouraged if the smut is giving "so bad I had to block the author" let me know I can handle it (maybe.)

Warnings- 18+ MINORS DNI, Soft Dom Chan, Sub Reader, light stripping, PIV, unprotected sex (don't), oral fem receiving, dirty talk, praise kink, tears, light choking, pet names: (daddy, baby, princess, babygirl, pretty girl), aftercare

Chan x Reader

3rd POV

🔞

synopsis ~

A long day apart has both you and Chan needing each other, craving each other. Chan wastes no time showing you just had badly he's been needing you desperately all day. He builds you up breaks you down and puts you right back together again and you love every second of it.

-

It's been a long day; tensions been building in Chans body as the hours slowly tick by. He's trying hard not to drop everything and make his way home to you. Knowing that you're sitting pretty waiting for him to come home and just unravel for him.

After finally finishing up for the night he makes his way home to you desperate to have his hands, his lips all over your body. "Baby I'm home". He shouts as he makes his way inside. He finds you on the couch a light smile on your lips. You reach out for him, and he leans down lips hovering above yours. You make the first move wrapping your arm around his neck pulling him for a desperate kiss. He knows you want him as bad he wants you without you having to say a single word.

He breaks the kiss planting kisses down your throat his need growing and he makes no plan on hiding it. He wants you to know just how hungry he is for you and your body. He takes your figure in. You're in nothing but an old t-shirt of his. Reaching down feeling just how worked up for him you already are. "So wet for me already baby". "You... missed me... just as much as I missed you hmm"? He breaths out right into your ear. Before you can respond he's pulling back bringing you to your feet. He starts feverishly kissing all over your neck and shoulders walking you into a wall.

Pinning you against the wall he swiftly takes your two hands into one of his holding them above your head. He bites and nips all along your collarbone licking to tend to the hickeys starting to form. "Fuck". He moans out into your neck. You're left a whining mess yourself prompting Chan to whisper darkly in your ear "Jump". You comply easily jumping into his strong form. Pressing against his already hard cock. You let out a moan already anticipating what's next. A deep groan leaves his plump lips, and you kiss them hard in response. "So needy for me aren't you babygirl"? He asks against you're already flushed lips. A small whimper in his ear is all you can manage.

He places you on the bed kneeing your legs open so he can sit in-between them. He lays you down pulling your shirt off leaving you in just your underwear. "Fuck look at you princess so fucking perfect for me". He says as he thumbs at your lip - in which you sit up on your elbows and give a quick kiss to before he pulls back. "Lay down babygirl let me make you feel so good". He says as he slowly, (tantalizingly slow) pulls down your damp panties. "So wet for me baby" he whispers into your thigh "just for you baby" you breath out clinging onto every touch before he kisses your thigh and slowly moves closer and closer to your aching cunt.

He breaths on it your hips bucking up from the sensation. He holds you down by the waist with one arm while his other hand is busy teasing your slick core. "Please". You whine out. "Hmm please what baby, what do you need"? He asks as if he's not already aware - but you're desperate for his mouth on your aching cunt. "Please daddy- need you... need your mouth please". You beg tugging on his hair. He hums and his plump lips soon attach to your clit, and he sucks viciously, like he has a point to prove. He moans against you "taste so good. so perfect for me". His tongue flat against your folds before he circles and sucks you into his mouth. His tongue teasing, diving into your cunt - you yell out "fu-fuck Chan please don't stop". You beg gripping his hair harder coaxing a low groan out of him.

He sucks harder continuing to fuck you with his tongue before he slides a finger in you and then another. You arch your back a chorus of moans fall out of your lips. "Oh- fuck Chan please- daddy please don't stop oh fuck". Is all you manage to get out. Legs now shaking and you can feel your lower stomach tighten. "Gonna cum for me hmm my pretty girl"? "Go'head cum for me princess make a pretty mess for me". "Make a mess all over my fingers baby". He says as continue licking your pussy. You cum hard, you continue to shake the prettiest moans and whimpers falling from your lips. "Chan groans at the sound of your whimpers like a track he wants so desperately to have on repeat forever. He continues to bully his fingers in your already swollen, sensitive cunt. "So good for me baby, taking it so well". "Thats it baby, oh look at you so pretty when you cum". He says against your thigh before coming up to kiss you humming into the kiss. It's messy and rough and he slowly pulls his fingers out before sucking them clean staring at you with hooded eyes.

You sit up and go to help him pull down his pants teasingly slow. His breath hitches getting caught in his throat when you trace the outline of his hard cock. You can feel it pulse between the fabric. You swiftly pull down his underwear and palm him and tease the tip of his cock smoothing over his slit pre cum already beading.

He pulls a breath of air in between his teeth and pulls out his hard cock - already throbbing and red. He pumps himself a few quick times before rubbing the tip of his needy cock against your socked folds. You squirm and whimper just wanting to feel him inside you already. "Look at you so eager to have my cock in you my needy baby". he coos a smirk pulling at his lips. Channie please I need you". You beg. He leans down pressing a slow kiss to your lips before inching his tip into you before ducking down to kiss, suck and tease your hardened nipples.

You cry out gripping the sheets trying to rock your hips on his cock. He holds you still as he continues to suck and bite at your nipples. He moans around them before without warning he pushes all the way in having you arch you back for him with nothing but a broken moan tearing from your throat. "Shit so tight baby, look at you taking me so well like my cock- was made- for this pussy". He says his thrusts accentuating his words. "You want more don't you baby, hmm"? He asks as he picks up the pace and leaning over to press a sloppy kiss to your lips. You bite his lower lip taking it between yours and he slams harder into you a tight moan leaving the back of his throat and you drink it in.

He pulls out before flipping you over and picking up a brutal pace against your poor pussy. It's clenching down on his thick cock, and you can feel every vein slide back and forth against your tight gummy walls. He grabs your neck not too harsh just to ground himself while he merciless fucks your tight cunt. Hitting that perfect spot over, and over again until your eyes start to tear up at the corners. "Fuck taking it so good" always take it so well every- fuck you're fucking perfect". Gonna fill you up yea, bet you'd love that hm"? His voice rough in your ear as he relentlessly pounds your sweet pussy. Every obscene sound having him go harder. "Yes, fuck please daddy- fuck gon' cum please- can I- can I cum. "My princess wants to cum for me"? "You gotta wait baby fuck- not done yet".

His voice strained from holding back himself. "Yeah gon' cum on my cock hm gonna make a filthy mess all over my cock". "Fuck I'm so close Chris please, please". He gives your ass a slap. "Ah- fu-fuck daddy please wan' cum". Your words becoming slurred the harder he goes. He pulls out again before turning you back around and starts to fuck you with his tongue again lapping at your juices tugging your clit into his mouth and sucking hard. He pulls back again smirking he pushes your legs to your chest, and he pushes back in a sweet breathy moan falling from his lips. "Oh, fuck baby oh this pussy is perfect, gonna cum ugh- gonna fill you up fu- He cuts himself off when he tosses his head back with more and more moans and a whimper falling from his pretty pink lips, and you clench at the sound. At this point your moans are coming out in silent cries all you can do is grip the sheets, his shoulders anywhere you can reach before arching your back and he hits your cervix perfectly eliciting a high-pitched moan to escape from your lips. His thrusts now sloppy and uneven just like his breaths.

He leans in and starts rutting into you not letting up. You cry out and you feel that familiar knot in your stomach. Your close and Chan knows it. "Cum for baby, go on make a mess of my cock ugh- come undone for me pretty - and you do your ears filled with fuzz and your eyes are clamped shut. You let out a pornographic moan right in Chan's ear. You cum hard and gush all around Chan's cock earning a groan from him in return. Your walls pulsating and now oversensitive when Chan continues to fuck into you chasing his own orgasm. He thrusts into your aching cunt a few more times before cuming hard into you filling you with his warm load. A growl ripping from his throat as he finishes inside you. He doesn't pull out not yet. He still wants to feel you, to feel you flutter around him. You two sit like that catching your breaths before he slowly pulls out. You already missing the feeling of him full inside you. He kisses both of your thighs and pulls them down and reaches up to kiss your swollen lips.

"Hey, you still with me baby". You smile at him and give a small nod. He brushes his nose against yours before kissing it softly. He pulls back before whispering a "be right back". He comes back with a bottle of water and a damp rag. "Here drink some" He coaxes gently his free hand rubbing up and down your side. "Good baby, here let me clean you up". He says before he gently wipes at your dripping heat and thighs. "You were so perfect baby, always so good for me he says softly. He places kisses all over your legs and thighs then tosses the rag in the dirty clothes hamper.

He comes back and slides into bed next to you. Pulling you into his chest he kisses your temple. "I love you baby, thank you for another wonderful night. You giggle softly, "I love you too Channie. "Was- was I good did you enjoy yourself"? He asks into your hair. You look up to him eyes still glossy - he wipes away any lingering tears at the corners of your eyes "of course I enjoyed myself, I always do you were so good baby". You say a genuine smile dancing around your lips. A smile tugs at his own lips before he leans down to kiss you. It's sweet and passionate his plump lips molding so perfectly with your own. He pulls away his pupils wide and full of love his fingers running delicately up and down your arm, He pulls you in closer and you two just bask in each other, your breaths synchronized lulling each other into a warm slumber.

♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:｡.｡♥*♡∞:

Soooo that was my first smut one shot, and this was long as hell. I'm praying this turned out good if not I'm never writing again lmaoo. I hope you all enjoyed and walked out of this more delusional. As always thank you so much for reading and I hope you all enjoyed!! (Also please, please let me know what you thought and if you liked it, I'm so eager to hear your thoughts on this!!)

[bluebnny]

Hiii! I'm new to your blog but I absolutely love it alll like omg I love your work sm💔

Can I request luffy x fem reader 😛 fluffy smut, please and thank yewww💕

Lazy afternoon

monkey d luffy x fem!reader

content: established relationship, reader just woke up from a nap, luffy finds them, they have super soft and fluffy sex

warnings: MDNI, smut, fingering, multiple orgasms (reader)

a/n: thank you sm you’re so sweet omg <3 it’s a tiny bit longer than i usually do for luffy, but i got into a rhythm and the words just kept coming. ngl i kinda ate with this. as much as i love angst/rough sex, the fluffy kind just hits different sometimes. writing this made me realize i haven’t written missionary sex even once on this blog lol. hope you enjoy! <3

word count: 1.610

It’s afternoon, and a very slow day on the Sunny. There isn’t any work to do, so the crew are all laying around somewhere, relaxing. You had decided to take a nap, which is how you find yourself now; lying in bed with the window cracked open. The air is pleasantly warm outside, a fresh breeze wafting into the room, and a contented sigh escapes you.

You don’t look up when the door creaks open, already knowing who it is. But a light smile finds its way onto your face.

Luffy doesn’t say anything as he climbs into your shared bed, pulling you into his arms. He starts peppering your face with kisses until you’re giggling. And his bright smile is the first thing to greet you when you open your eyes. But you soon close them again when he captures your lips in a kiss.

A few minutes pass by like this, just the two of you making out. Not a care in the world. Luffy’s hand starts moving in the direction of your breasts. You let a surprised squeak when he gives one of them a light pinch. That only makes him smile wider.

“Luffy, what are you doing?” You’re giggling from his boldness. A little flustered, but quite pleased.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He teases you. A glint in his eye. “Just admiring my pretty girlfriend.” Although his voice is very nonchalant, his grin is definitely more mischievous than before.

His hand doesn’t stop. This time finding your nipple and rolling it between his fingers. The sigh you let out is closer to a moan than anything else.

“Hmm. Keep doing that, and you can admire me all you want.”  

“Already planning on it, pretty.” Before you can answer, he’s kissing you again.

But his hands soon trail down to your shirt, giving it a light tug, and you help him remove it. You’re only in your panties now; having taken off your bra and pants before your nap to be more comfortable. Luffy removes those too, and strips down to his underwear before getting comfortable again.

He’s on his side, one arm under your head, the other exploring your body. You’re on your back, with your hands in his hair.

When his fingers make their way between your legs, your breath hitches, and one of your hands automatically comes to rest on your chest.

“So pretty when you touch yourself f’me.” He smirks.

You never get the chance to respond, because he dips his middle finger inside your soaking heat, thumb brushing up against your clit. Instead, you let out a real moan this time, fingers absent-mindedly playing with your nipple.

Luffy could watch you like this for hours. And he plans to. Pumping his finger in and out at a slow pace, he focuses more on curling it into your g-spot than going fast. There’ll be time for that later.

After a few minutes, you unconsciously grind your hips into his hand, and it tells him that you’re ready for more. Your eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure when he adds his index finger. Still not speeding up. Just letting you adjust at your own pace.

The minutes pass like this. Luffy working his fingers in and out of you so expertly that it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build. Every touch brings you closer to that precipice, and you don’t even have to tell Luffy, because it’s clear from the way you’re shifting your legs and biting your lip.

“That’s it. Cum on my fingers, pretty.” Luffy’s words are all you need to push you over the edge.

It feels like magic. The pleasure rolling through your body in a million tiny waves, smoothing out all the tension from your muscles. You’re arching your back, pushing off the bed from the delicious feeling. Your orgasm isn’t forceful. It’s elating. Breathtaking.

When you come down, you make contact with Luffy’s eyes. They were fixed on you the entire time; the way your body looks so beautiful moving against the sheets underneath. He watches you catch your breath, chest moving up and down. The way your breasts fall a little to the side from lying on your back.

“Feel good?” He smiles at you, genuine happiness on his face.

“Yeah. Amazing.” You smile back.

“Think you can take one more?” One hand rubbing your thigh, the other brushing over the fat on your stomach, he looks completely entranced by you.

You giggle a little. He melts. “Of course.”

Luffy takes off his remaining clothes and positions himself between your open thighs, gently rubbing your hips. “Tell me if it hurts, yeah?” When you nod, he aligns himself with your entrance, and slowly pushes in. His eyes never leave your face.

You throw your head back at the intrusion, opening your mouth in a breathy moan. He’s taking his time entering you. Not because you can’t take him; he’s simply enjoying the feeling. But it doesn’t take long before he’s down to the base, fully buried inside your warmth.

The breeze outside your window picks up, washing over your hot bodies. It makes you shiver, and Luffy smiles a little, bending down to be closer to you.

“You cold?” His hands are still rubbing your sides.

“No, I’m ok.”

Still, he grabs the blanket and pulls it over his back, bending down so much that it’s covering you too. When he starts moving, it feels like heaven.

He fucks you exactly like this. Resting on his elbows, hands somewhere by your head now. Your faces are impossibly close to each other, and Luffy doesn’t miss the opportunity to pull you into a deep, passionate kiss again. There’s something incredibly intimate about making love like this, with the blanket covering your writhing bodies. Making the moment feel even more private, despite already being in your shared bedroom with no one in sight to disrupt the moment.

The pace of his thrusts isn’t fast, but it’s intense enough to make you moan into his mouth at the feeling. Your fingers wind into his messy hair, deepening the kiss. The gesture is so instinctual that you don’t even thing about it. He just makes you feel so safe like this. So loved.

The moment stretches comfortably between you, and you quickly lose track of time; completely lost in the feeling of your boyfriend’s thick length pushing inside you. His warm body presses into yours, making you feel so incredibly protected in his embrace.

The breeze carries in small noises from outside, like a soft reminder that you two aren’t the only thing left in the world. Rushing waves, wind rustling the sails. The soothing sounds filling in the small silences between your hushed moans.

Your pleasure builds higher and higher as Luffy works all the right spots inside of you. The wonderful feeling only made better by your profound relaxation. It’s like he knows exactly what to do, even while his eyes are closed, and his lips pressed to yours.

Another moan escapes you, louder this time. And you can’t help the muscles in your abdomen tensing, making you clench around Luffy in that way he knows all too well.

“I think I’m close.” It’s only a whisper, but that’s all it needs to be.

“Me too.” He hums at your words. “Let’s cum together, ok?”

You give a little nod, desperate to feel him release inside of you. To feel his body tensing along with your own. It doesn’t take long for the tension to become unbearable, burning in your lower belly like you’re about to shatter from the pressure.

And when you do, it’s utterly exhilarating. Your chest arches off the bed again, head thrown back against the pillows from the intense feeling coursing through you. It starts off slow, a pleasant warmth buzzing through you. But your high quickly deepens, and you’re soon shaking from the sensitivity; the way Luffy doesn’t stop working that perfect spot inside of you.

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to press tender kisses into your exposed neck, but it isn’t long before his own head falls back from pure ecstasy. He keeps pumping into you as his orgasm runs through him, unloading everything he has inside your tight walls. Pulling another contented moan from you when you feel his hot seed filling you up to the brim.

You can’t help admiring the way he looks, pure bliss written all over his face. It makes you feel closer to him than ever. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, which makes him look down. All he does is smile at you, bending down to claim your mouth once more.

It takes you both longer than usual to come down from your orgasm. But when you finally do, you’re still locked in a passionate kiss, arms around each other. Luffy hasn’t pulled out yet, and he doesn’t for another few minutes. He wants the moment to keep going just as much as you do.

But it eventually does, as your hips start cramping from their folded position. Luffy pulls out, carefully helping you to your feet and into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

When you’re done, giggling while falling back into bed together, the relaxation from your orgasm fully seeps in. You feel like going limp right here and drifting off into a second nap. Luffy carefully pulls you on top of him, reasting your head on his warm chest. And you fall asleep like this, with your lover warm and steady beneath you, his hand caressing your back, and the sound of his heartbeat filling your ears.

Thx sm for reading! Hope you liked it :D I have literally never gotten so relaxed from writing smut. This is the most sfw nsfw I’ve ever written. It feels like the sex equivalent of cuddling while holding hands. As opposed to my law smut, in which I try my best to convey the feeling of getting into a fistfight with your sworn enemy.

Dividers made by me

This is my fic, don't repost or use in any AI training programmes! Reblogs are always appreciated <3 Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

[sparkbirdmusic]

I saw a video sharing criticisms of Certain Birds, and found it interesting and wanted to respond! And I want to say up front that I'm not offended (except by the claim that my music has the vibe of 2010s Christian music /lh). It's a thoughtful critique, so I felt inclined to give it a thoughtful response. /gen

The person said:

...if I'm being totally honest, I didn't really like it. 😓 It's incredible that this sounds nothing like any of them individually, but instead a mixture of all three of their musical styles. Unfortunately, it was not in as much of a thrilling way as I'd hope. For how unique and provoking these artists have been in their work, this one just seems to fall flat for me. Honestly, the main chorus, the 'the end is falling' parts are a good idea. Having each artist join together in a harmony to show how together things are stronger. I think that is a cool idea! But the execution, to me, just falls short. It reminds me of 2010s Christian music, which *is* actually the vibe of a lot of Sparkbird's music. And while I don't think that it's self is necessarily a bad thing, it's just not my preference. The vocals individually are wonderfully done, I particularly love FIAB's singing, I think it really fits the vibe of nocturnal birds. And the beginning of the song sounded like something i could've really liked! I think if they had just leaned towards the more creepy, haunting sound that they had in the beginning, this could've been a lot better! But they instead went for a more upbeat kind of song with a message basically meaning 'If we just stick together, we can do anything!' that was my interpretation at least. Which, again, feels very 2010's pop music. It also feels like it's pandering to fandoms using their songs for edits, instead of making music for the casual listener to listen to and enjoy. And while fandom music isn't a bad thing, it just feels forced sometimes. I much prefer songs that tell their own story rather than someone else's. All in all, I don't think this song is bad. It's just, well, a little disappointing. If it had just been a little different, I would've adored it."

My response (which I commented):

I can definitely understand and appreciate your thoughts on it! I’d never written a song with anyone else, and it’s definitely a very different way to do things. Throughout the whole process, there have been times where I felt super excited and times where I felt more lukewarm about it.

One thing that didn’t help was taking a year to release it, because it built the expectations up higher (imo). I can say, though, that while writing it we talked for many hours every day about every single lyric and the story we were trying to capture, and it was written to capture that story and not specifically shaped for edits or fandoms. The closest we came to that was my using the word ineffable in my verse (which was Good Omens-inspired but I had other reasons)

Anyway, all this being said, I think the place this song shines is in a community setting. It was really meaningful to record, because it was genuinely the first time I’d felt so close to a group of people in so many years. It seems like that was a feeling we all had, and the lyrics reflected that experience. Back home, I felt less certain about the song. Then on tour, singing it all together with a room full of people every night, I fell in love with it again. I get the sense that a lot of people who enjoy the song are people who heard it and sang a long on tour, so maybe that’s an important component to feeling connected to it, I’m not sure!

I do think that Dusty, Shayfer, and I tend to go to a pretty different place lyrically and emotionally in our solo work (compared to what we wrote together). I think we’re all normally much more introspective and internal and isolated in our processes, and the theme of this song (togetherness, community support) might have been inevitable under the circumstances. But with this more mushy song out of the way, I’ll be interested to see what wacky stuff we might come up with together in the future.

EDIT (an afterthought): I would also add that you can tell it wasn't written *for* edits/fandoms because we hold out each word of the chorus so fucking long, no one's waiting for that, they're scrolling past and moving on with their lives

[luvyuuma]

Omg can u do “you put your arm around me and I felt my knees buckle it’s pathetic” with maki x reader. But the reader isn’t like the most physically affectionate person

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hiii! here it is <3

SYNOPSIS / in which you miss maki a little too much during exam times.

TW / none! just fluff

WC / 0.6k words

PAIRING / maki x gn!reader

Maki + "You put your arm around me and I felt my knees buckle, it’s pathetic"

Maki knew you weren’t physically affectionate when you started dating. It was something you warned him about when entering your relationship. You let him know that you liked that he was but oftentimes, didn’t know how to react to it. Growing up, you didn’t like doing it. It was not how you responded in the face of love. You did it through other ways—gift-giving, acts of service and words of affirmation. Touch isn’t your go to. So when Maki constantly had his arms around you, holding your hand, grabbing your waist, you short-circuited often. It’d give him an ego boost knowing he made you feel that way just from the tip of his fingers but he wishes you’d initiate more.

The day came sooner than expected.

Finals are here. 

You’re studying for your exams, barely seeing each other. One thing about you, you were locked into your studies. When that happens, no one can distract you from the grind. Procrastination fears you even.

You were trying to concentrate during a late night study session. You had two more exams next week, both your hardest subjects. Concentration is a must! However, you couldn’t. 

No amount of energy drinks, aesthetic notes and practice questions could stir your mind from Maki. Not seeing your boyfriend swallowed you whole into a deep darkness. And Maki, he’s a walking light. A light you turned off.

You couldn’t do this.

You reach for your phone.

A lapse of judgement passes you. 

What if he’s busy? What if he doesn’t want to see you?

His smile passes your mind, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of hearing your voice. Pressing call, you place the phone at your ear, humming to the ringing sound. It’s funny how quick you forgot about your two exams.

Who cares?

You could take one night away from practice questions to see your boyfriend.

“Hey,” Maki picks up. “I was gonna call you when I finished studying for the day.”

“I miss you,” you say instantly. You barely let his words process. “Come over.”

“Woah.”

“Not like that,” you reply, in amusement. “I wanna see you.”

“Man, fuck these practice questions. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He didn’t take fifteen minutes. It must’ve been seven at the most. 

Maki is knocking at your door in no time.

The moment you open the door, you want to collapse. Your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders, squeezing him tight as if he was going to disappear into thin air. You couldn’t let that happen, could you?

Spreading kisses all over his face, you pull him into your apartment and then, pushed him against the door so it would close.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” you ask, pulling back in question.

“You put your arm around me and I felt my knees buckle!” he exclaims. His voice tones down a few octaves. He takes in your stressed state—glasses on your head, loose strands of hair and baggy clothes. Maki brushes the hair out of your face and holds your cheek, “It’s pathetic. How you make me feel.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Mhm. I missed you too, by the way.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I didn’t know you were a big hugger,” he points out teasingly as he holds your waist.

You hit him on his chest, “Shut up. I’ll take it back.”

“No, don’t. Don’t ever do that.”

[nuelles]

Scene Partners (in crime) || Spencer Agnew || Scene 2

Summary: You thought working behind the scenes at Smosh would be all coffee runs and clipboard duties. You were wrong. Enter Spencer Agnew: part improv genius, part walking disaster, and full-time chaos magnet. Now, you’re stuck partnering with him on a sketch series that’s equal parts hilarious and hazardous to your sanity. Between fake mustaches, last-minute costume changes, and pranks that escalate way too fast, keeping your cool is not on the agenda. Will you survive Spencer’s chaos? Or just fall head over heels? Either way, expect a lot of laughs (and maybe some accidental flirting).

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x f! reader

Tropes: Idiots In Love, Chaos Gremlin x Handler, Workplace Romance, etc, as we go

Warnings: none

WC: 1.9k

Author's Note: Would y'all be mad if I redid this series....hypothetically

Thursday arrived with a buzz of too much caffeine and not enough planning. The main studio smelled faintly of hairspray, foam latex, and impending chaos. You stood just outside the taped-off stunt zone, flipping through your clipboard while the crew unboxed props that should absolutely not have been labeled “mildly flammable.”

Behind you, Selina groaned. “He’s doing the mime bit?”

You didn’t look up. “He said it came to him in a dream. Something about betrayal and wind resistance.”

“Wind resistance?”

You turned the page. “I stopped asking for clarification around the time he brought in the inflatable swordfish.”

Before she could respond, footsteps thundered in from the hallway—and Spencer burst in like a sentient exclamation point.

He was wearing a black-and-white striped shirt, suspenders, fingerless gloves, and—a football helmet?

Everyone paused. Shayne, across the room, yelled, “Place your bets, people. Ten bucks says he ends up taped to something.”

You stared at him. “Spencer. What’s with the helmet?”

He struck a pose. “Safety. Mime-related injuries are on the rise.”

Shayne walked by mid-conversation. “You googling ‘mime injuries’ again?”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer said. “This is anecdotal research. Very prestigious.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You’re not actually throwing yourself off the set again, right?”

“Not again, no,” he said solemnly. “This time there’s emotional depth.”

“…Because the mime is… what? Ghosted by an imaginary girlfriend?”

“No,” he said, affronted. “By an imaginary rope. Which snaps during his climactic ascent. It’s a metaphor for unspoken expectations in emotionally codependent relationships.”

Selina, already tired, slowly sat down on a crate.

You gave Spencer a long look and sighed. “Alright. Let’s mic you up.”

As you clipped the mic to his shirt, Spencer stilled. Unusually quiet. For a moment, you were very aware of the fact that everyone else had moved on to prepping props, and it was just the two of you in this odd little bubble of hushed absurdity.

“You know,” he said, voice lower than usual, “I appreciate that you always let me… do this.”

You glanced up. “Do what?”

“This,” he repeated, gesturing vaguely to his entire outfit. “The weirdness. Most people try to sand me down.”

You hesitated. “I mean… I definitely keep sandpaper in my bag.”

“But you let me be weird first,” he said. “That counts for something.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, you stepped back, clearing your throat as the spell broke.

“Well,” you said lightly, “just don’t make me fill out another incident report. HR’s already flagged your name.”

“That’s just ‘cause I tried to crowd-surf on a rolling chair.”

“And because you spilled glitter in the server room.”

He shrugged. “Again, metaphor. Corporate sparkle. Very edgy.”

Before you could reply, Courtney passed by with a clipboard and did a full double-take at Spencer’s helmet. “Are we about to film or launch him into space?”

“I’m ascending emotionally,” Spencer offered helpfully.

Courtney kept walking. “Great. Someone warn Shane.”

Spencer was now pacing the padded corner of the set like a boxer preparing for an emotional silent match. The football helmet had been dramatically tossed aside, replaced with a black beret he had produced from his back pocket like a magician unveiling a dove.

You didn’t ask.

The set had been rearranged to mimic a minimalist stage: a stool, a painted cardboard “wall,” and the crash mat, angled slightly off-center despite your repeated notes to the contrary.

You made a mental note: Page 7 of the Survival Guide—Never let Spencer place his own mats.

“Rolling in 3… 2…” Selina called.

The room fell quiet.

And Spencer? He transformed.

Gone was the gremlin who wore prop mustaches in serious meetings and narrated his lunch breaks like National Geographic. In his place was a mime—fully committed, expressive, almost graceful.

He started with the wind: staggering sideways as if caught in a storm, arms flailing with exaggerated resistance. The crew giggled.

Then came the invisible rope: a tug-of-war, his face twisting in betrayal as he “climbed” hand-over-hand. His expression shifted from hope to heartbreak as the imaginary rope “snapped,” flinging him backward.

And that’s when it happened.

He launched himself into the fall with more force than you’d prepped for—feet lifting clean off the floor as he flung his body backward toward the crash mat.

But something was wrong. The angle was off. The momentum too high.

“Spencer—!”

THUD.

He hit the mat—sort of. More accurately, he hit the edge of it, rolled halfway off, and collapsed in a tangle of limbs and drama on the studio floor.

Silence.

You were already moving.

Several crew members flinched. Shayne instinctively took a step forward, but you beat him there, sliding to your knees beside Spencer as he blinked up at the ceiling with the dazed look of someone seeing their ancestors in the studio lights.

“Spencer,” you said, crouching beside him, “talk to me. Are you—?”

He groaned dramatically. “I’ve been betrayed.”

“By gravity?”

“By art,” he whispered.

You reached out, gently pressing his elbow where he’d landed hardest. He hissed.

“That’s gonna bruise,” you muttered. “How’s your head?”

“Swelled with inspiration.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Good. No concussion.”

He blinked, turning his head toward you, his voice dropping just slightly. “You always this fast to catch a fall?”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand didn’t leave his arm. “You always this bad at spatial awareness?”

“I was making a point.”

“The point was the floor.”

“That’s… fair.”

You let out a breath and sat back slightly, realizing the entire crew was still standing silently, watching the aftermath like it was theater.

And then—like someone had hit unpause—chaos resumed.

“Okay, well that’s definitely going in the blooper reel,” Damien said from behind the camera, pulling out his phone to record the scene from a different angle. “Spencer yeeting himself into oblivion? Gold.”

Shayne leaned over from the lighting setup, hand shielding his mouth as he stage-whispered to Olivia, “Do you think this is the part where she finally admits she likes him?”

Olivia didn’t whisper back. “Oh, she’s so gone. She practically tackled him like a football player. It was romantic.”

“I was performing a wellness check!” you shouted without turning around.

Courtney appeared next to you like they’d been summoned by the drama. “Sure. And I only wear glitter eyeliner to feel emotionally grounded.”

Selina, arms crossed, grinned from the crash mat. “I’m just saying, if anyone else tried to swan-dive into the abyss, they’d get a lecture. Spencer does it, and you’re suddenly Florence Nightingale.”

You stood, brushing off your jeans, trying not to look directly at Spencer—who was still half-draped over the edge of the mat like he was posing for an emotionally complex perfume ad.

“Can we please get back to work?” you asked, already moving toward your headset.

Behind you, Spencer let out a dramatic sigh. “Truly, nothing hurts more than unrequited first aid.”

More laughter.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Tommy.

Shayne clapped twice. “Alright, everyone reset positions—and somebody bring Spencer a juice box before he starts monologuing again.”

As the crew slowly dispersed, still chuckling, Spencer reached for your hand to stand. You hesitated a beat… then helped him up.

The second your fingers touched, Shayne’s voice rang out from across the room: “IT’S HAPPENING.”

You let go like you’d touched a hot stove.

“Focus!” you called. “Let’s roll this again before someone breaks something else.”

Spencer just smiled, unbothered. “She cares,” he mouthed behind your back.

You didn’t turn around.

But the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your mouth?

That one you couldn’t quite stop.

And for a moment, the studio—the lights, the foam props, the crew trying not to openly watch—faded to the background.

Until Selina yelled, “RESET IN TEN!” and someone dropped a boom pole.

You let go first.

He didn’t seem surprised.

Just smiled that same knowing smile as he limped toward the green room, calling over his shoulder, “Tell my story, will you?”

And you—clipboard in hand, pulse slightly elevated—called back, “Only if it ends with a safety warning.”

It was later in the afternoon, after the lights had dimmed and the crew had dispersed, when you found yourself tucked away in the editing bay—headphones on, cursor scrubbing through clips from the day’s shoot.

The mime's fall looked even more ridiculous in slow motion.

You paused it at the precise moment Spencer's limbs flailed midair like a cartoon character, mouth open in what could only be described as silent opera. You didn’t mean to laugh, but you did—just a short burst under your breath.

“That bad, huh?”

You startled, turning to find Spencer standing in the doorway with an ice pack rubber-banded to his elbow and a juice pouch in his hand. His helmet was gone, his hair a little flatter than usual.

You slipped off your headphones. “You’re not supposed to sneak up on people post-concussion.”

“I knocked,” he said. “Emotionally.”

You nodded toward the screen. “I was just reviewing the carnage.”

He stepped closer, craning his neck to peek at the paused frame. “Ah, yes. The fall of Icarus.”

“You missed the mat.”

“No mat can hold me.”

You rolled your eyes but clicked to the next take. A quiet passed between you, not awkward, just full.

Spencer leaned against the table beside you, eyes still on the screen, voice softer now.

“Hey. Real talk for a second?”

You turned slightly, cautious. “Okay…”

He looked down at the ice pack in his lap, as if the juice pouch had suddenly become incredibly interesting. “You’re always the first one running in when things go sideways. With me, especially.”

You blinked. “That’s literally in my job description.”

“Yeah, but you… care,” he said. “Even when I’m being an idiot.”

You paused. “You’re not always an idiot.”

He glanced at you, amused. “You hesitated.”

You smiled. “Because sometimes you’re also a menace.”

“Fair.”

The room dimmed slightly as the late afternoon sun slipped behind a cloud. You hadn’t realized how quiet the studio had gotten. How close he’d leaned.

“Just… thanks,” he said. “For today. For not laughing when I missed the mat.”

“I did laugh.”

“Yeah, but not right away. You gave me, like, five whole seconds of dignity. That’s huge.”

You turned to face him fully. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Another beat passed. And then, “You okay?” you asked, surprising yourself.

Spencer tilted his head. “Didn’t I just say you’re the one always checking on me?”

“I mean it,” you said, softer. “You’ve been… quieter than usual today. Between the jokes.”

He looked at you for a long moment. “You ever have one of those days where you just… realize how lucky you are to do something stupid for a living with people who see you?”

You blinked. “That’s unexpectedly sincere.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry. It won’t last.”

He stood, stretching his good arm over his head.

You expected him to walk out then, return to whatever bit he was cooking up for tomorrow. But he paused in the doorway.

“If I write something again,” he said, not quite looking at you, “maybe something quieter… would you read it first?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I would.”

He nodded back.

Then he gave you a crooked half-smile—the kind you hadn’t seen before. Not his usual grin. Something smaller. Realer.

“Cool,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

You stared at the door for a moment longer, then turned back to your screen.

Paused at the frame where he fell.

Pressed play.

And smiled.

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[jewishvitya]

Hey, I can't respond to you on the actual post because the OP decided to block me instead of having some kind of reasonable discussion about their claims that sex-negativity is the only possible reason anyone could have for not liking a piece of sexual content.

I've seen the weird "porn addiction" people, too, and if OP had actually mentioned those people at any point in their post, I would have agreed with that (and I do also agree with pretty much everything else they said other than "stop insisting that sex scenes or erotic material ruin movies and shows just because you, personally, get icked out watching it.") But they didn't mention that at all, and their post seems to be about something completely different. I don't think I generally see the porn addiction people talking about regular mainstream media that just has a sex scene in it.

Context

Didn't mean to ignore you or anything, I just fell asleep between my last reply and when you sent your ask.

The thing is, this isn't a claim the OP is making. The whole post, start to finish, is about the mentality that porn is opposite to art, and sex is opposite to intellectual value. That's the context, the post in which this paragraph exists. You're imposing a whole separate meaning onto that paragraph.

And I even tried to broaden that context further to explain the social attitude it is responding to. No, OP didn't specifically respond to the "porn addiction" people. OP responded to a mentality that comes from the same root, which I brought up in response to you saying that you don't see it happening. I wasn't saying "this is what OP is talking about," I was saying "the thing OP is talking about exists and here are examples of more attitudes I see because of that." Because if you didn't see the conversations it's directly responding to, I thought you might recognize the cultural shift if I gave you more examples of it.

Fascism has a whole concept of sex being degrading to art and to the consumers of said art. This is on the rise, and if you don't see it I'm happy for you because it's exhausting. But that doesn't mean it isn't real.

And in my opinion, bringing up asexual and sex-repulsed people into a conversation about puritanism in media and fascist "degenerate art" attitudes -- which, this is what that conversation is, this is the whole entire point of it -- is unfair both to the conversation, and to asexuals. Acephobes love to act like ace people are trying to shut down their expressions of sexuality, and that's a common ace-exclus talking point I was seeing all the time when acephobia was louder on here.