#almost like it was getting comfortable...

[rawme-price]

So, all wolf!141 decide they need a new member, right?

One too many close calls, a few more hospital visits than comfortable. Sure, the guys work with some extras, but working with some guy you met three hours ago is so much different than with your pack.

So price talks to laswell, and she tells him shes got a canine hybrid ready to go.

They expect another wolf for the pack, someone fierce and brutal. Instead, you hop out of the humvee. The first thing soap thinks is holy shit you're small, which is to say you dont tower over everyone like the wolves do. Hell, youre not even a wolf, youre practically a puppy!

Still, if laswell thinks your fit for the pack, then they're willing to give it a try.

Its almost comical, watching you join the 141 in their daily activities. A small dog hybrid amidst snarling wolves. One of the recruits said you look more like a chewtoy than a teammate (then was promptly sent to run laps until he threw up lol). Ur energetic and happy, bounding after the guys and chatting about missions and training.

The doubt you, just a little bit. That is, until they're sent out on the field. Cleaning up some generals mistake, gaz is sure, ordered to clear out a small base of guys. No survivors. Price wants to see how you work, tells you now to hold back.

So, you get join the infil team, and gaz expects you to stick close to him, as is standard. He does not expect u to dash in with a feral smile. gun shots, screams, and laughter echo down the hall u disappeared into, and slowly spread throughout the base. Gaz left standing in a stupor by the entrance.

You emerge half an hour later absolutely soaked in blood, none of it your own, ears perked and tail wagging. You happily recount ur successfull spree as soap walks through the building for stragglers.

There are none, but he does see the damage you caused. Bodies torn up, heads shot clean through, he swears an arm is completely torn off. How? He doesnt know.

Needless to say, the guys are much more accepting to get u into the pack after that, if thats the power u have alone, imagine what itd be like with a pack of wolves behind ur every move.

[Nerd stuff below the cut]

I was thinking reader could be a west highland terrier 🤔

Bc my aunt had one and that thing nearly mauled me as a kid. Also its funny to think of a cute little dog hybrid with a bunch of wolf hybrids that look like this

If u so much as glance at them wrong lol.

[redeemingvillains]

the mixup - mattheo riddle

summary: one of the house elves makes a mistake with the laundry. or, the time you left four friends speechless and your best friend drooling. word count: 1.3k warnings: this is very suggestive, probably 18+ish, please read responsibly my dears. a/n: just something silly and fun that made me blush and giggle. i love these boys!!!! soundtrack: levii's jeans - beyonce & post malone

"Make it quick, Riddle, we're not going to wait for you" Draco grumbled as he pushed past him

"Alright, just give me a minute, will you?" Mattheo muttered in reply as he dragged his laundry bag into the dormitory behind him.

His hair was still wet from the shower he'd raced through after quidditch practice ran late and each of the boys was rushing to get their weekend started, their room a chaotic mess of clothes, cologne and a handle of firewhiskey that was making its way between them.

Mattheo swiped the bottle from Lorenzo, grinning and ducking out of his grasp as he took a hefty gulp before it was stolen away again, leaving his lips burning from the liquor as he wiped them with the back of his hand.

In truth he was just as eager for tonight, maybe even moreso than his friends, though for a much different reason; he didn't care about getting wasted, or snagging the best table at the Three Broomsticks to watch the quidditch finals, he was just looking forward to seeing you.

Though if anyone would have asked him, he would have vehemently denied it.

Because you were friends... just friends. Friends like he was friends with Pansy or Astoria... Except that he didn't have endless thoughts about the feeling of their skin under his fingers, didn't smell the lingering scent of their shampoo in the Amortentia he'd brewed last term, didn't study every detail about them from their favorite food, to the color they painted their nails, didn't fantasize about them like he did about you: that one day you'd want him the way he wanted you. Because even though you were inseparable, even though you orbited around each other, even though he swore sometimes he caught you looking at him, your gaze always dissolved into something sweet and friendly and he'd have to remind himself that even though he could confidently have any girl in the school, and had proven as much, you were both the only one he genuinely wanted and the only one that seemed immune to him.

The boys continued in their cacophony of shouting over one another as Mattheo lugged his laundry to his bed and overturned it unceremoniously and Enzo turned on his favorite muggle pop playlist.

"You can't be serious" Blake commented the second it started.

"Enz, turn this shit off" Mattheo agreed. "Your taste in music is worst than..." he started before fading off.

"...Than what, Riddle? I'm sorry we don't all listen to edgy alternative depressing shit" Enzo chirped to no response. He finished pulling his shirt over his head and then peered around his four-poster to see Mattheo staring silently at the pile of clothes in front of him.

“What’s?—” Enzo started to say as he wandered over until he saw what had captivated Mattheo's attention. "No fucking way" he laughed as he stepped closer and stood beside him.

The emerald comforter of the bed was covered almost entirely in lingerie, soft cottons, delicate lace, bralettes, thongs, floral sets, petal pinks and curve-hugging boy shorts. Enzo bit his fist.

"Fucking hell" he breathed as he reached reverently for a transparent pink bralette before holding it up for the others to see, each immediately stopping what they were doing and making their way over, drawn to it.

"Who's is it?" Blaise muttered, reaching for the laundry bag and turning it over in his hands. "S'got your name on it..."

"You holding out on his, amico?" Theo smirked as he nudged Mattheo's shoulder. "A little amorina on the side?"

"I wish" Mattheo said, his eyes locking on a rosy thong that had him swallowing.

He was completely transfixed, unable to tear his gaze from the pile of pink in front of him, certain that not a single classmate he knew could be wearing stuff like this because surely he'd know, surely one of them would know... right? But something about the colors, the style tickled something in the back of his mind and made him want to tell his friends to keep their hands off of it.

"Theo, you're telling me even you have no idea whose this is?" Lorenzo confirmed.

"Nooo" he drawled. "Trust. I would not forget this" he said, picking out a peach thong that was barely more than a string as Draco let out a low whistle.

And then they heard voices in the hallway, a murmur and the high-pitched squeak of a house elf.

"Penny is so very sorry, Miss. Penny must have switched the bags. Penny will make it right, Miss."

And with a soft knock you pushed the door open to see all of your guy friends standing around a pile of your lingerie, your bra in Enzo's hands, your thong between Theo's fingers, each of them looking genuinely guilty and completely shocked at the sight of you; Draco's mouth hung open and Mattheo's eyes were as wide as galleons. Enzo and Theo slowly lowered the pieces back to the bed and you swore you could hear the fabric hit the comforter for how quiet it had become.

"Awww, thanks, boys!" you said, completely unphased as you dropped the laundry bag you’d been holding and strode towards them.

Five sets of eyebrows hit the ceiling.

Draco mutely picked up the bag with Mattheo’s name mistakenly printed on it and held it out, his eyes never leaving you.

You accepted it and began grabbing handfuls of your delicates, stuffing them back in the bag. With a muffled cough and a murmur, the boys shuffled away leaving you with Mattheo who was physically incapable of moving as he watched you grab fistfuls of your underwear off his bed. It was without a doubt the hottest shit he'd ever seen and would never ever unsee, in the outline of your fitted t-shirts, in your leggings, beneath your oversized sweaters that tended to slip off your shoulder.

"Sorry for the mixup" you said, your eyes focused as you stuffed the last of it into the bag, “I brought yours back, it’s over there” you nodded towards the door.

"Y-yeah s'no problem" he muttered, tearing his gaze away for a second, his voice sounding alien to his own ears.

And then the bed was clear and you were standing in front of him, the bag against your hip, smiling up at him as if your thongs hadn't just touched his sheets.

"See you in a few?" you asked.

He swallowed.

"...Yeah..." he mumbled as he watched you leave, your hips swinging as five heads turned to watched you go.

That night Mattheo tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking about it, about you, about the lace and the cotton and the way they'd sit against your skin, about how the entire night he wondered what was under your dress and how he was sure your perfume lingered against his sheets even though you hadn't been here for hours.

He buried his head into his pillow and moved to hug it when his fingers brushed something beneath it. He grasped it and pulled it towards him to see a baby pink lace thong. But how could it possibly have gotten under his pillow?

Unless...

Had you...?

He didn't get a wink of sleep.

ˋ°•*⁀➷

The following morning he wandered, exhausted, into the Great Hall to see you wearing one of his hoodies, his favorite hoodie, in fact, engulfing you so perfectly that it made his heart dip and swoon so fast he bumped into the Ravenclaw in front of him.

He shook his head and pushed them out of the way as he righted himself and strode confidently to the Slytherin table and slid in beside you.

You turned to him and your eyes fluttered under your long lashes as you searched his face; you could see faint bags beneath his eyes and a darkness in their amber depths that tangled with a warmth you were well familiar with.

"Hope you don't mind...." you said as you rolled your bottom lip into your mouth and bit it gently.

His eyes tracked every movement.

"...Looked too comfy to give up" you smiled.

"Not at all" he conceded, breaking your gaze to reach for the coffee, which he poured and took a long sip from before he leaned over to you, his lips lingering against your ear in a way that had goosebumps running up your arm.

"But if you get to keep that, then I get to keep what you left me."

You flushed beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt, beneath his gaze, beneath the feeling of his breath on your cheek even as he pulled back, though not far, your noses nearly touching.

"Or" you whispered as you rested your hand on his thigh that flexed in response. "Maybe I could come by later tonight and trade you for the pair I have on?"

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf, @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried, @girllblogging777, @foivetimesacharm, @clar2aa, @broadwaybaby123, @slytherinscreamqueen, @loverliner, @smut-anarchy, @locknco, @wybieivy, @itznotsophia, @cipheress-to-k-pop, @aur0ral1ghts, @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja boys and huntrix going to reader’s first fan signing in poor disguise and being forced to be dragged away by security an order from Bobby after seeing how both idol groups are hoarding reader’s attention from the fans

Your Biggest Fans

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Okay, so I’m editing this at almost midnight and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the next role reversal part out on time, I might be a few hours late because I didn’t get to work on it today. I’ll do my best though and I hope you like this silly fluff piece after the hurt/comfort of Old Scars.

Synopsis: Your boyfriends and three sisters are your absolute eight biggest fans. They also happen to be your eight biggest menaces.

CW: Comedy, fluff, undying support, Bobby snaps.

Word Count: 1.8k

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

“(Y/n)! Are you ready for your first fan signing?”

You smiled at Bobby as he placed the last pile of posters in front of you—there were three different poster designs. “I think so, I didn’t think I would get enough fans for a fan signing so soon,” You mused.

Bobby grinned, “Are you kidding me, (Y/n)? Your debut absolutely blew up on socials, and the MV for ‘Play With Fire’ is on fire! Ticket sales for your appearances on variety shows have become so competitive that they sell out in seconds. People stood out in line for this event overnight!”

You were feeling a strange sense of deja vu but you chuckled at Bobby hyping you up so enthusiastically. “Thanks Bobby.” You frowned as a thought occurred to you, “You didn’t tell them about the event, right?” You whispered to Bobby quietly.

He grimaced, “Yeah, no, we did our best to keep it from them and we did our best to schedule all of them for something else at this time, but they may have seen the advertisement or even ditched their photo shoot. Good thing though, the building is locked down and the line has already been cut off so it’s unlikely that they’ll get in.”

You clapped your hands together appreciatively, “Thanks Bobby! You’re the best!” Bobby laughed and went off to finalize and check the last details.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate all the support you’ve been getting from your three sisters and five boyfriends. It was just that…

~~~

“Please welcome, (Y/n)!”

You smiled and waved as you walked onto the stage, the host leading the live audience in welcoming you as they clapped their hands. You were just shaking hands with the host, thanking them for having you, when your ears caught louder cheers than the rest of the audience.

“Woooo! Yeah, (Y/n)!”

“You’re doing great!”

“You look so hot!”

“(Y/n), marry me!”

“Woo! Yeah! That’s my sister!”

“Rumi, we talked about this!”

“Yeah! That’s our girlfriend!”

“Jinu! Come on, man!”

You couldn’t help but sweatdrop at the sight. Your eight idiots were up in the furthest back corner of the audience, wearing disguises. But it was pretty pointless since they were drawing so much attention to themselves.

The host merely laughed, “Wow, you’ve sure got some hardcore fans there!”

You let out a strained laugh in response, “Yeah… Thanks for coming guys…!”

~~~

“Thank you all for coming to my first live performance of ‘Play With Fi—‘“

“So cool, (Y/n)!”

“Your moves were killer!”

“(Y/n), please marry me!”

“No me!”

“Yeah! Woo! That’s my awesome—!”

“Quick, get Jinu!”

“Woo! That’s my—! Mph! That’s our girlfriend!”

“Damnit Jinu!”

Yup. There were your idiots. Waving light sticks in the back of the small venue. With how dark it was, it was harder to see them because of how dark it was, but they were making enough of a scene of themselves that everyone could tell that it was Huntr/x and the Saja Boys.

“Thanks for coming guys…!” You waved, a self deprecating smile on your face. You could see Bobby facepalming in the wings.

~~~

You waved at the camera as you started your live stream, “Hey guys, welcome to my first…” You trailed off when you noticed a certain string of comments.

“Congrats on your first live, (Y/n)!”

“Marry me, (Y/n)!”

“Marry me, (Y/n)! Dang it Kwan, I was already typing!”

“You look so cute in your comfy clothes!”

“That’s my sister!”

“Rumi.”

“Yeah! That’s our girlfriend!”

“Sigh. I give up.”

You smiled tiredly, weakly waving again. “Hi guys. Thanks for joining. Aren’t you guys just in the living room?”

“We’re having a watch party!”

“We got your stream on the TV and the chat on each of our phones!”

“Great…” You sighed. “Why don’t you guys come join me and we can play cards?” You smiled fondly, deciding it would be more fun to have them join you. Besides, it was also a little time with all of you having fun together that the fans would also enjoy.

“OMW, babe!”

“Don’t even have to ask!”

“Running!”

“Sprinting.”

“I’m winning!”

“Yay! Game night!”

“Guys, it’s (y/n) first live stream! Don’t crash it!”

“It’s fine Bobby, (Y/n) said it's okay!”

“Game night date night!”

“Pride Hunt game night!”

You grimaced apologetically at the camera as you heard pounding footsteps getting closer, “Sorry, Bobby…”

~~~

It was another small concert, just a live performance of the two songs you had released so far while teasing the next song you would be releasing. You had just finished ‘Play With Fire’ and you were taking a moment to catch your breath and talk to the fans before you started into ‘River.’

“Hey everyone!” You called, looking out over the faceless crowd that was waving your light stick. You were surprised that Bobby had gotten a design manufactured and copyrighted so quickly. “Welcome to my little mini concert and thank you all for your suppo—!”

And there they were.

“You’re the best, (Y/n)!”

“We are unworthy of your presence!”

“(Y/n), marry me!”

“No! Me!”

“Dancing Queen!”

“We’re so proud of you!”

“Woo! That’s my sister!”

“Yeah! She’s my sister too! So awesome!”

“Zoey, you too?!”

“Woooo! That’s our girlfriend!”

“Yeah! She’s so amazing!”

“Jinu! Chungae!”

“It’s infectious.”

You smiled flatly in their direction, easy to tell it was them by the amount of lights waving and banners being shook in the air. “Please pay no mind to my fanatic dorks, guys. Anyways—!”

~~~

It wasn’t every single one of your events, it was usually just a good portion of them. If all of them couldn’t make it then at least one of them would be there cheering loud enough to be heard over the whole crowd. Idols had some impressive lung capacity and vocal projection abilities. You were somewhat surprised that they hadn’t shredded their voices yet.

Still, it was enough for it to be a running joke amongst the idol fanbase, even fans of other groups were picking up on it. More and more often, you were hearing or seeing, “‘So-and-so, marry me!” Or, “That’s my bias!” Your fans had even taken to playing ‘Where’s Huntr/x’ or ‘Where’s the Saja Boys’ at all of your events.

You took a deep breath, slapping your face lightly. You had to clear your thoughts. You had a fan sign event to focus on and plenty of fans to meet.

“Okay (Y/n), we’re opening the doors now!” Bobby called over to you, giving you a thumbs up as he hurried over to help mitigate and guide the line to you.

You returned his thumbs up, “Thanks Bobby!”

The line poured in as a crowd and Bobby and the security team hurried to control the excited fans. “Okay everybody, one at a time, single file line!” His face deadpanned. “What.”

You also couldn’t help but deadpan at the faces at the front of the line. They were grinning like proud idiots, hats and glasses disguising them. “Guys. I literally saw you last night and this morning.”

”Derpy and Sussie held our spot in line!”

You facepalmed as they hurried up to the table. That made absolutely no sense and shouldn’t have worked.

“Babe, will you sign this poster for me?” Kwan pointed to one of the posters. It was you in a darker ensemble, backlit with neon lights.

“Kwan. Sweetheart. Handsome. Light of my life. Really?”

He just grinned roguishly.

“(Y/n), I made a crochet plush of you!” Zoey proudly held out the slightly misshapen plush of you. She also had little fire stickers on her face to reference your song.

“(Y/n), will you sign my photo cards of you?” Chungae asked, holding out a small stack of photo cards.

You squinted dubiously at them. “I don’t even have any photo cards yet, where’d you get them?”

”Nabbed some from management. I also printed some of my own,” the man explained casually. You continued looking at him weird.

“Please sign my phone case, pretty girl,” Jinu cooed, holding out his phone to you. It was literally the phone case you had gotten him when you noticed he didn’t keep a case on his phone, like a barbarian. You didn’t deign him with a response.

“I want one of each,” Mira mused, looking at the different poster concepts with a thoughtful face.

Jum held out a whole, one pound bag of your favorite candy and your favorite soda from their constantly growing stash of soda, “Here, beautiful. To keep you going through the day. Congrats on your first fan signing.”

Hyeon circled the table to wrap his arms around your shoulders, “Will you sign a poster for me too, princess?” He murmured in your ear. Usually you would be flustered but you were mostly just exasperated right now.

“(Y/n), will you take a selfie with me and sign my photo album?” Rumi held her phone out to you as well.

“Rumi, we are literally sisters!” You couldn’t help but look up at your happy sister incredulously. Sure, you had some merch of the girls to be supportive—a light stick, some posters, and some merch from fans like fanart and plushies. You also had some of the boys,—of course not as much as you had of the girls, but still.

It seemed like Bobby had reached the end of his patience, “Okay, that is it! Guys, you are taking too much attention from (Y/n) and her fans! And, you shirked off work to come! (Y/n) and I both love that you support her so much but this is getting too much! Security!” Bobby snapped his fingers and a team of security guards were suddenly at his side, standing at attention. “Guys, please escort Huntr/x and the Saja Boys to a car and back to the Tower. Make sure they don’t leave until (Y/n) comes back.”

The security guys nodded, immediately going to take hold of the eight idols. They complained and whined but they didn’t fight the guys who were just doing their job.

“Bobby, come on!”

“Yeah, Bobby, this is a bit much!”

“Come on, we’re sorry! Just let us stay for the rest of the event!”

“Bobbyyy! Please please please, let us stay!”

“(Y/n), please tell them to let us stay!”

“We promise to behave!”

“At least let us get our autographs!”

“Come on Dae (security guard), this is unnecessary!”

You just waved them off with a smile, “I’ll see you guys back home. I’ll bring the leftover posters too! Thanks for supporting me guys!”

You kept waving until they were out of sight and then you and Bobby shared a sigh of relief. Then Bobby snapped back into work mode, smiling and ushering the first fan forward. “Okay, come on up!”

You uncapped your pen, “Hi, thank you so much for coming! Who should I make it out to?”

The sweet little girl smiled up at you with barely contained excitement. You felt a little bad having them all escorted out like that.

But this was your time with your fans.

Outtakes:

(inspired by @moonjellymermaid )

*an empty hallway at night*

Jinu: “So, did you bring the goods?”

Rumi: *sliding over a thicc suitcase of (Y/n) merch including but not limited to: photo cards, posters, fanart, t-shirts, and at least three plushies* “Right here. And you?”

Jinu: *Sliding over an equally thicc suitcase of Zoey and Mira merch* “Of course. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Jinu and Rumi: *walks away while clutching the suitcases to their chests and giggling like lovesick dorks*

…

*A meeting*

Polytr/x and Saja Simps: *seriously eyeing each other with narrowed eyes*

Zoey: *slamming her hand down* “I will trade three ‘River’ photo cards for your soft, crocheted casual (Y/n) plush!”

Jum: “No deal. I will, however be willing to trade one of my currently sold out (Y/n) ramyeon cups for a poster of (Y/n)’s Sugar and Spice photo shoot.”

Kwan: “Fine. Then I will trade my signed, limited edition due to a production flaw, (Y/n) light stick for your fan made key chain of ‘Play With Fire.’”

Rumi: “Absolutely not! I scoured the internet for it and (Y/n) honored me by signing it! But I will be willing to trade my oversized, (Y/n) embroidered comfort hoodie for Jinu’s first draft photo book that he swiped from production.”

Jinu: *scoffs* “In your dreams. But, Hyeon, give me your cozy, commissioned Derpy, Sussie, and (Y/n) blanket and I will give you a sample bottle of the perfume (Y/n) endorsed.”

Hyeon: *clutching his hoard* “Like I don’t already have it.”

Chungae: “Come on man! I’ll trade you my ‘Play With Fire’ x ‘Your Idol’ sweatpants for your signed ‘River’ glass water bottle!”

Hyeon: “No.”

*Bartering and bickering increases*

You: *Just trying to eat your kimbap* “Guys…”

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[demilypyro]

Something I really appreciate about Bocchi the Rock is that, in a genre often dominated by school uniforms, each major character in Bocchi actually has a pretty distinct personal style.

Bocchi obviously wears her tracksuit almost all the time. Max comfort, minimal contouring, hiding from the world. It's her anxiety and her lack of fashion sense. She just doesn't feel comfortable when she wears anything else.

Nijika has a wide range of outfits, most of which I'd define as "girly but easy to move in." She's a capable, energetic girl who knows what she likes. Notably, her distinctive polka dot ribbon is included as an accessory in every single outfit.

Ryo wears what I'd honestly call "fancy nb fashion." She's from a rich family, and her clothes have a certain classy quality to them. They look more expensive than anyone else's. She has a bit of a more gender neutral style.

Kita meanwhile is straight up femme maxxing. Super girly, always cute. Always ready for a selfie. She seems to put a lot of work into every single outfit.

The adults don't get much outfit variation, but they do all have their own distinct style. Seika looks stylish yet practical, while PA-san is a classic goth girl.

Over at Sick Hack, Kikuri's outfit is very distinctive, but a bit slovenly, as befits her character as the messy frontman of the band.

The dependable Shima is practical to the max, while Eliza, the weeb, is seen dressing in a very unusual, flashy way that (ironically) reminds me of anime characters.

These styles are all so distinctive. It all says so much about these characters. It's all so smart. I feel like you could use all of these as a basis to know exactly what kind of outfits each one would like and dislike.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

OFFICE HOURS !

☆ paring : teacher phainon x student fem!reader

☆ tws : nsfw / smut, creampie (vaginal), cow girl, reverse cow girl, face fűcking, spanking, switch reader (?), multiple of rounds, blow job, pūssy eating, breeding kink, sub and dom phainon, nipple sucking and biting. minors do not interact.

☆ sum : (university au / modern au) You knew your teacher had a crush on you hell, you felt it every time his eyes lingered a little too long on your thighs or when his voice dropped low just for you. It wasn’t wrong; you were almost the same age, but that only made the situation worse. You caught him biting his lip when you stayed after class, and when he finally cornered you in his office, his hands slid under your skirt like he’d been dying to do it for weeks. You couldn’t prove it… but his hot breath on your neck and the way his fingers teased you told you everything you needed to know.

☆ note : this might be slight ooc for phainon, since I wrote him a huge dom here and I don’t really see phainon as a rough dom. Nut I don’t think that matters since I made him gentle at the end. Also not proof read as usual.

“It’s just a class,” you told yourself. But nothing about the way he looked at you felt academic.”

You should have transferred out of that class the moment you felt his eyes on you.

But you didn’t. You liked it.

Every lecture, Professor Phainon walked in like he wasn’t just a man, but a force of nature. That tailored white shirt fit too perfectly, sleeves rolled to his forearms, gold rings glinting every time he adjusted his glasses or flicked a page. He had presence — a sharp, quiet gravity that made the room bend around him.

And his voice… it wasn’t fair. Smooth and commanding, with a calm rhythm that could’ve lulled you into comfort if it didn’t linger just a little longer when he said your name. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. He didn’t just speak — he made you listen.

You weren’t imagining it.

You saw the way his eyes dropped when you crossed your legs. How he paused, just for a fraction of a second, like the sight had tugged something loose in him. You watched his jaw tighten when you leaned over your notes. Not once did he look flustered — only focused. Like he was trying to memorize you for later.

And maybe… maybe your skirts had started getting shorter.

Maybe you leaned forward more when he handed back your papers. Maybe you started glossing your lips before class, watching how his gaze always, eventually, landed there.

But he started it. That first week, when he returned your first essay with the words, “You’re sharp. Dangerous,” underlined in red — like it wasn’t just feedback, but a warning.

Now, three weeks in, you were drunk on it. On the quiet looks, the accidental touches, the slow descent into something neither of you could name. You were both pretending. Playing polite. But you knew where it was going.

So when he stopped you after class — the lecture hall mostly empty, his voice lower than usual — your heart was already racing.

“Stay a minute,” he said. You did.

You were still gathering your things, but he didn’t look at your books or your hands. His eyes dropped to your crossed thighs. He didn’t hide it.

“You’ve been doing well,” he said, stepping just close enough to be inappropriate. “Your midterm outline was solid. You could sharpen it a little, but… the ideas are there.”

“Thank you,” you said, quietly.

He nodded. “Office hours are tomorrow, if you want to go over it.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Do I need to?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to your mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped lower.

“There’s always room for extra credit.”

The words echoed long after he said them.

That night, you couldn’t focus on anything. You lay on your bed with your notes open but untouched, replaying his tone. The way he had looked at you — the restraint barely holding together in his eyes. There was something simmering beneath the surface. Not inappropriate. Not yet. But one wrong move — or the right one — and it would all unravel.

At exactly 5:07 p.m. the next day, you knocked on his office door.

“Come in,” he called.

You stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind you.

He looked different. His tie was gone. The top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled high. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it out of frustration — or restraint. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you as though he was preparing for war

You sat across from him. Your skirt shifted just a little too high on your thigh. His eyes flicked to it — only for a second — before he turned his attention to the papers on his desk.

For the next twenty minutes, he talked about the midterm. Concepts. Analysis. Structure. But neither of you were really listening.

Your knees brushed beneath the desk. He didn’t move his.

He leaned in to mark something on your paper, and his hand grazed your wrist. Not accidental. Not careful. His pen scratched across the paper, underlining a passage in gold ink.

You swallowed.

“So?” he said quietly. “Am I helping you? Or distracting you?”

You didn’t answer.

You left his office light-headed, your heart louder than your footsteps. No new notes, no corrections — just your name at the top of the page in his handwriting, underlined once.

And just below that, a single word written in black ink:

Temptation.

The word was still on your paper. Temptation, written in black ink. You read it once. Twice. Then you looked up at him.

Phainon didn’t speak.

He sat behind his desk, one arm resting on the wood, the other flexing in his lap. His knuckles were white. His breathing—shallow. Controlled. Too controlled.

You tilted your head, lips parting, voice low. “You wrote that on purpose.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he said, “You should go.”

You didn’t move.

“I don’t want you to go,” he added, quieter. “But you should.”

Still, you stayed. You rose from your seat slowly, not running, not shy. Your eyes didn’t leave his, even as you walked around the desk. The moment you crossed that invisible line, the room changed.

Phainon sat frozen in place. Tense. His breath hitched when you climbed onto his lap—one thigh straddling his. The other followed.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked softly, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt. “When you looked at me like that?”

His hands hovered near your hips, unsure. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You smiled. “No. I do.”

You leaned in and pressed your lips against the side of his neck, and he let out a sound so low it vibrated through his chest. When your tongue grazed his collarbone, his fingers dug into your waist — but he didn’t stop you.

“Let me taste you,” you whispered.

He blinked like he hadn’t heard you right. “What?”

Your hands moved with purpose. You undid the rest of his shirt, pushing it open. His chest rose and fell fast — bare, skin stretched over muscle, warm and trembling beneath your palms.

And there—his nipples. Small, pink, sensitive. Waiting.

You leaned in.

The moment your mouth closed around one of them, Phainon shuddered. A full-body reaction. His hand gripped your thigh like a lifeline.

“F-fuck,” he whispered. “That’s—”

You didn’t let him finish. Your tongue circled the bud slowly, gently, before sucking harder — teasing it between your lips until his hips bucked beneath you. You moved to the other side, giving it the same attention. His eyes had fluttered shut. His head tipped back.

“Sensitive?” you asked against his skin.

His jaw clenched. “Yes. I… wasn’t expecting—“

You kissed down his chest, slowly, until your knees hit the floor. His breath caught as you looked up at him from below.

His cock strained against his slacks, hard and obvious. You reached for his belt, and he didn’t stop you. He couldn’t.

“Open your mouth,” you said, voice soft but firm.

He obeyed, panting now.

You tugged his pants down just enough to free him — thick, flushed, the tip already glistening. You wrapped your fingers around him and leaned in slowly, teasing him with your tongue, just one long drag from base to tip.

He groaned.

You took him in your mouth, inch by inch, letting your lips stretch around him as his thighs trembled under your hands. His head hit the back of the chair.

“Please,” he whispered, broken. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t.

You sucked him slow, deep, letting your tongue press beneath the shaft, swallowing around him as your fingers returned to his chest—rubbing over his nipples again, pinching one gently while your mouth worked his cock. The sound that ripped from him was something between a moan and a curse.

He was unraveling.

You kept eye contact as his breathing grew uneven, his hands fisting the chair, thighs tensing with every bob of your head.

“You’re going to make me—” he choked, voice raw.

But you didn’t stop.

You just sucked him harder.

Your lips were stretched around him, your spit slicking every inch of his cock as you bobbed your head, slowly—like you knew you were ruining him. His chair creaked beneath him, hands clutching the wooden arms like he was holding on for dear life.

Phainon had started the day so composed.

Now his head was tilted back, chest heaving, his voice a broken rasp of your name followed by a cracked, “God, please—”

You didn’t stop.

Your tongue dragged up the underside of his cock, swirling around the head. He twitched against your lips. One of his hands finally moved to your head, trembling, as if he didn’t dare take control but needed to touch you. You let him. You liked how hesitant he was—how completely destroyed he looked with you on your knees.

He was unraveling. For you.

When you finally pulled back, saliva connecting your lips to his flushed tip, his breath hitched. His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded and dark. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“Come here,” he said—hoarse, wrecked.

You barely had the strength to rise, legs shaking, but he helped you up with a hand on your waist, pulling you into his lap like he couldn’t bear the distance another second.

“You—” he began, but he couldn’t finish. His mouth crashed to yours.

His kiss was frantic, open-mouthed, tongue pushing in like he needed your taste. You melted into him, thighs straddling his lap, fingers tangling in his shirt. His hands roamed under your blouse, desperate, until he tugged it over your head and dropped it carelessly to the floor.

And then he saw you.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. Not like a compliment—like a confession.

He bent his head, lips brushing the curve of your breast, reverent. You whimpered the moment he kissed your nipple—soft at first, tongue flicking over it before sucking it into his mouth with slow, sinful hunger. You arched into him. You felt delicate, like silk unraveling. He moaned against your skin as he took more of you into his mouth, like he couldn’t get enough.

“You’re so responsive,” he whispered when he finally pulled back. His thumb rolled over the wet, pebbled tip he’d just kissed. “So eager for me.”

You nodded, heat burning under your skin. “I want… I want you to touch me more.”

He chuckled—low, strained, a man fighting against every last thread of restraint. “You’re asking me so sweetly, baby.”

His mouth moved to your other breast. This time, he sucked harder—his tongue circling your nipple again and again, then tugging at it with his lips until you whimpered against his shoulder. He hummed in approval.

You were trembling in his lap now, every inch of you sensitive. But what made your breath catch wasn’t just the way he touched you—it was the way he looked at you.

Like he was in awe.

When he leaned back slightly, his eyes scanned your flushed, messy body. “You’re so soft when you’re like this,” he murmured. “Like you were made to be held.”

You swallowed hard, legs tightening around his waist. “I like… being soft for you.”

He moaned, low and desperate, and then he reached for your hand—guiding it to his chest. “Touch me.”

You didn’t understand until he tugged his shirt open. His nipples were flushed, sensitive. Waiting.

“You got to feel good,” he said. “Let me feel it too.”

Your breath hitched. You leaned down and licked across one, slow and shy. He gasped. When you sucked gently, he shuddered.

“Please,” he whispered. “More…”

You licked again. He gripped your waist hard. When your lips closed around his nipple and sucked, he groaned into your ear, head falling to your shoulder. You’d never seen him like this. So undone. So needy.

“I didn’t think—” he choked out, “I didn’t think anyone would ever touch me like this…”

You kissed his chest, softening. Your fingers caressed the other nipple, watching him squirm beneath you.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whispered.

He laughed softly, almost like it hurt. “You already have, sweetheart. You already have.”

His cock was so deep it hurt.

Your thighs were trembling, spread wide over his lap, completely impaled on him, the thick shaft stretching your cunt open—raw, twitching, messy. Phainon had one hand braced on your ass, the other gripping your waist hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck,” he growled into your throat. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

You could barely speak—your mouth hung open, drool glistening on your lower lip as you nodded helplessly. You did feel it. You felt everything. Every inch. Every hot throb inside your clenching pussy, your walls squeezing him tight like your body was begging not to let him go.

“I can feel you twitching around me already,” he hissed. “So needy. So fucking wet. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Thought about how it would feel to ride your professor’s cock?”

You gasped. Your cunt clenched, slick dripping down his balls.

“You want to be a good girl for me, yeah?” he growled. “Then ride.”

You whimpered but obeyed, lifting your hips shakily and dropping back down. The stretch made your head reel, your pussy squelching obscenely around him. You rode him slowly at first, thighs shaking, hands gripping his shoulders, your soft moans rising with every bounce.

He was watching you—devouring you—with pupils blown wide and lips parted.

“Look at you,” he muttered, dragging a hand up your back, then threading it through your hair. “Your tight little cunt swallowing me like it’s starving.”

You bounced harder, whimpering when his cock slid deeper, the angle hitting that soft spot inside you. “F-Fuck—Phainon—!”

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you love being full of your teacher’s cock.”

“I—I love it,” you gasped. “Love how big you are. I can’t—I can’t stop clenching—!”

“You better not.” His fingers dug into your waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Then his mouth was on your chest—biting, sucking, claiming. His tongue flicked over your nipple before he latched on, and the heat of it made your back arch.

“Nnnh—!”

He groaned around it, sucking hard, teasing the swollen peak until it was throbbing. He moved to the other one, wetter this time, the suction pulling a choked moan out of you.

“You love this,” he muttered, licking over the peak, eyes locked on yours. “You love being my fuckdoll. My sweet little thing to ruin.”

You were trembling. Mindless. His mouth worshiped your tits while his cock bullied your cunt open, stretching you again and again until your entire body was shaking.

Then he slapped your ass, hard.

You cried out, hips jolting. “Phainon!”

“What?” he growled. “You wanna cum again? Huh? Wanna squeeze my cock while you fall apart?”

“Yes—please—!”

He yanked you down hard onto his cock and bit your nipple.

You screamed.

The orgasm ripped through you, brutal and raw, your cunt spasming around his cock like it was trying to milk him. You collapsed against his chest, gasping, whimpering.

And he didn’t stop.

He bucked up into you now, thrusting from below, holding your hips tight while you whimpered from overstimulation. Your juices were everywhere—slick on your thighs, his lap, the seat. You were soaked.

“I’m not done,” he hissed. “You’re gonna keep taking it until I say so.”

Then he bit his own lip, grabbed your chin, and kissed you—deep, filthy, with tongue and teeth. You were drooling into each other’s mouths, completely lost.

He pulled back just enough to whisper:

“You’re mine now. You understand?”

You nodded, dazed.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, lips quivering.

“Good girl.”

Then he fucked up into you again—harder.

Your orgasm tore through you like a flood, making your vision blur, thighs shaking around his hips as your cunt fluttered in pulses around his cock—but Phainon didn’t even flinch. Didn’t let up. He just grunted, strong hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, and thrust up into you from below, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every thick, veiny inch.

You were still panting, body limp in his lap, the aftershocks leaving you dumb and clenching. But his cock was still hard. Still throbbing inside you.

“I didn’t say you could stop moving.”

His voice was low. Firm. Dangerous.

“I—I can’t—” Your head fell against his shoulder, voice wrecked. “I’m too sensitive—”

“I don’t care.” His fingers slid down your back, palm warm and rough as he grabbed your ass and squeezed. “You’re still mine to use. You don’t get to decide when it ends.”

You whimpered. Your walls clutched around him again like your body agreed with him more than your mind did.

“Look at you,” he hissed. “Still dripping. You act like you’re tired, but your cunt keeps milking me like it’s desperate.”

Then he leaned in, lips ghosting over your jaw, whispering filth into your ear:

“Such a good girl. All you’re good for, isn’t it? Letting me stretch you, ruin you, own you.”

Your breath hitched, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from how full you felt. He was so deep—so big—that even the smallest thrust made you twitch, your pussy clamping down again with a slick squelch that echoed in the room.

You tried to lift your hips—he slapped your ass.

“Sit still.”

The command made your cunt throb.

Then Phainon leaned back in his seat, dragging you with him, and pulled your chest forward by your wrists until your tits were dangling right above his mouth. He looked up at you with a ravenous hunger you’d never seen before, then—latched on.

You squealed.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling, hot and relentless. He sucked—hard—while his other hand pinched the other peak, rolling it between his fingers until your back arched with a sob.

“Fuck—P-Phainon—!”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He switched to the other nipple and sucked harder, dragging his tongue across the sensitive flesh until it was red, glossy, and raw. Your body jerked every time his teeth scraped just enough to sting. You were shaking in his lap, moaning like a bitch in heat.

You grabbed his hair—he growled.

“You gonna be a good girl and let me suck my fill?”

You nodded frantically, sobbing now, because your cunt was fluttering again—so close, just from the feeling of his mouth on your tits.

“Good. Because you’re not cumming until I tell you to.”

Then he shifted you, leaned forward, and without warning—sank to his knees in front of the chair, taking you with him.

He laid you back across the plush seat, your legs spread wide, your pussy glistening with slick. Then he knelt between your thighs and looked up at you, breath heavy.

“You want to be good for me?” he asked, voice darker now. “Then open your mouth.”

Your lips parted instantly. He leaned forward, gripped the base of his cock, and pressed the flushed, leaking head against your tongue.

You moaned.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl. Just like that.”

You closed your lips around him, drool already spilling down your chin. Your tongue traced the underside of his cock, tasting yourself, your throat relaxing as he began to slowly fuck your mouth—deep, controlled thrusts that left you gagging.

He hissed through his teeth when you tried to take him deeper.

“Fuck—you’re too good at this. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

You looked up at him with teary, needy eyes, and the sight made him snarl.

“Choke on it.”

He shoved deeper, forcing his cock down your throat until your nose pressed to his base. You gagged hard, tears spilling. But you didn’t stop.

He moaned. “Yeah. That’s it. Fuck—just like that.”

His fingers gripped your hair, holding you down, using your mouth until spit coated your lips and chin. Your hands clung to his thighs, nails digging in.

When he finally pulled out, your mouth popped off with a wet gasp, a string of saliva and precum still connecting you to his cock.

And then—he leaned in again, this time lowering his mouth to your chest once more.

He licked your nipples—wet, swollen, and sensitive—and murmured, “You taste like heaven when you cry.”

You rested your forehead against his, your fingers still tangled in his damp hair. Phainon had his arms looped tightly around your waist, his cheek smushed into your chest, lips swollen and pink, eyes dazed and smitten.

“You’re not letting go, are you?” you whispered.

“Nope,” he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re my pillow now. My emotional support lover. I’ll file the paperwork.”

You snorted, brushing a hand down his back.

He exhaled happily—completely blissed out.

And then—

“…Though,” he muttered, after a beat of silence, “I’m still not giving you a full mark.”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head up smugly. “The oral presentation lacked structure. No thesis, poor pacing—though delivery was… exceptional.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about evaluations.” He grinned, wicked and lazy. “At best, a strong 86%. Maybe an 88 if you kiss my neck again.”

You stared.

He was dead serious.

“Phainon—”

“Office hours are open next week. If you’d like to… resubmit for extra credit.”

You shoved his face back into your chest, laughing so hard your stomach cramped. He barked out a giggle too—actual giggle, like a dumb golden retriever who just stole a shoe and was proud of it.

And as he settled down again, sighing into your skin with a smug little hum, you knew three things:

1. You were definitely going to fail that assignment.

2. You were never getting rid of him now.

3. He was so lucky you were already in love with him.

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[em1i2a3]

Ordinary Dream

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Fem!Reader!

Summary: The Void comes out one night looking for some comfort from you.

Warnings: Clingy Void? Soft Void? Fluff, A hint of angst, non-sexual intimate touching, reader is naked but nothing sexual happens in this, mentions of throwing up.

Author’s Note: Going through my requests and saw this one and thought this would be a nice little short blurb just to get my brain back into Bob mode after going all out for Todd today ehehe. Anyways. Hope you enjoy this little dude!

Word Count: 3,163

You weren’t sure what woke you that night. Maybe it was the subtle creak of the mattress springs shifting beneath the weight of movement. Or the whisper-soft shuffle of bare feet across the thick, carpeting of your bedroom. The air was still–quiet in the denseness of the late-night, where even small sounds felt magnified, and suspended in moonlight and hush. You peeked through the curtain of your lashes, blinking groggily just in time to see the door to your ensuite ease shut with a soft click–no light flickering on behind it. Just darkness coming from the small space between the door and the floor.

A soft, drawn-out groan left your lips as you stretched beneath the covers, the warmth of the sheets pressing against your naked body as you reached your arms above your head, toes flexing downward. You arched your spine against the mattress with a sleepy sigh, trying to ease the stiffness clinging to your muscles from falling asleep at a strange angle and with Bob tangled up in you.

When you rolled onto your side your hand landed in the empty space that was usually occupied by your partner, feeling that it was still hot from his body. The pillow he laid on held the soft impression of his head, molded to the curve of him like it had memorized him. Your fingers brushed against the residual heat, and something in your stomach tightened. Something subtle. Something subconscious. Like there was a small, sudden realization that there was the absence of where your comfort once laid.

You breathed in and decided to listen for what was going on beyond the door of the washroom. For a moment, there was nothing, just the soft ticking of the watch you had on your nightstand–but then, there was the faint click of the faucet.

Followed by the unmistakable, sickening sound of retching. You sat up immediately, the covers falling away from your shoulders as your breath caught in your chest. Concern surged through your sleep-heavy body, cutting through the haze like someone had poured cold water all over you. Your hand instinctively clutched the blanket, pulling it loose from where it was tucked under the mattress as you rose to your feet, draping it around your body like a robe. The fabric pooled at your ankles, trailing after you as you padded quietly toward the door, heart climbing steadily into your throat, pumping right in the center of it, almost making you choke.

You knocked gently on the ensuite door.

”Bob…?” Your voice was soft, slurred slightly by the numbness in your face from where you had pressed too hard against your pillow, “Hun…Are you okay?” There was a beat of silence, and then a muffled response came out.

”Mmm…Yeah. I’m ok-okay.” But the words were punctuated by another dry heave. Your brows knit together, your frown deepening as worry won out over hesitation. You curled your fingers around the doorknob and twisted gently.

”I’m coming in, okay?” You didn’t wait for permission, you just pushed your way through slowly, and turned on the light with a soft him. The warmth of the glow gave way to the crisp, cooler air of the bathroom, and your eyes landed on Bob–slumped on his knees in front of the toilet, one forearm braced against the edge of the bowl, the other trembling slightly as it rested over his stomach. His back rose and fell with uneven breaths, with strands of his damp, light brown hair clinging to the sides of his forehead. His skin had paled even more than his normal tone, and his shoulders were hunched, muscles tensing up like another wave of nausea was passing over him. His eyes were sealed shut and he was mumbling something incoherent to himself as you stepped closer to him.

”Oh, sweetheart…” You whispered under your breath, padding barefoot across the tiled floor, crouching beside him without even thinking. One of your hands gently smoothed up the line of his spine, while the other brushed the sweat-matted hair away from his face. His skin was cool to the touch–almost alarmingly so–even though he felt damp, like he had been running a fever, “What’s going on?” Your voice was gentle as you leaned in closer, brushing your fingers along his damp temple, trying to get a clearer look at him. The overhead light was a little too bright for this hour–cool, sterile–but it caught every detail: the fine sheen of sweat clinging to his brow, the tension in his jaw, the barely-there tremble of his hands.

He looked…Worn through.

That same weightless ache you’d felt earlier bloomed wider in your chest.

Your eyes dropped to his face. The curve of his cheekbone, the dark bruising just beneath his eyes. A shadow too deep to be from exhaustion alone–black, as if it bled up from somewhere inside him, pooling beneath the skin like smoke trying to escape. Right where his under-eyes always puffed slightly when he was run down. But this–this was different.

Bob hunched again suddenly–his arm tightening over his stomach, as if bracing for another wave of nausea–but this time, nothing came. Just a broken sound in the back of his throat, followed by a slow, shuddering breath.

“He’s…He’s trying to come out tonight.” He said hoarsely. You felt your pulse quicken in your neck as your hand continued to rub along his back, gently massaging it with your open palm.

“Void?” He nodded immediately. Tight. Like the words he was trying to form in response wouldn’t be able to escape his mouth. Your hand swept slowly against the freckles that laid on his shoulders, soothing him through the silent confession he had provided, and you sighed.

”What’s going on with him that’s making him do this to you?” You asked quietly, watching as the muscles in Bob’s neck strained slightly while he swallowed, like the bile had burned his esophagus. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, his lashes fluttering open to reveal that the whites of his eyes had gone obsidian. The blue of his irises were in stark contrast against the darkness, and in the center of his pupils were twin white stars, like pinholes torn through a veil. You exhaled softly and cupped the side of his face, the pad of your thumb ghosting over the rise of his cheekbone. His skin was chilled but radiant, flushed faintly with the fever of what he was trying to contain.

“Bob…”

His jaw flexed beneath your palm. Then he sighed, long and low.

“He’s been…Wanting to be let out for a few days,” He murmured, voice shaking but no longer hoarse–just small. “But I’ve been afraid. Because he’s not pushing with anger. He’s not trying to take control or burn anything down. He’s just…” He swallowed again, and the movement of his throat looked painful. “He’s desperate to be with you. He said he wants to be held.” You softened immediately, your fingertips brushing down to his neck.

“Bob… He needs affection too, y’know?” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “He sees through your eyes. Feels what you feel. He watches the way I touch you, the way I kiss you, and he wants that. You both crave connection. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it without making you afraid.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered shut at your words–like hearing them was too much.

Like they hurt.

“I know…” He said quietly. “I know. And I know it’s not fair to keep him locked away. But I–” He paused, hand lifting slowly, shakily, to cover the back of yours. His palm was cold against your knuckles. “I was worried.” You brushed your thumb slowly beneath the bruised curve under his eye–where darkness had begun to pool and move like molasses, blooming in the space between man and entity.

“Worried about what?” You whispered.

“That he’d try to take too much.” You exhaled gently through your nose and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his once more.

“He won’t. And if he tries…I can stand my own ground.” You smiled faintly. “Even though you and I both know…He’s harmless with me.” Bob’s breath trembled between you.

”…You’re right.” You pulled back just enough to look at him again. The blue in his eyes was dimming now and the white pinholes took up more space now, almost like it was dilating from the conversation the two of you were having.

“I think you need to let him through now…” Bob sighed, and nodded, before pulling away from you, leaning his back against the wall behind him. You stayed kneeling on the bathroom floor as the shift began, your blanket now puddled around your waist, one hand still hanging in the air where it had just touched his cheek. Watching. Waiting.

It started in his fingertips.

The color bled from his skin like ink dropped in water–spreading out in dark veins that swallowed up every patch of freckled flesh. As if someone had taken a brush soaked in the purest black and swept it over his hands, up his arms, across his shoulders and throat.

And then his chest–his ribs rising with slow, steady breaths, muscles shifting beneath a surface that no longer looked human. His skin had turned to obsidian. Not flat, not matte–but slick and gently reflective, like polished volcanic glass under moonlight. And it moved, subtly, like the surface of a calm lake catching ripples from something just below.

His light brown hair was the last to go.

It darkened in strands–first the roots, then the mid-lengths, until it turned fully silken black, falling around his face in weightless, flowing threads. The softness of it almost didn’t match the rest of him, but that was what made it stranger. Beautiful. Alien and delicate all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat when the first tendrils emerged.

They slid out from his back and shoulders like smoke given form–reaching and coiling in the air, tasting the space around them. Slow and deliberate. Like stretching after years of confinement. A shiver crawled up your spine as one of them curled gently in your direction, but didn’t touch. Just hovered.

His face–what remained of it–was shadowed but shaped like before, only now marked by the silhouette of a mouth and twin glowing eyes.

The Void knelt before you, fully formed–but so still.

Then, softly:

“Y/N?”

His voice was quieter than before. No distortion. No thunder layered beneath. Just a breathy whisper of your name, tender and unfamiliar in its gentleness.

You barely had time to breathe before he surged forward–not fast, not aggressive, just immediate. Like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t do it a second more.

He wrapped his arms around you.

The coolness of his body hit your skin like a gust of night air. His arms didn’t shake. They didn’t clench or claw. They simply wrapped around you tight–too tight, like he thought you’d vanish if he didn’t pull you close enough. Like he needed your body against his to stay anchored in this world. You gasped softly at the chill, the feel of his skin slick and smooth under your hands, like touching running ink.

But you didn’t pull away.

You brought your arms around his broad shoulders, pressing your cheek to his obsidian throat, and whispered softly into the crook of his neck:

“I’ve got you.”

He exhaled hard–like he’d been holding in air he didn’t need. Like the release made his chest cave in against you.

“I’m sorry,” He breathed into your shoulder. “I tried not to. I tried to wait. But I needed–”

You pulled your hand up, threading it into the black silk of his hair, and cradled the back of his head. You could feel how deeply he leaned into your touch, like your nails tracing his scalp were pulling something human to the surface again. He whimpered quietly. Not dramatic. Not monstrous. Just…Small, like it was so out of place for an entity like him.

“Void…” You murmured, voice low and gentle against the crook of his ear. “You don’t have to apologize. But you need to know something.”

He stiffened slightly.

Your fingers didn’t stop moving.

“You can’t hurt Bob like that again.”He tensed further, a breath catching in his throat.

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” You said softly. “He’s trying to protect both of you. He doesn’t deserve to suffer because you feel left out.”

Silence fell like snowfall–heavy, hushed, still.

Then a broken whisper:

“I…Won’t do it again. I promise.”

He pressed his face deeper into your neck, arms clutching tighter.

“Just please don’t let go of me.” Your heart clenched. He sounded so young and child-like when he said that. So desperate to be wanted. To be told he was safe. You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m not letting go,” You whispered. “But we can’t stay like this on the bathroom floor.” You traced soothing lines against the base of his skull, massaging gently with your nails. He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a shiver, and his body started to soften in your arms.

“Let’s go to bed,” You suggested, “Then you can hold me for however long you need. I promise.” He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

”…Alright.” His arms finally loosened around you, reluctantly, like he was peeling himself away from a lifeline. You helped ease his weight back as the two of you pulled apart just far enough to move.

You stood first, adjusting the sheet clumsily around your naked body with one hand while the other reached out to him. His fingers curled into yours almost immediately.

It was strange–how something so terrifying to the world could look so hesitant when you offered him something as simple as help standing up. He didn’t let go of your hand even as he rose to his feet, the cool strength of him rising with a whisper of shadow and grace.

You reached behind and flipped the bathroom light off, blanketing the room in soft dark again. Moonlight washed the floor in silver as you quietly guided him back through the bedroom, bare feet padding across carpet. The air was still cool, but the bed still held the warmth from earlier, soft and inviting, like it had been waiting for both of you.

The Void climbed in first, slipping under the duvet, his black silhouette nearly disappearing against the dark linens, his glowing eyes being the only thing you could truly see of him in the darkness. You let the sheet fall from your shoulders and slipped beneath the covers, the mattress dipping gently under your weight. The duvet rustled softly as you settled into the center of the bed, the crisp sheets cool against your bare legs.

Before you could even adjust your pillow, he moved with no hesitation.

He followed instinctively–curling into you like a wave drawn to shore, fitting himself into the shape of your body with such urgency it made your chest ache. He settled half on top of you, half beside you, his head pressing into the space between your breasts and collarbone, one arm wrapping possessively around your waist like he needed to keep your soul anchored to his.

His skin, still cool and impossibly smooth, pressed against the warmth of your body in stark contrast, but it didn’t make you flinch. If anything, you held him closer.

You adjusted beneath him, shifting just enough to let him rest fully against you, your own arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders. One hand found the base of his skull, and your fingers immediately curled into the silk of his hair, petting him with slow, methodical strokes. The sound he let out was quiet–nearly a whimper. Almost involuntary.

His fingertips–longer than Bob’s, and less calloused–began tracing light, aimless patterns along your skin. Gentle sweeps along the slope of your ribs, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your side. He sighed deeply against your chest, his breath cool and steady where it ghosted across your skin.

“I’m really sorry for hurting Bob…”

You breathed in slowly, and brushed your thumb across the back of his neck.

“I know,” You said softly. “And I’m sure he knows, too.”

The Void was quiet for a moment.

Then he burrowed closer–somehow–nuzzling his face into the curve of your body like he was trying to vanish inside you. His arm tightened around your waist, and one of his legs slid across yours under the sheets, entangling completely, his body melting into your side like warm wax folding into flame.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” He whispered. “He’s kind. And I’m…”

“You’re not a monster,” You interrupted gently.

He didn’t respond right away.

You tilted your head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his black hair, fingers still stroking soothingly through it, combing through the weightless strands.

“You’re just lonely…And you acted out of impulse to try to get what you needed.” His entire body gave a subtle, shuddering exhale. As if your words had reached something buried too deep for even Bob to touch.

The glow of his eyes dimmed slightly, blinking against your skin like he was growing sleepier now that he was safe. Now that he was held. One of his tendrils peeked from beneath the duvet, coiling lightly around your thigh–not tight, not aggressive, just a slow gentle brush.

You felt his lips–just a shadow of a mouth–press against your chest.

“Thank you for letting me come to you,” He whispered, quieter than breath.

You tightened your arms around him and smiled into the dark.

“There’s no version of you I wouldn’t take care of.”

That was the last thing said between you for a long while.

The Void settled entirely then–his limbs heavy against yours, his cheek pillowed to your chest, his body humming faintly with the low vibration of cosmic quiet. He didn’t shift again, didn’t twitch or pull away. He just…Stayed.

Clinging to you like he belonged there.

Like he’d finally found a shape that soothed him.

And when you finally drifted off to sleep, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped around you like armor, The Void followed soon after–dreamless and warm, nestled in the softest corner of the universe he’d ever known.

[groovyangelkisses]

i just think that clark x ditzy!roomate!reader that doesn’t know he’s superman is soooo important ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

cw: overly touchy roomate trope, ditzy!reader, fem!reader, slight nsfwish at the end, curvy!reader intended (but it can really apply to anyone!)

“clarkie you just don’t get it! i mean he looked at me- really looked at me… gosh i’ve never felt anything like that in my life!” “oh… uh sure honey i understand”

clark’s sitting comfortably on the couch, sweats and a white t shirt on, his glasses sliding down his nose as he drinks his nightly tea and does the sudoku section of the daily planet

you bobbling around the kitchen, ponytail swinging and tight pajama shorts shifting as you gush about superman to your roomate

“oh oh and clark! clark?” “yeah, i’m still listenin’ sweetie” “oh okay good! anyways YES he was so handsome in person clarkie… kinda reminded me of you!”

now this peaks his attention, causing him to lean his arm across the back of the couch to peer at you over his shoulder, his glasses slightly sliding down his strong nose

he’s met with the sight of you standing, starry eyed and pulling your hair out of its tight braid as you wait for his response.

he has to calm himself, tear his eyes away from your thick thighs and soft waist and swallow before answering.

“really?” “mmhm! real tall and sweet, i even said to him- i said- ‘superman, you’d loooove my roomate clark, he’s really the sweetest guy around! he makes dinner and helps me with laundry, and-

as you ramble, clark has to physically stop himself from flushing, so he does that™️ little smirk as he looks down at his paper again

“that’s real nice, honey” he’ll coo, casually lifting his arm up for you to slide into his lap without even looking up from his paper

you sitting in his lap, moisturizing your legs and asking clark about your nails and how his day was and if he missed you, and it’s so domestic that it looks like you’ve been dating for 15 years

you and clark have always been waaaay too touchy to be just roomates. you’re always cuddling up to him, snuggling into his arms or slinking into his lap at parties. holding hands in crowds, or bringing him lunch at work with a peck on the cheek.

but that’s what friends do!!!

at least, that’s what clark tells you everytime jimmy starts pickin on you!

“clarkie?” “hm?” “do you think…. do you think superman thought i was pretty?” “what?!” “like… i don’t know, my hair was like suuuuper messy today and i lost my earring when i almost fell off that building and all…”

and now he can’t even hide his smirk, his infatuation with your gentleness and how innocent your concerns are showing through his nerdy persona

it’s partially the reason why he won’t tell you that you currently are sitting in superman’s lap and gazing up at him with doe eyes and a tilted head

and he does, in fact, find you very, very pretty

“yeah… yeah, of course he did, i’m sure of it!” “hmm… okay!” :)

spending the rest of the night with your chin hooked over his shoulder, your chests touching as you fall asleep and clark using one hand to rub your back, the other flipping to the front cover of the planet…

his eyes settle on the blown up image, him rescuing you from your fall, and you gazing up at him with doughy eyes and a sweet grin… literal heart eyes <3

he chuckles quietly, and adjusts his sitting position, rubbing his hand gently over your ass in comfort as you stir

“too close?” clark thinks to himself “i’m just keeping her safe… is all…”

[formulafanfics13]

Hi!

Can I request Lando with an older girlfriend but she’s just a few months older and they keep that as a inside joke almost, both of them really goofy with eachother but she’s more shy/introverted in public

Love your writing 🥰

The older, The wiser - LN4

Masterlist

summary: she's only a few months older, but lando acts like she's ancient. it's their favorite inside joke, one they never explain to anyone. they're chaotic behind closed doors, but in public she stays quiet - until lando's soft obsession makes her the center of the paddock anyway.

warnings: introvert x extrovert dynamic, fluff, public shyness, private chaos, teasing, age jokes (playful), lando being completely smitten, soft affection, found comfort, established relationship

It started with the dumbest joke. You were five months older than him. That was it.

But Lando took it and ran like he'd discovered the fountain of eternal comedy. "You want me to get your slippers, grandma?" "Tell me again what the Great Depression was like." "Should I drive slower so your hip doesn't give out?"

You called him insufferable. He kissed your cheek and said, "You're older. Be mature."

The first time you met his team, he said it with a completely straight face. "She's wise," he told Zak. "Ancient. Practically prehistoric."

You smacked his shoulder. Andrea raised an eyebrow.

"She's twenty-six," Lando added solemnly. "But emotionally? Eighty-seven."

Zak just laughed and muttered, "She's gonna outlive all of us."

In private, you were unhinged together. Giggling at 2am in hotel rooms, wrestling for the last fry, leaving stupid love notes in his suitcase like "remember to moisturise, you're aging rapidly."

He made you laugh harder than anyone ever had. And you made him feel safe.

He said that once, after a long flight and a bad qualifying. "You're the only quiet I like," he mumbled into your neck.

In public, though, you were shy. Not cold. Just calm. Composed.

Lando would be cracking jokes in the paddock, bouncing between interviews and fans, and you'd trail behind, sunglasses on, polite smile, saying little.

The WAGs noticed. The press noticed. So did the fans. "Who's that?" "His girlfriend? Really?" "She's so quiet. She looks older." "Why does she never talk?"

It didn't bother Lando. But you heard it. And it stuck. Until one race weekend in Barcelona, when someone in the media pen made a joke about Lando's "mystery girlfriend."

"She's not mystery," he said flatly. "She's just smarter than all of you."

The interviewer blinked.

Lando grinned. "She's older. Wiser. She lets me talk so I can dig my own grave."

You laughed out loud from behind the camera.

The clip went viral. After that, the questions stopped. Because he answered all of them.

"My girlfriend? Yeah, she's introverted. But she's my favorite person in every room." "She's only older by a few months, but I call her my sugar mummy." "She keeps me from doing dumb shit. Most of the time." "She's the reason I sleep more than four hours now." "She's it. That's the whole answer."

You told him he didn't have to defend you. He shrugged. "I'm not defending," he said, curling a hand around your waist. "I'm bragging."

Then he kissed your shoulder and whispered, "Tell me again what it was like before the internet?"

You shoved him. He laughed like you were magic.

[octraiin]

── .✦ Sunday in Smallville - [Clark Kent]

FT: Clark Kent x reader

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, Clark Kent, brings you home to Smallville to meet his parents.

CW: none. fluff

Relaxing in your apartment and watching tv after work had become a comforting routine while you waited for your boyfriend, Clark, to get home.

The soft hum of the Metropolis news channel played in the background going on about Superman did this...Boravia has that, a familiar white noise. Suddenly, the jingle of keys at the door pulled you from your trance. A moment later, Clark’s heavy footsteps crossed through the door.

But instead of his usual warm 'Honey, I’m home!' or the sound of your name, you heard his voice, quiet and affectionate, speaking on the phone.

“Yes Ma, I know. Tell Pa I’ll come help him take care of it soon.”

You paused, listening in.

“Okay, Ma, I’m home now. I’ll call you tomorrow… Yes… Okay… Mhm… I’ll let her know… Okay love you Ma. Bye!”

Assuming he was off the phone, you called out. “Clark?”

He peeked his head around the corner while kicking his shoes off, spotting you on the couch. “Hey hun. How was work?”

“It was okay, same as usual” You paused. “Was that your mom?” You asked, gesturing toward his phone.

“Yeah” He replied while slipping off his suit jacket as he walked into the living room. “She was asking when I could come home and help out with a few things around the farm.” He tossed his jacket over the back of the chair before settling into the seat across from you, pulling at his collar and undoing the first few buttons on the white button-up he typically wore to work.

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly. “I want to meet her and your dad.”

Since you've been with Clark he always spoke so fondly about his parents and the memories he had growing up on the farm. You loved Clark, and you wanted to see the place, and the people, that shaped him into the man he is today.

Clark raised a brow slightly in surprise and slipped his glasses off, but his smile was immediate. “Really? Well… maybe we could drive up to Smallville this weekend. I can show you the farm.”

“Yes, that’d be amazing Clark!” You said with a happy smile spreading across your face.

“Okay, I’ll let Ma know we’re coming. We can head out in the morning."

He stood up and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking toward your shared bedroom.

On his way into the bedroom, Clark paused in the doorway and looked back at you.

“Y'know, every time she calls, she asks about you” he said with a soft smile. “They’re going to be so happy to finally meet you!”

With that, he disappeared into the dim light of the room, heading for a shower before bed. Shortly after, you follow him and slipped into your shared bed both nervous and excited for what tomorrow will bring.

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

You and Clark wake up bright and early the next day. He pulls on his signature farm boy flannel and a pair of worn jeans, looking like he was back doing work on the farm.

You, on the other hand, stand in front of the closet feeling unsure. You're meeting his parents for the first time but, you're also going to a farm.

“Clark! Come look. Is this okay?” You call out from the bedroom, raising your voice just enough to be heard over the sizzling coming from the kitchen.

Just a moment later, Clark walks in while wiping his hands on a dish towel. His eyes travel from your face to your feet and back up again. He exhales, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“Y/n, I promise it doesn’t matter what you wear. They’re gonna love you either way. You look beautiful.”

He steps forward, placing a gentle hand on your waist, then leans down to press a soft kiss on your lips. For someone so strong, he’s always been so gentle with you.

Pulling back, he teases, “Finish getting ready so we can eat and hit the road. Breakfast is almost done.”

He places one more kiss on your forehead before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving you standing in front of the mirror with your heart fluttering.

You take one last look at your outfit, deciding it’s fine, and step out to find your favourite breakfast and your favourite person waiting at the table. Clark looks up smiling and waves you over.

You sit down, and the two of you eat together, Clark chatting about Smallville, the farm, and the things he can’t wait to show you.

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

Clark packs up the car, and soon the two of you are on your way to Smallville. The drive is peaceful, the city slowly disappearing and turning into open fields, hills, and country roads. You gaze out the window, watching small towns and farmland pass by like pictures from a postcard.

Clark drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting gently on your thigh, a quiet, comforting presence.

After a while, a large sign comes into view, visibly weathering but nonetheless still welcoming:

"Welcome to Smallville- The Meteor Capital of the World!"

You read it out loud with a small laugh.

Clark grins. “Yep, we’ll be there soon!” He says, giving your leg a soft squeeze with the hand that never left you.

Shortly after, Clark begins to slow down, turning into a long dirt driveway. You spot a red mailbox at the entrance with 'Kent Farm' written in gold lettering. A sudden wave of nervousness settles in your stomach.

Clark parks beside an old truck, which you assume belongs to his dad. Before he can even take the keys out of the ignition, the front door bursts open.

Mrs. Kent rushes out onto the porch, apron fluttering behind her, with Mr. Kent close behind.

Clark glances over at you with a reassuring smile before opening his door and stepping out. You follow his lead.

“Clark! Oh, we missed you so much!” Mrs. Kent throws her arms around him in a tight embrace.

“We sure did, son.” Mr. Kent adds, staying back while waiting for his turn to hug his son.

After one last squeeze, Mrs. Kent releases Clark and turns to you, eyes bright and warm.

“Oh, Y/N, we’re so happy to finally meet you!” She says, pulling you into a hug just as tight and loving.

You smile into her shoulder, touched by the instant affection. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent.”

"Please just call me Ma, dear."

Clark watches, chuckling softly at the scene in front of him.

“Come, come inside. I want to show you the house!” Ma says eagerly, already ushering you toward the front door radiating excitement.

As the two of you disappear inside, Pa pats a hand on Clark’s shoulder.

“Good job son” he says with a proud smile, then adds, “Now let’s get to work. I need help in the barn.”

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

Inside the house, Ma takes you on a tour. It’s hard to miss all the pictures of Clark lining the walls. Each one capturing a different moment of his childhood. Missing teeth, birthday cakes, wide smiles.

“And this is Clark’s room!" She says warmly, opening a door near the end of the hallway.

You step inside, eyes scanning the space. Posters of The Mighty Crabjoys and the Metropolis Meteors hang proudly on the walls. There are framed photos of him with his friends from Smallville High, a shelf full of trophies, and his favourite books and comics stacked neatly on the nightstand. It’s all so personal. So unmistakably Clark Kent. You feel a surprising wave of emotion rise in your chest, touched by the glimpse into the boy he used to be.

Just then, a soft bark snaps you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes land on the bed, where a white dog is lying calmly, staring right back at you with curious eyes.

“And who’s this?” You ask playfully, glancing back at Ma.

“Oh, that’s Krypto!” She says with a smile. “He’s Clark’s dog. He’s been staying with us for a while. At least until you and Clark find a bigger apartment.”

You nod smiling, and walk over to the bed. You hold out your hand, letting Krypto sniff it. Instantly, he perks up, tail wagging as he begins licking your hand and jumping on you in excitement.

You giggle, crouching down to play with him just as a familiar voice speaks from behind.

“I see you’ve met Krypto” Clark says amused.

Krypto turns around and immediately jumps on him, barking happily.

“Hey buddy” Clark laughs, petting the excited dog.

Krypto, still in a playful mood, bites the edge of Clark’s shoe and starts tugging.

“Whoa what the hey dude!” Clark kneels down, now face to face with the dog and whispers, “Please, you can’t embarrass me in front of her.”

Krypto stops and Clark walks over to sit on the edge of the bed beside you.

You turn to Clark with a teasing smirk. “The Mighty CrabJoys? Really?” You say, nodding toward the old poster on his wall.

Clark throws his hands up defensively, a playful grin forming on his lips. “Hey, hey, hey! They’ve got good music. If you gave them a chance, I think you’d actually like them.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay” you laugh, shaking your head as you stand up to continue to explore the room. Your eyes land on a framed photo sitting on his shelf; A teenage Clark standing between a smiling blonde girl and a boy with an arm slung around his shoulder.

“Hey Clark? Who are they?” You ask, picking up the photo and bringing it over to him.

He takes a moment, a gentle expression on his face. “That’s Chloe, and that’s Pete. Haven’t heard from them in a while, but they were my best friends growing up.”

You nod, smiling, and carefully place the picture back where you found it. Then you sit down beside him on the bed.

“I’m really glad you brought me here, Clark.”

Clark smiles, a proud look in his eyes. “Yeah? Ma and Pa really like you.”

He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, clearing the view of your face. His eyes linger for a moment before he leans in and places a familiar, soft kiss on your lips.

You close your eyes, your hand rising instinctively to cup his cheek.

Then suddenly, the smell of something delicious drifts into the room, making your stomach growl.

“Clark! Y/N! Dinner’s ready!” Ma calls from the kitchen.

You both pull back from the kiss with a small, shared laugh. Standing up, you walk side by side out of Clark’s room, heading to the kitchen.

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

When you and Clark arrive at the table, Pa is already seated at the head, while Ma is pulling something fragrant from the oven. The table is covered in a spread of fresh, homemade food; Roasted vegetables, warm bread, mashed potatoes, and what looks like the crispiest fried chicken you’ve ever seen.

“Come on, have a seat” Pa says, gesturing to the empty chairs.

Clark slides into what you assume is his usual spot, and you take the seat directly across from him. Ma places the final dish on the table, then removes her apron, folding it neatly and setting it down on the counter before joining you all at the table.

“Go on, dig in! I hope you enjoy Y/n.” She says with a warm smile, motioning toward your empty plate.

“Thank you! It looks delicious.” You reply, smiling back as you pick up a fork from one of the platters and begin adding food to your plate.

You glance up and giggle, spotting Clark’s plate, already full to the brim. He’s sitting patiently, with a fork in hand, clearly waiting for everyone else before diving in.

“Someones hungry” You tease.

Clark grins. “What can I say? It’s been way too long since I’ve had Ma’s cooking.”

Laughter fills the room as the meal begins.

Ma and Pa trade stories over dinner, sharing fond memories of Clark as a child. Clark groans through it all, cheeks flushed, while everyone else laughs and enjoys the meal.

The comfortable hum of conversation is suddenly broken when Ma blurts out, “So, when are my grandbabies comin?” She wiggles her brows mischievously.

Clark nearly chokes on his food while Pa lets out a low chuckle. You can’t help but smile.

“Ma, please” Clark mutters, shaking his head as he shovels another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“I was just askin” Ma says innocently, then leans in and very quietly whispers, “When are you gonna get her a ring?”

Clark lifts his head, pretending he didn't hear what she said as if he doesn't have superhuman hearing. “...What was that, Ma?”

“Oh, nothin” She says sweetly, smiling as she returns to her meal.

You glance at Clark, both of you trying to suppress shy smiles, a light blush colouring your cheeks.

When dinner is finished, Clark and Pa clear the table while you settle into the living room with Ma, cozy in front of the fireplace, flipping through old photo albums.

“Oh look! Here’s Clark on his sixth birthday!” She exclaims, pointing to a photo of little Clark with cake smeared all over his face and shirt.

You laugh, “Aww, he’s so cute.”

From the kitchen, Clark calls out, “Ma, stop showing her photos please!”

But she doesn’t stop.

“Here he is learnin how to ride a bike... Oh! And this one, his first-”

“Ma…” Clark walks into the room cutting her off and plops down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“It’s okay Clark. You were adorable” You tease, grinning up at him.

“Were? Past tense?” He asks, pretending to be wounded.

“...You still are Clark” You say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Ma laughs. “Alright, I’ll let you two be. I’ll go help Pa with the dishes.”

She rises and disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Clark stands and offers his hand. “Come on I wanna show you around outside.”

You slip on your shoes and grab a sweater, fingers intertwined with his as he leads you out into the cool evening air. The sun is just beginning to set behind distant hills, casting everything in an orange glow.

Clark walks slowly, matching your pace. The gravel crunches softly beneath your feet.

“To the right’s the garden” He says, gesturing toward a patch of land fenced with worn wood. Rows of vegetables growing in neat lines, swaying gently in the breeze. “Ma still grows everything from scratch. She says food tastes better when you know where it comes from.”

You nod, smiling, as he leads you past an old wooden gate toward the chicken coop. A few hens cluck, pecking at the ground, while one particularly bold one stares at you.

Clark chuckles, giving the hen a knowing nod. “Don’t mess with her.”

You laugh, enjoying the way Clark slips right back into his roots here. You can see it in the way his shoulders relax and he moves more at ease.

As you walk around the side of the barn, Clark points out an old rusting red tractor.

“That thing only starts when Pa talks to it” He says with a grin. “I swear I’ve seen him have full conversations with it.”

The barn stands ahead, large, its wood weathered from the years. Fireflies begin to flicker in the grass as the sun sets further.

“I used to hang out up here all the time” Clark says, leading you to a set of worn stairs just inside the barn.

You follow him up to the loft, the boards creaking under your steps. The space is simple, but it’s filled with character. An old couch, a stack of comic books on a crate, and in the corner by the window, a telescope aimed at the sky.

“I didn’t know you liked looking at the stars” You say, approaching the telescope.

“Yeah” Clark says quietly, stepping beside you. “I used to come up here at night and just stare at the sky. As a kid I always hoped I’d find more pieces of where I came from. I guess I just found it comforting knowing that I used to be up there with the rest of the stars.”

You look at him, a tender feeling in your chest.

“Well” You say softly. “I’m really glad you ended up here.”

Clark meets your gaze, and for a long moment, neither of you say a word. In the middle of that quiet barn loft, surrounded by memories, he reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently.

“Here I wanna show you something cool.” Clark says suddenly, letting go of your hand as he reaches up toward the ceiling of the loft.

You watch as he pulls down a wooden ladder and pushes open a hatch that creaks in the night air. A gentle breeze rushes in.

“Follow me. It’s okay.” He says with a soft smile before climbing up the ladder with ease.

You hesitate just a second, then follow, carefully climbing the ladder. When you reach the top, your head pokes through the hatch and your breath catches.

You're on the roof of the barn.

Clark is already standing there, lit by the stars, as he turns to offer you his hand.

You take it, and with one gentle pull, he helps you up beside him.

“So” He says, with a certain spark in his eyes, “what do you think?”

You turn slowly, taking in the view. From here, you can see the entire Kent Farm. The glowing windows of the house in the distance, the fields stretching out, and the silhouette of the barn casting long shadows against the grass.

“It’s beautiful” You whisper.

Clark squeezes your hand and gently leads you to lie back on the roof beside him. You settle into the cool metal, shoulder to shoulder, gazing up at the sky.

“Clark” You say softly, turning your head to look at him. “I’m just really happy to be here. I feel like I’ve learned a whole new side of you.”

He turns to meet your gaze, a thoughtful smile on his lips.

“Yeah” He murmurs. “Everything I am started right here. I'm glad I could share it with you Y/n”

You and Clark lay there, side by side, your fingers intertwined beneath a sky full of stars, surrounded by the place that shaped the man you love.

WC: 3.1k

[yandereduckie]

Okay okay, hear me out, WHAT IF, we pair this with a Silver Age Joker, AKA just a Prankster silly lil guy, and a Harley who joined him out of spit and the two are gay best friends like in LEGO Batman, and they're both the right and left hands of the Big Bad Bat?!

Loving it, right? Now, keep up with me!

They're his right and left hands, BUT, they think Bruce is actually up to be a hero, and is just trying to have a different approach.

Soooo, we could have Dr. Doof Batman being actually good with schemes and such, very genius very intelligent, but who has a huge inability to villain, and every time he even comes close to actually doing something bad, he either gives up because "that's far too mean!!" or else Harley or Joker, AKA Jack his real name, surname Napier, stop him at the last moment and even then they still think he's trying to hero and just got a lil carried away in his act and that's fine, Bruce, really! Everyon makes mistakes, don't worry, we are here to make sure u stay in line! That's our job after all!

And then when Dick and the other kids arrive, Jack and Harleen are super excited to be the best aunt and uncle (or mom and other dad if you want to put them in a polycue with Bruce, I know there are a lot of fans who can't decide on a ship so they resort to polyamory, I don't judge, I admit I did it once) possible!! So they teach the kids how to hero, and the kids kind of get caught in that light gray morality.

We can get Bruce to accidentally help JL with their plans because "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?? NO NO, NOT LIKE THAT, YOU HAVE TO DO THIS AND THAT, OTHERWISE EVERYONE HERE WILL BE EXPLODED TO DIE, HAL." and against his will be seen as a part-time member, and then we do the same with Dick and the Titans and Tim and the YJ.

I think Jason would be the same crime lord as always, just without dying because, you know, uncle (pops) Jack would never hurt him! In this AU, he would take the name Red Hood from Jack, almost like Dick did with Nightwing because of Clark. I can totally imagine Jack Silver Joker reading a bedtime story to little Jaybin and that story is Little Red Riding Hood. But he improvises and makes Little Red a girlboss who takes the hunter's gun and finishes off the wolf herself. It would take YEARS for Jason to discover that his comfort story isn't actually like that and that the girl isn't so badass at all b-bUT IN HIS HEART THIS IS THE REAL AND TRUE VERSION, OKAYU?!?!

Duke would never have his parents joked and such, but maybe they're gone because of another incident, so he gets yoinked to the family by Harley and goes out during the day being a hero but hides it from Bruce with "Oh yeah, B, watch me help this old lady cross the street and carry her stuff, holding up traffic and making people late for their jobs! yeah, pretty evil", and "Yeah B, I helped the little girl get her cat back down from the tree, I stole a ladder for that instead of using my own equipment! So selfish and arrogant, evil!" or even "B, I just jumped on top of a masked guy running from the gang with bags of money! It must have taken him so long to get that much money and now I've gotten in his way! He even went to the police because of it! Yes! Super duper evil, are you proud of me?"

Steph is just getting in touch with her inner gremlin and making Joker proud when Spoiler makes a giant bomb of degradable glitter explode in a toxic company's factory! No one(innocent) is hurt, the polluting factory is shut down, the employees get sick leave so they can rest, and the glitter decorates everything without making the pollution worse, since it seems Harley is trying to pull Ivy into their family.

I have so many ideas for this, as most of the batfam thinks they are anti-heroes with chaotic gray morality, while the JL, Titans, YJ, Jack, Harley and even Jason (oddly enough) think they are just very chaotic heroes, and a few, AKA only Bruce and Dick, think they are real actual villains.

It’s always “evil Superman!!!!” this, or “villain justice league!!!” that.

I want an AU of villain! Bruce who’s absolutely dog-shit at being evil.

Firstly: The worst thing he can think of doing is not donating to animal shelters or charities . immediately feels so guilty he throws up.

Secondly: The second a child cries because of him, he’d freeze up. Stand like a statue, unmoving and petrified. No more evil, but just today.

He ends up helping the city by accident more often than not, and to his immortal disappointment, Gotham loves both the Bat and Bruce Wayne.

“alfred come look at my evil plan”

“Yes, sir, “ Alfred is very indulgent. He does his best to pretend it’s actually good. “ ‘Don’t say please to the barista’. Getting bold, are we?”

EVERYTIME He and Clark meet and Bruce monologues about pulverizing him to dust, Clark (and the League) looks at him like this:

“I can make him worse,” GOOD FOR YOU!!! Clark can make him into his malewife and adopt his 7 evil sidekicks who actually know how to villain. Especially the little one.

[my-castles-crumbling]

brew - jegulus - trans!regulus - implied future mpreg - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 425

“Remind me while we’re out to pick up more dried nettles,” James said conversationally, moving to sit next to Regulus, who was relaxing on their oversized couch. “We need to brew more of your Potion.”

“Hm,” Regulus hummed in agreement, pretending to continue reading the book he was staring at, but really panicking internally at what he was about to say. “Yes, I’m almost out.”

“I noticed,” James chuckled, leaning to press a kiss to Regulus’s curly hair, completely oblivious to his husband’s plight. “Don’t want to run out and have any surprises, do we?”

While the taller man laughed at his own joke, Regulus stayed quiet, willing himself to bring up the persistent thought that had plagued him for weeks, now. It was only James’s pause and awkward, self-conscious question that made him actually brave enough to speak. 

“Er…Reg? Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird,” James said nervously, eyes wide. “You know I don’t mean anything by it, right?”

Oh, this man. He worked so hard to make Regulus to feel good about himself. To make sure he felt comfortable, and that his dysphoria was minimized all the time.

Regulus wanted everything with him.

“What if we don’t pick up the nettles?” he asked softly, looking up into James’s eyes.

The man laughed. “Er…well, then we can’t brew the potion, which would be a bit bad. Dunno how your sex ed went, but my mum drilled into my head that the pull-out method’s not–”

He cut himself off, and for a moment, Regulus hoped that he got it.

But then– “Oh! If you wanna go off it, we can see if I can take something? Or…Muggle condoms?” he grimaced. “Though I’ve heard those aren’t a hundred percent. Let me talk to my healer, okay? I’ll take something, not to worry, love, I–”

Regulus sighed. “No, James. I mean neither of us takes anything. Or uses condoms. No pulling out, either.”

“Well, then you could get pregnant, love,” James said patiently, like Regulus was the one who was missing something big.

He let air out through his nose and hoped to Merlin that their future spawn would get his brains. “That would be the point, yes.”

But it was almost magical, to see the way James’s expression morphed from confusion to utter wonder. “Reg,” he whispered, voice almost pleading. “Don’t–don’t fuck with me, here. You’re…you actually want…?”

He nodded, tears filling his eyes, not trusting himself to speak.

So instead of going shopping for nettles, they stayed home, and started…planning…for a baby.

(Note- not all ftm people want to/can carry babies and that's vaild)

[pellucid-constellations]

Azriel drabble request…a drunken night at Rita’s and Azriel gets a confession from y/n that he’d been hoping to hear…a very slurred confession but one non the less

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 460

Warnings: Drinking

a/n: I always love a drunk character fic lol <3 Thank you for the request :) I'm having a little drabble spree on my blog!!

____________________________________________

"I love you," you grinned, head lolling to the side of the booth, only for Azriel to gently correct it.

He ignored the slight pang in his chest as he processed your words. You said them often. You said them to everyone. He was used to the way they easily rolled off your tongue, and that was especially true when you were drunk.

"I love you, too," he replied anyway. The room was dark and loud and no one could see how sickeningly in love with you he was. How he stared at you, backlit by purple and red strobe lights, and nothing but pure adoration shone. Your hair was a mess and your skin glistened and he wanted you to mean the words, but he would take them, nonetheless.

"Noooo," you sang, giggling and poking a finger against Azriel's cheek. "You don't get it, spymaster."

Your voice took a mockingly serious tone when you spoke his title, brows lowering. Azriel stifled his smile behind an amused look and captured your hand in his, holding it against his chest to keep it occupied.

"What don't I get?" he tried.

You bit into your bottom lip in glee. "That I love you!"

"And I said I love you, y/n."

You tried to roll your eyes, but the action was too disorienting, and you ended up with your head against Azriel's chest. He leaned back in the booth and shifted to accommodate the space, supporting your body as you swayed and stared up at the ceiling.

"You never get what I mean," you almost whined, words slightly blurring together.

Azriel hummed softly, content to have you close. He gently ran his hand along your forehead, sweeping your hair back. "Explain it to me, then."

"Well," you huffed, playing with his fingers that had wrapped around your hip. "I love you, Azriel. Love love you, all the way. Not like everyone else."

Something stalled inside of him, froze. He felt paralyzed by the slurred words echoing in his head, and then he was reminded that they were slurred. This wasn't a confession, not really.

He gave you grace, attempting to relax his body and offer you the small comforts you were used to from him—a hand in your hair, a brush of his fingers, a soft humming if you couldn't sleep.

"You're drunk," Azriel concluded, easing the accusation by fixing your sleeve and brushing the material down.

You only groaned and threw your hands up, letting them fall harshly in your lap. "See! You never listen to me. I'm not even drunk. Ask me tomorrow if you're so insistent."

And Azriel would ask you tomorrow. But for now, he would listen for your breath to even out, and then he would carry you home.

[maikorian]

DIMPLES GALORE! - CLARK KENT

summary: in your defense, Clark's dimples are too adorable for you to not bite.

warning: biting? fluffy goodness cause we need more of that

authors note: I did not expect for my last fic to blow up. thank you guys so much for the support! my writers block suddenly disappears whenever I see superman content so expect to see more fics about him from me!

word count: 1.1k

The first thing you were greeted with when you opened your eyes was the light from the rising sun. Its light casting a soft orange glow in the room as it shines through the tall windows of the room. The sheer white curtains did nothing to soften its glow.

It's truly a beautiful sight. But what you saw next is better.

A sleeping giant cuddled up next to you. Clark has both arms loosely wrapped around your body. His leg tossed over yours to pull you closer. Its almost impossible to get out of his hold. At this point you're basically a bolster for him to hold and cuddle anytime he wanted.

One of the plus sides of sleeping with Clark– besides the fact that you actually get to sleep next to him – is how unbelievably warm he is. He runs hot without fail. It's heaven sent during the winter but an absolute nightmare during summer. You've had to lock yourself in the guest room so you didn't end up melting because of how hot his body is.

Thankfully, the weather is in between summer and winter. A perfect balance of the two.

Your eyes glaze over every single feature of his face. He has sharp yet soft features. It's difficult for you to describe it. He looks like a Greek god in your eyes. Curly black hair, deep blue eyes and your most favorite part, his dimples.

My god are his dimples adorable. You can't count the amount of times you've wanted to poke them. Whenever he smiles or frowns or makes any sort of expression, his dimples become more obvious. If you could, you'd spent hours admiring them.

Even when he's sleeping like this you can see his dimples. He looks so relaxed. Definitely a rare sight. There wasn't any villain or monster trying to destroy Metropolis for the hundredth time. No work deadlines that he has to finish as soon as possible. It's just you and him here.

With a little squirming, you managed to maneuver your hand over to his face. Your fingers gently tracing his face. You never press down too hard, scared as if he might break at the gentlest touch even though you knew that not even bullets could break through his skin. Maybe it's because you don't want to wake him up. Not when he looks this comfortable.

Your fingers stop at his dimples. You have to stop and stare at it for a few seconds. You knew you shouldn't. But they were just right there! You never understood why some girls liked to bite their boyfriends but now you definitely understood why. That urge to just bite down on his dimples was getting stronger the longer you let it fester in your heart.

He'd find you weird. Maybe? Maybe not? He's seen you do weirder things. It's not like you haven't bit him before. You've playfully bit his biceps and neck before. He didn't mind it. You made sure to ask by asking him over and over. You got the same answer every single time.

“I don't mind if you bite me. Its kinda cute as well.”

Those words echoed loudly in your head. As well as the words ‘do it!’. A tiny little bite won't hurt him. Shifting closer to him, you lifted yourself up so you were right where you needed to be. Your hand on his shoulder to support your body. This was one of the rare chances you were presented with. It's not everyday that you wake up before Clark.

You stared down at him with a determined expression. Darn his cute dimples for making you act this way.

“Here goes nothing…” With one swift movement, you leaned down and finally chomped down onto Clark's cheek. You weren't biting too hard, just a light one. Your teeth were barely digging into his skin. Though you were tempted to sink down a little more.

You can't believe that you were doing this but you can't help yourself anymore. He's just so cute with his dimples and everything. It didn't help that his cheeks were soft like marshmallows. Chewy like them too.

“Out of all the ways you could wake me up, this is a new one…” You stiffened up when you heard Clark's morning voice. The deep and rough one that had you melting under him instantly. When you met his gaze, Clark was staring at you with an unimpressed look. You still had your teeth on his cheek, still biting down on his dimples.

Neither of you spoke a single word but the silence already spoke a thousand words. He had this lazy smile on his face as he admired you. His hand that was on your waist moving to your lower back, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

You sneakily tried to bite down a bit harder just to mess with him, only to be met with some resistance. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Bad sunshine…” His hand shifted towards the nape of your neck and carefully pulled you back. It was like grabbing a cat by the nape of their neck. All the while you just stared at him with a pout on your lips. You looked as if you did no wrong. Completely innocent and not trying to sink your teeth into your boyfriend's dimples.

“Morning, hun’.” You innocently spoke with a grin on your face. “Did you sleep well?”

Clark rolled his eyes at you playfully. “Well I was but then a certain somebody decided to bite my cheek.” His hand loosening its hold on you and he instead brought you closer to him. You instantly buried your face into his chest. Melting at the warmth and comfort you felt under his touch.

“I was aiming for your dimples.” You murmured, your fingers poking at the dimple again. “Couldn't resist biting you.” Clark merely raised an eyebrow at your words. He wasn't surprised by this at all. He's seen the way you look at his dimples when you think he isn't looking.

“Oh really? I hope you're glad to know you were right on target.” Soft giggles slipped past your lips as Clark leaned closer. His lips peppering soft kisses all over your face. Each and every single kiss is filled with love for you. “C-Clark! I'm ticklish~” Clark didn't stop a second despite your words. He liked hearing you laugh.

“Hi ticklish, I'm Clark.” That stupid dad joke of his was met by an annoyed groan by you. “I walked right into that, didn't I?” You huffed. You should've expected this. Happy Clark also tended to be jokester Clark.

Clark simply smiled at your huffing. Cheeks puffing out like balloons. Cute, he thought. “You like my dimples that much?” He asked. “Yeah, I do. It makes you look so squishy and pretty.” You continued to stare at the dimples with a longing look. You wanted to bite him again.

“I'm not letting you bite me again.”

“I wasn't going to!”

[snail-day]

You’re not sure how you even ended up in this mess or why you deserve to be in this sort of mess. One moment you were having some floor time in the living room, mindlessly stretching and watching your silly little comfort show, and the next - bam. You’re flat on your back with an oof, limbs splayed, trapped beneath your boyfriend’s stupidly thick, muscular thighs, arms pinned above your head as a familiar, cocky smirk looms over you.

“Pay attention,” Suguru sang so softly as you writhed around in his grip, spouting curses as he presses the sweetest kiss to your lips. “Self-defense. For when I’m not around to protect you.”

Which is absolutely ridiculous. Because Suguru is always around. Tracking your location is part of his morning routine (he swears he's going to therapy for his control issues). But now, for whatever deranged reason, he’s decided to play the role of an attacker, and it’s so not fair when he looks like so pretty and sinful.

His dark hair is pulled up into a lazy bun, messy strands falling into his violet eyes as he looms over you. A black compression shirt spans across his broad chest after his run, every inch of muscle displayed like some sick temptation. His sweatpants rolled around his hips. His thighs - god, his thighs - caging you in tightly. You're pretty sure they could crush your head if you asked him nicely.

You swear he’s smirking harder the longer you stare.

“C’mon, baby,” he purrs, voice low and warm as it curls along your spine. Taunting. His broad finger tips tap your thigh once, twice, before pushing your leg into an awkward angle. “What if I was a killer, hm? What would you do?”

You squirm under him, already breathless and completely frustrated by your boyfriend's antics. “I’d scream.”

A lazy grin spreads across his lips. His eyes narrow like he’s savoring your reaction, leaning in until his breath fans across your ear.

“Scream louder,” he whispers, cruel and sweet. “Killers love a chase.”

You freeze, heat flaring under your skin, and, of course, he feels it. He groans a little, delighted, as if it’s your fault for reacting. Then he rolls his hips forward, slow and heavy, pinning you down more firmly, the hardness of the floor digging into your spine, just to watch you squirm.

“Try to escape, sweet girl,” he murmurs into a smug grin. Blowing you a quick kiss before smiling a bit wider. “You’ve got ten seconds before I decide what to do with that cute body of yours.”

He’s joking…Probably?

“Eight seconds,” he sighs, mockingly disappointed with a pout. “You gonna let the big bad man win?”

“You’re insane,” you hiss. Doing anything to get out of his grip, but his thighs press in tighter causing you to gasp when they pinch your sides.

“And you’re pinned,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your collarbone “Wanna try that leg move I showed you a few days ago? Or should I just keep playing the villain, baby?”

Eventually, when you’re panting and flushed and so done with his weird killer roleplay, you throw him the most unamused glare you can muster.

He just laughs or it's more like a giggle.

Like the “hehe” kind. The sound is so soft and boyish, you almost forget he plays the villain roll a little too well.

“Were you scared?” he whispers, lips brushing yours as he pulls you into his lap causing your stomach to flutter. Gently shifting you until you’re straddling him, arms wrapped snugly around your waist. “Did I make my baby all nervous?”

You blink at him, frowning. “Wait. Actually. Are you okay? Why are you so good at pretending to be a serial killer?”

He shrugs. Kisses your cheek a few times, warm little pecks. “Dunno. Just imagined someone touching you without my permission. Got into character.”

He’s definitely a little insane, he’s showering you with kisses, lips brushing over your jaw, your nose, your mouth, murmuring praises between every one.

“Did so good for me.” Kiss

“My brave girl.” Kiss

“Gonna teach you that escape again tomorrow. Gotta keep you safe, baby.” Kiss

And he says it like he means it. Convinced that he has to protect you from the entire world. Like even this little game of pretend wasn’t just about fun, but about preparing you for any threat that wasn’t him. As if he's convinced you'd die without his protection.

So you sigh, melt into his chest, and mutter, “You’re a freak.”

Suguru grins, arms tightening around you, a sweet look in his eyes. “Just protecting my baby girl.”

You almost don't want to ask what he'd be willing to do if someone got their hands on you.

[sereia4skz]

Hi!! Congrats on 2k followers! 🤩 I feel like I just followed you and you were just celebrating 1k. (Or maybe I just found that stuff first and followed then 😂)

Can I request a drabble or a one-shot of Changbin x f!reader? He starts feeling attracted to her but is so worried he may hurt her because of his strength, that he makes sure to never mention it. And maybe it gets so bad that he leaves the room/area if she is also there and just he can't ignore the urges, maybe even starts to actively avoid her. Until she corners him and (gently) demands why, thinking she accidentally did something to offend him and wants to fix whatever went wrong. And when she finally figures it out, she still offers to help relieve some of that tension 😏 you know, since she's there to help take care of them and all...

And maybe one of the others almost catches them just because Changbin is just so dang loud 😅

Thank you hon! And congratulations again!!

-⚡️anon (hopefully no one else has taken that emoji yet)

2k Followers Event | too much, too big?

pairing: changbin x fem!reader

synopsis: big, strong oni scared of hurting his princess with his affections

warnings: oni!changbin, soft smut, hurt/comfort, size kink, little voyeur (hyunjin)

event masterlist: #2kShootingStars

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AN: that emoji works heheh

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Changbin has stopped sitting beside you. You notice it slowly, like the ache after a bruise blooms. A shift in shadows. A lack of warmth at your shoulder when the nights grow cold.

He still laughs too loudly in the communal space. Still chops wood like it insulted him. Still gets sulky when Jeongin hides his favorite mug. But if you enter a den, he leaves it. If you ask him a question, he answers without looking up. If you catch his gaze, it drops to the floor. His hand never brushes yours anymore. His voice never dips into that private tone it used to save just for you.

At first you thought you’d imagined it. Now you think you made a mistake. Somehow.

He used to carve you little charms, clumsy and sweet, tucked under your tea cup or pillow, left by the door when you had hard days. You haven’t found one in weeks. It hurts more than it should. And it’s worse today.

You’re elbow-deep in the herb shed, re-shelving dried roots, when Changbin walks in with a crackle of heat and tension, and instantly goes still. You watch him. He watches the floor. And then, without a word, he turns and walks back out.

That’s it. You wipe your hands on your apron, march out after him, and catch him before he can vanish into the trees.

“Changbin.”

He stops. His shoulders rise with the breath he drags in, heavy and reluctant.

You catch up and step in front of him, planting yourself between him and his favorite escape path. 

“What is going on?” you demand, more gentle than angry, but still firm. “Did I do something? Say something wrong? Did I cross a line I didn’t see?”

His eyes finally meet yours. They’re burning. Not angry but wild, like fire that’s fought too long against damp wood.

“No,” he says, too quickly. “No. You didn’t. You’re fine.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

He doesn’t argue. That almost hurts more.

“I miss you, Binnie,” you whisper.

He winces. Actually winces.

“I’m too much,” he mutters. “That’s the problem.”

Your breath catches. 

He lifts a hand and runs it over his horns, frustrated, ashamed. “I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to keep a distance. That’s all.”

“Why?” Your voice cracks. “Because you think you’ll hurt me?”

“I know I will.”

His voice is low. Raw. “You don’t understand. Every time you smile at me, I can barely breathe. Every time you touch me, I think about touching back, and I don’t know how to be gentle enough. I can punch through trees. I split a mountain open. I’m-I’m not built for soft things.”

“You are,” you say instantly. “You are soft. You’re gentle, and warm, and-”

“You make me want too much,” he says, choking on it. “And I can’t. I won’t risk it. You deserve someone who doesn’t have to hold back every second they’re near you just to keep from ruining everything.”

You reach up, cup his face. His breath stutters. His cheeks burn.

“Then don’t hold back,” you murmur. “Or if you have to… let me help you.”

His eyes widen.

“I’m here to take care of all of you,” you say, leaning in. “All your aches. All your tension. Even the ones you don’t ask for help with.”

His chest heaves. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I do,” you say. “And I want you.”

Something inside him snaps.

His hands, big, rough, trembling, catch your waist like you’re a lifeline, but he still hesitates.

You reach up, touching his jaw, and feel how tightly it’s clenched. “Binnie,” you whisper, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” he breathes, but it’s not a threat, it’s a warning. A plea. He tries to step back.

You tug him closer. Your fingers trail down his arms, feeling the raw strength in them. His biceps jump beneath your touch. His hands twitch where they hover at your hips, like he doesn’t dare settle them there. But you guide him. Let him feel the way you arch into his grip, not away from it.

“You’ve never hurt me,” you say, softer now, lips brushing his. “Even when you wanted to.”

His breath stutters. His forehead drops to yours.

“I think about it too much,” he says, voice cracking. “How it would feel to have you under me. Wrapped around me. Crying because I’m too deep and you love it… Fuck, I think about it and I want to lose control,”

You’re already wet. You swallow and take his wrists, guiding his hands beneath your shirt. His fingers flex once, then still.

“Then lose it,” you murmur. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop. But I trust you.”

That’s what undoes him. He growls, low and guttural, and lifts you like you’re nothing, one arm under your thighs, the other tight around your back, and your spine presses into a tree as he mouths hungrily at your neck.

“Too soft,” he mutters between kisses. “Too small. You’re gonna break.”

“Then break me.” 

His claws dig into the bark behind your head. “Fuck.”

Your clothes come off in pieces, pulled and pushed and peeled away with a desperation that makes your head spin. His eyes drink in every new inch of skin like it’s proof you’re real, and really his.

He sinks to his knees again, this time without hesitation, huge shoulders parting your legs as he hooks one over his shoulder. You gasp at the sudden exposure. He breathes in deep and shudders.

“So fucking sweet,” he whispers. “You smell like want.” Then he drags his tongue up your slit in one long, filthy lick and groans.

Your fingers fly to his hair, tangling instinctively, and his claws grip your thighs to keep you steady. Even with one arm under your ass, he’s holding you up like it takes no effort at all. His tongue is thick and hot and relentless, circling your clit, dipping inside, then back to your clit again until your thighs are trembling and your eyes roll.

“You’re dripping,” he growls, voice muffled. “Fucking soaking for me.”

You choke on a moan. “I- fuckyes, yes, Binnie,”

He groans again. His horns press against your inner thighs now, spreading you open for him. His mouth is wild. He’s wild.

And still, every time your breath stutters too hard, or your hips jerk too much, he pauses, looks up like he’s checking if you’re okay.

You grab his face, desperate. “More.”

His restraint snaps. He stands again, mouth and chin soaked, and slams his lips to yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. His hand shoves between your legs, fingers thick and hot, spreading your slick as he presses one inside, and God, he’s big.

Your gasp turns into a high whine. His brow furrows. “Too much?”

“No!” You grind against his hand. “Just.. more.”

He adds another. Your jaw drops. His fingers stretch you wide and he’s not even trying. His thumb brushes your clit and you jerk in his arms.

“Shit,” he whispers, watching your face. “You feel so fucking good, look at you. Taking my fingers like you were made for them.”

His voice drops to a growl, right against your ear. “Think you can take my cock?”

You whimper. “Want it, need it.”

He groans like it hurts. You only realize how long he’s been hard when he finally frees himself, thick, flushed, massive in his palm. He strokes once, then lines himself up, panting against your throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again. “But I can’t wait anymore.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper, “Then don’t wait.”

The stretch burns. He goes slow at first, inch by inch, burying his face in your neck and whimpering, the demon is whimpering, because you’re so tight, so hot, and trying so hard to take him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel like heaven. Shit- Too much. Can’t stop-”

You’re sobbing by the time he bottoms out. Not from pain, not quite, but the overwhelming fullness. You’ve never felt like this before, so stretched, so completely owned by the weight and length of him.

“Tell me,” he pants, “tell me if it’s too much, I’ll pull out, I swear-”

Your voice is a wreck. “Don’t you dare.”

He makes a desperate, ruined sound, and fucks into you. The tree behind you shakes with every thrust. Your back scrapes bark, your moans turn ragged, and your legs are locked tight around his waist. He grinds deep, slow at first, then faster as your nails dig into his shoulders and you scream his name.

“Taking me so well,” he groans. “You’re so small, baby, look at you, stuffed full-”

Somewhere not far, closer than either of you realize, a low rustle of branches stills. Rooted behind a cluster of mossy ferns, the forest hears everything. 

He doesn’t even mean to look, but he catches one glimpse through the trees. You. Writhing. Arms around Changbin’s neck. A flash of teeth and sweat and flushed skin. Changbin’s back flexed, hips moving.

Hyunjin yelps. Out loud. Then bolts.

His foot snaps a branch as he crashes through the undergrowth like a deer in mating season.

Back in the clearing, Changbin freezes mid-thrust.

“…Did you hear that?” he pants.

You blink, dazed. “Don't stop…” you whine.

He grins. “Not planning to,” before picking up his movement again.

He presses a hand to your belly, eyes wide. “I can feel myself inside you. Holy fuck!”

You sob. Your orgasm crashes hard, suddenly, and shattering. Your body clenches so tight around him that he gasps, stutters, then slams deep again and cums, loud, brutal, holding you as his hips stutter and pulse.

Even after, he doesn’t move for a long time. He keeps you close. Keeps whispering that you’re okay, that he’s sorry, that he loves the way you feel, the way you held him, the way you looked falling apart.

Your thighs ache. Your pussy pulses, wrecked and overfilled. And you feel safer than you ever have.

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

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[mary-laib]

Not only that, but if you think the ladies are super at risk at getting raped, sexually harrassed, or murdered while working as strippers? Guess what? This also happens to women in literally every job ever. STEM jobs and military jobs are some of the most high risk jobs for women. The most statistically likely place a woman is to get murdered in not at her home, but at her job! Almost every place that employs people will have anti-sexual harrassment training because guess what? Even though women aren't dressing, acting, or being put in sexual positions for their jobs, people will still sexually harrass or abuse women given the chance! It's almost like we live in a society that harms women of every walk of life and yet expects women to shy away from turning their lemons into lemonade and making a buck out of that system. It's almost like these so-called "sympathizers" of sex workers actually don't care about women until they're doing something that goes against what they believe women should be comfortable!

"It's so fucked up women have to do sex work to survive" so trueee it's so fucked up we live in a capitalist society where you need to do work you don't want to do just to be alive. I'm so glad we're talking about ALL the jobs that are forced onto people, especially women, that are full of harassment. Thank God we're not just focusing on jobs that are already heavily stigmatized and shaming women for doing what's necessary to survive, even though every single person has to do that but for some reason it's immoral when it's a stripper instead of a fast food employee