#love u ...

[peanutalergy]

cologne - c.k.

at least leave the scent of your cologne (i'm not done yet. please kiss my neck. let's go for another round.)

or the one where clark kisses you better after a long long night and turns you into putty around his fingers

tags: fluffy smut !!! mdni !! soft dom!clark; fingering, oral (f!receiving) after mentioned pinv and other previous orgasms; a few bruises/marks but it's nothing that serious, clark's worried he hurt r but he didn't, she's fine dw (seriously it's repeated disgustingly often); i think overstim? also vaguely mentioned bed humping ? idk what that was about; clark is lowkey compared to god i am not going to heaven . . . title and quote from cologne - beabadoobee

w/c: 2.3k words of filth written during peak ovulation at 4am

a/n: this is just a phase it's just a phase it's just a phase i am not turning into a dc girl i refuse to become a superhero girl. anyway im going insane i had to do something my obsession with this man was getting out of hand. really really terribly written btw like everything else i've ever made.

“You okay?”

You blink as you force your brain out of the syrupy haze you'd been swimming in, fingers stilling where they had been tracing mindless patterns across his bare chest for the past… however many minutes. Time’s stopped meaning much. You drag your eyes across his neck (admittedly more slowly than needed and not remotely shy about it) and up to the smiling face that stares right back at you.

Tilting your head to the side, you allow yourself to get lost in the sight and you don't take his laugh as anything close to mocking.

His face is kissed with sweat and heat and something that can only be described as pure adoration for the recipient of his smile. An unknowing woman would've taken the pants and sighs in his breath for overexertion (because a lesser man would be exhausted after [insert number here — you lost count] rounds) but you see the hint of a glimmer in his eyes for what it is.

You know he could go on for another hour or two or twenty-four, and you're only still right now because he insisted that you take a break. Only one of the two is super human (spoiler alert: it's not you).

Clark moves to tuck a strand of your damp, frizzy hair behind an ear with a tenderness that shouldn't be allowed to coexist with what he just did to you, before resting his calloused hand on top of your still trembling, perfectly manicured one. “Honey?”

“Hm?” you blink again, resisting the urge to keep staring at his lips for at least one conversation.

“Are you okay?” he echoes, half of his face still curled into a smirk while the other one furrows in soft concern, like his mind's already running through worst-case scenarios. Like your silence made him fear he'd broken you (which — fair).

“Mhm,” and a nod. “‘m perfect.”

He looks all over your face as if trying to see any squint or furrow that says otherwise. Because he doesn't really trust your own judgment after that time you underestimated your fatigue just to get another one out of him. Though it was just that one time. Once.

Not finding any (for real, this time) signs, he hums, leans up for a tiny, too chaste peck onto your lips, and pulls away too early for your liking. He huffs out a laugh when you pout at him, then presses a kiss to your cheek. And your other cheek. Then your nose, your forehead, your jaw — like he can't choose one to spend the rest of his life within. Soon enough you're mumbling into his mouth again.

“C'mere, not done yet.”

“Oh, yeah?” he laughs.

He can fly to the moon and it still isn't as impressive as the ease with which he gets you like this. One second, you're just about caught up to reality again — normal breaths and a less worrying heartbeat — and the other, he's rolling you onto your back and his body's hovering over yours and you're arching up to him and you think you might just die.

The kisses he presses across your collarbone are breathy and wet and nothing less than a demonstration of his love for you. You feel it — him — in your chest and hips, gripped tightly by his hands after they find the spots they’re sort of always meant to be in. You feel him from the tickling hair against your jaw and in the shivers caused by whispers you don't really understand. You feel him in every sore and needy muscle in your body that screams hoarsely for more.

Maybe too sore muscles.

Fully a decision made by your body and not mind, the next hum to come out of your mouth is a little whinier as your hands dig into his back and your thighs try to close around his hips. You would've been more shocked if he hadn’t noticed it, but it was still a disappointment when he pulled away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” you squeak. Arms looping around his back and head shaking desperately, you try to pull him back down into the kiss, “Come on, ‘m okay.”

And the next whimper was just as involuntary.

You're not sure what the expected answer was, but it wasn't really the widening eyes and the immediate jump to turn on the bedside lamp — it buzzes audibly and you squint as your eyes adjust to the lighting. Your boyfriend sits up, grabs your hips and looks around them like looking at a leaking mug and searching for a crack — with enough care to make your heart ache just as much as it does between your legs.

And, from the expression in his face, you would've thought he was seeing open cuts around your body instead of the small red spots you barely even felt. Around your hips from the hands that gripped them like a lifeline, over your knees and shins from the carpet you knelt over and across your neck from the love bites you begged him to leave.

You can hear the words forming in his mind — “was I too harsh?” “did I hurt you?” “are you okay?” “I'm so sorry” — so you answer before he asks.

“I'm okay,” your hands are barely big enough to properly wrap around his neck but you try it anyway. You'd swear there's a hint of wet in his eyes as they look in yours, wide enough to distract you from the blue that usually pierces through.

“This is normal after everything you did. It's okay. I like it.” You cock your head to the side as a pleading look takes over your face, consciously or not, “Please?”

“I really don't want to hurt you any more.”

“I'm not hurt,” you shake your head again. “If you wanna stop because you wanna stop, we'll stop. But if it's just because of me, please stop worrying. I'm not hurt.”

He's silent for too long, eyes studying your face and trying not to glance down at the hickeys too much. Once he's gathered enough to convince himself — like the legs twitching to spread open where they lay beside his, or the welcoming face and reassuring nods — he mumbles, “Okay.”

You smile, “Okay?”

His hands move to your waist again, ever so gentle as he uses them to guide you back down onto the bed. “Just one more.”

One is better than none. “Okay.”

As the back of your head hits the pillow, your eyes flutter closed — partially because of the light that's become too bright for the situation, mostly because it's quite hard to keep them open when his hand moves between your bodies and finds your (surprisingly still needy) clit.

You gasp softly, it'd barely be audible if he wasn't close enough to listen to every thought bubbling in your brain (they're mostly just his name).

He's between your chest and your stomach, though, within a hypothetical (because your upper eyelids had already been glued to their lower counterparts) blink of an eye, he's slipping between your legs and kissing the evidence of his earlier actions.

The pecks around the bruises aren't enough to get you to overlook the wandering fingers. He's done a lot more, rougher and and faster and deeper and bigger, but something about the gentleness of his index and middle digits as they slide inside you is enough to make you flutter around him.

“Yeah, there we go,” he coos in response to your moan.

“Oh– fuck,” you mutter, back arching off the bed as your hand finds his free one like (because) it was always meant to be there.

Thumb rubbing around the back of your hand in the same rhythm of the thrusts inside of you, he mumbles, “yeah?” probably getting some validation and trying to sound cool while doing it, so as not to overdo the are you okay?’s.

Though it wouldn't take a genius to understand your hips bucking up to his face as a plea. A wish he grants by licking a stripe up your heat, tongue flattening at your bud as if pressing a button programmed to increase everything everywhere in your body. To trigger every receptor and send too many confusing signals to your overwhelmed brain.

Like he's cautious in the way he ruins you, it's sweet and lazy and barely more than any other display of affection (if you don't breathe in enough to smell sex in the room).

The hands, one on yours, one in you, the annoyingly slow pace he's set with his tongue and lips — sucking, kissing, rolling, licking — nowhere near enough for these reactions out of you, for the broken whimpers and weak hair tugs.

Only audible are the wet sounds from between your legs, the whimpers and gasps and moans from your lips and the hums from his, and the creaking from the exhausted bed as he grinds his own hips down — you can barely hear anything over the blood pumping in your head.

Maybe he adds another finger, maybe he doesn't. You wouldn't know it if someone else equally as talented had replaced him, if the house around you was on fire (it would doubtfully be as hot as you already feel), if the world was ending outside of this isolating bubble he's made around your brain.

You're not even yourself anymore — he's melted you down into a sensitive, mushy glob of whines and slick and nails digging into him.

And to think this is the least he's ever done.

He's pulling away and mumbling against you every so often and you could not be less bothered to pay attention to it. Under the assumption it's some sort of check in, you hum and nod and hold his hand tighter while you hope he doesn't take it as anything less than perfectly blissful.

You open your eyes and the ceiling is filled with colors and shapes, your hearing is temporarily incapacitated, and all you can feel is him. His lips lock around your clit and suck on it like you'll die if he doesn't. The hesitant man no longer there — he's still caring, of course (it's shown in the somewhat grounding rubs of his thumb on your knuckles), but intensely more certain.

You stopped asking to come after round five and you stopped being able to tell you were coming when you lost count of the rounds. The only warnings you get are the tingle down your spine and the white over your eyes.

It rushes over your body like angry waves crashing onto old sand under a full moon — your back arches and your mouth opens in a silent moan, until it becomes too much and you're forced to pull away from him, from the feeling, in order to keep breathing.

“Holy shit” or “fuck” or “please” or “too much” is what you try to say. The words turn into incoherent mumbles somewhere between your throat and your lips, but his name lingers and echoes through your empty brain.

Is this what heaven feels like? Of course, the bright lighting is merely the lamp's job being done overwhelmingly well, and the angelic song is probably just his laughter, rumbling in his chest as he pulls away (or, better said, is basically forced away by your trembling legs clamping around his head), but you swear you can see god through the glass in your eyes.

Or maybe it's just him again, already back to crowd your vision with shiny lips and egregiously large shoulders around you. You're surprised you can pay attention to so much in such state — not that unusual, though, when it comes to him.

“Clark–” it's more of a cry than anything else.

“Hey, hey– I'm right here. It's okay,” he soothes another sound, leaning down to kiss your forehead (you can't think about the imprint of yourself left by his lips) as you writhe. The hand not used to prop himself up (the one that was just inside of you– hey, when did he pull it out?) goes to your hair, pushing away the hairs clung to your wet skin.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hoarse and itchy down your throat. Furrowed brows and wet eyes and parted lips, you breathe out and try to smile as you come to terms with the fact that your voice won't work for the next few hours.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” he mutters. “It’s a lot, huh? You've been doing so well. You're okay, right?” anyone a little more present would've noticed the hint of desperation behind his tone, as if he needs to be sure.

“Mhm,” another exhale is all you can manage and it's just about enough for him.

“Yeah, you are,” and a few more kisses to your skin with a lot less intent, if compared to the earlier ones.

He's a little more aware of the state you're in (because you're not aware of pretty much anything), and you get a lot more time to catch your breath now than you did during all those breaks — it's not like there's much to come now, and the washcloth isn't really rushing you like the throb was.

You wouldn't have needed so much time if you knew how much time it had been. With a specifically stronger blink, the ceiling's back to normal and he's moved — from the pillow beside, he's still staring at your face in a strange kind of awe.

“Hi.”

And you don't even try to get the words out. You hum and you bury your face into his shoulder and you ignore the small chuckle as he kisses the crown of your head.

Rubbing your back ever so gently, he's whispering sweet nothings against your hair — saccharine praise, a reward because he doesn't see the way you took him as enough of a reward for the way you took him.

It's enough to send you off into what you've lovingly named the limbo. The state he gets you into on nights like these, when he's cleaning you up and making you drink water and saying words you're not conscious enough to register.

You only see him again when the sun's up and the whole place smells of breakfast, and the bruises are only important when the makeup isn't enough to hide the weird way you're walking.

[obsessive-evie]

calling all editors make a pazzi edit to official by charli xcx okay that’s all btw love u

[hobipowers]

I really did my best in every concert I had. Each and every moment. I did it like it was life or death.

[finkeronni]

LOVE U 🫶

[brguzercen]

Atarashii Gakko 恋ゲバ Koi Geba 新しい学校 aşka isyan rebellion against love♥️

[versasfanficwastedump]

and another thing. I just had a thought of Tim being captured by whoever, really. honestly, the circumstances are not important.

i had a thought of Tim in danger, and he shouts for Jason. not Hood, Jason. And he knows he can use Jason’s name because when he gets here, all these people are fucking dead.

and i’m just picturing Bruce being on his way to help Tim, and all he can hear is Tim screaming for Jason. He’s about to drop down and take care of business, and then shots ring out.

bang. bang. bang.

he looks again and all three kidnappers are dead, Tim is untied, and Jason is holding Tim to his chest. “It’s okay,” He mutters, “I’m here. I gotcha.”

Tim would never dream of outing Bruce or Dick, or even Damian. There’d be someone around to hear it.

But Jason? When Tim is in danger, Jason never leaves survivors.

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[usercowboy]

every interview asking about buddie and oliver stark going "i just work here :)" is so incredibly interesting to me bc listen. he used to be like "yeah i'i love that the fans love it i can see what they see in the edits ryan and i send each other some and i cry to them in the shower haha but yeah i don't know it's not up to me!" but now he's spitting out the same incredibly scripted answer every time while he smiles like a LOSER and gets all pink like the spirit of ryan guzman is taking over his body while he struggles to make any eye contact. and this is happening when we know ryliver's doing a press circuit soon. cool. surely this means absolutely nothing :)

[sicksorrows]

my nanami hcs (nsfw & sfw)

idk if these are hcs or smth bc he'd look like he'd do most of these but anyway enjoy my rant on my man

sfw

he would allow you to do ANYTHING to him and I mean anything, or vice versa because he'd also do anything for you. if you ask him to do the laundry or dishes, he'd do it without asking any questions.

if you ask him for help on something he'd literally help you without making you feel dumb.

he would give you a good morning kiss every morning.

he would make breakfast for you every morning and if you didn't feel like eating it he'd persuade you anyway (I would still eat it even if I have the urge to throw up)

he would ask you to put his tie on for him before work, just so he could spend a little more time with you before he heads out--he would also give you a peck before leaving.

if he comes home from a mission and got severely injured he would run up to you right away to get his wounds treated.

he's a big spoon.

he is 100 precent devoted to you, he would remember every single thing about you, ranging from your birthday to your favourite food, to your siblings/parents name, anything.

if hes willing to do anything for you, then that means learning stuff you like just so he could connect with you better. for example you really love drawing, he would practice drawing everyday and show you it just to get the smallest reaction from you.

he is SO good at communication. say you both are having a heated argument, he would try to keep you, and himself calm, to help the situation better. and just basically be respectful throughout the way

he would never abuse you for his own entertainment, I just can't see him do that.

he gets jealous but doesn't show it, which leads me to that hes really good at hiding things or keeping things secret.

he is a soft spoken person.

brag about you to anyone he meets, or he would definitely bring you up in most conversations if it reminds him of you.

nsfw

he would so fuck you in his clothes, and it would always be the shirts because he loves the way you wear him.

he is such a switch.

he would enjoy pegging

he whines and begs, he is also a grunter.

praises you during and after sex, telling you how good you were and just basically makes you feel better about yourself.

he is slow and gentle but also pushes your limits the slightest, just to get a reaction out of you.

loves hand jobs ...

if you're sucking his dick he wouldn't make you take his full length unless you're ready for it.

oh my god he always asks for reassurance

angry sex..imagine him coming home angry from work or a mission and he just needs something to calm down, which is you. so he fucks you whilst still being angry, so you're basically his energy recharge

pulls your hair. especially during oral

into slight bdsm, (blindfolds, handcuffs ect.)

knows how to use his hands/fingers.

body worshipper.

teases or edges you.

if you're receiving backshots from him, he would be slow with you and hold onto you carefully.

if were talking about foreplay he is SLOW. he wants to savour his time with you and taste every part of you at his own pace, he isn't one to rush with it.

loves hearing you being loud, if you were quiet he'd force you to become loud somehow

he whimpers.

makes sex tapes on certain occasions..and jerks off to them later

if its a special occasion like your birthday, he would so give you birthday sex.

hes kind of the type to do semi public sex, for example; a changing room, the beach, movies, elevators

roleplays..

lastly, he is the aftercare king. after you guys are done whatever you were doing he would pamper you like a princess with seven servants. he would clean you up before himself, and make sure you feel satisfied when he finishes. when you both are clean he would cuddle you and stroke your hair as you fall asleep in his arms.

ughhh I love this man so much its actually making me go insane every single second of the day, my life is getting so fucked up because of this man. nanami is literally perfect in so many different ways, I literally have so much more scenarios or hcs for this man but I can't say it on here cuz I dont wanna get flamed...I need this man so badly I literally only told two of my friends about nanami because im worried my other friends would judge me for this. but either way i love him so so so so much oh my god the way I wish he was real, because id actually treat him like a king and not like some person who just wants him for sex...anyway...if he was real id actually give him the biggest hug ever and literally ask him out, I would not care if he rejected me, in fact id be happy that he even interacted with me because this man is so hot and beautiful and all of the above I know im out of his league, or not even his type. I need his dick inside me so badly and I know I say that a lot but genuinely I dont think his dick is enough for me, theres something about him that makes me want to have him by my side forever, I wish our souls combined and we are spiritually together. I wish that we could mold into each other and stay like that, forever. my love for this man can not compare to the love I have for anyone else. if I were to choose over nanami and my old hyper fixation from like 5 years ago, id choose nanami. and there may be some days where I just dont fuck with jjk but that may not change my love for him. I have never talked about a character this much esp it being an anime character but that doesn't stop me.

I want to give him the most malevolent, jaw dropping, hip thrusting best fucking head in the whole world. I dont care if it doesn't fit in my mouth id let my jaw lock if it had to be sucking him off. I wish jjk was an underground unknown show so I could just thirst over nanami so no one else could have him, but im glad it got popular because this is literally how I found my man. especially when I was a jjk hater and I never knew about him, but when I gave it a try im SO glad I did. im also SO grateful gege even made nanami a character, just a little ungrateful he killed him off but that okay! at least nanami existed through out two seasons. but if gege went with his other plan which was making nanami into a villain I would still hit cause oh my god the thought turns me on and im going insane about it. I literally wish I could write well, or draw well, so I could complete my desires which is drawing nanami in any way I could, or writing good scenarios with him but god gave me that ability to not draw (or write) because He knew id be unstoppable if I did, anyway, I need backshots from nanami until my voice practically runs out and the last words im left saying is: I love you, nanami.

[vendcf]

Happy Valentine's Day ladies

[peanutalergy]

would you write something where Spencer finds reader's lost cat and brings it back to her then they keep in touch + they both develop a little crush on each other?

your writing is wonderful!! <3

-🪲

tags: fluff fluff fluff but there's making out (?) idk if that counts as anything; also lots of cursing lowkey; reader is lowk penelope garcia coded

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: tysm for the req that's an adorable idea unfortunately not such great execution from my part also I wrote this in like an hour I'm so exhausted I should go to sleep but whatever I also don't know if this what you meant anon I'm sorry if it's not 😭 yeah I hate this sorry idk what to say it sucks

MISSING CAT

orange, green eyed, really chubby cat, last seen at ~3:30pm on november 9th. he will answer to garfield or little fucker; most likely the latter, despite that not being his name. he's very clingy, he’ll probably come up to you and start rubbing on your leg like the little freak he is but he's actually just a baby who needs his mom (me) so please call this number if you find him.

reward: $10 and a kiss maybe if you’re nice enough

spencer chuckled when he reached the end of the text and saw the adorable picture of a ginger fat cat. he read over the number on the poster, making sure to keep it stored in a folder at the back of his head along with the image of garfield as he returned to his walk.

not even an hour later, when walking past a not-so-nice smelling trash can, he heard some loud purring coming from one of the boxes surrounding it.

if it were any other day, he would have ignored it, guessing it's just another stray cat, but he was still thinking about garfield and his seemingly interesting owner.

“garfield…?” spencer called out from afar. silence. he took a few steps closer, trying to peek over the box while keeping his distance so as to avoid getting jumped at and attacked. “little… fucker…?” he choked over the nickname.

immediately, the animal that had been in his mind since seeing his picture jumped out of the box, purring louder as he started rubbing on spencer’s legs. he chuckled despite being scared.

garfield wasn't nearly as well kept then as he was in the picture, due to the days he had been on the streets. still chubby, but dirty and with a few patches of dried blood in his fur. spencer tried to move away, seeing his pants getting smudged, but the cat just started following him.

spencer pulled out his phone and started dialing the number seen on the poster, still trying to avoid the animal. after a few rings, you picked up.

“hello?...”

“hi, is this garfield’s, uh… owner?”

“yeah, why? have you found him...?”

“i think i did, yeah.”

“oh my god, wait, actually? is he okay? are you serious?” you mumbled excitedly, sitting up from the position you were comfortably lying in, the show on your tv already forgotten.

“i am serious, yeah. i'm just out on a walk, and, uh… he was in a box near a trash can. he's all dirty and bloody, but he seems okay.”

“my poor baby” you said with a pout “where are you? wait– who are you? who do i owe my son’s life to? my savior, my hero?”

“oh, i’m just… just spencer, really.” he said with an awkward chuckle, giving in and leaning down to caress the cat, who immediately leans into his hands as if he's never been pet before, “spencer reid.”

“mm, cool. anyway, where are you? i’m going to pick him up. tell him mommy’s coming. actually maybe don't. don't refer to me as mommy, please.”

“uh, well, i wouldn't mind dropping him off at your place, if you want.”

“i thought you were on a walk? you're gonna walk all the way to my apartment with that fucker in your arms?”

“yeah, so… yeah, actually. does he… is he fine with being carried?”

“oh, totally, he loves uppies, but it's–”

“sorry, what? uppies??” he cut you off, confusion and disbelief clear in his voice.

“yeah…? uppies… like… when you carry an animal? in your arms?...” a bleach and tone, like???

“oh, okay…”

“yeah, so, he loves uppies. but it's just inconvenient, no? carrying him like that? where even are you, dude? is it not far?”

after you tell him your address, spencer decided it's close enough to walk there with an overweight cat in his arms. however, when he took forty minutes to show up at your door, panting and sweaty, you realized that probably wasn't a good idea.

“jesus, man, you could've just said you can't walk that long with this fucker.” you said as you opened the door, letting him in and taking the cat in your arms, talking to him in that tiny, baby voice. “oh my god, my baby, thank you so much. you poor thing. where were you, sweetheart? i missed you so so so much…”

spencer stood awkwardly in the doorway, wiping away the dirt that the animal left in his shirt, as you kept mumbling to him.

it must have been around another half hour before you set him down on the ground again, but when you did so, you looked at spencer and gasped, “oh, where are my manners? i'm so sorry, i forgot you were there. come in, jesus, come on in.”

he walked in, and after offering him a glass of water, you led him to sit on the couch. settling awkwardly beside you, he said “so, uh… is he alright? hurt..?”

“no, he's okay. i mean, as far as i can tell. not a vet, or anything. i don't think the blood is his… although that doesn't make it any less worrying. i'll give his vet a call. maybe stop by the clinic. yeah, i should probably stop by the clinic, shouldn't i?”

“yeah, probably. does he have all his vaccines?”

“of course.”

“still, there's a chance he would have caught a disease or eaten something that could have been infected. it's always good to make sure.”

“yeah, i know. i’ll give them a call, see if they can see us today.” you said, to which spencer replied with a nod, the two of you falling silent for a moment. “oh, right, the reward.”

you stood up and walked to the table, taking your wallet and a $10 bill from it. “there's no need, really… it's okay. don't worry about it” he argued, shaking his head when you offered him the money.

“no, oh my god, no, this is the least i can do. you walked so far, with that little heavy fucker. please, just take this. actually, you deserve more. i can barely handle to hold him for more than a few minutes, i'm not sure how you–” you look him up and down “–managed to walk with him for so long. just take the money.” you mumble, taking another bill from your wallet and handing it to him.

"no, no, really, it's fine, i swear."

"no, stop it. you're not leaving until you take this money."

he took it with a scoff, seeing how you won't take no for an answer.

“i should give you the other part of the reward, too.” you said with a chuckle as you sat back down beside him.

“what, the kiss?” he stammered, shaking his head as his face goes red and his eyes widened slightly.

“yeah, you want it?” he started stuttering when you said that, so before he got a proper word out, you added “nah, man, i'm just joking. i put that there to be funny, i'd never kiss a stranger like that.”

“oh, yeah, that… that makes sense.” he laughed shyly, nodding.

the cat showed up again, and you went back to talking about him, until spencer decided it's time to go home, which was only around a few hours later.

now, you're not sure when that turned into what it is now, but you're glad it did.

maybe it was the day after that, when you took garfield to the groomers, and sent spencer a picture of him when he got home, wearing the cute tie they always give him.

maybe it was when you started sending every picture you took of garfield to spencer.

or maybe it was when you started talking about things unrelated to the animal.

you're not sure. but now, spencer reid is at your place again, wearing a colorful hat and singing happy birthday to your cat.

of course, he's the only other person at the party. he's the only friend you were certain would show up. and that he did, after rambling about how the cat didn’t even know it was his birthday.

“woo hoo!! happy birthday, baby!” you exclaim when the song is over, taking the cat in your arms and giving him kisses.

“yay, happy birthday, garfield!” he says with a chuckle, petting him.

as soon as he starts getting fussy, though, you put him back down on the ground with a giggle, “yeah, yeah, off you go.”

“i did tell you he doesn't know the date he was born in.”

“well, yeah, but at least he's getting plenty of treats.” you shrug as you throw yourself on the sofa along with spencer, taking off the birthday hats and tossing them to the side. “he knows he's loved.”

“i'm sure he does” he mumbles, smiling at you softly.

“thanks, by the way” you mutter after a beat, turning to him and giving him a nod.

“for what?”

“finding him.”

“that was ages ago, you've thanked me 63 times since then.” he says with a laugh.

“it's not enough, though. he's a stupid little cat, i doubt he would have survived more time out there. you saved his life, probably.”

he nods, staying quiet for another moment.

“y'know, there is one way you could thank me.”

“yeah…?” you already know what he's talking about, he already knows that you already know. the blush in his cheeks that showed up as he said that, his fidgety fingers, the way he started avoiding your gaze.

“the, uhm… the other part of the reward…”

you'd tease him, make him actually say it, if it weren't for how anxious he looks. it physically hurts, how awkward he is.

so instead, you move your hands to his shoulders as you lean in to press your lips to his. for a second, you're scared this isn't what he was talking about. you're wondering if you've just screwed up a friendship, until he moves a shy hand up to your face.

he feels scared, at first. he holds your jaw, fingers gently tangling in your hair as he hesitantly kisses you. but when a moment goes by like that, and you move to sit on his lap, straddling his hips, it's like something within him changes.

he starts kissing you like you're the first and last thing he'll ever touch, his hands roaming down your body as he slides his tongue into your mouth. he bites and sucks at your bottom lip while his arms wrap around your waist, and your own arms go around his neck.

but a man can't live only off of his beloved’s lips. unfortunately, humans do need oxygen. so when he needs to pull away to breathe, he does so with a groan.

panting, you stare at each other with a smile, and pressing one quick peck to his lips, you whisper, “thank you.”

"no, thank you.”

[meulinn]

Girlms

[garrandia]

maybe......jujutsu kaisen......was the mutals we made along the way

[billericious]

starry-eyed lover, the one that you saw | b.e

collateral - pt 1

The brightness of your screen illuminates your face, highlighting the tears that stream down your cheek. Breath caught in your throat as you read the notification. 

Billie Hey

You didn’t know what to do next. Would you seem desperate if you answered immediately? The last thing you wanted her to know was that you yearned for missed her, despite being the one that had ended what you guys had. This is what you wanted, what you prayed for. Why do you feel so conflicted now that you have it? 

This is real. She texted you, and you’re not dreaming. She contacted you, as if she was some sort of manifestation after a night of thinking of her. Could she still feel you, feel your emotions like they were her own? Have you been clouding her mental like she was clouding yours? So many questions to ask, and now you have the chance to do so. You click on the notification, opening up the message. Your finger shook as you carefully typed a response, scared that you would mess up something so simple.

Y/N Hey  Read 4:37 AM

Tears brimmed your eyes as she opened your message immediately. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach, awaiting a response. You shut your phone off in an attempt to soothe yourself, mind wandering as you do so.

“Hello?” you answer the phone. You hear Billie's voice on the other end. “Do you ever answer texts, baby?” your heart flutters at the pet name as you pull the device away from your ear and check your notifications, seeing multiple messages from ‘Billie :p’. “Whoops?” she laughs at your response, rubbing her eyes “you’re lucky i love you y/n, but back to why i called. What do you want snack wise for our movie night?”  

You smile, remembering the mini date night you had planned with her. “Nothing in particular…but y’know, if they just happen to have zombie takiss” you respond, exaggerating the ‘s’. “Oh well of course, can't go an october without having them at least once."

She was you in another body, a perfect match. “Well hurry bils, I miss you.”

“Just gotta check out, then I'll be heading home to you, love.” you both say I love you and end the call. There's a comforting warmth in your stomach that fights with the never ending dread. The dread of knowing she isn’t really yours, and you aren’t really hers. 

You’re brought back from the memory with the vibration of your phone. A text back.

Billie  I’ve been meaning to reach out, are you busy? If not, would you mind calling?

Your head spins at her message. For the first time in months, you would finally be having a real conversation with Billie. Were you even ready? You don't give yourself much time to answer your own thoughts as your body goes into autopilot, clicking on the small Call button on the top of the screen.

Ring

The reality of the situation hits you all at once, holding your breath as the phone continues

Ring

Was she messing with you? Would she even answer?

Ring

“Hey.” you feel your heart skip a few beats as her smooth voice greets you on the other end of the call. You finally let out the breath you had been holding, feeling lightheaded in the process. “Hey, Billie.” A silence falls over the call, obvious that the both of you had no idea what to say next.

“Why’d you wanna call?” a sudden confidence washes over you, motivated to understand why now. “In all honesty, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to check in on you. To hear your voice.” she mumbles the last sentence, slightly hoping you didn’t hear her correctly. But you did, of course you did. Anxiety so high, hyper focused on everything she was saying.

“I’m doing…” you falter for a second, do you tell the truth or lie to save yourself from any embarrassment? You decide the latter would be a safer choice. “I’m doing okay, Billie. How are you? I’ve seen you, your promotions for the album.” Billie lets out a soft laugh at that, a rosy hue painted on her cheeks. She had completely forgotten who she was as soon as she picked up the phone. Too distracted by you to remember or focus on anything else around her.

“I’m uh, I'm good too.” it’s your turn to laugh, wet eyelashes laying on your cheeks as you close your eyes. “Good, I’m glad. You deserve it, I'm sure you’ve been working hard.” you say, trying to figure her out without trying to seem pushy. “Yeah, it’s been a lot. It’s different without you, though”

“Am i that ever lasting, Billie?” you say playfully, speaking to her never felt foreign despite it all. Immediately falling back into the groove you left on, before the argument. For a second, you almost forget why you had wanted her to leave in the first place. “God, you know you are.” she teases you slightly as you get flustered at her words. She continues, “I’m gonna be going on my press tour soon, and i just wanted to see you before I left. If that's possible, of course.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know that you would fall back into her immediately, sacrificing the little amount of healing you had made during the time of no contact. Your heart betrays your rational thinking, “Yeah, that’d be nice. It’d be nice to see you.” 

“Okay. I’ll plan, and I’ll text you the info, yeah?” “Yeah Billie, that sounds good.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, alright? I gotta go. Bye, y/n.” you wait a few seconds, waiting for the ‘I love you’ before remembering, it’s not like how it used to be. You quickly muster up your own response.

“Okay, bye Billie.” the disconnect sound echoes soon after. You look at her contact,

a smile creeping onto your face. You're not exactly happy, but not sad. Just shocked that this is finally happening. You don’t know what to anticipate. All you could do was hope for the best, even though you didn’t even know what the best is. A notification pops up at the top of your screen.

Billie Saturday @ 3. Cafe lunch. I’ll pick you up

Just hope for the best.

౨ৎ maze speaks !

im so sorry for the wait guis :< this is whack and filler, dont be too harsh pls im still getting the hang of this :p but seriously, thank you for all the motion on collateral my loverlies<3

tags: @luvforbills

౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ౨ৎ send an ask ! always open<3

[moonskytale]

💜OMG he so cute💜

*poor cross🥺*