#meant for this to be a quick and short post

[dreamivyisla]

ꕥ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍 ꕥ

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elijah “Smoke” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ after getting high one night, you receive a late text from “Stack” asking to talk. thinking it’s your boyfriend, you dress cute and meet him in his car—only to slowly realize it’s actually his twin, Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ oh my goodness, hello! since my last Smoke oneshot got some love, i’ve decided to post another one! didn’t know so many people were Smoke girlies/boys! definitely right after this one, ima post my Negan one! enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 8.4k

𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ➤ Smoke, Stack, and Negan.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ sexual content, cowgirl, car sex, mistaken identity, emotional manipulation (Smoke doesn’t correct reader right away), infidelity (reader is in a relationship with Stack), dirty talk, choking kink, dumbification, slight degradation, praise, sub!fem!reader, mild drug use.

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the smoke from your joint curled up into the ceiling fan like it was trying to leave the room before your head did. your body was loose, sunk deep into the velvet of your couch, hoodie halfway unzipped, nothing but lace underneath. music pulsed low from your speaker—something sensual and steady—blurring the lines of time the way your high always did.

you hadn’t planned on going anywhere tonight.

until your phone buzzed.

[SMOKE: you up? slide on me real quick. need to talk to you.]

your heart jumped before it even registered who it was from. you didn’t think twice. “stack,” you mumbled to yourself, already halfway off the couch. of course it was him. it always was him at this hour, needing something, saying it like it was business, then fucking you like it wasn’t.

your fingertips skimmed your vanity, grabbing gloss, a gold anklet, that little perfume that made your skin smell sweet like heat and honey. your high made everything feel lighter. you weren’t thinking straight, not really—you were just giggly and pretty and a little too eager.

you looked at yourself one last time in the mirror. hoodie still on, shorts hugging everything they needed to, just enough thigh showing to get under his skin.

stack was rough with you. mean, sometimes. didn’t talk much during sex except to growl in your ear or tell you what to do. he didn’t kiss you soft. didn’t look you in the eyes unless it was to say you were his and his only.

so when you stepped outside and saw the black charger parked across the street with the engine purring and the windows rolled down halfway, you walked right to it.

you didn’t notice anything was off.

not the way he was leaned back in the driver seat, watching you slow with those sharp, unreadable eyes.

not the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the music bleeding from the speakers.

not the way he said your name low and thoughtful when you opened the door.

“get in.”

you slid in, closing the door behind you. the inside of the car was warm, smelled like smoke and leather. he didn’t reach for you like stack usually did. no kiss, no grab at your thigh.

“you said you wanted to talk?” you asked, tugging your hoodie up a bit more, crossing your legs just to tease.

he glanced over at you, slow. his eyes dragged down, took their time coming back up. you missed the hesitation in them.

“yeah.” his voice was softer than usual, deeper, not so fast. “you high?”

you laughed. “a little. why?”

he just looked at you for a long second. didn’t smile. didn’t answer.

his silence made you shift. not uncomfortable—but curious. stack never asked questions like that. he didn’t check in.

“you good?” you asked, tilting your head.

“yeah. just… wanted to see you. needed to get something off my chest.”

you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. he just looked at you, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting in his lap.

and for a second, the air shifted. something in your chest did too.

“what’s up with you tonight?” you asked. you meant it to be light, maybe even flirty, but it came out a little real. “you actin’ different.”

he didn’t answer that either. just let his gaze flick to your lips, then back to your eyes. his jaw tensed.

“you know,” he said finally, “i been thinkin’.”

you laughed again, softer this time. “about what?”

“you.”

your smile faltered. he looked dead serious.

and the way he said it—low and with so much weight—didn’t sound like stack at all.

you shifted in your seat, eyes narrowing just a little. “what about me?”

his jaw flexed again. then he sighed, slow, like he was working up to something.

but you leaned in before he could say more, your hand brushing his thigh without thinking. your voice went sweet, teasing.

“you finna start some sentimental shit or you tryna fuck?”

his breath caught—just a little.

you thought he was stack. and maybe he knew that.

he reached for you finally. but not the way stack did.

not rushed. not rough.

just fingers on your jaw, lifting your face so your eyes had to meet his.

“don’t play with me,” he said low. “not tonight.”

your high made his words sink in slow.

but your body reacted faster.

and still—you didn’t know it was smoke.

you only knew the way his thumb dragged across your bottom lip. the way his eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to memorize you. the way his voice got quiet and deep and gentle, like this moment actually meant something.

you leaned in before he did. just a little. testing the air between you. breathing it in.

you still thought it was stack.

but nothing about this felt like him.

not yet.

the moment your lips touched his, you felt it—

the difference.

stack never kissed you like this.

this was slow. deliberate. the kind of kiss that made your heart trip over itself, made your fingertips twitch like your body wasn’t sure whether to pull away or climb all the way in.

his lips parted against yours without rush, letting you set the rhythm at first, letting you explore the shape of his mouth like it was new. it felt too sweet. too careful. his hand didn’t slide under your hoodie right away like you expected. instead, it stayed at your jaw, thumb tilted under your chin to keep you there. to hold your face like something delicate.

your brows pinched just a little in confusion as your tongue grazed his. something soft left your mouth—a needy little hum you hadn’t meant to let out—and that was when you felt it.

his breath stuttered. like the sound did something to him.

stack never reacted like that.

you leaned back an inch. your eyes scanned his face.

same nose. same jawline. same full lips.

but his eyes… they looked at you different. like he actually saw you.

“what’s goin’ on?” you asked, voice breathy, low.

he looked at you. didn’t blink. didn’t lie.

“you tell me,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “you came out here thinkin’ i was him.”

your chest tightened.

your hand slowly pulled back from his thigh.

his voice didn’t sound angry. not even smug. just… honest. maybe a little sad.

you blinked. stared.

and then it hit you.

the difference in the way he moved. the way he spoke. the way he kissed.

“elijah?”

he looked away for a split second. jaw tensed.

you’d never said his name like that before. not alone. not while he was holding you like this.

your breath caught.

“why ain’t you say nothin’?” you asked, quiet now. too quiet.

he finally looked back at you. his voice stayed low, heavy.

“you wouldn’t have came.”

you didn’t deny it.

you looked away, but he caught your chin, brought you right back.

“i ain’t try to trick you,” he said. “i just wanted a minute. just one.”

your silence said more than you could.

because deep down, even through the haze in your head, you’d known something was off. you just hadn’t cared. hadn’t wanted to care.

“you still want it?” he asked.

your body answered before your mouth did. the way you shifted your hips. the way your breath caught again. the way you didn’t move away when he leaned in, when his fingers trailed under your hoodie slow like molasses.

you didn’t say yes. you didn’t say no.

but your lips parted.

and that was all he needed.

his hand slid up your thigh, big and warm, calloused at the tips but soft at the base. his thumb circled the skin just under your shorts—teasing, patient. he kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

then lower.

his other hand came around the back of your neck, pulling you to straddle him without saying a word.

you settled in his lap, one knee on either side, thighs pressing into the leather seat. your hoodie rode up. your chest pressed against his. your lips brushed again.

“stack don’t kiss you like this,” he murmured against your neck.

your breath hitched.

he dragged his mouth lower, kissing down the curve of your throat, warm and wet and open-mouthed.

you whimpered—quiet, drawn out—hands sliding into his hair like you needed something to hold onto.

“mmhm,” he whispered. “go ‘head. make them pretty sounds f’me.”

his hands were under your hoodie now, splayed wide against your back. the way he touched you wasn’t desperate, but it was heavy. intentional. he was soaking you in.

you grinded into him slow, testing his patience, testing the tension in his thighs.

“damn,” he breathed, gripping your hips tighter, pulling you closer. “look at you…”

his eyes dropped down—watching the way your body moved over him.

“this the kinda shit i think about,” he confessed, voice deep and real. “you sittin’ in my lap like this, makin’ all that noise, wearin’ nothin’ under that hoodie…”

you whined again—sharper this time, higher.

his grip on you tightened.

“you get like this for him?” he asked, head tilting. his voice was low, but there was heat behind it now. curiosity laced with jealousy, with want.

you shook your head. “no,” you whispered.

he smirked, just a little. “nah? i ain’t think so.”

he leaned back, let his head rest on the seat. his hands stayed at your hips, but his eyes were on you—dark, low-lidded, full of hunger.

“ride me.”

you blinked.

“what?”

his voice didn’t change. didn’t raise.

“ride me,” he repeated, slower this time. “right here.”

your chest heaved.

he stared at you, unmoving, like he wasn’t gonna ask again. like he didn’t have to.

you reached for his belt with shaky hands.

you were already soaked.

you undid his belt with trembling fingers.

not because you were scared—because you were high, turned on, and starting to realize you’d never been touched like this before.

his eyes didn’t leave yours. not once.

he didn’t help. didn’t rush you. just let you do it—let you kneel over him with your knees digging into the leather, hoodie still bunched around your waist, mouth parted in soft gasps, your hand working down the zipper slow.

when you finally pulled him out, your breath caught.

he was thick in your hand, long and heavy, already hard from the way you’d been whining in his lap. he grunted low when your thumb dragged along his tip, a deep pull of breath leaving his chest like he was trying to keep control.

“fuck…”

you swallowed hard. he was warm. pulsing against your palm.

you looked down, watching your fingers wrap around him—barely closing—and something inside you pulsed in response. a fresh wave of slick flooded your shorts.

you glanced back up at him.

he was just… watching. eyes locked on yours, mouth parted, breath coming slower than before. one hand rested low on your back, the other on your hip, guiding you with that same calm strength.

“take your time,” he murmured. “ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

you whimpered. your thighs trembled.

“you ready f’me?” he asked, tone smooth like syrup, dipping into something more primal. “or you need a lil help first?”

you blinked, lips glossy, hips shifting over him in tiny circles without thinking.

“help,” you whispered.

he smiled. not wide—just a little, just enough.

then his hand slid between your thighs and cupped you through your shorts.

your body jolted.

“ohhh my god,” you gasped, whole frame twitching.

he rubbed you there—slow at first, just pressure. testing you. learning you.

then he eased a finger beneath the fabric, finding that drenched heat and letting out a sound low in his chest.

“damn,” he breathed. “you already wet f’me, huh?”

your head dropped. you couldn’t answer.

your mouth opened and closed, whines tumbling out soft and helpless as his fingers dragged through your folds, teasing your clit with the kind of care that made your back arch.

“look at you,” he whispered, voice husky now, lips brushing your cheek. “grindin’ on my hand like it’s mine already…”

“fuck, it’s not fair,” you whined, hips rocking into his touch, body hot all over.

he chuckled low in your ear. “what ain’t?”

“you talkin’ like that… touchin’ me like that… i can’t think straight…”

he pulled his hand away and you almost cried—until he hooked his fingers in your waistband and tugged your shorts down just enough.

then his hand returned. this time skin to skin.

and you folded.

“stack…”

he froze for a second when you said it.

like he hadn’t expected it.

you blinked, confused.

you were still thinking of stack. still reeling from the kiss, from the silence.

but now? your body was learning the difference.

your moans were learning the difference.

and when he slid his fingers back through your folds—slow, deep, coating himself in the mess you’d made—he leaned in close and said, right in your ear:

“remember it. this me. not him.”

your whole body quivered.

you nodded fast, needy, desperate now.

“please,” you whimpered.

he gripped himself, guiding his tip to your entrance, dragging it up and down through your slick folds.

“sit down,” he whispered. “nice and slow.”

you braced your hands on his chest, thighs trembling, hoodie falling forward as you lined yourself up and sank down.

inch by inch.

your mouth fell open. your head tipped back.

“oh… my… god…”

he groaned through gritted teeth, head hitting the seat.

“fuck—yeah… just like that… take it all.”

you sank all the way down, walls stretching around him so good it hurt. your legs shook, eyes glossy, a broken little whimper leaving your lips.

you stayed there for a second, fully seated, throbbing around him, body trying to adjust.

his hands held your waist, grounding you.

then one slid up your back, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat.

“look at me,” he murmured.

you obeyed.

his eyes were molten. hot and unreadable. he squeezed just a little—just enough for your body to tighten.

you moaned.

he didn’t say a word. didn’t thrust. didn’t move.

he just watched you fall apart.

watched your eyes flutter, your breath hitch, your hands scramble for his chest like you were gonna collapse.

“that’s it,” he whispered. “let me feel all that.”

you started to move—hips rolling slow, tight, the wet drag of your walls pulling slick sounds from both of you.

“so deep,” you gasped.

he grunted, jaw clenched. “ride it slow. make me feel you.”

your body listened better than your brain.

you bounced slow—little lifts and sinks, messy and needy, every drop down pushing him deeper, pressing into spots you didn’t even know stack had never touched.

your whines got louder.

you couldn’t stop.

your mind emptied with every stroke.

“s-so full…”

“yeah you are. look at how you takin’ it.”

he tightened his hand around your throat—not choking, just holding—forcing you to look at him. forcing you to stay there in it.

“good girl,” he whispered.

your eyes rolled.

you felt it creeping up—tight in your belly, hot behind your ribs, legs shaking hard now.

“i can’t—smoke—i’m gonna—”

“go ‘head,” he whispered. “cum on it. i got you.”

you cried out, back arching, thighs clenching, whole body stuttering as your orgasm hit hard and heavy. your nails dug into his chest, hoodie slipping up more, sweat making your skin slick.

he held you through it. gripped your hips and fucked up into you slow, riding the rhythm of your high with his own.

“shit, you so fuckin’ wet,” he breathed. “grippin’ me like you don’t wanna let go…”

your mouth was open, no words coming—just soft, fucked-out gasps, head nodding like you couldn’t do anything else.

“you want it?” he asked, voice shaking now, breath heavier. “you want me to cum in it?”

you nodded. hard.

“say it.”

“yes,” you whimpered. “please…”

“where?”

“inside…”

he growled—deep and rough—and thrusted up harder. once. twice.

then he held you down and buried himself to the base.

“fuuuck…”

you felt the heat fill you. slow. deep. thick.

your whole body trembled again, overstimmed and overwhelmed and still pulsing around him like you never wanted to stop.

he wrapped both arms around you.

held you there.

and you stayed—head tucked in his neck, breath ragged, body soft and warm and full.

you didn’t speak. neither did he.

because you both knew what just happened.

and you both knew it could never happen again.

his arms were still around you.

not in the way stack used to hold you after sex—if he ever even did. no, this was full-bodied. chest to chest. nose against your temple. arms locked around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let you go yet.

you laid there on him, soft and still, hoodie clinging to your damp skin, body spent and glowing. the charger was quiet now. only the low hum of the engine idling. windows fogged, air warm and thick with the scent of sweat and sex.

you blinked slow.

your brain hadn’t caught up yet. it was still catching pieces of what just happened, heart trying to hold onto it, name slipping off your tongue every time you tried to breathe.

elijah.

not stack.

you should’ve felt ashamed. guilty. confused.

but instead, you felt… full.

not just between your legs.

not just from how deep he’d been, how good he made you feel.

but in your chest. in your limbs. in the quiet safety of how he still held you like you mattered.

you shifted slightly. your hips twitched—sore now, oversensitive, still seated on him. he was softening inside you, but the heat he left was still there. thick. lingering.

you exhaled, and he felt it.

“you good?” he asked, voice barely there.

you nodded, cheek against his neck.

“you?”

he paused.

then: “better than i should be.”

your chest tightened again.

but not in fear. not in regret.

you slowly lifted your head. looked at him.

his hair were sticking to his forehead. a bead of sweat was rolling down his jaw. his hand slid up your back, rubbed slow circles between your shoulders, calming. grounding.

your eyes met his.

and there was so much there. so much that shouldn’t have been.

“we wasn’t supposed to do that,” you said softly.

he nodded once. didn’t deny it.

“nah. we wasn’t.”

you swallowed.

your throat was dry. your lips still tasted like him.

“you ain’t say nothin’,” you added.

“if i woulda,” he said, “you wouldn’t have came.”

you didn’t argue.

you knew it was true.

you looked away, but his fingers on your jaw turned your face back to his. gently. firmly.

“you wanted me,” he said. not a question. a fact. “even if you ain’t know it was me.”

your eyes watered. not from sadness. from clarity.

you nodded. barely.

his thumb brushed under your eye. then your cheek. then back down to your lip. slow.

“you feel it now?”

you nodded again.

“but we not gon’ talk about it,” you whispered.

he gave you a slow, deep nod. “nah. we not.”

“stack can’t find out.”

“he won’t.”

your fingers gripped his shirt. you sat there still, pressed into him, heart racing slower now.

“was it just ‘cause i was high?” you asked. voice small. almost unsure.

he paused.

then leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“nah,” he said. “it’s ‘cause i been wantin’ you. wanted you when i shouldn’t’ve. wanted you every time he ain’t treat you right.”

you closed your eyes. inhaled slow.

“this ain’t gon’ happen again,” you murmured.

he kissed your temple. once. light.

“i know.”

but neither of you moved.

you stayed there in silence.

still full of him. still trembling from him.

and somehow, even knowing it was wrong…

you didn’t want to leave.

not yet.

not until the feeling faded.

not until the guilt caught up.

not until the weight of his arms disappeared.

because maybe this was just one night.

but it was the first time you’d ever really been touched like you were more than just something to fuck.

and it wasn’t stack who gave you that.

it was him.

elijah.

“just one night,” you whispered again.

his voice was soft, final.

“yeah. just one.”

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

[i05wook]

Pika Pika Please - Murata Fuma

summary: taking your boyfriend on a surprise trip to his favourite place...the pokémon centre

genre: fluff

warnings: none

pairing: &team fuma x reader

wc: 1.3k

a/n: happy birthday to our sub-leader and hero, fuma!! can't believe i got to see you perform live twice here in japan♡ being in japan has helped me remember just how much i love my &teamies and hopefully i'll be writing more them soon. also the pictures (except fuma) are mine that i took at one of the pokemon centre here in japan.

also a huge thank you to @hyuukais and @astrae4 for beta reading this!

The late June sun beat down on the busy streets of Tokyo as people went about their day, parasols and iced coffees in hand.

With temperatures of 33°C expected for the whole week, spending the day outside wasn’t exactly ideal. However, today was special—both you and your boyfriend, Fuma, were finally in Tokyo with a rare day off together. 

His birthday was at the end of the week. You’d already bought his presents, but you still wanted to treat him to something a little more personal—something that would make him smile. So, you decided on one of his favourite things in the world: Pokémon.

Sure, there were shops all over Tokyo that sold Pokémon merchandise, but nothing quite compared to the Pokémon Centres. Bright, colourful, and packed with every kind of merch imaginable, they were like stepping into another world.

The walls were lined with plushies of all sizes, from palm-sized Pikachus to life-sized Oshawotts. Shelves overflowed with boxes of trading cards, and statues of fan-favourite Pokémon greeted visitors at every corner. You could find everything from snacks and stationery to posters and accessories. For the average fan, it was paradise. For Fuma? It was heaven on earth.

You could spend hours there together, always stumbling across something new or adorable to take home. Your shared apartment was proof of it—the spare room had slowly evolved into a Pokémon shrine. His card collection took up most of the desk space, plushies were stacked neatly on the shelves, and above the guest bed hung a framed poster of all the Eeveelutions. It made him happy—and seeing that always made you happy, too.

————————

“Babe, fancy a little outing today? Just a few quick stops I need to go, and I’ll even grab us a treat on the way home,” you called out to your boyfriend from your bedroom, as he sat at the breakfast bar eating his breakfast. 

“Sure—as long as we can get coffee first,” he said, making his classic bargain as usual, a grin evident in his voice. You smiled to yourself, knowing full well he’d still tag along even without the caffeine bribe.

Agreeing to his usual caffeine bribe, you left your boyfriend in charge of ordering the coffee while you finished getting ready. Once it arrived—an iced caramel Frappuccino and a matcha latte—you were both armed and ready to tackle the long list of errands ahead. 

Operation errands was a go!

The first of many stops was the post office, where you had to return an impulsive online order—one that seemed like a good idea at the time, but soon realised it was, in fact, not. After a surprisingly short wait, the parcel was on its way. No errand run felt complete without a quick stop at the drugstore to restock sunscreen and lip balm—and maybe splurge a little on a new hair treatment. 

With the first two errands already complete, it was time to make your way to the subway station in order to head to the mall to run your bigger errands. 

The metro was quiet for the time of day, most people at work or school, which meant that it was easy to find two seats next to each other. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the quiet train, Fuma pulled out his earphones and placed one gently into your ear before slipping the other into his. Soft music began to play, wrapping the two of you in your own little world as you let your head rest on his shoulder. There was something deeply serene about sharing music in a nearly silent train, travelling through the busy city. 

————————

Ikea was the next stop on the list of errands. While Ikea was typically where you bought larger furniture from, today shopping consisted of small items only. You needed to buy some more dish towels because someone — Fuma — burnt the last good ones trying to boil pasta. No knows how he managed it, but you’d long stopped questioning these things. You also loved to buy candles from Ikea, however the last time you were there, you couldn’t decide what candle you wanted so you had to bring Fuma to help.

Ikea shopping trips could last anywhere between 20 minutes to 2 hours. Some days you both had to try out all of the beds while others, you were on a mission to get what you needed and leave. Today was in the middle. While you didn't spend time trying out all of the beds, you spent a reasonable amount of time just smelling the different scented candles. Fuma was set on wanting the meatball scented candle, and while funny,  not a scent you wanted in your apartment. However, Fuma said that the bergamot candle you wanted gave him a headache. The pair of you continued to argue over the scent until you both reached for the same lilac candle in a clear glass jar—the colour of wisteria. As soon as you both smelt the candle, you made eye contact and started hitting him lightly on the shoulder. 

“This is the same smell as the candle we lit that one night I stayed at yours and there was a power cut,” you rushed out excitedly. 

“What? The night in which we played uno by candle light, and you decided to commentate the whole game like it was Formula One?” 

It was a moment early into your relationship with Fuma. That night, between laughter and flickering candlelight, something inside you shifted. You knew—without question—that you loved this man with your whole heart. No one else had joined in with such antics before Fuma, but he gave back the same energy as you, commentating on his next moves. Both of you rolling on the floor with laughter by the end of the game. 

“Let’s get that one then, shall we babe?” Fuma said, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, placing the candle into the bag and guiding you through the rest of the aisles. 

————————

It was finally time for the day’s big event. Somehow, Fuma still hadn’t realized you were heading towards his favorite place. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner and faced the store’s entrance that it finally clicked. He glanced at you, and with a silent nod from your side, he practically dragged you inside.

Like a child in a candy shop, his grin stretched from ear to ear as he wandered from shelf to shelf. You quietly grabbed a basket and followed him, watching with a smile as your six-foot-tall boyfriend darted around the Pokémon Center, clearly unsure what to choose. But one thing was certain—he wanted matching plushies. Pikachu and Eevee. When he stopped in front of the plush wall and picked up the two, he looked at you with wide, pleading eyes, silently asking if he could buy them for you. Without a word, you nudged your basket toward him, giving him the go-ahead. He kissed the top of your head as he placed the plushies inside, barely able to hide his excitement.

He made a beeline for the snacks section, scooping up his favourites and waiting for you to catch up with the basket. Once you did, he dropped everything in with practiced ease and headed straight for the Pokémon card shelves, eager to grab the newly released packs. Without hesitation, he bundled about ten into the basket—clearly no time for decision-making—and marched toward his final stop: the stickers.

Every visit, he picked out a new one—Snorlax, Pikachu, Ditto—tucking it into the back of his phone case so he could swap them out whenever the mood struck. Today, he grabbed two Ditto stickers: one for him, one for you. He always liked when your phone cases matched, even in the smallest ways.

After dropping them into the basket, he took it from your hands and tugged you toward the cashier. “If I stay any longer,” he said, eyes wide with faux panic, “I’m buying the whole store.” Leaving the store, two bags in hand, he wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

 “Thank you for today darling.”

[arcade-confetti]

"Jason was the happy robin" this, "jason was the angry robin" that. Let's all be fully honest here Jason was the lonely robin

[maxblonda]

vulnerability and the william carter puzzles

i've been looking at the william carter puzzles for the upteenth time this week after i got back into playing this game after months and i know a lot of people notice the changes in the portrait in maxwell's apartment (and the only time iirc he's ever seen canonically using light magic as opposed to the shadow magic he's known for but that's another post for another time) as the sequence of images goes on.. but only after looking closer have i noticed that before and after charlie first enters, the picture is that of both her and maxwell, right? that's not a surprise to anyone. he has that picture as well as other pictures of the two of them in his apartment and in the fireplace scene in the beginning of the "inevitable" musical.

but what has only just caught my eye after years of this image sequence being out is the fact that i always assumed that after maxwell returns to his apartment in person that the picture behind him turns back to normal. it doesn't. when he picks up charlie's hat mournfully, there's a different magician in the picture next to his assistant. that's not maxwell- at least not maxwell as the persona he puts on that's far more secure and confident in himself. next to charlie in that picture frame is william carter. the same unsure, nervous magician he was before he reinvented himself. but despite maxwell's sadness, there's an endearing, dopey smile on the stupid, foolish man behind him. the man who no one ever really bothered or cared to watch, unlike the amazing maxwell of san francisco, whose magic feats are nothing an average person could even imagine.

unlike maxwell, william's body is turned to face her, and his hands are not behind his back. his hands are palm up, and their figures overlap with one of his arms behind her head. he is not smug in his grin. he's not looking at the camera, but at her. because it was always about her, wasn't it? maxwell closes himself off, not expecting the warmth that she brings, or the way she makes him laugh, or the way she all but jumped into his arms with glee when he unveiled the poster announcing their next magic act.

but charlie's seen right through him. because it was always about him, wasn't it? but her gaze, her new knowledge has left him vulnerable in a disquieting, upsetting way. a narrative no longer in his control. we don't even know if he ever read the contents of the letter charlie wrote, or if he was in the right headspace to even process her genuine concern and love to him. the most he can do in his powerlessness is to bring the manic scribbles from his study out into the picture in the main room of his apartment. the picture that reflects a man back at him that he never wanted to be known as ever again. a stupid smile, a foolish innocence that makes him want to yell "can't you see i'm about to lose everything?!" because someone else knowing about the existence of Them, no matter their benevolence, is a recipe for fucking disaster. so he scratches that face right out.

for a man so guarded, the shadows are more than happy to give him what he wants. the man in the picture left behind after he and charlie disappear into the constant makes it clear that he's left william carter behind in the rubble of the real world for good. and it's not a big deal. that william carter died in a train crash years ago anyways.

the king of the constant isn't the pitiful william carter. the crown weighs heavy on the head of king maxwell. and charlie is relegated to the darkness that she was convinced was merely a powerful illusion. the same darkness she was afraid of as a child.

and the only way they will ever take the stage again is with the former assistant watching, lying in wait where no one can see her as the disgraced magician and failed king reenacts a their old lives with none of the grace and all of the anger she has (and They have) held inside for not letting her in. for not being brave enough to be vulnerable.

[bubbletune6]

The Magician's Apprentice (series 9.1 of Doctor Who) and compassion.

how the magician's apprentice explores compassion brilliantly!

The Build-Up

compassion is framed from the beginning of the episode with the soldiers and Kanzo, who goes out of his way, at great personal risk to his own life to save a child affected by war juxtaposed with Kanzo's friend who leaves to save his own life.

these two soldiers are reflective of two different approaches to compassion (or lack thereof):

Kanzo, the representative of compassion, stays to help the lost child and comforts him, even in his last moments as he dies to save Davros'.

(these handmines actually remind me a lot of the weeping angels in Trenzalore and The Time of the Angels but that's a different essay)

2. In comparison, Kanzo's friend who leaves Kanzo to deal with the child is able to get away safely and spare his own life. so...

is compassion worth it, especially when it comes at great personal risk and consequences?

this all comes to a head as the doctor then is forced to face this same moral dilema when the lost child that he attempts to save is revealed to be Davros:

Personal Stakes for the Doctor

The Doctor and Missy's reaction to the return of Skaro and the horrors of the time war sets up the personal cost for the Doctor perfectly. They've lost their home and families as a result of the Time War - the war that Davros is responsible for.

Missy

The episode continues to raise the personal stakes for the Doctor. Not only has he lost his whole planet and family, the Daleks (Davros's creation) then exterminate Missy. The audience know that the Doctor cares about Missy (the Master) deeply, again both through prior episodes of the show but also through the confession dial:

"The last will and testament of the time lord known as the Doctor to be delivered, according to ancient tradition, to his closest friend on the eve of his final die."

And so, Missy's death at the hands of the Daleks hits hard for the Doctor.

Clara

After Missy's death, the Doctor is clearly distraught and does the only thing he can to save Clara:

and it doesn't work. The Doctor begs for compassion from Davros and he doesn't recieve it. In what is perhaps a direct parallel to the beginning of the episode where Davros begs for help and the Doctor denies it from him, the Doctor is unable to save Clara.

The TARDIS

The TARDIS has been the Doctor's constant companion from the beginning, his home and his safe place. The destruction of his ship, the last piece of his home, at the hands of his sworn archenemies, the Daleks, must affect him deeply.

The episode then sets up perfectly the stakes for the Doctor as it leads us into considering whether (and, if so, what) the Doctor could have done at the beginning with child Davros.

The Doctor's Choice:

So, with child Davros begging for help:

The doctor, here, has three choices:

Leave without helping.

This is what he choses at the beginning of the episode and it is heavily implied to be what causes Davros to begin his creation of the Daleks:

"How scared must you be to seal every last one of your own kind into a tank? Davros made the Daleks. But who made Davros?"

The Doctor blames himself for much of Davros's actions as he feels shame and guilt for his inaction to either save or destroy child Davros and for putting him onto this path of war and destruction which is clearly why he allows Colony Sarff to take him, despite guessing that it is a trap. It is the Doctor's penance to see Davros.

Despite the Doctor's many later (or earlier) displays of compassion towards Davros, this one moment, this one single instance, where he didn't, where he fails to save that lost little boy, affects the rest of Davros's life as he comes to the conclusion that compassion is wrong.

2. To end Davros before he creates the Daleks:

Here though, the Doctor has become just as bad as Davros and the Daleks. In attempting to exterminate Davros before he becomes what he is, he proves Davros right. That Compassion is Wrong. He creates not only a paradox but displays the cyclical nature of violence: he fails to display the compassion that he begs for to save Clara and breaks his own oath of what the Doctor stands for:

"Never cruel or cowardly."

I haven't yet watched the next episode, so it's very possible this is explored in that episode as well.

3. To save the little boy.

It is likely what child Davros needs is the compassion that earlier Doctors were willing to display. But, the Doctor, fuelled by his own grief and anger is unable to see that.

Davros's decision to create the Daleks clearly stems from fear:

"How scared must you be to seal every last one of your own kind into a tank? Davros made the Daleks. But who made Davros?"

And what child Davros needs is not to be abandoned in the middle of a field of handmines, or extermined, but the compassion that the Doctor is usually so willing to display, but fails to display at the most crucial moment of Davros's life. It's what he searches for the Doctor to tell him that he remembers as he is dying.

This one act of compassion could have saved so many lives and its the only one that the Doctor is unable to give.

[paucubarsisimp]

silent echoes

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which everyone pulls away including lando

warnings: suicide, cussing, death, angst (read at your own risk)

a/n: you're not alone <3

it didn’t happen all at once. it never does.

it starts with little things. unanswered messages. eyes that flicker past you in a room like you’re not really there. voices that used to say your name like it meant something, now barely even whispering it.

and then suddenly… you’re alone. not in a dramatic way. no big fights. no screaming. just distance. quiet, growing distance.

your family stops calling first. your mom used to check in every morning, even if it was just a quick “how did you sleep?” now her phone is always “on the other line.” always “will call you back.”

but she never does.

your sister had her baby last month. you weren’t invited to the hospital. you found out on facebook. she’d blocked you from her stories, but someone else posted a photo and tagged her.

you stared at the screen until your eyes burned.

when you asked her about it, her reply was short, cold, like she didn’t even recognize the sound of your name anymore.

“we didn’t think you’d want to come. you’ve been… distant.”

you wanted to scream. to tell her no, you’ve all just started walking away from me, but your voice caught in your throat. and you just said “okay.” because what else could you do?

your friends followed. slowly, then all at once.

first it was one friend forgetting to invite you to a party. then another bailing on dinner without a word. then the group chat went quiet. or maybe it didn’t—it just stopped lighting up for you.

you asked jess once if something was wrong.

she looked at you like it was obvious.

“i don’t know, y/n. being around you is… heavy. you bring the mood down.”

your chest felt like it collapsed in on itself. you didn’t even cry. you just nodded, said sorry, and left. even though she’d just carved a hole in your heart and walked away like it didn’t matter.

then there was lando.

your last light. your last safe place.

he used to hold you like the world couldn’t touch you. used to send goodnight texts from across the world, voice notes after races, sleepy photos with messy hair and soft smiles.

you loved him so much it hurt.

but even he started to go quiet.

he stopped replying as fast. stopped asking how your day was. he’d say he was tired. that the season was crazy. that you’d talk “soon.” but soon kept slipping further and further away.

you told yourself it was just stress. that he still loved you. that you weren’t losing him like you lost everything else.

but you were wrong.

you saw her in his photos first. blurry at the edges at first—someone cropped out of a frame. then slowly, more clearly. hand in hand. laughing. her in his hoodie.

not you. her.

your heart didn’t just break—it dissolved.

you showed up to his hotel before the spanish grand prix. you waited by the elevator for him, hands shaking, heart somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

he looked surprised to see you.

not happy.

just… surprised.

“y/n. what are you doing here?”

you tried to smile, but your lips didn’t move right.

“i needed to see you.”

he sighed. like he already knew what you were going to say. like it was a weight he didn’t want to carry.

“i didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” “so it’s true?” you whispered.

he didn’t answer.

and that was your answer.

you felt something break inside. not a crack. a collapse. the kind of heartbreak you don’t come back from. the kind that settles into your bones.

“what did i do wrong, lando?” “you didn’t… do anything,” he said, eyes flickering away. “you just started feeling like someone else. like being around you… wasn’t easy anymore.”

you wanted to scream. to beg. to make him look at you. remember you. remember who you used to be.

but you didn’t.

you just nodded. and walked away.

because you knew.

people don’t stay when you start to feel like a shadow.

now it’s quiet all the time.

no texts. no calls. no plans. the silence used to scare you. now it’s all you know. it’s comforting, in a sick kind of way. at least it doesn’t lie.

your phone lights up sometimes, but it’s never them. it’s bills. spam. promotions. not your mom. not jess. not lando.

never lando.

you see him sometimes. on your screen. smiling. winning. living. she’s still there. still by his side. you aren’t.

no one comes back. no one reaches out. and the worst part is—no one even notices you’re gone.

maybe you never really mattered. maybe you were just noise in other people’s lives, and when you went quiet, they just… moved on.

the world didn’t stop.

it never does.

but you did.

it’s not loud.

that’s the thing no one tells you.

when everything falls apart—when your body gives up before your heart does—it’s not loud. it’s just quiet. achingly quiet. like the moment right after a song ends and the world forgets to breathe.

you sit on the floor of your apartment. knees pulled to your chest. the only light is from your phone screen, still and dim on the carpet beside you. no missed calls. no unread messages.

no one is coming.

not your family. not jess. not lando.

you used to believe in second chances. in people coming back. in love strong enough to wait for you.

but now you believe in silence.

you press your cheek to your knee. your eyes are dry. the tears ran out days ago, or maybe weeks. time has stopped keeping track of you. like it, too, decided you weren’t worth remembering.

you wonder if they’d even notice. if tomorrow came and you didn’t.

would your mom check in? would jess say your name in passing and stop mid-sentence, realizing something was missing? would lando pause during breakfast, spoon halfway to his mouth, feeling a tug in his chest he couldn't explain?

would it matter?

you used to want to be held. now you just want to disappear.

your chest feels hollow. like your heart packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

you lie down slowly. the floor is cold. comforting, in a way. it doesn’t ask questions. doesn’t look at you with pity. it just holds your body like you still weigh something. like you still exist.

maybe this is enough.

not dying. just… stopping. just not fighting the heaviness anymore. letting it wash over you. letting it have you.

you close your eyes.

and for the first time in days, the noise in your head is gone.

no thoughts. no voices. just stillness.

you don’t know if you’ll get up.

you don’t know if you want to.

he finds out on a thursday.

a fucking thursday.

it’s quiet. nothing unusual. he's in his room, scrolling through his phone, the tv playing something he isn’t watching in the background. there’s a race coming up. he’s supposed to be hydrating, stretching, doing press.

instead, he’s scrolling. distracted. tired. disconnected.

and then he sees your face.

someone reposted a photo of you. he doesn’t even register the caption at first. just stares at your face. it’s one of those old ones—taken before things got messy. before everything changed. you’re laughing, eyes soft, mouth slightly open. he remembers the exact moment it was taken. you were teasing him about how bad he was at cooking pasta.

and then the caption.

“rest easy, y/n. you were too kind for this world.”

he blinks.

refreshes the app.

more posts. more photos. more goodbyes.

and then the words hit him all at once.

you're gone.

no warning. no call. no soft nudge. just this sharp, brutal truth delivered through a phone screen, surrounded by emojis and sad comments.

he thinks—no, hopes—that maybe it's a mistake. people spread bullshit online all the time, right?

but then his phone buzzes.

his mom. carlos. someone from your hometown.

every message is some version of the same impossible thing:

“i’m so sorry about y/n.” “i just heard.” “are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t speak. he just… breaks.

he leaves the hotel without telling anyone.

no destination. no phone. just his hoodie and the sound of your voice playing in his head like a loop that won’t stop.

he should’ve messaged you. should’ve picked up. should’ve noticed.

but he didn’t.

and now you’re gone.

he gets back to his apartment that night. it feels wrong being there, like the walls know what he did. or didn’t do. he sits on the floor. back against the door. knees pulled to his chest.

he finally opens your messages.

there’s one he never read. it’s been sitting there for weeks. his thumb hovers over it like it might burn him.

“hey. i don’t know if this matters anymore. i just wanted to say i miss you.”

that’s all.

short. soft. like you were trying not to take up too much space. even in the end, you were still being careful with him.

he covers his mouth and lets out the kind of sound that doesn’t even sound human. he curls in on himself and cries. ugly, violent sobs that tear out of him like punishment.

he doesn’t remember how long he stays like that. hours. maybe more.

at some point, he whispers your name out loud. just once. like if he says it gently enough, maybe you’ll come back.

you don’t.

he doesn’t race that weekend. they say it’s “personal reasons.” no one presses.

he doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. his phone stays off.

he keeps thinking about the last time he saw you. how you smiled at him like you still believed he’d come back. how your voice trembled when you asked if things were okay.

“you just feel… different,” he’d said.

and god, he wishes he could take it back.

you weren’t different. he was.

he was distant. cold. exhausted from his own life, and too selfish to make space for yours.

you were falling apart right in front of him, and he looked the other way.

a week later, he goes to your funeral. hood up. sunglasses on. back row.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t introduce himself. someone passes him a folded program with your photo on it. he folds it tighter in his palm until the paper creases down the middle of your face.

people cry. people talk about how sweet you were. how kind. how “no one saw this coming.”

he did.

he saw it coming. and he let it happen.

after that, nothing feels real.

he doesn’t post. doesn’t smile. doesn’t talk about you—not because he forgot, but because saying your name out loud feels like swallowing glass.

every room feels colder now. every laugh he hears sounds fake. he stops listening to the playlist you made him. starts avoiding the city you used to love. starts wearing the hoodie you left behind like it might bring you closer.

it doesn’t.

he scrolls back through old photos sometimes, fingers hovering over your face. he watches videos of you where you’re laughing and vibrant and full of life, and he hates himself for not seeing how dim your light had gotten near the end.

he dreams about you. sometimes you’re alive. sometimes you’re not. either way, he wakes up crying.

he writes you a message once.

he types it in his notes app, knowing it’s useless. knowing it’s not enough. but needing to say something.

“i should’ve shown up. i should’ve answered. i should’ve said i loved you when i had the chance. i didn’t forget you. i just thought you’d always be there. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.”

he never deletes it. just rereads it on nights he can’t breathe.

which is most of them now.

they tell him grief gets easier.

but what no one says is that guilt doesn’t.

and missing you? that’s forever.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , lmk if you want to be added!

[kooklovee]

Ruined Right (m) - JJK

Your boyfriend’s back to you on a break from his military training. In other words, you’re making up for the lost time in the hottest, messiest way possible.

Pairing - bf!Jungkook x gf!Reader

Genre - 18+ established relationship au, fluff, smut MDNI

Warnings - hard dom Jk, sub reader, Explicit smut - unprotected, protected sex, oral (m&f receiving), hair pulling, light choking, fingering, edging, overstimulation, head pusher Jk🥵, gagging, marking, mild degradation, doggy, man handling, rough sex, (is black lace a warning?), aftercare

Wc - 4k

a/n - have you'll seen Jungkook's vdos from a concert he attended recently.. I mean.. my man is definitely hUge🫠 anyways here's a little treat for making HOTM a hit🤗 nfhhdhjakq posted this in a hurry enjoy

Masterlist kofi

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

Jungkook is attending a concert tonight.

You’re curled up on your couch, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram, and there he is. Blurry, low-quality videos flood your feed- Jungkook in the audience, dressed in a black leather jacket and that ridiculously cute brown fur hat.

He had told you earlier that he’d be attending, and now that you’re seeing him, it’s impossible to ignore how much he’s changed. His body is massive now—so much broader, so much bigger. Sending the entire internet into a meltdown.

"WTF is he eating in the military??"

"Hobi really meant it when he said Jungkook is HUGE now. I can’t breathe."

The tweets keep rolling in, people thirsting over his military physique, but none of them know what you know. None of them know that after the concert, after months of being apart, Jungkook is coming to you.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen each other. In the beginning, when he first enlisted, you managed to meet a couple of times.

But then life got in the way. his schedule, your schedule, time slipping through your fingers. Just glimpses from video calls. And now, after months of waiting, you’re finally going to see him.

You swallow hard, your heart racing.

Because if Jungkook looks this good in a grainy fan video…you can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he’s standing right in front of you.

Your phone vibrates. Your boyfriend's name on the screen.

Kook: On my wayyyyyyy 🏃

You stand up, suddenly restless. You move to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair, adjusting your clothes, smoothing your hands over your skin.

Anticipation buzzing under your skin. It’s been so long. Too long.

The doorbell rings.

Your heart jumps. Running a quick hand through your hair, and you head for the door.

The second the door swings open, you don’t even give yourself time to process. He’s here.

Jungkook barely gets a breath in before you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs instinctively locking around his waist. A surprised chuckle rumbles from his chest as his strong hands catch you with ease, holding you up like you weigh nothing.

“Woah—someone missed me,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his tone.

“Of course I did,” you mumble against his skin, planting kisses all over his face—his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere your lips can reach. You feel the way his body shakes slightly with laughter, his grip on you tightening as he walks inside, shutting the door behind him without letting you go.

His scent surrounds you but there’s something different now. He’s bigger, his muscles even firmer beneath your touch, his frame broader than before. You pull back just enough to look at him properly, taking in the way his eyes soften as he gazes at you.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a grin. “You’re not even gonna let me breathe first?”

“Not a chance,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his, your fingers threading through his oh so short hair as he holds you impossibly close.

His lips move against yours, slow at first, savoring, but then he tightens his grip, fingers pressing into your thighs as he deepens the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and you whimper into his mouth, your body pressing closer, desperate to just feel him.

Jungkook groans lowly, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea how much I needed this.”

You swallow, heart pounding. “Then don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenches not wasting a second, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

His lips find yours again, rougher this time, his breathing heavy as he devours your mouth. You gasp against him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

By the time he reaches the bed, you’re dizzy from the kiss, from the sheer heat of his body surrounding you. He lowers you onto the mattress, but before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—caging you in,  hands already roaming.

He drags his lips along your jaw, down your neck. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His teeth graze your skin, and your body reacts instantly, arching beneath him, a soft whimper slipping past your lips.

Jungkook grins against your throat. “Missed me that much, baby?”

His tone is teasing, but the way his hands are gripping you tells you he’s just as desperate as you are.

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you pull him down, crashing your lips against his, pouring every ounce of pent-up longing into the kiss.

It’s messy, desperate, your fingers immediately working to shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets out a low chuckle, amused by your urgency, but he doesn’t stop you. He shrugs out of the jacket with ease before tossing it aside.

Your hands barely have time to explore before he’s pulling back, just enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt.

Your breath catches as he yanks the fabric over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the full extent of how much he’s changed.

The dim light of your room casting soft shadows over the broad set of his shoulders, the sheer size of him now.

Fuck.

Your eyes roam over him, taking in everything. The way his arms flex slightly as he tosses his shirt aside. He’s so much bigger now, so much more built than before.

Jungkook's lips curls up into a smirk, dark eyes watching you as you stare, shameless. “Like what you see?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your fingers itching to feel just how solid he’s become. Instead of answering, you reach for him, gripping his wrist and pulling him back down. You need him closer.

His hands move immediately, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up your arm.

“You’re staring too much,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw before trailing down to your neck, hot and slow.

Your breath hitches as his teeth graze your skin, nails digging slightly into his shoulders, “It’s distracting.”

Jungkook exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low and knowing. With one swift tug, he pulls your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside.

His hands freeze for a second when he sees what’s underneath.

Black lace.

Delicate, barely-there black lace lingerie, the kind that clings to your curves. The kind you’ve never worn for him before.

Jungkook’s eyes darken instantly, “Fuck.” His gaze devours you, dragging over every inch of skin, before flicking back to your face.

“You wore this for me?” His tone thick with something heavy, something raw.

You nod, heat creeping up your neck, but his reaction makes you bolder. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. “Baby…” He shakes his head slightly, his smirk returning, darker this time.

“You have no fucking idea what you just started."

His hands slip to your shorts, hooking his fingers into them. Slow.

“Off,” he mutters. “Now.”

And when you lift your hips, letting him strip them away, his eyes radiate just one thing—like he’s about to ruin you. Ruin you so right.

His hands hover over your skin, not quite touching yet, tongue swiping over his lower lip, eyes roaming over you, “You’re fucking dangerous,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hands move, gripping, spreading. Tracing their way up to your hips, dragging his fingers along the delicate lace, making sure you feel every single movement. The contrast of his rough touch against the soft fabric sends a shiver through you, your body reacting without hesitation.

“You like this?” he murmurs, his fingers teasing over the thin strap at your hip, “Wearing something this pretty—just for me?”

You barely manage a nod before he’s leaning down again, lips pressing against your stomach, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower.

His teeth graze against the sensitive fabric, right over your heat.

Your whole body jerks. A choked gasp leaves your lips.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, his breath hot, teasing.

Jungkook’s grip tightens around your thighs, keeping them firmly in place over his shoulders. His breath warm against the soaked fabric of your lace.

His fingers slide along the delicate material, pressing lightly over your heat, making you whimper.

His tongue flicking out just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Your frustration bubbling in your throat. “Jungkook—”

“Hm?” He looks up, smirking, eyes dark and playful.

You glare at him, panting slightly.

Jungkook chuckles.

“Jungkook, please—”, you finally breathe out.

His hands flex against your thighs. “Please what?”

You swallow hard, desperate now. “Please—please touch me. No more teasing, just—”

You don’t even get to finish. Jungkook shoves the lace aside in an instant, his mouth finally pressing against your bare heat. Hot. Wet. Messy.

You cry out. He devours you whole.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans against you, hands holding you down for him. “Should’ve begged sooner.”

Your back arches off the bed, a choked moan spilling from your lips as heat floods through your veins. His tongue moves with purpose, licking up every bit of your desperation like he’s been starving for this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mutters against you, his voice raspy. His pace steadily increasing until you’re a mess beneath him, gasping, panting.

It’s too much.

Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, your hips moving without thinking, chasing that high that’s so, so close.

“J-Jungkook—,” you breathe out, desperate now.

And then—he pulls away.

Your eyes snap open. “Wh—”

He licks his lips, his chin glistening, smirking as he watches you. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your legs still trembling—

“Not yet,” his eyes dark, thumb lazily tracing your inner thigh, ignoring the way you whimper, squirming under him.

You glare at him, frustration bubbling over. “You—”

“Be patient,” he mutters against your skin, smirk never fading. He loves this. loves seeing you needy, wrecked for him.

His lips trail up, enjoying the way your body reacts, the way your breathing stutters the higher he goes.

“Still looking so pretty for me.”

His fingers tracing over the thin lace barely covering your breasts. You shudder.

He licks over the lace, dragging his tongue slowly over the sensitive peak, soaking the fabric, teasing you without giving you what you need.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, hands gripping his biceps, nails digging into his skin.

He hums against you, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, grinning as he does it again torturously slow.

One hand trails lower, skimming over your waist, before hooking into the waistband of your lace panties dragging them down your legs.

His hands return immediately, fingers dipping between your thighs.

“Already so wet for me,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Messy little thing, aren’t you?”

He pushes a finger inside. A sharp gasp escaping your lips at how easily he slips in.

Your hands fly to his biceps, fingers gripping onto the hard muscle, holding on as he starts working you open.

Jungkook groans, feeling the way you clench around him, so warm, so tight.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he adds another finger, stretching you perfectly, curling just right. His pace deep, perfect.

His lips attach to your neck, sucking, biting. He wants you covered in him, wants you to see the evidence of this all over your skin when he’s done.

Jungkook feels the way your grip on his biceps trembles, nails pressing into his skin.

His fingers curl, pressing against that spot that makes your back arch off the bed, a sharp moan slipping past your lips.

And the second he presses his thumb against your aching clit, a strangled gasp rips from your throat. The added pressure sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking against his hand instinctively, chasing the feeling.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

His fingers move faster, deeper, his thumb pressing down just right.

“J-Jungkook—” you gasp, your voice breaking as your stomach tightens, heat rushing through you in waves.

He feels it, the way you clench around his fingers, your body shaking under his touch.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat, marking you again, sucking another bruise into your skin. “Come for me, baby.”

The pleasure crashes into you all at once, ripping through your body like a storm, your back arching, your thighs trembling. Your grip on him tightening, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Jungkook groans at the sight, his fingers still pumping into you, dragging out your release. His thumb giving one last, lazy stroke over your achingly sensitive clit.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your grip on his shoulders tight, your nails digging in as the aftershocks ripple through you.

He pulls his fingers out bringing them to his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly, still hazy from your high, as he licks his fingers clean.

His gaze never leaves yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice deep, wrecked, utterly sinful as he sucks the last of your release from his fingers. “Always fucking sweet.”

Jungkook’s mouth is on yours the second he finishes his filthy display.

His hand slides up your body, fingers slipping beneath the lace still covering your chest.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb rolling over the hardened peak, teasing. His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady beneath him.

But you’re impatient.

The heat still buzzing through your body is too much, your need for him too overwhelming.

So you push at his chest, flipping him over in one swift motion until you’re on top.

Jungkook lets out a low, dark chuckle, his hands immediately gripping your hips, his eyes burning with lust as he watches you take control.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, lips curling into a smirk.

You don’t answer. Instead, you kiss him again, messy, desperate, your hands roaming over his broad chest. His hardness presses against you through his pants and you can’t ignore it any longer.

Your fingers trail down, cupping him through the fabric. A low, gravelly groan rumbles from his throat, his hips pushing up into your hand, seeking more.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tilting back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second.

You don’t waste time.

Your fingers move to his zipper, pulling it down with ease, and Jungkook lifts his hips, helping you tug his pants and boxers down.

And there he is. Hard, flushed, leaking for you.

You kiss your way down his chest, your lips skimming over his abs, leaving a heated trail.

You consider teasing him—making him suffer the way he did to you. But you’re too impatient for that.

So you lick over his tip.

Jungkook’s sharp inhale is immediate.

“Fuck,” he breathes, fingers tangling into your hair, gripping tight—just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

You press your tongue flat against him, as you take him deeper.

His thumb strokes along your cheek.

“Just like that, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with praise.

A sharp curse spills from his lips, his hand tightening in your hair, his hips pushing forward just enough to make you gag around him.

His thumb wiping at the corner of your mouth.

“Messy,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing against your lower lip, feeling how wet and swollen it’s become. “God, you look so fucking pretty like this.”

Your thighs clenching at his words.

Jungkook’s grip in your hair tightens, pushing you down further.

Your throat tightens, a strangled gag ripping from you as your fingers instinctively tap at his thigh.

His hold loosens, his cock slipping slightly from your mouth as you gasp for air, your eyes watering as you look up at him.

Jungkook exhales heavily, his hand sliding from your hair to cradle your jaw instead, thumb stroking softly against your damp lips.

“Shit—sorry, baby,” he murmurs, but the smirk tugging at his lips tells you he’s not really sorry.

Your breath is still uneven, but you don’t hesitate lowering yourself again, wrapping your lips back around him, taking him as deep as you can.

Jungkook groans, his fingers slipping back into your hair.

You can tell he’s close.

The way his thighs tense, the way his groans become rougher, deeper, the way his fingers start to tug at your hair just a little more—

And then, he pulls you off him.

Yanks your head back, his cock slipping from your mouth, glistening, swollen.

His eyes burn into yours, wild, dark, filled with something dangerous.

“On all fours.”

Your stomach flutters violently, your legs weak, but you do as he says.

You shift, turning around, your hands pressing into the mattress.

His hands slide down your waist, fingers gripping, kneading, as he takes in the view.

“Fuck, baby,” he exhales, his voice filled with pure hunger.

You whimper softly, shifting impatiently, feeling the heat of his body behind you, but not enough of him.

“Needy?” His tone is mocking, but when his hand slides between your thighs, fingers teasing along your slick folds, his breath catches slightly. “God, you’re dripping for me.”

You push back against his touch, desperate for more, but he grips your hip tightly, stopping you.

“Be good,” he warns, voice low, authoritative.

You can hear it—the slick sounds of him jerking himself, as he grinds the tip against your soaked folds, teasing you mercilessly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough, strained. “Look at you… so fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, trying to push back onto him, but his grip tightens.

Reaching over, he grabs his pants, fishing out a foil packet. You glance over your shoulder, just in time to see him rip it open with his teeth, rolling the condom onto his cock, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

The sight alone has your stomach tightening, your thighs clenching.

He drags himself up and down slowly, deliberately, coating himself in your slick.

You whine, pushing back onto him again, but he just chuckles.

“Impatient little thing,” he murmurs, his lips suddenly right against your ear. His teeth graze the shell, biting down lightly before he soothes the sting with his tongue.

“You wanted this, baby,” he breathes, voice deep, velvety, dripping with control. “Now, you’re gonna take it.”

He pushes in.

A gasp rips from your throat, your fingers clenching the sheets as he stretches you open, filling you inch by inch.

Jungkook groans behind you, his grip on your hip tightening, his cock throbbing as he bottoms out, completely buried inside you.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his head falling back for a second, his body trembling slightly as you both adjust to the feeling.

His hips pull back, just enough to make you feel the drag, before he slams back in, a sharp thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

A shattered moan escapes you, your body rocking forward, but Jungkook doesn’t let you go.

Instead he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you upright, your back flush against his solid, burning chest.

His mouth is on you immediately, kissing, sucking, biting at your throat, his free hand spreading over your stomach, pulling you tighter against him.

“Tell me how much you missed me, baby,” he murmurs against your already bruised skin, his hips still snapping into you, deep, devastating.

You bite your lip, smirking slightly despite the overwhelming pleasure, deciding to test him, just a little.

“No,” you breathe, teasing, taunting.

Jungkook freezes for half a second—before he groans, low and dangerous.

His hand moves up, fingers wrapping around your throat, firm. Enough to make you feel it, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

A dark chuckle spills from his lips as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Didn’t have my cock shoved in your pussy for months, and this is how bratty you’ve become?” he mocks, his fingers squeezing slightly, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you still as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, punishing.

His grip on your throat lingering for a moment before he releases you, only to push you down, pressing your head into the pillow.

His hips snap forward, knocking the air from your lungs. Your moan is muffled against the pillow, but it doesn’t matter—he hears it anyway.

You’re a mess beneath him, your hands gripping at the sheets, your body rocking forward with each powerful thrust.

“Feel that?” he pants, taunting, his hand sliding from your back down to your ass, squeezing. “That’s what you’ve been missing, baby.”

Jungkook groans at the way you clench around him, his grip on you tightening, his pace turning brutal, relentless.

“That’s right,” he mutters, teeth gritted, voice wrecked. “Fucking take it.”

Jungkook feels the way your body tenses, the way your walls flutter around him, and he knows you’re close.

So he moves his free hand, slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

A sharp, wrecked gasp rips from your throat as he circles it, firm with his pounding thrusts.

“Come for me, baby,” he groans, his voice low, commanding.

Your legs shake violently, your thighs tightening.

Pleasure crashes through you, blinding, overwhelming, your moans breaking apart as your body convulses beneath him. Your walls pulse around him, dragging him deeper into your orgasm, milking every last wave of bliss.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop.

His hips keep slamming into you, riding out your high, his movements still relentless, consuming.

Your body jerks, overstimulated, the pleasure unbearable now.

“Too much—” you choke out, your voice broken, shaking.

Jungkook leans over you, panting, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice rough, strained.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs against your sweaty skin, his breath hot, desperate. “Give me one more.”

You whimper, shaking your head weakly, but he feels the way your body reacts, the way you’re already spiraling again, trapped in his rhythm, in his control.

Your second orgasm slams into you suddenly, shattering through your already wrecked body. You cry out, your walls clenching down on him, and that’s all it takes—

Jungkook groans, his hips slamming into you one last time, burying himself deep as his release finally overtakes him.

A low, wrecked moan leaves his lips as his body shudders against yours, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you tight as he spills into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled, trembling, completely spent.

Jungkook exhales heavily, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his hands soothing over your body, grounding you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse, satisfied, full of something deeper. “You’re… unreal."

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, turning your head slightly to meet his half-lidded, blissed-out gaze.

You both collapse onto the bed, Jungkook still buried deep inside you, your bodies tangled, sticky with sweat, breathing heavy, uneven.

Neither of you speak for a while, just taking your time, letting the warmth of each other sink in. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his chest rising and falling against your back.

After a few moments, his lips find your skin.

Soft, warm kisses pressed to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. His hands glide over your waist, soothing.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice softer now, filled with something tender.

You nod, turning your face slightly toward him, feeling a little shy now that the intensity has faded.

Jungkook’s lips brush against your temple as he murmurs, “Was I too rough?” His voice is softer.

You shake your head, feeling a little shy now, but your voice is steady when you say, “No… I loved it.”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

Slowly, he pulls out, making you shudder slightly at the loss of him. He presses one last kiss to your shoulder before getting up, disposing of the condom.

He returns with a warm towel cleaning you up carefully, gently, his touch soft, eyes flickering up to yours every now and then, making sure you’re okay.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and slides back into bed, immediately pulling you into his arms. His body is warm, solid, safe, fingers tracing light patterns over your bare back.

For a while, you both just lay there, wrapped up in each other.

After a moment, you murmur into his chest, “When are you leaving?”

Jungkook sighs softly, his grip on you tightening slightly, like he doesn’t want to answer.

“Tomorrow morning,” he finally says, voice quieter.

Your stomach sinks a little, but before you can dwell on it, he tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze.

A small smirk tugs at his lips, fingers sliding down your spine, slow and teasing.

“But,” he whispers, his voice low, filled with promise, “I still have time to make the most of tonight.”

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

[rjkooks]

i'm outside, let's talk. (m)

you finally give in and talk to your ex after numerous attempts of him trying to contact you. surely, nothing will go beyond mere communication, right?

. pairing: exbf!jungkook x afab!reader . wc: 1.3k . genre: porn with very little plot, exes to lovers . cw: just two exes that don't know how to be exes lmfao, car sex, penetration, unprotected sex (don't be like them), doggy, dirty talk, dom!jk, sub!reader, creampie, i think that's it lmk if i miss anything!

a/n: heh... long time no see. after two years of hiatus, i thought about posting smth rlly short to ease myself into writing again :) happy reading! feedback is highly appreciated!

jungkook: come down jungkook: im outside jungkook: we need to talk

what more should be there to talk about? scoffing, you dismiss the string of messages your ex sent, proceeding to go back to your previous activity of mindlessly scrolling through tiktok videos.

why should you talk to him? he had a decision — and the decision he ultimately chose was to disrespect your relationship and leave, much like perpendicular lines never to cross again: that’s the only closure you need.

however, jungkook is different.

you think of him as an insect — those annoying ones in particular. once it gets in your abode, it’ll suddenly forget its way out and invade your precious space as if living with you free of charge.

that’s what your ex is.

stubborn, incessant, and most notably, stupid.

so, it’s not much of a surprise when you see his name appear on the banner on top of your phone again, one text being sent after the other.

jungkook: don’t leave me on read jungkook: i’ll climb up ur window if i have to, ___ jungkook: please baby i wanna talk with u jungkook: istg if u block me jungkook: pls dont

you were about to block him actually, if it weren’t for the video that redirected your attention.

“no caption, no hashtag, you were meant to see this! you’re going to get back with your hot ex tonight and i mean it. he’s thinking about you right now and is thinking of ways on how to make up for his mistakes. go get him, girl! get your fine shyt back!”

you swore your eye twitches after watching an absolute stranger predict the next moments of your evening.

with your ex’s unceasing messages and a random video that is severely relevant to your current situation, is the universe really giving you all the telltale signs you need?

as olivia rodrigo said, you probably shouldn't, but seeing him tonight isn’t a bad idea, right?

after deliberately having an internal conflict, you finally made up your mind after careful consideration.

you’re just going to talk. what harm could there be in that?

so, you heave a deep breath before standing up from your bed, your legs bringing you outside the premises of your home to see his black mercedes parked right in front of your lawn.

you stride over to it in quick steps with the intention of holding a brief conversation with him before you bid your final farewells: that’s what you hopefully thought.

assuming he’s inside the vehicle, you tapped on the tinted window a couple of times before you hear his muffled voice, “get in.”

you do as he says, sitting next to him on the passenger seat, and you almost regret it. it was no surprise that it was dim inside, and the air conditioning of his car only made goosebumps prick your skin, and what’s worst of all is the familiar scent of his perfume permeating your senses again.

and that’s when the realization sinks in that you’re actually with your ex boyfriend right now.

you gaze at him silently. thankfully, you couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark, but his features are still there. you part your lips to break the awfully dead silence, yet your voice came out more meek than you’d like.

“you said you wanted to talk..?”

he lowers his gaze to where your hands are placed right on top of your thighs. he knows his presence was suffocating you, so he can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips. “yeah, just wanted to clear some things between us.”

that’s the last thing you remember your ex saying before he has you bent over in the back of his car.

“ngghh… jungkook!” you gasp, a string of drool dribbling from the corner of your lip as you leave a faint handprint of yourself on the fogged window.

“oh, fuck,” he hisses feeling you clench down on his throbbing length. “missed this tight cunt so much,” he groans before landing a harsh spank on your ass, for sure leaving a red mark that will sting for days. “you missed this dick too, baby?” he pants through ragged breaths, and you could sense that damn cocky smirk plastered on his face despite being behind you.

he pulls out another cry from you when you feel his dick kissing your cervix. “y-yes..!” you sob, face buried in the leather seats.

a chuckle full of menace was heard from him as you feel his slender fingers wrap around the roots of your hair, forcefully tugging you until you’re eye-level with the window.

he rips sob after sob out of you, undoubtedly aroused from how your gummy walls were sucking him in so eagerly, a creamy ring of white making a mess out of his length.

“bet you couldn’t find someone who can fuck you like i do, huh?” he huffs against your ear, voice hot and heavy as a tattooed finger presses itself against your clit. “that’s why your slutty little cunt is making such a mess on my cock, right?”

you mewl, resting your head against his shoulder as you nod eagerly. your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth, rendering you speechless from the way he’s perfectly molding the shape of his cock in your pussy right now.

seeing you like this—all hot and vulnerable beneath him, he couldn’t hold in the cocky grin on his face, his ego inflating to a size larger than the earth itself.

he lands a particularly harsh slap against your ass, making you yelp in pain before you fall face flat on the leather seats again.

and when he sets his pace to that of raw, primal need, you begin to tremble, sensing as if your legs are about to give in on you any moment.

“j-jungkook—hah… too much,” you whine, feeling your impending orgasm approaching rapidly.

“cum with me, baby,” he pants, pressing his solid chest against your back, leaving you no room for any escape.

the way the tip of his leaking cock kept kissing your soft spongy spot has you seeing stars. his car became way too humid from how long he’s been fucking you, and you could care less whether the car could be seen rocking back and forth in the middle of the neighborhood, or whether or not the obscene noises you and jungkook were making could be heard a block away.

“please… wanna cum s’bad!” your words come out slurred, brain turning into complete mush devoid of any thoughts aside from cumming.

“awww, my baby wants to cum?” he coos sweetly against your ear, turning absolutely feral seeing you all submissive for him, sobbing as you beg for some sort of mercy from him.

and of course he’s going to give it to you.

he feels your walls hugging him for dear life, as if never wanting him to pull out, and he swears he could die a happy man like this right now.

“go on, baby, let go. i got you,” he whispers hotly before swiping your clit three more times, giving you the most delicious orgasm you haven’t tasted in months.

you tremble violently beneath him, a long whine escaping you as he fucks you through it, soon cumming right after you did.

he groans, flooding your hole with his warm cum before finally pulling out a minute later.

exhausted, he plops himself right next to you, and neither of you have spoken for a few minutes, merely the sound of your mingling breaths could be heard in his dark mercedes.

however, when you look into his eyes, you can see the change of look from lust to determination. you notice him hesitating for a bit, and before you could ask your ex what’s wrong, he swiftly cuts you to the chase.

“give me one more chance, baby.”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° you outshine the morning sun

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — just a short drabble bc domestic sae has invaded my brain

♡ word count — 705

♡ content — sae itoshi x reader, sae x fem! reader, made sae abt 25 in this, marriage mentioned, pregnancy mentioned. AN: i'd give this man as many babies as he wants.

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi didn't need to be a soccer god, not as long as he had you

The roar of the crowd still buzzed in Sae Itoshi’s ears as he exited the stadium, the post-game adrenaline barely settled in his veins. The night air was thick with the voices of fans calling his name, their desperation and admiration mixing into a cacophony he had long since learned to ignore.

"Sae! Just one autograph!"

"Marry me, Sae! Please! Just one chance!"

"I’d give you as many babies as you want!"

The shrill voices of young girls, the deep admiration from older men, the wistful sighs of women both young and old—none of it meant anything to him. He kept his gaze forward, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides as he pushed through the chaos. The only thing on his mind was getting home.

A sleek black car idled by the curb, the driver standing by the door, already well aware of the arrangement. No talking. No questions. Just drive and get him home as quickly as possible, and the tip would be hefty. An even bigger one if the trip was fast.

Sae slid into the back seat without a word, the door shutting out the noise of the world outside. He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat as the car pulled away from the stadium and into the quiet of the night. The streetlights blurred past, but he barely noticed them. Instead, his hands moved instinctively to his duffel bag, fingers searching through the smallest inside pocket until they curled around something cool and familiar.

A simple silver ring, discreet and unassuming, warmed quickly in his palm. His thumb brushed over the carved initials—his and yours—etched into the metal. He slipped it onto his ring finger, feeling a sense of calm wash over him.

Yeah. He just needed to get home.

The drive was mercifully quick, and before long, he was stepping out of the car and up the pathway to the house—the one place in the world where he wasn’t Sae Itoshi, soccer legend. He barely had time to set his duffel bag down when something small and fast crashed into his leg.

"Daddy!"

A grin tugged at Sae’s lips as he looked down, teal eyes meeting an identical pair staring up at him with pure joy. His daughter, barely three years old, clung to his leg with all her might. Her soft pink hair was pulled up into two messy pigtails, bouncing as she giggled.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, crouching down to scoop her into his arms. She fit so perfectly against him, her tiny hands grabbing onto his jersey as if she never wanted to let go. And he? He didn’t mind one bit.

"Oh! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon," your voice rang out from the kitchen, warm and full of love. Sae glanced up just as you turned the corner, a wooden spoon in your hand, eyes crinkling at the sight of him. "The game just ended."

"Took a shortcut," he said simply, stepping closer to you.

His gaze flickered down to the soft curve of your stomach, where a second life—one he helped create—was steadily growing. Without hesitation, he reached out, resting a gentle hand there, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his fingertips.

A soft smile played on your lips as he leaned in, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss against them. Before you could deepen it, a tiny voice piped up between you.

"Yuck!" your daughter squealed, squirming in his arms.

You laughed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of pink hair behind her ear. "You say that now, but one day, you’ll think it’s sweet."

"Nuh-uh!" she insisted, her little nose scrunching up in defiance.

Sae chuckled, finally feeling the weight of the world ease off his shoulders. Here, there were no screaming fans, no demanding coaches, no suffocating expectations. Just you, your daughter, and the quiet hum of home.

Sae Itoshi didn’t need fangirls, fanboys, or old women begging for his attention. He didn’t need adoration from the world, validation from the media, or the empty promises of strangers who only saw him as a soccer god.

Sae Itoshi just needed this.

Sae Itoshi just needed to be home.

Sae Itoshi just needed you.

posting this as an apology for going MIA for a bit :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[transgendz]

Making this short, heavy details below the cut: household is 3 disabled people, I'm the main provider. I do art stuff. Extreme medical costs coming up, no insurance for 2/3 of us, cancer for the person who is insured, recent surgery for me and struggling to get back to work, behind on bills, we are a queer family, and one of us is intersex and needs a legal gender and name change to maintain safety and get access to more resources in an increasingly fascist state.

Dm for proof, vetted by @kyra45-helping-others who does scam busting on here, again below the cut, including details about the goal of this post

My kofi is set up with monthly tiers, and my art blog is @theartistrans examples above

$C--V--PP--kofi

The oldest of us has a cancer diagnosis, which, they're not sure it's cancer anymore but they're not sure it's Not cancer, so they're doing a lot more tests and either way she's going to likely need chemo, as that's the next major treatment option for her disability either way. It's Be Ready For Chemo purgatory.

M recently got his proof of citizenship and related documents from abusive adoptive parents, and needs a name and gender change. He frequently encounters discrimination as a result of not having this already. He may need to drive cross country to get that done, things here are changing quickly it's already very difficult to get a name change here in these situations. He is intersex and needing medical treatment relating to that, but the appointment coming up in a few days will be $500 because he doesn't have insurance. He needs an epi pen and doesn't have one. We both severely need new glasses, that in particular affects my ability to work.

Not being able to get insurance has meant extreme costs, some of them monthly bc of monthly prescription refills, which we increasingly just haven't been able to cover

If/when we can get his name changed (and that is kind of priority atp) we will get married which will provide us the peace of mind of being eachothers next of kin, but also enable us to have insurance and have our income rightly seen as joint in the eyes of our state.

We may need to leave our state. We need to building an emergency fund, but this isn't about this, this is about enabling us to just get stable.

The lack of stability has badly worn on my mental health as the main provider. I am constantly afraid of us becoming homeless again. I struggle often to levels I am not comfortable discussing here. Poverty has caused us to lose a concerning amount of weight, M and I weighing about what we did when we hit puberty. Things are going badly.

Our total goal is unclear right now, it all sort of depends on how quick things go, and how much Ms abusive adoptive parents help. We will absolutely need almost 2k just to get the immediate medical stuff and most urgent bills taken care of though. As mentioned before M's upcoming appointment is $500

[blueboybot]

Damsel Not In Distress: The Kidnapped Chronicles

Just a short story I'll be posting here with Danny getting kidnapped constantly but beating the shit out of his kidnappers, and somehow going viral everytime he does it.

_________

To think this all started because he kissed Robin on the cheek as a quick thank you for 'saving' Cujo before rushing off with his green dog. Well, unfortunately for Danny someone caught it on video and it had been trending for a while.

Things had finally settled down when some idiot kidnapped him and some other civilians claiming how he was going to use Danny to lure out the Bats because obviously giving Robin a peck on the cheek meant that they were in a relationship together.

After freeing himself and beating up the criminal this has become an almost weekly occurence. And then it finally happened, one of Gotham's major villians kidnapped him...the Joker.

Glad to say that after freeing himself Danny promptly walked up to the man who was still talking to the camera, not noticing the pissed off teenager behind him, and used the ropes that once had him tied to choke the Joker. Luckily for the Joker the Bats arrived and took care of things before it became a crime scene.

What Danny was not expecting was being crushed on by Robin, who had been showing up after his beatdown of criminals.

Too bad Damian Wayne wants to make Danny his.

[danidrabbles]

Home Again

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader | 3k words | explicit

Summary: After four days apart, Robby is aching to see you after his shift.

Tags/Warnings: Robby’s POV, female reader (female anatomy, boobs big enough to fit around a dick but I firmly believe that all boobs are fuckable boobs and that no matter how big or small your boobs are, Robby and you would make it work 🫶), post Season 1, established new relationship, therapy mention (🥳), fluff/feelings/angst, kissing, nipple play, breast play (Robby fucks them), Reader being held down, fingering (f receiving), super brief blowjob, smidge of comeplay – let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: I wrote a huge portion of this down weeks ago, meant as a part of a multi-chaptered fic, but then I remembered that I suck at multi-chaptered fic… I reworked this as a standalone one shot, with the possibility of adding more – like a series of snapshot looks at their relationship. I’m kind of dropping you in the middle. I want these to be centered around music (Baby has been on repeat) and I had a lot of fun imagining other songs Robby might listen to. First songs of this series are Home Again and Where You Lead, both by Carole King. Ok! Yay! Hope you enjoy!

– – – – –

Standing in front of your apartment, Robby slips into the familiar routine of pressing his foot against the door then pulling at the handle before pushing it down. The lock clicks, and it’s followed by a faint creak. 

When the door swings open, he’s met with the clean scent of detergent, the sound of Carole King spinning on the record player, crooning about snow and rain chilling her soul right to the marrow. A smile curls at his lips at the song, and at the sight of you, wearing a loose fitting T-shirt and dark cotton shorts he’s seen you sleep in once or twice, swaying your hips to the music. Your back is turned to him, too busy folding some laundry on the kitchen table and singing along to the music to notice him yet. 

Until he closes the door behind himself a little louder than he wanted, and your head whips around.

“Hey!” you greet him, a smile breaking out across your face at the sight of him. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” 

Robby’s stomach does a little flip at the excitement in your voice. He pockets his sunglasses, toes off his shoes, drops his backpack by the door, and reaches you in a few quick strides. His arms wrap around your middle from behind and he greets you back with a kiss to your cheek and a, “Hi.” Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he holds you close and watches as you finish folding your last two pieces of clothing. “How are you?”

“Hmm, good. Just finishing up,” you say, your hand finding his cheek blindly. Your nails scratch softly at the coarse hair you find under your palm while your free hand divides your washing into neat stacks. “And you? How was work?”

Robby hums, the sound noncommittal as he nuzzles your neck and his beard tickles your bare shoulder. 

It hadn’t been better or worse than any other day, but work had kept the two of you apart for four days in a row now, and it had made his body thrum in a way that was distinctly different from the usual emergency department adrenaline rush. Despite the fact that he was busy, flitting between rooms, checking up on patients and residents alike, firing questions at the interns, you were on the back of his mind all day. The feeling of wanting to be around someone so bad that it became physical was something he’d long forgotten, and he spent the day aching for the end of shift so he could go see you, even though you hadn’t made any plans.

“It was okay,” he says. Without planning to, he adds, “I was thinking about you, I missed you.” 

Robby’s terrified of how fast he’s falling, and how quick this has become something meaningful; this thing between you new enough to still be making him feel like a teenager with a crush, but familiar enough that you leave the door unlocked for him. For the first time in a long time, he feels like there’s more to his life than his job, but he’s afraid it’s all too much, that his personal and work life can't possibly coexist as equals.

But he’s working on it. Every Wednesday afternoon he’s talking to someone about it.

Because if he’s truly honest, he’s equally terrified of something–or God forbid, you–stopping this now. He’s a little too familiar with people close to him letting him down, and this thing between you crashing, on top of everything else that happened in the past two months, might be too painful. So he can’t move too fast, or–  

But then he feels the way your cheeks round around a smile, and he forgets his train of thought when you say, I missed you, too, and melt into his embrace.

“Yeah?” he asks, peppering your shoulder with kisses to hide the relief that washes over him at your words.

Your head turns to him, your palm on his cheek guiding him to look at you. “Yeah,” you say quietly. It sounds like a promise, and the worry etched on his face instantly smoothes over. Your lips find his in a kiss that’s soft and slow. Robby sighs into it, his eyes fluttering closed as the warm press of your mouth soothes him as much as your words did. 

When your arm lifts and your hand slides back into his hair, your shirt rides up. Robby’s fingers slide down over your skin, the space from your hips to your belly button pleasantly warm, and his pinky grazes the waistband of your panties that peeks out from your shorts. He cracks an eye open when he feels it. It’s simple, black cotton; no frills, nothing fancy. But it’s you and it’s driving him crazy.

He kisses you harder, swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, your answering gasp allowing him to taste you; it’s familiar and sweet, a hint of that drink you like so much still lingers. Robby gets lost in it, in the feeling of your hand tightening in his hair, your tongue dipping into his mouth, the feeling of your stomach tensing under his touch when he uses his grip on you to grind against the swell of your ass.

“Fuck– I really missed you,” he murmurs.

“Hmm, so you said,” you say with a grin. You guide his hand under your shirt, up, until it fits around the underside of your naked breast. “Why don’t you show me?”

He nods, nose sliding against yours when he does. He moves slowly, testing the weight of your chest in his palm before pushing up with a squeeze and flattening it against you. You’re even warmer here, smooth under his touch until your nipple hardens under the roll of his thumb. The sound of your breath hitching when he pinches it is music to his ears, and he can’t help but laugh when your hand slams against the glossy surface of the table the moment he gently twists the sensitive bud.

“I said show me,” you huff, but the unserious tone of your voice is not lost on him, “not tease me.”

“Same difference,” he says, taking pity on you nonetheless and going back to kneading your breast instead. He nips at your pulse, “Why don’t you show me to the bedroom?”

He can feel your laughter before he hears it. “I’m pretty sure you know the way by now.”

– – – – –

If anyone were to walk into your apartment now, they would find a trail of clothes - a T-shirt, a Beers of the Burgh Festival hoodie, cotton shorts, charcoal coloured scrubs, cargo pants - tracking from the kitchen to your bedroom.

You’re on the bed, sitting up against the pillows, working your underwear down your legs and throwing them off to the side; Robby’s working as fast as he can to match your state of undress. 

There’s so much he wants; to get lost in the taste of you with your moans muffled by your thighs around his ears, to turn you over and slide inside while he can get his hands on your ass, to switch places so he can have you in his lap and kiss you for as long as he needs. But then he catches the way your fingers slide over your kiss-swollen lips, down to cup your breast while your eyes rove over his body. He recalls the way you felt in his hand just minutes before, soft and pliant, and suddenly he knows exactly what he wants.

“Stay right there” he says, sliding his boxers off, before kneeling on the comforter at the end of the bed.

He shuffles closer, straddles your waist, and when he finds your eyes to check in with you, they’re glittering with enthusiasm. Working with him, you slide down to make sure you fit together, his knees pressing into your armpits. Robby takes a careful seat on top of you, pinning you under his weight.

When he takes himself in hand, he catches the way your mouth falls open, ready, but instead of guiding himself inside, he taps the head of his cock against the soft underside of your breast. It lands with a wet sound, and a surprised, encouraging gasp from you. A little string of precome connects the two of you, and he repeats the action, alternating sides, watching your skin bounce, before resting his shaft against your sternum.

Realization makes your eyes widen, your pupils dilate, and you quickly move to cup your breasts, then push them together around his length. “Is this how you want it?” you ask, eyes falling down to watch, covering what doesn’t fit with your palm, before looking back up at him.

His hands curl around the headboard to keep himself steady, the peak of his nose and the high of his cheeks no doubt dusted with a rosy flush. It feels better than he imagined, you are making it feel better than he imagined; the eager energy, the tight press of your hands.

“Yes.” 

“Hmm, yeah?” you ask, moving your hands up and down to give him some friction. “Do you wanna fuck my tits, Robby?”

His eyes flutter, a shaky breath sailing past his lips at your sweet tone. “Fucking– You know I do,” he grunts, giving an experimental thrust of his hips.

“Hold on, lift up” you murmur, letting go of yourself. Robby takes himself in hand, following your instructions and giving his length a slow stroke. Your lips purse, before you spit into the cup of your palm and spread your saliva between your breasts. Using the same hand, you reach for him, stroking down until you meet his fist. “Now come back.”

“Jesus,” Robby huffs, the sight of your dewy skin and the feeling of your soft, slick hand guiding him making his cock pulse. The snug fit between your glistening tits reminds him of the way your pussy feels at that very first slide inside; the warm, velvety stretch, that specifically slippery feeling he can’t really describe. He sets a gentle pace, testing the waters, watching the tip reappear on each forward thrust of his hips.

“It looks so hot,” you mutter softly. “How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief at just how good it is.

“Yeah,” you encourage, moving a little under him and pushing down harder, making the space tighter. ”Keep fucking me like this.”

Robby’s eyes close with a groan at the feeling. Between the plush press of your skin, the words spilling from your lips and how wound up he’s felt all day, he knows he’s not going to make this last as long as he wants. 

Before he’s fully thought about doing it, his hand is flying up to his mouth. He licks at the pads of his fingers before reaching behind him, between your legs. He can see it on your face when he finds your clit, just a fraction before he feels himself roll over it; the widening of your pretty eyes, the twitch of your lips before they fall open around a surprised, deep moan. Robby can feel the rumble against his thighs where they’re pressed against your ribs. You buck under him, chasing his touch, his slippery fingers sliding over your lips, down to the wetness collecting at your opening. He uses it, dips one fingertip inside, swipes up, and swirls it around.

More of your sweet sounds echo around the bedroom, and it goes straight to his cock, getting the space between your breasts wetter with the next push of his hips. Together, you find a rhythm; the push, pull, twirl of hands and hips, the sounds, all making Robby’s mind swim.

“Faster,” you mutter, planting your feet against the mattress to give him more room to follow your instructions. “Please, just a little faster.”

Robby tries to do as you ask, tries focusing on his ministrations equally. He’s dipping forward more and more, the slick head of his cock grazing your chin every couple thrusts. Your mouth drops open, tongue unfurling, and his pace stutters when he fucks up against it. “Sweetheart,” he warns sharply, the muscles in his thighs flexing when you dip into his slit before closing your lips around his tip. 

One of your hands lets up, using the other and the side of your elbow to keep yourself closed around him. Reaching for him, you finger the hair that’s scattered all over him, following the dark trail down over the soft give of his belly, his hips twitching when you flit over that sensitive spot next to his navel. The wild curls at his base are wet with a mix of your spit and his precome, and he can’t help but let out a gruff sound when you give them a little tug.

It makes him press down harder between your legs, pushing the hood of your clit back further and exposing more of it to his rolling fingers. With a gasp, your mouth pops off him, head falling back into the pillow as your eyes screw shut. “Oh, my– Stay right there,” you beg, widening your legs, “Robby, yes, it’s– Fuckfuckfuck–” 

Robby can feel your pulse where he’s touching you, the twitching under the circle of his fingers turning into a steady throb as you come with a breathy gasp. It’s one of the most erotic things he’s ever experienced, he thinks, the feeling of it, the sight of your shoulders pulling together as you arch up, managing to keep yourself pressed around his cock, your mouth hanging open as you shudder under him.

He wants to tell you everything; how good you look, how good it feels, that he’s so hard that it hurts, but it’s too much. The familiar feeling of release is already tingling up his spine and taking root in his gut, making his shaft pulse and his balls draw up. “Gonna come,” he manages. 

“Please. Want you to feel good.” You sound wrecked, voice gone hoarse with desire and intensifying the pleasure coursing through his body. “Want it all over me.”

The headboard creaks again when he lets go, grabbing at you before you can reach up to help him, pinning your wrist to the mattress while pulling himself from between your tits with his other hand. The bounce of your chest, your dazed little grunt, and the quick, wet slap of his fist make him feel warm all over. It’s a fight to keep his eyes open when it hits, when he almost doubles over before he splashes warmly over your chest with a deep groan of satisfaction. He’s heaving on top of you, hissing as he uses the tip of his cock to smear his come over your pebbled nipples, braving the overstimulation until he has to pull away. 

After a beat, when the final drop lands on your skin and he starts softening in his palm, his shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. The muscles in his thighs protest when he lifts himself off you, before he settles on his back beside you. With a little frown, he takes your wrist, and brings it to his lips. “Got a little carried away,” he says apologetically.

Still catching your breath, you huff out a laugh. “‘’s okay,” you say, voice reassuring as you shuffle towards him, careful not to spill, until your hip presses against his. You turn your face towards his. “I liked it. All of it.”

Robby hums in agreement, lacing your fingers together and resting them on his chest. His heart is still slamming behind his ribcage as he comes down, and he sighs again as he allows himself to slowly feel the contentment thrumming through his veins, watching as you curiously search his face. 

A finger comes up to caress his jaw. “Are you staying?”

He snorts. “You just want someone other than you to finally turn poor Carole over.”

You throw your head back, the line of your throat bobbing with a laugh. “You’re funny.”

Robby uses your joined hands to pull you closer. “You think so?” he asks, basking in the way the crinkles next to your eyes deepen at his question.

“Very,” you say, giving him a quick peck before letting go of him and getting on your feet. “I should really get cleaned up.”

Robby’s eyes land on the swell of your ass, the sway in your hips as you make your way to the bedroom door. When you turn in the doorway, his gaze is drawn to your sticky chest; his come warm enough to still be sliding down, slow as molasses, but cooled enough that he’s pretty certain it won’t leak everywhere before you’ve made it to the bathroom. The amused look on your face when he drags his eyes up again makes him blush.  

“How about this: I’ll take one for the team and turn Carole over before I clean up, and you are staying,” you propose. “Deal?”

“Deal. But…,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “...if you want to send me away when you hear my poor rendition of Where You Lead, I would totally understand.”

One corner of your mouth turns up, but it quickly morphs into something else, a crease forming between your brows. You shuffle your feet, your voice softer, “I could never send you away while you’re singing that song.”

Robby’s mouth goes dry, but before he can even think of how to reply, you’re turning on your heels, padding towards the kitchen. There’s a sharp pinch in Robby’s chest; your words, your sweet face, lyrics, it all settles somewhere behind his ribs, blooming bright and warm. He falls back against your pillows, eyes pressed tightly shut as he brings a fist to the center of his chest, moving it in circles, something he’s done with so many patients today.

It does very little to snap him out of how affected he is.

They didn’t cover this in med school. 

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! Also, if you have any song suggestions, send them over, I’d love to add more songs to my Dr. Robby playlist!

[engenlvr]

some random girl | alexia putellas

summary : you go to test alexia and she fails miserably

tags + a/n : age gap, implied smut, downbad!alexia, spelling mistakes cause this was rushed, i don’t think there’s anymore to add but idk. anyway a quick little fic while i finish my other one. also two posts in less than a week who am i

word count : 1k

everyone knew that alexia didn’t have a huge social media presence.

if she posted it would always be about club or country, the world barely saw alexia do a media dump and when she did the they went crazy. you’ve been begging alexia to post more ever since you met her but still nothing.

the two of you never posted a picture together so when the fans thought you two were together it was all speculation. either from a picture of you at one of barcelona’s games but you were never seen talking to her only some of the younger girls.

you’d post a story on instagram of the two of you but it would be your hands or a picture of you guys standing next to each other waist down.

and alexia well there was only one post of you that she tagged you in and that was when you first became friends other than that she’d post what like a picture of your hand that’s it.

what you and alexia posted was enough for them to speculate but not nothing concrete.

you guys were careful cause well alexia could be paranoid cause she knew what her fans were like. if you guys went out it was in the parts of barcelona that people didn’t really know about unless they were locals.

after being together for a while you both decided that if one of you wanted to post the other they could. at first you thought a soft launch would be perfect. drive the fans crazy a little seeing as nothing could make them say that it was alexia confidently.

but when you saw the new tiktok trend you just had to do it with her, skip the soft launch you started and skip right to the hard launch.

everything was set up, phone on alexia’s kitchen counter all you needed was for her to come back from training. when you heard the familiar sound of door opening followed by the sound of a her bag being thrown to the floor you knew it was her and that it was time.

“ale baby, come here for a second”

she didn’t reply but the sound of her footsteps becoming louder was confirmation enough and soon enough her figure appeared.

the second you could see she was in the frame you knew it was time.

“think fast i’m some random girl” rushing out the words as quickly as possible before throwing yourself at her. placing your lips on hers in hopes that she push you away or something literally anything.

she done the opposite, in fact she pulled you closer deepening the kiss. making you forget about the video completely. her hand went under your thighs lifting you up from the ground and placing you on her kitchen island.

it wasn’t until she moved from kissing your lips to your neck that you remembered only cause the camera was in your eyesight again. the kiss almost made you forget again but you pushed through the pleasure you were feeling.

her kissing your almost made you want to forget about it “ale—alexia, you were meant to push me away” trying to sound as angry as possible but failed as you laughed and well you could never be mad at her.

“mhm, okay”

that was her only response before getting back to it.

in all honestly it didn’t even seem like she fully heard what you said, she saw you come towards her to kiss her and then the kiss was all that was on her mind. making her forget what you said immediately.

you tried hard to push her away but she only held on tighter.

“i’m serious”

she pulled away “you think that when i have an opportunity to kiss you i wouldn’t take it.”

“but you heard what i said and ignored it so you failed”

“amor, all i saw was that you were going to kiss me and i’m not saying no to that. and am i really failing if i got to kiss you”

you looked at her for a second, taking in her appearance. hair still damp from her shower, a pair of shorts that did her justice and simple top that you swore she made look designer with how good she looked in it.

but now all you could think about was kissing her.

placing you’re hand on her cheeks as you pulled her in for another kiss that was ten times more needy that the last. you felt her hand tug at you’re shirt which you gladly took off and her soon following suit.

your hands now in her hair tugging at her roots each time she’d kiss you with more desperation. she slowly made her way down between your legs, placing kisses on the way.

you threw your head back already anticipating the pleasure that you were about to feel, and just when she was about to touch you where you needed it most. you remembered.

you remember about the camera set up on the counter and how this couldn’t be posted if you let her continue.

you pushed her away from you causing her to groan in annoyance, hoping down from the counter to grab your phone and turn it off. before talking alexia’s hand and going to her bedroom to finish want you started.

you didn’t post the tiktok till a day later. and it was safe to say it was a hit getting over a million views in an hour. the comment made you laugh. you haven’t even told alexia that you were posting it not really caring about what would happen afterwards, and to be fair she did say you could post whatever of the two of you now.

wosofc : people called me crazy for thinking that we’re together but i was right

ellie : alexia i don’t blame you if she was my gf i’d be the same

vickyyylopezzz._ : tell me how you get alexia to do tiktok’s with you now

vickyyylopezzz._ : i’ve been begging her to do a tiktok for a while and this was not what i meant i’m now scarred for life now

barcafem4life : omg i’m never gonna shut up about this

steph : how did you get alexia to do this. she barely had any social media presence and now this

kat : i don’t know who i want to be more

janafernandez3 : i’m coming over we’re doing a tiktok right now

alexiasgf : this is the hardest soft launch i have ever seen it’s like she ditched it completely and was like alexia’s my girl and i’m gonna show the world and i don’t blame her.

the next day at training alexia didn’t hear the end of it as the team especially the youngsters wouldn’t stop teasing her. when they first talked about it she was beyond confused and then they showed her the video and the all teasing made sense. this definitely wasn’t the alexia they knew.

all alexia knew was that they wouldn’t shut up about it for a while but it was worth it if you were happy.

[parfaitblogs]

making the bed ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort  tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion 🫡 word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) 😄 plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu

Alcohol is a depressant. 

You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night. 

You knew that. 

You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone. 

The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel. 

Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.

Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care. 

Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged. 

You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways. 

"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could. 

"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"

An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."

He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yes. Please?"

"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."

"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"

"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better. 

"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."

"Mm."

Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door — that your group was so conveniently close to — opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it. 

True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating. 

"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist. 

"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.

The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't. 

The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed. 

It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.

You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain — even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk — was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament. 

You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements. 

He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well. 

"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.

"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"

He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"

"That'll just distract me."

"Is that what you want?"

You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways. 

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters. 

"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."

His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere. 

"Sorry," you mumble.

"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"

"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."

"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.

"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort. 

"Yeah, probably. That's fine."

You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.

"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."

He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful — you needed that time.

He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly. 

"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."

"You already talk a lot."

His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."

"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."

"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?" 

"My friends will think I'm boring, then."

He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"

"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, so—"

"—and being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"

Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that. 

Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."

You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry. 

"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face. 

"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."

"I'm sober," you protest, weakly. 

"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."

"I don't think they will either."

He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more. 

"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.

"You've caught me."

He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again. 

"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile. 

He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."

"I know."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[lostalioth]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

→ premise: it was meant to be just a simple quick visit to your sweet boyfriend at work, a regular thing on your days off, something steven looked forward to. especially when the both of you snuck off to the bathroom.

→ pairing: steven grant x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, against the wall sex, bathroom sex so semi-public sex, creampie, nicknames [baby, love, darling]

→ a/n: kinktober 11

It was merely meant to be a short visit to Steven, your lovely boyfriend, at his job in the gift shop. You just missed him and wanted to see him, you didn't intend for it to end with the two of you sneaking off the bathroom.

“Darling I really need to get back to work, my boss won't like that I'm gone so long” he groaned out, his voice soft as his breath fanned across the back of your neck. His body betrays his words however as he makes no move to stop pinning you against the bathroom wall. His hands grab onto your hips as he drills into form behind. Your chest up against the cold tile wall, your hips bouncing off of his making a slapping sound that filled the echoey bathroom alongside your whines. Your knees grow weaker and weaker the closer you get and the faster and harder Steven thrusts inside you. “Mm baby please just a little longer im s’close” you whimper out about too loudly, the words slurred as your head was going hazier from the pleasure.

Steven's large hands leave your hips, one comes up to cup over your mouth muffling your loud moans, the other drifts between where your bodies are connected and rubs at your clit. “As heavenly as you sound love you‘re gonna get me fired if you aren't quieter” his voice trembles as he can feel you clench around him in response to him silencing you. His eyes screw shut in bliss as he can feel your cunt trying to milk his release from his aching cock. “Gonna cum baby oh fuck-” your words come out mumbled and broken from beneath his hand though Steven can hear you enough to understand.

“Cum for me darling” he moans out, his hips speeding up even faster trying to push you right over that edge. His cock hitting just right deep inside you and his thumb playing with your bundle of nerves you cum hard on his cock. Biting your lip to help further muffle the wanton moan that threatens to escape, it comes out as a strangled desperate whine instead. “Good girl baby, fuck im gonna cum okay love?” He grunts out as his hips falter in rmyth fucking you through your high. With an almost pathetic sounding whine leaving his lips, Steven’s orgasm hit him, shooting hot ropes of cum inside you. After a minute or two when the both of you catch your breath he slowly pulls out, the mixture of his cum and your own leak out of you, trailing down your thigh.

“Maybe you should visit me at work more often darling” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss at your exposed shoulder. You smile sweetly at him as he quickly works at cleaning you up best he can before he goes back off to work with a short but loving goodbye kiss.

→ a/n: i have never written for steven, this is really short and kinda ass as i rushed it cause its like 2 days later than when i wanted to post this, im trying to get back on track and not fall further behind so there will hopefully be another kinktober day posted today as well.