#this has been sitting in my drafts for too long...

[gukcnt]

CRAVE YOU ⭒ JJK

in which jungkook comes home feral with need and ruins you on the kitchen counter.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — established relationship, romance, smut, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, dirty talk, rough sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, possessiveness, kitchen counter sex, passionate sex, oral sex (f. receiving), clit stimulation, fingering, breast play, nipple play, light spanking, praise kink, intense orgasms, longing and love confessions

wc — 1.7k

a/n — this short drabble has been sitting in my drafts, so decided to post it! <3

m. list

────୨ৎ────

The day had been endless.

Each second felt like an eternity as jungkook sat trapped in his office.

The place was like a prison for him and the constant tap tap of the keyboard barely did anything to drown out his thoughts.

Those thoughts were all of you.

You with your soft skin that he could still feel under his fingertips from this mornings rushed goodbye kiss.

Your little whimper along with the little hitch in your breath when he touched you just right.

The way your body fits so perfectly against his, like you were made for him.

His fingers drummed against his desk, feeling restless, his mind imagining vivid pictures of you sprawled across the bed waiting for him.

Needy and aching just like he was.

He shifted in his chair, the tight pull of his pants against his hardening cock making him grit his teeth.

It was torture.

This want, this need, had him fuming all day and it was growing hotter with every passing hour.

He could see you so clearly in his head—your hair messy on the pillow, thighs parted and your cunt already wet and glistening.

Begging for him.

His hands clenched, nails digging into his palms as he fought the urge to grab his phone and text you something dirty, something that would have you squirming until he could get his hands on you.

But he held back.

He wanted to save it all, let this primal hunger build until he could pour it into you the second he walked through the door.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, his heart was racing, almost matching with the throb in his cock as he fumbled with his keys at the front door.

The familiar smell of your shared home hit him as he stepped inside, heady and sweet, wrapping around him.

The house was quiet except for the faint clatter from the kitchen.

So he guessed where you were.

He took off his shoes, already shrugging out of his suit jacket, it was too tight and confining against his hard muscles.

He followed the sound, each step increasing his need.

And there you were.

Standing at the sink, your back to him, wearing one of his old t-shirts that was loose on you, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

Your legs were bare and smooth and he could see the curve of your hips.

You were humming a quiet tune and you hadn’t heard him yet.

That made it better somehow—gave him a moment to just look at you, to let the sight of you ignite the fire in his chest until it was unbearable.

“Baby.”

His voice coming out raspy, like he'd been holding it in for too long.

You jumped a little, turning fast, a soft gasp escaping from your lips.

Your eyes locked on his and he saw it right away—the way they darkened, the way your eyes were dilated with the same hunger he felt.

Your cheeks flushed and his gaze dropped, catching the hard peaks of your nipples pressing against his t-shirt.

Fuck

You were already so ready for him.

He could tell by the way you shifted, pressing your thighs together that you were dripping and you'd been thinking of him too.

“kookie…” you said.

Voice breathy, trembling with need

“You’re home.”

He didn’t bother with words.

He crossed the distance with quick steps, hands finding your waist, pulling you hard against him making you squeak as you gripped his chest.

You felt so good, so soft, your curves fitting in his like you belonged there.

Without wasting any time, he kissed you fierce and hungrily, tongue entering into your mouth, tasting you—sweet like the strawberries you'd probably been eating earlier.

“mhmm”

You made a soft, needy sound, your hands grabbing at his shirt, fingers shaky as you tried to match his intensity.

“God, I missed you.”

He growls against your lips.

His hands slid down, grabbing your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you whine.

“All fucking day baby, couldn’t think straight, kept thinking about this sexy body.”

He all but groans as he pressed himself closer, letting you feel how hard he was, his cock straining against his boxers.

And the way you moaned high and desperate nearly broke him.

“jungkook, please,” you whispered shakily.

Your fingers fumbling with his belt.

“I’ve been—I’ve been thinking about you too. I couldn’t—oh!”

Your words cut off as he lifted you against the counter, the coldness biting into your bare thighs.

He spreads your thighs, stepping between them, bunching the t-shirt at your waist revealing your panties, the fabric soaked through, clinging to your puffy folds.

“Fuck, such a naughty girl…”

He grumbles as he presses his fingers against your clit through the damp panty, circling slowly.

Your head fell back, lips parted, a soft cry slipping out and he watched, his nostrils flaring, struggling to control himself at the way your body responded to him.

“All this for me huh?”

“You’ve been dripping like this, waiting for me to come home and take care of you?”

“Yes yes.” you babbled.

Your hips rocking against his hand, chasing the pressure.

“I tried touching myself too but it wasn’t enough. I—I needed you so bad.”

His cock twitched at that, a low sound rumbling in his throat.

He yanked your panties down, tossing them somewhere behind him and the sight of you—bare pussy quivering and clenching around nothing—made his mouth go dry.

He didn’t wait.

He couldn’t wait.

His fingers slide through your slit, spreading your slickness, teasing your clit until you were shaking.

“Aahhh mm, yes!” you keened.

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he huffs roughly.

His words turn you on even further and he plunges two fingers inside you, curling them just right, expertly hitting that spot and your back arches off the counter.

“So tight, so warm I've been dreaming about this all day, sweetheart. About you spread open like this begging for me.”

“kookie, oh god.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles went white.

“Please don’t tease me, need your cock please.” you coo

He didn’t need convincing.

He didn’t have the heart to deny his baby.

His hands were shaking as he undid his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself.

His cock was hard and heavy, the tip already leaking precum and he gave himself a few strokes, his hand wrapped around his length, eyes locked on your pussy as he lined himself to your entrance.

“Look at me.” he said softly.

Like he was grounding himself in you.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his and the raw, open need in them and the way your eyes were teary made his chest tight.

“That’s my girl. Wanna see you when I fuck you.”

He pushed into you slowly, feeling the way your cunt stretched around him so tight and warm, it made his vision blur.

It felt like coming home.

You cried out long and broken, your head tipping back as he filled you inch by inch until he was buried deep.

The sensation was almost too much—your walls fluttering, pulling him in and both of you were going dizzy.

“Dammit.” he grits out.

His hands gripping your hips, fingers digging into your soft skin.

“You feel so fucking good. Missed this pussy.”

“Nghh kookie, you’re so big.” you whined.

Your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Don’t stop, please…”

He didn’t.

He started moving slowly at first, letting you feel every inch as he pulled out and thrust back in quickly and you struggled to breathe.

The slick, obscene sound of your bodies loud in the kitchen.

Your moans got louder and more shaky, each one pushing him to go harder and deeper as he growled.

The counter creaked under you but he didn’t care—he was lost in you, in the way your pussy gripped him.

Your nails scratched at his shoulders, your lips remain parted in a sob as you looked at him like he was everything.

“Baby, you take me so well.” he snarls.

His thrusts getting more desperate.

He looks at the way your tits bounces under your shirt, he leans down, sucking one of your nipples through the fabric, wetting it under his tongue.

You sobbed out, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard.

“Love these perky breasts of yours. These nipples are always hard for me hmm? All mine, right?”

You were lost in the way he pounds you, too mindless to listen to him or answer him and that leads him to spank your ass, making you hiss.

“Answer me.” he scoffs.

“Yes kookie, yours.” you wail

Your voice breaking.

“Missed you so much, needed you—ohh fuck, right there!”

He shifted, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you, the one that made your eyes roll back, your moans turning into full on unrestrained sobs.

He could feel you getting close, your walls tightening, thighs shaking around his hips.

His hand slid down between you, fingering your clit and rubbing fast, tight circles that had you screaming his name.

“Come for me, sweet girl.” he husks.

“Wanna feel you come on my cock. Show me how much you missed me.”

“jungkook. jungkook.” you chanted.

“I’m—oh gosh I’m gonna—”

Your words broke into a high, shuddering yelp as you came, pussy clenching so tight around him his hips stuttered.

You writhed, your body arching, nails digging into his back as the pleasure hits you hard, seeing stars behind your vision.

That was it for him.

He thrust deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he came, spilling inside you with a ragged groan.

“Shit.” he gasped.

His forehead presses to yours, both of you sweating and panting.

“That was good.”

He rasped out a deep chuckle.

You were still trembling, your arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.

His tongue entered into your mouth as he lazily kissed you, tasting the saltiness of the sweat and the tears you shed from the intensity.

“I love you.”

He said quietly, still breathless.

“Missed you so damn much.”

“I love you too, koo…” you said

Your voice hoarse from all the noises, but you're shy now that it ended, his cock still inside you, not leaving just yet.

Your fingers traced slow circles on his back.

“Don’t leave me like that again.”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Never pretty girl. Never.”

────

permanent taglist: @chaelvrx @wintaemoonjen @slutology00 @furioustrashlover @kelsyx33 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @minewlove @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lachesismoonmist @angelfuzzy2 @levisnumber1 @angelsdecalcomania @magicalnachocreator @hynjamkook @koodollylvr @withmuchluv-tannie @istarag @elmarimochi9513 @wtfanu @kooklv @endlesslysassy @nanisblogg @tatamicc @mokaliciouss @armybomb-infires @jiniminisworld @seokjinthescientist @gyeomibearr @xmiaacxio @n0chuprettykook @gizaspicebag @aaclariww @dollytingz @pokalunolino @bunnies-only @cuntygguk @whoisbaek15 @lachimochala @tranquilreign @j0cgr0c @ninglyss @cheolew @iheqrtete @skinnystalker @weaslyswizarding-wheezes

[pittsick]

── SUPER FOCUS.

summary: when you’re in the middle of working about a deadline but your boyfriend, clark, thinks you need to relax. what’s best than give you head for that?

pairing: clark kent x girlfriend!reader.

cw: +18. mdni. short writing. oral sex. teasing during work. praise. mild overstimulation. worshipping vibes. aftercare. mild teasing.

taglist: @plaidcowboy ( to be added )

It starts the way it always does—with you curled up on the couch, glasses sliding down your nose, the dull hum of your laptop fan competing with the quiet tapping of keys. You’re wearing one of Clark’s Metropolis Star shirts, oversized and soft, short sleeves down to your elbows as you scroll through the draft of your article for the fourth time.

Clark’s been quiet for the last half hour, just watching you from the opposite end of the couch like he’s trying to memorize every time you furrow your brows or chew on the tip of your pen. His eyes have been on you like he was thinking of something important, one of his hand brushing your bare thigh up and down softly. The tip of his fingers causing goosebumps on your skin.

You don’t even notice him moving until he’s finally nudging your knees apart.

“Clark—what are you—?”

“Keep working,” he says, voice low and sweet, like warm syrup as he settles between your legs. His hands slide up your bare thighs, thumbs dragging lazy circles along your skin. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Hard to do when Superman is sitting between my legs while I try to work.”

His mouth quirks into a grin. “Guess you’ll have to try.”

Before you can protest, he’s tugging your panties to the side, nosing between your legs with the reverence of a man kneeling before something holy. He doesn’t even start slow. His tongue licks a long, heated stripe up your folds, and your hips jerk despite your best efforts to stay still.

“Clark—” you gasp, knuckles white around the edge of your laptop. “I’m trying to work.”

“And I’m trying to help you relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit like a promise. “You’ve been tense all day.”

Your mouth opens but no words come out. He wraps his arms around your thighs, anchoring you to the couch as he goes back in—slower this time, torturously deliberate. He flattens his tongue against your slit, moaning softly when you twitch under him. The sound vibrates through you, makes your toes curl.

You try to refocus, try to blink at the screen, but the cursor’s stopped moving and so have you. Clark’s tongue traces tight, practiced circles around your clit, like he knows exactly how you need it—like he’s mapped your body a hundred times and is still obsessed with rediscovering every inch.

You clench around nothing. “You’re evil.”

He chuckles against you, the tip of his nose brushing your skin. “You’re distracting me too, sweetheart. So maybe we’re even.”

Your fingers tremble on the keys. You can’t type. You can’t think. All you can feel is the maddening flick of his tongue, the way his mouth moves with such gentle precision—soft licks, then slow sucks, then another sinful drag of his tongue that has you biting back a moan.

And he looks so content down there. Eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, like this is all he’s wanted to do since you opened your laptop—get between your thighs and worship you while the world keeps turning above his head.

You try to hold your hips still, but they buck helplessly when he seals his mouth around your clit and sucks, harder now, like he’s chasing your orgasm just as much as you are. He groans low in his throat when you cry out, his grip tightening on your thighs.

“I c-can’t—” you stammer, your voice cracking as your laptop slips down your lap.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to kiss your inner thigh. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You don’t mean to. You want to fight it just to spite him. But then he dives back in, tongue moving faster, more desperate, and you break. The pleasure bursts through you, quick and sharp, curling your spine and dragging a loud cry from your throat. Your laptop slides to the floor with a dull thud.

Clark doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering, thighs trembling around his head, fingers buried in his hair like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He kisses your clit once, soft and reverent, before finally looking up at you—his mouth glistening, his eyes blown wide with affection and something darker.

You’re breathless, flushed, glaring weakly down at him. “You are not allowed to do that when I’m on my next deadline.”

He smirks, lips still swollen. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You fling a pillow at him.

He catches it with ease and rises from between your legs like nothing happened—like he didn’t just unravel you in the middle of a work session. He bends down, kisses your temple, and gently places your laptop back in your lap.

“There,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now you can concentrate.”

You give him a withering look. “You’re ridiculous.”

Clark grins, sitting beside you and draping his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to his body. “And you taste amazing.”

You groan. “Clark.”

“What?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I’m just telling the truth.”

And with that, he settles in beside you like he hasn’t completely derailed your night—like he’s not already plotting the next time he gets to pull that little stunt again.

[cobbled-peach]

FLOW STATE ➻ spencer reid

➻ You make water droplets race down Spencer's back. He makes your heart race in return.

cw: 18+ MDNI spencer reid x gf!reader. smut (fingering, unprotected p-in-v [wrap it before you tap it guys] and I think thats it i don’t know i’ve literally never had to tag smut before kinda nervous) fluff!!! if you really squint i think this constitutes as softdom spence a/n: first smut post here what. this has been sitting in my drafts for SO long because I was really nervous about posting it but here we are. also discovered my biggest enemy is pace. like i couldn't for the life of me figure out if this was too long, or too short, or whatever so bish bash bosh this is the finished product it is what it is. my requests are always open and you can ask for them here :) I promise i’m getting through them (just at a snail’s pace) w/c: 3.3k

‘My droplet is winning,’ you murmur, nudging a tiny bead of water just a fraction ahead of the others as it slides down Spencer’s damp back. It sparkles in the warm bathroom light, racing along the smooth curve of his spine.

From in front of you, he gives a breathy little laugh.

‘Pretty sure you just moved it,’ he says, his voice low, still drowsy from the shower’s warmth. ‘That’s cheating.’

‘I didn’t cheat,’ you whisper dramatically, tracing the water’s path with your finger. ‘I guided it. There’s a difference.’

‘Mmm, sounds like cheating to me.’

The droplet you’re watching collides with another, ending that trail. You hum softly, dragging your eyes back up to the smooth line of his shoulder, and follow the path of another droplet as it curves around the subtle dips of his muscles, racing to catch up with the one just ahead.

Spencer’s eyes close, breathing even and calm. His hair, damp and tousled, clings to his forehead and the nape of his neck in messy strands. You wring out a small section in your hand, coaxing more water onto his skin.

‘It’s strangely hypnotic,’ you say, tracing a streak down his back.

He shivers where your touch reaches the small of his back, but stays still. Relaxed. Letting you explore.

‘You’re paying very close attention,’ he says.

‘I have to. This competition is serious.’

You hook your chin over his shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. Your eyes catch the path of a lone droplet sliding slowly down his chest, starting near his collarbone.

‘Oh,’ you say softly, tapping his side. ‘This one’s trying to win now.’

Spencer glances down, brows raised slightly, watching the bead of water crawl toward the center of his chest.

‘Decent form,’ he says, voice hushed and amused. ‘Confident start.’

You smile, unhooking your chin to find another bead just beginning its journey down the slope of his back. Resting your finger between his shoulder blades, you say, ‘Okay. Mine’s going from here. Same rules: no guiding, no cheating.’

He huffs a quiet laugh. ‘So you admit you cheated before?’

‘I admit nothing.’

You tilt your head, watching the droplet inch lower, catching on a dip in his spine before picking up speed again.

‘Is yours winning?’ he asks after a moment, eyes still following the one on his chest as it meanders past his sternum.

You compare their positions.

‘No way. Yours is practically halfway down. Mine’s being a slacker,’ you mumble.

Spencer tilts his head, stealing a glance at you over his shoulder.

‘Should we… cheer them on?’ he asks, lips twitching into a tiny, crooked smile.

You laugh softly, considering it. ‘It might distract them.’

‘Oh. Well we can’t have that.’

Pressing your forehead to his shoulder, you watch silently as your droplet reaches the small of his back, just about to slip beneath the towel wrapped low on his hips. Both of you are still, neither speaking – just breathing and listening to the soft hush of water in the pipes.

You look at his front to see the position of his droplet, palm splayed across his back as your thumb lazily brushes over a ridge in his spine.

‘I think they tied,’ you conclude.

Spencer hums. ‘A diplomatic outcome.’

Something about the moment feels suspended. You don’t want to speak too loudly. Don’t want to shatter the bubble of comfort surrounding you. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been doing this – tracking droplets, touching, breathing him in.

‘I was supposed to be cutting your hair,’ you say, reminding yourself and sitting up straight on the counter.

Spencer smiles, unconcerned. ‘That you were.’

You smile back, hand still tracing the curve of his spine. ‘You distracted me. Being all quiet and sweet. Indulging me in my water races. And… well.’ You gesture as if to say here we are.

‘Well,’ he echoes, soft and fond, not moving.

A pair of scissors sit on the edge of the bathroom counter. You glance at them briefly, then back at his hair. The curls cling damp at the nape of his neck, still too long – the very reason you brought him here – but suddenly, you don’t want to cut a thing.

You run your fingers through the strands, mussing them up further.

‘I can finish another time,’ you say, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. ‘You’re too pretty like this.’

‘Too pretty?’ His voice is teasing.

You smile, brushing your fingers lightly through his damp curls again. ‘Yeah. Way too pretty to mess up with scissors right now.’

He chuckles softly, a small laugh vibrating through his chest. ‘Is that so?’

‘Definitely,’ you confirm, wrapping your arms around him from behind, thumbs rubbing warm skin. You lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Spencer’s eyes flutter closed for a moment. ‘You’re being too nice to me.’

‘Somebody has to be.’

He turns in your arms, looking at you with a soft pout. ‘Does this mean I don’t get my haircut?’

‘No,’ you say, laughing quietly. You lift your hands and playfully curl your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to pull him closer. He shifts, resting his hands on your waist as he stands between your legs. ‘Can I offer you a different service instead?’

He pretends to think it over, letting out a faint hum.  ‘…Kisses?’

You sigh, as if he’s massively inconvenienced you, then smile and nod.

‘I think that can be arranged,’ you say.

Spencer’s lips quirk into another crooked smile, then part as you press gentle kisses to his nose, his forehead, then down to the curve of his neck. His skin is warm beneath your lips, water droplets still clinging to him like tiny jewels.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. He tits his head, chasing your lips, and you giggle when his catch yours in a careful kiss – slow, at first, then deepening as you surrender to the warmth between you.

He shifts, trying to get even closer, and his towel slips a fraction lower. Instinctively, he reaches to pull it back up, nearly knocking you off the bathroom counter in the process. His laugh is a quiet, delighted sound against your mouth, breath mingling with yours in the shower-steamed air.

‘Was that an invitation?’ you tease, pulling away just enough to flick your eyes down to the now slightly lower towel.

Spencer laughs again. ‘I wasn’t trying to—’

You cut him off with a sweet kiss to his jaw, then trail your lips back down the other side of his neck. His breath catches, and he lets out a contented sound.

‘—But it can be an invitation, if you want it to be.’

You confirm that yes, you do want it to be an invitation, pressing your lips to his again, kissing until his tongue traces softly against your lips in his typical exploratory fashion. Always careful, but unmistakably eager.

His fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, and he murmurs, ‘Off?’

You nod, and he helps you lift it over your head, his hands trailing reverent paths along your sides, fingertips brushing lightly against your ribs as he goes. The shirt drops somewhere on the floor, forgotten.

‘You’re pretty—’ he starts to say, but you kiss the words right off his mouth.

One hand slides into his damp curls, keeping him against you, while the other rests against his chest – right over the steady thrum of his heart. You shift slightly, drawing him in, and when your thighs tighten around his waist, he exhales a low, unguarded sound that sends a hot ripple through your stomach.

‘These too?’ he asks quietly, between kisses that have now migrated down to your collarbone, hands tracing the waistband of your shorts.

You nod again.

He adjusts your position with measured movements, guiding you forward to ease the fabric over your hips. He kneels slightly, just enough to help get them off your legs, fingers brushing reverent lines along your thighs, then your calves, as he slips them off.

You nod before he can ask about your underwear. They go next.

When you’re bare in front of him, he stands again, looking at you like you’ve just undone him.

You hook your ankles behind his back, drawing him close, grounding yourself in the heat of his body. Your arms loop around his neck again as his hands settle on your thighs.

‘Okay?’ he whispers, brushing his nose gently against your cheek.

‘Very okay,’ you murmur, turning your head just enough to catch his mouth again.

His hips shift forward, and when he presses against your center, the contact makes you gasp quietly against his lips.

He laughs softly, pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath is shallower now, voice barely above a whisper. ‘What do you need?’

‘You,’ you say quietly. ‘Whatever you’re willing to give.’

In Spencer’s mind, that equates to everything.

His hand slides between your legs, fingers finding you slick and warm.

He makes a pleased sound. You bite your lip. Eyes flutter closed as you rest your forehead against his shoulder.

His breath brushes your ear, steady and warm, anchoring you as heat starts to coil lower in your belly.

His fingers move slowly at first – lazy circles that coax soft gasps from your mouth. The warmth spreads, thick and dizzying, curling through your body until your breath is hitching against his skin. You feel his nose nudge your cheek again, encouraging you to look at him.

When you lift your head, his gaze is already waiting – unbearably soft eyes and a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Completely enchanted.

You shift your hips instinctively, pressing into his hand, wordlessly asking for more.

He listens, as always, pressing harder, fingers gliding over sensitive skin. Each stroke draws a soft, involuntary moan from your lips, and you don’t even try to hold them back.

‘Feeling good?’ he murmurs.

‘Mmh… better than good,’ you breathe.

He adjusts the angle of his hand, just enough to slide two fingers inside you, curling perfectly – and your breath stutters. A full-body shiver ripples down your spine.

He watches, making sure you’re okay, taking the way your fingers dig lightly into his shoulders as a sign to continue.

His fingers move in a careful rhythm, curling with intention, each motion precise and devastating.

‘You’re so, so perfect,’ he says.

The words seep into your skin. You giggle breathlessly, voice fluttering out in shaky little gasps. ‘Feel—feel like I’m gonna melt…’

‘Oh no,’ he whispers with mock concern, unoccupied hand sliding up your side. It’s as if he’s taking your words seriously, arm wrapping around your body and holding you close – keeping you together so you don’t completely dissolve.

‘I won’t let you melt all the way,’ he says. Grins. ‘Not just yet.’

Your hips press against his hand again, chasing the warmth that’s building fast and sweet. The bathroom feels far away now – everything narrowed down to him: his hands, the soft rasp of his voice in your ear, and the care woven through every movement.

The air is thick with steam and the quiet sounds of your breathing, punctuated by his low hums of encouragement. When his fingers find that perfect spot, you gasp, a helpless little sound that spills from your lips before it can be caught.

Every movement winds the tension tighter, fanning the flames inside you. Your thighs tremble around his waist.

‘Almost there?’ he asks, and your body’s clench around his fingers already tells him the answer.

You nod, one hand fisting gently in the damp curls at his neck. The world narrows to his hand, the pulse of his thumb, and the heat rising inside you.

A moan slips free, low and breathy, as your body tenses, the wave building fast and bright in your core. You lean forward instinctively, hips stuttering into his touch – and your whole body shudders forward with the force of it.

He catches you immediately, using the arm wrapped around you to guide you back onto the counter. He keeps you steady. Held.

‘Easy,’ he whispers. ‘I’ve got you.’

You shiver, letting the tension crest – sweet and full and flooding through you in trembling waves. You melt against him, the warmth of your climax leaving you loose and shaking, lingering in every shudder and sigh.

He keeps his hand between your legs a moment longer, gentle through the aftershocks, before slowly easing it away. His fingers brush along your thigh as they withdraw, reluctant to leave.

Quiet reassurances are whispered against your temple, a kiss pressed to your forehead as your body slowly settles.

‘You should see how beautiful you look right now,’ he murmurs, voice low and full of quiet awe.

You smile, eyes still heavy-lidded.

‘Can’t,’ you say, still breathless. ‘Mirror’s fogged up.’

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, his smile curling against your temple.

‘Guess I’ll just have to describe it to you.’

He shifts a little closer, his fingers drawing absent, soothing patterns along your skin.

‘You’re flushed right here,’ he says, brushing a knuckle over your cheek. ‘And your lips are a little swollen from kissing me too much. And I believe the scientific description for your eyes is completely blissed out. It’s very beautiful.’

‘You’re being too nice to me.’

‘Somebody has to,’ he says, and your chest aches just a little. He gives you a soft smile, before his expression shifts back to teasing, and he lightly taps your nose. ‘Seriously: blissed out.’

‘If I am,’ you murmur. ‘You’re the reason.’

Something flickers in Spencer’s eyes – warm and unguarded and particularly reverent. His hand stills on your thigh, stroking gently against your skin. Thoughtful.

You shift slightly on the counter, your legs still wrapped around him, and the movement draws a soft inhale from both of you. The air thickens, already warm with steam and affection and the pulse of what’s still lingering.

Your body still trembles faintly, the aftershocks of your climax making every touch feel sharper, every sensation more intense.

‘We can keep going,’ you say. ‘If you want.’

‘You sure?’ he asks softly, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek. ‘Not feeling too overwhelmed?’

‘No, I want to,’ you say, firm but tender. ‘I want you.’

His eyes soften. He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a light kiss that deepens just enough to make you sigh softly. He guides you closer to the edge of the surface, both hands settling on your hips.

His towel is gone – somewhere without your notice – leaving him entirely bare against you. Your eyes remain on his face, pushing back his hair as one of his hands slides down, steady and sure, guiding himself to you.

The first press is careful. His thumb strokes your hip as he sinks into you, inch by inch, giving you time and anchoring himself in the soft give of your body and the trust in your (still blissed out) eyes.

You gasp – pure breath – as he fills you completely. Your hands move to tighten lightly on his arms, every inch felt more acutely than ever after the high he just gave you. It borders on overwhelming. But it’s perfect. It’s him.

He pauses when he’s fully seated inside you, and it’s all he can do to breath.

‘God—’ he exhales, voice rough, almost startled by how good it feels. You can feel his body trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. ‘Alright?’

‘Uh-huh. Please—you can move.’

His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, and you catch what is a whispered swear leaving his lips. He begins to move then, slow and deep, his breath stuttering in rhythm with each roll of his hips.

He tries to talk, to say how it feels, but can’t to find the words that do it justice.

Every thrust is deliberate. Unhurried. Not frantic. Just full feeling and the quietly overwhelming Spencer Reid kind of intensity. Like he’s feeling everything all at once and is trying to give it all back to you in return.

Your name falls from his lips like it’s sacred. You answer with a breathless moan, wrapping yourself tighter around him, and the look he gives you then – half undone, wholly in love – makes your heart pound.

The rhythm builds, each thrust a little deeper, a little more desperate in the way it seeks closeness, rather than friction. His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with yours, his eyes never straying far from your face – even when they threaten to roll back from the way you clench around him.

Every sound he makes – soft, stuttered gasps and half-formed praises – settles deep inside you.

The heat swells again in your core, overwhelming and steady, coaxed further by every deep press of his hips and the whispered “you feel so good”s that fall from his mouth like he can’t stop them.

You try to tell him that you’re close. All that comes out is a quiet, high-pitched whimper, and he knows. He feels it too.

He shifts his hand between your bodies, fingers slipping deftly to where you need them most, drawing slow, perfect circles that push you right to the edge.

‘’S okay,’ he whispers, so gentle. ‘I’ve got you.’

And then you’re unravelling, clinging to him like he might float away. Your release rushes through you again, more full-bodied this time, thighs tightening around his hips as the wave rolls through, leaving you gasping.

The way you pulse around him pushes Spencer right over the edge. His rhythm falters, and a low, broken sound tears from his throat as he spills into you, his whole body tightening with the force of it. He buries his face against your neck, breath hitching with each soft aftershock, holding you like he never wants to let go.

Eventually he does move, oncee your breaths have synced into something more steady, slowly easing out of you with reluctance.

You shiver at the absence, at the lingering sensitivity.

Without a word, he leans down and retrieves the towel, unfolding the fabric in his hands. He steps in close, wrapping it around both of you in a shared bundle, tucking you to his chest as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

He pats gently at the sheen of sweat on your shoulder, down your arm, over the dip of your back. Tender, almost methodical. His fingertips are warm, but his touch is cooler than your skin, making you twitch and sigh in little, overstimulated flutters.

For a moment, you both simply exist in the steamy bathroom – relishing in the lingering heat, the feeling of his body against yours.

Then, he lifts a hand and points to the streak of water trailing down one of the tiles just beside the mirror. ‘That one,’ he says softly, tapping just beside it, the action a little languid. ‘That’s mine.’

You blink, then laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. ‘Oh, we’re doing this again?’

‘I take droplet racing very seriously now,’ he says, feigning gravity.

You tilt your head, peering at the tile beside his. Another droplet forms near the top and begins a slow descent down the fogged porcelain. You point to it. ‘Mine.’

You both go quiet for a moment, watching them drip side by side – slow and unbothered, weaving slightly as they trail down the tile wall.

Spencer shifts closer, nudging his nose against your cheek. ‘No guiding, no cheatig,’ he whispers.

Your laugh is a soft puff of air against his skin. You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed as you watch the droplets chase each other down the smooth, misted wall.

Yours gets caught on a ridge of grout. His slides ahead.

‘Unbelievable,’ you murmur. ‘Yours has an unfair advantage.’

Spencer, looking at you like he can’t believe he gets to have this at all, murmurs one last thing as his lips find the edge of your smile:

‘Pretty sure I win.’

You hum, nose brushing his.

‘Yeah,’ you whisper. ‘Me too.’

[cobbled-peach's masterlist]

[pucksandpebbles]

So romantic in Paris, QH⁴³

Quinn Hughes x French!reader After a couple of years of dating, Quinn and you make the rash decision to elope in Paris, finally tying a knot in a secret and low key ceremony which truly reflects your love and relationship.

People and Places collection

a/n : this is a scheduled post, but i hope you all enjoy this until i come back from my hols!!

You wake up to the soft morning light filtering in through the shuttered blinds, casting your hotel room in a warm and delicate glow which illuminates the white sheets draped over you and Quinn. It’s still a little cool around this time of year, there’s a fresh breeze which drafts over your bare skin and forces you to tuck yourself a little further into Quinn’s side, his open arm which beckons you in. As you shift further into him, you feel his arm curl around you and his warm breath snag - a tell tale sign that he is stirring; there’s a soft kiss on your forehead and you tilt your head up on the fluffy hotel pillow to let him plant a soft, quick kiss on your lips, which elicits a smile from you. Running your hand through his messy morning hair, you relish the moment and the perfectly sleepy state which you are in right now.

The hotel that Quinn has picked out is beautiful, lavish, perfect. It’s the type of place which has gilding on doorknobs and a Michelin star restaurant - Quinn is always so considerate about these types of things. He knows because of his job that he doesn’t spend enough time with you, so when he does, he makes it count and makes it special, it’s what makes him perfect too. 

You slowly brush your thumb over the diamond sitting on your left hand ring finger which sparkles in the light. The wedding is a way off yet, you’ve not really even begun to plan it yet. Life has gotten in the way, other things just piling up over the task - hell, most of the family doesn’t even know that Quinn’s popped the question. You’ve always been a very private couple, keeping the relationship under wraps even when things begun to get serious. The trip to Paris is just for a couple of days, a self-indulgent pit stop on the way to see your family in the south; Quinn brought his brothers with him but they’ve mostly been entertaining themselves as you show Quinn the sights that you grew up with, gleaming with joy with the love that you feel for this city. Quinn sees you in a different light too, speaking in your native tongue and introducing him to a completely different culture - he’s thriving and basking in your energy.

Your voice is hushed, whispered and silky as you speak, “I can’t wait to be your wife.”

In contrast, his is low and grainy, in that way that makes you squirm a little joyfully, “You can’t wait?”

You chuckle, grazing your thumb over the stubble that’s grown on his chin, “I can’t wait.” You repeat. 

“Why wait?” He asks. And it almost sounds like a joke, just enough amusement to pass it off as such but a serious undertone throughout that makes you shuffle to sit up in the bed.

“What?” You whisper.

He smiles, his hand brushing over your bare thigh with so much delicacy it hurt, “Baby, we are in this gorgeous city, we never wanted anything big and I don’t know how much longer I can wait to be your husband.”

You studied his genuine expression, filled with the familiar sight of love and longing and taking his face in your hands, you melded your lips to his, kissing them sweetly and just getting deeper and deeper with tangled teeth and tongues until you were hovering over him and he was pulling you in as you giggled into his open mouth, pressing your chests together.

“Is that a yes,” he asked, rounding his hands over your ass.

You stifled a full-body laugh, just leaning in to whisper back, “It’s definitely a yes.”

That day, you went out to the streets of Paris and picked out a dress and a pair of rings with Quinn by his side - and although it must have been draining out his bank account, he did so with a smile, with his arms wrapped around your waist from behind. You two asked Quinn’s brothers to be your witnesses and the entire day was captured with a small little film camera that you picked up from a vintage shop.

You booked your slot at the closed town hall from the hotel and spent the entire day swanning around the city collecting various items for the wedding. You and Quinn told nobody, save for Luke and Jack, what you were doing and that was just perfect, the whole day was a daze and a daydream.

The dress was the best part. Long, white, lacy and romantic. You even managed to get a matching veil, and though you still insisted that Quinn couldn’t see the dress, you recruited Jack and Luke to help you pick it out. There was a smile on your face the entire time.

Luke and Jack got last minute suits and you managed a bouquet from a street vender that managed the blue tones of their suits. You struck up a jokey deal over your evening meal that Luke was your maid of honour, and Jack would be Quinn’s best man but the boys took it extremely seriously - this was a family you couldn’t wait to be a part of.

Quinn and you chose rings together at a second hand jeweller, simple and delicately engraved matching gold bands which fit perfectly and you kissed on the banks of the Seine with them carefully tucked in your pockets.

The actual wedding day was a dream. 

The townhall was one of the most beautiful venues that you’ve ever seen, and a kind stranger snapped a couple of the essential photos of your small little wedding party in front of the building, on the street outside and at the actual ceremony.

With only five of you in the room, it was perfect, quietly intimate as you exchanged vows and Jack and Luke stood either side.

The rings slipped on and the ‘I do’s came easily when you were stood opposite the love of your life. Quinn’s vows were sweet and personal and you tried the best not to cry so that your carefully done make-up wouldn’t run. 

You said yours in French and in English too, professing your love across the language barriers and signing your marriage papers in your home country with joy across your face. Quinn would never get over that look.

When Quinn was told that he could kiss you, he drew you in with a bright smile and kissed you with a dramatic dip which Jack captured perfectly with the little camera. It was a day that you would never forget, especially when Quinn kicked open the hotel door with his new dress shoes and carried you inside, dropping you with a laugh onto the hotel bed and crawling on top of you, still in his suit so he could retrieve the garter belt where there was no prying eyes.

“Je t’aime, husband.”

“I love you, wife.”

[rafey-baby]

hidden 2

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, rafe getting injured & reluctantly letting her clean him up, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight and Rafe is driving over the speed-limit— he said something about handling business and then more or less shoved her into the passenger seat of his truck before she even had the chance to open her mouth.  

The island sky is as dusky as the bottom of the ocean while he races through the soundless highway that reminds her of the yellow brick road; never-ending and with no certainty of what’s looming at the finish line. 

She’s sits silently, because even if she was curious as to where exactly they were headed to, she’s well aware that he wouldn’t tell her if she asked— which is why she merely lets her heavy lids flutter shut to the lullaby of the wind picking up outside the vehicle, so exhausted she falls asleep within minutes. Therefore, she’s not sure how much time has passed before she’s jostled awake to the sound of him turning off the engine in an empty parking lot. 

“Don’t even think about openin’ the door, alright?” a heavy warning lingers in his tone while he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabs a thick wad of cash from the glove compartment.  

She hums her acknowledgment, watching his actions with wandering eyes filled with questions. However, he merely offers her a brief glance before he’s throwing open the door and disappearing into the eerily serene night— leaving her alone in the dimly lit space with her nervous inhales the only thing keeping her company.  

The moment he’s gone, she tries to peer through the window, squinting in order to see where he’s run off to. However, the faint glow of the street lamps provides little to no help, which makes her tap her nails against the center console; impatiently waiting for him to return. Then, she attempts to press her ear to the window, but unfortunately no sounds other than the leaves in the trees surrounding the area reach her eardrums.  

She sighs. What if something happens? 

Realistically, she knows he doesn’t need her to worry about him but she can’t help it; no matter how terrible of a person he is, she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, she’s not a carefully programmed robot entirely void of human emotions, is she?

The mellow memory of him reluctantly attempting to soothe her after her outburst the other day still lingers at the forefront of her mind— turning her initial thoughts about him into something softer. After all, she was certain he was going to kill her when she threatened him with his gun. However, he seemed almost entertained by her stupid bravery, opting to mock her instead of showing a single ounce of actual fear.

And she doesn’t know why, but there’s this peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever her brain decides to mull over the moment of him wrapping his big arms around her shaky form in an almost gentle manner. She wants to forget about it, wants to push it aside and simply despise him for forcing her to help him, but she can’t— can’t help the fact that even if she’s utterly terrified of him, there’s something almost fascinating about the way he’s such a polar opposite to her.

Not only is he a Kook but he’s also violent and hostile, whereas she doesn’t even have the heart to kill a bug. His demeanor is aggressive and she thought that was all there was but then he goes on and practically hugs her when she’s a trembling mess with salty tears streaking her cheeks. And she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to think of that.  

In fact, all of it confuses her to no end— disarranging her cerebrum and making foreign emotions bubble in her chest like molten lava. Or maybe she’s just touch-deprived; starving for whatever attention Rafe is suddenly offering her so generously. 

However, she doesn’t necessarily want to think about any of it right now, opting to stare out into the gloom of the night, forcing her mind somewhere else entirely when all at once, the driver’s side door slams open and her head snaps towards it; eyes startled and heart jumping in her chest at the sudden intrusion.  

“Calm down, s’just me,” Rafe mutters, sounding out of breath, his exhales harsh and chest rising and falling like a madman while he leans against the leather seat— eyes soon flitting over her tense form.

“You seriously didn’t move?” he huffs out, brows raised. “When’d you learn to listen? Should give you a treat for bein’ such a good little puppy, huh?” he lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head while she comes to the conclusion that she’s definitely craving a very specific type of attention when her thighs involuntarily press together in response to his twisted notion of praise.   

“You— uh…you okay?” she cautiously asks; an attempt to focus on something other than the warmth scattering along the apples of her cheeks.   

“M’fine,” he mumbles before starting the engine and speeding back out onto the road still sound asleep— the pitch-black sky beginning to fade into a navy blue with the dim glimmer of the street lamps illuminating their journey.    

However, when she gets a better look at him, she notices a few cuts and bruises adorning his tired face. There’s a particularly deep scrape on his cheekbone; crimson transferring to the back of his hand when he mindlessly swipes over it. “Rafe you’re bleeding. What happened?” she exclaims, uneasiness coating her voice.

“Don’t worry, okay? Jus’ had some, uh…disagreements, you should honestly see the other guy,” a lazy smirk paints over his face when he lets out a dry chuckle.  

“Do you want me to clean them up for you? Those could get infected or something.”

“S’just a few scratches, you’re actin’ as if m’bleedin’ out,” he rolls his eyes, turning exasperated.  

“M’being serious, you can’t exactly go to the doctor if those actually end up getting infected, can you?” she argues with a pout.    

“Shit, are all pogues this fuckin’ stubborn or jus’ you? Told you, s’fine,” he snaps in disdain, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel.  

“It’s not fine, though. Can you jus’…can you just let me help? It’ll take like ten minutes and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she rakes a hand through her hair in frustration because in her opinion, Rafe is the one being stubborn right now.   

“M��not worryin’ about it!” his gravelly voice suddenly thunders from his chest, making her flinch.  

“…well— I am,” her tone is quiet now, slightly regretting bringing up the topic in the first place.    

At that, he lets out an irritated sigh before he’s abruptly pulling over to a parking lot next to some gas station.

She turns to look at him with a surprised expression.   

“Don’t have all day, get the fuckin’ first aid kit from the glove box then,” he grumbles out a harsh demand.   

“O— okay,” her face begins to light up in victory as she scurries to open the compartment in front of her, rummaging through and trying to not pay attention to the plastic baggies filled with white powder or the wads of cash her hand comes in contact with. 

At last, her tentative fingertips find the small red bag she was looking for. However, when she turns to face him again, he’s not initiating any sort of movement, simply spreading his legs out in front of him in his slouched position and staring down at her expectantly.  

She hesitates. “You’re not gonna…move?”  

“If you wanna play nurse so fuckin’ bad then you have no problem sittin’ on my lap, right? Not gonna reach all the way from there, are ya?” his voice is mocking and she can practically feel the warmth crawling up her face.  

“Oh, right. Um— yeah. I’ll just…” she blinks and then she’s clumsily climbing over the console and awkwardly lowering down to his lap while he merely looks at her with a bored expression; annoyance swimming in the lagoons of his eyes as he glares at her, clearly bothered by the fact that he has to waste his precious time on something as trivial as this.

It makes her huff before she’s timidly opening the first aid kit and trying to settle down onto his lap. However, with his long legs sprawled out in the legroom, he’s not exactly making it easy for her— being petty and difficult on purpose while she takes out a clean cotton pad and dampens it with some antiseptic spray. 

“Can you just…” she trails off before gingerly taking ahold of his jaw and tilting his face in an attempt to examine the injuries.  

And to her surprise, he lets her freely maneuver his head as she pleases and despite the sting, he doesn’t even flinch when she dabs over a smaller cut on his jaw— merely lets his gaze flicker over her features, making her grow nervous under his curious eyes while she tries to concentrate on the vermilion spots on his face and not the way he’s soundlessly observing her. Or the fact that she’s currently closer to him than she’s ever been before— can feel the even breaths from his nose tickling the skin of her lower face when she leans down for a better angle.  

“So…you’re a drug dealer?” she decides to try her luck, not being able to sweep the cocaine in the glove compartment under the rug so carelessly.   

“What did I say about questions, puppy?” he scolds her instead of answering.   

“Right— sorry,” her eyes drop. At least she tried.  

And she doesn’t say anything more, instead focuses all her attention on gently cleansing the scrapes while she tries to not pay any mind to the fact that as an afterthought, this position is incredibly improper, and she’s not entirely sure why she agreed to it so easily. Upon careful consideration, she thinks she’s entirely too aware of his sturdy muscles underneath her and it’s turning her respiration more and more labored by each wipe over his skin.  

“Thinkin’ about goin’ to Guadeloupe next week,” he utters out after several moments of silence.  

“You are?”   

“Mhm, m’family has a house there,” his voice is calm, almost relaxed.  

Her brows crease in a question. “But how’re you—”

“I have a private jet,” he states as if it should be obvious. He is a proud Kook, after all.

“Right, of course you do,” she shakes her head when the corners of his mouth tug up. “How long are you gonna stay there?” she then asks while lifting her hand to swipe the saturated cotton over the deeper wound on his cheekbone.   

He shrugs. “Don’t know, ’til I figure somethin’ else out.”

She hums and then shuffles around on his lap some more, trying to wriggle upwards in an attempt to not fall. However, as she’s shifting into a more comfortable position, he suddenly lets out a low grunt from the back of his throat.  

“Shit, puppy. You, uh, you really gotta move around so much?” he murmurs, promptly resting his hands on her hips, halting her movements altogether.   

“S— sorry,” her eyes round out when she realizes there’s a slight bulge in his pants. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tryna get me hard on purpose, hm?” a breathy chuckle escapes his lips, amusement glittering in blue gemstones while he inspects her flushed face with intrigue.   

“Oh, no— m’not…was jus’— trying not to fall,” her words are rushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she blinks repeatedly.  

“Just, uh…stay still, yeah? Need me to steady you?” he rasps out before strong arms are holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist.   

“Thanks,” her voice is a muted whisper while she tries not to seem so affected— getting a new cotton pad and beginning to scrub off some of the dried scarlet from under his bottom lip, not daring to shift an inch after that.

[lo-sulci]

oh hey spotify, what's th-*starts coughing violently*

[bishy437]

(Un)Helpful guide to understanding Mobei Jun :)

Part 1

[gildui]

soap, price, ghost at some point in their lives. not gaz bc he actually has a sense of style.

[nohr-selphias]

"I love you, Zevran. I hope you know that."

"Yes... Yes, I know that."

— commission art by @sinizade, posted with permission

[moonlight-prose]

For the touched starved scenarios maybe Logan with "hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters ^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt"?? I think it would be so cute with logan finally breaking his own barriers, reaching out to the one he adores (or*cough* is very much in love with *cough*) bc HE doesnt realize how touch starved he is and becomes slightly nervous at initiating contact at first😫

how it lingers

a/n: have i shoved this into the small world i made with the previous ask from this list? probably. but they're just so cute and i'm in love. plus just the fact that reader is also probably really timid to initiate contact with him physically. but logan finally reaching out for touch (cause he's so starved for it), and getting a response such. just let this man be happy and in love.

summary: when affection is coupled with pain logan learns it's not worth asking for. what does he need with it? but a difficult mission has him seeking the warmth of a lover in the arms of a friend.

word count: 0.7k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: fluff, blooming romances, the start of a relationship, soft logan.

It happens after a mission gone wrong. Tension hung thick in the air when the X-Men entered the front entrance, their suits charred and ripped, faces lined in pinched frowns that said far more than they wished. Logan hung back on the porch, smoking the cigar to appease the growing anxiety building in his chest. He'd never been a fan of the crowd this group accumulated—especially not when kids were involved.

But somewhere in the throng of people stood you, waiting with hope in your chest and a light in your eyes that beckoned him closer. Charles held your attention for a moment, Jean meandering over to explain in grave detail what exactly happened. You did your best to cling to every word. Even as your mind wandered to the man still stuck outside—his hands curled into fists and eyes shut to the rest of the world.

"We aren't sure what happened," Jean mumbled, a dazed expression glossing over her eyes. "If it wasn't for Logan well…Scott and I wouldn't be standing here."

The echo of his name shot through your heart—his pain bleeding into your veins the longer you stood there listening to Jean explain what happened. He saved them. He was the hero. So why was did he remain outside? Entirely separated by the people who would happily welcome him in—the ones he silently considered family.

"Is he hurt?" you asked hesitantly, entirely aware of his healing capabilities.

Nothing could hurt the Wolverine.

Not physically anyways.

Jean shrugged, fatigue settling over her face in a darkened cloud that might take days to pass. "He's…Logan."

Which meant he was taking this time to shove away emotions he didn't want to feel—things that would wreak havoc on his mind. He pushed down things he didn't want to feel; the parts of himself that left him with the bitter taste of fear on the back of his tongue. So he smoked to distract himself and left everything else up to the rest of the team.

He found it was easier to mull over his actions alone. Safer.

You tuned out the remainder of the conversation, eyes catching on the subtle shift of the crowd as Logan finally made his way inside. He clung to the wall in the hopes of going unnoticed. A familiar act of self preservation he often grew fond of at times like this. He never liked being the center of attention—why would that change solely because of one mission?

“I’ll meet you guys later.” Their responses went directly over your head, your body drawn to the man who attempted to vanish into the corner beside a plant desperate for more water.

“Bub,” he greeted, arms crossed at his chest—face turned away from your welcoming smile, from the warmth you tried offering to keep the darkness at bay.

“They said you saved them.”

He grunted, eyes flicking back to see your shoulder slump forward an inch. Barely noticeable to others in the area, but Logan clung to every slight shift of your body. Each look and half hearted smile. He tucked them into his chest in the hopes of one day wiping them away. All the stress of being a professor, of choosing to get to know a man who barely spoke more than a few words at a time.

His hand tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan softly. Barely a brush against your arm, but the grin you gave in return lit a fuse he didn’t know resided at the back of his heart. Over the years he understood what connection meant. How to form them, why he should. But staying in solitude favored him best; he couldn’t hurt anyone if he avoided them.

Until you offered him a smile bleeding enough warmth to soothe his aching heart.

A silent agreement passed between your eyes, loud enough to echo in the back of his mind as your arms curled around his neck. And with a blissful sigh filled with contentment, he melted into your touch, hands clasping around your back—arms tight and strong across your waist. Logan hugged you with his whole body, a swathing blanket of heat that poured out of him and enveloped you in love.

“Thanks bub,” he mumbled into your shoulder, head ducked as he shifted back to the corner—still tightly wound around your body.

You smiled, burrowing your face in the soft leather of his jacket. “Anytime Logan.”

[slavhew]

jakey + dirkjake sandwiched between my organic chem notes. a poem in there somewhere

[sacredashes]

Male characters don’t seem to inspire this kind of public venting and vitriol.

Mythal (& Solas) // Anna Gunn's I Have a Character Issue

[mx-paisley]

Hi welcome to my Malevolent AU where I turn malev characters to filipinos

[deadsetobsessions]

There’s a child wandering the streets of Crime Alley. Unfortunately, this is nothing new for the area, riddled with crime and homelessness as it is. However, Red Hood and Nightwing are vigilantes and helping lost looking children is firmly in their job description. Plus, Crime Alley is Red Hood’s. He protects what’s his. With a single shared look, the brothers swung down to the child clad in just a white dress and some thin flats completely unsuitable for Gotham’s worsening weather. Hell it’s be unsuitable for the general poor weather.

“Hey, kiddo.”

The girl’s head swung to lock gazes with the duo, eyes blinking blue- and green? Red Hood allowed his brother- he worked so hard to beat down the pit madness in order for Nightwing to even remain near- to take the lead.

“Oh. There you are.” She said, turning to face them fully. The kid’s face filled with relief.

Nightwing blinked.

“You were looking for us?” His soft voice saved for children firmed into something more serious, more concerned.

“Mmhm. I was looking for Red Hood, but you’re a good bonus.”

“And why were you looking for me, kid?” Red Hood interjects. He knows Dickolas is clocking the same things he is: the kid’s white whispy hair, pale face, and… Lazarus green eyes? It’s more solid now, that she’s looking at Jason.

Dick straightened, eyes going heavy as he looks at this wisp of a girl. He’s fiercely protective of Jason and they’re both equally wary of the League of Assassins. Still, the two of them couldn’t help but let their guard down a bit because this was still a child they’re talking to.

“Because… um. Did you know you’ve died?”

Hood stiffened, hand going towards his guns. Granted, they’re rubber bullets, but the kid clocks that immediately. She threw her hands up in the universal gesture of “I’m unarmed and mean no harm.”

“I- well, to put it frankly, you kind of… stink?”

“What.”

“Ugh, I’m totally messing this up!”

“Why don’t you start again?” Dick said, shifting into a subtler fighting stance. He kept his voice light, but Jason saw the way his hands inched towards the scrims sticks. Distantly, Jason thought it was hilarious that this tiny kid could evoke that kind of response. Looking into Lazarus green eyes though, he couldn’t find the humor anywhere. The worst thing, though, is that the pit quieted. The rage the bubbled incessantly underneath his skin calmed. Jason did not like feeling bereft of the rage, not when he didn’t know why it was gone. He had just gained control of it, minimally, and to have that control be unnecessary left the vigilantes off kilter.

“Right, okay, sorry. Um, did you, uh, die and wake up surrounded by glowing green stuff?”

Before Jason could reply ‘yes, and why the hell do you know that?’, the kid continued with, “Because me too!”

She did jazz hands as Jason’s and Dick’s brains short circuited. Jason thought he even heard a little “yay!”

“What.” Jason sputtered out. His stomach and heart clenched as he thought about how young the kid looked. Fuck.

“Yeah. So, anyways-”

“Don’t speed past that like you didn’t say what you just said!” Dick interrupted, hand tugging at his hair in distress. His body language slipped from battle ready to extremely distressed. “You died?”

“You were- you were dipped in the Lazarus pits?!” Jason felt the need to address that specific point.

“I mean, it’s not that important? The important thing is- wait, what’s a Lazarus pit?”

Jason froze again. She didn’t know what they were?

“It’s… the glowing green stuff.” Dick answered her.

“Oh. Is that what you were dipped in?” She tilted her head at Jason. He nodded, wariness climbing. “Oh. Well, I mean, that’s not we call it. But the stuff you were dipped in, it’s rank. Contaminated.”

Jason thinks back to the burning, drowning green. The agony he felt as it slipped into his mouth and nose and his very being.

“It was bubbling.” He said. The girl grimaced. Jason had no idea why he was being so honest with this kid.

“Gross. Anyways, I can, like, help you with that?”

“With what?” Dick asked, eyes darting from the girl to Jason.

The girl groaned. “Okay, so I guess you guys are kind of new. Uh, the contaminated green stuff,” she points at Jason’s chest. “That’s making you angry, right? Leaving you in the backseat of your head as your body breaks whatever got you angry to begin with and you have no control over it?”

“…The pit madness.” Jason mumbled, feeling numb. “Yeah.”

“…Right. I can help you clear that out,” she pauses, fidgeting. “If… If you help me talk to Batman? It’s kind of… urgent.”

“Batman?”

“Why?”

“Uh. There’s kind of… a whole mad scientist thing going on and like… experimentation and dissections… you know?” The kid waved her arms around, distressed.

Dick and Jason unfortunately did know.

“Cave?” Jason grumbled.

“Cave.”

“Okay, we’ll bring you to the cave. Then you tell us everything.”

“Really?”

She looked up at them hopefully, and Jason could see the moment Dickolas melted. Not that Jason could say anything, since he was already taking off his jacket and bundling the kid in it.

“Um.”

“Who the hell let you walk around Gotham like that?” He scowled down at her, not that she could see it with the red helmet in the way. Dick looked at him carefully, eyes roving over the oddly relaxed state his little wing was in.

The kid shrugged. Jason sighs.

“What’s your name?” Dick asked. Scooping her up, the blue and black clad raised his free arm to grapple away. Jason follows him, heading towards the motorcycles they’ve got parked nearby.

“Dani. With an I.”

“Nice to meet you, Dani. I’m Nightwing. This is my… this is Red Hood.”

“Okay. Cool.”



[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

alex + his hand’s favourite spot on miles’s ribs

[ominousgradient]

Some headcanons about Snotlout's appeance:

• He's 5"3, his legs are especially short

• Soft muscles, he's proud of his arms and chest in particular (hence the v neck)

• Lots of moles ! Mainly on his torso

• Also freckles, but they’re rather faint

• Even tho he's naturally pale he's got a slight tan, moreso than the other riders

• His hair is dark brown but in the winter months it looks almost black

• As a teen his skin was pretty bad so now he has a rigorous beauty routine that he ties in with rubbing gel into Hookfangs scales every evening

• He lotions his hands to avoid callouses/dry skin and people are frequently suprised by how soft his hands are

• He has many burn marks from years of riding a nightmare, when they're alone together Hookfang likes to lick them in a soothing fashion, he feels a little bad since he tends to forget how fragile his little rider is and Snotlout loves the pampering

• Lots of little scars as well, especially around his hands from handling weapons since a young age

• His hair is very thick but it gets greasy easily so he washes it often

• If he doesn’t get to do his routine for some reason (for example after the riders got captured) he gets cranky

• He plucks his eyebrows to keep them neat

• He's has long thick eyelashes :)

• He's got a bit of a front tooth gap

• In a mondern setting the gang would 100% have to talk Snotlout out of getting veneers ( his teeth aren't even bad someone just made a comment to spite him and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it for weeks)

• He's extremely expressive and moves his hands constantly while speaking to the point of just flailing his arms around

• He can wiggle his ears

• He's aware that his voice becomes high when agitated but he can’t really control it and when u point it out it gets even worse

• He doesn’t have much body hair and is terribly insecure about not being able to grow a proper beard

• Very ticklish, especially around the neck and at his sides

• Blushes very easily, doesn’t matter whether he's feeling bashful or upset