#too unnecessary…and too pitiful…

[sillybutbreakable]

there;s really nothing left in me. i might as well be dead

[longagoitwastuesday]

I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

[bitedisease]

trying to cope with the fact that i’m a really really bad person

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

♡ FEM reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. “Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[kujiba]

【Go on and Love Me】

୨୧ — ꒰ male!reader | he/his prounouns | Sagau | Genshinimpact

୨୧ — ꒰ Streamer!Reader who gets sidetracked by people's donations/chats making the genshin characters feel jealous

Ft. Xiao, Wanderer, Kinich, Traveler

A/n: inspired by la2yn0va hsr fic

X I A O

(Name) happily smiled at another donation sent to him after recently completing a natlan quest

"Thanks for the 20 bits donation!"

He thanked the chat with a wide smile, the chat which was filled with people commenting every second flooding the entire screen making (Name) shift his focus to answer their questions about himself.

This cute interaction made (Name) feel warm and lovely in the inside, being able to interact with fans who admired him.

You know who wasn't happy? A dark headed male inside a screen wasn't that happy unlike (Name). Why were these people gifting you so low? Most of all why was (Name)'s attention not on him anymore?

He had to pull alot of strings to make his own crit rise up since (Name)'s luck on the Vermilion domain was absolutely dog shit.

(Name) — Hm? My favorite character in genshin?

Xiao — You called?

Xiao unintentionally blurted that out without any thoughts whatsoever, but when he did realize and saw (Name)'s confused face along with the chat going wild.

Without any choice Xiao did his idle animation to hide his face away from you, he used his mask so that Xiao won't face you for a while since he was in a very vulnerable state

(Name) — New mail? Sweet 300 primos!

(Chat) — Fr? I didn't get any new mail from hoyo yet.

(Name) — Well.. Free primos is free primos

If (Name)'s happy then he'll rest easy today. Hopefully no rumors circulate about what happened earlier.. Self aware fanfics are crazy these days.

W A N D E R E R

Wanderer stared at (Name) blankly, he was too busy thanking people with countless of donations to even realize they were still in a boss fight farming material's for upcoming characters.

Wanderer became (Name)'s fan ever since he saw him at that temporary event named 'Unreconciled Stars Event Quest The Crisis Deepens'.

Smug mf since he made (Name) hit hard pity for him. But was kind enough to give you his c1 after 140 wishes

(Chat) — Why don't you change your main (Streamer Name)?

An irk mark appears on Wanderer's face but wasn't that visible on screen.

Is this swine telling (Name) to replace him with someone else? Hard pass. He was already stolen from (Name)'s attention and now these nobody's are trying to persuade him into maining some other weak random than him.

Just so happen that (Name) spotted a chest nearby and happily went over to open it, Wanderer took this opportunity immediately

(Wanderer) — Unnecessary.

(Chat) — Is it just me or is his voice rougher than usual?

Damn right it's rougher since he just wanted to vent his anger out on any enemies on sight

The chat won't know but what he had said was directly targeted at them, if only he could say every insult known to man right now

So (Name), keep your eyes on him only and no one else, then maybe he'll make his attacks stronger if you comply

(Name) — Well to answer your question earlier chat, no I don't think I'll be changing my main anytime soon. Wanderer's pretty fun to play with.

After (Name) finished talking he took a closer look at Wanderer's face, but his eyes swore Wanderer had a tad bit of pink on his cheeks

His eyes must've been starting to break with the amount of streaming his doing

T R A V E L E R

(Name) had just began to prep for his stream of the week and now he was currently adjusting the Traveler's artifacts to try out a new build

You know what's crazy though? His builds are pretty shitty.

He has the absolute worst luck in artifacts plus in leveling up pieces, most of which usually goes to defense or HP%

But he still hits about 800k regularly with the Traveler! How could he do such thing with only 44.6% Crit rate!?

(Chat) — 1 MILLION?? (Name) are you doing hacks?

(Name) — What? No! Guess my Traveler's just really op

The Traveler is a smug motherfucker

Of course the Traveler wouldn't hit such high numbers without using a...slight adjustment to the system

Sure their pieces are pretty bad but they'll accept anything (Name) had given them! How could they just shake off his hard work on griding for their ascension and talents?

Whenever the Traveler sees (Name)'s shocked expression during the massive crit's appearing on his screen they are damn right happy and overjoyed they managed to satisfy their grace!

(Chat) — Your builds are bad af tho lolol

(Chat) — Why main the Traveler? They're a pretty bad character to main, you should go for Nuevillete or Alhaitham.

The Traveler's good mood immediately faded into dust once he saw the chats text

Are those no lifers saying that they're not fit to be (Name)'s vessel? They're the most perfect one!

What could Nuevillete or whatever character have that they don't? Could they switch elements? Don't think so

If they wanted bigger numbers, the Traveler will show them big numbers all right, if you want them to hit 10 million they're gonna make it happen with just one click

(Name) — Thanks for the suggestion chat but I'm going to stick with the Traveler, I'm already wayyy too attached

The Traveler's mood once again took a 360 and smiled softly at what (Name) said to them, their stomachs fluttering with delight

(Name) is attached to them? No other compliment or praise could ever reach what the Traveler was feeling at the very moment

Their grace! Oh their grace... If only they could just grab onto you and drag you here where you rightfully belong

K I N I C H

Kinich is an upcoming playable character but many in the genshin community have fallen head over heels for him

Yet he couldn't careless about them, after all just being near (Name)'s presence even though it's just by the Traveler's vessel already makes him nice and comfortable

(Name) — Day 10 of saving up for Kinich let's goo

(Chat) — Woah already 200 wishes? You're quick man

(Name) — Can't help it lmao, Kinich seems fun to play and he's really pretty!

(Chat) — He seem's boring though

(Chat) — Dude the dialouge is slightly glitching wtf

The dialouge's glitching is caused by Kinich's embarrassment and rage, he was previously just about to talk till he heard (Name) sing praises about him! How could he not accidentally stutter and mess up the dialouge!?

But on the other hand, the hell did that person meant by he was boring? He wasn't even released yet! This caused Kinich to panic mentally if whether or not you'll change your mind about pulling for him

He stared at you from the screen, clenching his fists tighter by the second. Just a small bit more... Just one more step and he'll be released, then he could really be by your side now.

(Name) — Aw man, hold on chat I gotta pause the stream to fix this glitching

(Name) eventually had to exit the game to try and see what the problem was with his device or if it was overheating again

Meanwhile Kinich was still standing there re-adjusting his thoughts about what just happened. His feelings were all a mixed bag at this point, he sighed rubbing his temples slowly

Ajaw eventually came to his side while looking at him weirdly like he had done something wrong

(Ajaw) — Wow.. Just wow

(Kinich) — Shut up...

To rightfully apologized the system eventually sent 10 wishes in (Name)'s game mail which he was confused at first but eh, more wishes for c6 knich!

Once he becomes playable Kinich would definitely spoil (Name) with high numbers and crit's. He would just have to deal with Ajaw's yapping in the meantime..

So don't get distracted over what those 'Chat' people say about him!

A/n: likes and reblogs are appreciated! Have a nice day(ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[tahbhie]

Reasons Why 80% of Romantic Plots Fall Through.

Haven't you wondered why a romantic story you have so much hope for suddenly flops? Whether it's yours or not, let's see what could be the problem.

• Relying Too Much on the Outcome

Unfortunately, no romance is complete without an arc. In other words, it is more than just the intimacy. When writers don't allow the relationship to develop naturally, it feels forced. Rushing to the final romance without building a solid foundation will make the story feel shallow and unconvincing. Take your time, flesh out the idea, and follow the plot gradually.

• Creating Unnecessary Victimization

I often see writers make the mistake of portraying one character as too weak or pitiful only for the sake of it. This unnecessary victimization can undermine the character's depth and make the story less compelling. Your readers won't cry along with a female character whose decisions are pretty sour compared to a five-year-old. It's just simply annoying.

Instead, both characters should have strengths and weaknesses, make realistic decisions, making them more relatable and balanced.

• Cringy Conflict.

Realistic conflict is essential for a compelling romance. Over-the-top or contrived conflicts can make the story feel forced and cringy. Conflict should come naturally and blend perfectly into the plot. It's not advisable to pop a challenge that's definitely not necessary in the name of 'keeping the stakes high.'

Rather, focus on creating believable challenges that the characters must overcome, adding depth and authenticity to the plot.

• Neglecting Other Emotions Outside Romance.

It's not only about love, or roses, or dinner nights, or lucky dates with the billionaire. Show the other emotions fighting for dominance: the hurts, pains, joy, frustration, desperation, anger, sadness, jealousy, anxiety, or even moments when a character falls out of love with the other and can't understand their feelings.

Focusing solely on love can lead to a one-dimensional story. For a well-rounded narrative, explore these emotions to create a richer and more immersive experience for the readers.

• Underdeveloped Characters.

What's a story without a fully-fledged character, especially if they are the main character in a story?

You might have heard people talk about the importance of backstories and others saying too much of it tires them out, but here's the thing—balance. It's what people fail to incorporate. I'll try to cover this in any of my upcoming blog posts. Follow to keep up.

To better understand why we should cry for, laugh with, pity, admire, adore, scold, yell at, advocate for, and smile with your character, we need to know why they are what they are, who they are, and why they make the choices they make.

It's important to create characters with distinct personalities, backgrounds, and motivations. When readers care about the characters, they become more invested in the story and its outcome.

And that's my Christmas gift from me to you 🎁. Merry Christmas 🎄

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - non/con, afab!reader, kidnapping, captivity, semi-public sex, and wildly unbalanced power dynamics.

Valentine's Day is Satoru's favorite.

Suguru likes Halloween more (albeit, mostly the part where they dress you up in a slutty costume and fuck you with a B-rated horror movie playing in the background), but he's got a soft spot for anything that makes Satoru happy. You think something about the shamelessness of it all appeals to him - pale pink stuffed animals tall enough to reach your waist, boxes of sickeningly sweet chocolate that you'll never get around to finishing, gifts that serve no other purpose than to affirm your love for him. Of course, you can't actually get either of them much of anything, not with so many locks on the apartment door, but he and Suguru still do their best to make the day special.

Your morning starts early. Suguru sweeps you out of bed while Satoru sleeps in, holding his hand over your mouth as he explains exactly what'll happen if you ruin his little surprise. Predictably, it involves lingerie - all pink silk and red lace and unnecessary frills. He gives you a white teddy bear before taking you back to the bedroom, a heart-shaped pillow embroidered with a cursive 'Be Mine' cradled in its plush arms.

A few minutes later, he'll guide your hips as you grind against its expressionless face, Satoru's cock lodged halfway down your throat.

If you're lucky, they'll get called away shortly after the first round - to tend to their students or to handle some curse, you aren't picky when it comes to what gets them away from them. If you're not lucky, Suguru will suck love-bites into your chest while Satoru makes breakfast, occasionally calling you into the kitchen to try pancake batter or grimace while he licks whip-cream directly off of your cheek. You aren't allowed to hold cutlery, not after trying to gauge out Satoru's eyes with a butter knife shortly after your abduction, so they'll take turns feeding you before leaving for the day, Satoru pressing kisses into your cheeks and promising he'll be back soon while Suguru laughs and shakes his head.

While they're gone, you'll wander aimlessly, picking at your meager list of chores (vacuuming, laundry, etc. - enough to keep you sane, but not enough to stave off the restlessness) and generally lamenting your pitiful existence. When you find the teddy bear thrown haphazardly into a corner of their bedroom, you'll consider trying to wash it before tearing its seams open with a pair of safety scissors and hiding its disparate pieces in different places around the apartment for lack of a better way to get rid of them. You'll try to sleep the time away, but you won't be able to.

It's dark by the time they get home. Suguru made reservations months ago that you're already running late for, so you'll be allowed to dress yourself for the first time in as long as you can remember. Going out is treated like a privilege, something you ought to be thankful for, but it's hard to be appreciative with Satoru's arm wrapped so snugly around your waist, with Suguru hovering behind you, occasionally resting a hand on the back of your neck whenever you gaze lingers a little too long on any one thing. Satoru slips the hostess a bill that might've made your mouth water a little over a year ago, and you're seated at a table on the outskirts of the dining area, well hidden from prying eyes. They'll make conversation that you try and fail not to join in on, and after ordering dessert, Satoru's hand will slip under the hem of your dress. You'll ask to leave before the food reaches the table, but Suguru will insist on staying until he's gotten his money's worth and you've cum on Satoru's fingers more times than you'd care to count. When you're red-faced and teary-eyed, the waiter will ask if you're alright, and Satoru will pull you into his side while Suguru tells him that you've always been a little nervous in public.

You won't make it home before things boil over. Suguru will park somewhere seclusive as Satoru eats you out, knee deep in the backseat. When Suguru joins you, you'll finally get your present - double-penetration, both holes stuffed while they take turns filling your mouth with their tongues. You'll sob and scream and beg them to stop, say that it's too much, that you're already overstimulated, but they'll insist on making sure you get everything they have to give you. They've been looking forward to this all year, after all. It'd be a shame not to let you enjoy such a thoughtful gift to the fullest.

Exhausted and humiliated, you'll fade in and out of consciousness as Satoru carries you upstairs and Suguru runs a bath, shyly admitting that their present might've been a little self-serving. It's only after they get you tucked into bed, Satoru already excitedly telling Suguru all of his many, many plans for a quickly approaching White Day, that you'll fade into the mercy of a dreamless, thoughtless sleep.

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝟢 - 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of death, kinda cringe

Word count: 700+

A/N: the K-Pop Demon Hunter fever is SO ALIVE. I just need more content... so I decided to jump in the fanfic like many others to try and get something out... I have so many ideas!! I hope you like this one! No proofread btw, sorry about that

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Every day was the same: feeling pity, torturing the human souls that Gwi-ma didn't devour, feeling anger, remembering a past too distant and painful, and trying to remember what had brought you to that point, to hell itself. It was a daily thing for you: a demon.

Or that would be the case if you really were a demon; that is, if you had sold your soul to Gwi-ma in a deal… but you never did that. You just… kicked the bucket. Dead meat. Gone. R.I.P.

You were born human, grew up and lived as a human all your life: a normal life. You studied art and decided to specialise in music production because of your passion for pop, especially Korean pop. You were good at it, but it wasn't easy to make a living, especially when you came from nothing and had no contacts. And just when life was starting to smile on you (a K-Pop girl group had heard one of your demos and wanted you to work with them to release it), you died. You didn't quite remember how… You had decided to celebrate that you had signed the production contract for the song, gone up to the roof of the building where you lived to have a drink… and then… did someone push you? who?

The fact is that you were now a demon. But at the same time, you weren't exactly you… At least, physically. Somehow, you had been reincarnated as a demon. It sounds strange, but that's how it was. You had their memories and yours at the same time. Strange that now your soul was in a body that had sold its own… But that's the way it was. Take it or leave it.

The funny thing is that, as far as you could imagine, Gwi-ma wasn't real in your world… nor were the hunters, nor any of those elements of the last movie you were able to watch (about seven or eight times) before you died. So not only were you reincarnated, but you were now WITHIN the world and plot of the movie. And in the body of the most secondary possible villain: unnamed demon number 435, or something like that.

And the worst part is that you knew exactly what was going to happen: Jinu would make a deal with Gwi-ma, gather a demonic k-pop boy band, meet Rumi, everything would go down the drain because of betrayals and misunderstandings… and you would be trapped under the barrier, or worse.

And that couldn't be.

First: you have already died once, and once is more than enough. You were miserable enough as a demon to continue that filthy life for centuries, or die before you could do anything about it.

Second: you knew the movie, you knew what was going to happen… and you wouldn't let Jinu and Rumi's relationship end that way. Jinu didn't deserve to ‘die’. You would do anything for that ship. Even sink in it if needed.

Third: … What if, since you could keep Jinu and Rumi as a real couple, you could also manage to pair Zoey and Mira with a member of the Saja Boys? Which, by the way, your curiosity was killing you; they hadn't had enough screen time, and you'd give anything to interact with them to really get to know what they were like. Hell, you'd love to talk to all of them (Jinu included) like you did with them. It would be a dream come true, wouldn't it?

And last but not least: What would it hurt to change the plot of the movie a little bit to save unnecessary drama and deaths (yours included)?

So you got down to work, notebook in hand, and started planning what you loved doing most: writing music.

You would produce a complete discography for the Saja Boys, make them successful, teach them that they could regain their souls (all of them, without exception), and together defeat Gwi-ma. No casualties.

All thanks to a skill you had had since you entered that body: Gwi-ma couldn't get inside your head. At all.

So ladies and gentlemen, it's time to turn the script around in your favour….

Or at least that was your plan, before you realised that your involvement in the story would change everything.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 1

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what to expect from this. It's literally an introduction to the story, so to speak. But the idea had been floating around in my head for some time and I needed to write it down as soon as possible. I hope you like it.

See you soon,

Nun🐇​

[pythonmoth]

Flatmate!Simon comforting you after a bad break up 🥀

You found your partner cheating on you. The usual deal: it's not you, it's me, you deserve better. I didn't mean to hurt you!

Hours later, with a glass of whiskey in hand, you stare out of the window, rain pouring and hitting the glass aggressively. You're glad Simon isn't here, because this is pathetic.

You rarely speak to Simon, really. Being as busy as he is with the military and whatnot, he's usually too tired to talk. He isn't messy, and the only annoying thing about him is that he often smokes. He tries to be nice about it though, using this very same window.

On your third glass, feeling sorry for yourself and sniffing, a voice calls behind you. "Are you crying?"

It makes you jump, eyes wide as you turn to him. Simon wasn't supposed to be back yet, but then again, you don't really know what he does. He's wearing his uniform, slightly wet from the rain. His bags fall on the ground as he takes his boots off. No boots allowed inside, only slippers.

"No," you grumble, wiping some tears off your cheeks.

You're expecting... anything, really, except Simon sitting on the floor next to you, stealing your glass and taking a swig from it. It makes you pause but, far from feeling upset, you take the bottle and pour some more, not taking the glass back until Simon hands it to you.

"Alright."

Simon doesn't say anything for a while, both of you sharing the glass. When the rain slows down, Simon opens the window and lights up a cigarette. You don't protest. He hands it to you. It's awful and disgusting, but the taste of the whiskey with it isn't so bad. Soon, Simon fills the glass, and lights up another cigarette.

"Love?"

"Hm?"

A soft laugh makes it past Simon's lips. "Is love your problem?" he clarifies.

Cheeks burning, you mumble against the glass, wishing you could drown in it. "Yeah. Cheated on me, I'm too good for them, blah, blah."

It's quiet, a little cold from the rain now that the window is open, and Simon doesn't make fun of you for the little misunderstanding. He hums, simply handing you the cigarette back as he takes the glass from your hands.

"Was it bad?" Simon wonders, shifting so he's resting against the wall, staring directly at you. His left arm rests on his knee, holding the cigarette out of the window.

"I told them to rot in hell, so I guess so," you sigh, feeling both embarrassed and angry. It was awful, and you had to hold back from kicking them down the stairs, but there's no need to tell Simon that.

"Good job."

"Hm."

For a while, it's just the two of you. Simon's nice cigarettes (they weren't so bad after all), and your favorite whiskey. Simon didn't ask anything unnecessary, didn't pry and didn't seem interested in pitying you.

But then, your phone rings, breaking the cozy atmosphere. You ignore it as it rings on your back pocket, sighing with annoyance as it goes on for another three times.

"Not trying to tell you what to do, but you're not answering that, I hope."

Taking the phone out of your pocket, you place it on the ground between the two of you. A bright Asshole flashes on your screen. "No."

Simon, however, takes your phone, a growing smirk on his face. "You're for sure not getting back with them, right?"

"Never. But why—"

Your eyes widen when Simon picks up, putting the call on speaker. Your ex's voice is high pitched with the crying tone, sobbing and whining, begging you to speak to them.

"We're a little busy. Don't call again," Simon's gruff voice scoffs, suddenly sounding breathless. It hits you then, what he's trying to do.

Immediately, your ex's sobbing and the whining stops. "What the fuck? Where is—"

In disbelief, you stare at Simon, who starts slapping his own thigh repeatedly. "Busy. Goodbye." Not wasting a moment, he turns your phone off, looking incredibly satisfied.

"Very mature," you grumble, your lips wobbling.

"Why, thank you."

Unable to help yourself, you finally laugh, your shoulders shaking with amusement. Simon smiles, seemingly content as he shrugs, taking a swig from the glass.

Surely, your ex knows where you live, so they'll probably show up at some point. But right now, all that matters to you is that Simon is giving you a small smile. No pity. No empty “it's gonna be okay”.

He just hands the glass of whiskey back to you.

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Spoilt girl

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ Fluff, slightly suggestive, A bit OOC? borderline stockholm syndrome, rich men.

> ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys love to spoil their pretty little wife

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t mean to quit your job. Not at first.

But Rafayel had a way of making it seem inevitable. It started with little things, longer visits to his oceanside villa, missed calls from Jenna while you lay tangled in silk sheets, the scent of salt and paint clinging to your skin. “You’re too delicate for that,” he’d whisper, brushing your hair behind your ear while you drowsed in his arms. “You weren’t made for blood and bullets. Let them chase the wanderers, you’re meant to be adored. Let me adore you like i’ve always dreamed of” And slowly, gently, he peeled you away from it all. No more physical checks. No more mission briefings. Just soft mornings, sapphire skies, and Rafayel, always watching you like you were the center of the galaxy.

Now, you were his pretty little housewife. And you loved it.

The ocean murmured in the distance, waves brushing gently against the shoreline just beyond the cliffside villa. The morning light filtered through soft pink gauzy curtains, casting soft rose gold across the white stone floors.

You stood in front of the mirror, holding a pale lavender dress against your body. It shimmered faintly, made of some silk-like fabric only found in the N109 trade routes, expensive, unnecessary, and absolutely perfect.

Behind you, Rafayel lounged on the edge of the couch, legs draped over the arm, sketchbook forgotten at his side. His eyes tracked your every move, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips.

“You’re staring Raffy,” you murmured, biting back a smile.

“I am,” he said unapologetically, stretching like a cat (despite hating them). “You look like you belong in a painting. My painting.”

You turned, holding the dress up with both hands. “Too much? It’s for your exhibition, not mine.”

Rafayel stood slowly, bare feet silent against the floor. He moved with the effortless grace of someone used to walking between worlds, between reality and dreams. He came up behind you, arms slipping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I want you to have it cutie,” he whispered, voice low and indulgent. “All of it. That one, the blue one with the shell clasps, the earrings you pretend not to like. Buy them all.”

You giggled, cheeks heating. “I thought we were pretending to be frugal this cycle.”

“That was before I saw you in this light,” he said, nuzzling into your neck. “I don’t care if I have to trade every pigment I’ve ever ground, if it makes you smile like this, it’s worth it.”

His fingers played lazily with the fabric at your waist, his tone laced with fondness, a loving charm and something deeper, quieter. Possessiveness, perhaps. Devotion? Worship, definitely.

“You used to chase wanderers,” he murmured, as if reminding himself. “Now you’re here. With me. My little pearl.

You looked at him through the mirror, pouting slightly. “i just want to look pretty for you.”

His expression melted. “You always do, baby. You don’t have to lift a finger unless it’s to point at something you want.”

Your grin turned smug. “Even the pink heels with the pearls?”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw. “Especially those.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣e ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

You never thought you’d slow down. Not after everything.

But then came Zayne. calm, steady, patient Zayne.

He didn’t tell you to quit being a deepspace hunter. He never had to. He just started sitting beside your hospital bed more often, hand steady over your pulse while you slept, voice low but firm whenever you skipped post-mission scans. “You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove you’re still alive,” he said once, after stitching a split across your shoulder in silence. And when you tried to laugh it off, he just looked at you. Not with pity, but with something heavier. Something like love.

Eventually, he made you a deal. “Let me take care of you for once. Let me give you a life you don’t have to survive.”

So you did. And now, you were his wife.

His spoiled, pampered, bratty little wife, and you were thriving.

“I don’t need this many dresses,” you teased, spinning in front of the mirror as the baby blue silk clung perfectly to your waist.

Zayne didn’t look up from his seat on the velvet chaise, legs crossed, expression unreadable behind his glasses. “Yes, you do.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going to one gala, not a royal wedding.”

He adjusted his cufflinks, voice smooth. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room either way. But you’re also my wife. So you’ll have options.”

You paused, watching him in the reflection. “Is this really what you imagined when you told me to stop risking my life?”

Zayne finally looked up. His hazel green eyes flickered to yours, they were warm, sharp, and weirdly unreadable. “No,” he said honestly. “But I’m not complaining.”

You turned, raising a brow. “And if I wanted the velvet one and the silver one?”

He didn’t blink. “Then you’re getting both.”

A soft laugh bubbled up your throat. “Being the top surgeon really got to your head, Zaynie”

Zayne rose from the chair with that slow, effortless confidence you loved. His hands slid around your waist, fingers brushing just under the edge of the dress’s open back. “I became a surgeon for you. I have all this money and power for you. This is simply my thank you, for staying alive. For letting me love you.”

You melted instantly.

He kissed your temple, then your jaw, then your collarbone, each one calm and deliberate, and ever so gentle. “There’s people around, Mister Doctor” You let out quietly giggling at the ticklish kisses.

Zayne chuckled, low and warm. “Maybe it’ll show them i’m not as icy as they think.”

“I’m literally shivering at your touch—”

He groans playfully “I should give you back to Jenna.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You used to like being a hunter.

But that was before Xavier. Before he held your hand in the ruins of the no hunt zone and asked, quietly, without expectation, if you were tired of this.

He never pushed. Just made space for you beside him.

And once you said yes, once you let yourself rest, he bought a new penthouse, one with wide windows, soft golden light, and more pillows than you thought anyone could reasonably own. “We require proper nesting,” he’d said, totally serious. “And a kitchen where I can make breakfast without setting off alarms.”

Now, you were his wife. No gun. No wanderers. Just a silk robe, messy hair, and bare feet curled beside him under soft linen sheets.

Xavier was half-asleep, arm draped across your waist, breath warm against your shoulder as you scrolled through your holoscreen with lazy flicks.

“I have nothing to wear, xavi,” you mumbled dramatically, even though you had three whole virtual closets full of new outfits, mostly ones he’d insisted on buying after you married.

“You have seventeen suitable options bookmarked,” Xavier murmured without opening his eyes.

You squinted at him. “Are you spying on my screen, Mr bunny?”

“I am merely present,” he said, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Also, the one with the pearl draping and backless cut. That one.”

You bit back a smile. “You’ve got good taste for someone wearing pajama pants with cats on them.”

“You bought them for me back then,” he said sleepily. “I love these pants.”

You snorted and leaned back against him, screen held up. “You really think I should wear the pearl one?”

“Yes,” he said, brushing his lips gently down your spine. “It compliments your shape. Also, I enjoy the idea of every hunter in that room seeing what I come home to.”

You flushed instantly.

“Your the most jealous man i know,” you mumbled, a little flustered.

“How many men do you know?”

“Your unbelievable.”

“Maybe.” His voice was still soft, unchanging. “But I do care about looking smug with you on my arm.”

He nuzzled into your shoulder, then slipped his fingers into yours, cradling your hand like it was something sacred. “Pick whichever dress you want. I’ll be proud either way. Just don’t wear heels that hurt your feet. You tend to forget.”

You turned toward him slyly, giggling. “You’ll carry me all the way back home if my feet hurt, right?”

Xavier blinked slowly, an adorable confused expression washes over his face. “That’s simply my duty as your husband.”

And just like that, you melted again, sinking into his chest, warm and safe and totally ruined for anyone but him.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It only took one mission. One mistake. One second where your gun failed and everything went white.

When you woke up, you weren’t in Akso Hospital. You were in Sylus’s personal safehouse, one you’d never seen before, cloaked in obsidian walls, the room so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. You were stitched up, bandaged, monitored. And Sylus was there, not smug for once, but cold and furious.

Not at you. At everything else.

“You’re done,” he said simply, without argument. “I’ll burn that entire sector if it looks at you again.”

You tried to protest, tried to tell him you didn’t want to be caged. But Sylus just laughed, dark and…sad.

“You think this is a cage?” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your temple. “This is a home. You’ve bled enough. Let me give you everything else.”

And so you did. You let him.

You became his wife. his pampered, spoiled, silk-wrapped wife, and never looked back.

Now, the bedroom was chaos. Or, well, chaos on black satin.

Luxury boxes were everywhere, Maria Lucia Hohan, Dolce and Gabbana, Etro , even rare off-world jewelers. You were twirling barefoot in front of the mirror, holding up earrings and necklaces, draping sheer gowns across your body with dreamy little gasps.

“Sylus, look at this one,” you beamed, holding up a gown studded with red crystal feathers. “It looks like your brooch!”

He was lounging against the headboard, shirt half-unbuttoned, long legs stretched out beneath the scattered shopping bags. His glowing red eyes followed your every move, sharp and unreadable, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“I already knew you’d pick that one,” he said. “It’s the one that makes you look like you belong on a throne. My throne.”

You giggled, twirling again. “You’re so dramatic. It’s your birthday, not a coronation.”

He arched a brow. “Everything I do is a coronation. And you’re the crown.”

That shut you up a little. Your cheeks flushed as you reached for another necklace, this one gleaming with dark pearls and fire-gold chain. You looked so soft, so utterly enchanted with the process of choosing, matching, imagining. It was the happiest Sylus ever saw you.

“You spoil me too much,” you murmured, your lips forming a gentle pout subconsciously, trying on another pair of earrings. “You never even check the prices…”

“I never check the price because it doesn’t matter,” he said coolly. “You’re mine. The only thing that matters is seeing you shine.”

You pouted, cheeks warm. “You say that like I’m a possession.”

He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping an octave. “No. You’re a prize.”

You padded over to him, dress in hand, crawling across the bed to sit on his lap without asking, not that you ever had to. He welcomed you easily, arms sliding around your waist as you tucked your head beneath his chin.

“I just want to look really pretty tonight,” you whispered against his collar. “It’s your birthday…”

He tipped your chin up, red eyes glowing. “You could show up in one of my shirts and bare feet, and I’d still have to stop myself from killing every man who looked at you.”

You grinned, heart thudding. “That’s hot.”

“I know,” he murmured smugly, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “Now try the heels. I want to see the full look. And if you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“Because I’m fragile and precious?” you teased.

He leaned in, eyes with limitless love, a gentle kiss to your lips. “Because you’re mine.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

He didn’t even raise his voice when he grounded you.

He just keyed in a new passcode to the penthouse. Installed biometric locks. Pulled a couple string to have your access revoked in the deepspace hunter association. He said it all so sweetly too, pressing a kiss to your temple as he helped you out of your uniform and into soft silk lounge clothes instead.

“You’re not going back out there,” Caleb murmured, stroking your hair as you trembled from the withdrawal of action. “Not when I’ve worked this hard to bring you home.”

You had called him a control freak. Had fought. Screamed.

And he had just smiled, that same smile you grew up with. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve always been this way. I just didn’t want to scare you off before.”

It wasn’t a prison. It was a penthouse in Skyhaven, glass walls, sun-kissed terraces, gardens in the clouds. You were spoiled, adored, and fussed over until you stopped pacing like a caged bird and started perching on his lap instead.

And now, you couldn’t imagine anything else.

“Baby, you’re gonna short-circuit my brain if you keep coming out lookin’ like that.”

His voice was warm, teasing, as he lounged on the boutique’s velvet couch, still dressed in full Farspace Colonel regalia. He hadn’t even unbuckled his harness yet, came straight from a strategy meeting just to be here with you.

You stepped out in a deep purple gown that shimmered like a nebula when you twirled, your grin wide as you modeled for him. The boutique was exclusive, Skyhaven elite only, and currently empty aside from the two of you and a terrified assistant Caleb had already waved off.

“How about this one?” you asked sweetly, turning to show the daring back cut.

He let out a low whistle, one hand braced against his jaw. “If you show up to the banquet in that, I’m gonna spend the entire night reminding everyone there’s only one bed you sleep in.”

You laughed, padding over to him in your heels as he opened his arms instantly, tugging you down onto his lap with that boyish grin that always made your heart flutter.

“Caleb,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he said, nuzzling your cheek. “I’m possessive. There’s a difference. Look it up, pipsqueak.”

You puffed your cheeks. “Don’t call me that here!”

“I call you that everywhere,” he said proudly, brushing your hair back with his gloved hand. “You’re still the little baby who yelled out for gege for every little thing and cried when gege didn’t give you enough attention.”

“I did not cry!”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Which you’ll be doing in my arms, wearing one of these pretty dresses, because I’m buying all of them.”

You blinked. “All?”

He kissed your temple. “Mmhmm. And when you get tired, I’ll carry you home like always. Deal?”

You sighed, melting into his chest, heart so full it might burst. “Deal.”

And as you tried on dress after dress, twirling and giggling and showing off, he watched you like he always did, like you were his whole damn world.

Because you were.

And he was never letting you forget it.

[m0nnypie]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: Just the pov of Finnick loving you over the years, and remembering everything about you

Warnings: cute but with a bit of angst on Finn's part. Other than that, all happiness and love.

a/n: Well, excuse any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language. And I tried my best to make it as much like Finnick as I could, but this is my first fic of his lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and enjoy <3

Words: 1.8k

Finnick remembers the first time he saw you. He was eight and you were only six. Your father had gone to see his for some reason Finnick can't remember — not least because he hadn't been paying attention to them. What he does remember is you glaring at him. It made him laugh, which only deepened your frown.

He imagines it was because you didn't like him very much at the time. He didn’t blame you. With your older brother constantly saying that no boy was any good, it was hard to be friends with anyone he was always badmouthing. Finnick didn’t blame your brother either — in a world like theirs, any protection, even unnecessary, was better than none. Still, nothing changed how cute and funny he had found you at the time. After that day, you never met in person again.

The time he considers the second was when his name was called at the reaping. He remembers your eyes glued to him; you were twelve, and he was fourteen. He could feel your pity seeping through his skin. He didn’t blame you — after all, like it or not, it was still the Hunger Games. But knowing that you were looking at him made it almost funny to him, and it was with that thought in mind that he entered the arena.

The third time was when he returned home victorious. Of course, there were lots of people congratulating him — his relieved family and everyone else — but the only thing he saw was you, walking toward him. He didn't think it was of his own volition, considering you was with your father and brother, but as soon as you approached, you wore the best, most beautiful smile he had ever seen you give. And for the first time in years, you spoke to him.

"Congratulations on winning, Finnick. I'm glad you're back... well, we're glad."

He could see the smile on your father’s face, though he couldn’t say the same for your brother. Not that he minded. So he just smiled back at you — not the smile he reserved for the Capitol, but a real smile.

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you too."

He saw you get embarrassed, and he wanted to laugh at that. But he wouldn’t — not in front of your father. Not yet.

For the rest of the day, he listened to his father talk about how much your father complained about you, because you wouldn't stop talking about Finnick. His father laughed as he ruffled his hair affectionately. And it’s not like Finnick was going to complain.

Everyone said it was normal for girls to have a little crush on boys who won at something — at least, that’s what the people he knew told him. Maybe that’s why, two months later, it was as if Finnick no longer existed to you. You were back in your own world, with your friends, without him. Not that it bothered him — not really.

The next time he really saw you, you were sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a mentor now, and when your name was called at the reaping, he could see on your face how much you hated it. Most people didn't care or thought that a dead kid from District 4 wouldn't make much difference, since you wasn’t a Career or someone important. Finnick hated it — but he would never say so.

He also remembers how, for whatever reason, you didn't put any effort into your training. He thought it was because of what everyone thought of you as a tribute, or maybe you just didn't give a damn about dying in the arena. He didn't admit it at the time, but he had been terrified that you wouldn't make it out of the arena alive. He also remembers how surprised everyone was by your training score — including him. It was a ten. He remembers it clearly, and you didn't seem to mind.

On the day of the Games, all you did was say goodbye to your stylists. You didn't look in anyone else's direction, but he didn't blame you. If you were going to become one of the last survivors, there would come a point when you would have to kill someone. It wasn't something everyone wanted to face.

He remembers seeing you in the arena — you did well. For the first few days, you kept to yourself, hiding and trying to survive. But at some point — he can't say exactly when — things changed. Perhaps it was when the male tribute from your district was killed, or when you saw a pair of boys, just twelve years old, die.

It wasn't a change that anyone on Capitol had noticed. But Finnick knew you well enough to say that the deaths of people you barely knew had affected you. He still remembers when one of the tributes from District 4 was a twelve-year-old boy - you didn't know him, but you still went to say goodbye. You were only fourteen.

And at that very moment, you had just thrown an axe into the head of the boy from District 3 who had killed the twelve-year-olds. You hadn't thought — you had just acted. Obviously, this had a positive consequence for you in the Capitol's eyes, because a while later, you were sent food that would last for about four days.

He remembers the exact moment you won. He wanted to say he was relieved, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Until you left for District 4, you didn't say a single word to him. Perhaps because no one was looking at you with such high expectations anymore, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Do you regret killing those people to survive?"

"No."

He had to be honest; he couldn't lie. But after that, he didn't hear your voice again for the rest of the journey — you didn't even look at him. Still, when you arrived in District 4, you acted as if you were fine, as if you didn’t care.

He also remembers when you became friends. It was a good thing — a big step, considering that before, you wouldn’t even look him in the face. Now he understood why. Even though it hadn't seemed like it before, you had lots of friends. You were funny, entertaining, and you cooked extremely well. Finnick admitted that he envied your food — and he couldn’t lie about that.

He obviously remembers the following year, when the two of you were mentors. You were only seventeen, but you didn't seem bothered about directing two people toward a possible death. He saw how hard you worked not to get attached to either of the tributes, because if they didn't come back, you wouldn't feel guilty. But when Annie returned, alive and safe, he also saw you break down. You hugged her as if she were going to disappear. And he didn’t blame you for that either. Over the next year, no one ever brought up the subject of Annie becoming a mentor.

When you were nineteen, things went to another level. Once ignored, now he was kissed when no one was watching — well, that was a breakthrough. He remembers every kiss, every smile. He also remembers when you woke him up at dawn to help Annie. He didn't mind; he was spending time with you and helping a friend.

While he was making tea, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see you hugging her, whispering what sounded like a lullaby — the kind you sing to babies when they can't stop crying. He could see how much you loved and cared for Annie, and that always made him fall in love with you a little more, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He certainly remembers the time he told you he loved you. You had just turned twenty-one. You said it back. And you held each other for the rest of the night.

He also remembers the 74th Hunger Games. He saw your relief when those two young people, madly in love — though he didn't believe in that farce — survived together. You didn’t know them, but you were obviously happy for them.

He also — sadly — remembers the Quarter Quell. When his name was called, he had imagined it would happen. But that day, once again, he saw you. Annie had been called, and before Mags could volunteer, you did. He saw you hugging Annie, comforting her as he heard her whisper "sorry," but you just smiled at her. And as you hugged, he heard you say:

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to her again."

"I know..."

He didn’t know. No — actually, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it meant facing the reality that this year, he’d be going into the arena with you. And he didn’t even want to think about that.

In the arena, he did everything he could to protect you, Katniss, and Peeta. He really wanted the plan to work. He believed that you would be fine if they separated. But when he woke up, you weren’t there with him. You were in the Capitol with the others. For the first time in years, he wished he had died in that arena when he was fourteen.

He felt it the moment he got you back — you weren’t really there. He spoke to you, but you didn’t listen. And if he tried to touch you, he saw you despair, screaming as if he had hurt you. And he felt that way — he felt guilty for letting the Capitol lay even a single finger on you. They told him to take it easy. He wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but when he looked at you, he knew they were right.

At that very moment, he was keeping you company, obviously giving you space — he didn’t want you to get hurt. But when he heard you calling him, he admitted he was desperate; you hadn’t even looked him in the face for days. So probably, if you had asked him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would have — even if he didn’t need to. But he held back.

"Finnick?"

"Yes, dear? Do you need anything?"

"I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper.

"Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I..." You didn’t manage to finish before tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, please don’t cry..." He tried his best to comfort you without having to touch you. But before he could decide what to do, you hugged him — a little hesitantly, but you hugged him. And at that moment, he collapsed. He shouldn’t have cried — not when you were in such a fragile moment — but he couldn’t help it.

For a moment in his life, he had thought he had lost you, that he would never see you again. And at that moment, he decided he would never let go of you — not with the possibility of losing you again. He would never let that happen. He would always see you now.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

giddy up | spencer reid x reader

Spencer gets shot in the leg. You help him feel better about it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: s5/jesus hair reid, established r/s, reader and spencer are both switches, riding, grinding, frottage, porn without plot, fluff and smut actually

a/n: was thinking about writing jesus reid/crutches reid for a long time and this was the only thing that came to mind. I am only a little sorry about it. (also find this fic on ao3!)

Of all the things Spencer could complain about after having been shot in the leg, not being able to fuck you properly is something you definitely did not consider.

You’d been worried sick when Penelope had called you, when Spencer had woken up after surgery. You were the first person he’d called for.

No unnecessary pressure on the leg, the doctor had said. Spencer was to use crutches at all times until the doctor cleared him. You don’t remember the rest of the doctor’s instructions, at least not now, when Spencer’s doing much better. He’s just been cleared to walk off his crutches, but he still has a slight limp in his step and starts to wince when he’s on his feet for too long. He hasn’t healed completely, but it’s enough to put you at ease being around Spencer, not having to worry excessively about him. 

While you know he’s grateful to have only gotten shot in the leg and not somewhere more risky, Spencer’s got a mouth on him, which leads you to where you are right now:

“I’m so tired of not being able to fuck you,” Spencer groans. 

You’re lounging in bed with him when he says this, and you whip your head around to look at him, shocked at his sudden admission. “Damn. What’s the matter, baby?”

“I just–” Spencer huffs in the middle of his sentence, like he needs to find the right words. It blows his hair out of his face. It’s cute, but what he says next is filthy in comparison: “I miss fucking you. Properly. Not just handjobs.”

“I thought you liked my handjobs, babe.” You pout, pretending to seem upset. “And my mouth.”

“I do!” Spencer is quick to correct you, insisting, “I like all of that, but it just doesn’t feel the same.”

“As to when you’re buried inside of me?” You whisper, resting your hand on his chest, giggling when Spencer turns red. While he was no longer the innocent, virginal nerd you’d met him as, sex talk still flusters him from time to time, and you love to fluster him.

“Baby,” Spencer whines at your teasing. “I’m serious. I miss making you feel good too.”

“You’re good with your hands, though,” you swoon, mind drifting. “And your mouth. Really good with your mouth.”

You think about Spencer asking you to sit on his face for the first time. Neither of you were exactly used to the position, Spencer typically preferring to be between your legs when he went down on you. But the way his tongue was expertly flicking at your clit, slipping into your hole, making you feel so good until you were making a mess of his face, your slick everywhere–

“Hey, focus.” Spencer taps your cheek, and you puff your cheeks. “I want you to feel good too.”

“I know, pretty,” you hum, letting your thumb trace his jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

Spencer quirks a brow in attentive curiosity. You, getting up from laying next to him, swing your leg across his hips. You sit down squarely on his crotch. 

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh.”

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” you coo. Spencer nods hurriedly. 

Spencer looks up at you with wide eyes, roaming all over your body but unable to leave it. He watches you roll your hips into his crotch. He lets out a pitiful whine. You feel him hardening between your legs already. You grind against him like this, solely intent on working him up. You know this kind of pressure isn’t enough for Spencer, pleasure dulled between layers of fabric, so you aren’t surprised when Spencer asks, “More, please?”

You smile. “Poor thing.”

“Please, darling,” he exhales. 

“Okay,” you hum, climbing off of him so you can get your shorts and underwear off. His eyes are so big as he stares at you, all of you, like he’s still surprised that he gets to see you undress. You laugh, and snake your hands into the waistband of his pyjama pants. You push them down, until his hard cock springs up, bobbing against his stomach. You meet Spencer’s gaze, before pressing your cunt to his cock.

You both gasp, feeling each other’s warmth. You’re so wet you know you must be making a mess of Spencer right about now. You don’t slip him inside of you just yet, instead grinding your bare pussy against Spencer’s length. You can’t imagine how it feels for him, but you see the way his face is scrunched up in pleasure – what you’re giving him is not entirely enough. You know he misses sinking into your wet heat, and you’re just giving him a taster, sliding his cock along your slick folds, pressed against your leaking hole.

“Spencer,” you moan, rocking your hips harder. It feels so good, Spencer’s hardness against your cunt, the tip of his cock nudging at your clit every time you press your hips down. It’s too much yet not enough, both you and Spencer needing that sweet relief, the feeling of his cock pressing into you. Still, you want to drag it out for him, and you grind your pussy against him some more. “You feel so good, baby.”

“It would feel better if you let me fuck you, darling,” Spencer grunts with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s desperate, his hands antsy by his sides, nails digging into his palms. 

“Mm, not yet,” you hum, feeling a little bratty, enjoying the feeling of building tension, growing arousal between the two of you, between your legs. It’s heaven grinding against Spencer like this.

And maybe you’re too wet, or Spencer is too convincing, because by some act of God, when you roll your hips down against him again, the head of his cock is breaching your entrance, and you moan when you feel his tip pressed inside of you. “Oh–!”

“Fuck,” Spencer moans, long and drawn-out. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You can’t blame him, since you’d put a stop to sex with Spencer as he recovered. You’d only started giving him handjobs and blowjobs once you were sure an orgasm wouldn’t break him – “I promise an orgasm won’t hurt. It’ll be fine. I’m a doctor.” “You’re not a medical doctor, idiot.” – even then, penetrative sex was off the table.

Until now, as Spencer’s cock pushes deeper inside of you, and the rolling of your hips only serves to remind you just how good Spencer feels. You’ve missed this, his thick cock pressed inside of you, splitting you in half, filling you up until you don’t know anything other than his name. 

“Spence,” you whine. “Feels good.”

“I know, darling,” Spencer groans. “You feel tighter than I remember. Wetter too.” 

He sounds so nonchalant saying these things, and that only serves to drive you more insane. When did he get so confident, so cocky? You want to say something witty but you can’t find the words. Spencer just continues, almost bored to the untrained ear, but you know Spencer’s barely keeping himself together, “So, are you going to ride me or not?”

You grumble, your thighs flexing as you push yourself up, shifting from a rolling, grinding motion to bounce on Spencer’s cock instead. You don’t think you’ve done this before with Spencer, always content letting him get on top, so the new angle makes the both of you a little crazy. He moans, and so do you.

Like this, Spencer’s cock fucks you deeper, harder, the weight of your bouncing thrusts driving him into you until you feel positively ruined. You cry out, desperate, “Spence– Oh, Spencer, oh my God–”

“You’re riding me so well, darling,” Spencer says in awe, slack-jawed. His large hands come to hold your waist, feeling you bounce on his cock, helping you with the laborious movements. “You look so fucking hot right now.”

You whine, thighs already feeling the burn, but the way Spencer’s using your weight to fuck you down onto his cock has you feeling lightheaded. You think you like the feeling, being pushed around like a warm, wet fleshlight for Spencer to fuck into. “Spence, so deep–”

“I want to fuck you so badly right now, my love,” Spencer groans. You feel his hips bucking up into you slightly, right when he pulls your ass down against him, but you know his movements are restricted because of his leg. Still, his desperation to bury himself into you is wild, and your head spins. “But I can’t, and you’re doing so good fucking yourself on my cock.”

You tremble, using all your strength to fuck yourself on his cock, sobbing because you just feel that good. Spencer’s filthy words and the intensity of it all has you weak, and you wish Spencer could just flip you over and finish the job.

“Come on, darling,” Spencer encourages, his hands squeezing your ass and your thighs. It makes you feel wanted, a desperate Spencer’s way of feeling you. “I’m so close too. You’re doing so good.”

“Spencer-!” You sob, clenching around him as you come, your orgasm wracking through your body like electricity in your veins. It’s so good, too good like this, Spencer pressed up inside you like he could split you in half. 

You’re frozen as you feel him inside, his cock twitching as he blows his load. It’s warm and wet and sticky, as you feel it drip out of you. You almost can’t believe it, feeling Spencer buried to the hilt of you after months, and you wonder why it hadn’t occurred to either of you to do this sooner. 

You whimper as your emotions rush over you, and Spencer is quick to pull you close, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “That was crazy. You’re amazing. And perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, still a little breathless. “We should do that more.”

“Until my leg is better? Then I can fuck you the way you want,” Spencer soothes, his hand petting your hair, and that certainly sounds like a good idea.

“Yeah. But we should also just do that again some time,” you giggle, resting your head on his chest. You feel his heart pounding under your ear. “I like riding you.”

Spencer laughs heartily, a warm sound that is like music to your ears. “Giddy up, cowgirl.”

[godslino]

HARD LAUNCH | minho drabble. established relationship.

“Do you guys have french fries?”

“Minho.” you hiss, nudging his shin beneath the table.

He cocks an eyebrow before turning back to the waitress. She smiles softly, laughing at the two of you. 

“We do, yes.” 

“Wonderful,” Minho grins, “We’ll have a side order of those too.”

“Perfect. I’ll put that in for you guys and check back soon.” The waitress says happily, collecting the menus and scurrying off to tend to another table.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you groan, covering your face with your hands. 

“Why would you do that?” 

Minho chuckles, shakes his head probably. You wouldn’t know since you can’t see him.

“Do what?”

Still using one hand to cover your eyes, you pull the other away, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I told you I’d be fine. Why’d you have to ask for french fries? That’s so embarrassing.”

Minho hums. Unbothered. “You know what’s worse?”

“Literally nothing.” you mumble, returning your other hand to your face. It only serves to muffle your voice more. “This is humiliating. We’re in a nice restaurant and you ordered french fries because of me. Oh God. I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”

A good choice, you think. Minho’s in god damn slacks for crying out loud. Every second that passes is another second that your pity order of french fries is probably spending in the deep fryer, right next to the lobster tail and shrimp tartar that everyone else has a mature enough palate to eat. 

Before you can move to get up and make a beeline for the toilet, you feel Minho’s fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling until your hands give way to your face. You crack one eye open and then the other, his amused expression coming into view.

“What’s worse than ordering french fries is me knowing you’ll be hungry if there isn’t something familiar for you on the table.” he says pointedly, like your reason for feeling embarrassed is unnecessary. “Besides, who said I didn’t want any?”

“Min, look around,” you say, turning your head to glance at the room, “The napkins are cloth. Cloth! Nicer than my bed sheets. We can’t be seen eating french fries in a place like this. I told you I’d be—”

“—fine. Because as long as you’re here I can do anything.” Minho recites, word for word, cutting you off. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, spreads like wildfire when Minho smiles and leans on to his forearms. His button up tightens over his shoulders, hugs his arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Just like how you’re doing this for me, let me do something for you.” 

You and Minho have been seeing each other for four months now, but even at that, you’re still not used to his straightforwardness. 

Seeing Minho has been nothing short of a dream. What started as just interacting at parties because of mutual friends eventually gave way to him asking for your number, and then hanging out separate from your friend group, until one day he plucked up the courage to ask you out. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable, always spending every free moment together. Laughing, talking, even sometimes just existing in the same space. It’s nice. So, so nice.

“Shouldn’t I be the one blushing right now?” Minho teases.

“Shut up.” you say, tearing your gaze away from him.

He laughs again before reaching out and placing a hand on top of yours. Soft. Minho is unbelievably soft.

It’s the thing you love the most about him. But more than that, more than the delicate skin of his fingers or the brush of his lips against yours, you love the softness of his eyes.

Minho is hard to crack, his emotions shrouded most of the time. Not that he wants to be, but because that’s just how he operates, or so you’ve learned. 

But despite all of that, his eyes are a dead giveaway. When he’s looking at pictures of his cats, or staring at you from across the room, or right now as steaming plates of some of the finest cuisine Seoul has to offer are being placed in front of him.

“Holy shit.” he whispers, staring in awe as the waitress walks away from the table.

“Is it rude for me to take a picture? Like, would anyone get offended?” 

Minho scoffs. “Babe, I would be offended if you didn’t document this right now.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pulling out your phone.

“Do I get to be in it this time?”

You look up to find Minho pouting across the table. Another thing about your relationship— nobody knows yet. 

You’ve been teasing about the possibility of a boyfriend for two months now, you and Minho only having made it official about a few weeks ago. The most anyone has been able to see are carefully positioned photos where only his hand or other inconspicuous parts of him are visible.

It’s not that you don’t want people to know. It’s just hard with his job and all. Privacy reasons.

"For someone who likes to claim that people won't give me a hard time because of your fame you sure do seem eager to test that theory."

Minho smiles mischievously. “Well, yes. But I’m also waiting because I want to show you off.”

You busy yourself with opening your camera app to stop the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. You big flirt.”

Minho laughs but obliges, scoots back to let you get a good few pictures of the food. 

Photos aren’t enough to do it justice, though. So you opt for a video, scanning the table with your camera, only the bottom half of his torso visible across the table. A silk white button up only three-fourths of the way buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Minho watches silently, his face unreadable. And then, at the last second, he dips his head down so fast you don’t even realize what’s happening until his face is fully in the shot, a shit-eating grin pushing his eyes into crescent moons.

“Min!” you laugh, ending the recording. 

He chuckles, straightening back out. “Post it.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, but I’m going to be if you don’t post it and then eat with me.” He nudges the plate of french fries towards you. “Come on.”

“You really want me to post it? You’re sure?”

Minho smiles. Soft. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” he says, neither of you willing to address the weight of his words.

He grabs your hand, plants a kiss on the back of your knuckles. The resulting flip of your stomach is enough to give you the courage to hit post and tuck your phone away.

Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it later. Together.

[ tags: @102598s @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @palindrome969 @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @astronomicallyyy @doohnut @linocz @romancerry @djeniryuu @pinkpunkdynamite @pynchkilledme @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @liknws @beeracha @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

[demolitionsweetheart]

Relationship headcanons

Shadow the hedgehog x reader

(Can be mobian or human!)

๑ Obviously, shadow is incredibly protective, especially after everything with Maria. He's immensely loyal and doesn't let anyone get too close to you.. Physically or otherwise. His past made him very cautious, he'll guide you with a gentle hand on your back or interlock your fingers after refusing to let you leave on a walk by yourself. He never takes any time you spend together for granted, always going out of his way to make sure you feel safe. At times it can be overwhelming but it's just his way of showing how much he cares, he'd rather be way overly cautious then risk losing you.

๑ Though he is protective, if you're capable, he'll acknowledge that, even if he's not entirely comfortable leaving you to handle something on your own, he trusts you.

๑ Shadow is more drawn to people who see him for who he truly is, not something dangerous, not a weapon, not an experiment. Being so familiar with the pitiful stares of the scientists, he's finally content with the way you see him.

๑ Shadow isn't big on PDA-He thinks it's inappropriate and unnecessary, but like I said he's protective and very possessive so he will do subtle gestures like holding hands, but nothing more. At least, not when anyone else was around. Behind closed doors, it's a totally different story. He's surprisingly gentle and affectionate, pulling your head to his chest, pressing kisses your hair. He hold you like he's afraid he'll lose you if he holds you any looser. He won't admit it but away from prying eyes, he craves your touch.

๑ When he isn't feeling well-whether hes physically drained or mentally exhausted, he loves being held(again hed never admit that either). He loves the feeling of your hands combing through his quills until he inevitably drifts off from the comfort.

๑ He purrs-much to his embarrassment. He tries to control it but everytime you run your fingers through his quills,  the sound slips. He hates how much it exposes him, makes it painfully obvious he's enjoying your touch.

๑ He's not big on giving words of affirmation unless you are feeling really down or seem uncomfortable- he prefers to show his love through acts of service and quality time. He'll tie your shoes, bring you food, brush or wash your hair, teach you to skate, even comply with your silly requests like letting you style his quills˃̵ᴗ˂̵. If youre not feeling your best, he loves cuddling or stargazing, even if it means just lying together in comfortable silence. He enjoys the closeness and hopes you do to, wanting nothing more than to see you back to your cheerful self.

๑ When you're happy,  he's happy. He avoids conflict-not that he does anything that would cause it. He just doesn't want you to be upset with him.  He knows how lucky he is to have you and would never want to take that for granted.

๑ He's so in love it hurts. Even if he struggles to express it sometimes, it's in everything he does. So he might not always say it,  but you never have to doubt it.

Thank you for reading! And thanks to the multiple anons requesting this☺︎ I used "you" and "your" to make it more personal this time. I hope you enjoyed!

Requests are open!

Dividers by @pixxiecup and pictures from Pinterest!

[mittenkisses]

Okay so, I was reading a few twst fics (as one does) and stumbled upon some cute Valentine's Day hcs from last month. It mostly revolved around the boys being cute and giving gifts, but that got me thinking.

I was one of the less popular kids growing up, and because of that, I usually only got Valentine's gifts from my mom (she's awesome and wanted to make sure I'd have a good day). Now I'm wondering how the twst boys would react to learning that the prefect/MC was in a similar boat?

valentine's day gifts

ft : first years (ace, deuce, jack, epel, sebek)

a/n : i decided to just go with the first years for this, but if you want more characters feel free to ask!!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ 🐚

to be honest, ace probably laughs at you. you mention it to him a few days before valentines day, when everyone at school is either talking about how excited they are or how stupid everyone is for getting excited. honestly, you're not even saying it to earn pity points (if anything, you're dropping a hint), but you don't expect him to laugh at you. ...then again, he is an asshole, so you're not too surprised. you laugh it off, maybe punch his shoulder. it's really not that big a deal—but on the 14th, you wake up to a box of obviously homemade chocolates in a heart-shaped box. everyone you talk to denies it was them, but you don't miss the way ace's cheeks turn pink when you ask.

deuce is in a similar boat as you. not many people liked him, and the only person who ever gave him gifts was his mother. he completely understands your situation, but not why you were put into it. you're so amazing! how could anyone not like you? he spends the entire day before valentine's getting trey to help him make some sweets for you, and he puts a lot of effort into making them look pretty. he presents them to you first thing in the morning and asks you to taste them first, to make sure they're as good as you'd like.

jack isn't much of a valentine's fan, but he notices the way you seem a bit sad when talking about your past experiences with the holiday. although he personally doesn't place much value into valentine's gifts, he can't just sit back and let this stand. you deserve way better! he wakes up early in the morning, but rather than go for his usual run, he spends the time before class carefully spooning his chocolate mixture into the moulds and freezing them. you sit beside him in your first class, and under the desk he slides you a neatly wrapped box. you thank him, but he gives no response aside from his tail wagging harder.

epel doesn't know how to make chocolates and he's too embarrassed to ask for help, but he can make a damn good pie. years of practice have given him great skill in the art of pie-making, and although the lattice in the top crust is a bit wonky and the heart he'd cut out isn't even, it tastes delicious. he presents it to you proudly, although he pretends he's just showing off his skills rather than giving you a gift. valentine's day is stupid, he says, he just so happened to give it to you on the day. just a coincidence!

sebek loudly goes on about his hatred of the holiday, how unnecessary it is to have a day dedicated to love, and—what's that? you've never really celebrated? well, that's not fair, he won't stand for that! you find him in the school's cafeteria, dirty dishes scattered about as he peers closely at the recipe book in front of him. when he realises you're there, he turns red, yelling at you to leave because this is supposed to be a surprise! he stiffly hands the container of chocolates to you the next day, refusing to look at you, then runs off before you can say a word.