#tossing and turning in bed until I wrote something

[p4rkhxe]

𖹭 Boyfriend Taehyung Headcanons ˎˊ˗

ᯓ I hope you all enjoy !

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/n

🧸Fluff Scenarios

Taehyung is the kind of boyfriend who turns the most ordinary days into something magical.

He’s big on affection—constant, wordless, and warm. You’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’ll come wrap his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder like it's his natural place in the world. “You smell like strawberries,” he’ll mumble with a smile, and you’ll both stand there, swaying slightly, toothpaste foaming in your mouth and all.

He’ll text you at the most random times—a photo of a dog he saw that reminded him of you, a blurry pic of his hand holding your favorite snack with a caption like “guess who missed u,” or just a voice memo of him humming a tune he says he wrote “because it sounds like you.”

He romanticizes you. Full stop. You’ll catch him staring at you across the couch, his book completely forgotten in his lap. You’ll raise your brow like, what?, and he’ll say something utterly Taehyung like, “You’re too pretty. It’s distracting.”

He plans spontaneous getaways. One day, he’ll drag you out of bed before sunrise, toss a duffel bag at you, and say, “Don’t ask. Just trust me.” You’ll end up in a cozy seaside town or a mountain cabin, no itinerary—just music, cozy socks, and the sound of his voice reading poetry at sunset.

His love language is touch and quality time. He doesn’t care if you’re watching TV or folding laundry—he just wants to be near you. Legs tangled on the couch. Head in your lap while you scroll. Sharing earbuds while waiting backstage.

Cuddling is sacred. He’ll wrap himself around you like a blanket, sometimes whispering in your ear, “Stay here forever.” And if you ever try to get up, he’ll groan dramatically and pull you right back with a sleepy grin, “Not yet. Just five more years.”

❤️‍🔥Smut

Taehyung is all slow-burning fire—sensual, deliberate, and devastatingly attentive.

NSFW content below—skip if preferred.

Foreplay is where he thrives. He’ll spend so much time kissing your neck, running his hands under your shirt, teasing the waistband of your underwear just to hear you beg. "So needy," he’ll whisper, even though he’s the one who can’t keep his hands off you.

He has a praise kink, and it shows. "Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as you arch under him. “So good for me. So perfect. Mine.” The way he says it—slow, reverent, possessive—makes you shiver.

He worships your body like it's art. He’ll kiss every inch—your stomach, your thighs, your shoulders—with a kind of quiet devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s not in a rush. He never is. With Taehyung, sex feels like a ritual—like every moment is meant to be savored.

He’s surprisingly vocal. Low groans, whispered curses, breathless moans when you touch him just right. He’ll bury his face in your neck, his voice raw with pleasure, saying things like, “I missed you so much, baby. You feel like heaven.”

He adores lingerie but secretly loves you naked in his clothes more. One of his favorite things is watching you in his button-up shirt, unbuttoned and hanging off your shoulder, teasing him while acting innocent. He’ll chuckle lowly and say, “That’s not fair,” before pinning you to the nearest surface.

Aftercare is everything. He’ll clean you up, run you a bath, kiss your forehead a dozen times, and then curl around you like a human heater, whispering how much he loves you until you both fall asleep.

He has a dominant streak—but it’s deeply loving. He'll guide your hips, grip your thighs, tell you exactly what he wants—but always checks in with you, always reads your body like a language he’s fluent in.

🥺+🥀Angst

There’s a quiet vulnerability to Taehyung that not everyone sees—but you do.

The fights are rare but real. He doesn’t yell—he shuts down. His silences are colder than his words ever could be. And when you finally break through, he’ll whisper things like, “I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” and it breaks your heart because you’ve never needed anyone else.

He doesn’t always know how to process pain. Instead of talking, he’ll grow distant. He’ll smile when he’s hurting. He’ll say he’s fine when he’s falling apart. And you’ll notice the way his voice softens, his hugs linger longer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You once caught him crying in the bathroom at 3AM. His schedule had drained him. His friends hadn’t heard from him. He felt like he was fading. And when you knelt beside him and held his hand, he clung to you like you were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

He fears losing you constantly. Fame taught him nothing lasts. So sometimes, when he looks at you too long, you ask what’s wrong and he says, “Promise you’ll stay. Even when it’s hard.” And you do. Every time.

But he never stops trying. No matter how tired, how busy, how emotionally raw—he always comes home to you. Sometimes with soft apologies. Sometimes with gifts. Sometimes with just a quiet, desperate hug. But always with a heart that still belongs to you.

When he makes mistakes, he punishes himself more than you ever could. After an argument, he’ll show up with tear-stained cheeks and trembling fingers, holding flowers and saying, “I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you. I love you so much it scares me.”

_ _ _

If you stayed until the end, please leave a like! It is deeply appreciated !!

[chicxibalba]

@plaindoll-dream planted the idea in my head of Ciaran bullying a lower-ranked Lord's Blade that she gained an unhealthy interest in. the other Blade is starstruck. Ciaran just sees them as a plaything. she keeps them close, toys with them and enjoys watching them squirm. surprising them from behind with deft arms wrapping around their waist, murmuring into the cup of their ear whether they would like to play a little game. they won't say no--they can't. they would hate to disappoint the Left Hand of the Great Lord herself. still, they mumble that they thought they had the night off, that they have someplace to be. "Fine," Ciaran says, and they could tell by how she rakes her claws along her belly that she isn't so pleased, but she keeps up her cheery façade otherwise. "Then I will do my best to make things quick. But only if you're goodly and quiet for me."

They're not quiet.

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[gf2bellamy]

hello!!! i love your spencer reid fics!!! i'm sorry if you've written something like this before or don't want to lololol pls disregard if so! I would highly appreciate if you wrote an argument fic with spencer, and it just escalates out of nowhere and he yells at reader (😞) and he chooses to sleep on the couch for the night, but he hears her having a nightmare from the bedroom and goes to comfort her ? n she feels very guilty and sad over bothering him again after he was mad and hes like no my baby darling i love u 4ever heart eyes emoji, sorry for my ramble i just love angst to fluff hurt comfort and i want to be babied by spencer sigh,,, love your stuff again and have a great day !

anger — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader having a nigthmare ( no explicit detail of what it is ) , reader and spencer having a fight , emotions run high a/n: hii !! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this !!

Spencer Reid never yelled.

You knew this with the same certainty as you knew the way he mumbled equations in his sleep or how his hands always hesitated for half a second before touching you , simply because he still got nervous around you. His voice was a living thing, shifting effortlessly between lecture-hall projection and late-night murmurs against your skin, but it always remained controlled.

Until tonight.

It wasn’t shouting, not really. But the way his words turned razor-sharp at the edges, the way his voice cracked over a single syllable, it might as well have been a yell. His hand raked through his hair, leaving it standing in chaotic tufts. In another moment, you might have smiled at how boyish it made him look. But now, with his shoulders rigid and his breaths coming too fast, all you could think was: I did that.

The argument had started over something simple, his recklessness in the field, the way he threw himself into danger without hesitation. But then, as arguments often did, it spiraled. Old wounds were opened, and before either of you could stop it, the conversation had turned into something far uglier. 

Now, standing in the suffocating silence of your apartment, you had nothing left to say. So you turned away, retreating to the bathroom, the click of the door behind you sounding far too final. You leaned against it, your breath shuddering as you pressed your palms against the cool wood. A single tear slipped free before you could stop it, and you swiped it away angrily, as if your own emotions were betraying you. Your reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror caught you off guard , eyes glassy and red-rimmed.

On the other side of the door, Spencer stood frozen for a long moment before exhaling sharply. He dragged his hands down his face, guilt already gnawing at him. Instead of following you, he sank onto the couch dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there, caught between regret and exhaustion, but eventually, he moved. He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the armrest, the one you always curled under during movie nights, and tugged it over himself before lying down.

When you finally emerged, the apartment was quiet. Your steps were slow as you made your way toward the bedroom, but you stopped when you passed the living room. 

There he was. Spencer, stretched out on the couch. A fresh wave of hurt crashing over you. He’d rather sleep here, cramped and restless, than share a bed with you. For a second, you considered going to him. You could reach out, brush your fingers through his hair, murmur an apology, anything to bridge this gap. But the stubborn ache in your heart held you back.  So you turned away, slipping into the bedroom alone. The bed felt too big, too cold without him, and as you curled into your usual spot, you stared at the empty space beside you.

Spencer was tossing and turning. 

A car passed outside, headlights sweeping across the wall. For a fleeting moment, the light caught on the framed photo on the end table, your smiling faces at JJ's wedding, his arm slung carelessly around your shoulders. He pressed the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes. The statistics on successful conflict resolution ran through his mind on a loop (87% of couples reconcile within 48 hours, 63% report stronger bonds post-reconciliation) but the numbers turned to ash before they could comfort him.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to sleep without you.

The silence shattered with a whimper. The sheets rustled violently down the hall, followed by a choked gasp that sent ice flooding his veins. Before his mind could catch up, he was moving, the blanket pooling at his feet, as he moved toward the bedroom. The sight before him made his stomach twist. You were asleep, but barely. Your body twitched under the covers, your fingers clutching at the sheets. A pained expression flickered across your face, your breath coming in uneven gasps. 

A nightmare. 

Spencer crossed the room in two strides. He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, his hand hovering over your shoulder before he finally let it rest there, his touch feather-light. 

"Hey—" His voice cracked as he reached for you, hands hovering, too afraid to startle, too desperate not to touch. Your skin was fever-hot under his fingertips when he finally brushed them along your arm.

You didn’t wake up. Your breathing hitched, a sound of distress escaping your lips, and something in Spencer’s chest cracked open. He squeezed your shoulder gently, his other hand brushing the hair back from your forehead.  Then, you shot upright with a gasp, your eyes flying open, heart hammering against your ribs. For a disoriented second, the room spun, until your gaze landed on Spencer.

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Then his arms were around you, crushing you against him so tightly you could feel his heartbeat stuttering against your sternum. His lips moved against your hair, whispering words too fractured to make sense."I'm here, you're safe, I've got you" as you clutched at his back.

Then, barely audible, you whispered, “I’m sorry for earlier.” 

Spencer stilled. Of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it. Not when your breaths were still uneven, not when he could feel the faint tremor in your hands. Guilt twisted sharply in his chest. 

You swallowed hard, your voice fraying at the edges. “I really didn’t mean to be overbearing—” 

“Hey, stop.” His hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing the nape of your neck.

You were sorry? After he’d been the one to raise his voice, after he’d let his frustration push him to sleep on the couch like some petulant child? After you’d been the one to wake up trembling from a nightmare, and his pride had kept him from coming to you sooner?  

He shifted, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. Your eyes were glassy in the faint moonlight, your lower lip caught between your teeth like you were fighting to keep it from trembling. 

God, he’d been an idiot. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. When your gaze flicked up to his, he held it, his thumbs sweeping over your cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I shouldn’t have acted like that.” 

You shook your head slightly, but he pressed on, his forehead dipping to rest against yours. “I hate fighting with you,” he admitted, voice cracking. “And I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me tonight.” 

A shaky breath escaped you, your hands lifting to grip his wrists. “I just worry,” you whispered. 

Spencer’s chest tightened. Of course you did. After everything he’d seen in the field, after every close call, how could you not? Spencer's thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone as he whispered, "I know. And I'll be more careful. I promise."

You searched his eyes , those warm, hazel eyes that usually sparkled with facts and theories, now darkened with remorse. Your fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of his worn sweatshirt as you asked, so softly it nearly broke him, "Will you sleep here with me?" 

Spencer's breath caught. The question, so small and tentative, landed like a physical blow. That you even had to ask, that his childish anger had made you doubt whether he'd stay, sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through him. You were asking permission for something that should have been unquestionable. That his anger had carved this hesitation into you, made you doubt your place in his arms, made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Yeah," he breathed, his voice cracking as he gathered you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead, lingering there as if he could imprint the truth through touch alone. "You never have to ask. I'm not going anywhere." 

The bed dipped as he slid beneath the covers. His arms encircled you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His knees tucked behind yours, his heartbeat steady against your shoulder blades, his nose buried in your hair. The warm press of his palms against your stomach, fingers splaying calmed you down. The steady thrum of his heartbeat against your spine too. His nose brushed the nape of your neck. The familiar scent of your shampoo mixed with the salt of dried tears sent another wave of guilt crashing through him. He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into the darkness, the words muffled against your skin. "For the couch. For making you feel like I wouldn't want this." His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. "There's nowhere I'd rather be." 

You turned in his embrace, your nose brushing against his. Spencer's hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch feather-light. "Next time I'm being an idiot," he whispered, "just come get me, okay? Even if I'm mad. Even if I'm stubborn." A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Especially then." 

His nose brushed yours again. "Drag me back. Yell at me. Throw a book at my head if you have to." A quiet laugh shook his frame, as you smiled at the sound. You didn't trust your voice not to break so you nodded, pressing closer. Spencer's fingers began a soothing pattern along your spine.

As sleep finally claimed you both, Spencer pressed one last kiss to your temple, his arms tightening slightly around you.

[s0urw00lf]

Try again

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader

Summary: you get annoyed you cant give Clark a hickey like he always does you

Warnings: smut. Hickeys, scratching, maybe a little ooc!Clark idk I haven’t watched smallville yet

An: i wrote this with a major headache and on my phone so dont come for me for any mistakes please.

The adorable innocent Clark Kent isn’t as innocent as he seems. Clark is very hands on during sex, kissing, caressing, sucking.

Every time he had you in his bed he made sure to leave some reminisce of him on you, a reminder that he’d been there and that you were his.

That’s why you let out a groan when you saw the hickey he left right under your jaw that’d be impossible for you to hide.

It didn’t really annoy you it was just a pain to go through all the stares and teasing but you wore them with pride.

What did annoy you was that he couldn’t carry the marks you tried to leave on him, his reminder that he is yours.

You sighed to yourself as your fingers ran over the purple hickey.

Walking out of the bathroom you moved over to Clark who was comfortably situated in the small couch in your room with a textbook in his lap and a pen in his mouth.

He looked up at you giving you a small smile, his lips curling sexily around the pen. You grabbed the textbook tossing it to your bed and did the same with the pen in his mouth.

His surprised expression made you want to laugh “what’s up baby?” He asked as you sat onto his lap. You pointed to the purple spot on your jaw, “this is what’s wrong Clark” you sighed.

He looked confused, you’d never complained to him before about him leaving hickeys, he was worried he’d been doing something you didn’t like and finally pushed you over the edge, “I thought you liked the hickeys” he said

You shook your head ridding him of any worry “I do don’t worry, I mean I hate that I can’t give you hickeys or mark you up like you do me” you pouted

Clark’s lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes darkened “you wanna mark me up honey” he asked teasingly “wanna show everyone who I belong to?”

You hit his chest at his tone “Clark I’m serious” you say.

By now he was full on smiling, “do it” he says, now it was your turn to be confused, you and Clark both knew he couldn’t get a hickey because of his healing “but you can’t-“ won’t hurt to try” he cut you off placing his hands on your hips. You didn’t move, you just sat dumbfounded. “C’mon baby mark me up. I’ll be good I swear” he says pressing fiery kisses to your lips

And that was all the convincing you needed you melted into the kiss with no restraint, you then started to move down to his neck. Kissing all the spots you knew made him tick, you could feel his growing bulge that he was not so subtly rubbing your clothed cunt against

Clark groaned when you started sucking harshly at the spot right below his ear, rubbing your tongue against it “fuck baby, so good markin me all up” he groaned into your ear making you whimper licking across the bruised skin before pulling away just to we the purple mark immediately disappear.

You whined “s’not working Clark” Clark pouted “not workin? Guess we’ll have to try a little harder then huh?” He asked flipping you onto your back and setting himself between your spread legs. Your breath shuddered at the sight of him pulling your shorts and panties down your legs and discarding them on the floor.

His hand moved to your cunt, rubbing a finger through your wet lips, putting on a surprised smile “was gonna go down on you but your already so wet baby, you get that turned on from markin me up?” He asked

You nodded, he didn’t accept that as an answer flicking your clit with his finger “words baby” he says

Your hips buck aging hi hand as you moan “yes Clark, just want everyone to know your mine “ you say.

Clark hums in response “good girl, baby. M’gonna fuck you, s’that okay? You can mark me up as much as you want”

You moan in response, you didn’t even realize he’d taken off his pants and boxers until the head of his cock met your clit, causing your hips to jerk again.

Clark pushed into your tight hole without much of a fight given how wet you were, he stayed still so you could adjust to his size, because somehow you still felt just as tight as the first time the two of you had sex.

“Fuck honey. You’re squeezin’ me. M’not gonna last too long” he says after you give him the green light to move you moan in response to his words, “fuck Clark you feel so good”

“I know baby” he says moving his fingers to your clit, and rubbing in circular motions perfectly pacing it with his deep thrusts.

You flutter around him at the added pleasure, “god- fuck I feels so good, don’t stop please” you beg

Clark smiles at your pleads, leaning down to your face pressing kisses to your lips. The new position helping him to go deeper making your toes curl and your nails come in contact with his back. Scratching deeply, making his hips stutter “that’s right baby mark me all up” he groans into your ear.

Your pussy flutters again at both his praise and the face that you were nearing your end, “faster baby, fuck I’m so close” you rush out in pants.

Clark didn’t need anymore convincing as his pace sped up and so did his fingers on your clit. The pleasure in your stomach was so close to bursting it was almost excruciating.

“Come on baby give it to me, come around my cock honey” Clark whispers Into your ear, with that it burst, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body, you moaned loudly “fuck, yes yes Clark”

The feeling of you fluttering around him sent him over the edge, he shot his warm load into your spasming cunt, groaning gently into your neck, what you hadn’t noticed what him biting your shoulder until you felt the cold air of where his tongue previously was, “god honey” he says pulling out of you.

You smiled up at him “I think we lost the plot” you joked, Clark shrugged giving you a smirk “we could always try again”

[g4rvez-r3id]

I’m Here, Now

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!Fem Reader

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Spencer gets released from prison and you’re his first stop after dealing with Cat Adams and her schemes. And all he wants to do is see you and love you.

Category: Smut, Fluff

Warnings: 18+ MDNI established relationship, prison arc, spoilers of season 12 of Criminal Minds, it’s a lil sad tbh but it only lasts for a second, reader’s in disbelief, spencer and reader being cutesy, crying, kissing, mentions of bruises, threats, sappy speeches, fluffy ending, lowkey not true to 12x22/13x01 so this could be an au! smut warnings: soft!dom spencer (firm believer here🙋‍♀️), a lil body worship from reader to spencer, oral sex (m receiving & reader receiving), facefucking, cum swallowing, “good girl”, riding, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation, creampie, overstimulation, spencer lowkey being a munch- that should cover it 😃

Author’s Note: hey lovelies, i can’t stop writing smutty oneshots ahhhh i can’t help it, i just love my man 🤭 i hope y’all enjoy this because i’ve had my mind on prison arc reid bc i’m watching s12 rn and oooo he so fine in 12a and in 12b 😩 anyways hope y’all like this <3

You worried that maybe he’d never come back. Upon hearing he was in jail in Mexico, you worried you’d never see Spencer again.

If your past self could tell you that your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid, who was a nerd at heart, who spent his free time playing chess and reading and watching Doctor Who with you under your fluffy blankets and wore mismatched socks because he believed it was good luck, that he would one day end up being framed and sent to prison, you would’ve laughed in your face.

You never would’ve expected this to happen. But then you heard why. He was framed for murdering a woman named Nadie Ramos, who was helping him get his mother medicine that seemed to calm her from her episodes. If there was anyone he would’ve risked everything for besides you, it was his mother.

And to be honest, you were a little mad at him for lying to you. He told you that he was going to Houston to talk to some of his mom’s doctors. You’d been together four years now and not once did he ever lie to you until now. When he got transferred to the Milburn Correctional Facility, due to overcrowding, he’d requested to see you and only you.

It wasn’t until Spencer wrote you a letter, practically begging you to come and see you. The first time you’d gone to see him, you actually didn’t even recognize him, skipping over him and almost staring at him in confusion when he walked over to the other side of your plexiglass.

And you tried to play it off like you expected him, even while looking like he did, but he knew deep down you didn’t recognize him. He chose not to acknowledge it but you both knew.

And you visited him frequently, until he decided to cut you from the visitor log with no warning. You were hurt, to say the least. And you ended up avoiding everyone after that. You even ignored the many fruit baskets Garcia kept sending over but you kept sending them back.

But then a miracle happened.

They proved his innocence. And he was out.

You would’ve found that out if you’d checked your phone but you spent the entire day in bed, away from society and sobbing at the fact that he was gone and he wasn’t here, comforting you like he did so well.

You hated him, you hated him for putting you in this position, for making you deal with the aftermath, for pushing you away. But you loved him. You would never stop loving him, no matter how much you hated him right now.

You’d been laying in bed, tossing and turning all day as the TV played some random sitcom you watched every now and again. And you’d heard something. A soft knock coming from your front door.

You almost missed it but it was faint. And you heard it. Choosing to finally get out of bed, you opened your room door and walked to the front door. You opened it without checking the peephole, because at this point you’d had enough and just wanted death to get you over with already.

But death may have stopped your heart only for a moment when you open the door.

Because standing there, in the suit he’d gotten arrested in when his bail was denied, his hair outgrown and his stubble framed nicely on his face — was your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, in the flesh.

You gasped softly as you backed away from the door and stared at him, almost as if you were disbelief. You’d had a dream like this before. Where he came back and promised he was here to stay. (But it was another one of God’s cruel jokes and you cried when you woke up the following day).

He walked in and closed the door right behind him, standing tall in front of you. You noticed the bruises on his face, how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and stared at you.

“Hi.” He said softly and all you can do is stare at him. “Am I dreaming?” You find yourself asking out loud and his heart breaks. He can see that you’re scared. Scared that if you go up to him, he’ll disappear like smoke. And he hates that.

“No.” Spencer shakes his head and he waits for you to approach him and you do, walking slowly towards him as the floorboard creaks beneath your socked feet.

He waits as you first grab his hands, and interlock your fingers together. When that seems not to be enough for you, your hands move to his face. You caress the sharp new grown stubble on his face and drag your index finger to his plump lips and stare into his hazel eyes and they’re full of wonder and love.

You don’t even register the tears until you hold him in your arms and you hold onto him for dear life. He holds you tightly in his arms as you find yourself wrapping around him like a koala and all he can do is hold you back. And it grounds him, you ground him.

Your head moves towards his and you kiss his lips, like you’ve longed to do for three months. And part of you still couldn’t believe this, that he was here, holding you like you were going to break.

You kiss him a few more times before you pull back and ask with tears in your eyes, “Are you okay?” Spencer nods toward your forehead, “I’m okay, now that I’m here.”

“You’re here, now.” You look him in the eyes as you say this and he nods at your words, repeating them to himself. “I’m here, now.” It’s as if he’s reminding himself that he’s here with you because he’s worried he’s gonna wake up any minute and he’ll be back in that cell. You weren’t the only one who had a hard time believing this was real.

Spencer’s lips catch yours and he pushes into the kiss and you get back on the ground, your hands (or mouth) not leaving him for a second and making their way up to his hair and pulling. You whine into his lips as he you pull him by his belt and walk backwards to your bedroom with him following you.

With your strength, you twirl the two of you around and straddle him as you continue to kiss him. You rock your hips into his growing bulge and he moans into your mouth and you smirk in the middle of the kiss.

You begin to unbutton his suit and successfully get his blazer off and now next is his dress shirt but he’s quick to grab your hands and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You ask, willing to put a stop to this if he wasn’t ready. “Nothing, I just…” Spencer looks down as he lets go of your hands and seemingly now growing insecure all of a sudden.

He stands up from the bed and you look up at him as he holds his arms over his stomach. “I just… I got hurt pretty bad in there. You’re gonna see some bruises. I just don’t want you to freak out. He admits and your heart breaks, “You don’t have to take your shirt off. Or we can just stop entirely and—”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’re gonna see them eventually.” With that, he begins to unbutton his dress shirt and you give him all the time in the world to do so, not wanting to rush this at all.

When he takes off his dress shirt successfully, you finally see it. He has bruises everywhere on his ribs and some near his belly button and on his stomach. Some are still in the process of healing with yellow and gray hues and some are purple and mucus green.

“Oh, my love…” You whisper to yourself as you stand up and you turns him around and find more on his back and there’s just too many of them. You find yourself tearing up but you know you need to keep it together for him. Who could hurt your sweet boy? Was this why he didn’t want you to see him anymore while he was still in there? How long did this go on for?

It’s then that you register the bruise near his eye. You thought that it was due to the lack of sleep he’d been getting and assumed it was the bags under his eyes he so often got but it was a bruise. How did you miss that when he walked in?

He almost wants to hide himself, like a turtle under its’ shell and you look down at his body. “Baby…” You start but he shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at you as you guide him towards the bed and he lays back and you go back to straddling him, but this time, you’re careful as you hover over him.

You kiss his lips before making your way down to his neck and then to his body and it takes a second for him to register that you’re not just kissing his body, you’re kissing the bruises.

He feels himself getting choked up as you kiss every visible one and his heart swells for you. What did he did to deserve you?

You begin to unbuckle his belt but he rests his elbows on the bed and looks down at you. “You—You don’t have to…” He trails off but you quickly shake your head. “I know. But I want to. It’s your first night back. This is about you tonight, baby.”

Spencer doesn’t interfere, just stares as you unbuckle his belt and pull out his cock through the hole in his underwear and it springs into action, dripping pre-cum from the head. “Oh, my sweet boy. You must be so pent up.”

You kiss the tip of his dick and he shuts his eyes tightly as if he’s trying to hold back from already cumming. You lick up his shaft and fit his cock inside your mouth and he curses to himself as he grips your bedsheets as tight as he can.

You notice this, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers together, as if you’re telling him and giving him permission to touch you as you bob your head up and down.

He takes this opportunity to caress your face as you take him into your mouth. He ties your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he pushes deeper onto his cock and even lifts his hips to ensure that you’re taking all of him until you’re gagging.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” Spencer tells you and you nod to the best of your ability until you begins to fuck your throat, using your mouth for his pent up pleasure. “Fuck… God, you’re so good at that. Letting me fuck your throat like the good girl you are.”

His words could make you cum on the spot without him even laying a finger on you. He rarely cursed in your domestic setting but he did it often when you two were in bed.

All you can do is take it as deep as it can go in your mouth. He whines into the ceiling as he says your name until you feel his hot cum dribble down your throat and your nose is buried into his crotch as he holds you there and makes you take all his cum into your mouth.

He pants as he releases your head from his cock and you swallow the rest of his cum. He looks at you with worried eyes, concerned that maybe he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He asks, like he didn’t just cum into your mouth and call you a “good girl”.

You shake your head at him with a small smile. “That was just about the hottest thing you’ve ever done.” (And everything he did was always hot). He blushes and crooks a smile.

“Are you willing to keep going?” You ask him and he nods with an immediate answer, “Absolutely.” He’d never let you go to bed without making you cum at least twice.

You climb on top of him with a smirk and look deeply into his eyes. They’re filled with lust, love and adoration for you and for you only. “You’re so beautiful.” You say to him in a whisper but Spencer chuckles a bit, “I should be saying that to you.”

You look down as your pussy catches the tip of his cock and you sink down into him carefully. He moans at the feeling and you gasp. He fits perfectly.

“God, I missed you. Missed this…” Spencer catches his breath. “Perfect pussy.” You chuckle and looks into his eyes as you rock back and forth. “It was so lonely without you, Spencer.” You whine. “I missed you so much.”

You lean down as you kiss him on the lips. “Did you…” He pauses, not wanting to be crude even while he was inside of you. “While I was away?” It took a second to figure out what he was talking about. And then you realized that he was asking if you’d masturbated while he was away.

“A few times,” You admitted shyly, despite suffocating him with your pussy. “I thought about you every time. It just wasn’t the same. Missed your body.”

Spencer smiles darkly, “Maybe I should punish you for that.” He says, half-joking. You lean forward as you smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

And without a second thought, it was as if a switch flipped as Spencer was quick to flip your bodies over and he hovers over you, both hands on either side of your head, gripping the pillows. “You really wanna test that theory?”

You bite your lip and smirk once more as you pull him in for another kiss and he glides himself into you and you gasp at the feeling of his dick inside of your pussy. It’d been such a long time since you felt him like this, here, in your arms. God, you love him.

He rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your body as leans his head in your shoulder, mumbling sweet obscenities and how good your pussy feels and how responsive you were. He dreamt of the day he’d have you like this. And since being in prison, he longed for it more.

He reached down in between your legs as he found your clit without even looking down and staring deeply into your eyes and your moans reverberate through the walls as keeps his eyes on you and you only.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I need to cum— where? Where?” He asks and you shut your eyes tightly as you shout, “Inside! Oh, god, inside!”

He pushes himself hard into you as you finally cum, your legs shaking as you moan his name into the ceiling and he collapses on your body, still sheathed inside of you.

You both lay there, panting and reveling in the feeling of each other. Eventually, Spencer does pull out of you and you feel as he lowers himself, eyeing your pussy up close and you look down at him sleepily. “Baby, you don’t have to. This was about you.” You assure.

“Nonsense,” Spencer tells. “I need to clean up my mess and even the score, might as well kill two birds with one stone.” He jokes, diving face first into your pussy and you whimper at the contact he makes, especially with the way his stubble is rubbing against your thighs, cleaning his own cum out of your pussy and relishing in the way you both taste.

His mouth captures your clit and he twists his tongue around the bud in that delicious way you love and he moans into your pussy. “We taste so good together, baby. Cum again on my tongue, this time.”

You tug at his messy hair as you hold his head to you pussy and you use him, rocking your hips into his mouth. You feel as your legs shake once more and you let go of his head for him to take a breather.

That breather lasts only a second before he dives back in and you whine at the contact. “Spence… baby, I’m sen—sensitive.”

“You can take one more, baby. I know you can. You can cum again.” Spencer says, his pupils are blown as he looks at you and he’s commanding you to cum again. “Just one more, baby.”

You nod at him and Spencer grabs your hands. “Here,” He interlocks your fingers with his and somehow, the pleasure is so much and yet not at all as makes you cum for a third time tonight. If he could spend forever eating your pussy, he would.

You close your eyes for a moment and when you finally open them, he’s right next to you and holding you. (He’d cleaned you up properly with a warm rag and left your favorite snack and water bottle on the desk next to your bed whenever you were ready to wake up). You remembered the loving words he whispered to you as you drifted off into a heavy slumber.

And you’ve finally woken up. You look up at him, still in awe of him being here. You take the chance to check the time. It’s already 5am and the sun is still shy away from rising but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters because you have your boyfriend right next to you, holding you for dear life and loving you the way you deserve to be loved.

You worry that he’s still up, but you figure that after all those months in prison, maybe he has trouble sleeping every now and again. You find yourself holding him tighter as you look down at the bruise near your head. You can’t believe he was hurt. How did he manage to survive in there? You’re still wondering why he’d taken you off the visitor’s log.

“Spencer?” You ask and he looks down at you, your voice surprising him. “Yeah?” You sit up and look at him, face to face, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Why did you take me off the visitor’s list?” You decide to ask.

He’s about to respond and you don’t want to hear another lie. You’d been through plenty of those already. “I mean, I didn’t even want to see you at first and then you begged me to and then all of a sudden, I wasn’t allowed to. I feel like I have the right to know.”

“No, no, you do,” Spencer knows that much. He hates the fact that he’s lied to you and has forced you to deal with this when all you deserved was the best from him. He sits up next to you he knows he’s gonna need to tell you, even though he doesn’t want to.

“The last time after you came to visit me,” Spencer started. “I got cornered in my cell. A lot of the guys there were asking about you. And they said that it’d be a shame if something happened to you when you came to visit again.” You look down as he talks about it. “And I didn’t want to risk that. And I wanted to tell you, really, I did.” He grabs your hand assuringly. “But I didn’t have any way to. And I didn’t want you to get hurt. I would’ve died if something happened to you and I didn’t do everything in my power to stop it. I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

You shake your head. And you finally understand. Because if the roles were reversed, you would’ve taken him off the visitor’s list, too. If it meant protecting him. “You were just trying to protect me, I understand.”

“I just…” Spencer looks at you, holding your face in his hands. “I love you, so much.” He looks deeply into your eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He reveals and your eyes widen. “What?”

Spencer closes his eyes and holds his index finger up. “One second.” He stands up and grabs his blazer from off the floor and digs into one of the inside pockets and pulls out a red velvet box.

Your eyes widen as you cover your body with the sheet and he kneels down on one knee in his boxers and opens the velvet box to reveal a ring. “I didn’t want to do it like this but I’d rather do it now than wait for the right time to.” Your eyes glance down at the box for a mere second and then to the love of your life.

“I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make my days better, hell, you’ve made my life better. And no matter what we’ve gone through, you’ve stayed by my side and you never ran. I love that you sing off-key, I love that your nose twitches when you get mad, I love that you like… pineapple on pizza, oddly enough.” You chuckle at this. “I love everything about you. And I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you. But… but true love, it fosters a connection that goes beyond the superficial. It's a bond that often involves understanding each other's core values, beliefs, and life goals. And you’ve made me believe in true love.“

You stare at him in disbelief as he continues, “Will you marry me?” You feel tears spring into your eyes as you nod vehemently, “Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!” You smile widely and he smiles at you, slipping the ring onto your ring finger as you continue to mutter a million yeses.

When you finally get the ring on, you pull him in for another kiss and he holds you to his heart’s content. It wasn’t the way he envisioned it going, but with you, you knew you didn’t want big and bold ways of him saying he loved you and wanted to marry you, you were content with something small and sweet because it was coming from him and that was the biggest gift of all. You were one for grand gestures, you liked it just the way it was. It was perfect. He was perfect. And you’d spend the rest of your life reminding him he was.

So, you laid back in your bed with your fiancé and talked and talked about sweet nothings until the sun came up. And all of the ache you felt the night before, the pain you endured was long gone and now replaced with something beautiful and sweet.

[luludeluluramblings]

Platonic!Yandere!BatFamily x Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Romantic!Yandere!Roy Harper - AU

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this in the works and have been hesitant to post it. I hope I wrote Roy and Lian right! After Conner won the poll I know some people wanted Roy stuff. Also, I'm very inexperienced in writing Romance, despite my love for it. So comments are appreciated.

Warnings: Slight NSFW, mild yandere themes, Fem!Reader, Pregnancy

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

It's not uncommon to find yourself tossing and turning at all the odd hours of the night as your pregnancy progresses. Be it from the hormone driven nightmares or the restlessness your feel from your approaching due date. The bed filled with all sorts of maternity pillows to help you rest. Roy had been a surprising addition to your bed as well. At first, it was because he had snuck into your room after moving into the manor right under Bruce's nose. Or, maybe he moved in without care of what Bruce thought.

Either way, more often then not, you feel asleep to him rubbing your back and helping ease your aches. So, you weren't going to complain. The fact that he was the father of this child in your womb also helped his case with you. But, not so much as the rest of the family.

Still, it was something else entirely this night that kept your awake.

“Hey, you’re moving around a lot. Everything alright?" Roy whispers over your shoulder, moving one of the obnoxiously sized pillows that Stephanie bought you out of the way as he pressed himself against your back. The hour was late or early, judging by how long the sun had been gone.

“Yeah, baby just has the hiccups. Go back to bed." You sigh tiredly, feeling the odd sensation happening inside of you.

“Oh, okay…" He murmurs into your ear before burying himself into your hair. After taking a deep breath of you and closing his eyes, they fly back open and his hand moves to your bump. “Wait, the baby has what? How? He’s not even out yet?

As Roy's warm and calloused hand moves across your skin he can feel the faint rhythmic movement underneath his palm.

“He just does. I can feel them in my damn pelvis. I can’t even hold my breath to get rid of them cause it him that has them." Comes your grumbled complaint, feel a particularly sharp kick from your ribs before the steady hiccups continue. Normally, you'd laugh at the sensation, but it was difficult to relax at the moment.

“That is so cool and so freaky… I wonder if Lian did the same thing?" Roy ponders out loud, distracting you from his exhaustion and making concern fill you.

“You weren’t there when Lian was in utero?" You shift to roll over and face him as you whisper. It takes a bit of huffing, but he wraps his arms around you like you belong as soon as your chest faces his.

“No, I didn’t even know about Lian until she was a year old. I missed… everything." More than a hint of longing in his voice as he spoke.

“I don’t know how much she weighed. If she had had health problems. I didn’t see her first steps, her first word. Hell, I hardly had to change any diapers because she was half way out of them before she was two." Roy had never really thought of kids before Lian. Too many issues, but, now that he had her, he was upset to have even missed a single moment of it. Already he found his thoughts drifting to slightly darker places as his grip tightens around you.

“I wouldn’t complain about that, 'cause Imma be making you change the first couple diapers when he gets here." You playfully whisper back to him, wanting to draw him way from such dark places after he's brought so much light to your life. Not just with your shared child, but with just his and Lian's presence.

“You know what, I won’t complain about that. I’ll do it." He grins into your hair, fingers dancing across your skin.

“I bet Lian will be better at it then you." Your own fingers poking him softly in retaliation for the goosebumps peppering your skin from the gentle caress.

“Hey! Low blow." Roy says without any heat in his voice. There is, however, heat in his eyes as his voice goes from good-natured to one that has nothing less than nefarious intentions. "You know, if you're having a hard time sleeping, I'm all for tiring you out."

"Oh, really?" The idea not exactly making you balk. Not with how he's fondling you like somethings worth worshiping.

"Really really." His lips grazing your skin as he moves them from the top of your head and trails them along your jaw. His hands roaming across your skin with the intention of feeling you and not just the life you both created.

"Roy, what about Lian? She's been having an awful amount of nightmares since moving into the manor." Pausing as the thought occurs to you. The poor child seemed to be sleeping between you both every other night. You didn't complain to much. You knew how empty the halls of the manor felt and for Lian it was probably startling.

Besides, you appreciated how sweet the girl was. How she already accepted you and talked excitedly about her future younger brother.

(And, how each word she spoke of the matter around your own family made them physically cringe with the weight of the guilt they carried.)

Your words do nothing to deter Roy, though. The kisses across your skin growing bolder and with more teeth as hands slide underneath the fabric of your lose pajamas.

"It'll be okay, just let me-"

"Daddy?" Comes a soft voice from the small figure in your door way.

"Damn it…" Neither one of you heard the door open, and you had to fight the urge to whine and say 'I told you so' as Roy's hand left you and he sat up.

"Can I sleep with you guys? I had another nightmare." The explanation causing you to smile softly. As stated, you couldn’t blame her.

"Sure, sweetpea. Come on." You call to her while Roy seems to pout a bit. Neither one of you had been intimate with the other since he had moved into the manor. Mostly due to interruptions such as this.

Still, you weren't upset. In fact, you fell asleep quite quickly as Lian settled between you both. The hiccups inside you having subsided as your lay back down and let exhaustion take over with a faint smile on your lips.

Silence reigns over your room for a few minute before Roy's voice rings out in a low, almost annoyed whisper.

"How much did you get out of them this time, baby girl?"

"$200, and everyone has to take me to the toy store tomorrow." Lian whispers back to him with a mischief filled grin. She hasn't had a single nightmare since moving into the manor. Not with all the cash she's been getting. She may be five, but she knew money got you candy and toys, and she was getting a lot of it just from sleeping between her parents.

"Everyone, huh?" Roy mutters, an idea filling his head. He knew what Jason and the other's were up to. Every time he was about to have his way with you, Lian needed him or would want to spend time with you. He wasn't too mad. Lian was spoiled nicely, but his balls were starting to turn blue.

However, luck might finally be on his side.

"Think you'll be okay without me and your new Momma tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I wanna get my new brother stuff with all the money Uncle Tim and Uncle Jason keep giving me and surprise Momma with it." She whispers excited up to her daddy while curling up close to her new Momma.

"That's a great idea, sweetheart. A great idea." And, it was.

No one would be in the manor to stop him from fucking you on the living room couch in front of one of the security cameras. Plus, he'd really like to have that footage saved anyway. He had all sorts of plans for tiring you out tomorrow while everyone was gone.

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A/N: 🫣 I tried! Someone sent me an ask about a blurb like this for Conner, and I wanted to finish this first.

A/N: Also, I am very much debating on writing an entirely different Pregnant!Reader AU with just strictly the Bat Boys. Yes, I know it’s not everyone’s thing, but I want to embrace the drama of it. I’d do a whole different poll any everything with it because I have more planned for that than I do right for Pregnant!Reader right now. Kinda winging it there! I should finish what I got now though.

[igorluvr]

‘BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT! | nam-gyu x reader

PAIRING: bratty!reader x sub!namgyu

CONTENT: porn w/ barely any plot, dom!reader/sub!namgyu, bondage, begging, degrading, cowgirl, “good boy”, handjob, implied ex!thanos x reader, humiliation kink??

SYNOPSIS: a good man has to earn what he wants, right?

AUTHORS NOTE: ugh guys sorry im a big slut !!! wrote smut once and can’t stop

word count: [1.9k]

“PLEASE, baby—please just let me fuck you. I’ve been out all day, I—I missed you,” Nam-gyu begged, rubbing your thigh as he looked at you with those deep brown puppy eyes.

As much as you wanted to give in, you wouldn’t just let him fuck you because he wanted to—where’s the fun in that? Sure, he looked sexy asking, but he’d look even sexier if he were absolutely pathetic.

Tapping your pointer finger on your chin, long pink acrylics glistening under the fluorescent lights, you pretended to ponder the situation. Nam-gyu stared deep into your eyes, eager for an answer. After a couple of seconds, you let out a gasp, eyes lighting up and sparkling with desire.

“Well… you really want me, right? And you want me now?” you asked, lowering your gaze as you grazed his neck with your nails—something you knew drove him crazy.

He shivered, melting into your touch. “Yes—God, I need you, baby.” A dangerous smile grew on your face, laced with nothing but malice. Tilting your head slowly, you sat up and whispered into his ear seductively.

“Then drop to your knees and bark like you want it.”

Nam-gyu flinched back at your words, studying your face to see if you were joking. Unfortunately for him, you were dead serious. Something about desperate men made you weak in the knees—so what better than to make your own boyfriend feed into your fantasy?

He stayed still for a couple of seconds—weird. If he really wanted it, he would’ve been at your feet by now. Oh well, his loss.

“Alright, guess you don’t want it then. I’ll just go ask Su-bong…” you shrugged, turning on your heel and walking away. Suddenly, you heard a loud, sharp voice call out to you.

“Wait—!” he shouted. Turning back, you saw Nam-gyu rubbing his face with both hands, head held low.

Then he dropped to the floor, knees hitting the ground with a piercing thud. His hands clasped together in a fist, mouth hung open as he pleaded.

“Please let me fuck you. I haven’t seen you all day. I—I miss your body, your lips, just… c’mon baby,” he rambled, looking up at you with those oh so pretty eyes.

You paused, pretending to consider. “Are you gonna act right?”

His head nodded furiously, causing a smile to stretch across your face.

“Good boy. C’mon, you deserve it now.” You grinned, holding his chin and locking eyes with him. Nam-gyu rose faster than he dropped, bolting directly for the bedroom.

As you walked into the room, you made a straight line for the closet, searching for that one thing you needed. Suddenly, your eyes landed on it, causing your heart to flutter: rope.

Yeah, you said he could fuck you—but you never said right away.

Walking over to where Nam-gyu sat, you shooed him toward the head of the bed, straddling him without hesitation. “Hands up, baby.” you instructed, tossing the rope beside you. He obeyed immediately, throwing his hands up so fast you felt the air move.

You giggled, low and teasing, picking the rope up and dragging one end through your fingers. Nam-gyu was already trembling under you, eyes flicking between your hands and face, caught in a trance.

“You’re so obedient now” you teased, wrapping the rope around his wrists and tightening the first knot. “All it took was the threat of someone else touching me.”

He winced—not from the knot, but from the possessiveness in your tone. “No one else can have you.” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re mine.”

You pulled the rope tighter in response, yanking his hands together until they were secured above his head. “Say it again.” you commanded.

“I said you’re mine.” he breathed, voice cracking. “No one else can touch you. I won’t let them.”

Your smile widened. “That’s more like it.”

Leaning down, your lips brushed his jaw, your breath hot on his ear. “But here’s the thing, Nam-gyu… being yours also means you do what I say. No begging, no rushing, no fucking unless I say you can.”

A broken sound escaped his throat—somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “I’ll be good” he choked out. “I swear, I’ll be so good.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, grazing the hem of his shirt. “I know you will.” you said sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Because if you’re not… I can always find someone who will.”

His breath hitched, body twitching against the restraints. You could feel the way his cock strained beneath you, aching and desperate—and still, you didn’t move.

“You’ll sit there and you’ll take what I give you, when I give it. Got it?” you whispered, lips brushing his.

“Yes.” he rasped, completely undone beneath you. “Yes, baby. Anything.” You grinned, rolling your hips just enough to make him groan. “Good. Now let’s see how long you last without begging again.”

And with that, you kissed him—not gentle, not sweet, but deep and possessive, like you were claiming him all over again.

Pulling back from the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the two of you, you moved to his neck, pressing light, delicate kisses to his skin. Slowly, you started to grind onto him, causing him to whimper beneath you.

His wrists tugged at the rope instinctively, but the knots didn’t budge. Tight and firm—just how you liked them. “You’re already so loud, I haven’t even touched you yet.” you murmured against his neck, lips brushing his adam’s apple.

Nam-gyu shuddered beneath you, hips jerking up a little, begging for friction. You smiled against his skin, dragging your nails lightly down his chest until your hand found the band of his sweatpants.

You cupped his bulge over the fabric, delighted by the way his breath caught. “Poor thing, you’re leaking through already.” you cooed.

“Please…” he gasped. “Please touch me.”

You slid your hand into his waistband without a word, skin meeting skin as your fingers wrapped around his aching length. He let out a sharp, broken moan the moment you did, thighs twitching under you. “Shhh, didn’t I say no begging?” you whispered, stroking him slowly, hypnotic.

“I—I’m sorry,” he choked, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll be good, I swear—”

“Then stay still and let me take my time,” you interrupted, squeezing him lightly. Your pace was unhurried, just enough to keep him teetering. His hips kept jerking for more, but you lifted your hand every time, reminding him who was in charge.

His cock twitched in your hand, already slick with precum. You tightened your grip, stroking firmer, smoother. The whimpers falling from his lips were breathy and needy, driving you wild.

“Look at you…” you murmured, leaning down so your mouth was close to his. “Tied up, moaning, twitching in my hand like a little toy.”

Nam-gyu nodded frantically, lips parted, eyes glassy. “I’m your toy,” he panted. “Just yours.”

You kissed him again, messier this time. Your tongue slid past his lips as your hand moved faster, twisting just right at the head. His whole body trembled, knees buckling as his moans spilled into your mouth.

“Cum for me—make a mess.” you whispered, your thumb circling the sensitive spot under the tip.

Nam-gyu cried out, loud and broken, as his cock pulsed in your hand. Hot, thick release coated your fingers as his body slumped against the headboard, chest heaving, wrists still bound.

You pulled your hand away slowly, licking his release off your fingers with a satisfied hum. “So sweet, baby. Good job.”

Leaning back, you straddled his trembling thighs, watching him pant through the aftershock. His skin was flushed, chest heaving, eyes glazed—completely overwhelmed.

But you weren’t done.

You reached down again, pulling his sweats low enough to free him completely. He flinched when your fingers brushed against his cock, still sensitive and twitching. But you felt him growing harder.

You chuckled. “Already? Did cumming for me turn you on that much?” you teased, dragging your nails along the inside of his thigh.

He whimpered, nodding helplessly. “Y-yeah, always does… God, I love you,” he whispered, caught in your spell.

Your smile softened, lips brushing his cheek lovingly. “I love you too. Now stay still.”

You rose up slightly, guiding him with one hand while your other gripped his bound wrists, keeping him steady. He hissed as you sank down onto him inch by inch, your heat swallowing him whole.

“F-fuck, baby—wait… s-sensitive, I’m still—ah, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you whispered, cutting him off. “You will.”

You moved slowly, deep and deliberate, rolling your hips with purpose. His head dropped back, face contorted in helpless pleasure. He was unraveling fast—and you couldn’t get enough.

Tears welled in his eyes. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “Aww… are you crying? What’s wrong, baby? Feels too good?”

He nodded, silent tears spilling down his cheeks as he sobbed through clenched teeth. “I can’t take it... feels like I’m gonna lose it—”

You sank deeper, clenching around him. “You already have, pretty boy. Look at you.” You moved faster, bouncing and rolling your hips with no mercy. His cock twitched helplessly inside you. He couldn’t stop crying—his flawless face streaked with tears, jaw slack, mouth parted in wordless moans.

His wrists strained against the rope, muscles tensed—but he never moved. Not once, that’s what made it perfect. You kissed the tears from his cheek, tongue trailing through the salt.

“Good boys cry when they’re loved right.”

Slowing your movements just enough to savor it, you rode the edge of overstimulation and bliss, letting him feel every inch of you.

His thighs shook. His breath hitched. You cupped his face, wiping a tear from his cheek with your thumb. “You’re so pretty when you break. All mine,” you whispered.

He nodded weakly, lips trembling. “Mhm… yours. I—I can’t—”

“Then don’t hold back. Give it to me. One more time,” you said, breathless.

That was all it took. Nam-gyu cried out, body trembling as he came again—harder than before. You followed close behind, moaning into his neck as your body clenched around him, pulsing and tight.

The two of you collapsed into it together—tangled, shaking, breathless. Everything stilled, the only sounds were your breathing and the quiet thrum of your hearts beating in sync.

You lifted yourself off him carefully, watching him slump back against the headboard like a ragdoll. His cheeks were still wet, lips parted slightly, body completely spent.

You kissed his forehead gently. “So perfect.” you whispered. This time, he smiled through the tears.

You reached up to untie the rope, your touch soft as you rubbed gentle circles into his wrists where the skin had turned faintly red.

Nam-gyu whimpered softly, but it was different now—warm, grateful. His arms fell around you the moment he was free, clinging to you like he never wanted to let go.

You nestled into his chest, lips brushing his collarbone, listening to his heartbeat slowly settle. He buried his face in your hair, voice hoarse but full of affection. “You’re mean,” he murmured. “But I’m so obsessed with you.”

You smiled into his skin, dragging a lazy nail along his jawline. “I know,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck.

And with that, he let out a soft laugh—quiet, shaky, but real—and pulled you closer beneath the blankets as the night slowly swallowed you whole.

[dunham-doodles]

Couldn’t Sleep

Remmick x fem!reader

5k+ words | 🌶️🌶️ (MINORS DNI)

Summary: You’re having trouble falling asleep at night so you need to keep yourself occupied. A stranger knocks at your door, asking if you want some company.

Tags: light stalking; mention of animal death; wet pathetic men are my favorite; begging; pleading; p in v; cunnilingus; lots of drool; he’s a little freak but I like him like that

A/N: I’m struggling with my own bout of insomnia this week so I wrote about it. Only God can judge me for this.

Insomnia broke through whatever dream you were having and rattled your body awake. You groaned as you attempted to collect the last remnants of sleep that were stolen from you but finally gave up after five minutes of tossing and turning. You couldn’t clearly read what the time was on your small ticking clock but you knew by the look of the sky that it was still early. Which meant it was going to be a long night.

You hoisted yourself out of your bed and began to pace. The floorboards groaned under your weight and, for once, you were glad that you lived alone, so you didn’t need to worry about waking anyone. You wrung your hands, glancing around the small living room for something to do. If you had something to do, you could work on it, tire yourself out, and hopefully go back to bed. Eventually, your gaze fell on the stack of dishes you had been neglecting.

You flicked on the single naked lightbulb that dangled ungracefully above your kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. The running water broke through the silence. You let out a heavy sigh and rolled your head back on your shoulders. You didn’t get it; you felt tired, so why couldn’t you sleep?

The world outside your kitchen window all looked as if it were resting. It mocked you with how peaceful it was. The leaves in the forest were stagnant. Shadows yawned across the patchy grass of your front yard. No little critters scurried their way from view.

You grumbled to yourself and started scrubbing a plate. You continued monotonously through your dishes, washing, rinsing, drying, praying for your body to finally get the memo and fall right back asleep. Your eyes wandered to the window, now significantly darker outside. There was a sliver of a moon dangling in the summer night, not providing much in the way of light. You almost looked away until something at the edge of the woods made you double take.

Two small pinpricks of red light, like eyes, were burning right through you. Your blood ran cold. You could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. The red light never wavered, trained on you with an inhuman stillness.

This is a wolf, you thought to yourself, This is obviously a wolf. You can relax. You were warned by people in town that there were dangerous animals lurking through your neck of the woods at night. They spoke tales of mutilated farm animals, ghastly howls in the air, and long, dripping teeth. You thought, however, that some of the stories bordered on the supernatural, which you didn’t believe.

No, what you were looking at now was an animal. And it was out there. You were in here.

You dipped your head back to your work and convinced yourself that it was a wolf, or a mountain lion, ignoring the screaming alarm bell in your head that told you the eyes were standing too tall to be either creature.

A knock at the front door startled you. Your soapy hands lost your grip on the coffee mug you were holding, sending it shattering to pieces at your feet. Your attention snapped back to the red eyes in the darkness.

They had vanished.

You picked up the pieces of the broken mug with shaking hands. You told yourself that you imagined the knock, no one would be out and about at this time of night. You silently scolded yourself for being jumpy over nothing. It was the damn locals’ tall tales of monsters that caused you to have an active imagination.

Two more knocks splintered through the air. They were heavy, purposeful. Someone was outside.

You willed the person at the door to go away, to leave you alone, but there was another part of you—albeit a stupid part—that was morbidly curious to find out who would be awake with you at this time of night. Besides, it would be rude not to answer.

You tip-toed around the minuscule amount of debris and carefully unlocked the deadbolt. You kept the latch chain on and it rattled as you pulled the door open.

Sure enough, there was a man standing on your porch. He was tall and slim but with the build of someone who had worked on a farm all their life. Even in the weak light the moon cast, you could see his skin was a sickly white. He was rough looking, unshaven, clothes disheveled; not unattractive to look at but you still found his presence deeply unsettling. His brow cast a long dark shadow over hooded eyes, making it appear as if he was wearing a mask. But his mouth was twisted into an impish grin, as if he always knew he was going to end up right here with you in front of him.

He spoke, “Evenin’ ma’am.”

You didn’t reply.

He continued, “I’m terribly sorry to wake you. Didn’t wanna disturb you, but my car-,” he threw a thumb behind his shoulder, indicating some far off place beyond the stone path leading to your house, “-broke down a few miles back.” When still you said nothing, he pressed on. “It’s awful dark out and I was wondering if you and your husband wouldn’t mind if I came in to rest my head? I’ll be gone before sunrise, y’won’t even know I was here.”

He craned his neck, to get a better look at the interior through the view you allowed through the door. “ ‘S your husband home?” he asked.

“He’s asleep,” you replied, “Don’t wanna wake him. He gets cranky.”

A twinkle caught in his eye and a wicked smirk tugged on the corner of his lips. Your pulse quickened, worried that he knew you were lying. You tried to keep your face free of emotion.

“I see,” he said evenly. He pressed his hands together, pleading you. “If it wouldn’t be any trouble, Miss, can I stay the night? I promise, I won’t touch nothin’.”

Your breath hitched when he called you “Miss”. He knew you were alone.

“I can’t help you,” you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, Miss,” he tried again, voice softer, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I said no.” you said, sterner this time. “Please leave.”

He held your gaze for a beat and it took everything in you not to look away. “Alright,” he sighed, “I hear ya’. Just was hopin’ for a bit of hospitality is all.” He waited for a reply that didn’t come. He turned on his heel, making a small show of doing it, keeping his eyes trained on you. He started to take his leave down the steps onto the path, walking intentionally slow.

You finally felt you could breathe again when his boots crunched on the rocky ground.

“G’night, Miss!” he turned and called to you. You answered with slamming your door shut. You could forget about sleeping tonight.

~

There’s an old saying that goes, if you find yourself unable to fall asleep, it’s because someone is thinking about you.

Your insomnia returned the next night. You thought you might be able to get some sleep on the beat up, threadbare couch that was lying under the window near the front door. You just needed a change of scenery. You grabbed a book from your humble collection, something you’ve read already because you didn’t so much care about paying attention to the contents inside. You lit a tall candle, fluffed a pillow your mom had embroidered for you and leaned back on the cushions. The book creaked when you opened it, the smell of the withered pages wafting out.

You were going to fall asleep in no time.

The candle light flickered as you turned the pages, the wax weeping down the side. You felt a yawn coming on when, all of a sudden, a small rapping came from your front door.

Terror shot through your veins. You hadn’t forgotten about the stranger that came to your door, no matter how much you tried. You found yourself looking over your shoulder constantly in the stillness of your home in broad daylight. You abandoned your plans to go into town this afternoon, fearing he might be lurking in the trees, waiting to catch you off guard.

And now he’s back. You could see his lean frame in the window, standing with his hands behind his back, expectantly. His eyes flitted from the front door onto yours and you could’ve sworn his irises glinted red. He actually waved at you.

You shot off of the couch and bolted towards the door. The chain latch screamed against the lock.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you spat.

He held his hands up and stumbled back a little. “And hello to you too.” he said, a hint of a smile curling at his lips.

“Why are you here?” you hissed.

“Well,” he said, almost sheepishly, “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about ya. Being here all by your lonesome.”

“I told you, my husband is sleeping,” you said. His eyebrow quirked. He wasn’t buying it. You clenched the frame of the door timidly, preparing yourself for whatever this might turn into. If you had to fight, you would, even if you didn’t know how.

“I-I don’t have anything of value to you,” you stammered.

“Why’re you up so late?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t sleep,” you answered honestly, “I have insomnia.”

The Stranger whistled low. “That’s a shame,” he said, “You lookin’ for some company?”

“I’m looking to finish reading my book, if you don’t mind,” you grumbled.

“I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.” He made a motion of zipping his lips.

You gave him a hard stare. Through the light of the candle in the window, you could see his eyes. They were a kind of blue that reminded you of tornado season, as the sky started to turn. They felt equally as unpredictable. His hair was dark but less unkempt from the night before. In fact, he looked altogether more presentable, almost as if he were trying to make a better impression than the one he made prior. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. He seemed human to you.

Human or not, you knew the implications of an unmarried woman letting a strange man into her home at the dead of night.

“I’d rather be alone,” you admitted quietly.

“As you wish,” The Stranger responded, “Although, I’d scarcely call myself a gentleman if I were to leave a pretty thing like you to fend for herself at this time of night.” His smile went crooked, “There are strange creatures prowlin’ around.”

You set your jaw, your heartbeat quickening. Couldn’t this guy just leave you be?

“If you’re gonna lose sleep over it, there’s a rocking chair right there.” Your eyes darted to the dusty old thing in the corner of the porch that your dad had carved when he was your age. “You can sit.”

The Stranger’s eye flicked to the rocking chair and then back onto you. You could’ve sworn he looked disappointed. He nodded curtly before lowering himself onto the seat.

You closed the door softly and returned to your place on the couch. Only a window divided the two of you but it felt like you were sitting shoulder to shoulder. You could hear the creaks of protest from the rocking chair as he rocked himself back and forth, as if he was deliberately reminding you of his presence.

The candle you laid out had died and you figured now was as good of a time as any to try and sleep. You curled up on the couch and closed your eyes.

There was a light tapping on the window above you. You sat upright and pushed the window halfway open.

“What?” you hissed.

The Stranger stuck his hand out to you, fingertips barely kissing the threshold into the house.

“I never introduced myself,” he said, “I’m Remmick.”

“I didn’t ask,” you muttered.

Remmick’s expression turned sour as he pulled his hand back. “Well, ain’t you a ball of sunshine.”

~

Like clockwork, every night for the past week and a half, Remmick appeared at your doorstep and sat in that rocking chair. At first, it was jarring to have someone sitting out there while you maintained sleeplessness but then it slowly worked into routine. As soon as you lit a candle or turned on a light, he was there. It felt like having a guard dog. And, with that red-eyed thing that lingered in the woods somewhere, maybe it was better that he was around.

Sometimes he came with things to keep him occupied as he waited for you to sleep; a banjo, a pit from a fruit that he whittled away at. You especially liked when he played. On those nights, you’d leave the window open just a touch, listening to the melody as it lulled you to sleep.

Mostly he just liked to talk. You were beginning to think the only thing he liked to hear more than music was the sound of his own voice. He never let up on asking to be let inside, though. Once, he even tried to coax you out to him.

“It’s a lovely night,” he mentioned offhandedly, “Be a shame to waste it cooped up inside.”

“Hm?” You didn’t look up from your sketchpad. You were doodling the flower pot that rested on your circular kitchen table. It’d been a while since you put fresh flowers in there. The ones that currently resided were already withered and brown with age.

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Come outside with me,” Remmick said, “Let’s take a walk.”

“I thought you said there were strange creatures prowlin’ about?” you countered, meeting his gaze from the opening in the window.

“Yes,” he folded his arms on the windowsill ledge, “But I’m here to protect you.” His eyes were beckoning. He leaned in as much as he was able without crossing the threshold.

You inched back, a flush reaching your cheeks. You weren’t used to him being this close. He smelled of campfire smoke and soil, an intoxicating mixture that tempted you to bury your head in his shirt and inhale.

Remmick’s brows creased in discontent and he exhaled through his nose. He pulled back from the windowsill and stood out of the chair. “Well, I’m gonna take a walk. You can join me if ya want.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and hopped off the porch. You listened to his crunchy footsteps recede.

You felt… bad. You pride yourself on being responsible and headstrong but with this… with him? Are you being headstrong or just avoidant?

If he wanted to, he could easily have broken in and done whatever he wanted with you already. It’s not like you were close to any neighbors and your family lived states away. He definitely looked stronger than you. It would be so easy for him to take advantage of that.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t get too close to you at all, like something’s preventing him from attempting to reach out and grab you.

You felt innocuous in that security, in whatever invisible barrier that was put between you two. It weirdly felt powerful to be able to deny him and yet, he still kept coming back to the porch. Back to the chair. Back to you.

However, it also felt terribly isolating.

You ran into your small bedroom and threw on an old coat. You shoved through the front door, running barefoot through the gravel, not caring about the sharp edges digging into the pads of your feet.

Remmick turned, hearing your hurried gait close behind.

“Look who decided to come out!” he shouted, a grin spreading on his face. You approached him, gasping.

His teeth were long. They looked like teeth belonging to an animal. They gleamed in the moonlight. You suddenly felt cold.

When you abruptly stopped in front of him, he closed his lips into a tight smile.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said, finally. He sounded sincere.

“I-,” you started. Was what you just saw a trick of the dark? “I didn’t want you to be alone. S-strange creatures prowlin’ and all that.”

You started to shiver, despite the coat. Remmick breached the unspoken barrier and strung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

“That’s why I’m here, darlin’.”

He didn’t feel warm.

~

You woke up that morning to find a bundle of bright orange azaleas at your door. There was no note but you could guess who they were from.

You scooped them up and replaced the dead flowers with the new ones. You caught yourself faintly smiling. Then you remembered the teeth.

Against your better judgement, when you went into town that day, you inquired with the locals about the “animals” that were spotted roaming around your woods.

“I could’ve sworn this thing was as big as a bear and just as hairy,” one man down at the drugstore whispered.

“My Nettie told me that she saw somethin’ out there watching her with shiny eyes. It were walking on two legs like it was human,” another woman revealed. “Whatever it was, she didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“It’s best not to invite strangers into your home,” one older woman had said. She was sat on a bench cooling herself with a handheld straw fan. “They say the Devil roams them woods. A devil with as sharp of a tongue as he has teeth. Can’t go letting just anybody through the door.”

Armed with the superstitions from the townsfolk, you sat at your kitchen table. Your leg bounced nervously as your mind ran through the events of your evening walk, trying to pick up clues that something was amiss. That he was wrong somehow.

Nothing had happened that night, outside of just walking. The woods had been eerily silent, like every living thing was holding their breath, watching you pass by. Remmick filled the silence with polite conversation. He asked about you, your family, your hobbies and hung onto every word as if you were the most fascinating person he’d met in a long time. At one point, he asked about your favorite color.

You told him it was orange.

You asked him if he had ever got his car fixed. He looked at you, puzzled for a moment, but then brushed it off and changed the subject.

He dropped you off back at your house. He watched you walk through the door and, for once, didn’t ask to tag along inside. You quieted the part of you that was disappointed by that.

The sun had set, flushing the sky red, to orange, to a deep purple. You found yourself sitting outside in the rocking chair, staring down the rocky path to your porch. The crickets began to sing, mixing with the hollow rush of summer air that tussled through the long grass. You lazily sipped at your coffee that you had prepared two minutes ago, eyes watching for a figure in the distance.

The darkness loomed over the house like a thick blanket. You strained your senses for any sign of your stranger making his way back to you. You sat there waiting until the choir stopped singing.

Your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Your breathing slowed.

You woke up at the pale beginnings of dawn. Your body ached from having been curled up in that damn chair all night.

You found yourself covered by a long jacket that smelled faintly of smoke and copper. You peeled it from your body, your feet finding purchase once again on the boards of your porch.

Bloody footprints stained the wood. It made a path up the steps and curved right where you lay sleeping. A small pool had collected at the base of the rocking chair before the footprints turned around and went back where it came from.

~

Remmick plucked out a song in the still night, humming to himself. His voice was raspy and he sung from deep in his chest. The strings on his banjo twinged. The song wasn’t something you recognized.

You found him with his back to the door, sitting on your porch step. You watched him from the window. He looked to be in better spirits than you’ve ever seen him. He seemed more youthful and strong, his back straighter. His skin looked less sallow and bones less gaunt. Even his hair seemed to have a fresh shine to it.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. You needed answers.

You pulled on your door and let it yawn fully open. No barrier. No hiding.

“There’s my girl,” he declared happily. Remmick swiveled his head towards you. His eyes sharpened at the sight of you, his neck tensed. He breath hitched and pressed his lips in a tight line.

You wore the jacket over your shoulders. It covered your arms down to your fingertips. The bottom hem brushed the meaty part of your thigh just above the knee. Underneath, however, you chose to wear a silk shift. It was the color of vanilla ice cream and felt as soft as purity. You felt naked out there in your underwear but with the way it made Remmick buckle felt worth it.

You stripped the jacket from your shoulders, keeping your breathing slow and even. You breeched the door frame, gingerly coming near him one step at a time. You folded the jacket over your arm and kneeled down to where he sat.

“Thank you for this.” you said softly, draping the jacket onto his lap. You kept yourself from smirking when you saw how it badly you were affecting him.

He nodded dumbly. “You-you got all dolled up for me?” he asked timidly. The banjo sat abandoned at his side, thoughts of playing it thrown out the window.

You searched his face for any hint of trickery. Anything that revealed what lurked past the surface of his skin. His pupils were dilated, engulfing any stormy blue that you’ve grown to love. Something beat behind the inky blackness of those eyes. Like an afterimage you get from staring at the sun too long, a strange red hue diluted the black. It pulsed stronger as if fanning a lump of warm coal.

“I know those eyes,” you whispered. “I’ve seen them before.”

“I- I’m not sure what you mean,” he fumbled. He licked his lips, removing the drool pooling at the sides of his mouth.

“You’ve been the one lurking outside the woods, haven’t you?” You reached your hand up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He whined like a dog. He leaned his head into your touch, resolve wavering. The heat behind his eyes became brighter.

“What’re you doin’ to me?” He gasped. His hands trembled against his thighs, his fingernails digging into his jeans.

You leaned in close, your lips caressing his ear. “I want to know what you are.”

Remmick shot up from the step. He staggered away a few paces. “You don’t know what you’re messin’ with,” His voice cracked. “I don’t want to do nothin’ I can’t take back.”

He refused to look at you. Not as if he were ashamed from the lewd way you were acting but because looking at you would be like looking at the sun. Burning, painful. As if he would break apart from your gaze alone.

“Remmick.” Your voice was lithe, coaxing him towards you.

“Stop it,” he moaned. His whole body shook,

You glided down the steps to where he stood. He visibly tensed.

You relished in this newfound power you had over him. You felt about as wicked as the monster failing miserably not to shine through. He screwed his eyes shut as you reached for the folds of his shirt. Your nails dragged lazily across his collarbone, tracing the gold chain he wore around his neck. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat under his ragged breathing.

“P-Please,” he whimpered. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kissing the muscle on his neck broke him. He clenched your waist with his rough hands, nails digging into your flesh. He hoisted you up in the air and you wrapped your legs tightly around his torso, locking him to you. His lips latched onto yours with a hunger of a man who was told he was going to die. One hand straddled you between your shoulder blades, pushing you even further into him, like he wanted to swallow you whole. He clawed at the fabric of your shift, bunching it up in his grip as if he were deciding whether or not to rip it off of you.

Your tongue pierced through his mouth, feeling the edges of his teeth scrape against it. Your hands grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck to you.

He looked at you now. His eyes were red fire in a pit of black. His teeth poked under his top lip. You stared at him, stunned.

He was terrifying. He looked at you with hunger, half-lidded with lust. His mouth watered freely. His breath came out in quick spurts, rattling his lungs against your stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he croaked. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I could cry.”

He nuzzled into your breasts, his hot breath penetrating your shift. He wanted you. You realized with horror that you wanted him just as bad.

You slipped down from his waist, praying that your legs weren’t weak enough to buckle underneath you.

Remmick whined. “Where’re you goin’?”

You turned on your heel, making a show of it, and cantered slowly away from him.

“Now h-hold on,” he staggered after you, “You can’t just leave me like this!”

“Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll let you finish the job,” you replied.

He groaned weakly. He stumbled over the porch steps, crawling on his knees. “Stop, please! P-please just stop,” he cried. “Look at me, baby, please.”

You turned as graceful as a dancer, one foot already behind the doorframe. Remmick’s knees scraped across the length of the porch towards you. He let out a cracked sob when you stepped fully behind the doorway.

“Tell me,” you said sternly.

“You won’t like it,” he blubbered. “I promise you, you don’t wanna know.”

“Humor me,” you replied coldly.

Remmick dipped his head low into his lap, bowing. His fingers curled on the wooden boards of the porch, fingernails leaving scratch marks in their wake.

“Let me in,” he whispered, broken. “Let me in and I’ll tell you everything. I swear to you, I’ll tell you everything you want. All the details. The blood, the hunger, the pain. Anything. Please, j-just let me in.”

“Goodnight, Remmick.” You started to close the door, frustrated.

“No! Wait!” He shot up, “Dammit! Alright, you win! I’m a killer! I had been watchin’ you from the woods. You were gonna die that night.”

You froze in your tracks.

“I knew you were alone and I was… I was so hungry. I was weak. But, you didn’t let me in so I thought I’d keep trying. Thought I could get you to cave eventually.” Tears began to well in his eyes. You were stricken back. You had no idea he was capable of crying. “You made me sit in that damn chair for hours and I watched you then, too. I wanted you to trust me. To know that I could be good. But I-.” The words lodged in his throat.

Then he said something that disarmed you. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry I ever came here. I’m sorry you ever saw me like this. I shoulda’ just left you alone like you asked me to.” His words came out fast and desperate, as if he were running out of air. “But please, please, don’t turn me away. I like it here. I like being with you, like the way it feels.” Remmick’s fingers wove tightly together, his hands trembling. “I can still be good. I won’t touch you or nothin’ without your say so. I just wanna stay. I’ll stay on this porch for the rest of my life if you asked. Please. I can’t get you outta my mind.”

Remmick babbled on, vomiting out confessions, trying desperately to absolve himself to you. He wilted, the monster inside becoming docile. He looked like a kicked puppy begging for food, for shelter, for a touch of kindness. Your name coated his words like an ancient deity.

You watched him writhe with satisfaction. It excited you to see something so dangerous become a puddle at your feet. You felt a spark of longing strike through your heart. He’d answered your question. That deserved a reward.

Lowering to his level, your finger hooked the gold chain at his throat. You met his lips passionately, earning a shuddering breath from him.

“You can come in,” you whispered.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He lunged into your embrace, knocking you clean off of your feet. You were entombed under his body. His lips read your skin like scripture. You gasped at his eagerness to please, melting at his touch.

“Take this off,” you ordered, tugging his shirt out of his pants. Before you could finish the thought, he snapped off the suspenders hugging his shoulders and shucked the whole shirt off his torso in one motion. You took in his bare chest that was glistening with a mixture of sweat and drool. “Excited, aren’t we?” you purred.

He grinned wickedly. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise you, ya won’t regret this.”

Sloppy kisses peppered your face, your jaw, your throat, coating you in a fine, glistening sheen. You could feel his teeth scrape against your pulse—which was fluttering like a panicked bird in a cage—desperate for a bite. He drank in your scent like a drunkard nursing his addiction. Your breath became heavier the lower he got. He took his time with you, drawing out your sighs of pleasure methodically, as if he’d never have the chance to do it again. He hooked your legs onto his shoulders, falling into your warmth. You gasped and jerked your hips as he immediately started circling your clit with his tongue. He hummed against the small mound, the vibrations stimulating you further.

“You taste just how I hoped,” he slurred, “You’re just how I dreamed.”

He raised your pelvis higher and slid a finger into your folds. You gasped sharply as he began to pump. You moaned his name out into the darkness, breathlessly riding the wave of pleasure that was building inside you. You called out to God as well but you didn’t think He was listening anymore.

Remmick slid another finger into you, picking up speed. His mouth still abused your poor clit, lapping at it like fresh water found in a desert. You gripped his dark curls, your voice lodged in your throat, legs losing feeling. You finally came, your body breaking down, quivering in his grasp. He dutifully licked you clean, savoring your taste, toying with your sensitivity.

“Please, darlin’,” he winced, “I-It hurts. Won’t you let me—just for tonight—c-can’t I just-?” He palmed himself against his pants.

If you weren’t spiraling through the remnants of your own orgasm, you would’ve kicked him out just to see what would happen. To watch him squirm some more. But you needed him inside you again. You shimmied the shift off of your body, opening yourself up as an offering. He nearly wept with delight.

He tore off his belt and undid the buttons keeping him contained. He locked you into place underneath him and wasted no time pushing through. You cried out, mouth agape as he fixed himself to you. Your toes curled as he began to thrust, working himself up bigger and faster. His forehead pressed onto yours, leaving gentle kisses on your eyelids. Your hands found purchase around his neck, pulling him down to you. His panting rang out in your ear as he picked up speed.

“S-Shit!” his voice splintered over the sound of skin making contact again and again. He groaned out as he released himself inside you. You could feel the warmth spreading within you, catching your senses on fire.

“Oh, thank you,” Remmick breathed, exhausted, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Each word of gratitude punctuated by a light kiss on your face. You gently cupped his cheek and brought him down to your lips.

You didn’t care if word got out around town. You didn’t care if people looked at you funny as you walked the street or quoted Bible verses at you in an attempt to save your soul from damnation. You made your choice.

You made your choice to let him in.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Not Just a Neighbor (1)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: When Simon is home from deployment, all he wants to do is sleep, but noise from the apartment next door keeps him tossing and turning- his cute new neighbor's puppy.

Request submitted by anon. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+ MNDI; eventual smut; language; mostly fluff; mentions of PTSD & anxiety

Series Masterlist

He hadn’t been home in months. The drag of his boots got heavier and heavier the closer he got to the front door of his flat. His eyes were heavy and his body was so goddamn sore. All he could think about was getting in his own bed, and he was looking forward to the best night's sleep since he can’t remember when. 

When he gets home, he leaves his duffel by the door with a thud and kicks of his boots. His feet sink into the carpet and he can’t even begin to describe how good it feels to be home. His muscles begin to untense and he’s not moving as rigidly as he was moments ago. 

He desperately wanted a hot shower, and that was his first stop. The water pressure in his building was nothing to write home about, but god did it beat the terrible showers with no pressure on base. The hot water did wonders for his aching muscles. He was beginning to slip back into a normal routine quite quickly. 

He couldn’t wait to fall asleep in his own bed. An actual bed with a plush mattress and pillows that don’t deflect immediately. He’s craving sleep so badly. He steps out of the shower and throws on a pair of his sweatpants. He collapses on his bed instantly, not even bothering to get under the covers. He stretches out on his stomach and he’s feeling the pull of sleep just about to take over him. 

Noise from the other side of his bedroom wall kept him from fully losing himself to sleep. It wasn’t like him, being so used to sleeping wherever on deployment, sounds never bothered him when he tried to sleep. He knew the apartment next to his wouldn’t have stayed vacant forever and perhaps he'd just been spoiled the last time he was home and it was vacant. He tried his best to ignore it. 

Was that a fucking dog? 

After a few attempts of tossing and turning, he was getting sick of this. He could barely stand it. He was so close to sleep and yet, it was like he got a second wind as he got up and headed out into the hallway to give this new neighbor a piece of his mind. He knocks on the door, and he hears another bark from the other side. He’s ready to lay into whoever is on the other side of the door, to cuss them out for not being able to control their dog while others are trying to sleep. 

Everything he intended to say goes out the window when you open your door. 

You’re so pretty.

Pretty eyes, pretty smile with soft cheeks… is that a dimple? Plush skin that looks so soft to the touch. So absolutely fucking beautiful that you make his mouth go dry. He’s completely forgotten why he came over here when you look at him with those eyes and that little head tilt. He should say something. 

“I’m so sorry,” you begin the conversation much to his relief. “Sarge is sick. I’m assuming you heard him barking.” 

“S-Sarge?” 

You nod, apologetically, but he can’t even remember why you’re apologizing until he hears a little yip from behind you. A little dachshund peers at him from behind your legs. It’s clearly a puppy, a really young one at that sporting an obnoxiously large cone for his little body. 

“I’m so sorry, like I explained in the note he’s a rescue..” 

“Note?” 

You left him a note? Something you wrote to him is in his possession and that knowledge makes his stomach flip. He glanced over to his door, and now he finally notices a yellow envelope taped to the front. He steps over and pulls it away. 

“I didn’t see this,” he says, tearing it open. 

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor Sarge. I’m a four month old dachshund. I have PTSD and I’m adjusting to my new home. I’ve recently been adopted and am trying to learn to be a good neighbor. We appreciate your understanding as I’m still in training. Please have a coffee on my mom as a thank you for your patience and support.” 

There’s a gift card attached to the coffee shop next door and he realizes a few other doors have that note as well. You got a small gift card for everyone in this hallway? He feels like an ass now. 

“I didn’t see this,” he explains, dumbly. “Sorry, I just got home from deployment- I’m so tired I must’ve missed it. Thank you for this.” 

You reiterate, overly apologetic, that you’ll do your best to keep the puppy quiet but he can’t even find any ounce of him that cares about that anymore. He can't even focus on what you’re saying, as much as he’s trying, because watching your lips is too distracting. 

As you’re trying to apologize, Sarge makes his way over, waddling from the weight of his cone and he rests his body against Ghost, taking a seat on his foot. God, how could he have ever been upset before? 

“Oh,” you say surprised, cutting yourself off. You look at Sarge, completely baffled. You look back to Simon. “He’s usually afraid of men.” 

Somehow your dog, notorious for barking and cowering in fear at the sight of any man, declared your neighbor- your tall, bulky and intimidating neighbor- safe. Your eyes widen in surprise, but also you can’t help the wide grin that expands across your face. 

“This is huge for him, you have no idea,” you gush. Your excitement makes his heart swell. Your dog likes him, your dog chose him. He wonders if this means maybe if he’s lucky he’ll have a chance with you. He can only hope. 

“Come on, baby,” you say, bending over to pick up the puppy in your arms. Simon quickly shifts his attention to the wall because he definitely wasn’t staring at the subtle way your tank top exposed your cleavage when you bent over. “I’m so sorry again, I promise I’ll do my best to keep him quiet,” you say, moving to close your door. “I hope you’re able to get some rest, you deserve it,” you smile, closing the door with your foot since Sarge was bundled in your arms. 

Simon is left dumbfounded, staring at your closed door for a few moments before he can even shake it off and return to his own apartment. He keeps your note clutched tightly in his hand, reading it over and over, practically tracing the slopes of your pretty handwriting.

[uponamoon]

Accidental Conjure :

sypnosis: You accidentally conjure some demons while trying to conjure a fairy from a spell you found online.

warnings: summoning a demon(?), god awful writing.

note: wrote this in like 5 seconds and it’s super bad writing very cringe but I’m bored. Probably will delete this later. Read it while it’s here 😔.

You were currently in your house, alone. Parents have gone off to a business trip leaving you to fend for yourself and so of course being the responsible person you are, the first thing you do is to try and conjure a fairy because why not.

Somehow after scrolling on TikTok for hours and hours wasting your whole day away, you magically stumbled upon a video that gave a tutorial on how to conjure a fairy god that supposedly bring good fortune when conjured right …now a normal sane person would just scroll past the video and spend another 5 hours sucked into the endless videos but you?

Well…you’re not very normal are you? Because currently you’re sitting in the middle of your room on the floor with a lighter, candles, and a piece of paper you swiftly wrote the spell on, oh but don’t worry, you made sure to bring a bowl so you don’t end up burning your whole house down by accident.

It’s not like you had anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon, and if this actually worked it would be totally worth it because you have that final on Monday.

Rereading the directions from the video, you not so neatly folded a piece of paper up and brought it above the bowl and began to burn the corner of the paper with the lighter.

You watched as the red flames consumed the paper turning it from black to ashes. For a second you forgot it was literally on fire after being so captivated (totally not a pyromaniac) and accidentally burned your hand.

The burning sensation makes you drop it quickly in the bowl and start listing out every curse word you know loudly it doesn’t even sound like words anymore.

The paper finished burning in the bowl and purple sparks began to pop out from the paper.

Your eyes go wide as you watch intensely and the sparks grow brighter and bigger and start flying out of the bowl in a circle above but after a couple more seconds it all stops.

Silence.

“Well that was very anticlimactic…” you groan out loud with a disappointed sigh and get up from ground, grabbing your phone that you threw on your bed to relook at the spell to see if you did it right.

While you were busy looking at your phone, you didn’t notice a small pink and purple flame began to grow from the bowl and get bigger and bigger until it grew taller than you.

At the corner of your eye you began to see light emit and crackling noises fill your ear. With the toss of your phone back on your bed, You swiftly turn around to see a large fire started in the middle of your room.

“Oh my- I’m gonna die- FIRE! WHAT DO I DO?” You scream out loud and grab the half filled water cup next to your bed and throw it to the fire as if that small amount of water was actually gonna do something.

Hey, at least you tried it.

“HEY WATCH IT!” The fire speaks in a deep voice and flickers in anger as it starts to form into what looks like a giant mouth.

Theres a long pause. The fire just flickering and doing fire things while you standing there contemplating if you had already burned up and died and this is hell.

“Hello? Stupid human? How did you even conjure me? The great and powerful Gwi-Ma” The colorful fire speaks up again breaking the silence.

“You’re talking to me…the fire is speaking-“ you manage to mumble out still baffled at what is happening right in front of your eyes. “You’re supposed to be a fairy god!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A FAIRY TO YOU?” It crackles out even louder, offended that you would even think such thing of it.

The angered words snap you back into reality as you’ve finally accepted that there’s a talking fire in front of you right now and it’s not a fairy god.

With furrowed brows you point your finger at it in a disciplining manner like a mother mad at a child that just spoke back to them. “Don’t give me that attitude now mister, whoever you are I wasn’t trying to conjure you…g-…gime?…gwam?”

“ITS GWI-MA YOU IMBECILE. I AM NOT WASTING ANYMORE TIME ON YOU HUMAN.” Purple and pink flames rise as the words get louder and within a blink it disappears, complete darkness swallows the room again.

“YOU GET BACK HERE..gwama!….gima?…” You shout into nothing, already forgotten what it said its name was, after trying a couple more names that aren’t even remotely close you finally remembered.

Snapping your fingers you say, “Gwi-Ma” and once again the fire emits its light, growing to its large size again.

“What in the- where am I- Oh not you again? HOW DID YOU SUMMON ME AGAIN?”

“I don’t know, I just snapped and said you name like this!” You say and repeated your actions only to have the fire disappear again.

“Oh..what the hell?- Gwi-Ma!?” And with another snap it comes back.

“Can you stop that? It’s very irritating. What do you want kid? I’m trying to run an army of demons right now…how about you give me your soul for something in return, what is your deepest desire? Come on now let’s get this over with”

“Uhm. I like my soul thank you very much I don’t want anything.”

“THEN WHY DO YOU KEEP SUMMONING ME?”

“I DONT KNOW, BECAUSE IM LONELY? WHY DO YOU KEEP YELLING AT ME ITS MEAN” You scream back and raise your voice louder.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE A FAIRY NOT SOME CALCIFER LOOKING ASS-“

“WHO IS CALCIF- you know what…here, your lonely? Have this. Now don’t bother me again.” The fire sighs muttering something under its breath before disappearing and is replaced by purple smoke which nearly gives you an asthma attack as your standing there trying to fan it away while coughing your lungs out.

As soon as all the smoke cleared, there stood 5 demon guys- taking the spot, they all stand there with slouched postures looking confused more than ever.

“Okay now that the hell is this Gwi-Ma?” You state while starring at the purple skinned men in front of you.

The raven haired one that stood in the middle of the group steps forward, still pretty confused but sends a smirk your way showing off his sharp fangs.

“I don’t know who you are, where we are- but we are…Saja Boys” He states out and they pose dramatically, you swear there was someone just singing there for a second but it didn’t come from any of them.

…

“….yeah I totally burned down my house and died didn’t I…”

[giannaln4]

Sleep

lando norris x fem reader

summary: You always had a hard time falling asleep, but it seems like all you need is Lando to give you a little help. (1k words)

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: this is just a little something i wrote when, of course, i couldn't fall asleep. i hope you like it! also, i don't know why these are so short; i'm really trying to write longer fics. anyway, please send some requests!

↺ back to navigation— send me a request!

You were not sure how long it had been, but it felt like you had been tossing and turning for hours. You opened your eyes for a moment to make sure it was still dark outside, letting out a sigh of relief when you confirmed it was.

You forced your eyes closed again, getting closer to your boyfriend, hoping his warmth would relax you enough to make you fall asleep. But, of course, that wasn’t the case.

It was like this sometimes—actually more often than not. You never had the best relationship with sleep, your mind forcing you to stay wide awake until the sun was peeking through your window.

You opened your eyes again, finding the clock that rested on your nightstand. 2:40 AM. “Fuck,” you thought to yourself. Slowly, you started to kick the covers and get off the bed. You tried to be as quiet as possible, knowing you couldn’t wake up your boyfriend. You knew how exhausting it was to travel as much as he did, as well as how much his job wore him down; he needed to sleep.

You looked back at your bed before carefully opening the door, admiring how peaceful and pretty Lando looked as he slept, his breathing slow and calm. Then, you finally exited the room and closed the door behind you.

A cup of tea always made you feel better, even if it didn't necessarily help you sleep. You hoped it would happen tonight, though.

As you gathered everything you needed for it, your mind started to wander. A lot of things flooded your mind, but mainly what you needed to do before leaving for the next race, mentally making a list of what you had to pack.

You were so distracted that you didn't notice the milk carton falling off the counter until you heard the loud noise it made when it hit the ground. Although the noise wasn't particularly loud, the silence in your shared apartment was so intense that even the sound of a hairpin falling could be deafening. You quickly bent down to pick it up, stopping it from spilling completely.

Before finding something to clean up with, you stayed still for a moment, looking back at the hallway and mentally praying you didn't wake Lando up. When you didn’t hear anything, you proceeded to clean up the mess, relieved that you didn’t disturb his sleep.

You continued preparing your tea, and when you were finally done, you took a sip to make sure it was good enough. It wasn’t, but you didn’t feel like starting from scratch, so you just made your way to the couch. 

A few minutes went by, and you were just scrolling on TikTok, your hand still holding the hot cup of tea as you occasionally took little sips. That was something you were used to doing this late at night, killing time until your body was tired enough to go back to bed. You looked at the time again, sighing loudly at the fact that you weren’t as tired as you hoped you would be.

“Hey,” you heard behind you, pulling your attention away from your phone. You put the mug down and turned around, spotting a sleepy Lando walking towards you, his eyes tired as he yawned.

"Hi, baby,” you whispered, as if speaking any louder would scare away the sleep he still had. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” “No, you didn’t. I just… I tried to reach for you, but you weren’t there.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled softly at you, sitting next to you and making you scoot over. He was aware of your sleeping issues, so he knew what this was about. “Can’t sleep?” You shook your head as you remembered the endless tossing and turning before getting up. “No, it’s one of those nights again.”

“Everything okay?” He asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I just can’t seem to fall asleep... I don’t know; I guess I was hoping the tea would help,” you answered, signalling the mug now resting on the coffee table.

“Can I?” He asked as he reached for it, but you quickly shook your head.

“It’s not very good.” Giggling a little, he took it anyway and took a small sip. He didn’t want to make you feel bad about your tea skills, but his face gave it away. “Told you.”

He laughed again, making you smile “I’ve had worse.”

“I really doubt it.” 

“Oh, believe me, you’ve gotten better.” 

You paid attention to how he leaned back on the couch, his hands pulling you to his lap and embracing you. You relaxed into his arms, feeling at ease for the first time that night.

“You need to sleep.”

“I know, but so do you.” He just hummed in response as he caressed your back. “I’m serious, Lando; you need to rest as much as you can before going to Silverstone. I’ll be okay.”

“I care more about you getting enough rest.” His words warmed your heart, but you really needed him to go back to sleep.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, and I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here?”

“I’m comfortable here.”

“Lando-” You started, but he interrupted you.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit, yeah?” You knew there was no point in arguing with him, so you just nodded and hugged him back. Your head was on his chest, allowing you to listen to his heartbeat; your mind focused on it as if it were your favourite sound in the world.

You didn’t notice at first, but the way your breathing was syncing with his made you fall into a much calmer state. So much so that you started to fall asleep in his arms. He, however, was well aware of this. His hands kept soothing the skin under your sleeping shirt until he felt you completely drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally.

He waited just a few more minutes until he was sure he wouldn't wake you up. Slowly, he started getting up, trying to be as careful as he could as he carried you to your room.

Once he got there, he laid you down in bed, happy that his plan had worked. He laid next to you and pulled you into him again, kissing your temple softly with a smile. “Good night, baby,” he whispered, falling asleep almost immediately.

[syntheticsymp]

Soap’s period obsession

TW: MDNI, pervert!soap, period sex implied, blood, panty-stealing. (yes, I wrote this because I started my period)

No thoughts, just imagining roommate!reader fresh out of the shower, two days into her period, unable to find the brand new box of pads she had bought in the bathroom. Surely, Johnny wouldn’t have moved them. He rarely cleaned his own dishes, there was no way he’d do a random sweep of the bathroom.

You didn’t want to have to run down the hall to your bedroom in only a towel, but that seemed to be the only option. Cleaning bloodstains out of underwear was a nightmare. It was so much of a hassle that when Johnny offered to clean them last month, you said yes without hesitation. He had sisters, and had a very bloody job, he knew what he was doing, he assured you of it. Though, come to think of it, you never got those panties back.

Holding your breath, you made a run down the hall. Only for Johnny to appear out of nowhere and catch you by the hips.

“Ah, in a hurry, Bonnie?” He teased, not seeming to mind the fact that he literally swept you off you feet

Touches like this were slowly becoming more common. From the times he would pretend to fall asleep during movie night to rest his head in you lap, to a brush on your ass that he swears you were just imagining.

“Yeah,” you answered while squirming in his arms, too embarrassed to admit why you was running. It was just Johnny. You didn’t need to be scared. “Can you let me down, please?”

“Come on, you won’t let your roommate carry you to your room? You’re so uptight,” he said with a shit-eating grin and pinched your cheek.

You pushed his hand away. “I’m really not in the mood for this, put me down- what the hell!”

Johnny had lifted up the towel and swiped his forefinger up your slit. It was sopping wet with blood, coating his skin, the red dripping so brilliantly. Unlike the blood on the battlefield, this was something beautiful, to be cherished. It was every bit as mesmerizing as he knew it would be.

You clamped your thighs together. He didn’t stop you. Instead, his grin turned sinister. Something in his mind snapped at the sight of blood. You could chalk it up to memories of the military, the PTSD, if it weren’t for the way his pants grew too tight.

Spinning on his heels, he made his way to his bedroom, instead of yours. You kicked out your legs, but he had no trouble restraining you. He had held down much rowdier hostages.

“Don’t be like that, Bonnie,” he hummed as he locked his door behind him. The dark room and messy piles of clothes were nothing new. “Let me help you feel better. I’m your roommate, after all.”

He tossed you onto his bed, throwing the messy blankets onto the floor. You scooted back until you couldn’t anymore. “Johnny-“

“Please, let me help you feel better. It’ll be so good. The best you ever had,” he pleaded, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lights as he crawled toward you. Something about the blood had driven his mind. “Please, Bonnie. Just once. Let me help with the cramps. I’ll fuck you any way you want- make you cum as many times as you need. And I’ll make sure to clean up afterward and everything.”

That last part was a lie, but seeing the man beg like that was disheartening. In the position you were in, it was difficult to just say ‘no.’

Slowly, you nodded.

Johnny wasted no time after your confirmation, immediately getting to work.

Oh, how lovely fate was to give him a pretty little roommate like you. The nights he had spent restlessly fisting his cock at the thought of you like this. Of finally getting to have you. And the fact that you were on your period? Even better. He’d get the chance to paint you with both his cum and your blood. He probably won’t even let you leave the house all week. It was simply too delicious to have you beneath him after all this time.

Of course, you had no idea your missing box of pads was shoved under the very bed your dear roommate Johnny laid you down on. If you did, you’d probably try to run away. And he couldn’t have that happen, now could he?

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Sweet Temptation - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer’s a pervert and so are you (a.k.a Spencer doesn’t know how to control himself when the team goes camping)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This isn’t that accurate to canon but I don’t really care, I just love the concept of pervert!spencer and wanted to write something filthy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i wrote half of this half asleep so give me a little grace pls, not proofread cuz i never do oops

TW: pervert!spencer, bau!reader, panty stealing, dubcon, public sex, outdoor sex, oral sex (reader receiving), penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cum eating, softdom!spencer, afab + fem reader

Rating: R, 18+

——

When one of the higher ups suggested the BAU team go on a wilderness retreat, you figured it’d be at some cushy wellness resort with cheesy team-building exercises and sleeping in cabins, not a campsite in the middle of the woods, with only a flimsy tent floor separating you from the hard ground.

You didn’t want to be here, truthfully you felt that the team was a little too close to each other at times, and there certainly wasn’t any bonding you could do out here that couldn’t have been done back at the office. You were cold, the rocky dirt beneath you was hurting your back, and you could not get to sleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time no matter how many times you tossed and turned into different positions.

You had enough, and decided to try your luck at a walk to wake yourself up until the rest of the team was up. You unzipped your tent, careful to be quiet to not wake anyone, and stepped out into the fresh morning air. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, and the hazy orange hue was almost enough to make you understand why you were on this stupid trip to begin with.

You began your trek down the trail, the sound of birds chirping and the light layer of dew coating the underbrush making you feel momentarily like you were in a fairytale. Maybe a return to nature wasn’t such a bad thing. You came upon a small clearing, just through a slightly overgrown offshoot of the trail, and decided to take a closer look at the wildflowers growing there. There was a small overgrown picnic table in the center, the perfect place for you to sit and take in the beauty of nature.

You sat there for what felt like hours, your eyes fluttering shut as you slumped down against the table, finally getting some much-needed sleep in your blissful surroundings. The abrupt ‘snap’ of a twig startled you awake, and you almost fell back off of the withered bench. You looked around through hazy eyes, watching as a tall figure approached you. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light of mid-morning, seeing that the figure was none other than Spencer Reid.

“How long have I been out?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

“Not long, the rest of the team just left on the hike, I volunteered to stay back and wait for you.” He explained, pushing his hair out of his face. You weren’t sure how honest he was being, the telltale nervous lick of his lips telling you that at least part of what he was saying was a stretch of the truth.

“Were you watching me sleep?” You jokingly accused, playfully pushing his shoulder. His face turned bright red, and for a second you thought you might’ve been right. He said nothing, shaking his head before turning around and walking quickly away from you. A flash of pink fabric caught your attention, just a sliver sticking out of the back pocket of his shorts.

“What’s this?” You ran up behind him, snatching the fabric out of his back pocket. You stopped in your tracks, mouth hung slightly open in shock when you realized what you held in your hand. It was the pair of dirty panties you had changed out of before bed last night, the pair that you had sworn you put in your laundry bag.

“What the fuck, Spencer?” You raised your voice, holding the pair up so he knew you’d caught him.

“I-I can explain!” He frantically tried to reason, taking a step back from you.

“Oh really? Explain to me why you pulled a pair of my dirty underwear out of my laundry bag while I was sleeping, I would seriously love to know what rational explanation there is for that.” Your heavy sarcasm was almost too exaggerated to take seriously, and to your detriment it had blood rushing to Spencer’s cock. He attempted to stutter something out, but it was all jumbled nonsense.

“I don’t need an explanation Spencer, you’re a pervert, plain and simple.” You scoffed, backing slowly away from him.

“You always walk around in those short skirts, how else am I supposed to react?” He attempted to defend himself, starting to gain a small bit of confidence as he took steps to close the gap between the two of you.

“That’s awfully misogynistic Spencer.” You retorted, the initial shock of the situation starting to wear off.

“Every time you bend over in those skirts I get an eye full of your underwear, and you know what? I think you’re doing it on purpose.” His accusation wasn’t entirely incorrect, you had noticed him staring at your ass the first couple times you wore a shorter skirt to work and thought it’d be fun to embarrass him a little. You never thought he’d resort to this, though.

“That’s bullshit.” You laughed, taking another step back until your back hit a tree, stopping you in your tracks.

“Really? Then why did you bend over right in front of me in those shorts last night?” He pressed his hand against the tree about your head, leaning over you. He may still be the slightly awkward, nerdy Spencer you knew before he did time, but prison surely did bring out an incredibly intimidating side of him. Now you were the one with nothing coherent to say, simply swallowing your pride as you looked up at him.

“I think you want me just as badly as I want you.” He breathed, his free hand meeting your waist. He leaned down, lips brushing yours until you raised yourself onto your toes to close the kiss, wanting to swallow him whole. The kiss was intense but short-lived as Spencer pulled away, his hand on your waist turning you so you were facing the tree. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, exposing your bare cunt. Your slick was already starting to drip down your thigh, the thought of getting caught fucking your coworker in the middle of the woods only spurring on your arousal.

“Look how wet you are, and you think I’m the pervert?” He teased, not giving you a moment to react before his tongue was between your folds, drinking up all of your wetness. You leaned your cheek against the tree as he ate you like he was starving, his hands kneading your ass as his tongue explored every inch of your needy pussy. Just as he began sucking on your clit, the two of you heard someone coming up the trail outside the clearing.

Spencer scrambled to his feet, his hand covering your mouth as he wrapped his arm around your waist to shield your bare bottom half from view. You carefully listened, waiting for the couple’s conversation to fade as they walked past before Spencer finally let his grip on your waist go, continuing to hold his other hand over your mouth.

“I need to feel you.” He whispered, pushing his pants down to free his erection. He grabbed your shoulder, pushing you forward against the tree again before kicking your legs further apart, the head of his cock prodding your entrance. You whimpered against his hand, pushing your hips back in encouragement. He pushed into you, your wet cunt gripping every inch of his thick cock, stretching you out just enough to bring tears to your eyes. He filled you up perfectly, like he was made for you, and it grew increasingly hard to swallow your moans.

Spencer’s hand over your mouth could only muffle so much, but you didn’t care about getting caught anymore, you just needed him to fuck you as hard as he could. He started at a quick but steady pace, but you need more. You tried to talk against his palm, only creating confusion until he pulled his hand away just enough for you to speak.

“Harder.” You whined, holding onto the trunk of the tree for dear life as he granted your request. Each thrust of his hips against yours was almost brutal, his free hand digging fingertips so hard into your hip that you knew they’d bruise. Spencer had never been more grateful for his eidetic memory, knowing that he’d be able to remember how perfectly your ass rippled with every slam of his hips each time he wanted to relieve himself in the future. He finally dropped his grip from your mouth, the now free hand wrapping around your front and moving down your stomach to your clit, rubbing quick circles to match his pace.

“S-spencer, I’m not on birth control.” You choked out, sensing that he was as close as you were.

“Then let’s make a baby.” He groaned.

“Oh God!” His empty threat pushed you over the edge, your walls pulsing around him as you bit your forearm to stifle your cries of pleasure. Your knees began to buckle, Spencer’s grip the only thing keeping you standing as he came inside of you. He held you close, waiting for you to come down before pulling out, his seed dripping down your thighs. He brought his hand down to gather the extra, bringing his semen-covered fingers to your lips.

You didn’t have to be told what to do, sucking them clean as you caught your breath. He pulled your underwear and shorts back up your legs, helping you straighten up before doing the same with his pants.

“You really are a pervert.” You broke the silence, turning to face him.

“Oh yeah, like you’re completely innocent in all of this.” He quipped, wiping the slightest bit of his cum off the corner of your mouth.

“You might’ve just knocked me up in the middle of the woods, I think you win that title, Spencer.” He was blushing again, somehow shy again after the dirty things you’d just done together.

“I’ll take you into town to get the morning after pill, the rest of the team shouldn’t be back for a while still.” He took your hand, guiding you out of the clearing to start the walk back up the trail.

“I wouldn’t mind having your baby.” You told him, causing him to trip on a rock on the path. He caught himself, laughing it off, but secretly wishing he could pull you into the tree line and fuck you all over again.

——

Tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[honeyryewhiskey]

marked by cupid • happy valentine’s day !

— smut warning ! fingering, (gentle) choking, dean likes to watch, pet names, needy cupid, eager to please dean, cupid's inexperienced 18+ ! — j's note ! wrote this at 4am straight out of a fever dream (literally bc i have the flu) anyways if it sucks i'm sorry 2.6k words

You rise onto your tiptoes, hips pressing against the sink’s edge as you angle closer to the mirror, steadying the sleek golden tube between your fingers.

It’s a careful craft, applying red lipstick. One that demands patience. One wrong move, and fixing it is near impossible. No matter how much you wipe, a pink stain always lingers, a faint reminder. At least for a little while.

Your hand moves with careful precision, the smooth crimson sweeping over the natural flush of your lips like ink on parchment. The pigment is rich, deliberate, leaving behind a bold statement with every stroke. You press your lips together, perfecting the edges, when a shift in the mirror catches your eye.

Dean stands behind you, his broad shoulders filling the small frame, arms crossed as he watches with a bemused arch of his brow. The curiosity in his gaze is subtle, but it lingers, following the slow, practiced motions of your hand.

A smile creeps up on your ruby red lips, turning just enough to meet his eyes in the reflection. With a playful wave of the little golden tube, you toss over your shoulder, “Want some?” The coy smile you wear is as daring as the color itself.

“What? No.” He waves you off, flopping onto the edge of his bed with a huff, arms bracing against the mattress. “I just like to watch.”

“Mhm,” you hum, amusement curling in your tone as you twist the lipstick back into its tube and abandon it in the sink. You glance at him through the mirror, mischief sparking in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

Dean exhales sharply, already suspicious. “Yes, I’m sure—”

“Are you really, really sure?” You turn, stepping toward him slowly, deliberately, hands tucked behind your back like you’re hiding something.

His gaze narrows. “Lovebird, why are you looking at me like that?”

The distance between you disappears in measured steps until you’re standing between his legs. His breath stills as your fingers slide up, cradling his jaw in soft, steady hands. Before he can react, you lean down, pressing a firm, quick kiss to his cheek.

Dean jerks back, his hand flying to his face as you giggle, already knowing what you left behind. His fingers swipe over the spot, and when they come away smudged with red, he groans.

“Damn it, Cupid,” he grumbles, shooting you a halfhearted glare.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What?”

“You just—” He gestures vaguely, rubbing at his cheek, only managing to smear the stain further. “You marked me.”

The words make you pause, something warm and electric settling in your chest. Your smile softens, satisfaction washing over you in slow, lazy waves. Marking Dean.

Much can be said about a cupid’s curiosity—about yours in particular. Once a thought crosses your mind, it doesn’t simply pass through. It lingers, settles into the empty spaces, curling into the corners of your mind like an itch you can’t ignore.

“Dean?” Your voice is soft, almost innocent, but the weight of your intention is anything but. Your hands find his shoulders, grounding yourself as you slip into his lap, knees bracketing his hips.

He stiffens beneath you, muscles coiling tight. It’s not that you haven’t been in his lap before—you have, a few times. But always in a shared seat sort of way.

Not like this, and certainly not while you’re wearing a little pink dress.

Dean swallows, trying to maintain that stoic expression as his hands instinctively find your waist, broad and warm against your sides. But it doesn’t take long for them to move, sliding down to your hips, tugging at the hem of your dress like he can somehow will it to cover more of you. Like that extra inch of fabric might save him from the way his pulse is already kicking up.

“Mhm?” he hums, though there’s a slight strain in his brow, a telltale sign that he’s working hard—really hard—to keep himself in check.

You tilt your head, letting your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder as you lean in just a little closer. Close enough to see his pupils dilate, black invading the green and claiming more space.

“Can I mark you again?”

It’s a simple question. Sweet. Playful.

And absolutely, utterly unfair.

Dean’s grip on your hips tightens, fingers flexing against the thin fabric of your dress as he exhales a rough, breathy laugh. His eyes flicker across your face, scanning, searching, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what’s going on in that pretty, mischief-stirred head of yours. Curiosity gleams in your gaze, tangled with something softer, something just a little bit wicked.

Finally, he nods.

The dimple in his cheek deepens as he grins, and you don’t waste a second. Your fingers curl behind his neck, nails scratching lightly at the short hairs there as you lean in.

The first kiss is sweet, a playful press of your lips against the apple of his cheek. Then another. And another. Slow, deliberate, painting him in unmistakable red, each kiss a little more possessive than the last.

You trail lower, following the sharp line of his jaw, leaving smudged stains in your wake as you explore uncharted territory. The warmth of his skin meets the cool pigment of your lipstick, and something about the contrast sends a thrill down your spine.

When your lips press into the soft divot beneath the corner of his jaw, right where his pulse thrums beneath his skin, a quiet sound escapes him—a low, involuntary groan, barely audible but entirely unrestrained.

He stiffens beneath you, breath catching, fingers digging into your hips like he’s caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

And oh, you want to make him do that again.

The sound—deep, unguarded—lingers in the space between you, igniting something electric in your veins. Your lips tingle, the ghost of his skin still warm against them, and you wonder just how many more of those delicious little sounds you can pull from him if you keep going.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark now, heavy-lidded, the green swallowed up by something molten. There’s a hesitation there, a silent battle waging between logic and want.

He clears his throat, forcing out a rough chuckle, but it does little to mask the way his fingers still grip your hips like he’s holding himself back. “We should stop, right?”

Your lips—plump and smudged, a hazy reminder of every place they’ve been—pout slightly as you shake your head. “I don’t want to.”

It’s honest. Bare. No teasing lilt, no coy smile—just the simple truth, spoken like a confession.

And that confirmation is all Dean needed to hear.

His hands tighten on you, his restraint snapping like a frayed rope finally giving way. And this time, when he pulls you in, he isn’t holding back.

His lips crash against yours, claiming, devouring, a breath-stealing force of want and heat. One hand digs into your hip, fingers pressing into the curve like he’s anchoring himself, while the other slides up, calloused fingertips finding the sensitive space between your neck and jaw. He grips, not harshly but firmly, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, to pull you closer, like he needs you under his skin.

It’s a heated mess of smudged lipstick, reds blending together in a haze of desperation, staining his lips, his jaw—evidence of just how thoroughly you’ve marked him. Every brush of his mouth against yours sends another spark racing through you, pooling low in your belly, an ache that’s all too familiar when it comes to him.

But this time, there’s no layers of denial, no careful restraint.

Just the heat between you, growing, pulsing, an insistent throb against the thin stretch of your panties where he presses against you—solid, unyielding, and so damn tempting. The pressure is intoxicating, and before you can stop yourself, your hips move, rocking against him in a slow, desperate grind.

Dean groans into your mouth, the sound deep and ragged, vibrating through you like a struck chord. His grip on you tightens, nails biting into the fabric of your dress as his own restraint frays at the edges.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, burning with the instinctive need to chase that friction, to feel more of him. The heat is unbearable, twisting inside you like a coiled spring, making you move harder, more deliberately.

“Need more, Dean.” Your voice is a breathy whimper, your lips parted, glossed with smudged red as you look up at him through lidded eyes, pouty and desperate.

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he takes you in, gaze darkening at the sight of you—flushed, needy, rolling against him without a second thought. He exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling with each slow drag of your hips.

He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the contrast of tenderness against the heat between you making your stomach flip. “I can take care of that for you, sweetheart.”

Then, in one smooth motion, his arms shift—one curling under your thighs, the other pressing firm against the small of your back. He lifts you with effortless strength, adjusting himself against the headboard as he settles you more securely on his lap, spreading his legs just enough to ground you in place.

“Lift your hips for me.”

It’s a gentle command, but there’s no mistaking the weight behind it, the quiet authority that makes you obey without question. His hands guide you, steady and sure, fingers pressing firm into your skin as you shift your weight onto your knees, lifting just enough to let him take control.

Dean’s thumbs hook into the fabric of your dress, dragging it up, slow and deliberate, until it pools at your waist, leaving you exposed beneath him. The cool air kisses your thighs, a stark contrast to the heat rolling off your body, to the warmth of his touch as his palms skim over your navel, tracing the dip of your waist before sliding lower.

His hands map new territory, smoothing down, down, to the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His fingers graze the tender flesh, a barely-there touch that sends a sharp shiver rippling through you. Your body tenses, a quiet, involuntary tremor that makes Dean pause, his hands going still.

His gaze flicks up to yours, something unreadable flickering behind those deep green eyes, his touch hesitant now, gentle in a way that makes your heart ache. “We can stop here, love. It’s okay.”

His voice is quiet, rough around the edges, but so damn sincere it nearly undoes you.

But stopping now? When you’re this close, when every nerve in your body is alive with the need for more?

“No—please, no.” The words spill out in a breathless sigh, desperation laced into every syllable.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself, silently pleading. You don’t want space, don’t want hesitation—you just want him.

He nods, his breath warm against your skin as he leans down, his lips grazing your temple, trailing soft, almost reverent kisses down to your cheek. The sensation of each kiss sends a shiver down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake as his fingers slip between your thighs, pressing gently into the space between them.

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat, as his touch moves lower, a slow, deliberate pressure against the fabric of your panties. The heat of his hand makes your body tremble, the delicate friction sending a surge of arousal through you, already soaking through the thin material.

The world narrows to the feel of him, his touch, his heat, everything else fading as his other hand wraps around the expanse of your neck. His grip is firm but not punishing, the hold just enough to tilt your head back, exposing you, leaving you vulnerable to him in the most intimate of ways.

Before you can think, his lips are on yours again, pulling you into a kiss that’s urgent, hungry, a perfect mix of passion and desperation. It’s all heat and yearning as his mouth claims yours, his fingers never ceasing their teasing, pressing against you with just the right amount of pressure, coaxing the response he wants from you as you moan into his open mouth. 

He shoves your panties to the side, allowing space for his middle and index finger to plunge inside. His thumb presses into your clit, massaging and coaxing more sounds from your parted lips. 

You sink deeper into his hand as he pumps in and out, reeling in the feeling and wanting more. 

His lips leave yours, his lazy smirk back in place as the hand around your neck finds your hip again, “here,” he nods, eyes flickering over you, his satisfaction in watching you like this evident in the glow of his eyes. In the smile tugging at his lips. 

“Move with me,” his eyes lock with yours as the hand on your hip guides you to rock against his hand. 

Your hips follow his guide at first, but it’s too slow, too soft—your head drops, forehead against his shoulder as you grind your hips harder against his working hand. The wet sound of his knuckles coated in your arousal fills the room as his forearm flexes, his rhythm unrelenting. 

The tension coiling in your stomach makes your breathing uneven, your thighs tightening around his. “Dean—“ you gasp, and it almost sounds like a question. Like you’re unsure of how to chase this feeling. 

“That’s it, lovebird,” he whispers, his hand wrapping around your neck again with the slightest squeeze, “let go for me.” 

His grip on your neck is just enough to make your mind go numb for a second. His hand working waves of pleasure, pumping into your core and breaking into your release. 

He can’t get enough of the sight—his eyes drinking up the way your body tightens and temples at his touch. Watching his fingers claim the space no other man has gone. Your slick heat, pooling around his fingers, just for him. 

Your hips buck and twitch, riding the come down as you collapse into his chest. 

Dean’s hand glides along your spine, his touch warm and steady, grounding you in the aftermath. “You alright, little love?” His voice is softer now, a low rumble edged with something tender, something just for you.

You lift your head from where it had rested against his shoulder, the world still hazy around the edges as you blink up at him. Your cheeks are warm, flushed with pleasure, your breath still a little unsteady. But it’s the sight of him that nearly steals what’s left of it—Dean, utterly marked, his face a canvas of smudged red where your lips had claimed him. A streak across his jaw, a mark on his cheekbone, the ghost of your kisses staining the very curve of his mouth.

Your stomach flutters at the sight, at the proof of what you’ve done to him. A slow, sweet smile spreads across your lips, teasing and triumphant. “We should do that more often.”

Dean huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as his grip tightens around your waist. His lips curl into that cocky, dimpled smirk that always makes your stomach flip.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement.

Before you can tease him back, he moves, rolling you onto your back with effortless ease. A surprised giggle bursts from your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by the warmth of his mouth pressing light, playful kisses along your neck. His stubble grazes your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he hums against your pulse.

“I think we just might,” he whispers, his promise sealed in the way his lips linger against your skin.

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @dulcescorderitas @snowluvvie @jadenreallycool @soldiersgirl @abox-of-rocks

[zaynezone]

Your new post ❤️❤️☹️

I haven’t been feeling well recently after getting absolute hammered 🧍

Your fic pulled me out of the darkness 🧘

I’m just imaging Zayne would later check in on you and probably order a takeout for you to recover ☹️

I'm very glad you liked it lovely! I'm sorry you haven't been feeling well, hopefully this makes you feel better! also i wrote this in one hour in a cafe because I didn't want to do my assignment lmao

You’re never drinking again.

Or at least, that’s what you dramatically declare to the ceiling, your pillow, and the glass of water on your nightstand that you’ve only taken one sip from.

Despite the painkillers and crackers Zayne had thoughtfully left for you sometime in the morning, the bright, fruity cocktails you’d downed like juice bombs have betrayed you. Your head throbs in slow, punishing waves, and your stomach feels like it’s doing gentle somersaults.

You’ve spent the morning burrowed under your covers, half-watching old sitcom reruns with the volume turned all the way down, flinching every time someone on-screen laughs too loudly.

You drift in and out of sleep, groggy and disoriented, until you’re pulled back to consciousness by a soft knock. So soft you almost think you imagined it, barely more than a whisper against the wood. It’s too gentle, as if the person on the other side knows your current state.

Which only leaves one option.

You crack one eye open, groaning as you peel yourself off the bed and shuffle to the door, wrapped in your blanket like a sad little burrito. Your voice comes out scratchy and uncertain.

“...Zayne?”

When you ease the door open, you find him standing there, looking irritatingly perfect in his after-work clothes. His sleeves are rolled up, tie loosened just slightly, and in his hands is a white plastic bag giving off the heavenly scent of something warm and savory.

“Hello.” He says gently, his eyes softening when he sees you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink at him, puffy-eyed and disheveled, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like a cape.

“Like I got hit by a really polite truck.” You step aside so he can come in, suddenly self-conscious of the state of your apartment, the shoes scattered by the door, the half-empty ginger ale can on the coffee table, the hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch.

He sets the bag down on the counter and turns to look at you, clinical and calm, like he’s about to make a diagnosis.

“Given your weight, height, and the fact that you rarely eat before going out, I estimate your blood alcohol level hit zero about two hours ago.” His tone is maddeningly matter-of-fact. “Which means your hangover symptoms are currently at their peak.”

You give him a flat look. “Thanks, doctor.”

“I am your primary care physician,” he reminds you with the faintest lift of an eyebrow.

You groan, sliding into the nearest stool by the counter as he begins unpacking the contents of the bag. A large container of soup, a packet of crackers, and a neon-coloured sports drink that would normally make you cringe.

“This will help.” He pops the drink open and sets it in front of you. “Small sips.”

You stare at it for a moment, then take a tentative sip. To your surprise, it doesn’t make your stomach rebel.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you mumble, touched and a little guilty. He’d worked late last night, then somehow still found time to come get your drunk self home safely. And now he’s here again, sleeves rolled up, stirring soup like this is just what he does.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says simply, as if that’s explanation enough.

“You could’ve just called.”

He pauses for half a second, barely long enough for most people to notice, but you know him. The delay means something. As if the idea of only calling hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I do house calls all the time,” he replies, turning back to the stove. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Do house calls always come with chicken soup and lemon-lime electrolyte drinks?” you ask, arching a brow.

He glances at you, and then, finally, lets the corners of his mouth tug upward in the smallest, warmest smile.

“That’s a perk reserved for you.”

Your chest gives a funny little squeeze. Despite the throb in your head and the dryness in your throat, you find yourself smiling, too. Not just because of the soup. Not just because of the drink. But because of him.

Because Zayne always shows up.

And somehow, that makes everything hurt a little less.