#((without realisation what it could IMPLY))

[photogrivy]

↳INSTAGRAM: @ivy.rogers uploaded a photo:

late games mean somebodyyyyy won’t get his ass up to show me the city

[tawnysoup]

Deltarune theory that I need people to think about for a moment.

Monsters don't bleed.

You can probably figure out where this is going yourself, but if you want to hear my thoughts and evidence, it's all going under the cut.

Monsters don't bleed. We're reminded of this at the start of and throughout Chapter 4, through interaction with the bunny kid when you knock their door, and the funeral book about monsters turning into dust.

Conversely Susie has expressed a lack of understanding about this concept, implying she's bled before and doesn't find it weird. Implying she's used to a culture where blood is normal...

...but not dust? She didn't seem to put the pieces together that the dust in the 'snowglobe' (horrific implications btw) could be Gerson's body until Kris pointed it out to her. After which point she reacted with horror, as if she hadn't expected it, or didn't know that's how it worked?

Let's think about Susie for a moment. What do we know about Susie, now?

We know she bleeds. They made a point of showing it even though Kris bleeds in the same chapter and it's not visibly shown. We know she's considered a brute, more monsterish than those around her. She lays into this fact, playing it up. We know she had a rocky childhood. She's moved houses multiple times in the past. She's given up on trying to make friends.

She doesn't have a tail (or at least, her tail is a nub), and she feels embarrassed about that fact. When equiped with the jevil's tail, she'll say "figured I'd grow one eventually."

Kris used to wear a horn headband in the hopes they'd grow horns like their family, eventually. When Susie sees a picture of them with the headband, she quietens uncomfortably once she realises why.

Susie HATED Kris's guts, even before chapter 1. (From the spamton sweepstakes:)

Whatever they said made her back off and leave. I think she saw herself in them. The outcast. The odd one out in a town full of something else. Something that can't be understood. Is it any wonder she changed her tune when she found out Kris was not her enemy, but understood her? That Kris would leap to defend her, instead? That she thought, surely, this kid hates me for what I am just as much as I hate them for what they are? They don't hate me? They don't think I'm disgusting, a freak of nature, better off abandoned?

Why have we never seen her parents?

Why is it that, when we look away from Kris, we can only imagine "what Susie is up to"? Why no one else? Why can we see her, but not exert enough control to impact what she does? Why is our soul able to fight on her behalf without Kris's involvement? Why does she seem to exert control over the story even when it's clearly trying to be bent in favour of the player's decisions?

Monsters don't bleed.

Susie is a hybrid.

[homunculus-argument]

Does it hurt ur feelings when someone calls u cringy and all that shit

There was this one time when I was like 13, when I was in a crowded train and a drunk adult man started trying to flirt with me, when my father was sitting right next to me and did nothing. Like his elbow was touching my elbow on the shared armrest and he just sat there, staring out of the window, acting like he didn't have anything to do with me. I was so embarrassed about not knowing what I was supposed to do or say to make this man go away that I didn't tell anybody about this for fifteen years, when I realised that hold on, my father was literally right there. He was the one who should have done or said something to make this man go away.

When I, as an adult, told my mother about the incident, she just casually shrugged and said "maybe he just didn't notice", in a tone implying that it would have been my responsibility to instruct my father to act like a father is supposed to and to protect his damn child. The fact that it had not occurred to me to turn to my father for help or safety and ask him to act like a parent was on me. She said that I had always been like that, one could never know what exactly it was that I actually wanted or needed at any given time.

So, just to clarify whether I heard heard and understood her right, I asked my mother: "So are you saying that in order to have a better childhood, I should have simply been a better child?"

And she said: "Oh, no. You weren't a bad child. You just didn't know how to communicate clearly."

There's jack fucking shit that a stranger could say on the internet to hurt my feelings on purpose than my family could by the things they'd say casually without thinking even once.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

LAP IT UP

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: tweezing your boyfriend’s eyebrows is a totally valid excuse to make him come in his pants, right? warnings | an: dry-humping, power play, dom-ish reader / sub-ish hotch, hotch jizzes in his pants, hotch is a munch and a simp because it’s simply not possible for me to write anything else other than hotchypoo worshipping the ground u walk on!!!established relationship, mentions of sugar baby/daddy dynamic word count: 2.2k

✧ masterlist

“Can I do yours?” you asked, not bothering to shift the mirror as you cleaned up the stray hairs around your left brow.

There was a pause of silence, followed by the rustle of paperwork. Not nearly a sufficient response, so you gently kicked Aaron’s thigh in protest.

“Do my what?”

“Your eyebrows,” you answered, tilting your head as you inspected your reflection, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight streaming through the window. One brow was cooperating. The other looked like it had wandered off and joined a different face entirely.

“They’re not twins,” you muttered. “Barely sisters. Maybe even distant, resentful cousins.”

He made a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. “And what exactly are you implying about mine?”

“They could use a little TLC,” you argued lightly, leaning back to look at him over the mirror in your hand. “When was the last time you did them?”

He looked up from his files, one brow lifting—ironically. “I don’t make a habit of grooming my eyebrows.”

“Yeah…I can tell.”

That earned you the famous Hotchner scowl, though it had stopped working on you several scowls ago—right around the time you realised he was all bark and no bite. Or, at least, never with you.

Without another word, you dropped the mirror onto the coffee table and swung one leg over his, settling into his lap like it was your favourite seat…because it was. He stilled beneath you, body going just a little tense, like he wasn’t entirely sure where this was heading, but had no intention of stopping it.

“You’re not serious.”

“Deadly,” you replied, fingers already threading through the front of his hair. You tugged just enough to guide, making sure his head tipped back against the couch cushion. “Oof. Would you look at that, Hotchner, I think you’re starting to grow a monobrow.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“She needs to go. Quickly.” You leaned in, squinting like you were about to perform life-saving surgery and plucked a hair right from the middle of his brow before he had a chance to respond.

He flinched.

“Baby,” you teased, barely bothering to hide the laugh building in your throat. “You’re fine.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Obviously. I’m in your lap, holding tweezers, and making you nervous. This is my peak.” Just as you plucked another hair, you felt his hands tighten slightly at your hips.

“Just be quick,” he muttered.

Yeah. There was just one small problem with that. Quick wasn’t in your plans tonight. Aaron might be the boss at work, but at home, it was you who got your way. Always had. And truthfully? You didn’t care all that much about his eyebrows. Or yours, for that matter.

You just really, really wanted to be in his lap.

You let the tweezers hover his face again as you pretended to search for another target.

“Hm…nope, that one’s got character. Can’t lose it.”

He huffed. “You’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am,” you insisted, all sickly-sweet innocence as you adjusted your grip on his shoulders, letting your fingers toy with the collar of his polo. “Just want to make sure they’re perfect.”

He cracked one eye open. “Mh-hm.”

“What? You want me to do a half-assed job? You want uneven arches, Aaron?”

“You’ve got two minutes left.”

Silly man. As if you were on his clock.

You said nothing, just hummed like the consummate professional you clearly were, smoothing out his right brow with the pad of your finger. And then—because comfort was key, obviously—you shifted. Absolutely not intentionally aligning yourself with the zipper of his jeans.

You caught the half-shaky exhale he tried to hide and decided it still didn’t feel quite right.

Goldilocks might’ve had a point.

So you adjusted again, this time with a little more pressure. For once, you were grateful for the humidity that made you choose a dress—and the skimpiest, thinnest pair of underwear you owned.

All, of course, in the name of practicality.

His hands twitched at your waist, fingers flexing like he was stuck between wanting to grip you tighter or stay neutral. (Spoiler: he was failing at staying neutral.)

“This all part of the grooming experience?”

“Me taking my time? Absolutely. You know I give a hundred percent to everything I do, baby.”

"I know, honey," he drawled. "You've called me baby twice in the last three minutes. That's usually when you want something."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smiled—subtle, smug, and, annoyingly, entirely correct. Because, yes, okay, you did want something. Just... nothing that came with a price tag. This time.

"What is it?" he asked, utterly unbothered because he was synced up to you in that way that meant nothing you said, did, or asked of him could really surprise him anymore. "Vacation days? Shoes? I told you, you don't have to ask. The wallet's in the drawer."

You gave his hair another tug, guiding his head back to the couch cushions like you were placing something delicate. “You know there’s actually a government term for what you’re implying right now.”

“Yeah?”

His eyes drifted closed again, and he looked so… soft. Almost unarmoured. Breakable in the gentlest way. The tension that usually lived in his jaw, his brow, his posture—gone. Off choosing a different victim for the day.

Lit by the delicate setting sun, he looked—

Angelic.

Almost too pure for what you had planned.

Because while he was just trying to finish a stack of paperwork, you were trying to survive the throb between your legs. And your dress, as helpful as it was in theory, wasn’t offering enough friction to solve anything. So you decided to do what any self-respecting sinner would.

You were going to drag him down a little closer to your level.

Make him less divine, and a little more yours.

“Sugar baby,” you blurted, remembering you were mid-conversation and should probably at least pretend you were behaving. “That’s the term. Is that what you’re implying I am?”

He grinned.

And then he was the one to adjust—lifting his hips just as his hands pressed you down harder against him, guiding you into him.

You clamped your mouth shut, eyes fluttering as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.

He opened his eyes then, and you did your best to keep a straight face. (Spoiler: you were the one failing this time.)

“You think I’d reduce you to that?”

You reached for the tweezers again, if only for something to do, dragging a lazy finger across his brow like you were still pretending to care about symmetry. “You did say the wallet’s in the drawer.”

“I did.” His grip tightened just enough at your waist to make your thighs instinctively clench around him, something you knew he felt. “But that’s because I’d give you anything you ever wanted without expecting anything in return.”

You pouted, feeling the buttons of his polo brush against your nipples, because, yes, humidity had also declared it a no-bra day, and yes, you were prepared to weaponize it. “So you don’t want my sugar?”

“I want all of you,” he corrected.  “Every part.”

Of course he was still angelic about it—still saying all the right things, still making it a priority to remind you of your worth, even while you were actively plotting how to make him finish in his jeans.

Rude.

But also righteous.

And still better than you deserved…which will only make this all the more satisfying.

You blinked down at him, lips parted, a slow breath pulling into your lungs as the weight of his words landed somewhere deep between your legs.

“You’re really not going to let me be shallow for five minutes, huh?” Your fingers slipped from his brow to his throat, thumb brushing his pulse just to feel how not calm he actually was.

“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “You’re not shallow. Just a little needy.”

You hummed like that wasn’t already obvious, like the need hadn’t soaked straight through your panties and probably left a trail somewhere along your thigh by now. Still, for the sake of appearances you brought the tweezers to his brow again.

“Hold still,” you murmured, right as you bucked your hips into him.

You felt his hands slip beneath your dress, rough and warm against bare skin as they roamed—up your thigh, your lower back, your spine.

“I said hold still,” you repeated, the smile in your voice completely ruining the authority you hoped to fake.

He did the opposite.

His hands kept traveling up your back, and you dropped the tweezers altogether, your hands settling on his shoulders as you forced yourself to grind against him, feeling not just the zipper, but the outline of his hard cock, straining like a sin he hadn’t meant to commit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the word breaking apart in your throat like glass.

Your lips latched onto the skin beneath his jaw, feeling his skittish pulse under your tongue as you sucked and smoothed over the sting. Aaron’s grip on your neck tightened—a weak, almost pathetic attempt to tame you, to reel you back in, just so he could reclaim a fraction of the control you had stolen.

“This was never about my eyebrows, was it?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t care to. Instead, your teeth scraped lightly over the hickey you were hoping would linger, hips working against him like the truth being unveiled—not the sweet thing he thought you were, but a wicked woman who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

“You’re not even listening,” he said again, a breathless laugh ghosting across your temple, cut off by the groan that followed when your hips met his just right. “Too busy getting yourself off.”

“Pretty and smart,” you mumbled lazily, the friction turning sharper, your clit throbbing now with every slow drag over the rough fabric of his pants.

His hands slipped under the neckline of your dress, tugging the top down with the sort of confidence that didn’t match his frantic breathing or the way his hips were stuttering into yours.

You pulled back from the crook of his neck, only because now it was his turn.

Aaron’s eyes dropped, and for a moment, he just stared like he couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Then he leaned in, mouth closing around your nipple, lips warm, tongue flicking once, then again, until you gasped and arched into him.

You were close. So close. Though truthfully, most of the build-up hadn’t been physical—it was all mental. The way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, something good. In the way he still hadn’t figured it out, even when you’d pranced past him with the tweezers and the mirror, settling beside him on the couch, legs draped up, spreading just enough to make sure he saw exactly what was on offer.

You could’ve asked. Told him exactly what you wanted and he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. You knew that. He loved to take care of you. He always had.

But where was the thrill in asking, when it was so much sweeter to watch him give in?

And you began to pick up on just that.

The way his breath caught against your nipple, the scrape of his teeth getting less careful.

The way his hands clutched tighter at every piece of skin he could reach. The way he started meeting your hips with his own. Slow at first, then harder, like this had been his idea to begin with.

You kept moving and so did he, the friction messy and desperate between you. His head dropped forward, breath stuttering out against your collarbone, his hands squeezing your waist.

Then his hips jerked up into yours, your name falling from his lips in a voice he almost never used. His body tensed one last time, and then you felt it—the heat flooding between you, a groan torn from his throat as he came.

Your greed had been satisfied.

And with one more roll of your hips—feeling his release spread beneath you, mixing with your own slickness—that was all it took to tip you over the edge. Your body locked down, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hit, splintering and all-consuming.

You didn’t move from him immediately, hands now toying with the collar of his polo as you caught your breath.

“Happy?” he mumbled against your skin, voice still rough around the edges.

You lifted your head, the curve of your smile slow and smug. “Very.”

You expected him to stay soft beneath you—to let you linger, revel in the mess you’d made of him.

But instead, his hands slid to your hips again, and before you could react, he was lifting you off his lap in one fluid motion, placing you down in his seat as he stood over you.

Your legs dangled off the edge, dress still bunched around your waist, thighs glistening with wetness. You pushed yourself up slightly, elbows braced behind you for balance, about to ask what he was doing, pausing just long enough to admire the wet patch on his jeans.

But your confusion melted into a shit-eating grin as you watched him lower himself to his knees in front of you. Though something told you that whatever he was about to do wouldn’t be for your sake, but for his.

And that control you were so desperate to keep?

It was practically nonexistent now—crumbling at a breathtaking pace, resting in the same hands that were sliding your soaked panties down your thighs.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[luveline]

Okay what about a role reversal, shy!reader tries to flirt back or even unintentionally does something that ends up flustering Spencer 🫣 love ya Jade

this fic implies that spencer is a bit taller than reader but you can pretend he’s more agile if you don’t want that <3

You're guilty only of teasing your boyfriend. You’re allowed —he’s your boyfriend, he chose you, asked you out without a wince nor flinch— but it really is getting mean. 

You’re sick of being the shy one, that’s all. It’s not purposefully cruel. You’re rewarded some nights with a clingy, warm, and overly tempting boy, one who cares about what you want and how it feels, if you’d just tell him, angel. You refuse to be caught, so you’ve waited a while between goes, and tonight’s the perfect time. He’ll forget how flushed you’d become trying to order him a drink, because you know exactly how he likes his coffee, but you’d been distracted by his hand playing with the back of your blouse and the smug look he’d given you when you’d offered to do it, as if you were some treasure for it. It was worse when you stammered and he said, “It’s alright,” quietly, stepping in to finish it, and kissing your cheek to give a simple thank you. 

You didn't deserve the thanks. You didn’t get his coffee. He hadn’t even let you pay. 

Coffee gone and dinner in the oven, Spencer lays on the couch, curled on one side with his e-reader held against a naked forearm. You haven’t spoken to one another in an hour beyond quiet Okays and Yeahs and move over, and you love it. You don’t need to speak. 

You won’t need to for this, either, but you’re in a rush. You want the reward. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, sure you’re in his eyeline in the kitchen, doors open, in a t-shirt too short for you when you feign reaching for the hot chocolate at the back of his cabinet. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks. 

You can feel his eyes on you. “Yeah! Just–” You huff, the beginning to get genuinely irked when you realise you actually can’t get it. “Can’t get this tub of hot chocolate.”

“Your first mistake was trying to make your own when you have a built-in drinks maker right here,” he says, almost not quite normal in his cadence. 

You make a leap for it and your shirt rises up your back. You don’t get what’s so special about your back, it looks the same as anybody’s (or, you think so, it’s not like you spend much time looking at it). Maybe it’s the arch as you lean, or the slip of skin nobody else usually sees. Boys aren’t usually very mysterious about why they might like to see your skin, but Spencer’s Spencer. One day he could tell you that the reason he likes it is because you have a stretch mark and two moles that make a smiley face and you’d believe him. 

“I actually can’t get it,” you laugh, falling back down onto your heels with a childish, loving pout. “Can you grab it, please?” 

He’s already in the kitchen moving you aside. “I’ll get it, I got it,” he says, his fingertips kissing your back as he does, no need for it and a private pleasure all your own to know that. “Why is it wedged?” He goes on tiptoes, and yanks it out, nearly blinding himself with a can of spaghetti quickly righted. “Done. Easy.”

“So easy,” you tease lightly. 

Spencer, already knocked off kilter, goes quiet and shy, pressing his cheek to the side of your face and staying there for a second, the hot chocolate still in his hand, his other flirting with the small of your back. “I know what you’re doing, you know,” he murmurs. 

You go hot all over, but don’t give in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur back sweetly, stroking a hand up his back, tickling him as he often tortures you. 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“No,” you say, speaking into his jaw, “I don’t.” You let your breath warm his skin, nose dragged to his ear. You press a whisper of a kiss to that sharp notch of his jaw. When his grip on you tightens, you let him hear your contented sigh. 

“Can your drink wait, do you think?” he asks quietly. 

Impolite. You’d tell him you want the IOU in writing, but his hand is creeping up the front of your shirt to caress your stomach, and suddenly the hot chocolate feels unimportant. 

[blossomarlia]

hi, could you write a drabble with reader x remus where she rlly struggles with getting involved or going to hang out with people without explicitly being invited (just feeling really worried about being rejected) and he kind of reassures her and looks after her?

hi, thanks for this request! hope you enjoy, i generally don't write school-aged drabbles but thought this fit the best.

summary: your fear of being rejected stops you from joining your friends, but remus reassures you

remus x fem! reader (implied early stages romance)

Sitting by one of the fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room, you’re wondering how many of the people around you have exchanged glances over the top of your head. You can almost feel judgement thickening the air, raised eyebrows and confused smiles that ask why is she even here? To be honest, the only reason that you haven’t moved away is that you were technically sitting here first, and the rest of them milled in and took their spots nearby- then again, was it purposeful, your taking a place on one of the sofas they often use? In hindsight it’s just embarrassing. They must be assuming that you sat down just so they’d have no choice but to talk to you. 

You know you’re expecting the worst of this group, none of whom particularly deserve it. The flock of seventh-years surrounding you are generally a good bunch; Lily, Sirius, Marlene, Mary, Peter, James, Remus, and Dorcas,. You want to be one of them more than  you want most other things, which is somewhat pathetic and completely obvious in the way you’re always hanging around. They may all be lovely, and your friends (to some extent), but you know how irritating it can be if there’s always someone not quite in the group hanging around.

You should leave. Get up and make some comment about homework, or whatever, and wait for absolutely nobody to stop you. It’s kinder to everybody. Isn’t it?

Lost in your thoughts, you miss what Lily says next, and then they’re all getting to their feet. You give what you hope is a casual smile, simultaneously relieved of your spiralling and disappointed that they’re fulfilling your expectations.

There’s a tap on your shoulder- Remus, your favourite, whose hair has grown out over Christmas and now curls over his ears. He seems to get taller and lovelier with every passing moment. It’s difficult to make eye contact.

“We’re heading to the greenhouses, did you hear?” He says quietly, hand stilling instead of pulling away. You press your lips together and nod, carefully hiding any sort of misplaced hurt. It’s not as if you’re entitled to an invitation.

“Alright, I’ll see you later!” Too enthusiastic.

His brows pinch together. “You’re not coming?”

You look up at the others, who are collecting scarves and bags on their way to the portrait-hole. How can you admit to Remus that you don’t think they want you along? How can you tell him, anyone, that you’re far too afraid of being made fun of, or becoming a joke within their tight-knit group, to risk it?

“Oh, I don’t know. I have heaps of homework.”

“You do?” He raises his eyebrows. You feel caught, despite not having been accused of any sort of lie. “I thought you finished it all yesterday.”

You’d been studying when he and Lily joined you, and all day you’ve been wondering why they chose to. You probably put a but too much value on people choosing to sit next to you in class or during study; it’s unlikely that it was more than an absence of other free tables.

“...Some, yeah. And I wouldn’t want to- you know, I wouldn’t…” You trail off and give an awkward laugh. Remus’ gentle expression is making the inside of your mouth hurt.

“What?” You’re not used to your excuses mattering so much. Mostly, you mutter something and disappear to your dorm in time to avoid any drama. Is he feeling guilty, awkward about having made plans as a group in front of someone else? You cringe at the notion of Remus realising how friendless you probably are, of his pity. 

You know it’s your own fault for being like this. You’ve had friends in the past- cool, funny, popular, attractive- who frequently left you out on purpose. A drunken conversation in fifth year revealed that you were tolerable at best, a joke at worst. Always pushing in and so desperate for invitations that to extend them could only be ironic. 

You think about that more often than you should. You’re constantly hyperaware of how tolerable you are, sure that you’ll say or do something which will make everyone else realise exactly why you’re not in any particular group. You can’t let that happen yet with all these people, so full of love for one another that even proximity to them feels like the experience of it. Still, they’re teenagers. Judgement is an automatic response, and Remus is clever in the way he jokes. He’ll retell this conversation to roaring laughter if you reveal too much- not that he’s ever unkind, but you sort of invite a bad impression, you think.

“It’s really fine,” You assure him. “I’m tired. It’s cold, too.”

“Right,” He nods, glancing downwards. You think you’ve won (as much as you can win, here) until he turns to James and Peter and says, “I think we’re going to stay here. Bit chilly.”

What?

James frowns, making a sound of protest. “Moony!” His eyes fall to you next, and you look away, guilty and embarrassed. You’d never even considered that pity would drive Remus to actually stay here, and now they’ll all hate you. Nice job, very well handled.

Marlene is next. “‘Cas has just finished growing the Alihotsy plant, though. We’re all going.”

“It’s been weeks since we all had the evening off- or at least, since Potter and Black didn’t have a detention each,” Lily reasons more kindly. She receives twin protests from the boys on either side of her, but remains unbothered, adding, “It’d be nice to spend a bit more time as a group.”

You’re awfully close to tears. All you’d wanted was to relieve them of yourself, to retreat to your room and wait until somebody explicitly invited you somewhere (if ever), and now you’ve gone and ruined everybody’s evening. You turn to Remus, more urgent than is likely normal. “Please just go with them,” You say softly, aware that your voice is all wobbly. “I’m just going to go to bed, I don’t want to interrupt all of you catching up. Please, it’s really okay.”

There’s a brief silence that spans the entire crowd. They’ve all heard, are all likely attempting not to laugh. Remus is giving you an awful look. 

“...Are you okay, lovely?” Mary asks. You can’t look at her, can’t look at any of them, but you’ve always been alright at masking emotion in your voice when you really try. You force something like a smile.

“Yes! Yes, completely fine, I’m only tired. Post-holiday blues, maybe.” You laugh and it sounds terrible. “I’ve really only got to go to bed. You all have fun!” Silence again. 

“We might join you all in a bit,” Remus says firmly. There are a few worried noises of assent, and they all head off. Now, you do see them looking at one another, frowning and looking upset. Poor Remus, you imagine them saying on their way to the greenhouses, stuck looking after her while we all escape.

Remus asks you to sit down again three times before you agree, still rather set on going to bed so you won’t cry in front of the entire common-room.

“What’s making you so upset?” He asks softly, once he’s finally detained you. You blink quickly and cast a glance around at the other students in the common-room, afraid to embarrass yourself more than you already have, but he’s quick to assuage the fear. “I cast a muffliato when James began talking about the Alihotsy prank- ages ago. Nobody’s heard anything, I promise.”

You swallow harshly. “Oh. Thanks. I’m sorry I’m being so- so-”

“If I could,” Remus says, firm but kind, “This will be a lot easier if we can get to the problem, here, rather than whatever you think you’ve done wrong.”

“I- right. Okay. Um,” You stammer. “They’re not really mutually exclusive.” “Why don’t you want to come? Did somebody say something hurtful?” You look at him, slightly startled. “What? It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Remus seems perplexed, looking the way he does when he’s working out a particularly difficult exam question. “No?”

“No.” You twist your fingers together so tightly that they hurt. “No, it sounds fun, it just… it’s not as if I’m going to demand to be brought along, am I?” The joke falls flat. You think you already knew it would, but it’s still a bit embarrassing to laugh and be met with a concerned frown.

 You take a few longer breaths. You can fix this. You have to fix this. 

“Look, it’s kind of you to stay here, but like Lily said- you all have the night off. It’s really not so bad not to spend it as a group. I want you to go, really.” The next smile is easier. You’ve done this before, convinced people not to feel bad for you. 

“Why would you need to demand to be brought along?” Remus asks. “We made the plans while you were right here.”

“You all made plans together,” You explain slowly. “You know, having an evening to yourselves and that sort of thing. There’s no need for- you know, I’m honestly just tired. That’s probably why I’ve reacted so oddly, it’s my own fault.”

Remus looks at you for a long while, so intent that your skin gets prickly and uncomfortable. Eventually, he speaks, quiet and considered. “...You haven’t acted oddly if that’s how you’ve been feeling.”

“Tired?”

“No, excluded.” He says gently. “You really didn’t know you were invited?” You don’t answer with more than silence, and he sighs. 

“You were. You’re always invited, dove, of course you are.”

Trying not to get to hung up on impossibilities, you shake your head quickly. “It’d be a bit rude to assume that.”

“It wouldn’t.” Remus replies immediately. Then, “Dove, what are we going to do with you?” Entirely too much to comprehend. You’re glad he goes on. “Would you look at me for a moment, please?”

You want to ask him why, or refuse, or run up to your dormitory, but you do as he says. You wonder if he knows that he could ask you to do almost anything and you’d say yes, if he’ll only keep looking at you with his coffee-coloured eyes.

“All of us- we want you to come along, wherever we are. You’re important to lots of people. Do you understand that?” “I- I just don’t want to push myself in.” You say, mortified.

“You aren’t. You’re being pulled, if anything, yeah?” His lips quirk. “When Lily said those things about spending time as a group, she meant you, too. If somebody said something that made you think otherwise, I’ll-”

“Nobody said anything,” You tell him feebly. This is all rather a lot to take in. “I think… maybe it’s more that nobody’s said I am invited, or a part of- I don’t know, it’s all sort of stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Remus disagrees. He pinches your chin quickly between thumb and forefinger, frowning again. Mary once commented that Remus would look sixty by the time you all left school, with all his worrying wrinkles. “Not stupid, but it’s not very kind to yourself, either. Why shouldn’t we want you around?”

You open your mouth and close it at his raised eyebrow. “Rhetorical question?” 

“Rhetorical question.” He confirms amusedly. “There’s no point arguing, because we do. I do. I wish you wouldn’t think otherwise.”

“I’ve only been friends with all of you for a little while, though. You’ve all been mates since first-year.” At that, Remus outright scoffs. “Have we, now?” 

You shrug. 

“James and Lily always liked each other, then? Dorcas didn’t only just start hanging around us as well?” You look down, and he sighs. “However long everybody’s known one another, the most important bit is that we all like each other, yeah? It wouldn’t matter whether we became mates at eleven or two days ago- we’re friends. Or- you know.”

You definitely don’t know, but you’re going red anyway. He was definitely talking about Lily and James- that’s all he meant by ‘you know’. Isn’t it?

Remus scratches the back of his head, quiet for another second. Then, “...Why don’t we go down to the greenhouses? We’ll stick together the whole time, you’ll not be sat by yourself again.”

“I don’t want to make you babysit.”

Remus tsks, expression becoming sterner for a moment. “Don’t think that way about yourself. I’m asking because I want you to come- it’s not worth going if you aren’t there.”

The long moment it takes for you to decipher whether he’s only being nice or if that’s the truth is enough for Remus to decide that you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Tugging you to your feet, and seeming taller than ever with your proximity, he winds his own scarf around your neck and pushes some hair behind your hear. You let him, mostly because you’re too surprised to do anything about it.

“Let’s go, before they all decide to try some of the Alihotsy themselves. Gloves?”

You manage a nervous giggle, putting your mittens on when he hands them to you. “Thanks.”

“That’s alright. Come on,” He gives you a crooked sort of smile. It’s sometimes difficult to tell if Remus is aware how good-looking he is. 

The entire group are far too enthusiastic at yours and Remus’ arrival fifteen minutes later, given the fact that it’s hardly been half an hour since they left. Either way, you’re quickly pulled into a squabble between Lily and James about- as Remus predicted- the logic of trying some Alihotsy for themselves. 

“Thank Merlin you came, you’re the only one who won’t be completely daft about this!” Lily says, linking her arm in yours. You smile before catching Remus’ eye and looking down, feeling yourself flush. Smug bastard, you think fondly.

It’s an entire two hours before everyone heads back up to the castle, having thoroughly violated curfew but without (to James and Sirius’ chagrin) having tested any of the plant which would induce hysterical laughter. You find yourself walking beside the tallest of the group in comfortable silence, a few steps behind the rest.

“Thanks for making me come with you,” You say, perhaps a little more earnestly than you ought. “It was really nice.”

“‘Course, dove.” You look up at Remus to find he’s already looking at you. He clears his throat, glancing over at Sirius and Marlene where they’re pretending to push each other into the snow. It’s likely to end in one of them following through and the other swearing eternal hatred. “We’re all glad you came along. Could even make a habit of it.”

You exhale a laugh. “Maybe.”

He gives you a sideways look. “Oh, ‘maybe’, is it?” “...Conceivably?” You grin, darting away when he grabs at you and sort of wishing you’d stayed still just to see what he’d do. Remus fixes you with a teasing glare.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

You blink, choking on words for a minute. Sweetheart? Sweetheart!? Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheartsweetheartsweetheartsweetheart-

“You alright?” 

“Yeah!” You say, too quickly. Remus misreads your flusteredness as something else and softens, taking hold of your sleeve and tugging you towards him. You go easily.

“If it’ll help,” He says thoughtfully, “You can ask me if you’re invited to things. Or I’ll just tell you. Then you won’t have to go to the trouble of assuming either way.”

You like him so, so much. “That’s really nice of you, Remus.”

“Eh,” He shrugs. “You know me.”

Now, it’s harder not to smile than anything else. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. It’s really my problem, I shouldn’t-”

“Enough,” He interrupts gently. “Just say yes, dove, if it’ll help. I won’t be unhappy either way.”There are several places within you, the more unkind parts, that say accepting his offer would be like accepting pity. But there are also places that are warmed at the thought, that remember how people reacted when you arrived in the greenhouse, that can start imagining a reality wherein nobody hated your presence by the sofas tonight, and those bits win the argument for the first time in a very long time. You look up at Remus, his soft eyes and fluffy hair dusted with snow, and nod.

[0silver0dreams0]

She just wanted to be loved—even if it killed her.

Platonic Yandere!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

Warning: emotional neglect, domestic abuse, physical violence, emotional manipulation, loss of pregnancy, gaslighting, yandere behaviour, obsessive familial control, stalking, overprotection, psychological trauma, implied death threats.

In many stories, Reader is portrayed as someone completely alone. And hey—those stories are beautiful too. But this isn’t one of those. She had people. Friends. Some good. Some toxic. Some who only called when they needed a favour, or a shoulder to cry on. But no one ever truly listened when she spoke. Not really.

She was always there for everyone else. The comforter. The fixer. The secret keeper. But when it came to herself? Her feelings were locked away, pressed deep beneath a tired smile and a soft voice that always said: “I’m fine.”

She struggled to open up. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was habit. Either way—no one ever saw how much she was hurting. Not her friends. Not even her family.

So when he came into her life, she didn’t resist. He was kind. Charming. And most of all—attentive. He saw her. Heard her. Touched her face like she was sacred. He told her she mattered. That she was enough. That he couldn’t breathe without her.

It was intoxicating.

So when he started yelling—she flinched, but stayed. When he shoved her—she apologized. When the bruises bloomed across her skin, she covered them. Because even if it hurt… at least he was still there.

She told herself, “This is what love feels like, right?”

Her friends started to notice the change. The forced smile. The constant excuses. But she always brushed them off.

And her family?

They didn’t see it. Not at first.

Bruce had been too busy—always too busy. He assumed that if she wasn’t screaming, she was fine. He never once asked her if she was happy. Because deep down, he didn’t want to know.

Dick adored her in his own way—but only when it was convenient. He promised brunches, movie nights, afternoons in the park. But he always cancelled. Always had some mission, some emergency, some excuse. She’d sit alone in cafés for hours, hoping maybe this time he’d show. He never did.

Jason barely acknowledged her existence. To him, she was just another mouth Bruce fed, another responsibility in a house already full of ghosts and broken kids. He never bothered to ask her anything real. She tried, once, to ask him about one of the books he read. He brushed her off without even looking up. She didn’t try again.

Tim saw everything—except her. Always distracted, always overworked. He forgot her birthday. Forgot her favourite food. Forgot she was someone who could shatter.

Damian pushed her away with harsh words and colder stares. Called her useless. Weak. And once—just once—he lost his temper and struck her. It wasn’t hard, not enough to leave a mark for long, but enough to silence the room and stop her breath. He muttered an apology the next day—dry, forced, as if she had made him do it. He never mentioned it again. And she never dared speak of it.

Cass noticed the silences. The way her eyes lingered too long on closed doors. But she didn’t know what to say. She thought her presence was enough. She believed silence meant peace. She didn’t realise silence could scream.

Steph was sunshine and noise. Always pulling everyone out for ice cream or rooftop dance breaks. She talked at Reader, never to her. Never stopped to notice how often she smiled without her eyes. She called her “quiet,” “shy,” “a little ghost.” But she never asked why she haunted her own home.

Duke was all warmth and bright intentions. But he assumed she’d speak up if something was wrong. He believed in checking in—with everyone else. She was always the last one on his list, if she even made it at all. When she didn’t answer group texts, he just figured she was busy. He never knocked on her door.

She was there. But no one saw her. Not really. Not as a whole person. Not as someone whose heart bled behind closed doors.

To them, she was quiet. To her, she was invisible.

Then came the night everything changed.

The boyfriend had been angry. Jealous. She had laughed at someone’s joke—that was all. He hit her so hard, she collapsed.

The next thing she knew, she was in a hospital bed, bright lights burning her eyes, pain radiating through her body.

She heard murmurs. Machines. A doctor’s voice.

“Internal bleeding.” “Multiple fractures.” “Possible concussion.” And then— “She was pregnant.”

Everything stopped.

She blinked, unsure if she heard right. Pregnant?

She hadn’t even known.

No symptoms. No missed signs—just denial. Her body had been too tired, too beaten, too fragile. She thought the blood was just another bruise. She didn’t even realise what she’d lost until it was gone.

The child. The tiny, fragile life inside her. Gone—just like that.

And that’s when her family finally saw her.

Bruce stood outside the hospital room, fists clenched, jaw locked. He had let this happen. Under his watch. Under his roof. And the thought that he hadn’t even noticed she was pregnant? It broke him. And twisted him.

Dick didn’t stop crying. He kept whispering, “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen.” But guilt changes nothing.

Jason went silent. Dangerously silent. He didn’t speak—he planned. Planned how to kill the man who did this. Planned how to make sure she never felt pain again.

Tim disappeared for hours, only to come back with every piece of that bastard’s life ruined. Bank accounts. Identity. Everything—gone.

Damian stared at her through the hospital window and said only one thing: “I will make sure he dies screaming.” And he meant it.

Cass refused to leave her side. She didn’t speak. Just held her hand, brushing her hair back gently, as if to say: “I’m here now. I won’t let go.”

Steph fell apart in the hallway. Cried against Duke’s shoulder, whispering, “We failed her. We failed her.”

Duke blamed himself. He had trusted her silence. And now, he couldn’t stop replaying her every word, wondering how he’d missed it.

They all failed her. And they would never forgive themselves.

So when she finally woke up…

They changed.

It started slow. More “check-ins.” GPS apps “for safety.” Cameras outside her apartment. A curfew.

Then it escalated. Bruce wouldn’t let her out of the manor without a reason. Dick followed her to the store. Jason installed locks—ones only he could open. Tim monitored her phone and social media. Damian threatened every male who dared speak to her. Steph “redecorated” her apartment so she’d feel “more at home” at the manor. Cass became her shadow. Duke started sleeping on the couch outside her room, “just in case.”

She thought they were just overprotective. Then she realised—she wasn’t allowed to be alone. Ever.

They had already lost her once. They wouldn’t risk it again.

It wasn’t just obsession. It was possession. A twisted, suffocating, overbearing kind of love.

And maybe, just maybe… They didn’t want her to heal. Because if she healed— She might try to leave. And they would never let that happen.

[lostazuree]

heyy lostazuree!! i saw your requests are open so i’m here with a lil bllk idea 😌 you can pick whoever you want, but if you could add chigiri and kunigami i’d love u forever 🥺💗

so like—reader’s a virgin, totally inexperienced but curious about making love, and they want the bllk boys to be their first. they trust them and just really wanna experience it with them, and the boys are 100% down to show them exactly how it’s done 😮‍💨😌🔥

also your fics?? INSANE. like actually unreal. i don’t know how you do it but they’re always so hot and addictive 🔥 pls make sure you're taking care of yourself too though!! rest, hydrate, all that—your comfort matters too 💕 thank u for feeding us always!!!😘💋

𖦹₊˚✗౨ৎ— First Time.ᐟ

ᯓ♡-Friends to something more?

✦ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴏʏꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Losing your virginity to your best friend! Soft, fluff-ish smut, NSFW, Implied confession at the end!

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: Michael Kaiser, Kunigami Rensuke, Chigiri Hyoma, Itoshi Rin, Isagi Yoichi.

ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇʀ .ᐟ

You were sprawled out on his bed, lazily twirling your fingers around your hair, consumed in your thoughts: Damn, Micha's neighbors are loud as hell, I can hear them across the walls. You thought, while he stood infront of his mirror, drying his hair with a towel, another wrapped around his waist, having returned from a shower. You wondered if he was thinking the same too, till a voice disrupted your thoughts. "Yeah! Pound into her harder, We're cheering." and you froze. Did this man just..?!

And after that, the noises stopped, due to embarrassment or semblance of dignity. "So fucking loud." He said with a casual smirk while you looked at him wide eyed, "Micha, what the actual fuck?" you asked, flustered, he shrugged. "What? You wanted to hear them moan more?" No, surely not, you were...imagining, imagining how it must've felt like. "I bet it was good if she was this loud.." you blurted without a thought and he raised an eyebrow, "Sure. Sounded like rabid animals.", you huffed out at his incredulous attitude, "You say like you can do better.", he cut you short, "I can, could show you if you want.", He said, of course he was joking, but you definitely hoped he wasn't, you wanted that. "I've never done it before.." He looks at you, still holding the towel, "Can see that, and I was just kidding, but if you don't mind-", "I don't." His eyes widened as he registered, and of course, he needed further explanation. But look where that got you? Caged beneath his arms as he leaves hickies down your neck, lips traveling further down, your gasps while he works his tongue truly make him rethink how lucky he is, while he's pounding into you, letting you feel him, not too rough, but throbbing with restraint. He's sure now his neighbors would be the one to be bothered, he doesn't mind. He lets you know exactly how you should be fucked, no, made love to. Gripping your thighs while his dick plunges in and out, your sputtered gasps and moans punctuating his movements fueling him. By the time he's done, he can't help but look at you, his heart fluttering more at the sight than the actions, his arm wrapping around you lazily, zoned out. "What'cha thinkin'?", "You." He whispered, diving in for a kiss far sweeter and lasting. "Us." and he realises how much he wants to be the only one who sees you like this. "Mhm, us."

ᴋᴜɴɪɢᴀᴍɪ ʀᴇɴꜱᴜᴋᴇ (Pre-W/C) .ᐟ

You two were lounging in your living room, he had come over like the usual. He was shitting on one of his friends, whom he caught fucking a girl in the restroom. "Can you believe that? That bozo thought no one would find out." You listened in, wondering how it all really feels like..sex, you mean. "I've never done it before." You blurted while zoning out in your not so divine thoughts. He raised an eyebrow as he looks at you while you continued, "And I wanna know how it feels like." you said like it's the most natural thing ever. He looks at you, blink, blink, blink, before a flush creeps up his neck. "Good for you, i guess." He coughed out. Boldly, very boldly you snapped your head towards him, "Rensuke, Can we do that?" And he froze, genuinely. Kunigami.exe has stopped working. He asked you why you wanted to do it with him, and very innocently you explained that you trusted him the most, and you want him to be your first, because..reasons. Soon enough, you were under him on your couch, he hovered over you with slight hesitation, "Are you sure, (Y/N)?" He asked you in a hushed tone, hoping you wouldn't turn away now, and of course, you didn't. He lifted your shirt up, tossing it away before he did the same to his, sliding his hands down your body, adoringly, wanting to make this session the best. He whispers praises in your ear, telling you how perfect you are, and that he'd definitely wanted this. His mouth finds it's way on your neck, trailing kisses down from your collarbone to chest, hands spreading your legs apart, "Tell me to stop when it gets too much." And gets lost just as much as you do, spreading you apart as he pushes his inches in, slowly, and you see stars just by the size, gripping onto his shoulders. After like hours of getting dicked down by him, "Rensuke...thanks..", his arm tightens around your waist as he pulls you over his chest, "I think I..", "Yes. Me too, Ren." That got him redder than the sex.

(Note: I think post w/c Kunigami would be the same, just less talking, less blushing and more faint smiles.)

ᴄʜɪɢɪʀɪ ʜʏᴏᴍᴀ .ᐟ

You're at his place, sat on a stool as he's deciding his flamboyant hairstyle, while you two are bitching about your friends getting railed at clubs like another friday, "Seriously, can't imagine being such a hoe." He flipped his hair lazily, since he knew you were eyeing it. "Can't imagine...I've never done it before." and he shoots you a not-so-amused gaze from the mirror with a sassy, "Don't you think I can tell?" Borderline offensive but he's just being upfront. "Wow, Princess. Who hurt you?" You retorted and he just smirked, rolling his eyes. God, he looks so great, hair scattered-no. You cut your thoughts off. "I kinda wanna try it though.", you admitted, looking at the mirror at his reflection and he just hummed, "Well, you could always go-..", you cut him off sharply, sheepishly, "With you, Chigiri." His hairtie snapped as he did an animated turn towards you. Then again, after a little admission from your side, he agreed, because that is something he wanted, but thought the better. Things escalate fast with Chigiri, if you didn't know. He is soo deliberate with his actions, even whispering in your ear, describing what he's doing to your body, absolute 4K experience. He lets you grip his hair as he lowers himself into you, liking the way your hands felt on his head. He kisses you over and over, deep, purposeful, like he's trying to engrave himself to your brain, he lets you breathe between the thrusts, not wanting to overstep on the first time, hands gripping your waist and breast, his eyes falling onto your disheveled state, and he realises, he likes this, not just this, but everything, he doesn't see himself anywhere else at the moment. His movements are so worshiping, yet absolutely ruining your weeping cunt while he lowers in, his own body shaking as your nails dig into him. After he's done, "Hey, you good, hun?" and he realises what he said a little too late, his mouth now shut, yet when you giggle at that, his lips twitch into a soft smile, and the next kiss you get, speaks a lot more than what he could phrase Maybe he does want you to be the one who gets to hold him like this, more often, always.

ɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ʀɪɴ .ᐟ

You're both on his couch, tucked under a blanket, popcorn in hands as you two watch a horror movie only he's interested in, as you're in your own little wonderland when some lewd scene plays out. "Ew, tch. Don't know why every movie now has to be pornographic." He comments with a deadpan, eyes flicking over to you and he notices. He notices you've been staring at the scene for far too long. "Stop gawking at it like a virgin.", And your head snaps towards him, "Well, because I am one. I've never done it before. Let a girl dream, experience." And guess what? His dense ass after a little admission starts..verbally explaining sex. "No, Rin, like-..like the real thing. Let's do that." And he's blushing furiously, he genuinely doesn't understand why you'd wanna do it with him, not that he minds. He'll show you exactly what it means to have a good time. His bed is neat as he lays you down, sliding both your and his clothes off, his hands raking over your skin like he's memorizing every inch, like he may not get another chance. He whispers you assurances that are so sweet, so unlike him, he just wants to make you feel good, good with him, and only him. He's giving you full verbal explanations like he's teaching how to sin, spreading your legs, pressed against your entrance as he holds you. "Now, I'm gonna-" he cuts himself off with a thrust, your gasp syncing with his grunts as he brushes your hair away. He likes this a lot more than he'd say. As he's trenching deeper, he tells you how pretty you look, and actually tells you how giddy this is making him feel. Now he's the one acting like a virgin. When he's done after hours, you are marked red thoroughly, back aching, but he volunteers for a massage as you two talk it out, and for once, he doesn't care about his ruined sheets. "You were...amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have you, to be with you." The words tasted bitter in his mouth as soon as the last sentence left his lips, you could feel his grimace. "I guess you're really lucky then.", you finally said something you've been meaning to, your chest a little lighter. His eyes widen, before just a faint, imperceptible smile crosses his lips, "You're right, maybe I am, extremely lucky. And I'd like to keep it that way."

ɪꜱᴀɢɪ ʏᴏɪᴄʜɪ .ᐟ

You're at your place with Isagi, of course he's shooting a football while you two trash talk about some of his teammates. "Yeah, like, he is so bitchless, I swear. No way he ever got laid before." and his comment, which was supposed to make you giggle, reminds you that you, never got laid as well. So you very boldly admit it infront of him, "Well, I never got to do it too.", and his feet halted, stopping the ball as he looks at you, slightly flustered and sheepish as he clears his throat, "That's not a bad thing-" and of course, you cut him off. "I wanna change that." And during this whole conversation, he's praying for the ground to swallow him. "That's-..that's great! I hope you you-" "With you? Maybe? If you're-", and he blurts out immediately before realising, "What? Of course." And you both stare at eachother for a while in disbelief of your own words. He asks you over and over if you're sure while he carries you to the bed, "Push me away when it gets too much.", He says, and he's hoping you'd let him show you just how well he can do you. He hovers over you, lips crashing against yours as his hands knead your mounds as he's whispering some absolutely, insanely filthy shit in your ear, his thrusts are slow, yet slightly bruising, his mind hazy from the way your nails rake his shoulders, tug at his hair, and soon enough, it hits him on how much he really wanted this, how much he thought about this before, how he wished you'd let him hit—but now, he wants something more than that, something real and not fleeting. He wants to be the only one who holds you like this. He's thriving on your sounds, they're so unfiltered, so unpracticed, he's enjoying this more than he'd admit. When he's done, you two are a mess of tangled limbs, and he still insists on kissing you. But the way he holds you is so unhurried, so soft, like he's silently praying you get the message. "I don't understand." Liar. You do. "You're so mean." he whines with a blush and a small smile. "I love you too."

OMG SWEETHEARTTT 😭 😭 I LOVE YOU SM. You don't know how much this means to me. You are sooo sweet, I feel giddy when I read such compliments. Thank you sooo much for your words, genuinely so heart touching. It makes me feel sm better about my works, ILYSM anon, take care of yourself too. 💋 💋 I wrote more of a fluffy smut since I'm suffering from a writers block. 😭

Thanks for reading!

Reblogs would be highly appreciated! 🎀

[reiderwriter]

I Won't Let You Forget

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When you wake up in a familiar yet unfamiliar bed with no memory of begging your long-time work crush to sleep with you, you have even less recollection of him actually agreeing. Small memories of pleasure haunt you as he tries to figure out why you're suddenly so distant.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!! Alcohol use (whole BAU team, and as a precursor to sex), implied smut, on page (?) smut, dom-ish!Spencer, male masturbation, marking, nipple play/torture, edging, penetrative sex, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, semi-public sex/ make out, creampie, reader is very into male moans. That should be it.

A/N: I forgot about this fic TWICE, but it's here!!! Posting again for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB challenge, and I feel like this one slightly misses the mark but it works anyway. Gif inspiration is at the end for anyone familiar with Business Proposal lol

Masterlist

Being an FBI Agent means you'd slept in - and woken up in - some sketchy places on jobs. A number or motel and hotel rooms across the backroads of America, planes, cars, and office desks. You could usually orient yourself pretty well upon waking, and remember how you'd gotten yourself there quickly.

There was something strange about that morning in particular, though. The bed was comfier and warmer than any motel you'd ever seen, and the fact that there was one meant no jet or desk. It was pitch black outside, though, so visually, you were out of luck. The sheets smelt fresh and familiar, and if weren't for a small warning bell in the back of your head, you'd have shut your eyes again and huddled against the large body pressed against your back.

‘Ah,’ you thought, inwardly cringing. ‘That would be it then.’

Slowly, you pulled what you assumed to be a man's arm from around your midsection, trying to extricate yourself quietly from the bed without any notice.

Whoever was asleep behind you, though, was a lot stronger than you had bargained for, and he quickly pulled you back into him.

Your back hit his chest as he nuzzled into your neck, and you heard his groan out a greeting before stilling and returning to the land of rest. If anything, for your troubles you just came to an understanding that whoever was behind you was just as naked as you were, and based on the way your body seemed over stretched, and well-rested, you had no doubt about the events leading upto your discovery.

You just had no memory of it either.

You wracked your brain, trying desperately to recall where you were, who you were with, and what you were going to do to get out. Unluckily for you, your brain was at about half capacity as his hands worked their way between your legs, even as he slept.

His hands were soft, his touch light on your skin, as if he were tracing words along a page. You twitched under him, stomach flipping as your hips bucked backwards, and your eyes dropped closed again.

You hadn't a clue who you'd climbed into bed with, you simply had the greatest regret that you'd likely never see him again, and would not remember what was likely a deeply, deeply satisfying night.

In abject mortification, you tried once more to free yourself from the very pleasurable prison you'd found yourself in.

Thankfully, his hands chose that moment to fall limp, and you took your chance, hopping up and searching the floor for at the very least your underwear before chancing a glance around you.

Like an arrow through the heart, you realised the room was familiar because you had slept here before. You'd slept over at Spencer's house many times, after work ran late and you needed a place to crash.

Never naked, though. Until now.

You pulled on your clothes as fast as you physically could and tried not to squeak out your disbelief. You almost wondered if you hit your head hard enough against the bookshelf, some braincells would knock together and produce the memory you'd been desperate to make for half a year.

You had finally succeeded in bedding Spencer Reid. And you didn't remember a moment of it.

It was grief that drove you out of his house at 5 am. on a Saturday morning, and definitely, absolutely no regret.

Stepping outside the dark building and being greeted by the first hints of a sunrise, one single, trifling memory slipped back into your brain.

“Something casual,” you giggled, every 's' sound slurring together with each letter touching them. “Something casual and naughty, and fun.”

You didn't remember his exact reply, but though a flicker of arousal ran through you at the memory of the deep rumble of his voice. He had been close, his mouth next to your ear.

You supposed now that his reply hardly mattered when you knew the outcome anyway. It'd been the man himself wrapped around you in bed that morning, his fingers grazing your skin, his cock hard against your ass, his dreams obviously clearer than your own memories.

“It's not like we have the time to see other people,” you'd said to him the night before, hand pushing up his thigh to signal your intent. “We can have some fun. Share a motel room now and then.”

Four sentences.

Four sentences were the extent of your memories, and each one of them had been said by you. Not even a single reply flittered through your brain anymore, a single reaction.

You'd have thought it all a dream but for the fact that you were hunched outside the main entrance to Spencer's building, sans pair of panties you couldn't locate, thanking the gods that your very expensive bra was still around and that you'd worn pants the night before.

To say that Spencer was similarly disorientated when he woke hours later was an understatement. Of course, with the caveat that he remembered every word, every breath, every touch and movement. Instead, he was surprised to find you gone, without a word.

You'd promised as much last night, though.

Casual sex. That's what you'd asked for, and what he'd spent the better half of an evening trying to talk you out of, first with words and then with actions.

It didn't take a night together with you for Spencer Reid to realise that what he wanted quickly bypassed casual. Even now, alone in bed with the memory of you, your scent buried deep in his sheets, the history of your lips branded into his skin, he felt an overwhelming longing.

His body protested against his interrupted plans. He'd hoped to wake you up much the same way he'd put you to sleep the night before, limbs tangled, his cock buried deep inside of you. Instead, he swung his legs out of bed and looked for any trace of you.

It didn't take him long to find your accidental gift. He'd been the one to remove them from you the night before, and he had a good grasp of what the room was supposed to look like, so spotting a pair of fire truck red panties tucked by the door wasn't hard.

It was less spotting them and more staring at them until he convinced his body to calm down, which in and of itself was like fighting a losing battle.

He'd woken up hard, which he didn't doubt was due to dreams of you. He tried his best to ignore it, but before he knew it, he was laid back down with your discarded panties in his hand, pressed up to his mouth and nose as he worked out his frustrations.

Usually, he tried to get himself off as quickly as possible. Time was a commodity, and he always had to be somewhere doing something. That morning, though, he gladly sat back and indulged.

His brain queued up the memories of the night before, playing them chronologically so he could enjoy the feeling of your lips on his, your legs gripping around him, your tongue flicking at the tip of his dick. When he finally came, it was with the disappointment that he hadn't gotten to the best bit yet, finally pushing inside of you.

But after a night of activity and a lonely morning, he let himself rest again and turned his mind to other objectives.

1. Get your panties back to you without being put in handcuffs for indecency.

2. Have enough casual sex with you that you realise you no longer want casual, but something more.

3. Change the bedsheets.

The following week at the BAU was - thankfully - a blur of cases, consultations, and computer files. You were swept off on another case by Sunday evening, back in two days and off again by Thursday morning. Before you knew it, an entire week had passed, and you hadn't had to discuss anything with anyone.

Every morning walking into the bullpen was like walking on shards of broken glass. Willingly.

You'd said less than four sentences to Spencer since you'd accidentally on purpose thrown yourself into his lap, and you found yourself suddenly lacking the vocabulary to actually bring it up.

Instead, you'd simply chosen to sigh after him as he did anything at all in the office, with a single thought in your head: ‘Did he keep the glasses on while we fucked?’

He'd been wearing them all week, and you always thought they made him look hotter than he already was. A little nerdy, but in a Superman way. You couldn't for the life of you get the memory to pop back into your head, though, despite prompting it with many out of pocket daydreams.

“What's got you all introspective?” Derek asked, striding up beside you in the office kitchenette.

“Nothing in particular, what makes you ask?”

“Well, Princess, you just poured salt in your coffee, and from memory, you don't take it that way, so maybe there's something going on with you.”

You cursed and emptied your cup quickly as the man laughed.

“Take it what way?” A voice called out from the doorway, and every hair on your body stood on high alert. There was something about Spencer saying ‘take it’ that should've been so casual, but sent shudders across your body as you heard the words whispered into your ear.

“Take it like a good girl, that's right. So good for me.”

Your cup almost went crashing to the floor as your ears pricked, but you refused to turn around for fear he'd read the truth on your face.

“Nothing kid,” Morgan said, chuckling as you rinsed your cup and kept rinsing it until you felt yourself cool down a bit.

“What's up with the glasses? You've been wearing them a lot this week.” Derek asked, and you cursed his sudden onset curiosity, knowing there was no way to dismiss yourself from the room without garnering an entirely new set of questions.

“I just ran out of contacts,” Spencer replied, but you heard the grin in his tone without even having to look at him.

“You should just throw out all of your contacts,” you'd said, as you nipped at his throat. “I swear I'd jump you every day if you looked at me like that down your glasses.”

You tried to remain composed as the memory of straddling him and grinding down against his hard member hit you like a freight train. You felt you managed it well until you looked down to see another ruined, salty coffee.

“If you ever want to fuck me, just, like, come in wearing the glasses. I'll know,” you'd moaned as his hands gripped your hips controlling your rhythm and pressing you harder into him. “Fuck, I’ll know.”

“I give up,” you mumbled and took off, avoiding all eye contact as you left the small space.

A small part of you had wished that Spencer had your memory of the night. The smallest, teeniest part of you that didn't want a do-over that was. Getting possible confirmation that he remembered everything you'd said while drunk on dick (and tequila) was a lot to take on at 2 pm. on a Friday.

As you walked away, you sent up a prayer to every deity you could think that the memories came back whole and intact, and quickly, and preferably while you were alone and not in company.

Because you wanted nothing more than to relive that brief bite of pleasure you'd been granted.

The weekend came and went fairly obstruction free, even if your dreams, waking and not, were filled with the image of Spencer's head tipped back as you raked your teeth and tongue over sensitive areas.

It took you all the way until Monday morning, when you'd returned to work and seen Spencer in the glasses once again, to remember the meaning of the words you'd thrown at him.

Spencer wanted to fuck you again. Still. Continuously?

The thought made you a little apprehensive - he already knew your body, from the sounds of it, he'd definitely been competent enough, and you was left stranded on the desert island of short term memory loss. He wanted to fuck him you again. Was there a reason? Was there something you did that he enjoyed? What were his boundaries? His kinks? What positions did he like?

Half your days now, it seemed, were filled with questions about sex with Spencer. So it wasn't a surprise you'd kept up your staring. You couldn't fault him for having his eyes trained on you more times than not as well.

You were so glad that your emotions on the subject were so tangled and crossed that no one else could read them there.

BAU 0-1 EMOTIONAL TURMOIL

It was lucky, though, that you were watching him near constantly and were the first to notice the flash of purple against his neck as he loosened his tie.

You stood with a startling bang, hitting your knee against the table as you sprinted over to his desk.

Leaning over him, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and, tugging him around so he was facing you, began buttoning it for him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, looking up at you and trying to play this off as a daily occurrence, to not alert the room full of human lie detectors to suspicious behaviour.

“What are you doing?”

“Your tie is loose. Strauss is always visiting these days. Let's not give her petty reasons to penalise us.”

He relaxed more into your touch and let you work, tilting his head so your hands could get where they needed to be.

“So you're being a good friend?” he asked, and despite the obvious bait, you answered.

“Yes.”

“Good friends help each other out.”

“We can still be friends, Spencer,” you'd begged as you fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get it off so you had more skin to taste. “Good friends who help each other out from time to time. Like this.”

“Your neck is still purple,” you whispered, changing the subject and moving on to his tie as you untied it and levelled it again, ready to twist back up.

“Is yours?”

“You can see my neck, it's fine.”

“That's not what I meant.”

You met his eyes finally, completing the last loop of the knot as you challenged him.

Or rather, challenged yourself to not drop your eyes to his lips.

“Say what you mean,” you glared, straightening his shoulders and brushing off non-existent dust as you attempted to slip away.

“The purple marks on you. I didn't leave them on your neck. Are they still… bright?”

You looked around you. Emily and Derek seemed to be giving you slightly weird looks, but both seemed trapped on business phone calls that wouldn't end anytime soon.

You'd noticed the marks straight away, of course, across the tops of your breasts and surrounding them, as if that area had been the coordinates for a targeted assault. Now, though, with his eyes burning a path down from your eyes to your chest as loudly as a person could ever look, you knew just how true that was.

“Spencer, fuck YES!” You had moaned the second your back hit the mattress of his bed. You'd been drinking together on his sofa, but were ecstatic to graduate to the bedroom and lose half your clothes in the process.

With greedy hands, he'd ripped away your bra, and immediately he'd latched on with his mouth, sucking, biting, licking, fondling. He bruised one spot with his mouth while his hand tortured a nipple, first ignoring it, circling it but not touching it directly, and then pulling it to the border of pain and pleasure before switching hand and mouth and repeating the process.

Back in the present, you looked down at Spencer in his seat, breathed deeply, and replied.

“You know as well as I do that you made them to last.”

“So we match, then?” he asked, and you gave a quick nod before escaping back to the relative sanity of your desk. His eyes didn't leave your chest though, and for the whole afternoon, you wondered if he'd invented a way to look so hard that you bruised further.

If you had to give one reason why you loved your job, you'd probably say because you spent your day solving riddles and puzzles and getting to the bottom of situations. You liked clear-cut explanations for things and couldn't stand the roundabout ways people in other professions had to talk to each other. You'd listen to Hotch walk laps around other lawyers in legalese enough times to know you were no fan of espionage or double talk.

So there was only one downside of the job, and that was having to be covert. If you'd wanted to spy, you'd have joined the CIA instead.

Your most recent case, unfortunately, had landed you doing exactly that. It had also landed you in a closet, chest to chest with Spencer Reid, as you listened into a conversation between two likely suspects.

In the first five minutes, you gained the important information you needed, and the next forty-five was a waiting game to see when they'd finally get out so you could escape.

If you'd been alone, you wouldn't have minded. But with Spencer's 6 foot something frame practically wrapped around your own, your spine was ramrod straight, your thoughts turning back to frustration as you urged your brain to give back the night of memories you'd lost.

Because if he felt this good just stood next to you, you would go crazy imagining how good he felt inside you.

The most you managed to squeak out, after nearly an hour wrapped around each other, though, was “Do you get a sense of Deja Vu here?”

It was the first time you'd turned your head to look at him, having been looking to the door the entire time. But your gaze returned to him, and even the shadows of the closet couldn't hide the obvious list dripping from his eyes as he covertly stared down your shirt. Your breasts had popped up a bit more with him squished up against you, and your hands were pinned to the wall beside your waist should you need to draw your gun quickly if found.

Your companion, instead, was in a world of his own, and you were suddenly grateful that he'd kept at least an inch of space between your hips, knowing that you, too, would be a goner if you had to stand against the hard line of his cock for this long.

“Hmm?” He whispered, still staring at the little speckles of faded yellow and purple that popped out of your suddenly too low shirt.

“Deja vu?” You asked again, slightly breathless and dizzy, a side effect of his lusty gaze.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a slow nod, his hands gripping your waist and pinning you more firmly to the wall as he debated giving into temptation. “We've definitely been here before.”

A snippet of a memory caught you unaware, and you gasped in response.

He pinned your hands above your head against the wall as you crashed your way into the bedroom, his fingers too impatient to undress you to start pleasuring you. Without a warning, he slipped a hand up your dress and down your panties, keeping you in place with one impossibly large hand as the other skilfully drew out moan after moan with soft caresses.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned against your lips, as your memory melted away to reality.

You were being edged by your goddamn frontal cortex, and you had absolutely had enough. As soon as the suspects left, you raced out of the closet as fast as your feet could carry you away from the torment.

A week of solid case work, avoiding Spencer and hitting your head against a brick wall in your spare time later, and you found yourself attending a hasty work celebration with the team.

A murderer had been caught job well done, or whatever excuse you needed to unwind after work over a few large pizzas.

“All I'm saying is, a deep dish every now and again would be appreciated. We're never that far from Chicago.”

“We're 613 miles away from Chicago.”

You laughed at the tired face Derek flashed the team before biting into his slice, your other coworkers similarly tucking into the late night meal.

You'd landed at 11pm, and starving, had come to your last resort.

“Is anyone else's pizza wet?” Emily asked, picking up her slice and letting it drip onto her cardboard plate.

You shrugged at the comment, just happy to finally be filling your stomach with something other than coffee for the first time in what felt like forever.

But there seemed to be no rest for the wicked, and you caught Spencer's eye as you tugged the cheese into your mouth.

“Mhmm. So wet.”

There was no reality in which you stopped yourself from choking on your food then, as he kept a quiet smile on his face as the others offered you drinks and tissues.

Perched next to him, you shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye and were about to turn back to your meal when he moved again.

Bringing a tissue to your lips, he wiped away the grease from the corners, quietly berating you as he cleaned you like a child.

“So messy. Don't choke on it next time.”

The double entendre didn't go unnoticed, as Derek piled on quickly, not noticing the unsettling mix of deep, bitter embarrassment and utter arousal warring on your features.

“Kid, you don't have to tell the woman to swallow. I'm sure she's perfectly capable.”

Each memory that hit you came with a wave of matching mortification, as you tried to keep every reaction to yourself.

But remembering the feeling of Spencer Reid's cum shooting across your face was something you'd much rather have experienced privately. You stayed trapped into much too intimate eye contact with him anyway as he kept tending to your small spills. He wiped away the drops of grease on your legs, gripping your thigh much tighter than you could ever have possibly needed.

Evidently, your coworkers had found some satisfaction with the pizza, as they all seemed to not notice the tension a simple touch had snapped between the two of you. Using their hunger as a shield, you quickly excused yourself from the table to clean yourself up.

The door to the bathroom was only a step away from the door to the alley, and you quickly let yourself out into the crisp night air. Not even two minutes later, Spencer was with you.

“Y/N?”

“Oh god, it's happening again. I can hear his voice!”

“Y/N, please, come back inside.”

“Sure, if you stop trying to eye fuck me in front of my boss!”

With the words finally out in the open between you, you stood still for a best or two, letting Spencer pick up the slack in the conversation.

“The… The others were talking about going to get some drinks,” he started carefully, afraid you'd spook at any moment. “After pizza?”

“Drinks?”

“Alcohol.”

You gave a short bitter laugh and brushed a hand through your hair as you turned your face away from him.

“I seem to make a lot of mistakes when I'm drunk.”

“Mistakes?” He said. The word was so quietly hurt that you instantly winced, realising your mistake.

“No. No. That's not how I meant it, Spencer, I just…” you grabbed your hair in frustration again, trying desperately to find the words to explain the gaping void where pleasing memories should've been.

“Everyone… everyone is still inside, right? No chance of a surprise visit from anyone.”

“They're debating Hawaiian pizza, I think we have time. Why?”

Another minute passed as you thought through your next actions, leg shaking as you processed every possible emotion.

Lunging toward him, you grabbed a hold of his shirt and pressed up to meet him in a kiss. Responding quickly, his hands gladly claimed a hold of your body as he walked you back against the wall, his mouth furiously engaged with your own in a battle of lust.

“I don't-” you gasped between kisses, unable to get more than a word in as his tongue works his way into your mouth. He pulled away eventually, but only to distract you further with a wandering tongue exploring the plains of skin already on show. Neck, lips, cheeks, collar, nothing is safe from the hear of his tongue tracing up and down the length of you..

“Don't what?” He said, finally finding the willpower to pull back for more than a millisecond.

“I don't remember. Any of it, I can't remember. God, I'm so stupid. Why don't I remember?”

For a second, his tongue kept up its journey, and you moaned as he nipped at the edge of your ear. That was until your words hit his ears and his hands flew up faster than you could've ever pushed them off.

“What?”

“I don't-” panic surged in your voice as you felt it tremble and shake, gulping it down to continue.

“I don't remember anything. And I woke up in your bed, and it felt so good and nice, but I couldn't remember it until you started doing things, and then I remembered… small parts?"

He raked a hand through his hair and took a deep breath as you continued, desperate to get every word out as fast as possible.

“I-I-I, shit Spencer, I woke up feeling so good, and then I saw you there, and I couldn't remember a thing. Do you know how long I was waiting for something to happen? I couldn't even remember one stupid fucking kiss, let alone anything else we did-”

“You seriously don't remember anything.”

“That's what I've been saying.”

He nodded and let out a shaky breath as you stepped closer to him, desperate to explain your predicament.

“You don't… you didn't just regret It and decide to leave?”

“I can't regret something I don't remember.”

Worrying his lip, he looked away for a minute and looked back, and you found yourself creeping closer again until his hands were gripping your hips again as he looked back to you.

“If you could remember, would you regret it?”

In a heartbeat, you had your answer.

“No.”

His lips crashed into yours again, and you gladly moaned into this one. With one hand buried in curls and the other pulling him closer by his loose tie, your hands stayed fastened to his body, clutching him like there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

His hands followed suit, falling down to your thighs as he spread your legs further apart, holding you against the wall and lifting you just slightly, angling your hips together in a way that numbed your senses.

Everywhere you touched left you craving further exploration, to be closer to him, and you whined in his mouth as if to let him know what you so dearly craved.

He listened and gave in, his fingers pushing to the centre of you, mere centimetres away from where you wanted him.

It was as if God was laughing down at your struggle, though, as just as he was about to make contact, a shout of your names rang out around the corner. Just as Penelope rounded into the alleyway, you shoved Spencer away, accidentally flinging him to the ground as you desperately righted yourself again.

“There you two are. What are you doing out here?”

“Earring,” you gasped, praying it was just dark enough for Penelope to not notice that your lipstick and Spencer's lipstick were the same shade.

“I dropped an earring, and Spencer is helping me look for it.”

Slightly confused, Spencer quickly went along with your lie, patting the ground where he'd fallen to look for the imaginary jewellery.

“Okay. Well, we're hopping over to the bar next door, and no! This is not optional, Emily already ordered the first round.”

Without another word or explanation, or anything to really help you figure out what was going on with you and Spencer, the two of you awkwardly followed Penelope into the bar and to your seats.

You stuffed yourself into the seat beside Penelope, and were not at all upset when Spencer climbed into the booth right beside you, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you knees bumping every now and then from the movements.

And just like that, you found yourself drinking for another two hours, unable to process any of the emotions you'd been through in the alley.

Elation. Desperation. Sadness. Arousal. All stuck in your tiny, tiny brain as you tried still to remember any small detail you could about your last encounter.

Your look of concentration didn't go unnoticed.

“Y/N, what's with the pensive look?” Derek shot at you across the table as he finished the last dregs of his beer. “Is it perhaps the melancholy of singleness?”

“That's not a word,” Spencer mumbled into his own drink.

When Penelope joined in, you knew you'd been backed into a corner.

“Are you not seeing someone?” She asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“There was that guy you mentioned last week, right?” The sound of betrayal came directly from the other side of you, and your head whipped from Penelope to Spencer so fast, you were sure you'd be feeling it in the morning.

“What? What guy, Y/N? You never mentioned a guy to me! Spencer knows, but I don't know. How is that fair?”

“No, Penelope, he's-”

“Spencer, what do you know? What's this guys name? What does he look like? What does he do for a living? When you say she mentioned him last week, was it a mention mention, or just a mention?”

“Penelope, slow down.”

“Well-”

“Spencer! Do NOT answer her.”

“You don't want me to tell her about the guy you wanted something casual with. You said you were around him a lot, so you might as well try it at some point.”

Your face burnt in shame as you narrowed your eyes at him. Had you really said that? Had that honestly been your opener for hitting on the man you'd wanted for the longest time?

“Mhmm, really? And what else did I say?”

“I don't think you'll want me to say-”

“No, please, jog my memory.”

“You said, and I quote, that he had a ‘very rideable face.’ You followed up with, ‘it would look very pretty buried between your legs.’”

The chorus of laughter that rang out only set you more on edge after the flush of memories that hit you once more. He had looked very pretty sat between your legs licking your cunt, lapping up your cum as your legs shook and you fucked yourself against his face. He had simply pressed a hand to your stomach, held you still and kept up the good work. His eyes sparkled with passion and his lips glistened with cum. It was quite the picture, now that you remembered it.

You were just annoyedeniugh, so you had to shoot back a retort. You were just too slow to realise “yes, well, I can recall that I was, in fact correct,” wasn't the right retort.

Another half hour of questioning later, and you'd finally been allowed passage out of the bar, into a taxi, and back to your apartment, alone but for the shame.

Spencer, perpetually sober-ish, had been put on designated driver duty to get others home, and it wasn't as if you could protest.

You threw yourself down onto your bed as soon as you got into your apartment and stayed there until you were about to fall asleep. A knock at your door pulled you back into the world of the woken, and you dragged yourself to the door.

You weren't surprised to see Spencer back at your side an hour after you'd left him. You knew it was a possibility, though you thought you'd be waiting another 12 hours or so.

It took less than 12 seconds for his searching eyes to find whatever silent consent he was looking for before he stretched out and claimed you. He softly cradled you as his lips met you, his gentle touch delicate where his soft lips were hard and insistent. He closed the door. He pushed you back a step at a time until you were out of the doorway. Pausing, he pulled away and took off his glasses, putting them down on the side table, before cupping your cheek and stealing your breath. Again.

You moaned into his kiss, and he slipped his hand down to your neck, gently squeezing as he moved you back towards the bed.

“Spencer…” you begged wordlessly.

“Remember now?”

“N-No.”

He nodded and continued, his other hand loosening his tie once more, as you clung to him like glue, hands not daring to move from the holds you had on his shirt, afraid you'd trip and lose sight of him all over again.

You reached the bed, and he sat you down, tearing his lips away at last, but still choosing to keep hold of your neck, standing above you.

“Are you sober?” He asked, as though he hadn't watched you drink only virgin cocktails all night. You shook your head, yes.

“Good.”

“Are you going to fuck me?” You blurted out, unable to help yourself, even without the liquid courage.

“You wanted the experience, right? And then you forgot all about it, so it's only polite…” His hands began massaging your neck, shoulders, pushing down into your shirt to get the top of your chest, too.

“I don't want the experience,” you said quickly. “Not- not a casual experience, Spencer, I want… I want…” His hands distracted you as your shirt stretched to allow his hands to grope your breasts. He slipped into your bra and began his assault of your chest, still looming above you as he listened to your explanation.

“I… don't want a casual thing, Spencer, I want- I want…” you moaned as he pinched your nipple hard, seething as you attempted to not shout out.

“What do you want, Y/N? Be specific.”

“I want you!” You moaned, chest pushing into his touch, trying to avoid the mixture of pain and pleasure pulsing through you with each flick of his finger.

“For how long?” He asked, and your brain short circuited as you whined and pouted up at him, his fingers still tugging at your nipples, still kneading your skin, and pretending his touch was nothing.

“D-don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't make me give this an expiration date.”

Spencer's eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself on your back swiftly after, his lips pressed to yours as he held himself over you. Instead of assaulting your chest again, he was slower, more delicate as he gently removed your shirt, encouraging you to move further up the bed as he planted himself firmly between your two legs.

Everywhere he kissed and licked and sucked was a distraction from his attempts to uncloth you, to make you forget that he was still fully dressed and you were about to be laid out plain as day before him.

You covered your chest when he stole your bra, but you couldn't push your thighs together quick enough when he got your panties, and his hand slipped between your folds before you could even catch a breath.

“Good girl,” he whispered, as his fingers found your clit, dipping into your wet spot before tracing along your bundle of nerves and rocking his fingers back and forth, eyes always on yours.

He dropped his forehead to yours and watched silently as your mouth widened to an ‘O’ as you grew wetter, more desperate, more aroused, until you hit your peak and came apart on his fingertips. He hadn't even put a finger inside you, and your whole body was awash with satisfaction.

Another kiss stolen ended all thoughts of contentment as he slid in a finger into you while slipping his tongue back into your mouth.

If his fingers on your clit had been gentle, probing, curious about your release, the fingers stretching you out were the opposite. He knew your limits, had taken pleasure in your pleasure and now he was testing it, seeing how far he could push you until you did everything once again.

His free hand reached up to your face, and before you knew it, two fingers had been inserted into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, desperate to please him as your hips jumped upwards, trying to ride his hand. But every time you so much as moved, he withdrew slightly, pulling that pleasure you so desperately sought from your grasp.

“Spencer- please-” you said as he pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“I'm not going faster. I want you to remember every second, I want this to last as long as possible, okay? Can you do that?”

You pouted as he stroked your cheek with his wet fingers, gathering the spit from your chin before pushing it right back into your mouth. You kept sucking.

Every time he felt you tighten around him, his fingers withdrew, or they stilled, or he moved in a slightly different way, and you were set adrift again on the tide of arousal. He edged you for what felt like days to your pleasure addled mind, and you kept up your task, too.

“Good girl. No more cumming. Not yet.”

Finally, he withdrew his fingers, your legs shaking from the tension of holding off your pleasure.

He stood and removed his shirt, unbuttoning his pants just enough to free his swollen cock, but not removing it entirely.

The sight of him almost made you weep in relief, so sure that now you were going to be able to cum, that he'd enter you and your get to release around his cock, to suck him in deeper.

Instead, he got on his knees in front of you and gave another sharp order.

“No cumming, remember Princess.” Without waiting for a response, his tongue dragged across your folds, before reaching your clit. His lips wrapped around your nub and your whole body reacted, convulsing inwards as you shouted your pleasure.

“Spencer! Spencer, no, please - please!!” You clawed at the bed as you fucked his face, hips pleading with his tongue to finish the job he'd begun an age ago with his scant fingers.

You desperately wanted your release, but he was equally desperate to frustrate you, pinning your hips and pulling back to just spit on your cunt when your thrusts became erratic, close to the edge.

He touched everywhere except the part where you needed him, content for a moment to listen to the moans turn to tears, turn to anger and frustration and longing as you clawed a hand in his hair and humped his tongue like a beast.

Finally, you came, more than happy to use his tongue like the pillow you'd stuffed between your legs in your horny adolescence.

He wasted no more time entering you, rigid and hot, and more than welcomed by your aching cunt.

He pushed in inch by inch, and the eternity that passed before that point was nothing in comparison to the millenia caught between one breath and the next, between him readying himself, and him thrusting into you in his entirety.

He filled you perfectly, as if you were born to let him take you, to despoil your cunt again and again, until the scent of him never left you.

He moved, pushing your knees up as you welcomed somehow more of him, as he hunched over you and began.

It was animalistic, and noisy, and messy, and fuck, was it hot. The bedsheets were wet already from your water show foreplay session, but with his cock locked inside of you, you couldn't hold back, and you came with a spurt.

You screamed, not expecting your pleasure to squirt out of you, as he fucked you harder, your breaths mingling with the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt being used again and again and again.

“Spencer, fuck, I'm-”

“You're what? Use your words.”

“I'm… safe, just- Fuck, just fill me up.”

He groaned into your ear as he made his thrusts more and more shallow, slowing down just enough to pull back from you and let you watch him claim you again and again.

He swiped his hair out of his face, biting his lip as his hips rolled into yours, and you swear if you had it left in you, you'd have came on his cock once more watching him do that.

You committed to memory every line of his body, every bruise, every scratch, every line, every hair, everywhere a bullet had nicked him, everywhere on his body that held pain, every gesture on his body that was registering pleasure. You cared less for your own now and more for his as you bucked up into him, meeting him silently as he sucked in a deep breath.

You watched him forget himself inside of you as he tipped his head back in pleasure and, with a small moan, emptied himself inside of you.

His breath crashed back into his body, and you felt every heartbeat resonate through him and into you.

“If you forget this again,” he panted, wrapping his arms around you again. “I'm not waiting another 20 days for a reminder.”

You smiled as his hair tickled Your neck, nuzzling into his neck as you enjoyed his warmth. You tried your best to memorise his scent, too.

“Wake me up bright and early, then,” you smiled, letting your brain settle as you replayed the day back in your head over and over again.

XXX

The inspo:

(Kim Mingue one fucking chance... one chance Kim Mingue...)

[somewhereincairparavel]

a huge chunk of the pjo fandom has turned into such a superficial, judgemental and PROBLEMATIC group who defeat the purpose and point that the books were trying to make, it's so fucking atrocious. the prime example of mischaracterizing/reducing the value of characters who are already misunderstood/misjudged in canon. this fandom does this to every.single.character.ever omg

percy jackson is so relatable to many people is because he didn't have to capacity to absorb textbook knowledge but was HIGH on street smart knowledge that got him to succeed. the whole point of his character is that he had low self esteem because he was ridiculed at school by the faculty and the students for being a 'dumb' and 'useless' guy that made him think he's an inconvenience to his mom. the baggage he carried is so overlooked.

the fandom saying stuff like 'annabeth had adhd and dyslexia too but she carried percy' is so fucking disrespectful. one, she's an athena kid who's supposed to be smart that's like the whole point, and that does NOT mean percy wouldn't survive without her. he's a DIFFERENT character and he doesn't need to be a scholar to be a powerful demigod who has his own identity. stop belittling him and comparing all of their adhd/dyslexia struggles. just because annabeth is smarter does NOT mean percy has less value than her, and that whatever comes out of his mouth is just silly gibberish, which is exactly what y'all are trying to imply. no he did NOT get by with just "luck" he's smart and capable enough to actually achieve things. It isn't rocket science.

making jokes like his only purpose is to have a goofy personality and wondering how he 'pulled' annabeth is NOT cute whatsoever. just deprives him of his canon developement and fails to recognise him as an important person because he is not book smart. the level of belittlement. in a way rick also contributes to this character assassination because he added another scene of piper saying something along the lines of 'thank god annabeth is there to keep percy from going wild/doing something stupid' like no miss girl

I could go on about how the fandom infantilizes nico, brushes of hazel's flaws/traits because she's a 'smol' bean (when she literally cusses out octavian, why do y'all hate the idea of her being bold/badass when she literally is??) belittling frank's power because he's 'just an innocent goof', saying stuff like 'in my head leo is a tall guy because rick did him dirty with the height when he is so hot' that's basically implying that he loses his attractiveness because he's short and wanting to confine him into those toxic masculinity standards

slandering rachel and calling her a pick me for liking annabeth as though annabeth already had a claim over percy in BOTL when he wasn't even in a relationship and even had a small liking to rachel (belittling BOTH rachel and percy in the process, is percy not allowed to have feelings too? is he only obligated to like annabeth?), also with the fandom's clear misogyny in their treatment of nico liking percy vs rachel liking percy, go on a moral policing hunt when it comes to jason, piper and percy but goes right ahead to defend and glaze luke's behaviour to annabeth, percy and silena (also victim blaming silena because she was manipulated as a teenager by a fully grown adult who KNEW what he was doing, using her)

stubbornly not wanting to recognise jason as an important character and reducing him into a 'whiney pick me guy who wanted everything to be about himself' and that he's 'boring' not realising that his abusive environment both as a baby and as a teenager suppressed him into struggling and not being able to feel worthy to even have feelings of his own, villianizing and getting on pipers throat for calling percy unimpressive simply because she LOVED and was LOYAL to her then boyfriend?? is she not allowed to have a preference??? heck id be more concerned if she did call percy hot whilst being in a relationship wtf.

and DONT get me started on the grover belittlement and erasure please, saying that percy and grover are only annabeth's 'sidekicks' on quests, as though he wasn't capable to go on a hunt for pan all by HIMSELF not knowing he'll ever be back.

[jellybonbons]

Sweet Tooth or Sweet Cravings?

Kenji Sato x fem!reader

Summary: When a chocolate company sent Ken a PR package, he ate the chocolates without thoroughly inspecting them, and, well...things took an unexpected turn.

CW: 18+ (mdni), established relationship, aphrodisiac chocolates, implied panty sniffing, masturbation, fingering, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex, pet names.

Words: 1.5k

AN: this is just an excuse for me to write him like he's in heat :3

Today 4:12 PM

Ken <3: can you come home? its an emergency

The moment you saw his text, your heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, you clocked out early and made a beeline for the parking lot. You had never driven so fast in your life, and you were sure you almost broke the gas pedal from how hard your heels were pressing on it. 

The city streets blurred past you, your mind racing with worry and a thousand scenarios of what could have gone wrong. You barely noticed the honking horns or the changing traffic lights, and your focus was solely on getting to Ken as quickly as possible.

As you reached Ken's home, you punched in the code with shaking fingers, and the door swung open almost instantly. You dropped your bag near the entrance, not caring where it landed, and stumbled inside, quickly sliding off your heels as you hurried to find him.

Rounding the corner into the living room, you saw Ken from behind, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each laboured breath. "Ken, are you ok–" The sight caught you off guard. There he was, panting heavily, glistening with sweat, eyes half-closed as he stroked his cock. It stood proudly and flushed in a deep red colour. His other hand clutched your panty from this morning.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry you have to–fuck,” the moment he saw you, his body tensed, and with a guttural moan, he finally came, his cum coating his hand and abdomen.

As he sprawled against the couch, you took a moment to look around the living room. Your eyes landed on a box of half-eaten chocolates on the coffee table. Curiosity piqued, you picked up the box and examined it closely. The label read "Aphrodisiac Chocolates" in a small, elegant script. Realisation dawned on you, and you couldn't help but let out a small, incredulous laugh. Ken had unknowingly consumed aphrodisiacs, and now the situation made a lot more sense.

You sat down next to him on the couch, eyes wide with concern. "Ken, what the hell? Are you okay?"

"I—I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect this... I think I overdid it with those chocolates."

"Those weren’t just chocolates, were they?"

"No, they were aphrodisiac chocolates. I didn’t check the label...clearly, I should have," he growled, frustration evident in his voice as he discarded your panty from his hand.

"Yeah, I can see that. It’s obvious they did more than just satisfy a sweet tooth," you smirked, leaning closer, your breath teasing against his ear.

"You’re not helping, you know." His eyes narrowed at you, a mix of frustration and desire burning within them.

Before you could respond, Ken, overwhelmed by the effects and your teasing, pulled you down onto him. He ground his hard-on between your thighs, his breath coming out in ragged bursts as he tried to find some relief.

"Ken, what—" You gasped, your voice filled with surprise.

"I need you. Right now. Please, help me." His voice was husky and urgent, his need unmistakable.

–

You lost track of time, the sky outside turning dark as the house became dimly lit. Your clothes were strewn everywhere, and he had taken you on every possible surface – from the coffee table to the expansive living room window overlooking the ocean, and now on his bed. 

He didn't hesitate for a moment, his desire insatiable. Somehow, he even managed to feed you the aphrodisiac chocolates during heated kisses, deepening the intensity of your connection with each touch and taste that seemed impossible to quench.

"Baby," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. He had your hands pinned against the headboard, his grip firm and unyielding. His chest pressed against your back, warm and solid, as his fingers delved into your wet cunt, moving with a relentless rhythm that left you breathless.

The squelching sound filled the room, adding to the erotic symphony that drove him even harder. Your back arched with every expert stroke, each thrust of his fingers hitting the perfect spot over and over, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Ken, wait!” you gasped, feeling a strange pressure building within you. “I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

He didn’t falter for a second, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm. “Just let go, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of encouragement and command. “The sheets are already dirty anyway.”

His words and the relentless thrusting of his fingers broke down your resistance. With a cry of both pleasure and relief, you let go, your body trembling as you squirted, the sensation overwhelming. Ken’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he continued to work you through it, his fingers drenched in your release.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, his voice low and approving. “Just like that.”

As Ken finally released your hands, you let them slide down, resting them beside you—the dampness of the wet sheets clinging uncomfortably to your skin, causing you to grimace. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the rapid pace of your breathing, and allowed yourself a moment to regain composure.

Ken, still insatiable and eager, looked at you with a determined glint in his eyes. “It’s my turn now,” he said, his voice rough with need. You, sore and spent, protested weakly, “Baby, I’m so beat... I don’t know if I can handle much more.”

He silenced your concerns with a reassuring smile and a quick, decisive movement. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything,” he said, his tone filled with confidence. With a firm grip, he lifted you effortlessly and positioned you on his lap, your legs spread and held against your chest. He manoeuvred you into a perfect angle and guided his hard cock to your still-sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, Ken, too deep!” you cried out, your voice trembling as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. Saliva dribbled from your lips, a testament to the intense pleasure and exhaustion.

Ken's voice was a low, teasing murmur against your ear. “But you love it when I go deep like this,” he cooed, his tone dripping with mockery. He squeezed you closer, his grip firm and possessive, restricting your movements and trapping you in place. 

The way he moved, controlling every motion and maximising your pleasure, made you feel like nothing more than his personal plaything, his fleshlight. Each powerful thrust sent your breasts bouncing. Your head leaned back against him, the sensation overwhelming as his movements were both demanding and dominant, ensuring you felt every inch of him, leaving you breathless and helpless under his command.

Finally, with a guttural groan that reverberated through the room, Ken’s body tensed, and a shudder ran through him as he reached his peak. His hot cum spilling deeply inside you, a wave of warmth that filled you completely.

He collapsed against you, his breath coming in deep, shuddering gasps as he buried his face in your hair, staying fully inside you. As he caught his breath, he managed to joke through his ragged breaths, “I think I’ll have to give that chocolate company a review —'5 stars for effectiveness!'”

You weakly slapped his arms, a small, affectionate smile tugging at your lips despite the fatigue. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, barely able to muster the energy to respond.

He then gently shifted his position, moving his hand to cup your chin and guide your face towards his. His eyes, soft and tender, met yours as he leaned in to press a gentle, affectionate kiss to your lips. 

Pulling back slightly, he whispered with a teasing smile, “But you love me.” 

“Unfortunately.” You responded with a playful sigh.

–

You were scrolling through your phone during lunch, your thoughts drifting as you ate, when a familiar company caught your eye. You paused, intrigued by a screenshot of a review with the username Notkensato07. The review was under a popular chocolate company, and as you read the lines, you couldn’t help but groan.

Notkensato07: ★★★★★

"Absolutely incredible! I tried the aphrodisiac chocolates and they were so effective, my girlfriend’s still recovering. If you want a taste of heaven—and maybe a little bit of chaos—this is your go-to. 5 stars, but if I could give it more, I would!

⤷ 241 replies

g0urmetguru: More than 5, huh? That’s some serious praise. I’m curious, how long did the effects last? Asking for a friend 😉

sillysocks76: IS THIS KEN SATO?

ChefRemyDaRat: Wow, talk about a rave review! If it’s that good, I’m buying a box for sure 🔥

chocolateroses: LMAOOO! I hope your girlfriend’s recovery is going well, man!

SweetToothSteve: Wow, this sounds wild! I’ve heard aphrodisiac chocolates are hit-or-miss, but this sounds like a game-changer. Guess I’ll be adding these to my shopping list!

jellybonbons: Nah, that’s cap.

  ⤷ chikinuggie: You’re just salty because you got no hoes.

   ⤷jellybonbons:  (comment removed for harassment) 

     ⤷jellybonbons: Wtf? why is my comment removed n not chikin for bullying?!

      ⤷ chikinuggie: The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

        ⤷ SweetToothSteve: Alright, kids, play nice! 😂

–

Shocked by the boldness of his review, you yelled out his name in disbelief, “SATO!”

Ken, who had been skipping around the living room as part of his exercise routine, froze mid-skip. The sudden outburst made him lose his rhythm, causing him to trip over his own feet. 

“Oh shit!”

Dividers by: @/chilumitos

[juricel]

heyyy its me again

I have a silly request for you which you can ignore if you want to, since I think your ask box is piling up haha!

basically,

Yandere reader x pre corrupt shadow milk cookie turns to reader x Yandere shadow milk cookie

Reader, at first is super obsessed and does a lot of stuff for pre-corrupted shadow milk cookie and hes like super disgusted by how they’re acting. And suddenly, reader disappears one day, and hes fine with it

beasts get corrupted then get jailed,,

while in jail shadow milk cookie misses how loving y/n was, and realised that he has taken them for granted </33 And now he wants them back because of how love deprived he became

when hes out of the silver tree he see’s y/n again and at first hes all hip hip hooray !! until he sees that y/ns clinging onto the THIEF!!!

he goes batshit crazy, you can be creative with this if you want or just give your little ideas/comments I just really want more food wahah

so sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, it’s 2am :’)

tysm for reading oh great one!! you don’t have to do this right away dont worry love ur work already

—💤non

a/n: it's okay, i understand what you were aimimg for! I focused on the other requests before this one and had some church duties to do, so I apologize for having you need to wait for so long.

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x past yandere! reader (ft. the bus driver, pure vanilla cookie.)

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: manipulation, physical abuse, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, implied mindbreak, corruption, objectification, stalking, pure vanilla cookie needs a fucking break, one of these warnings is not like the rest, potential ooc.

𖦁 blueberry milk cookie was a heaven sent gift from the witches above, he was a celestial jewel, an angel's whisper brought down to earth, the very breath of seraphim—an impossible, transcendental blessing cradled in the tender arms of witches' own grace. he was a splendid confection, kneaded from divine essence, destined to scatter blessings upon the crumbed multitudes of earthbread—a being way out of your league, you, an ordinary cookie who could crumble and wither into a flour with not a single eye batting to your direction.

𖦁 ah, but how radiant he was, you couldn't help yourself from your love, your dear, your luminous, immortal darling. does he even know? does he grasp the way his mind glows, the way his thoughts spill like molten gold onto the parchment of your very soul? he was your everything, your love—your guiding star, your perfect darling, your sole, necessary breath. and yet, the world, the pitiful, ignorant world, could not comprehend his brilliance, like a mere toy, they had molded him, and cast him aside once their utilitarian need had been served; they did not deserve him. no, the world could not deserve him—those who fail to recognize the sacredness of his mind, who treat his wisdom as commonplace, who look upon him without the reverence of a disciple at the feet of a god—it sickens you, stirs a fury deep within your chest. in the hollowed, gleaming corridors of his towering spire, you would see them—fawning, indulging in their miserable, blind inanities, lost in the sick lies they prefer over the sublime truth he alone could offer. and mind you, it was he—he—who spent his invaluable time, his precious moments, entangled with these dull, odious fools, these imbecilic cookies just for them to throw it away! he should not have to share his divine self with such paltry, uninspired creatures. no, no, no. you could not abide it. you would sever every connection, carve away every distraction, erase every tether that pulled him from you. and if it were required to cloak him in the softest, most unrelenting shadow, to shield him from the world that could never grasp his greatness, to hide him where only your gaze could drink in the luminous glow of his mind—so be it. you would protect him, cherish him, and keep him safe from those who could never understand him as you do.

𖦁 yet, he couldn't seem to understand it all; with every embrace, a look of disdain was given to you, as if you were a taint smeared upon heavens, can't he understand? these cookies were the one that were evil! they will defile him, corrupt his very name with degeneracy! you were merely shielding him away from the evil, how could he not comprehend that? he must've been brainwashed. yes, surely, or so that was what you wanted to believe, however, all his actions proved otherwise: with every touch, he recoiled, like a skittish moth repelled by the flame it once sought. with every affectionate word, he replied in clipped, mechanical syllables, blunt and cold, each one landing with the weight of a slammed door. there was no love in them—no warmth, no hesitance, no trace of a feeling that might, by some miracle, have softened the harsh lines of his indifference. you learned quickly that tenderness was a language he neither spoke nor cared to decipher. a hand reaching for his own was met with a perfunctory pat, a touch devoid of meaning, as if acknowledging, rather than returning, the gesture. you could pour all your warmth into him, let it trickle down the cracks in his facade, but he would not absorb it. He remained, steadfast in his distance, near enough to torment, far enough to elude. you tried to believe in the silences, in the space between his words, in the possibility that somewhere beneath that marble exterior, there was something that resembled love. but hope, much like affection, was wasted on him. you tried, really! to continue loving him, you truly did, but, ah, your feelings leisurely diminished into grains of flour until your love turned into rust and dust.

𖦁 it wasn't long until then your unfortunate sweet dear darling, the celestial beacon in your life was sullied into taint when you vanished into thin air. from graces, he fell, and into the bottom of the endless pit of corruption.

𖦁 and oh, how much he changed: in the cold, lonely cell, he reminisced the past, thought of you, thought of your oh so tender gentle caresses! and to say that it made him deprived of warmth, made him ache—hunger not for food, but for yours was an understatement. he sought and yearned for it, hunger gnawed, a sensation with fangs, sharp and insistent, curling inside his ribs like a starved serpent. he gwaned for you—not sweetly, not poetically, but in the way of a body denied water, of lips cracked and trembling at the edge of a mirage. oh, to be held, to be devoured, to be anything but this wretched hunger pressing against the ribs, licking at the throat, whispering: more, more, more... ah! he couldn't stop it! he promises to himself that he'd apologize to you and pamper you with affection once he gets out of this petulant little silver tree!

𖦁 and he'd definitely stick to his word; the moment he flees from the withering tree binding him and his allies, he had his priorities straight: to find his dear darling! he was beyond ectastic, thoughts filled of embracing you once more and kissing you, but, ah, none could prepare him for the sight that would unfold infront of his very gaze—his sweet puppet was linking arms with /him/. at first, he laughed, he chuckled and brushed it off, no, no, surely he was just presuming things! there was no way his dear would betray him and replace him with such a... ungracious caricature of a cookie, right? right? if you were, he'd definitely need to give you a better eyes as a replacement which was a no worries for him! he has a nice stock of replacement! surely, you wouldn't stoop down to that level of degeneracy. yet, you didn't approach him like he thought and dreamed of within the silved tree, you only took a cautious step back, away from him, away from your perfect celestial darling and to the burlesque version of himself, realization dawned and it made him seeth with anger.

𖦁 blasphemous! how dare you! you superseded his spot with this thing?! to betray him was one thing, but to replace him with this cheap copy of himself whom hadn't grown ever slightly intelligent despite wielding his own power?! you little pest! he'll make you pay for this. oh, and, don't worry your pretty little brain! he promises to be much, much more tender than he will be to him, it will be grand, a show that will mark itself in earthbread's history. so won't you be a good little dear and wait till he finishes his one last marionette show before tending to you?

𖦁 and as for the destiny of the silly little thief... ah, he vows to make him taste his own medicine and he'll make certain it will be a fate worse than crumbling away! he wasn't gonna kill him, no, no, death was far too gentle, he was gonna corrupt him, brainwash his mind with sweet, insidious poison, and distort his reality into a glistening hall of mirrors where every reflection was a lie, every whisper a trick of the light. he would unravel, unravel most grotesquely, as his reason frayed like moth-eaten silk, his thoughts dissolving into the same exquisite delirium that had once seized his own skull in its venomous embrace! and most importantly, he was gonna make him feel like what it felt like to be in his place! he stole his soul jam and now you, surely he doesn't think he can get away with that, can't he? no, no, if he wants to take from him so badly, he was gonna make him /him/.

𖦁 but ah, don't be so upset, dear. shouldn't you be exhilarated? he's giving you the attention you craved for, the attention you digged the sand and soils for until your fingers scarred and numbed for, the attention you yearned and sought for like a madman. so, why won't you clap, give your sweet jester an applause for his spectacular show? don't tell him you were still concerned of pure vanilla cookie! he simply put him in the right path, the road down to the deepest depths of hell, of course, but it was still a befitting destination!

𖦁 yet, still, still, you prattled on, fretting that lovely little head of yours over pure vanilla cookie—his name tumbling from your lips like some sacred incantation, a hymn to a god too distant to listen. and oh, how it curdled something deep inside him, how it set his very marrow alight with a fury so exquisite it was almost pleasure. could you not see? he was here. here, before you, in all his resplendent, fevered devotion, and yet you—blind, foolish, maddening thing—spoke of another. oh! perhaps a lesson was in order. yes, yes, that's right, a lesson. a gentle one, at first—he was, after all, a man of remarkable patience. a game, then, a little amusement, something to turn those wandering thoughts back where they belonged. he would not interrupt, no, never that. he would only guide, nudge, mold. and in the end, oh, you would see. you would understand. you would learn.

𖦁 and to say the wait had been merely excellent would be a crime of understatement, a paltry insult to the fevered anticipation that had coiled and uncoiled within him for so long. no, the outcome was a marvel beyond the bounds of mere expectation. you were back, back as you had been, intact, whole—his darling, his own, still in possession of that precious, once-fractured self. giddy with triumph, he would fall against you, arms encircling the exquisite stillness of your form, his dear darling, still and unresponsive—your gaze, those glassy and depthless eyes, did not meet his but stretched past him, unfocused, fixed upon some distant and nameless horizon. there was no flicker of recognition, no gentle return of his embrace. and yet, he clung to you, triumphant, unbothered by your silence, unshaken by your vacancy. you were here. that was more than enough.

a/n: I've received like... so many requests featuring pure vanilla cookie with yandere shadow milk cookie after i made that one post... do you guys want him dead? anyways, i just lost my pity in the guaranteed banner to fucking sherbet cookie. i need frost queen to turn him into snow once again... can someone bless me their mystic flour luck, ill give you my burning spice who is currently 4 stars (f2p)

[4mrplumi]

(concept: redstart) batfamily x reforming criminal reader

tw: vv small description of burning bodies.

> reader, who used to scramble around the depths of another city, homeless, hungry and orphaned at nine. naturally became independent, turning to petty crime and sometimes even violence to survive.

> gets caught in the middle of a brawl between adults and almost dies, then caught again by an unmeaning police officer, who relocates you to a children's home.

> your adoption is coerced by the odd head-lady, who justifies it by claiming a strict, but caring family could reform you from your "unruly behaviour" within the centre halls.

> she was right about the strict, not about the caring. father was a hyper-militaristic, obsessed with proving worth through strength type of guy. even had a whole base of operations dealing in organised crime, without even doing so much as hobby-boxing.

> you were incredibly indoctrinated into "goods" and "bads" and how to solve the issue of corruption by a moralistic, anti-moral man. he was the corruption, but painted himself in bright lights.

> you were a lonely child. you began to look up to him. obsessing over everything he said and did and holding it like a knife to your throat.

> adoptive father never much considered you as much compared to his other two, older sons, and treated you as a tool for some unmade project.

> life was like lucid dreaming. you had full control, but none, none, at all.

> concious enough to feel hurt by his treatment and dismissal, but felt too indebted to ever complain, or speak about it. grew up knowing little outside of subservierence. brothers were shadows in the backgrounds, implied ghosts of what you wish you could've been.

> not allowed to be a part of society. father considered it weakness, a threat, a vulnerability. the one time you did get friends, you were punished for it harshly, and isolated further.

> no personal aspirations outside of hoping, barely, to make the man who so tediously took you in proud.

> trained obssesively, five times harder than the brother's you'd never outshine, with ten times less the recognition or support.

> firmly believes your father's course in life is correct, and wants to support it, but can't because he doesn't trust you enough to tell you his goals.

> completely in a frienzied panic when your father and brothers drop dead. your way of life, your identity, all gone with them. completely. a mere child, with nothing to live for.

> batman bad come originally as an 'ally', to take your father's side jn subduing crime worldwide. but you had identified his ploy to take down your father's plans immently as soon as he earned his trust.

> your father was not a clever man. did not think batman knew of his intentions, his mannerisms. believed himself to always be superior.

> but he didn't believe you when you told him, and you watched as their conversations progressed with desperation. he believed this old bat more in these few days than he had you in your whole life.

> when batman reveals his intentions, an accident causes your father to set off an esplosive he himself had planted incase of emergencies. you couldn't help, watching with raw agony as his skin burnt away to reveal boiling flesh. watched with uncontrolable shaking at the batman trying to put it out, trying to perhaps save him and your brothers.

> lunging at him with such practiced fervour, he was caught off guard for a second. realising that the man had another child (not knowing of their mistreatment), he felt immensly guilty and indebted. to stop you from trying to claw his face off, your weapons hidden away by your father before his death, he knocks you out.

> when you wake up, two days later; not due to the force of his hit, but sheer exhausation from all the gruelling work you did daily, you're suprisingly compliant.

> even as an eldey man dressed in a deep black suit, accompanied by a tall black-haired boy you're sure you don't recognise, you don't struggle or scowl.

> they had expected you to.

> maybe it was slow adaptibility, shock, subconcious relief and unconcious reasoning that resulted in your quiet demeanor. without the antics of your usual routine, you were a little timid, like a little doe.

> the boy takes to you immediately, speaking warmly, introducing himself as dick grayson. the name strikes no bells, and you only stare in response. he talks of friends, family, getting better and getting up, but you listen only to half of what he says, nodding once in acknowledgement.

> and so begins the guilt-ridden journey of the batman, trying to protect gotham, the world, and reform a child whose parent he didn't kill, but couldn't save. you begin shadowing your guardian and his... guards (so you term them) on patrols, stalking behind them at gatherings, make appearences in a civilian identity crafted for you on the media. everything you do feels lost, like a deer caught in traffic.

> later, when they talk to you more about your life before the manor, jason simply says, "bruce didn't not do anything. he didn't do anything at all."

> you think he might be sad.

> you piece together the little memories you have, training, fighting, eating, sulking and sleeping with both eyes open into a big, big story. you look at the family come together atleast once a month, a warmth from them you've felt so very rarely, from a distance.

> you feel bruce's reassuring pat on your shoulder, encouraging you to join them.

> you think you might be sad.

INTERACTIONS & Reblogs appriciated !

gahhh i love this idea thingy in my head. so much angst potential. fluff potential. character expansion, relations, dynamic potential... cass, damian, steph, on your end of the coin. tim, dick, duke, on the other... jason, on the edge. i think the whole concept of wanting but not feeling like you deserve what u want is such a batfam thing, a reader with that attribute would be a puzzle piece locking in, or the exact opposite.

anyway, hoped u liked this little drabble. tell me if u think this is smth worth going after.

thank you for reading!!

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[i9eto]

ᵎᵎ 𓏲 ❛ i want you to touch me の　masterlist 次 next

TAGS◝ nsfw, dub-con, somno, cunnilingus, slight dry humping, implied drugging, petnames, profanities, y/n calls caleb 'gege', sex without protection, mentions of impregnation, pwp, spoiler from the main story (chapter 4), mdni

PAIRING◝ mc or f!reader x caleb

SUMMARY◝ is it really appropriate to have a wet dream of your childhood friend?

NOTE◝ first time writing a slightly dark theme kinda nervous

it was a chilly night at linkon. you’d come home late at night every day ever since that explosion happened at your grandmother’s home. what’s the use of coming home early anymore? your gege was gone, and if it wasn’t for your current apartment being a sanctuary for all of the things he had ever given you — whether it was big or small, inanimate or animate, alive or dead — you kept it all. the entire place looked like a museum of you and him from all the years, and you’ve grown to feel suffocating staying in your apartment.

you couldn’t bear it but you can’t throw those gifts away either, so you try to stay away as often as possible. you’re mourning, you tell yourself. mourning, or refusing to move on, and let him pass peacefully?

you often thought that you’re selfish for this. but you also don’t like dwelling on the past too much. it makes you sad, it makes you regret; and nothing angers you more than regret.

you arrived at your apartment at the same time your little grandfather’s clock would ring as it hits midnight. you stopped by your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, pausing just a second as you bent down to take your shoes off and tossing it somewhere in the dark before picking up the glass to finish it all in one go.

you don’t really bother putting your things where they belong; you toss your bag onto the shoe rack, but you would take your dirty socks off once you stepped into the living room. your jacket dropped to the floor, and you’d only realise how messy your apartment is once you reached your bed and noticed the freshly done laundry from last week and this week had taken a big space on your bed.

it didn’t bother you enough to get to work, so you fall asleep on top of the pile of clothing.

you haven’t dreamt in a long time, not since you lost him in that explosion. perhaps it’s because you missed him so much that you were now dreaming of him, you’d even welcome the idea of the ghost of him finally deciding on latching himself onto you after spending every day, for a couple of hours, sitting by his grave – sometimes blaming him for dying, sometimes telling him how you miss him.

you were lying on your stomach when you first fell asleep, and in this dream, you were in the same position as when you had fallen asleep. you feel large, much colder hands tracing your back with its big palm. one was much colder than the other, almost metal like. the pair of hands slowly traced the curve of your spine, raking your shirt up to the cool air. the hands continued to trace upwards, going separate ways to feel both of your arms.

“mm, mm…” you huffed in your sleep, the hands were ticklish because of the coldness. one hand, the colder one, pried itself between your fingers, pinning one of your arm down onto the bed. the other hand, was a little warmer. it gripped on your wrist, and in this dream, you could feel weight pressed against you, it was slightly uncomfortable, and your eyes threatened to open to wake you up from the strange dream you were currently having.

“shh, shh.” you were dreaming of a man, your brain was telling you. “you’re dreaming.” the man — or was it your own brain that was telling you? you can’t tell, so you just listened and you relaxed yourself. “good girl,” you feel a kiss against your hair, it was soothing. this man sounded so familiar.

“i missed you.” the man says as one hand – the one that was holding your wrist – slid towards your front. he gently caressed your collarbone with his fingers, going down to your breasts, he palmed it ever so softly. “gege?” you mumbled in your sleep, and the figure once again pressed against your back, “shh. shh, it’s just me, y/n. gege’s here.” he whispered, and your body relaxed. you didn’t notice nor feel that a single tear had slipped from your closed eyes, but he did.

leaning down, he kissed the tear away, then the stain it left on the edge of your eye. “i’m here.” he whispered gently, and your heartbeat calmed again. perhaps it was the sense of longing that you’ve ignored ever since the explosion. and this dream you were currently having was able to let your deepest thoughts roam free.

“i missed you.” he repeated, going down to kiss the part of your neck that was slightly exposed. “i’ll come back for you, y/n. but for now, i need you. can you give me what i want? can you give me what gege wants?” he asked, his words a whisper but his voice husky with need. “mm…” you hummed in agreement, or it was agreement enough for him.

his hand that had been touching your breasts, now perky and sensitive, moved further down to your abdomen. his hips grinded against the soft flesh of your ass. “i missed you.” he grew desperate with each grind, humping against you like a needy puppy.

he turned you around, your dress too bothersome for him so he’d just rip it off. he kissed your neck once more, biting onto your skin and sucking it roughly making you cry out a whine and leaving a love mark on your delicate skin.

he goes further down to your breasts, his hands pulling your bra down and his lips immediately latched onto your nipple, he flicked it with his cold tongue, and when you arched your back, he bit on it. he felt a sense of triumph when he earned a whine from you. he kissed the side of your breast, his free hand used to unbuckle and unzip his own pants.

“you would look so good if you were pregnant.” he said a low growl, “your breasts would constantly be round and perky and sensitive.” he moaned at the thought. his kisses grows more desperate as he imagined you all round carrying his babies. he watched as your hand absentmindedly moved towards the other breast, rubbing on the bud as if to tell him you felt neglected. “mm? you’ve always been a greedy little thing.” he groaned as he put his hand on top of yours, guiding you on touching yourself.

as he finally sprung his own cock free, he couldn’t help but groan. his dominant hand travelled down to pump his cock a few times, enough for pre-cum to ooze out, he used it as lube even though it was hardly enough. “you’re fully asleep, but you’re moaning.” he mumbled to himself, “are you dreaming of us, y/n?” he whispered in your ear, kissing the skin below your ear.

“dreaming of gege?” he added, his teeth grazed over the shell of your ear so you could hear him moaning, his hand squeezing his own cock at the thought of you having a wet dream for him. he grunted, a quiet fuck leaving his lips.

“touch me here.” he said as he brought your hand onto his cock, his hand guiding yours just as he did with your breast. “i want you to touch me, sweetheart.” he ordered so sweetly. you were still asleep in all of this, so your grip wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped. no matter, though. he can let it slide this once. after all, this won’t be the only time you’ll do this. this is merely the first of many.

“that’s right, baby. fuck, your hand is so soft, baby.” his voice was almost whiny as he relished in the way both his and your hands were pumping his cock. he glanced at your sleeping face, the way your cheeks was slightly flushed, and how breathless you’ve become. you liked this. a victorious smirk was plastered on his face.

he bent down to your core, it wasn’t nearly as wet as he’d hoped, but he only had a few minutes before he had to leave. he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your folds, as he dragged it up to your clit. he flicked it once, twice, with his tongue, then pressed his enveloped his lips on it, sucking on the bundle of nerves.

“hng… ah!” the loud gasp almost made him stop. almost. but he was quite confident on the drowsy medicine he had slipped into your glass moments ago. you won’t wake up — at least, the sensation of getting your pussy eaten wasn’t gonna be enough to wake you up.

his tongue slid back down to your folds, and his nose pressed against your clit. “hmm, fuck. you smell so good, honey.” he cursed, his tongue lapping at your walls like a starving man. he pushed his tongue between your pussy lips, his fingers going down to hold them apart. he didn’t mind if he had to fuck you with his tongue first, patience is virtue after all.

“you taste so good. you have no idea how long i’ve imagined you like this.” he murmured, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down your spine. his nose continuously poked against your clit, your eyebrows furrowed and your back arched again as you kept moaning in your sleep.

when he felt your walls tightening against his tongue, he pulled away from your cunt. “wha…” you whined in your sleep once more. he looked at you and chuckled lowly. “always so greedy.” he caressed your face.

he leaned down to your face, “this is gonna hurt a little, but i know you’d like it, won’t you, sweet girl?” he chuckled again, positioning his cock against your pussy, he rubbed it against you first, moaning your name as he did so. “ready?” he asked, his lips now wet with your slick went down to kiss your neck again. “oh,” he moaned as he pushed his tip into you. it seemed like he had underestimated you – you were squeezing him, as if you didn’t want to let him go.

“you feel so good, honey. oh… you’re clenching around my cock, baby. you like that?” he grunted, he gave you a few small thrusts first, before properly fucking you.

he looked down at you, his hand going back to rub one of your nipples, and he leaned towards your lips. he was inches apart, his breath ghosting against your skin. but alas, he pulled away. he can’t kiss you, not like this.

he looked down to watch the way his cock would slide in and out of you, his thumb pressing against your swollen clit, making you gush. “hah…” you panted in your sleep, sweat dripping down your forehead. “Gege…” you moaned just under your breath. a smirk formed on his lips, he took pride in the fact that even in your sleep, you’d imagine him fuck you.

“how long have you been having wet dreams about me, y/n?” he asked, but was met with no answers.

but his smile faded as soon as it came, as if a hint of dissatisfaction had come washing down on him. he pulled his cock out, leaving just the tip just barely kissing the entrance of your pussy, before slamming all of it at once. your body jolted in surprise and your eyes barely opened. “w-wh…” you mumbled as he gripped your chin. “it’s just a dream.” he whispered as he continued to slam his cock all the way in and all the way out. “you’re having a perverted dream about your childhood friend fucking you full of his cock, okay?” he said, and you nodded slightly, your eyelids too heavy to keep yourself awake.

“gege…” you murmured, he frowned as he eyes narrowed. the fingers that was rubbing on your clit pinched on it hard, watching as you writhed in pain. “don’t call me that anymore. i was never your brother.” he knew it was like talking to a wall, since you’re not actually awake, but he didn’t care.

he continued to thrust in and out of you, watching with satisfaction how your pussy had become red and swollen. he picked up the pace as he lifted one of your legs up to his shoulder, his lips kissing the skin of your inner thigh as he chased his own high.

the man gave himself a few more thrusts before pulling out. as the stimulation stopped, so did the desire for an orgasm. he wasn’t gonna come, no. not like this. good things comes to those who wait. and he will wait. he caressed your face, pulling his pants back up, he watched as you whined in your sleep, your pussy clenching around nothing. “i’ve gotta go, baby. we’ll meet again very soon.” he promised.

a few hours later, you finally woke up. the sun was already shining by the time you opened your eyes. your body felt a little sore but that was probably because you had been sleeping uncomfortably. you tried to recall what you dreamed of, and you felt a little guilty. you knew it wasn’t something you can’t control, but why would you have a wet dream about caleb? your deceased childhood friend. you thought of it as messed up, and you figured that you should probably visit his grave and apologise.

as you finally forced yourself out of bed, you frowned at the idea of having to clean your entire apartment, but you can’t live in this dumpster forever.

you straightened your shirt and walked towards your bathroom, but something felt off. were you really wearing this shirt to bed last night?

[kurokawaia]

❛ I MISSED YOU !! ❜

Uchiha Sasuke 彡 Fem!Reader

MDNI 18+ | WARNINGS :: Post war sasuke, the last! sasuke (so like 20 y/o), sasuke x fem reader, reader is a female, afab, fem anatomy, she/her, reader is said to be a medic nin and likes the colour pink, ooc sasuke?? soft but mean sasuke at the same time?, NSFW, oral -> male receiving, implied size difference/kink (reader is a ways smaller than him), throat fucking? implied cock warming, cum swallowing, use of 'good girl', mean? praise, possession + more . (total word count 2.6k+)

⋆·˚ ༘ * SYNOPSIS :: Sasuke has been away for a mission, or more so, trying to rekindle and make up his mistakes by travelling around and looking out for any sign of Otsutsuki. It's been so long since he's been home, his home is you, he can't stand being away from you any longer, so, he asks you something you didn't even expect.

m.list | naruto m.list | uchiha m.list

Thinking about Sasuke coming home from a long mission, two months you think he's been away for, maybe even longer. However, in reality he was only gone for three weeks but you like to over exaggerate sometimes... what else could you say though, you need Sasuke so much in your life.

Your shared house is so empty without him, you can't wait until he comes home. It was the daily tasks that are difficult without Sasuke near you, falling asleep (you don't have anyone to snuggle up agaisnt when he's gone), making breakfast + lunch + dinner for only yourself knowing that Sasuke loves your food causes your heart to ache because you wonder if he's feeding himself alright food.

You don't even want to start on how alone you feel in the house knowing you can smell Sasuke's soft cologne on his cloths the moment you open the wardrobe. His toothbrush, his shampoo and conditioner, his plain white towels set up on the rack in the bathroom (you use pink towels).

All this stuff making you realise how much you love him, not even work can take your mind of him and healing patients is quite a tasking job to focus on, yet he fills your mind completely. When Sasuke does come home, you hear the door click open and your head perks up instantly from wherever you are in the house, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen etc.

If Sasuke could see you right there and then, the moment you hear the click at the door, he would definitely picture you being like a puppy, all excited to see their favourite person. Honestly, as much as he doesn't want to tell you, he thinks that it's cute, how much you love him being around and getting all excited when he comes home.

You come to him so fast he almost stumbles back into the door as your arms wrap tightly around his neck and shoulder. He gets an instant hit of your vanilla perfume, your strawberry shampoo and conditioner. The smell of home. Sasuke wraps an arm around your waist, leaning down to make you more comfortable even though you are still on the tips of your toes.

As your head buries into his neck, a sigh of content leaves your plump lips, relishing in how his strong arm wraps around you and how the smell of mint completely engulfs your senses. "I missed you so much, Sasuke," you say softly, although, your voice is mumbled due to clinging to you man so tightly.

His arm moves higher up your back and he savours every single inch of warm radiating from your body before his hand cradles the back of your head. "I know," he murmurs gently into you ear. "I missed you more," before placing a soft kiss to the side of your head.

"How long... will you be home for? Before you're off again," you ask slowly, hesitantly. You don't even want to know his answer, because it's just doing to make your heart ache again, but that's what happens when you love someone.

Sasuke lets out a sigh which is so quiet you almost missed it and then you knew what his reply was going to be. "A couple days, my love," he confirms and your grip tightens around him before you steadily unravel your arms from him.

As you now stand before him, a soft sheen of tears in your eyes, Sasuke's hand plants itself on your waist, pulling you closer into him once more. Your head meets his chest as your fingers grip his coat, the black material scrunching underneath. His chin sits on the top of your head.

Neither of you knew how long you were there for, just standing at the front of the door, holding each other. Sasuke's heart aches at the sight of you. He's finding that it's getting harder and harder for him to leave you as the time goes by, he doesn't know how much longer he can stand to be away from you.

Sasuke gently lifts your chin, his dark eyes meeting yours. His thumb brushes across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear as he leans in, his lips barely grazing yours. "You don’t know how much I think about you when I’m away," he murmurs.

Your hands clutch his coat tighter, pulling him closer, your bodies pressing together even closer than before. His lips capture yours in a kiss that starts gentle but deepens quickly. The way his hand slides down to the small of your back, pressing you even closer and it makes your knees weak.

You miss him. You miss him so much it hurts. You miss the way he holds you while you sleep, you miss when he cooks something that can't be eaten, how his lips feel on yours. You miss how safe you feel with him the most.

A soft, breathless moan escapes your mouth, getting swallowed by the kiss and Sasuke responds by pulling you tighter, his hand tangling in your hair. His lips trail down to your jawline, leaving a burning path to your neck, where he places slow kisses that make you tremble. You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "I don’t want to waste a single moment we have together."

You can feel your heart pounding as Sasuke's lips linger on your neck. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Come on," he murmurs, taking your hand gently in his taking you to your shared bedroom.

You both sit on the edge of the bed. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your back, and you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’ve missed this," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "Just being here with you."

Sasuke tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Me too," he replies. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as he leans back slightly, bringing you with him. You settle into the familiar embrace, your head resting against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths.

For a while, you both stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside fading away. His hand gently brushes through your hair, and you can feel the tension from the past weeks slowly melting away.

You don't think you could survive Sasuke leaving again. You need him here with you. It doesn't matter where you are, you just need him with you.

Sasuke shifts, his lips finding yours again in a kiss. It’s unhurried, he wants to savour your touch. His hand trail down your sides, guiding you to lie back against the pillows, his weight pressing gently against you.

The kiss deepens, his touch becoming more insistent as his fingers brush against the hem of your shirt, pushing it up slightly. You shiver under his touch, your body reacting to the familiar sensation of his hands on your skin. He pulls back just enough to look at you.

"You’re all I thought about," he murmurs, his hand caressing your soft cheek.

Before Sasuke can continue, you abruptly sit up, pulling away from him. His brows knit together confused, watching you. "What’s wrong?" he asks slowly.

If he was being honest, he could almost laugh at your actions. Your hair is messy, one strap of your bra fell of your shoulder and your blinking wide eyed at him. Cute.

You don't answer right away because your heart is pounding. You aren't nervous, that's not it, you want more. Anticipation. Without a word coming from your lips, you lean forward to Sasuke and place your hands on his chest, your fingers unbuttoning his coat, letting it fall to the floor.

This is before your hands slide under his shirt, your small hands resting above his pelvis and he lets out a deep sigh at your touch, shivers running down his spine. Then, you grip the hem of the black fabric and Sasuke takes it as a sign that you want the garment off his body, revealing his abs and chest.

You about to melt. All of this, all of Sasuke, this six foot man of abs and a nice back is all yours.

Gently you push him down to the bed which catches him off guard and his eyes widen almost confused. Sasuke has never seen you be this confident when the two of you are intimate. "What are you up to?" he murmurs amused.

You lean over him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. "I just missed you," you say softly. "And I want to make sure you know it."

Sasuke's smirk deepens, his hand coming up to rest on your waist. "I think I’m starting to get the idea," he replies, his eyes never leaving yours.

You lean down, capturing his lips in a slow kiss, pouring all the love you’ve been holding onto into the moment. Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair as you press yourself closer, relishing the feeling of his strong arm wrapping around you once more before his fingers unhook your bra clasp. Without pulling away from the kiss, you managed to get the straps off your arms, the bra now laying somewhere.

As the kiss deepens, you both lose yourselves in each other. Sasuke’s hand roam your back, pulling you closer, his lips moving with yours. Shivers run through your body as his tongue forces itself deeper into your mouth and hopeless whimpers get consumed by Sasuke as did his own groans emitting from his throat.

You move from his lips trailing slow kisses down his neck, sucking softly at the skin, knowing you will be leaving marks. It wasn't before long where you finally skimmed your mouth across his toned abs, (your favourite part) and then made way down to his abdomen. You can feel him getting restless under neath you as you place a kiss to his clothes dick, causing him to jerk under beneath you. "Don't tease me, love," he sighs breathlessly.

"Of course, Sasuke," you tease affectionately pulling down his boxers (with the help of Sasuke lifting his hips slightly for you) and his lengthy cock hits his abdomen, now, no wasting any time, you don't know how long you can hold out.

Placing a soft kiss to his tip, his head leans back into the plush pillow, a breathy moan leaving his mouth. He wanted so desperately to wrap your hair into his fingers and push your head down to his base, but he had to hold out, not yet, he repeats over and over in his head. Sasuke will let you have your fun for now.

You lick a long stripe up from the underside of his throbbing cock, trailing the sensitive vein up to his flushed tip, Sasuke's breathy groans fueling you to continue. Your panties are getting more and more soaked by the second. Plump lips move to his tip, wrapping tightly as you hollow your mouth, but Sasuke couldn't take it any longer with your slow teasing moves, he knows you want to savour him, but he can't take it.

You have him all to yourself for the next couple days, but now he just wants you.

Sasuke's fingers entangle with your strands, and you let out a breathy sigh before he pushes your mouth further down his cock, taking him inch by inch, all until his throbbing shaft is nudged all the way down your warm throat until you can't take any more. He looks down at you with his pupils blown wide as you struggle to take him all, but he knows his pretty girl can do it, you're made for him.

A groan leaves his mouth, hips slightly twitching up, forcing more down into your mouth causing you to gag softly. Sasuke letsb his hand leave your hair to affectionetly rub small circles on your cheek with his thumb. "You can take it, love," Sasuke says before groaning, head tilted back. "Come on, you can do it for me."

You hum, agreeing, and the vibrations cause a hiss to leave the uchiha's mouth. You wrap one hand around the base of shaft as you begin to bob your head along his cock.

You were trying to take him as deep as you could without gagging on his cock, using your hand to jerk off the reminder that didn't fit into your mouth. Sasuke moans grew louder before he struggled to maintain a still stature. Sasuke began to move your head through the tuffs of your hair, your movements not your own as you removed your hand and let him take control.

He moans, "That's it, doing such a good job for me. Such a good girl, taking me so well. Your panties just became more soaked than they already were as you moaned helplessly on his cock at the praise and a breathy laugh left his throat, and it made your lower abdomen tingle. 

Tears well up in your soft doe eyes, before they fall down your flushed pink cheeks. Your cunt was soaking wetter by the moment, and the moans coming out of his mouth made it even more unbearable. You just wanted him to have his way with you, that's all you want, to have his touch, his body pressed against yours as he fucks you deeper and deeper in your cunt and the bed.

Sasuke started moving more quickly, which made you start crying even more. When you hollowed out your cheeks, he let out a stifled sigh that made him hesitate to approach further. It wasn't too long before his hips rut up into your mouth, a groan exiting his lips, his eyes briefly turning that familiar red as his cum fills your mouth.

You pull away, his cock going soft but still was hard. "You can spit-" Too late you've already swallowed it. "- you didn't have to do that," Sasuke sighs, still relishing in the pleasure of his high.

You let out a deep sigh, still tasting the tinge of musk and salt on your tongue and mouth. "It's okay, love," you murmur teasingly, moving up quicky and whispering into his ear. "I know all the dirty things you like."

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth and your heart flutters. "That's why your such a good girl for me," he replies, hand slithering down to your rear and you let out a playful gasp. "Sasuke!" you puff out, feigning shock before a comfortable silence washes over the two of you.

Sasuke leans up to give you a kiss and you smush his cheek with your palm and push him away with a pout on you lips. "Yuck, no. Kiss me after I brush my teeth," you say, looking a way from him and you feel him smile against your palm.

"Come with me," Sasuke says suddenly and you feel his hand over your own. You turn back to look at him and find that his black iris is already gazing deeply into you, you could see a peak of his Rinnegan behind his fringe.

You tilt your head confused. "To the store? I think they would be closed, but we can go check-!"

You cut yourself off and you think you finally realised what Sasuke was getting at. "When I leave again, I need you to come with me," Sasuke confirms and your eyes widen in surprise and shock, no way this is happening.

"Really?" you say slowly in disbelief, not believing him and he nods, nudging his lips against your palm, planting a kiss to your skin.

"Please," he says barely audible against your palm and your eyes light up, arms wrapping around his shoulders and he falls back in his back to the bed with a winded grunt.

His arm wraps tightly around you. "I love you," you tell him. "I love you more," Sasuke replies, not wanting to leave you behind ever again, at least not now. His home needs to be with him wherever he goes, home is wherever you are.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | naruto m.list | uchiha m.list

im sorry this is probably ooc but i firmly belief in mushy the last! sasuke i jst think he'd be rlly sweet but short with you ^.^

if you say the sneak peak this was only supposed to be 1K words but then i added 1.5k more 😭