#Diffusion of Responsibility

[arcticdementor]

Sam Lowry: I only know you got the wrong man. Jack Lint: Information Transit got to wrong man. I got the right man. The 'wrong man' was delivered to me as the 'right man.' I accepted him on good faith as the 'right man.' Was I wrong? Sam Lowry: You killed Buttle? Jack Lint: Sam, there are very rigid parameters laid down to prevent such things happening. It wasn't my fault that Buttle's heart condition didn't appear on Tuttle's file… We're going to have to bring Mr. Tuttle in, aren't we? And interrogate him at the same voltage as Mr. Buttle - and juggle the books in electrical banking. Sam Lowry: What has Tuttle done? Jack Lint: We suspect him of, uh, free lance subversion. Then all I need to wrap up the case is the Layton woman. Sam Lowry: What has she done? Jack Lint: Oh, she witnessed the Tuttle, uhm, the Buttle arrest and essentially is going around making wild allegations, obviously trying to exploit the situation. She's working for someone and I don't think it's us.

—Brazil (1985)

[spirefan]

Let's talk about the power of self-worth and helping those that feel voiceless know their own worth against those that seek to control others on this killer Monday:

[toughtink]

here's the thing about playing around with generative "ai" aka applied statistics based on stolen data: even if it's just for teehee haha laughs and funtime for you, even if you're not using it to replace real talent in a professional setting, it's a tacit endorsement of these shady as fuck, unethical training models and companies that will happily use your teehee haha generated memes to sell their tech to others who will then happily replace real creative people with technology that seeks to undermine them and then have to rehire those people at half the pay and with none of the credit to fix the absolute sludge they're generating in place of a proper job. and that's the optimistic outcome because the alternative is they say "good enough" about this meaningless, lowest-common-denominator sludge and send it out to consumers as is.

even if you're just the consumer in this system and not one of the creatives getting undercut, why in the world would you want to read or watch or interact with something that no one could even be bothered to make themselves? why in the world would you want to encourage that future?

[nyxi-pixie]

finished s3 and stand firm in shauna defense EASY WORK!!!!!!!!!!!

[daveinediting]

As always, once I start focusing my thoughts on a specific creative challenge, at some point something somewhere inside my brain starts connecting the dots and expanding the canvas.

I have no idea how that works, it just does. 🤔

Anyway, I've been at this for the last coupla weeks, considering how a particular stage production should manifest itself. How it should look, feel, and sound to an audience. And a few days ago I managed to set some objectives and strategies to the endeavor: the kind of experience being crafted... and some specific tools that could be used to craft the experience. An essential first step.

Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of attending the album release party for a local band. It was profoundly energized from start to finish, a show fit for even larger concert venues with its huge production value both in visuals and sound. I paid attention to my experience, how I responded to each song performance in the moment... and I paid attention to how the audience, packed wall to wall, front to back, responded. Which is basically me observing what excels, how performances land, the energy dynamic of the audience across the entire show, what the different experiences between the song performances are... and why.

The concert definitely gave me a heightened appreciation for production value and the impact it has on audience experience.

So then a coupla days go by and I'm hanging out with a friend who's a musician. They're sharing some music with me that's absolutely captured their reverence. So we listen to the songs and I realize some things.

The first is that some songs work better than others in concert. Because "in concert" is a wild sonic environment. It's not an environment made for appreciating subtleties and details. It's a crafted experience. And within that experience, certain things are possible and certain things are not.

I listened to one song that was simple in its production that would definitely land in a concert environment (which caused and still causes me to remember another such song that failed in that environment but I know why it failed). I listened to another, quite different song with spoken vocal loops and complex rhythms that would also fully land in a concert environment. And we did talk about the kinds of songs that wouldn't work as well and why. Among which are songs that are dense in language that doesn't get processed in real time when competing with complex music arrangements and just the energy of the room.

In a live environment, each word of a song can land and land hard... as opposed to other songs where the music might not be memorable and most of the words can sort of mentally slip by without leaving evidence of having been heard.

Or even written.

We kept listening because suddenly I was learning a lot. Having an insight-fest. As in traditionally what's crafted for record is performed for a live audience. The best recordings, of course. The most popular. Which makes sense in a prior world with older technology and different assumptions.

But how about this?

Certain creative endeavors are best experienced as recordings

Certain creative endeavors are best experienced live, and

Certain creative endeavors can exist at their best in both circumstances either as is or in some variation.

Meaning...

Release some efforts for recording only. Release some efforts for live experiences only. And release some efforts for both.

And then a fully formed experience came to me.

Why?

I'm guessing because of the critical mass developing during this moment of insight upon insight. So now I have an idea for the stage production I've been considering the last coupla weeks. Doesn't have to be the beginning of the show... but it can be.

The idea is based on one of the songs in the stage production that references the city of Paris. Which made me think of traveling. Which made me think of family vacations. Which made me think—because I'm of a certain age—of family vacation slide shows of old. Or family vacations as captured on 8mm film and shown in the living room with a projector.

And so on.

Later, I was talking to the composer of the stage show, pitching them my idea on how that piece of the show could work. And then they had an idea of how they thought what I described could be performed another way, each idea leaning into a different objective for the audience experience. Which is great. Because they're trying to craft an audience experience. And where the song lands in the overall performance and what the demands of that moment are...

Will determine the how of how the song should be presented.

Anyway... it was a helluva morning.

The kind I love most.

😁

[feralparsnip]

like this is real and u are correct but also a bit i think gets lost in the general AI discourse is that this. like, diffusion of responsibility for perpetuating bigotry / systemic bieas. is a core part of what makes AI appealing to corporations at all

I'm just saying, "We created a computer to make decisions for us, but it assimilated all of the bias that was implicit in the dataset and now makes incredibly racist decisions that we don't question because computers are logical and don't make mistakes" literally sounds like a planet-of-the-week morality play on the original Star Trek.

[fingertipsmp3]

That last post just reminded me of something honestly mind-boggling that that friend did

[lionofstone]

i wish i’d watched top gun before i watched 911 because i think hearing “you can have my back any day” with the full context and understanding of what they were referencing would’ve completely altered my brain chemistry

[crazy-pages]

Okay so evaluating US mortality rates minus comparable OECD average mortality rates, times 0.9 to remove accidental deaths, multiplied by the 157,000,000 people UHC "serves", UHC is directly responsible for about 59,000 deaths a year. Even generously assuming the CEO of the company is only responsible for 1% of that, he would have killed someone roughly every 15.5 hours for profit.

I'm guessing the suspect list of people with motive is rather long.

Anyway, crab rave gif time? Yeah I'm gonna break out the crab rave gifs.

https://www.reuters.com/world/us/unitedhealthcare-ceo-fatally-shot-ny-post-reports-2024-12-04/

Took him to the hospital but still died. Guess they couldn't get prior authorization approval to save his life.

[sainzzsturns]

Curly Partner ⋆˙⟡

L. Norris x Reader

category: fluff

warnings: none!

you were getting ready for an event with lando’s family, doing your hair in the mirror.

you look to your right to see flo, lando’s sister, struggling, you lock eyes with her through the mirror as she sighed, setting her hands down.

“need some help?” you ask kindly.

“yes, please” flo replied, “how to your curls look so perfect?”

“oh, thank you, i can style yours if you’d like…”

“yeah! definitely!” you chuckle at her eager response, pulling her towards lando’s room, where all your stuff was.

you barge in the room giggling together as lando was just buttoning up his blouse.

“sit sit!” you say excitedly to flo, pulling a chair in front of the mirror. you take out your hair products and style her curls neatly, quickly drying it off with a diffuser.

you notice lando standing by the side, a wide smile on his face, “what?” you question.

he shrugs, “nothing, you two are cute, that’s all” he says, leaning over to pinch your cheek.

you slap away his hand with a chuckle, continuing to pin flo’s hair in place.

“good? comfortable?” you ask, earning a nod from flo.

“thank you, really, i never know how to deal with my hair”

“of course, i went through the same thing. we can go shopping friday and i’ll show you also the best products!”

“it’s a date!” flo replies excitedly.

“c’mon guys! we’re gonna be late!” adam, their dad, yells from the corridor.

flo runs away towards him, joining her family by the driveway while you finish putting on some earrings and grabbing your purse.

“thank you” lando says randomly to me.

“wha- why exactly?” you ask.

“for helping my sister, means a lot to me”

“yeah, of course, anytime, she’s a sweetheart” you smile.

lando happily wraps an arm around you, walking out the house with you.

[kaiijo]

ok. bllk and jealousy rate. how jealous can they get over their gf and what do they do to cope lmao

HOW JEALOUS IS HE? — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku content: gn! reader (request says gf but reader is gender neutral) notes: some of these are lowkey toxic, minor spoilers for kunigami’s character arc, nagi is taller than reader

most jealous: bachira, rin, reo 

bachira meguru ✶

bachira has many, many insecurities. growing up isolated and without many friends, he is more possessive of those he’s close to, which obviously includes you. he just doesn’t want to lose you, which manifests itself in jealousy over anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

bachira gets really clingy when he’s jealous. he thinks that inserting himself into the situation, sometimes literally wedging himself between you and the other person. he usually chooses to drape himself over you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking low enough that only you hear, trying his best to divert your attention. third-wheeling is pretty uncomfortable for the other person, especially with the smiling sneer bachira’s shooting at them, so they make a quick irish exit 

itoshi rin ✶

an egoist to his very core, rin can get very jealous. while he’s very sure of himself in nearly every other part of his life, he knows that he is not an ideal partner a lot of the time, though he’ll never admit it. he’s not the most expressive or the most patient, and he’s sure that there are better partners for you out there. 

when rin’s jealous, it’s a silent but deadly thing. like when he’s locked in on the ball in a game, his focus you and his ‘competitor’ is unwavering. he stalks over to stand behind you, his chest bumping right up against your back, and he snarls, “what the hell do you want, you mediocrity?” usually the other person backs off after seeing rin’s bone-chilling glare but if they’re bold enough to answer back, rin bares his teeth and is poised to strike. it’s probably best if you diffuse the situation quickly before it gets uglier  

mikage reo ✶

we already know how jealous reo was over nagi so it’s safe to say that he’s definitely very jealous. having been bored with the world and other people for so long, he’s thrilled when you two get together. it makes his very protective of you and he wants to be one of the most, if not the most, special person in your life. 

reo can go a couple of ways when he feels jealous over someone else but it think his primary response is to tear down the person methodically. he tilts his head a little, looks the person up and down, and notes everything about their appearance — hair, skin, clothes (including brand and cost) and criticizes every little thing. it’s a strategic move in his opinion, using observational skills and knowledge he had given his upbringing to pick apart the other person. he also might make some underhanded comment that includes that he has a black card 

less jealous: isagi, kunigami, sae 

isagi yoichi ✶

he definitely gets jealous from time to time but he doesn’t feel the need to act on it a lot. he’s pretty mature and for the most part level-headed (plus his ability to piece together future events helps him keep his cool a lot). this doesn’t mean that he isn’t jealous 

when isagi is jealous, he’s sulky. he won’t take immediate action and watch from afar, arms crossed and a little pouty. he tries to look as dejected and as ‘wet-cat pathetic’ as possible to make you feel bad and come over to comfort him. when you inevitably do, looping your arm through his and kissing his cheek, he can’t help but smirk at the other person like a cat who go the cream 

kunigami rensuke ✶

i debated where to put kunigami since there are ‘two sides’ to him — pre- and post-wildcard. pre-wild card kunigami is definitely a lot less bothered; he trusts you 100% and is 100% confident and secure in your relationship and himself. post-wild card kunigami is less chill and more forceful. he’s not a hero anymore but even as he plays a more ‘villainous’ role in soccer, he won’t cross that line in your relationship. he’s still very secure in you and himself, but he’s more protective of your relationship. definitely a ‘i trust you/us but it’s other people i’m worried about’ kind of guy

when pre-wild card kunigami got jealous, he won’t act in the moment and will talk to you about it afterwards, in a private setting. open lines of communication were important to him and working out problems like this. post-wildcard kunigami is all stormy looks and intimidation. like rin, he also stands behind you but in less actively aggressive way and more just to be threatening. it’s 95% effective and the 5% of times it doesn’t work, kunigami is not above muscling the other person away 

itoshi sae ✶

i thought about putting sae in the ‘most jealous’ section but i just think that he is someone whose jealousy simmer just beneath his apathetic surface. he sees most other people as beneath him and believes that they are not worthy of speaking to you, let alone hitting on you, but because he’s sees them as so beneath him, he can’t be bothered half the time to do anything since they’re simply not worth it. he gets the most jealous when it’s people who he can potentially view as equals, like other professional athletes 

when he’s jealous, sae literally just pretends they don’t exist, only talking to you. if the other person tries to interject, he sends them a sideways glare — the only acknowledgment of their existence — and then turns away to continue whatever conversation, suggesting that you both get away from the other person as quickly as possible. if ignoring the person doesn’t work, sae doesn’t shy away from spewing vitriol at the other person

least jealous: nagi, oliver, michael

nagi seishiro ✶

simply put, being jealous is a hassle to nagi. it makes him too hot and too annoyed for him to want to feel it so he suppresses the feeling a lot. nagi’s height is already intimidating enough for most people so they don’t approach you when they see you two together but that isn’t a deterrent to everyone

when nagi gets jealous, he does one of two things: just gives a thousand-yard stare that freaks people out or he gets whiny and clingy. his stare is eerie and silent, and the lightness of his eyes doesn’t help it. he towers over you like some cryptid companion. when he gets whiny and clingy, nagi tugs at your sleeve and asks drily, “can we go yet? why are you still talking to them?”

oliver aiku ✶

sigh… oliver is undoubtedly someone who thinks and knows he’s the shit. with so many women and men alike fawning over everything about him, his ego is through the roof. he has very little worry about you leaving him for someone else. honestly, he finds it amusing most of the time when someone attempt to draw you away from him, and let’s it play out a lot for his own entertainment. of course, he’ll intervene if it’s making you uncomfortable but he also believes you can handle yourself 

when oliver gets jealous, he acts as casual as possible. he’s friendly towards the other person and but it’s not hard to uncover that it’s all fake, whether it’s from the glint in his eye or the way his smile is stiff and forced. common tells when he gets jealous is that he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek or he clenches his teeth and inhales softly but sharply.  he employs the good old tactic of calling the other person the wrong name and making all kind of underhanded comments that slowly chip at their nerves. (“haruya? haruki? oh! you’re haruto! right, right, you know, they’ve never mentioned you before! crazy, huh?”) 

michael kaiser ✶

kaiser in german literally means ‘emperor,’ and it’s no secret that kaiser views himself as one. similar to sae, he see himself as so above others that he’s not even bothered by other people hitting on you. it displeases him greatly, sure, but these cockroaches will never be able to steal you from him so why should an emperor deal with the plebians? the only time that ever happens is when a peasant is particularly forceful and then, kaiser intervenes

when he gets jealous, kaiser puts on a show. if there’s one thing about him, he’s a bit of a drama queen. he will absolutely posture and puff out his chest at the offending person, looking down his nose arrogantly and smirking. he makes a big display of wrapping himself around you, gripping firmly at your hips and saying, “liebling, you’re very charitable to entertain this insect, but it’s time to end this ruse.”

[rmview]

saying they want to break up during a fight, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when the stray kids boys impulsively say they want to break up during a fight!

contents — angst, fighting, some tears, reconciliation.

bang ☆ chan

fights with bang chan weren’t common, but when they happened, they hit hard. his naturally calm and rational demeanor made it rare for him to lose his temper, but tonight was different. the stress of balancing his responsibilities, combined with your ongoing disagreement, pushed him to the edge.

“you always think i’m not doing enough!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of frustration. “i’m doing everything i can, and it’s still not enough for you!”

“that’s not what i said, chan,” you retorted, equally exasperated. “i just need you to make time for us — just once without your work taking over.”

his jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair, his usual composure unraveling. “maybe we’re not right for each other,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “maybe we should just… break up.”

the silence that followed was deafening. bangchan’s eyes widened, and his expression immediately softened as he realized what he’d just said. “wait — no. that’s not what i meant,” he stammered, his voice trembling.

you took a shaky breath, stepping back. “you said it, chan. if that’s how you feel…”

“no, please,” he interrupted, his voice pleading. he reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “i didn’t mean it. i swear, i didn’t mean it. i’m just… i’m tired and overwhelmed, but that’s not an excuse. please, don’t leave.”

tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped closer, desperate to fix what he’d just shattered. “you’re the most important thing in my life,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’ll do better. i’ll make time — i promise. just… don’t walk away.”

felix ☆

felix hated confrontation. he was always the one to diffuse tension, his warm smiles and soothing words calming any storm. but tonight, the argument spiraled beyond his control.

“why do you always think the worst of me?” he asked, his usually soft voice laced with hurt. “i’m trying my best, but it’s like you don’t trust me.”

“it’s not about trust, felix,” you shot back, your voice rising. “it’s about feeling like i’m not a priority!”

his frustration bubbled over, and before he could think, he blurted out, “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore. maybe we should just break up.”

the words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. felix’s freckles seemed to pale as the weight of what he’d said hit him. “no, wait,” he said quickly, his voice trembling. “i didn’t mean that. i didn’t mean that at all.”

you stood frozen, your heart aching. “how could you say that, felix?”

tears brimmed in his eyes as he stepped closer, his hands shaking. “i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. you mean everything to me, and the thought of losing you —” his voice cracked. “please, don’t leave. i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

lee ☆ know

lee know was known for his sharp tongue, but he rarely let his emotions get the best of him. tonight was an exception.

“you never understand my side!” he snapped, his voice colder than usual. “you always make it about you.”

“that’s not fair, minho,” you replied, your voice quivering. “i just want us to communicate better.”

“maybe we shouldn’t communicate at all,” he shot back, the words cutting like a blade. “maybe we should just end this.”

the moment the words left his mouth, regret washed over him. his face fell, and his usually stoic demeanor cracked. “wait,” he said softly, his voice laced with panic. “that’s not what i meant.”

you stared at him, hurt evident in your eyes. “minho…”

“i was angry,” he admitted, his tone desperate. “i didn’t think before i spoke. i don’t want this to end. i don’t want to lose you.”

he reached out tentatively, his eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry,” he murmured. “i know i hurt you, but please give me a chance to fix this. i’ll prove to you that you mean more to me than my pride ever could.”

hyun ☆ jin

hyunjin’s emotions always ran high, and tonight, they overwhelmed him completely.

“you don’t understand what it’s like to be me!” he yelled, tears streaming down his face. “i’m constantly trying to be perfect, and it’s never enough — not for you, not for anyone!”

“i never said you had to be perfect, hyunjin,” you replied, your voice trembling. “i just want you to let me in!”

“maybe it’s better if we’re not together,” he snapped, his voice breaking. “maybe i can’t give you what you need.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. hyunjin’s chest heaved as he realized what he’d just said. “no,” he whispered, shaking his head. “that’s not true. i didn’t mean that.”

tears welled in your eyes as you took a step back. “hyunjin, you can’t just say things like that.”

“i know,” he said, his voice cracking as he stepped closer. “i’m sorry. i was scared and angry, but i don’t want to lose you. you’re the one thing that makes me feel like i’m enough.”

hyunjin fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he clutched yours. “please don’t go,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “i’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. just… don’t leave me.”

i.n ☆

jeongin wasn’t someone who fought often, but when he did, it was because something had truly gotten under his skin. tonight was one of those nights. the argument had started small, but it escalated quickly.

“you’re always treating me like i’m a kid,” jeongin snapped, his voice louder than usual. “like i don’t know what i’m doing or how i feel.”

“that’s not what i’m doing,” you countered, frustration evident in your tone. “i just worry about you, jeongin. is that so bad?”

“well, maybe i don’t need you to worry about me!” he shouted back. then, in a moment of blind frustration, he added, “maybe we shouldn’t even be together if you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

as soon as the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a wave. his eyes widened, and he looked at you as if he wanted to take it all back. “wait, no,” he stammered, his voice softer now. “i didn’t mean that. i… i don’t want that.”

your expression faltered, hurt flashing across your face. “jeongin…”

he stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i didn’t mean it. i was angry, and i said something stupid. please don’t take it seriously. you mean so much to me, and i can’t lose you.”

tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at you, desperate to fix the mess he’d created. “i’ll do better,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “just don’t leave.”

han ☆

han’s emotions always bubbled just beneath the surface, and when he was upset, it showed in every word and expression. tonight, his frustration boiled over in a way he hadn’t intended.

“you don’t get it!” he yelled, pacing back and forth. “you don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough!”

“jisung, i’m just trying to talk to you,” you said, your voice shaky. “why are you shutting me out?”

“because i don’t know how to talk about this!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “maybe… maybe it’d be better if we weren’t together. maybe then you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

the second the words left his mouth, he froze. his hands dropped to his sides, and he looked at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. “no,” he whispered, shaking his head. “that’s not what i meant. i didn’t mean that at all.”

you stared at him, hurt and disbelief written all over your face. “how can you say that, jisung?”

he stepped closer, his voice trembling. “i’m sorry,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “i was scared, and i let my fear get the best of me. i don’t want to lose you. you’re the only person who makes me feel like i’m enough, even when i don’t believe it myself.”

seung ☆ min

seungmin was usually calm and level-headed, but even he had his limits. tonight, the argument had pushed him to a place he rarely went.

“why do you always think i’m the bad guy?” he snapped, his voice sharp. “i’m doing my best, but it’s never enough for you.”

“that’s not fair, seungmin,” you replied, your tone frustrated. “i just want us to communicate better.”

“maybe we shouldn’t communicate at all,” he said coldly. “maybe we should just end this.”

the second the words left his mouth, his heart sank. he saw the look of hurt on your face, and regret washed over him. “wait,” he said quickly, his voice softer now. “i didn’t mean that.”

you took a shaky breath, stepping back. “seungmin, you can’t just say things like that.”

he nodded, his expression filled with guilt. “i know. i’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. please don’t take it seriously. i don’t want this to end. you’re… everything to me.”

chang ☆ bin

changbin’s temper was quick, but so was his regret. tonight, his frustration boiled over in a way he couldn’t control.

“why do you always have to push me?” he snapped, his voice rising. “can’t you just let me be for once?”

“i’m not pushing you, changbin,” you replied, hurt evident in your tone. “i just want to talk about what’s bothering you.”

“maybe we shouldn’t talk at all,” he shot back, his voice colder than usual. “maybe we should just end this.”

as soon as the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a truck. he froze, his eyes wide with realization. “wait,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “no, i didn’t mean that.”

you stared at him, tears welling in your eyes. “how could you say that, changbin?”

“i’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer. his voice was softer now, filled with guilt. “i didn’t mean it. i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. please don’t walk away. you mean everything to me, and i’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

notes: i don’t like redoing the same prompt, but angst is fun, so enjoy!

[strawberrystepmom]

nsfw. dante x f!reader. cw: size kink, blow job, very light somno. established relationship. all the ways he likes to cum in, on, and around you told through little vignettes. | wc 1.8k, reading time: greater than 5 minutes.

around

2 AM.

Even the city is sleeping outside yet inside your bed, calamity looms.

Dante is too horny to sleep yet too sweet to wake you. His dick has been painfully straining against the front of his boxers for what feels like hours and the pretty little thing next to him breathes softly, chest rising and falling as delicately as ever.

He thought at first that watching you might eventually lull him to sleep, counting your breaths and the twitches of your eyelids, yet it has only made his condition worse. A wet patch rests just outside where the head of him pushes against his boxers.

You smack your lips together, brows furrowing slightly while you writhe across blankets and sheets into a shape that presses your ass against the cradle of hips, his painfully hard cock standing proudly between the cleft of your cotton panty covered cheeks.

This is a terrible situation. On one hand he can ignore the way he throbs, an ache spreading from his cock to his stomach and constricting his throat that is driven by pure need.

But on the other hand, he can let you rest and handle this himself. He can keep quiet and polite, right?

One of his hands sails beneath the waistband of his boxers, the elastic resting over his wrist while he palms himself and buries his face in your hair to silence the sharp hiss that leaves him.

Okay…maybe he can’t be quiet. But he’ll stay at least muffled this way, right? Peppering the top of your head with sweet kisses while his fingers make a fist around the heat of his shaft, an experimental drag of his calloused palm over his skin making him shudder against your back.

You writhe again, ass settled even closer against him now. Dante’s knuckles press into the curve of your cheeks, his face heating while he makes another shallow pass up and down his length.

“You don’t haveta stop…”

Your sleepy voice, raspy and breathy, captures his attention. Big eyes look up at him, a little smaller than usual from sleep, but he meets them nonetheless.

“No?” He asks though he already knows the answer, squeezing himself to diffuse the growing pressure inside of him at least momentarily.

You shake your head and turn it slightly with a lazy smile, eyes moving from his scruffy face to lower where he makes another pass over his cock. He moans into your hair. You arch your back even more, your head lolling against his shoulder and settling into the side of his neck, just below his ear. It’s an awkward vantage point but you can still see every move he makes, his big hand tenting the fabric with every pleasurable stroke.

“Does that feel good?” Your sweet voice croons, lips falling to his neck to kiss it softly. He hums his response, busy fucking his own fist over the thought and sound and feel of you.

His favorite person, his best friend, the subject of all of his dreams and the object of all of his desires. You.

A dream made real. How? It isn’t up to him to figure it out, only to happily ride alongside you until the truth comes out.

“Love watching you do that, Dante.”

The way you say his name draws a moan, throaty and bold. His head is thrown back and exposes his neck to you, a gift you take advantage of by nibbling at it. You toss a hand over your side, wrapping it over his boxers and around his tightly clenched fist.

“Fuck.”

You giggle at his use of the expletive, kissing his throat and inhaling the musky scent of him. Your own head swims a bit but you urge yourself to calm down, knowing morning comes very soon and you’re far more patient than your beloved when it comes to that sort of thing.

Sometimes.

Wordlessly, he groans and cums, painting his knuckles white with his pent up need and desire for his girl. You squeeze his fist and then pull it away, allowing him to free his hand from his boxers and offer it to you. His fingers brush against your mouth and you accept them, popping the digits inside one by one to clean them thoroughly.

“Sorry,” he mutters against the top of your head, pulling his thumb from between your smiling lips.

Before he can even shift to get more comfortable, your soft breathing resumes, head resting on his chest.

“Love you.”

He whispers the words against your hair, hoping you’ll hear him even in your sweet dreams.

—————

on

“Everyone was watching us, you know.”

You look up at him, brows raised and corners of your mouth upturning slightly despite the obscene position it seems to have found itself in.

Moans and whimpers leave your throat as you swallow him down to the base and back up again.

He’s discussing the little club you sometimes drag him to, where you were before you ended up on your knees in the entryway to your apartment with Dante’s pants just below his hips. You were practically dripping leaving the club, he made it worse on the way home by whispering filthy promises in your ear, and as soon as the door opened you couldn’t take it anymore.

You had to taste him. Now you’ve been at it for enough time that he’s sticky with drool from his pelvis to his balls, your gaze always kept upward to feast on the pleasure you’ve brought him.

“Saw your eyes light up when I said that,” he chuckles, exhaling sharply when you take another inch of him deep behind your soft palate. His belt buckle jingles and mixes with the sloppy sound of your spit and his precum.

“You like it when people watch us, huh dirty girl?”

Humming in agreement, your throat and tongue vibrate around his shaft, punching a throaty moan out of him. His head falls back against the wall, one hand pushing through your hair and settling on the back of your head.

Without warning, you pop the seal of your lips stretched around him and look up with a grin. Your hands easily find a home around him to replace your mouth, fingers wrapping around his girth but not meeting in the middle. You begin pumping his slick cock, cheek resting against his pelvis.

“I like it when people imagine us doing this.” You’re goad, biting your lower lip naughtily. “What we look like, how we taste.”

He knows exactly what you’re doing, fingers tightening on the back of your head. This is the wind up before you really commit to making the final leg spectacular.

“And I’m sure they do.” Dante goads right back, lower lip making its way between his teeth so he can quiet the hiss that tells you how nearly done for he is.

He knows they do. Curious onlookers watch his hands slide up your skirt while the two of you grind and twirl and dance in a world all your making, intrigued by two people so lost in each other they’re traversing the map of the other’s mouth with their tongues surrounded by a throng of sweaty, gyrating strangers.

Speaking of tongues, yours lolls out of your mouth, clearly lonely after a few seconds spent talking and not laving across his salty flesh. You drag the tip of it across the sticky head of his cock, eyes fluttering shut in response when you taste him.

His entire body tenses in response.

You open your eyes, staring up at him with lazy, slow blinks. Your hands move so fast they’re practically a blur and your tongue toys with his frenulum endlessly, his fingers now clutching the back of your head tightly. Not enough to hurt but firm enough to tell you he’s.

“Fuck, fuck, I…”

He cannot get the words out quick enough. Thankfully you could tell, angling his shaft downward and allowing him the gift of watching thick ropes of his cum paint your partially exposed tits, leaving a translucent shine across your skin.

Dante’s chest heaves, back flat against the wall, and the hand that gripped the back of your head just moments prior now gently massages it.

“Was that alright?” You ask, cheek still pressed against him, eyes expectant.

He smiles down at you, deciding halfway to cut the bullshit and help you up instead, cupping your face while kissing you very nearly stupid.

————-

in

“Insi— fuck, Dante,” you hiss, back arching and pressing your chest against his which dwarfs you in comparison to its width. His hands slide into the dip of your waist, holding you arched at the angle your body naturally assumed in the throes of pleasure he’s provided.

”What was that?” He thrusts again, a wicked smirk crossing a handsomely full mouth. So arrogant for someone who nearly lost himself at the sound of your voice.

Your body jiggles tantalizingly with the motion, his hips rocking in and at a pace he is setting and keeping. Your hips weakly cant upward to meet him but you’re basically his to enjoy at this angle with his grip so firmly in place.

“Got—shit, don’t clench around me like that…gotta tell me, gorgeous.” He manages through gritted teeth, head hanging so low above yours that his hair tickles your face. “Where do you want me?”

You reach up to clutch his cheek with your clammy palm, brows pinched in pleasure, body feverish. That pretty bottom lip of yours is glossy with saliva amongst other things and he feels himself slipping further away, balls tensing and drawing close to his body as his release nears.

The touch of your soft palm isn’t helping matters. Dante drops his head and lets his forehead rest against yours, tips of your noses kissing while he continues his pace.

“Inside,” you bark out, frantic and impolite, before swallowing a whine and remembering your manners. “Please come inside me.”

Not that you’d have to ask him so kindly yet it does the trick, his eyes rolling back into his head while he thrusts into you as hard as he knows you like. Your legs instinctively close, the strength of your orgasm making the muscles in your thighs tense and spasm, framing each of his sides. The thrusts that rocked you become more shallow with each passing second, the unmistakable schlicking sound of both of your releases down his shaft mixing with your heavy breathing and his grunts.

Lips meet lips, his hands still holding you angled upward but slowly loosening their grip and helping you down flat to the bed beneath you. He softens a bit inside of you, still unbelievably turned on but spent after this performance, his thick release slowly oozing out of where you’re joined.

Part of you wishes you never had to leave this. The afterglow; his sweat and yours, breaths and hearts mingling. You could spend all day wrapped up in him, thigh to hip and chest to chest and face to face.

He’s made a regularly selfless woman extremely greedy. You hope he’ll never hold it against you.

“I love you.”

You say it breathlessly, a gossamer sigh instead of the grand declaration it is, yet it’s all the same to him when it’s mumbled while hanging from Dante’s lips.

Breath stolen from him, unable to speak, he chooses to kiss you until you’re both dizzy.

It says all you need to know.

[aetherraeys]

relieving the pressure

remus lupin x afab!reader ⊹ 4.2k

for this request x

cw ⟢ smut 18+ mdni, very domestic, established relationship, fluff, soft remus, very attentive!reader, swearing, p in v, riding, creampie, aftercare

summary: you always take such good care of remus before the full moon, moodswings and all—he's just so overwhelmed with love for you. (techincally part two of this, but can be read alone)

a/n: REMUS SMUT MWHAHAHAHAH gosh the second i started this i literally couldn't think about anything else. WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP PLS, not proofread x

The warmth that radiated off you was so soothing, and in combination with the tender twist and coil of your fingertips through his hair, Remus really didn’t stand a chance—the low lulling call of sleep beckoning him forward. Unable to fight against the exhaustion that had been looming over him and the mental fatigue of the day’s emotional whiplash.

You felt the rise and fall of his chest slow, the small hum of his content sighs coming to a stop and his hand falling limp against your waist—sleeping.

For a long while, you continued to indulge him, carding your fingers through his hair, letting them settle at the nape of his neck—before slowly, delicately peeling yourself from him, adjusting the pillow beneath his head, the duvet over his body. Silently treading around the room to close the curtains in exchange for the small bedside lamp, switching on the diffuser as your exited—leaving the door just barely ajar.

Unfortunately for Remus, the ache of his limbs jolsted him awake not long after you left, his arm reaching out in search for the warmth of your presence. And the lack of your discovery cause a small pout to settle onto his lips, tossing and turning to get a look at the clock, 7:38pm, barely and hour and a half of sleep.

Pursing his lips together with a sigh of reluctance, he forced his way out of the duvet’s cozy embrace—a sharp wince making slipping into the air with first steps he took. Stopping at the door frame when he noticed the lack of life in the living room, the heavy trickle of water reaching his ears as he turned into the bathroom.

You hadn’t noticed him watching, perched on the edge of the bath, the sound of the running tap accompanied by your light absentminded hums—and the corners of his lips twitched up in admiration, as your fingertips glided through the surface of the water. After a few more moments of observation, he stepped onto the cold tiles of the bathroom, the flitting of light from his shadow over the burning candles alerting you to his presence.

Immediately your lips stretched into a warm smile, walking over to him and wrapping him up in your arms. His head instinctively fell into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale—letting you fill all his senses, mumbling into your skin. The vibrations made your shoulders inch up as a giggle bubbled in your chest, leaning back to meet his gaze—eyebrows raised as an indication for him to repeat himself.

His hands settled on the curve of your hips, walking you backwards till your back pressed against the sink. You still looked up at him, eyes swimming with a soft, silent fondness that made his throat dry—your hands trailed up his sides, over his chest and neck, running over his hair before residing on the curves of his jaw, thumb tracing lightly over the scar by his lip.

“What y’doing?” His voice low and hoarse from disuse.

You stayed quiet for a moment, drinking in his appearence, the disheveled mass of curls on his head, the cowlick at the front of one of his brows, the slightly sunked dark circles that rested beneath his eyes; “Mmm, just running a bath,”

He knew it was for him, if the candle placement wasn’t telling enough, the book he’d been reading resting on the ledge by the window was a dead give away. Remus hummed back in response, leaning down and pressing small kisses across your face, leaving the last against your lips, grinning into the touches.

When you eventually pull away from him, leaving away, checking the rising water level—almost ready—he switched to holding your free hand, trailing behind you as you walked to the other cabinet. Shockingly clingy considering his previous mood, it still brought a small smile to your face—trying to work around the one handed handicap situation he’d put you in. When you reached for a small packet, you made an attempt to unzip it to no avail. Turning to look at him, your words littered with a huffed chuckle—

“I’m gonna need my other hand, bubs,”

Something similar to a pained groan rumbled in Remus’ chest as he released your hand—opting to wrap his arms around your middle, head resting lightly against your shoulder.

Opening the packet, you waddled over to the bath, Remus still clinging to your back, taking the small scoop and emptying it into the water—small buds of lavender rising to the surface as you leaned and ran your hand through bath.

“Am I the main ingredient in your soup?”

His words were muffled against your skin and your body shook with the giggles that ran through you—adding another scoop and turning off the tap before spinning to look at him, lips still stretched into a grin.

Your hand came up under the hem of his jumper, fingertips ghosting over the warm skin of his torso, and he made no attempts to fight against you—removing his jumper in one swift moment while you murmured. “It’s a bath salt, it should help with the aches,”

He leaned into your hold, hands rubbing small pressured circles onto the top of his hips—beginning his light assault again, this time peppering small kisses along your pulse, drifting up to the thin skin behind your ears. His voice was low and gravelly sending shivers down your spine.

“Will you join me?”

Letting out a soft hum of approval, Remus waste no time mimicking your actions and ridding you of your top—dropping it to the floor, joining his with a small thud.

Greeted with the newly exposed skin, his lips trailed to the tops of your shoulders, fingertips skimming over your spine, reaching up to unclasp your bra and roughly tossing it behind him. Soft sighs spill from your lips, basking in the affection before you eventually breathed—“It’s gonna get cold, Rem,”

Only then did he detach from your skin slightly, and with a squeeze of your hips, he stepped back, giving you both space to shimmy out of your bottoms.

His bones thanked him as the water embraced him, leaning against the cold ledge of the bath, coaxing him forward, you took your seat behind him, arms cradling his body as his did before. His hum vibrated low against your skin when he felt the warmth of your lips against his spine. You reached up, plucking the small vial of eucalyptus oil—dropping a pipette full into the water as well as your hands.

Using the heat of your hands to work it into his skin, Remus’ eyes closed as you started to work the tension out of his shoulders—letting his head hang forward, basking in the soothing lull of the water, as well as the attentive press of your fingers into his aching muscles.

“Does that feel okay?” Your voice was just above a whisper, breathy and honeyed against his neck, thumbs working their way down, on each side of his spine—goosebumps forming in their wake.

“Mmmm, feels really good, love,”

Once your hands reached the base of his spine, they snaked round back to his hips—kneading lightly into the flesh, pressing small pecks against his shoulder blade. Taking extra care to work out the knots that formed under his skin before bring your hands up to his hair—saturating the curls with water, massaging gently into his scalp as his rested his head against your shoulder. Looking up at you, eyes filled with contentment.

Your voice was soft and soothing in his ears; “Close your eyes,” reaching over him and adding a dollop of shampoo into your palm before lathering, sighs of relaxation spilling form his lips when the sweet jasmine scent took over his senses. For a few long drawn out minutes, you worked your fingertips into him in relative silence—bar the gentle melody you hummed lightly, soothing something deep in Remus’ bones.

By the time you’d washed, rinsed and conditioned his hair—he was sure he’d fall asleep right then and there if he wasn’t careful. After a final hum, more breath than words, he murmured, “Your turn, love,” When you stood, stepping out of the water, Remus quickly shifted back, making space for you.

The surface of the water sloshing against his torso as you re-entered, instinctively you laid your head against his chest, absorbing the familiar heat that radiated off of him—you lay against him for a while, his hands holding yours, rubbing absentminded patterns on your skin. Dipping your head lower, you submerged your hair into the water—eyes closed, letting the low dulling whoosh of the water bounce between your ears.

Just before you lifted your head, you opened your eyes to find Remus, his sights already on you—unfairly fond. Shampoo already lathered in his palms, waiting for you to full re-emerge, the softest smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He repeated your actions, rinsing and resting his chin on your shoulder. With a deep inhale through your nose, you turned to look at him slightly—he was all but melting into you—voice gentle and candied, “Feel better, Rem?”

His lips stretched into a wide, crooked grin—burying his cheek into the curve of your shoulder when he responded, “Much,”

You waited for a few more minutes before shifting forward, a pout etching itself onto his lips at the loss of contact. Reaching for a towel as you stepped out and over the edge the porcelain, when you turned back to him, his expression resembled that of a kicked puppy. Brows furrowed high on his forehead, pout curling down into a frown, his fingers gripped the edge as if he were going to pull himself out.

Instead, you leaned over to the window-cill, adding another few drops of oil into the water—you let your fingertips massage small circles onto the highpoint of his forehead, whispering to him—

“Stay in a little longer,”

His eyes were closed, sinking further into the water, your voice sounded almost hypnotic to him, mindlessly nodding to your words. Feeling the soft press of your lips against his temples before you padded out to dress and dry yourself.

It wasn’t long before Remus made his way into the bedroom, draining the bath just before his skin could raisin. His bed clothes were laid out on the side of the bed, warm to touch, and his heart ached at the extra lengths you went to to make him comfortable.

The loud whirring of the hairdryer coming to a stop as your turned to him, sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed—clad in a tank top and a pair of his boxer shorts, and as he got dressed he couldn’t help but admire, eyes glued to your form.

A half-exasperated smile twitched at the corners of your lips at his staring, bringing your hand down to at the bed with a few soft pats. Remus crawled into the spot you’d sat in, still warm from your presence. Towel hung loosely around his neck, tips of his hair still dripping onto it—he leaned back, arms supporting his weight as your leg swings over his, settling onto his lap.

His brows quirk up slightly accompanied with a lazy smirk, automatically shifting his weight to free his hands, letting them curve and rest on the round of your thighs. Rolling your eyes at him, but it had no real bite—your hands run though his wet tufts a few times, and his eyes are swimming with adoration.

Placing one small peck on his lips—puling away just a quick as you came in, and he found himself following your lips as they left. Only to be met with your finger, abruptly stopping his chase in its tracks—raising the hairdryer into his view a semi-smug, knowing grin extending across your face, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

The steady whirring hum of the dryer started and Remus squinted as the cool pressurised air hit his skin, one hand combing through his locs, the other shaking the dryer around his head. He let his hands wander over your skin, fiddling with the hem of his boxers on you, pads of his fingers drawing patterns against your thighs lightly, dragging the back of his nails down the exposed skin of your spine as you worked away.

When you’d finally dried the last section of his hair, Remus’ hands rested comfortably on the curve of your ass, and he couldn’t fight the temptation, pinching at the flesh. As the dryer bounced against the bed, you jolted on his lap at the feeling—a sharp gasp leaving your lips, swatting his shoulder slightly in feigned annoyance.

He barked out a laugh, palm rubbing soothingly over the spot, his head falling into the crook of your neck—body shaking insync with his laughter. Seamlessly, his hands continued on their wandering path over your body, pulling you closer into him as he pressed small kisses against your collarbone.

A huffed scoff slipped passed your lips as your breathed—

“Restless, are we?”

He didn’t respond with anything more than a dreamy sigh against your skin as he indulged further, basking in you, his lips moving languidly up the side of your neck. Words tumbled from his lips, muffled against your throat, a quiet confession lost to the warmth of the moment. Your hands find their way to his jaw, pulling him back slightly—he looks at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky yourself, slowly leaning up your lips murmuring again—clearer this time.

“I don’t deserve you,”

There was no time for you to protest, to correct his words before his lips were pressed against yours and his fingers were spread, wrapping around the dip of your waist—pulling until you were flush against him. The once slow, languid pecks bloomed into unrestrained, craven touches. He moved his lips against yours—yearning, the burning in the pit of his stomach suddenly too much to bare, indulging himself with rough kisses. He couldn’t help it; it was impulse—his heart swelled—overflowed with adoration.

You loved him like it was second-nature, easy—an instinct, and Remus didn’t know what to do with himself.

He’d become feverish, gripping onto you with vigor despite the mild ache of his joints, overwhelmed with affection for you, an airy “thank you,” passing his lips into the small space between you. Your fingers tangling the tufts at the base of his neck, detatching your lips, taking the opportunity to plant kisses all over his face, muttering against his jaw; “Don’t thank me, Rem,”

A low hum rumbled in his chest as you worked your way down his neck, littering kisses and nibbles along the way. His palms are hot against you, sliding under the fabric of your top, curling around the curve of your breast in a mean grasp, earning him a light gasp. In an endless pursuit for your lips, he took his oppportunity, the second your lips disconnected from his neck.

Bringing your lips together with a quiet groan, Remus was getting more handsy by the second, hands drifting and taking a bruising hold on your hips, driving your hips forward to rock roughly against his. Words muffled by your lips, hoarse and honeyed—

“So pretty,”

Your breath hitched as he guided your hips over his, the friction sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dug into your waist, desperate, as if trying to pull you deeper into him, to feel you more completely. Your name tumbled from his lips between kisses, each syllable a whispered prayer against your mouth.

A soft moan slipping from your lips "Mmf—Rem," threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to draw out a groan from deep within his chest. He shuddered beneath you, the tension in his body unraveling with each slow roll of your hips against his.

Holding your firmly before letting his back fall against the bed with a light thud, hand trailing down—slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. Squirming against him when the rough pads of his fingers made contact with your clit, making small teasing circles over the bundle of nerves, drinking in each sound that fell from your lips—rocking feverishly into his touch.

Detaching with a sharp gasp, head falling into the junction of his neck when he slipped in a finger, pushing, and curling upwards—whining into his ear, breathy pants of—”f-fuck, hah—Rem,”

Gods did he love the way you sounded, the sweet, almost melodic pitches your voice would make—how you try to focus on your breathing patterns, gripping hard onto his hair when he pushed a second finger past the ring of muscles, tightening the coil that blossomed in the pits of your stomach.

Breathing completely erratic, trembling against him, more heat radiating off you with each stretch and scissor of his fingers, curling and curling, making your head spin. Peeling away his harsh grip on your hips, to take your jaw in his hand—compelling your gaze onto him. Cheeks and lips flushed red—brows knit high on your forehead in pleasure.

Remus pushed your lips together, greedy, indulgent—wanting.

And as his fingers slowed, slowly pulling them away from your core with a shudder, you wasted no time wiggling out of your shorts, tearing his off of him with an urgency that forced an incredulous laugh out of him. Though, it was cut off in an instant—a rough groan forcing its way out of his throat when you straddled him.

The friction without clothes made him dizzy, twitching against your clit, jaw tightening when the rich, candied tone of your voice reached his ears—ringing in his head over and over—

“Wanna make you feel good, Rem,”

He couldn’t even appreciate the sight of you sinking onto him, eyes screwing shut, brow curling into an arch on his forehead, jaw slacking at the feeling of you—sucking him in further—inch after inch.

Fingers splayed over the pretty little happy trail to steady yourself, the air punching its way out of your lungs when you finally reached the base, a choked out, gasping moan sounded beneath you,“f-fuckkk,” reverbrating around the room.

And you gave him no time to recover, compose himself, push away the desperate clench that made him want to spill inside you immediately, no, your hips moved against him in harsh mean rocks.

His eyes rolling into the depths of his skull, hands gripping—clawing at the flesh of your waist, seeking a slither of mercy from your sinful bucks. It was hypnotising, just the feeling alone, the way you swallowed all of him, the dragging of your walls with each grind. And the angle—he was so impossibly deep, you couldn’t think straight if you tried, stretching you out, making your legs trembled by his side.

“h-haah, shit—dove, wait,”

He couldn’t contain himself, sweat beading by his temples, biting hard into his lip—his hips already stuttered a rough thrust up into you—forcing you to jolt forward, hands pressing firmly against his chest for stability.

Back arching, walls fluttering—clenching around him, mouth agape, the mantra of his name flowing from your lips in urgent gasping, cries “o-oh! rem, fuck—ngh,”

Forcing his eyes open, chest heaving as he drank in greedy gulps of air, trying to focus on anything but the delicious squeeze of your core around him—his breath hitched the sight of you. Utterly divine, kiss-flushed lips, wet and parted, brows pushed together, pretty lashes fluttering and flittering, pupils blown.

The soft smell of jasmine, vanilla and sex filling the room.

A breathless whimper leaving your lips when you rocked against him once more, feeling him prod that spot that made the heat in your stomach coil impossibly tighter. Your rhythm—it made his throat so painfully dry, the way you grinded against him, adding just a bit of pressure. It had his brain so cloudy, drunk on you, on the way you looked at him with the bleary half-lidded eyes.

He never wants to let you go—not now, not ever.

His palms kneaded the flesh of your hips unforgivingly, coaxing you to rock against him harder, raising his hips to meet each trembling buck of your hips. He was already so close, huffed groans endlessly spillling from his lips, curses littered with your name, voice shaking with each rock—

”f-fuck, so perfect, a-ah—angel,”

Remus’ pace was getting more frenzied and off beat with each lewd squelch that sounded from where you were joined, jaw clenched in efforts to keep him from teetering over the edge, completely at your mercy.

Your hands trailed up from where they were planted on his chest, in exchange pressing into the pillows beside his head, leaning into him—lips brushing against the shell of his ears, voice airy, candied and oh so sweet.

“does it—mmfp, feel good, rem?”

God, he was going to lose it, rutting up, frantically, into each rotation of your hips, each roll of your waist—stuttering as your teeth grazed against the thin sensitive skin behind his ear. Eyes rolling back in his head slightly before squeezing them shut for a moment. Swallowing thickly, words punctuating with low gasps, “o- oh god, s’good, s’good—need you to cum, dove—f-fuck,”

Taking one bruising grip away from you hips, and forcing it between you—rough pad of his thumb finding the swollen bundle of nerves that rubbed against him, your breathing became more unsteady and irregular, incoherent babbles tumbling out of you. Walls clinging to him desperatly as you hips twitched and spasmed against him, arms almost giving out beneath you.

The harsh thrusts of his hips, had him buried deep deep deep, thighs squeezing at his sides as your high washed over you, cries of, “nnfgh, rem, rem, rem—” filling the room, mixing with the strained gravelly moans that tore through him, stuttering wildly before stilling beneath you. Your body shuddering against his, hands still stuck to each side of your hips, shocks running through him as his filled you up—hoarse groans echoing in the room.

Jolts of pleasure still wracked over you, laying boneless against his chest as the aftershocks pulsed through your limbs, your breaths mingling in the quiet, sweat-slick warmth of the room.

Remus hadn’t let go—not even for a second. His arms secure against your waist, holding you close. His lips found your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there before murmuring, “You alright, dove?” His voice was hushed, still laced with the remnants of desire, but softer—gentler now.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “Mmhm perfect,” you sighed, lifting your head slightly, “Didn’t hurt you, did I?” You only felt the shake of his head, carding your fingers through his hair.

His hands traced slow, absentminded patterns along your back, fingertips ghosting over your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine—not from want, but from the sheer tenderness of it. You could feel the way his touch had changed, shifting from need to something even deeper, softer.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, already moving to press another kiss to your forehead before slipping away, shifting beneath you, reluctant but determined, carefully easing himself away despite how much he clearly didn’t want to let you go just yet. He pressed one last kiss to your shoulder before slipping out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom. The absence of his warmth made you shiver slightly, but he was back in seconds, a warm cloth in one hand, a glass of water in the other.

"Here, drink." He handed you the glass first, watching as you took small sips, his knuckles brushing against your cheek in quiet affection. Then, with gentle precision, he cleaned you up, his touch careful, attentive.

"Thank you, Rem," you murmured, voice drowsy—full of warmth.

He only smiled, shaking his head as he discarded the cloth and slipped back into bed beside you, immediately pulling you against his chest. "Don’t thank me, love,"

You curled into him, sighing as his hands resumed their slow, absentminded caresses—fingers gliding over your back, up your arm, through your hair. His lips pressed soft, fleeting kisses wherever they could reach—your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose.

"There," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and warmth. "Better?"

You hummed in response, tucking yourself even closer. His scent surrounded you, comforting and familiar, and you could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and strong.

"Much," you whispered, lips curling into a small content smile, Remus’ arms curled more securely around you, his breath evening out, and with the soft rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you let yourself drift off.

[pathologicalreid]

diphenhydramine | s.r.

in which reader has a hard time getting to sleep at night, leading to Spencer's step by step instruction of which hormones help you fall asleep

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: unprotected p in v sex, fingering, spencer infodumps while fingering you, restlessness, ambien, sex as a sleep aid, effective but not recommended, physiology, female masturbation, insecurity, reader doesn't pee after sex which you really should do, no clean up, but fanfiction isn't real. softdom!spencer. not thoroughly proofread. word count: 1.99k a/n: i thought i had this scheduled so imagine my surprise when i went to check tumblr and it wasn't posted. ANYWAYS. this one goes out to all the girlies with chronic sleep issues (me) and the person who requested this. don't like, don't read.

Your pillow was warm. Surely that was what was hindering your ability to sleep. Lifting your head, you flip your pillow over, resting your head on the cool side and turning to your other side.

Facing Spencer, you pull your arm out from under the covers, wondering if you should only change one variable at a time to see what actually helps you get to sleep. Huffing, you shut your eyes again, the usually muted traffic outside of your apartment seeming extraneously loud for this time of night.

You couldn’t put a name to it, but there was something keeping you up at night. You’d always had sleep issues, but your restlessness from the last several weeks was unprecedented.

“Angel,” your boyfriend says from next to you, reaching his hand out and placing it on your waist, trying to drag you across the sheets and into his arms.

Willingly, you move to his side of the bed, leaving space between the two of you to keep your body cool—maybe you were just too warm to sleep. “Did I wake you?” You ask, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He looks so ethereal in the diffused moonlight that seeps in through the closed curtains, the cool light falling over the harsh edges of his face.

He hums in response, opening his eyes and casually slipping a hand under your sleep shirt, resting his palm on your bare waist, “No,” he murmurs, even though you know he’s lying through his teeth. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” you tell him miserably, sticking out your lower lip even though he likely can’t see your face—his eyes would need to adjust to the darkness.

He shifts under the covers, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your ribcage, “Have you tried Ambien?”

Your primary care physician prescribed sleeping pills for you, but you didn’t have any interest in taking them. “So I can end up at the Lincoln Memorial with my underwear on my head? No, thanks.”

“I would be very impressed if you managed to sleepwalk all the way to the National Mall,” he muttered, his voice clearing as he became more alert.

You sigh in exhaustion, “I’m multifaceted.”

Spencer kisses your forehead, “Go to sleep, multifaceted.”

“I can’t,” you complain, watching him through your eyelashes, “I’m open to suggestions.”

Your boyfriend groans at your impertinence, “You could try taking the pills that your doctor prescribed to you.”

Rolling your eyes in the dark, you tuck some stray hairs behind your ear, “Nope. Any other ideas in that big brain of yours?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you get kind of snippy when you get tired?” Spencer asks rhetorically.

Frowning in defeat, you consider going out to the living room to watch something on the TV. At least that way you would be able to let Spencer get some sleep. “Are you telling me that there’s nothing you’ve read recently that has any kind of information on remedies for restlessness?”

Next to you, Spencer stiffens, and you wonder if he’s cold. You turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to cool down, “There are always new articles on sleep remedies, but none you’d be interested in.”

Your eyes flicker to the alarm clock on his bedside table, just past three in the morning, “I’m open to anything.”

“Orgasms produce some of the same hormones that are conducive to falling asleep,” he whispers, his ministrations on your waist coming to a halt.

Sighing, you flop onto your back, “I already tried that.”

He’s silent for a moment, “Were you touching yourself while I was in bed next to you?” There was a new lilt in his voice, some sort of shift as the type of frustration he was feeling changed.

Considering your options, you cross your arms in front of your stomach, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan, “Yeah, but I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t make yourself come?” He finishes for you, the words that you couldn’t get out slipping easily past his lips.

It shouldn’t embarrass you, but you find your face warming under the cover of night anyways. “No,” your answer comes out as barely more than an exhale, “I couldn’t quite get there.”

With his hand now resting on your abdomen, your attention laser focusing on the way his pinky finger skimmed the elastic band of your panties, “Do you want me to try?”

Honestly, it wouldn’t be much of an attempt, like every other aspect of his life, pleasing you is something Spencer excels at. “I want you to go to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you,” you decline his offer.

He doesn’t move his hand, “Are you sure? I’m offering, if you’re accepting.”

“I-“ you falter, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try, but only if you want to.” You were perfectly fine with going to the couch and wasting the night away in front of the TV screen. You’ve clocked a lot of time with the early morning newscast recently.

Spencer twists his wrist in response, looking at you in the cool light of the room, “I’m always interested in pleasing you.” He speaks to you quietly, retaining the reverent tones of the morning while slipping his hand deeper into your underwear. His index finger slipping easily through your folds, “Oh, you got close,” he whispers.

There’s no resistance as his finger breaches your entrance, already deeper than your fingers had gotten. Your mouth falls open, a small, choked gasp escaping your throat as your hand instinctively grabs at Spencer’s wrist, “Yeah.”

His motions are slow and precise, making sure you can feel every slight movement as he withdraws his finger before sliding it back into your pussy. Adding a second finger before his other hand pulls down at your underwear, haphazardly leaving them around your thighs before finding a rhythm. The peace of the night pauses only for the crude sounds from you, muffled by the blanket strewn over your bodies.

Gently, Spencer presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, maintaining the thrusts of his hand as he slowly encircles the sensitive nub, “Spence.” Your voice is a breathy laugh in recognition of just how quickly he can get you there.

There was something about having someone else touch you. When you do it yourself, you can hold yourself back or overthink it, but with Spencer’s hands on you—or in you, rather—there was nothing to hold back. “Sex can help you sleep for the simple reason that it’s physical activity, but it’s when you cum that your body releases hormones that can actually help you sleep,” his ministrations don’t suffer as a result of his physiology lesson. If anything, it all becomes more intense.

A sharp, high-pitched noise comes out of your mouth, the all too familiar knot in your lower belly coiling. And coiling. And coiling. “So, you can—” your voice cuts out as you gasp, “You can literally fuck me to sleep?”

Spencer hums a confirmation, “Sex reduces cortisol levels, and your body’s going to release oxytocin and prolactin,” he assures you, “and those will induce pleasant and relaxing feelings. All of which means I get to fuck you to sleep tonight.”

“’m close,” you breathe, closing your eyes as the pressure in your core nears unbearable levels. “Oh, Spence,” you say, your grip tightening on his wrist as his hands don’t let up on you.

His unoccupied hand reaches up to your face, gently sweeping hair off of your forehead in a way that makes you dizzy, his head falling to your shoulder before he kisses the worn fabric of your t-shirt, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t want you to hold it in, so you don’t. Your head tips back into the pillows as the coil in your belly snaps, going off like a slingshot—sharp and quick.

Spencer’s fingers keep working you through your orgasm, slowing at the same pace that your orgasm does, the sheets sticking to your back as you slowly unarch, coming back to the surface as the pleasure of your orgasm drifts away almost as quickly as it came.

Every part of your body trembles as you fall away from your high, hooded eyelids staring over at your boyfriend as you catch your breath. Timidly, you reach down and push your underwear down your legs, kicking them off into the abyss of sheets to be discovered at a later date as you turn on your side.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, shifting under the covers as he pulls his cock out of his boxer briefs.

You hum, scooting yourself closer to him on the mattress, heat emanating from his body in a way that you now find welcoming, “You can’t even see me.”

Grabbing your thigh, Spencer slings your leg over his waist, opening your body to him, “Not right now,” he admits, “But I know you. I know the way you look right now, while I’m slipping myself into you.” His voice is low, but your attentions are focused on the feeling of his tip at your pussy, slowly pushing into you. He lets your body adjust, this isn’t an angle he usually takes you at, but you can feel every single ridge as he moves.

“I know the glossy look your eyes have right now,” he mutters, pushing your lower back closer to him, leaving his cock impossibly deep in you. “A combination of the orgasm that you just had and the sensations you’re feeling right now.”

You shudder at his words, tentatively rolling your hips against him, silently signaling to him that you’re ready for him to move. A soft cry escapes your lips as he withdraws his hips, pushing himself back into you while your cunt throbs around his length, “Spence.”

He grunts in response, finding a steady, gentle rhythm as your mind goes blank. You find yourself searching for that high again, “You feel so good, angel. So, so good.” His voice is low as he pulls your body closer to him still, “Fuck.”

“Spence,” your voice cracks at stimulation, overwhelming you as he breathes into the crook of your neck. You dig your nails into his back, trying to keep yourself from screaming as his hand slips between your conjoined bodies, swiping softly at your clit.

Spencer keeps moving, fucking into you as his movements grow messier and messier with each passing thrust. “You’re so pretty,” he repeats, seeing your features in the soft moonlight as your mouth gapes and your second orgasm quickly approaches.

Whimpering, you bite down on your lower lip, your leg that’s slung over him shaking uncontrollably as you chase your orgasm, “Oh my god,” you gasp helplessly.

“So good for me. Let it go, I’m close too,” he says, continuing his motions even as your pussy clenches around his length, the waves of your orgasm pulsating around him, sending him hurtling toward his own.

Stars dance in front of your eyes, and you let them fall shut. His movements come to a stop and you loose a sigh of relief at the realization that you’re exhausted. “Don’t go,” you mumble.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding you close to him with one arm while readjusting his underwear with the other. “I won’t,” he whispers, “You need to call your doctor about wanting new sleeping pills.”

You grunt in response, too close to sleep to form a coherent response.

“I’m not opposed to a more natural remedy, but I’m not always around at night, and I need to know you’re sleeping at night,” he tells you, his voice growing softer as sleep threatens to take him.

Humming, you nuzzle closer to him, letting your body melt into the mattress as you finally fall asleep. Staying cold was no longer a concern, staying close to Spencer was.