#I do it completely without thinking about it

[sweeheeheehee]

first time? ⭑ heeseung

| in which.. heeseung, the known player, discovers his interest in the girl in the back of his english class..

| playboy!heeseung x virgin!reader ₊ highschool au ₊ reader is a inexperienced loser ₊ smut warnings: dom!heeseung oral (fem. receive) tongue fucking fingering virginity loss p in v rough sex unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it) petnames multiple oragasms cumming inside heeseung is pussy drunk for a second dumbification creampie breeding kink dirty talk lots of kissing

| i didn’t bother to proofread this cause i got lazy so if it’s bad then eat my ass but lmk if you guys would like an aftermath cause honestly i would LOVE to write one!! enjoy!

You don’t have any experience with boys. You’ve never even had your first kiss, haven’t even held a guys hand before. You can’t talk to anyone opposite gender without buffering and literally running away.

Exactly what you are is considered lame. a virgin.

What can you do? you can’t help but be a nervous wreck whenever you’re approached by a guy!

So what makes your english teacher think assigning YOU and lee heeseung, the schools most known playboy, on a project together would be a good idea?

You’ve heard things about him from girls he’s hooked up with. You heard a girl say he “fucked her so good she passed out” you wondered if that could actually happen..

“Mr. smith out of all the students in the class, you chose to partner me with heeseung? we are complete opposites!” You complained, in hopes of getting a partner change.

“Yn, heeseung needs this! he’s almost failing my class and you’re the top student! i need you to help him boost his grade because i cannot have him failing this class!” you let out a heavy sigh as your teacher picked up his bag and left the classroom, leaving you alone.

You’re so fucked. Working with heeseung would mean distraction and distraction means no work, excluding the fact you could barely look him in the eye.

“Fuck..” You huffed.

“What’s got you in a tangle hm?”

A very familiar voice sounded from the doorway. “What are you doing in here alone anyway?” heeseung asks, stepping into the classroom.

You turn to him, your eyes widened from his surprise attack, “Uh-“ “Aren’t we partners on this english project thingy? Good, i need a good grade in this class or i’ll fail”

Heeseung eyed you, examining your every move. Every little twitch of your finger, when you bit your lip softly, the way you blinked excessively when his eyes met yours. Heeseung waited for a response while you just stared at him nervously.

Another beat of silence passes and heeseung looks away with a “tsk”.

“Good talk! uh anyway we can start working tomorrow night at my place just come anytime after five” heeseung says as he gives you a piece of paper with his address on it. “see ya later cutie”

“cutie” ??? he found you cute even though you barely even made a peep while he was talking to you..

oh you’re so definitely fucked.

The project actually didn’t seem too hard, you could do this by yourself but mr. smith just had to put everyone in pairs. Why did it have to be you to boost his grade up anyway? There were plenty of other students who were more than willing to tutor heeseung.

You shouldn’t be the one responsible for his grade, it was his fault he didn’t try to pay attention in class nor do his work. And plus heeseung wasn’t going to help you do the assignment! All he’s gonna do is sit back on his phone while you do his part.

He won’t even learn anything and the teacher knew this so why did he partner you up? You don’t know.

You paced back and forth in your room debating if you should show up early or late. You didn’t even want to go but mr. smith gave you such little time to complete this assignment.

You must’ve taken too long overthinking because the next moment you glanced at the clock it was 7. Great, now you’re gonna show up to his house late late amazing!

You quickly grabbed your keys along with your school bag and shoved the piece of paper into your pocket, running out the door alerting your roommate you’ll be back. You punched his address into the gps and started to make your way there.

On the road, you hoped you didn’t make a fool of yourself, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of heeseung because he’s the type to tell his friends about it.

Gosh, you couldn’t be anymore unlucky, you’re seriously dreading meeting up with heeseung in private. Your stomach felt uneasy due to the nervousness building up, who knew heeseung would make you feel this way?

Why didn’t you say “no” to meeting up? Gosh you’re so stupid. Okay, you seriously need to calm down it’s just one meet up! It can’t be that bad.. right..?

It was about 7:15 by the time you finally arrived at his house. Taking deep breaths, you gathered all the courage you had and made your way to his front door.

With a sigh, you knocked once, twice, should you knock a third time? Would that seem desperate? Yea that’s definitely too much. But he hasn’t answered the door yet? Maybe you should knock ag-

Before you could finish your thought, the door swung open revealing heeseung. He had on grey sweatpants that hung loosely off his hips along with a baggy white tee. He looked good.

“Took you long enough! was starting to think you weren’t gonna show” Heeseung says with a grin as he looked at you like you were his lunch. “Uh yeah sorry i uhm lost track of time! haha..” Heeseung lets out a breathy laugh and moves aside to let you in.

“My roommates are out of town for a little while so we can work in my room” “oh okay..” In his room? You really could just work in the living room.

You felt all the nerves as heeseung led you to his room. You tried to mentally calm yourself because you’re only here to work, nothing else. You do your roles for tonight and then you’re out of here.

Heeseung’s room was surprisingly clean, his bed was made, his collection of keyboards was organized in a particular way, and there were no clothes on the floor nor any food.

It smelt strongly of his cologne but it was oddly comforting.

He plopped down on his bed, quickly kicking his legs up and getting comfortable while you just stood at his door awkwardly.

“Don’t be a stranger baby,” heeseung says while patting the spot next to him.

You laugh nervously before walking towards him cautiously as if he were a dog about to snap any minute. He examined your every step, smirking.

You sit on the side of his bed with your back facing him and pulled out your laptop from your bag, “The sooner we start to work, the sooner we’re done! lets start”

He only lets out a quiet chuckle. It was so faint you barely heard it. But you did.

The assignment was something about historical figures, you two got assigned William Shakespeare and both of you had to study this and that about him.

You were too busy reading and typing away that you didn’t notice heeseung hadn’t been typing the whole time.

He was just.. sitting there and staring at you.

You could feel his eyes burning holes through the back of your head, his breathing heavy.

Your fingers came to a slow stop, “Uhm.. how’s your part going..?” You ask while slowly turning to him.

As soon as you turned to him, your eyes met and you felt your body go weak for a moment.

“This is boring. I don’t want to do this” heeseung whined like a child and pushed his laptop away from him.

“I- Uhm-“ You cleared your throat. “Well you have to do your part in order to get a good grade heeseung, you said you had to get a good grade or you’d fail..” Your voice came out weak and unsteady as you struggled to hold eye contact.

Heeseung only let out a groan and sat up, now face to face with you. “You know.. i have something more fun to do”

You knew exactly where this was leading, and you didn’t want to let it happen.

“Heeseung, we only have a few days to complete this assignment so please no foolish acts..”

With another breathy laugh he replied, “I promise to do my work if you let me show you how much fun we can have, hm princess?”

Your eyes slightly widened at the change of his tone your heart started to beat faster, “heeseung.. p-please.. let’s just get our work done..”

Your mouth was slightly ajar as you felt your eyes start to water from how nervous you were. Heeseung was slowly moving closer to you, his gaze switching from your eyes to your lips.

“Cmon princess, it’s not gonna be that bad.” He places his hand on your chin, his face now inches from yours.

When you don’t dismiss his suggestion, he takes that as a sign and finally leans in and presses his lips against yours.

Your eyes instinctively shut as his other hand went to hold your waist from behind. The position you two were in made it uncomfortable.

You were too much in shock to try to kiss back, you two just sat there with your lips connected.

He pulled away after a minute and looked into your eyes admirably. “so pretty”

Heeseung guided you to lay on your back so he was now in between your legs hovering above you.

He leaned back in and this time you kissed back. It was soft and careful, like you were something fragile.

His hand suddenly gripped your hip firmly, earning a tiny gasp from you, and heeseung took that as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

The assignment was long forgotten as the kiss grew deeper and needy.

His hand gripping your hip suddenly pulled you closer to his body, letting you feel his hard cock through his pants.

The sudden pressure caused you to whimper into his mouth as your hips involuntarily grind down on him again. 

He pulled away with a string of saliva stretching from your mouth to his.

“Slow down princess, i wanna taste you first” Heeseung speaks lowly before his lips attach to your neck, sucking and nibbling. Your hands tangle into his locs, the feeling of his hands and mouth on you becoming overwhelming.

One of his hands on your hips move to the bottom of your shirt, slowly pulling it up. “H-heeseung.. i’ve never done anything like this before..” You whisper out.

He pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, “I’ll take care of you pretty, just let me do the work.”

With that, he starts to pull your shirt over your head and you arch of the bed slightly to help him.

Once your shirt was off, he tossed your shirt somewhere on the ground as he admired your tits, “Fuck.. they’re perfect baby..” He whispered and leaned in to start kissing and sucking marks on the exposed skin.

Your hands that are in his hair slightly tug on the strands, causing him to groan.

His hand slides behind you to unclip your bra sending shivers down your spine. Your tits spill out as soon as he removes the restraint and again tossing it with your shirt.

He pulls back to get a good look at your chest, licking his lips “You’re fuckin’ perfect”

Heeseung dives back in and starts sucking on your nipple, the sensation causing waves of pleasure to course through you.

“Oh my… heeseung” You let out breathlessly, mindlessly arching up into his touch.

He hums in response and starts to slowly trail kisses down your torso, ending at the waistband of your pants.

This time he doesn’t wait for your consent, too eager to finally taste you.

In the blink of an eye, your pants end up on the floor with the rest of your clothes leaving you in your panties.

“Not fair.. why am i completely naked while you’re fully clothed” You complain.

Heeseung laughed and sat up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head. His body was carved deliciously, his abs were defined and his biceps were now fully revealed.

You had to bite your lip in order to contain a whimper threatening to spill as he leaned back down to face your clothed cunt.

He trailed kisses down your inner thighs getting oh-so close to where you so badly needed him only for him to trail his lips back up.

“Heeseung.. please” You pleaded, you were pretty sure he could feel and hear the throb of your pussy.

Heeseung smiled deviously as he bit down on your underwear and slowly tugged it off, making intense eye contact with you while he took his cruel time teasing you.

Now fully revealed to heeseung, you couldn’t help but feel shy and instinctively retract yours thighs back together but heeseung’s head stopped you.

He laughed lowly, “Don’t get all shy now baby” Heeseung mumbled and used his hands to pry your thighs open again.

You felt sensitive as the cold air hit your soaked cunt.

“Fuck..” heeseung whispered before diving in without warning eliciting a dragged out moan from you.

His bold licks caused your hands to fly to his hair once again, pulling harshly as he sucked on your clit just right. “nghh heeseung.. feels so- fuck- so so good”

Your grip on his hair increased when he moved his tongue lower and into your hole.

He slid his tongue in and out as his nose nudged your clit deliciously. You couldn’t contain the loud high-pitched moans that flooded out of you, thank goodness no one was home.

Heeseung’s grip on your thighs tightened as he pushed himself deeper into your pussy urging his wet muscle deeper into your hole as his shoulders pushed your legs off the mattress.

His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on delivering your pleasure, his hands spreading your legs even more.

You felt the pressure in your stomach building as you tugged on his hair again, “Hee.. you’re- ah- i’m s-sooo close!”

He only growled into your pussy, the vibration adding to the pleasure.

Not once did his pace falter as he brought you closer and closer to your breaking point. The lewd sounds of your slick with his saliva was borderline dirty.

Your moans and whimpers grew more high-pitched the closer you got. “mmm hee im gonna cu- oh!”

With one last tug at his strands your orgasm hit you like a truck and you finally came undone on his tongue heeseung helping you through your high.

His pace didn’t slow, he drank every last drop of your release and even pushed his face deeper if that was possible.

The overstimulation kicked in immediately after your high was over, you whined and squirmed and attempted to push heeseung off.

“Heeseung.. too much too sensitive” You say breathlessly.

His hands steadied your hips, “Stop moving.” Heeseung growled against your folds and made you take what he was giving you.

It wasn’t long until he had you coming undone again with a loud squeal. 

Again, he swallowed your release and gave your clit a kiss before crawling back up your body, his lips and chin glistening with your cum.

“taste so sweet” he murmured before he leaned in to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips.

You bucked your hips forward in a desperate attempt for some friction. “You sure you’re ready?” heeseung asked, his voice careful and steady.

You nod, your head clouded with lust and desire too far in to turn back now.

Heeseung grins slightly as he plunges two of his digits into your drenched hole. His eyes are focused on yours as he carefully examines each scrunch of your nose and every time your mouth falls open.

“Gotta stretch this pussy a bit if you wanna take my dick”

He scissored his fingers inside you making you a moaning mess.

Once he was satisfied, he pulled out his fingers and held them to your lips with a “open.” You parted your mouth open and sucked his fingers clean while he watched.

Heeseung went to take off his sweats along with his underwear finally letting his painful hard cock free.

It immediately sprung out hitting his stomach, the tip angry red and leaking with precum. You felt fear shoot through you at the size of it. That? was supposed to fit in you?

“Fuck. This might sting a little but just bare with me” Heeseung said as he held your hips still.

Heeseung slowly pushed the tip in, the stretch all too much but addicting in a way. “mm-”

Heeseung stopped with half his dick inside, allowing you to adjust. “ffffuck you’re tight” heeseung says as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

He stayed still for a while until you told him “you can move”

Heeseung’s restraint seemed to snap all within a second as he pushed fully in pulling a very loud moan from you. “Fuck i love the sounds you make” heeseung whispered in your ear.

Your legs felt weak from the penetration, the new feeling of the burning stretch felt surreal.

Heeseung started to move slowly but as his pace increased, so did your volume.

The sound of skin on skin echoed through the room mixed with your moans and his occasional grunts.

His hands squeezed your hips so hard you’re sure it would bruise. “feels so good- fuck” he muttered.

You heard his quiet moans in your ear which only turned you on further and your nails to dig into his back.

You weren’t aware of how loud you were until he said something about it, “Enjoying yourself that much huh princess?” the smile clear in his voice.

“Heeseung.. fuck!” You moaned.

The wet, lewd sounds were straight up filthy. You couldn’t believe you’re the source of the sounds.

Your mind grew even more clouded with each thrust and each creak of the frame, you were sure the neighbors hated you guys by now.

“Fuckkk i love this pussy” heeseung dragged out, his voice high. Your nails raked down heeseung’s back leaving painful scratches but he didn’t care.

Heeseung suddenly sat up on his knees, grabbed one of your legs that were around his waist and placed it over his shoulder.

When he started moving again he hit places so deep you didn’t know he could reach.

Now your mind was completely blank. you couldn’t process anything but moans as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “mmm yess! lovvee it!”

Heeseung laughed lowly, “You love it huh?” “yes!”

His tip kissed your cervix making your moans higher. Heeseung could tell you were close because of your tone.

“You close baby?” You couldn’t answer. You were too lost in the pleasure to acknowledge what he said, the band in your stomach tightening beyond belief. “Best pussy i’ve ever had fuckkk”

One of heeseung’s hands went down to rub your clit in circles adding to the pleasure. Everything heeseung said sounded like background noise, your mind was hazy and your vision was dotted with white.

“You still with me princess?” heeseung said between thrusts, you could only let out moans in response.

His nails dug into your flesh as his pace increased, his dick twitching inside of you signaling he was close. You were too.

“Gonna fill this pretty pussy full. you want that right princess?” heeseung spat at you, looking down at your fucked out look, your eyes rolling back.

His hand on your leg reached to grab your face, “answer me.”

“yes! want it all!” You replied.

“Good girl.” heeseung says with something you can’t place your finger on.

His hand let go of your face and returned to its original position on your leg as he now focused on chasing his high.

With a loud, high moan, your orgasm washed over you, soaking your thighs and his stomach.

Heeseung kept thrusting even after you came, creating a white ring at the base of his cock. With a moan of your name, his hips stilled as he buried his warm cum deep inside of you and collapsed on top of you.

You shivered at the feeling, your body going limp as you slowly came back to reality.

After another minute of silence, he slowly pulled out the mixture of your cum and his spilled out of you.

“How was that for your first time?” heeseung asks with a smug smile. “It was.. really good” You answered tiredly as your eyes grew heavy.

You felt heeseung get off the bed for a moment and when he returned he was cleaning you with a damp towel. He discarded it once he was done and guided you under the blankets.

“I know you’re tired, go to sleep” heeseung whispered in your ear.

The last thing you felt was his arms sliding around your waist and his chest pressing against your back before you drifted off to sleep.

Maybe Mr. Smith partnering you with heeseung wasn’t such a bad idea..

my debut fic 👅👅 yes im very aware of how many times he calls reader baby or princess shush.. bruh i legit couldn’t stop laughing while writing this i forgot writing smut made me laugh.

[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 4

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 3

You were already home when you opened your conversation with her.

E:

i have to tell you something.

You frowned the second your eyes landed on it.

You were already curled into bed—fresh from the shower, hair damp against your neck, oversized shirt slouching soft over your thighs. The room was dim, lit only by the weak orange buzz of your fairy lights. That Friday exhaustion still clung to your bones, but none of it mattered.

You were settled. Cozy. Warm.

There was nothing better than the thought of spending the whole weekend like this—no plans, no noise. Just your room, your phone, and her.

Something about the message hit different. Not her usual caps-locked chaos or horny emoji spiral. Just plain. Sharp. Hanging in the air like a loaded pause.

You stared at it longer than you meant to, thumb hovering.

You:

heyyyy

yeah?

what is it

You watched the read receipt appear, vanish, then return—followed by the word Typing, then nothing, then Typing again, like she was wrestling with whatever it was she couldn’t quite say.

E:

nevermind lol it’s dumb

just had a brain moment

u ever think a thing and go wait no i’m actually insane?

that was me. carry on.

You stared and your frown lingered.

There was something in it. Something unfinished, like she’d swallowed the thought halfway. It pressed at your chest—not hard, but enough to make you pause.

You let it sit there and tapped your thumb slow against the screen.

You:

don’t do that

if it mattered to you, it’s not dumb.

A beat and you double texted her.

You:

but fine. i’ll stop bugging

just tell me when ur ready

even if it’s weird

i like weird

E:

okay but what if it was like “i was possessed by a sexy ghost” weird

or “i’ve been thinking about ur mouth for 5 days straight” weird

bc that’s the category i’m working in rn

You snorted, the knot in your chest loosening instantly.

You:

girl what

E:

this is ur fault.

ur criminally hot and i’m emotionally unstable.

i almost sent u a poem today and had to physically restrain myself

You:

wait u wrote me a poem???

E:

no one’s ever gonna see it

unless i die then u can publish it posthumously

You rolled onto your side, laughing into your pillow, smiling so hard it made your face ache.

You:

SO how was ur day, poet

other than spiraling over my mouth

did the tragic lesbian survive algebra?

E:

barely

i almost died. they tried to silence me.

i doodled boobs on my notes again. staying humble.

You:

u say that like it’s a coping mechanism

E:

it is. ur boobs specifically

You snorted again, tension bleeding out of you with every stupid message that followed.

You:

do u miss them ??

should i send u some again so u can cope better?

E:

don’t tempt me rn i’m weak and unsupervised

You:

so that’s a yes

E:

that’s an always

You bit your lip, grinning into your pillow like an idiot.

She was back to herself—unhinged and dramatic, talking about how her math teacher was probably a demon who fed on the dreams of students. Complete with all-caps outbursts and at least two conspiracy theories. You kept laughing. Kept typing.

Eventually, your thumbs started to cramp.

You:

i swear my thumbs are buff now bc of u

E:

hot

You:

everything i say u turn into gay

E:

it's given

You bit your lip. Your heart thumped—stupid and full.

You didn’t ask again about the message. You didn’t have to. Whatever she’d meant to say, she clearly couldn’t yet.

You stayed texting until your phone went warm in your palm, until your eyes stung from grinning too long. By the time you checked the clock, it was 3AM.

You didn’t mean to stay up that late, but that’s what always happened with her. The later it got, the more chaotic the messages became. If it wasn’t full-blown unhinged, it was weirdly horny. And if it wasn’t horny, it got accidentally deep—like two sleep-deprived idiots trying to figure out the meaning of life between memes and finger-smash typing.

You:

do u ever wonder what we’d be like if we met in real life?

or would we combust instantly?

You barely had time to brace for whatever ridiculous answer that would get when your phone buzzed again—this time from a different notification.

From Ellie.

You blinked at the name—Ellie, already saved in your phone—and still typed:

You:

who is this?

Ellie:

It’s Ellie. From school.

A faint smirk tugged at your lips.

You:

i know

Ellie:

Just wanted to let you know I’m starting the draft for our project. It’s nothing serious, just bullet points. I figured I’d organize ideas before Monday.

You stared at her message, already smiling.

You:

you couldn’t tell me that earlier in class??

Ellie:

I didn’t think of it until now.

Also I'm still awake, so.

You:

why r u still up anyway ?

Ellie:

I wanted to be productive while the ideas were still fresh.

You snorted.

You:

nerd.

Ellie:

Sure.

You paused, glancing at your other chat. E hadn’t replied yet. Your thumb hovered, tempted to double text.

But right before you did—

E:

sorry went blank for a sec i was picturing how u say my name in a whisper lol anyway what were we even talking about

You laughed out loud, the sound muffled into your pillow.

You:

do u want me dead

E:

yes but like sexily

Another buzz.

Ellie:

Let me know if you’d rather read the notes now or wait for Monday. Either way works.

You laid your phone on your chest for a second, staring at the ceiling. One of them wanted to die at your hands. The other was politely offering to share bullet points at 3AM.

And just like that—when you’re happy, when it’s fun—time moved stupidly fast.

The hallway pulsed with the usual Monday mess—shuffling sneakers, lockers clanging shut, someone already yelling, and of course, that one kid running like it’s a sport.

You felt obnoxiously good for a Monday. The kind of good that only came from two straight days of texting someone who made your brain feel like soda bubbles. You were still carrying a smile that hadn’t fully faded since 3AM.

You suddenly spotted Ellie.

Standing at her locker, blue flannel shrugged over her usual black tee, one side of her hair still sleep-creased. Headphones rested around her neck. She looked a little worn—like sleep hadn’t been a priority. Like someone who’d stayed up too late doing something they didn’t regret.

You didn’t stop walking. Just drifted right up beside her locker, leaned against the one next to it like you had all the time in the world.

She didn’t look at you at first—just shifted her books with one hand, nudging her sketchpad into place. Her fingers lingered at the edge of a notebook you knew too well now. The one she said she started drafting in.

Finally, a glance. Quick and dry.

Then a sigh.

You smirked at her reaction. Tilted your head like you were observing something mildly amusing.

“So,” you said. “How was your weekend?”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. Just reached deeper into the locker like she was debating throwing herself inside it.

“Quiet,” she said without looking at you.

You raised your brows. “That’s it?”

She shoved a pencil case into her bag and shut the locker with a dull thud. “What do you want me to say? I spent it drafting our project.”

You leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Mm. So productive.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t help it if you’re easily impressed.”

“Who said I was impressed?” you shot back, one brow raised. “I’m just asking.”

Ellie adjusted the strap of her guitar case on her shoulder, finally meeting your eyes. “Right. You’re just asking. Because you care deeply about how I spent my weekend.”

You shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe I do.”

That got you a blink. A pause. Her gaze flicked over your face—just for a second too long.

You smiled, all teeth.

“Wanna guess how I spent mine?”

Ellie didn’t say anything—just glanced away, too fast to be casual.

You tapped the locker with your knuckles, straightened up slowly. “See you in class, Williams.”

And with that, you walked off and didn’t look back.

But if you had, you might’ve caught the exact moment Ellie muttered under her breath—barely audible over the hallway noise.

“Jesus Christ.”

You slipped into your usual seat, still warm from your walk through the halls and encounter with Ellie. One of your friends tossed a lazy “hey,” but you barely glanced up—already pulling your phone out, screen lighting up with that soft blue glow.

You:

wakey wakey

i’m already in class

don’t blame me again if you end up being late, poet

Your grin was immediate. Unchecked. You bit it back behind your palm, thumbs still hovering when someone cleared their throat right beside you.

You looked up.

Ellie.

You didn’t hide your expression—still smiling like a dumbass, phone in hand.

“Yeah?” you asked, one brow raised.

She was holding out the notebook. The one she told you about. She didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Just—here,” she muttered, placing it down in front of you.

Your gaze dropped to the familiar cover, then back to her.

You smiled wider. “Thanks. I’ll look over it later.”

She nodded, quiet. “Cool.”

She turned without another word and made her way to her own seat. You tapped the corner of the notebook with your fingers, still smiling.

Your phone buzzed.

E:

why are u like this

i was gonna be late but now i’m getting up just to annoy u

also maybe to see what u look like in class all smug and pretty

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.

You:

haha u wish

i wish u were my classmate for real tho

i can only think of many things 👀

E:

what things ??

You:

idk

maybe like… we’d be seatmates

and i wouldn’t wear any undies on purpose

Three dots appeared immediately. It vanished and came back again.

E:

ok well. i just flatlined in my desk chair.

thanks a lot

You:

just trying to motivate u to get to school on time

E:

I'M ALREADY AT SCHOOL BRUH

i am not responsible for the thoughts i’m having rn

You grinned, legs curled up in your chair, heart stupidly light.

You:

am i making u…?

right now?

Another pause.

Typing..

E:

ma’am this is a public institution

You:

answer the question :)

E:

let’s just say i’m sitting very still rn

and ur going to hell. congrats.

You bit back another grin so hard your cheeks hurt.

You:

worth it.

E:

i hate u

Your thumb hovered over the screen, still smiling like a complete idiot as the bell rang.

You:

ur really gonna hate me when i say

i’m not even wearing a bra rn

E:

YOU’RE A MENACE

i hope you’re proud of yourself for what you're doing to me

You:

just a little

E:

really huh

if i were ur seatmate

i’d sit too close

thighs touching, shoulder to shoulder

and i’d keep dropping my pen just to bend down and grab it

and yk

You:

AND I KNOW WHAT?

GO ON I BEG U

okay actually u don’t need to

because i already am..

E:

good.

that’s what you deserve.

you wanna play? let’s play.

You:

worth it again

every damn single time

Your phone buzzed again, and you bit back another grin.

E:

UR INSANE

You:

okay well tytl nerd

class starts

but thank u i guess for giving me something to think about while i touch myself tonight

or maybe right after this class ;)

Time blurred.

Class, lunch, class again—standard Monday drag. Nothing special. Just the usual shuffle between subjects and half-awake conversations that barely counted as human interaction.

Now, you were in the library for your last period. Final class of the day. The room was quiet in that stiff, almost sacred way libraries get—like if you breathed too loud, someone would smite you.

Ms. Alvarez, who walked in balancing a thick binder and a tired expression. She barely made it past the first five minutes before clearing her throat and announcing, “Alright, class. I have a faculty meeting in ten. You’re allowed to continue working on your project in pairs, but you must stay in the classroom or within school premises. No one leaves early. Understood?”

You were sitting across from Ellie. She was fully immersed in whatever she was typing on her laptop—jaw tight, brows drawn, fingers moving like she was coding national security protocols instead of organizing character arcs.

You tried to match her energy for a grand total of three minutes before your attention span gave out completely.

Your gaze dropped to the window. From the second-floor view, you could see a couple of students loitering around the quad, stretched out across benches and grass. Someone was dramatically eating a banana. You didn’t know why that annoyed you.

Without thinking, you reached for your phone.

One unread message.

E:

WHAT THE FUCK

IF UR GOING TO TELL ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT IN CLASS AT LEAST LET ME WATCH

FOR COMPENSATION

jk

but yes?

You bit your lip hard—so hard it almost hurt—not wanting to smile in front of Ellie. You slipped the phone away like it burned, then reached toward her side of the table.

She didn’t look up when you slid her notebook over, flipping straight to the page.

Possible Story Structure – v1.0

You stared at it for a beat. Then made a face.

“This is so boring,” you muttered.

Ellie kept typing. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. This is criminal. Look at this—no dramatic kisses? No one cries? This is actual villain behavior.”

“They’re just notes,” she said without looking up.

“They’re rules. And they suck.”

“They’re guidelines,” she corrected, finally glancing your way. “And they exist because someone—you—suggested glitter-induced closet sex as a turning point.”

“And yet, you wrote it down.”

Ellie sighed through her nose. “So you’d shut up.”

You jabbed your pen at the “Maybe a forehead touch??” line. “This. Right here. What is this. This is loser behavior.”

“It’s called restraint.”

You let out the fakest gasp imaginable. “Loser and pretentious.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You want them crying in the rain after a juice box incident.”

“Because that’s real storytelling, Ellie.”

“You literally renamed the central conflict The Tragic Juice Box Betrayal of 7th Grade.”

“It was a betrayal. And it was orange. It stained. It’s metaphorical. You just don't understand.”

You were staring back at each other.

You leaned forward just a little. “Also, I know you sketched the supply closet scene in the margin of your algebra notebook.”

“That was a box,” she said flatly. “It was a literal box.”

“Sure,” you said, unconvinced.

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to summon patience from another plane of existence.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“You’re just repressed.”

She blinked. “Says the girl blushing at her phone two minutes ago.”

You froze.

Ellie tilted her head, a little too smug. “Hmm?”

You cleared your throat. “That’s classified.”

She smirked—barely. “Suspicious.”

You slid the notebook back toward her. “Fix your outline before I submit a new draft with a title you won't really like.”

She rolled her eyes casually, shaking her head as she went back to her laptop.

You leaned back in your chair—annoyed, stretching a little before grabbing your phone again—this time not even pretending to be sneaky about it.

Ellie didn’t look up, but you could feel her noticing.

You opened your chat with E, thumb already moving.

You:

i’m literally sitting across from the most insufferable person alive

she’s so bossy and uptight and acts like she’s above dramatic plotlines

like okay sorry i want EMOTION in my fake scenarios??? sue me???

she actually said “restraint” like it was a flex. loser behavior actually.

You smirked, shot a glance up, then kept typing.

You:

also she keeps pretending she didn’t sketch the closet scene

it was OBVIOUSLY not just a box

You huffed quietly, shifting in your seat. Ellie was still typing—completely zoned in, not looking at you.

You looked back down at your screen.

You:

she’s doing that thing again

getting all serious like we’re submitting this to sundance

like relax. it’s two fictional lesbians and a tragic juice box. let me work.

You paused for a beat, then kept going.

You:

WHATEVER

idk. don’t wanna argue about it

i just wanna talk to you

remember what i said before about making out in the nonfiction aisle?

i’m here at the library ;)

i can imagine our kiss

HOT

i'll have you finger me 'till I cum and my legs shake

and we go back to class like nothing happened

You stared at the message for a second, then laughed under your breath and set your phone down on the table, face-down. You suddenly felt silly—teasing, sure, but also a little giddy. Like you were getting away with something. Especially with Ellie right in front of you, looking like the literal opposite of whatever that text had just suggested.

She was still focused. Still typing. Her MacBook open, her hand flicking her pen across the margins of her notebook. The light hit her rings again. She was chewing her bottom lip.

You grabbed your pen and started doodling in the corner of your notes. Hearts, stars, little lesbian stick figures making out beside bookshelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught something—Ellie’s posture had shifted. Her brow furrowed deeper, her eyes narrowed at the screen.

Then she bit her lip again, harder this time. Her hand came up, fingers scratching just above her eyebrow like she was trying to stay grounded. Her expression pinched for a second—like she was trying to keep her face neutral and failing.

You glanced out the window instead. Golden light, slow-moving clouds. You imagined E, imagined her standing on the other side of this table, all smirking confidence and chaos. You smiled to yourself, tapping your pen twice before reaching back for your phone.

Still no reply.

You frowned a little. Refreshed the app. Nothing.

Right then, Ellie stood up.

You looked up immediately. “Where are you going?”

She didn’t meet your eyes. Just grabbed the edge of her chair like she needed to move. “Getting a book,” she muttered, already walking.

You blinked, confused. “You already have like, four.”

She didn’t answer and just walked off. You watched her disappear down the aisle, your phone still in your hand.Still no message from E.

The empty screen felt louder than it should’ve.

A few minutes passed. Ellie didn’t come back.

You tapped your fingers once against the table, then got up, quietly making your way until the nonfiction aidle, farthest row in the back, where no one really went.

You found her there, tucked at the very end of the aisle, half-hidden behind the shelves. She was leaning slightly against them, phone in hand, her eyes fixed on the screen—expression unreadable, but her ears flushed just a little too pink to ignore.

She didn’t notice you right away.

But the second she did, she quickly lowered her phone and reached for a nearby book, flipping it open like she’d been studying the whole time.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Instead, you glanced at the shelves around you, trying not to smile—because of course it had to be this aisle. The same one you’d texted E about, half-joking, half-not.

“What’s funny?” Ellie asked without looking up, now looking so serious.

“Nothing,” you said, too fast.

“Really?” Her tone was dry, eyes still on the page.

You grabbed a random book from the shelf and flipped it open. “I just remembered something.”

“Uh huh.” She said it flatly, like she didn’t buy it.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. But you didn’t answer her. Just turned another page, pretending to read.

Ellie shifted beside you, thumbing through her own book.

“What are you even doing in the nonfiction aisle?” you asked, still not looking up. “It’s not like we’re writing nonfiction.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Well, actually… sometimes good fiction pulls from nonfiction. Real stories. Background stuff. It makes things feel more grounded.”

You peeked over the edge of your book. “Okay, nerd.”

She shrugged. “Just saying.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts were anything but neutral.

Okay sorry I'm just here because I’ve been thinking about making out with someone against these shelves for three days straight.

You stared down at the page—something about memory and neural pathways—but none of it stuck.

Your mouth twitched into a grin again. E’s dumb chaotic message echoed in your head.

You couldn’t wait to talk to her again tonight.

You glanced up.

Ellie was still there, head tilted slightly, lips parted in concentration, bathed in soft afternoon light spilling through the high windows.

She looked unreal. Sharp in some ways. Gentle in others.

She wasn’t even trying. Her flannel sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was half-messy like she’d forgotten to fix it after leaning against her hand too long. A strand curled near her cheek. Her rings caught the light again when she shifted the book. And her mouth—soft, slightly parted as she read—moved just a little when she wet her lips without thinking.

“Actually…” you started, voice light. “Can I ask you something?”

Ellie didn’t look up. “What?”

You waited a beat. “Have you ever thought about making out with someone in the library?”

That got her attention.

Her head lifted slowly, like she wasn’t sure she heard you right. “What?”

You grinned. Tilted your head. “I mean—have you ever thought about it? Like. Right here. This exact aisle.”

Ellie blinked once. “Do you mean making out with someone who’s… here in the library?”

Her voice had a weird edge. Something unreadable.

You scoffed, playful. “No. Just—like. Making out with someone in a library. Someone you like. A girl or whatever.”

She blinked again. Then scoffed lightly, like you’re ridiculous.

“No.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

She leaned her shoulder against the shelf. “Why would I make out with someone here?” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the library.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, well—where would you bring them if you wanted to make out with them?”

That made her pause.

You watched her carefully.

She stared at you, then down at the book in your hands.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

You grinned. “That’s not an answer.”

She sighed and turned the page, trying to ignore you. “Not everyone makes out in public places, you know.”

“Yeah,” you said, shutting your book and letting it hang at your side. “But it’s fun to think about.”

She looked at you again.

“And you think about it a lot?” she asked, voice casual—but not quite.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “I do.” You added, a smirk playing in your lips.

Ellie exhaled slowly, her eyes flicking up to your face—and lingering. You could almost feel her gaze pause on your mouth for a second too long.

Then she shook her head, barely, like she was trying to snap herself out of it.

Without another word, she turned and walked off, heading back toward your table with quick, quiet steps—like she needed to leave before she did something she’d regret.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88 @azxteria @yxsmina @zaunite-516 @sweetshrew @eriiwaiii2 @bluminescent-moon @elliespotion @mascspleasegetmepregnant @dykeissih @babydoll-ivory @summerdaysout @tiedinbows @eilishfike @vixenkii @wtvmOmO @angelsglitch @vanpalmertruther @mikellie @re1daway @irysque @notkyleelol @the-sick-habit @autisticratbagtm @burden-4-dina @elliepoems @fragilevampirr @crucifiedfem @abbyandcaitlover @lovewitchss @soltwent

[cursedbycrossovers]

Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices (Pt. 4)

"SOS MC"

That was the message Babs had received from Tim fifteen minutes ago.

Steph didn't have all the codes memorized, there were a truly ridiculous number of them, but she did know that one.

"SOS: Mind Control"

For once, Steph found herself longing for one of the complex, overly-specific codes, because what did that mean?!

Was it Tim being mind controlled? Civilians? An ally? What were they being mind controlled to do? Was it magic? Aliens? Tech?

There were way too many possibilities, none of them were good, and Steph suddenly felt almost-bad for every time she'd run off without a word and nearly given Tim a heart attack.

"Spoiler? Do you copy?"

"Yeah, O," Steph panted, "Almost there."

The warehouse- and of course it was a warehouse- where Tim's tracker had last pinged was coming into view, and Steph was not slowing down. Tim hardly pinged for help, ever. He wasn't as bad about it as some of the other Bats, but still—

"Spoiler," Barbara began slowly, as if knowing she were entering a losing battle, "When you get there, do not engage. Wait for backup. Nightwing and Batman—"

"Nope," Steph answered easily as she swept toward the conveniently-open window. Depending on what kind of danger Tim was in, they might not have time to wait for backup.

She swung in easily, landing in almost perfect silence on the concrete floor. The shadows covered her entrance, clinging to the walls like mold. The air was stagnant and chilled, like a morgue, but something about it itched at her nose. Even Babs was oddly soundless over the comms.

The room was empty. Not even standard Gotham warehouse empty, the kind with rusty shelves and cardboard boxes full of nothing, but completely empty. Only Steph and the dust occupying the space. She felt the pit in her stomach grow deeper.

Tim wasn't here, and that meant he'd been moved to a secondary location. His chances of survival dropped dramatically.

Steph grit her teeth and rose to her full height, squinting across the barren room. There had to be some sort of clue here– and she was going to find it.

— — —

"B, N, you're going to want to hurry up. Spoiler just went in by herself, and there's some kind of interference on the comms." Oracle's voice kept mostly even, but there was a firmness indicative of stress to it.

Batman made an upset grunt-growl, and Nightwing a wounded noise. They should've known she wouldn't wait for them, but they'd been so caught up in Tim disappearing that they hadn't thought about it. At least Batman and Nightwing weren't going to be too far behind.

Nightwing arrived first, diving in through the window and landing in a roll. He had expected to see all kinds of horrific things, so seeing Spoiler crouching, unharmed, to gently trace something on the floor was a shocking relief.

"There's some kind of marks here, on the stone." Spoiler started without preamble or looking over her shoulder, "It looks like… acid burns? I think they're making some kind of pattern."

Nightwing rose to his feet, pressing a hand to his chest as he came down from the hear-hyperventilation. "Don't scare us like that."

Spoiler glanced slightly back at him with an eyebrow raised. "What? You guys knew I was fine. I left my comms on, despite the risk of lecture."

Nightwing breathlessly shook his head. "We couldn't hear you. Babs said there's some kind of interference."

"Oh." Steph said, feeling a little embarrassed. That made a lot more sense than Babs just giving up on dissuading Steph of her plan.

Nightwing strolled forward, craning his neck down to get a view of what Steph was looking at. A curved, pale line ran under her fingertips, continuing outward in either direction to ultimately form a perfect circle. It was large, hard to see the entirety of it in the dark, and from edge to edge ran these lines, connected to each other by spiky, starlike shapes. The marks themselves had a texture as though whatever made them had been bubbling, yet somehow stayed contained enough to not completely obscure the image.

A feeling of dread began to press down on Nightwing's chest like a stone.

Only years of practice alerted Nightwing when Batman arrived, gliding forward silently as though made of shadow. He glanced down at the symbols on the stone, silent for a long moment as his lips pursed into displeasure.

"I'll call Justice League Dark." He eventually acquiesced.

— — —

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for saja boys with shy but touch starved gn s/o please?

Jinu

He’s touch starved himself in my opinion.

He’s also a little awkward too and would definitely be cautious as to not push you beyond your boundaries.

He finds your shyness an interesting thing to have, it’s always a sight to behold when he watches you interact with his tiger companion and the bird with the top hat, acting as though you couldn’t be anywhere else then with them.

Yet when it comes to social interactions you reframe from speaking incase you said something that could come across as silly or stupid. It was truly telling to Jinu where your comfortability levels lied in certain situations and who you were with.

So he would always be nearby, ready to take over a conversation if he saw that you were running low of things to say, coming up with something believable for the other person as he pulls you away from a conversation that was obviously not doing you a lot of good. He’ll take you to less crowded places as he himself didn’t like overcrowded places either, preferring more scenic areas where he could clear his mind and hear himself think.

So Jinu takes you to those places when he knows you needed it and would just stand by your side, all the while the bird with the tiny hat would rest itself on your shoulder, cuddling against your neck and closing it’s eyes in content.

Jinu wouldn’t take to physical affection immediately but instead take his time when he saw how you tensed before gradually intertwining your fingers with his, letting out a sigh of relief as you let yourself enjoy the affection for what it was.

from then on Jinu would also allow himself to enjoy enacting physical affection alongside you, or vicariously through you, when he rested his hand upon the small of your back or gingerly caressed the back of your neck in order to get you to relax and breath again.

Jinu find that you were both alike in similar ways but different in others and found solace in that as neither of you had to go against yourselves in order to appease the other. Affection will come and go but each of them being as meaningful as the last even if it was for a couple of seconds.

Also cuddles with the fluffy blue tiger are a must to recovery your battery, Jinu joins in because you both looked adorable, only for you two to be squashed under the big blue fluff as they act completely innocent.

Baby

Isn’t one for outright PDA. So he’s perfect for you really, it’s not important to him as it would to be for others.

He’ll take the lead in most situations, not that he cares whether your shy or not, he’ll step up if it senses as though your having a hard time even if his face is as though he was perpetually nonchalant about it.

He’ll most likely nudge your shoulder, tap the back of your hand three times, or having his thigh close by to yours but not close enough to just, just enough for you to know he was there if you ever need him.

Baby can communicate to you without having to use words, he’ll use notes to do so if you felt as though you couldn’t use your voice, feel like it’s been taken away from you even if you were just about to ask him for help on something.

He can tell that you need something and is very attuned to how you show that, even without words and will get it without hesitation. It almost comes off as though you have some sort of psychic connection with how effortlessly you knew one another without having to even open your mouths.

Your shyness wasn’t a deterrent for him either as he’s not one to talk all the time either, just enough for people to understand his personality, but just little to keep people guessing his next move or guess what’s his favourite colour or favourite kind of spicy food he preferred.

Baby didn’t care if you talked too much or too little, just as long as you were comfortable with him and didn’t feel as though you had to pressure yourself into becoming comfortable for his sake because that was the last thing he wanted for you.

Baby didn’t care if you didn’t want to go out that much, he wasn’t much of an outdoor person himself, only going out when needed or just to take a quick trip to a corner store and grab spicy treats and sweet snacks for you to munch on within the comfort of your apartment.

He’s more of a homebody who will occasionally want to go out now and then, keenly aware of how easily drained you can be afterwards. He’ll always keep an eye on you in the most nonchalant way possible, caring for you in his own way while also letting you do whatever pleases you.

Abby

Is a teasing shit that will tease you for your shyness initially but never takes it too far, he’s not that mean. He knows his limitations before the playful taunts become mean spirited.

He adores your shyness really, especially when he causally flexes his muscles and you -upon getting caught looking at him- would seemingly jolt out of your skin and look away. It feeds his ego a little and he’d intentionally do it even more if it meant seeing such interesting reactions coming from you.

He can easily stand in front of you if you didn’t want to be seen by others, he’s tall enough and well built enough to do so with ease, he’ll do it if it gives you some peace of mind. Your comfort comes first to Abby.

Will ask if you wanna touch his abs and smiling when you seemingly were at a loss for words, brain working too hard to decipher what he said and if it’s genuine or a joke.

His PDA is about average. He’ll hold your hand, thumb caressing your wrist, or his arm is thrown over your shoulder where he could feel you stiffen before melting under his embrace, almost hiding yourself away within his side while doing so.

That’s when he knows your touch starved and will start doing more to make you more use to his touches and affection.

Abby didn’t care if it took you longer to be comfortable in making phone calls to places or getting use to him putting his hand in your back pocket, as long as he got to do so and get to see how you’d react to what he does was more then enough for him. Your reactions are the highlight for him as he couldn’t help but become infectious with the happiness you felt for getting through placing your order without fucking up.

Abby is your hype man and your biggest teaser at the same time.

He’ll be happy for you/with you and will bring you into his arms to savour the sweet moment as he utters how proud of you he is, only for him to then in the same breath tease you for brushing against his abs, making you smack his bicep weakly as he laughs. Abby can truly be a menace but also be the biggest supporter when it came to you and doing things you initially felt under qualified to do.

Mystery

Your guard dog in more ways then one.

He’s almost got a sixth sense for when you’re comfortable and uncomfortable, like a bloodhound he could smell it from a mile away and immediately he’s more or less barking at whatever is making you uncomfortable.

Not one for words but his actions make up for it. You know the silent type goes strong in him but that doesn’t mean you’ve never heard him talk at all, his I’d like to believe voice is soft, grounding and steady in a way where if he says things were going to be okay, you’d believe him wholeheartedly.

If you want something, just point it out to him and he’ll get you it if you have social anxiety or just can’t bring yourself to speak to the person behind the till.

He’s more then willing to do anything on your behalf or be a grounding presence when you do it yourself, gently brushing his hand against your own in a silent gesture that he was here, that you shouldn’t feel stupid or anything when he was right there to offer moral support.

Affection wise he’s more accustomed to putting his head on your lap or resting his head against your own as his arms are anchored to your waist, almost as though he’s bringing you into an impromptu cuddle session.

The first time he did so, you were tense and didn’t know what to do, stay still as you could while he rested his head in your lap as you looked about awkwardly before feeling his hand grab yours and place it atop of his head in a silent demand for you to run your fingers through his hair.

It was awkward at first as you didn’t want to hurt him by catching some stubborn knots within his hair, but soon enough you were running your fingers through his hair like it’s nothing as though it was second nature.

Everything took time and Mystery was more then willing to keep constantly resting his head on your lap on the odd occasion so that you’d get use to him doing so, get use to him pulling your hand on his head so that his need for attention and affection didn’t come out of nowhere and left you feeling uncomfortable.

Romance

Loves, loves, loves PDA.

Finds your shyness endearing but understands that it can be somewhat debilitating at times when it comes to doing certain things that come more natural to people more confident than you.

He would try to ease you into it by doing small gestures, such as intertwining pinkies or just tracing his fingers across your palm so that you would be familiar to his touch when he does more grander expressions of affection.

He’s got patience in droves and will reassure you that your shyness is one of the many things he loves about you, even if you think that your shyness was holding him back or believe it to be a downside to you.

He’s never holding it against you at all, he embraces it and is more than willing to go at your own pace should it be more comfortable for you.

The last thing he wanted was for you to feel as though you had to be thrusted out of your comfort zone to keep someone when it’s doing more harm then good, that you needed to ignore your own feelings in order to accommodate the other person’s feelings.

That wasn’t love in his eyes and it never will be.

Romance is convinced that while you were both different, you both compliment each other in a way that he’s come to adore.

He’s more sociable and outgoing, whereas you were more reserved and didn’t feel at all comfortable with overbearing people or overcrowded spaces filled with loud and rambunctious characters. Yet you both worked wonders together and that’s all Romance could ask for, someone who complimented him while also being uniquely themselves.

[writing-munchies]

NSFW HC'S— Dorian, Doug & Dunk x GN!Reader (MDNI)

A/N: Sometimes horniness from a tiktok edit over a dateable door makes you write so much smut that your fingers are aching. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

EDIT: a huge chunk of Dunk's part was missing that i didn't paste from the goodle doc i wrote this in... this is so embarrassing🥀

I've also decided to take requests, im working on finishing the game and im quite there! i dont mind writing just about anything so, go ahead! Mailbox is open!

WC: 2.3K

⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚

Dorian

He’s most likely going to be the initiator, especially after you’re both in a relationship. He is still hesitant with his boundaries not really being respected in his previous relationships, but when he’s all in on you when the relationship starts, he will willingly give himself to you, fully trusting of you. No questions asked, he knows you’ll respect his decisions, and that means more than the world to him. Which, in turn, makes him more inclined to initiate sexual or romantic encounters.

Every time you brush up against Dorian when walking around the house, throwing him a wink when you do so… to say he’s turned on would be an understatement. He’s relatively easy to rile up when he feels secure in your relationship.

Once he realizes how much you squirm when he talks real close to your ear, it’s over. He won’t stop doing it, he’ll be hips flush against each other kinda deep inside of you, not moving, just teasing you by talking breathlessly into your ear, “You like that feeling, love? Want more?” when you whine out his name, too sensitive to speak properly, he just chuckles and that makes you shiver; much to his delight. Though, every time you do shiver, moan or whine you can feel his cock throb inside you, his breathing gets jagged, and his self-control gets that much closer to cracking. 

Durable. Actually loves cock-warming but gets impatient when you won’t stop squirming on his lap so, he holds you by the waist and fucks into you with almost all the strength he can muster, you’re a delicate thing compared to him after all; whatever your size may be. He can hold off on an orgasm just fine, just so you can cum before him, it feeds his ego like you wouldn’t believe. Making you cum before him is a must, you’ll cum at least 2 times before he even thinks of letting that tight knot snap and fill you up in every way possible. He’s a patient man, he’ll wait for hours if it means you’ll be a crying mess under him.

This man loves getting his dick sucked. Whichever Dorian. Though front door Dorian seems to be exceptionally sensitive compared to others. You’ve never seen him so flushed as he is when his dick is in your mouth. You looking up at him with those pretty eyes has his dick harder than he ever thought possible. It’s sort of this rush of power too, like you’re his owner, practically his boss, and here you are, his dick in your mouth and moaning for him to cum down your throat- it makes him cum embarrassingly fast.

Whenever you’re naked in the shower or your room, he has to do everything to hide his very obvious boner from the other objects around. Especially if you, unknowingly so, accidentally brush up on him just as you’re out of the shower? God, he’d never think about neglecting his duty, but you’re wearing his patience thin.

A lover at heart. Loves foreplay, but he’s just been so deprived of you all this time that he’s yearning heart and body just can’t help but pounce on you with every opportunity you present him with. Be open with him, even if your shyness kills you, tell him to fuck you ‘till you’re crying, tell him to fill you up so fucking full that it gushes out of you with every thrust— directness turns him on so much.

Loves seeing you all tied up and pathetically helpless— completely at his mercy. He’s been the one protecting you all this time without faltering for a second, so you willing to be the most vulnerable you can be consciously with him, he can’t help but feast on every breath, every shiver and every moan you let out.

The biggest freak is trap door Dorian though, without a doubt. He’s never seen you half naked, let alone fully naked. When you show yourself to him for the first time, all the blood rushed to his dick, and he has to keep his composure. Though, his flushed face and breathless tone of voice really don’t help to hide it. Worships your body like it’s an art piece, loves playing with your nipples the most, though. Just the way you squirm and your hold on his hair tightens makes him groan with that husky voice of his.

I think the en suite Dorian (bedroom bathroom Dorian), loves a handjob more than anything else. Loves watching the way your fingers play with and tease his dick to hardness, the same fingers that touch him every day without thought working to make him cum? Ultimate fantasy of his, actually.

The one that wants to fuck you ‘till you forget your own name is bedroom door Dorian. He has seen you in your most vulnerable states, every whimper that you let out when you’re masturbating just gets his whole body so hot he has to stop himself from replacing your fingers with his own or his mouth. When given the green light, he won’t let you go until you’re a crying, full-with-cum mess. His thrusts are deep, cock head brushing against your sweet spot non-stop, making your vision dance with stars as he grunts and nibbles on your ear. His hands will massage your ass and thighs as he’s fucking into you, too, a grounding touch helping you to not zone out and feel everything that he’s doing to you.

Aftercare? He will do his best, and he is amazing at it! He will hold you in his arms, his scent developing your senses as he peppers kisses along your back and nape, his hands massaging your hips and ass non-stop as he asks you if you want water or if you want him to clean you up right away. Very considerate of your needs, 10/10. 

Doug

Do not be fooled by the way he talks and how he speaks, this man is all in on for being dominated. Though he prefers to say, “making him your bitch”, it’s the same thing anyway.

Horny for you 24/7, literally always ready if you are. When he sees that look in your eyes and how your tone changes when you speak to him, he already popped a boner.

Insatiable freak, loves going at it for round after round, for hours and hours. Tie him up and milk his cock with your mouth, hand or hole, make him a mess, and he’ll thank you for it, call him a good boy, and he’ll cum on the spot.

Tie him up and shove his cock down your throat, slap his thigh when he can’t help but thrust his hips up into the tight heat of your mouth- the way your tongue drags over that one vein on his dick makes him moan out your name and his thighs stiff up with self-control as he tries to just not fuck your face ‘till he paints your mouth white.

Loves picking you up and cornering you by pressing your back to the wall you keep looking at when you want to meet him, he just wants to fuck your brains out in the place you first met! Isn’t that romantic?

When you two first have sex, he’ll try to have this nonchalant attitude, but it crumbles easily when you moan his name so lovingly as he’s fingering you open to take his cock. Despite how he comes across at first he really is careful with you, he knows he is way stronger than you, so he tries to relax the hold he has on your hips as you’re riding him with that lovesick look on your face that has his cock throb and leak pre inside you.

His biggest fantasy is you being on your phone as he’s fucking you, maybe playing your favorite game, trying to win a match or trying to progress as every thrust just shakes or makes you shiver. He’d tell you to go on, you can’t cum if you don’t achieve your objective, he’ll fill you however times he wants, you can cry and beg however long you want, you aren’t cumming ‘till you complete that objective.

Loves taking you by the chin after he just came in your mouth, tells you to open up and feels his cock get full on hard again just at the sight of you with your tongue—covered in his cum— out, tugs you closer and bends down to kiss you, sucking on your tongue and tasting himself as he groans into your mouth. Your little shivers just spur him on more.

Ride him and tell him he isn’t allowed to cum ‘till you tell him to. When he inevitably fails to do so, he just can’t help it, the way you squeeze down on his dick like you’re trying to milk him out of every last drop is hard to resist for a being like him, overstimulate him and don’t get off of his dick ‘till he’s crying and begging you to stop and keep going at the same time.

He does jerk off, a lot. Especially to the photos of you, hell even when you’re just moving around the house, and he catches a glimpse of your armpits, inner thighs or your nipples? He’s stroking his dick and will take a video for you to show t to you later, he is shameless about anything to do with sex.

Aftercare? Well he doesn’t like to clean himself up right away, especially if it’s after a particularly long session, he’ll take a photo of his dick now covered in cum, he’ll take a photo of your sex and your whole body to jerk off to later and admire, then you’ll get to aftercare. He tries when he’s with you, but you’re going to be the one that ultimately takes acre of him, if you’re genuinely so tired out he will do his best, although stiff, he is trying his best.

Dunk

For the love of all things holy, be straightforward as you can with this man. He is great at sex, but he is bad at picking up innuendos and hints.

Will worship your body no matter how you look like or how you weigh, he is in love with you, in awe of you, he’ll kiss along your back, down your chest and your inner thighs all the while murmuring about how perfect you feel against him, how his skin on yours makes everything feel electric.

He feels the same rush he has when he’s trying out a new sport as he’s having sex with you, that makes you an addiction he’ll never want to put down.

The way you slam your hips against his when he’s being a little too gentle, and you just want him to fuck your brains out. Oh, he can do that, very well. His favorite position to turn you into a blabbering mess is full nelson, the way he can just fuck into you and feel your every moan and groan on his chest as his dick hits that sweet spot over and over again while you’re crying out his name is nothing short of an addicting adrenaline rush.

He also loves the mating press, just any position where he can use his weight and stamina to fuck into you, feel everything your body has to offer as you sing his praises with loud moans and cries of his name, fuck he can’t get enough. Maybe ask him about why he loves it when you use that fitness ball. It can’t be possibly because he can just feel every second of your crotch, ass, and thighs rubbing against him, sometimes even with your full weight? Of course not(!)

Loves giving oral pleasure the most, actually; take a fist full of his hair—what you presume that is, anyway—and thrust into his mouth/grind your sex down on his mouth. He loves being used for your pleasure, the fact that he is so durable that hours of sex won’t wear him down makes him the perfect toy to fuck yourself with.

He cums a lot, and I mean, a lot. He has to thrust at least six more times as he’s cumming inside you just to ride it out, even as it’s gushing out of you and making a mess. Will be licking your sex clean off of any cum, yes he will ask to make out, yes he wants you to suck on his tongue and taste both of you.

Loves a strip tease, too. Whether he does it or you, loves to watch you more actually, especially if you’re visibly aroused, his mouth always starts watering when your underwears finally off.

Dry humper. Loves to grind down on you, feel you squirm and beg for him to just touch you, loves to feel how your thighs tense as you cum just from humping him;

If you’re AMAB, he will purposefully grind down his hard-on on yours, just to feel it twitch and throb against his own. Will tease you if he sees the evidence of pre-cum already leaking, as if his dick isn’t wet already from his.

If you’re AFAB, he loves to just grind down ‘til he can feel the wetness through the fabric, rubbing against you just so that his boner presses down anywhere close to your clit to watch you shiver.

1000/10 aftercare, you will never catch this man lacking in that department. Big, secure, warm cuddles as he wraps all of his limbs around you, if you complain about the fluids he’ll tell you to give him 5 minutes, he just wants to bask in the afterglow. Definitely snuck some water into the room to give you some after or during sex, peppers kisses all over your face and affirms his love for you with words and gentle touches.

[cameronsbabydoll]

BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER ELEVEN

WARNINGS — Unprotected sex, virginity loss, virginity kink, dirty talk, tears, aftercare, power imbalance, possessive behavior, emotional intensity, 18+ only.

The barracks are quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s holding its breath. The air is thick with the threat of Rafe’s reassignment, your dad’s words still ringing in your ears—“You’ll be on a transport by the end of the week.” You haven’t slept since, haven’t eaten, haven’t been able to think about anything but him. Rafe. Your Rafe. The man who’s unraveled you, piece by piece, until you’re not sure who you are without him.

You’re standing outside his quarters, your sandals scuffing the gravel, your hands twisting the hem of your sundress. It’s late—too late—and you’re breaking every rule just by being here, but you don’t care. Not anymore. Not after the way he looked at you in your dad’s office, broken and desperate, saying he couldn’t let you go. You’ve made up your mind, and it scares you, but it’s the kind of fear that burns hot, that makes you feel alive.

You knock, soft and quick, and the curtain parts almost instantly. Rafe’s there, shirtless, his dog tags glinting in the dim light, his cargo pants slung low on his hips. His eyes are wild, like he hasn’t slept either, like he’s been waiting for you. “Sunshine,” he says, voice rough, low, like he’s afraid to say your name too loud. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You step inside before he can stop you, the curtain falling shut behind you, cutting you off from the world. “I need to talk to you,” you say, your voice trembling but sure. “I need… I need you.”

He freezes, his hands halfway to you, like he’s not sure if he should touch you or push you away. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but there’s no conviction in it, just a raw edge, like he’s fighting himself. “Your dad’s already got my ass in a sling. If he catches you—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, stepping closer, your hands shaking but your eyes locked on his. “I don’t care about him, or the rules, or anything. I want you, Rafe. I want… all of you.”

His breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares, like he’s trying to process what you’re saying. His eyes search yours, dark and intense, and you see it—the shift, the hunger, the reverence. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, voice low, almost a growl. “You’re not ready for that.”

“I am,” you say, and it’s the most certain you’ve ever been. “I’m scared, but I’m ready. I want it to be you.”

He steps closer, so close you can feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence. His hand lifts, cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and it’s gentle, so gentle it makes your chest ache, but there’s something primal in his eyes, something that says he’s holding back a storm. “You sure, sunshine?” he murmurs, his voice soft but heavy, like he’s giving you one last chance to run. “Cause once we do this, there’s no going back. You’re mine. Completely.”

You nod, tears pricking your eyes, not from fear but from the weight of it, the truth of it. “I’m already yours,” you whisper, and it’s like a dam breaks.

He kisses you, hard and desperate, his hands pulling you against him, his mouth claiming yours like he’s starving. You kiss him back, your hands fisting his dog tags, pulling him closer, because you need him, need this, need to feel him in a way you’ve never felt anyone before. He groans into your mouth, a low, reverent sound, and lifts you, carrying you to his bunk, his lips never leaving yours.

He sets you down, gentle but firm, and you’re trembling, your dress riding up your thighs as you sit on the edge of the mattress. He kneels in front of you, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric higher, and his eyes are on you, worshipping, like you’re something sacred. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, voice rough with want, with something deeper. “So perfect. And you’re giving this to me?”

You nod, your throat tight, and he groans, his forehead pressing against your thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, sunshine,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

He stands, pulling you with him, and kisses you again, slower this time, reverent, like he’s savoring every second. His hands slide under your dress, lifting it over your head, and you’re bare except for your panties, your skin prickling under his gaze. He steps back, just for a moment, his eyes raking over you, and you feel exposed, vulnerable, but wanted, so wanted.

“Lie back,” he says, voice low, commanding, and you do, your body moving like it’s his to control. He strips off his pants, his tags clinking as he climbs onto the bunk, his weight settling over you, heavy and warm. You’re trembling, your heart racing, but you’re not scared, not really, because it’s Rafe, and you trust him, even if you shouldn’t.

He kisses you again, soft and slow, his hands roaming—your neck, your breasts, your hips—learning you, claiming you. “Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s a promise, a vow, filthy and sacred all at once. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. But it’s gonna hurt a little first. You okay with that?”

You nod, tears in your eyes, and he kisses them away, his lips gentle on your cheeks. “Good girl,” he says, and you whimper, because those words, that tone, they’re everything to you now. He pulls your panties down, slow and deliberate, and you’re bare, completely bare, for him.

He spreads your legs, his hands firm but careful, and you feel him, hard and heavy, pressing against you. Your breath catches, and he pauses, his eyes locked on yours. “You tell me to stop, I stop,” he says, voice serious, but you shake your head, because stopping is the last thing you want.

“I want this,” you whisper, your hands gripping his shoulders, his tags cool against your skin. “I want you.”

He groans, low and primal, and pushes into you, slow at first, careful, but it hurts, sharp and burning, and you gasp, your nails digging into his skin. “Shh,” he murmurs, kissing your neck, your jaw, his voice soft but filthy. “Relax, sunshine. Let me in. You’re so fucking tight, so perfect for me.”

You try to breathe, try to relax, but it’s overwhelming, the stretch, the fullness, the way he’s filling you, claiming you. Tears slip down your cheeks, not from pain but from everything—the intensity, the closeness, the way he’s looking at you like you’re his world. He pauses, letting you adjust, his thumb brushing your clit, slow and deliberate, and you whimper, your hips bucking instinctively.

“That’s it,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. All of me. You’re doing so fucking good.”

He moves then, slow and deep, and the pain starts to fade, replaced by something else—something hot, something electric. You moan, soft and desperate, and he groans, his lips brushing your ear. “Fuck, you sound so pretty,” he says, his voice filthy, dripping with want. “So mine. You’re mine, sunshine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, your hands clutching him, your body arching into his, because it’s true, it’s so true it hurts. He moves faster, deeper, his control slipping, and you feel it—the primal edge, the way he’s taking you, ruining you, just like he promised.

“Gonna make you come,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit, his hips snapping harder now, and it’s too much, too intense, but you want it, need it. “Gonna make you mine forever, baby. You want that? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think about anything else?”

“Yes,” you gasp, tears streaming, your body trembling, on the edge of something you’ve never felt before. “Please, Rafe, please.”

He growls, low and possessive, and pushes deeper, harder, his mouth on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Come for me,” he says, voice rough and commanding. “Come on my cock, sunshine. Show me you’re mine.”

You shatter, your body convulsing, your vision blurring, a sob tearing from your throat as you come, hard and overwhelming, his name on your lips. He groans, his movements jerky, and follows you over, spilling inside you, hot and deep, his breath ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you’re both still, your chests heaving, his weight heavy but comforting, grounding you. He doesn’t pull out, just stays there, inside you, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheeks, your tears. “You did so good,” he murmurs, soft now, gentle, his hands stroking your hair, your back. “So fucking perfect, baby. My girl.”

You’re crying, not from pain but from the weight of it, the way he’s looking at you, holding you, like you’re something precious. He shifts, pulling out slowly, and you wince, but he’s there, shushing you, pulling you against his chest. He grabs his blanket, draping it over you, and lies back, holding you close, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft but still rough, still him. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, nestled against him, your tears slowing. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “It was… it was perfect.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and kisses your temple. “Yeah, it was,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, something reverent, like he’s as wrecked as you are. “You’re mine now, sunshine. All mine.”

You nod, your eyes heavy, your body spent, and you feel safe, wanted, loved, even if it’s a love that’s filthy, possessive, dangerous. You don’t care. You’re his, and he’s yours, and nothing—not your dad, not the military, not the whole fucking world—can take that away.

You fall asleep in his arms, his tags cool against your skin, his breath steady in your ear, and you know, deep down, you’re never going back.

[formulafanfics13]

Hiii I just wanna say I loveeeee your writing!! Also wanna say thank you for posting everyday 🫶🏻

I have a slight request, do you think you could write something where Oscar’s gf gets nipple piercings and for the first time he like cracks. Like goes completely feral for her, always touches them, plays with them and always has to be sucking on them. Maybe even grabs her tits in front of the other drivers subconsciously and their just absolutely shocked like “this is not our oscar”

This idea?? Top tier. Ten stars. No notes. PERFECTION AND 😍

Triggered - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar Piastri is known for being cold, quiet, and composed — until his girlfriend gets her nipples pierced. The transformation is instant and irreversible: he becomes obsessed. What starts as a private fixation spills into public chaos, from casual groping at a rooftop party to open PDA in the paddock. It all builds to an unhinged hotel scene where he loses every ounce of control, confesses he loves her mid-fuck, and makes it clear her body is now his entire religion.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, nipple play (oral fixation), nipple piercings, public fondling, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, dirty talk, possessiveness, praise kink, unprotected sex, marking. All consensual.

Oscar Piastri didn’t do public affection. He barely did private affection. Always calm. Always composed. You could be blowing him under the table and he’d still be giving one-word answers and sipping a flat white like nothing was happening. He fucked like he drove, precise, controlled, methodical.

Until you got your nipples pierced. It changed everything.

You didn’t even tell him at first. Just went to the appointment, gritted through the pain, wore oversized t-shirts for a week while they healed. And when the tenderness faded and the swelling eased and the bars settled neatly under your skin, you decided to surprise him.

You didn’t think it would break him. But it did.

It happened on a Sunday night. Quiet. Off-weekend. You were both in Monaco, post-dinner, curled up on the sofa with some half-forgotten documentary playing in the background. Oscar had one hand on your thigh, the other scrolling through Instagram like a zombie.

You climbed into his lap. Straddled him. Slipped your t-shirt up over your head — no bra underneath. He looked up. Paused. And blinked. “…what the fuck.”

You grinned. “You like them?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared. Then, just a simple, “Come here.”

You barely had time to brace yourself before his hands were on you. Not gentle. Not testing. Just full fucking palm, fingers spread, thumbs flicking the bars, mouth already open and sucking.

He went insane. Like years of quiet, collected restraint evaporated the second his tongue hit metal. Like every stoic, a reserved part of him combusted on the spot. He sucked like a man starved, like he needed your tits in his mouth to fucking breathe. His hands never left your chest, even as he grinded up into you, hard cock pressing through his joggers, whining quietly into your skin.

He wouldn’t stop. You came once just from his mouth alone. The constant sucking, the graze of his teeth, the twist of his fingers around the bars. He was transfixed. Like he’d unlocked a cheat code. Like your body suddenly belonged to him in a way that wasn’t even about sex, it was about possession.

He couldn’t keep his hands off them after that.

Three weeks later, everyone noticed. It started with Max.

The whole grid was out for drinks in Singapore, mid-week chaos, all the drivers and a few girlfriends, scattered around a rooftop lounge like post-race lions. You were curled up beside Oscar, half-asleep on his shoulder, when he reached over and, without even thinking, slid his hand under your shirt and cupped your tit.

Just like that. Mid-conversation. Mid-fucking sentence. Max choked on his beer. “Mate,” he spluttered.

Oscar didn’t even blink. Just kept talking to about quali sims, thumb idly rubbing over your nipple through the thin cotton, completely unbothered.

Lando stared. “Um. Hello?”

Oscar glanced up. “What?”

“You’re-” Lando gestured wildly. “You’ve got your girlfriend’s tit in your hand.”

Oscar looked down. “Oh.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t mind.”

You smiled sweetly. “I really don’t.”

Max blinked. “Is this real? Is this happening?”

Charles leaned over. “What the fuck is in the water at McLaren?”

Oscar still didn’t care. Still had your nipple between his fingers like it was second nature. Still hadn’t even pretended to be embarrassed. It got worse after that.

The paddock became dangerous territory. Any time you wore something remotely tight, his eyes would darken. His hand would slide around your waist, fingers slipping up to ghost over the shape of the piercings like he couldn’t help it. One time, he flat out unzipped your hoodie in the motorhome because he thought no one was looking.

They were. Yuki nearly passed out. Daniel had to leave the room. But Oscar just smiled. Quiet. Smug. Dangerous. “Sorry,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles over your bare skin. “I’ve got no self-control.”

It became a running joke. Pierre started placing bets on how long Oscar could go without touching your tits. He lost every time.

And when Oscar finally got you alone, behind a locked hotel door, a few drinks deep and starved for your skin, he went feral. “I can’t think when you’re like this,” he muttered, yanking your top off. “Can’t breathe. I fucking dream about them.”

You moaned when he sucked one into his mouth. Bit down. Licked over the bar like it offended him.

“Oscar-”

“Say you got them for me,” he growled.

“I did,” you whimpered.

“Say you wanted me to lose it.”

“I did-fuck-Oscar-”

He lifted you onto the bathroom counter. Spread your legs. Didn’t even bother taking his shirt off. Just tugged your panties aside and slid in, still sucking your nipple like it was his only source of oxygen.

You came so hard you nearly blacked out. And he just kept going. Slow. Deep. Grinding into you like your cunt was his home and your tits were dessert. Fingers bruising your hips. Mouth never leaving your chest.

“I love them,” he whispered. “I love you.”

You gasped. “You what?”

He pulled back just long enough to look you in the eye. “I love you,” he said again. “And I’m never taking my mouth off your fucking tits.”

[userluhna]

࿔⋆ NEW DAD

dad!hwangjunho x mom!reader

because we all needed more dad!junho (me included)

words: 850

warnings: squid game season 3 spoilers. adoptive parents. dad junho. fluff.

enjoy! :)

dad!junho who panicked at first—because how the hell was he supposed to hold something so tiny without breaking her? his hands felt too big, too unsure. she fit in the crook of his elbow like something breakable, and he held his breath every time she moved.

but dad!junho, who adjusted fast—because that’s what he does. he figures it out. made up lullabies on the spot, his voice low and unsure at first, because he didn’t remember what real ones sounded like. sometimes he hummed nonsense, and somehow, it worked.

dad!junho who cooks dinner with the little girl balanced on one arm, stirring noodles with chopsticks in the other. and when you come up behind him to take her, to give him a break, he just kisses your temple and murmurs, “nah, got her. go rest.”

dad!junho who ends up shirtless half the time—because how can a baby drool so much on every single shirt? still, he lets her fall asleep on his bare chest on the couch, one hand behind his head, the other resting gently on her back to keep her safe. and he doesn’t move. not for hours.

dad!junho who once cried in the bathroom so quietly you almost missed it. you found him sitting on the floor, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. you sat beside him and pulled him close, tucked his head into the crook of your neck. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” he whispered.

“you’re doing just enough,” you said, lips brushing his hair. “i’ve got you. i’ve got her. i’ve got us.” he nodded slowly, kissed your shoulder. then your cheek. then your lips—slow, tender. “i love you,” he said, forehead resting against yours. “i love you too.”

dad!junho who let the little girl wrap her entire hand around just his pinky—such a tiny grip, but so strong. she always grabs the same finger. even when she started teething, and bit down on him more than once. not at first, but now? he just lets her. it’s fine.

dad!junho who talks to her about you all the time—because in his eyes, you’re everything. “she’s pretty, yeah?” he said once, holding her against his chest while you cooked, your back turned. you couldn’t help but smile. “prettiest woman in the world,” he whispered to the baby. “i married her. best decision i ever made.” and the baby looked up at him with those big eyes, like she understood every word.

dad!junho who cried—just one quiet tear—the first time she giggled. even if it was because he slipped on a toy and nearly fell. “oh, you think that’s funny?” he laughed, pointing at her. but he did it again. and again. just to hear her laugh.

dad!junho wearing a baby carrier in the middle of the grocery store, bouncing her gently while you try to decide on diapers. his hand finds your waist, eases you aside so he can reach the shelf. “we need those, right?” he says, already grabbing the pack. you just nod. because in that moment, he’s the hottest man alive.

dad!junho who has mastered bath time—even if he gets completely soaked every single time. sometimes you walk in mid-chaos, water everywhere, baby squealing with laughter, and he looks at you like he’s seconds from losing his mind. you just laugh, kneel beside him, help him rinse the bubbles from her hair. later, he wraps her in a towel like a tiny burrito. and when you glance at the wet stain on his shirt and raise an eyebrow—“she peed on you again, didn’t she?” he just nods. utterly defeated.

dad!junho who pulls both of you into his arms sometimes, no reason at all. whispers soft things into your ear with the baby resting on her back between you. “you’ll always be my first girl,” he says, kissing that spot on your neck that makes you twitch because it tickles. his thumbs trace your cheek, the room lit only by soft moonlight through the window. “god, you’re everything,” he breathes. he kisses you slow that night. unhurried. gentle. then leans down and presses a kiss to the baby’s forehead, careful not to wake her.

and sometimes, just sometimes, junho leans over and murmurs in your ear, “wanna make one?” you can never tell if he’s teasing or serious. (he’s serious.)

masterlist

tag list: @namsgyu @namgyucat @threerxcha

[writer-freak]

hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

My Kpop Demon Hunters Masterlist

[kiplex]

⛧ LaDs Boys Night Time Routine / Sleep HCs ⛧

This came to me in a dream after I heard we were getting the sleep quality time for the 4.0 update. Low-key kind of crack HCs but God forbid I keep up my writing streak!!! Also I made the LI dividers in like 10 minutes be kind to me. I'll work out a long term solution when I do more serious multi boy HCs LMFAO

Warnings: suggestive (for Sylus) and mentions of nüdïty (for Sylus... Again)

Xavier can sleep anywhere at any time. You have a photo album on your phone titled “Xavier sleeping where he shouldn't be." You're favorite is him dozing off during a work meeting, the whole UNICORN unit posing around him

Loves a cozy cup of tea before bed, yes, you guys do have matching mugs!!

Sleeps like a log. Literally will not move, but the second you climb into bed he latches on to you and will not let go no matter how hot it is

He does panic slightly when he wakes up from a nap or the middle of the night and you aren't there. You're normally not far but he still has a slight feeling of uneasiness until you join him again.

While he doesn't snore he does that boy thing were he twitches like crazy in his sleep

Has a plethora of sleep masks still manage to misplace like half of them

Will pout if you forget to give him a goodnight kiss, who cares if he wasn't awake to feel it, how dare you neglect him like that.

Rafayel has a 20 step skin care routine he has to do before bed, which in turn has turned into a “Our 20 step skin care routine…” you guys have matching skincare headbands

Will get you guys, couples pajamas as a joke, but they're so comfy, you should wear yours too and maybe you guys can take a photo or something.. AS A JOKE OF COURSE haha… unless

He's really good about sleeping on his side of the bed, too good sometimes and will complain if you clinging to him is too hot

Sleeps with white noise of the ocean, cannot sleep without it

Rafayel loves to play with your hair while you sleep. Spooning you and braiding your hair gently, feeling your body rise and fall with your breath?? He's in heaven, he could die here and be the happiest man alive

He's a sleep talker, and a very convincing one at that. It's scary how many conversations you guys have had where he doesn't have a clue what you're talking about the next day

Claims he needs his beauty rest, but will turn around and stay up to binge Love Island with you

Zayne is the type to get up in the middle of the night for one of two things, finish work after you begged him to go to but, or on the opposite end of the spectrum, sneak sweets while you are asleep

He is also a sleep talker and a sleep walker. More of a sleep walker though. You've caught him getting dressed for work on multiple occasions, thinking he got called in for an emergency at the hospital but a few minutes later he'll flop down on the bed again.

He also does that boy thing where he twitches a whole lot in his sleep, claims he's never done that before in his life

He's absolutely the best to cuddle with during the summer, his evol makes him run a lot colder. During the winter?? Eh not so much, but you do it anyway

He does value his space when you sleep together, but if you initiate cuddling he's not complaining. He relishes in it honestly.

Do you have insomnia?? Zayne may be a cardiologist but girly, he's still a doctor!!! You already know he's doing everything under the sun to try and solve your sleep issues.

He's the type to really value sleep health and promote deep REM sleep. Has the coziest possible bed and pillows. Bonus points for all of them being tempur-pedic

Sylus sleeps in matching silk pajamas set or completely nude; no in-between

Always humming you to sleep, you always say he’ll make a great dad some day

Loves watching you do your skincare routine, he's starting buy you the expensive Korean skincare products for you, he even caves and starts using some night cream

Always says goodnight to Luke and Kieran, he's such a mother hen sometimes

We know he doesn't sleep much, but will humor you if you ask him to sleep with you. He does pull an Edward Cullen and likes watching you sleep so peacefully in his arms

Can't sleep? Great, Sylus will stay up with you, maybe take you boxing if you need to burn some energy. If you still have energy after that… he finds other ways to expend your energy 😏

When Sylus does sleep… he SNORES oh my god he snores. Should probably have a cpap machine but would definitely deny he snores at all

Caleb will deny he's tired but as soon as his head hits the pillow, he's out. You have a firm theory that during his DAA days, they trained him to be like that

He is a skincare routines worst nightmare. He canonically has dry skin and dry lips. Does not understand for the life of him why you load your face up with lotions and potions. BUT he will do a sheet mask with you from time to time

He always jokes about getting a plane shaped bed to the point where you low-key think it isn't a joke anymore.

He is such a cuddly man. Oh my god he is so dramatic when you are on your side of the bed. He'll pull you toward him, make grabby hands at you, pout and whine that you're too far and you hate him!!!!

Caleb SNORES so loud. Not all the time but when he's especially exhausted, typically after multiple days on the fleet. He wears those nose strips to try and help but… it is what it is.

Suffers from chronic nightmares; boy can't catch a break even when he's sleeping. He's got it under control for the most part but when they're especially bad, he'll sometimes wake you up and ask you to hold him.

He is a low-key blanket hog during the winter. He'll wake up and be like “Pips why are you shivering??" Girl, you took all the blankets??? Will warm you back up with his body heat though, so it's fine.

You can find my master list here (I promise, I write better stuff than this)

[elliot-gay-boi]

Okay hi, this is my first time publishing fanfiction so please just leave it if you think this isn't good enough.

But this gif set and cinnonyms tags just inspired me to write a small ficlet.

So here:

Mary Margaret is standing in the kitchen making coffee. It was early enough and she luckily still had a bit until she had to go to school. She really hoped Emma would have a moment for them to talk since lately she felt like she didn't see her best friend at all. Sometimes Mary Margaret wondered if something was up and if Emma was avoiding her. But she quickly shoved that thought aside. Surely Emma would tell her if something bothered her. And besides it was very plausible that work and Henry was keeping her busier than usual.

Mary Margaret took a sip of her coffee looking up when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Suddenly nearly choking on her drink when she recognized who was coming down into the kitchen.

It was the Mayor. Regina Mills.

What was Regina doing in her flat?

Why was Regina coming downstairs in the morning?

Mary Margaret head spun.

"Are you alright Mrs. Blanchard? You are looking a bit pale" Reginas voice was as always icy with an unusual tense hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." Mary Margaret answered automatically without thinking.

Despite not feeling fine at all.

However before she could find her footing again and ask Mrs. Mills, Mayor of her town, what she was doing in her kitchen at 6:30 am she heard a second person descending down the stairs.

Mary Margaret suddenly felt like she was in an alternative reality.

Emma came down the stairs her eyes on Regina with a huge smile, looking like she was best friends with Regina despite hating her and only recently telling Margaret what a pain she was to work with and just all around such an unpleasant incredibly smug person.

Additionally Emma was clearly wearing her bed gown, an oversized, hole riddled T-shirt that just barely reached over her underwear.

It took everything in Mary Margaret not to clear her throat to make Emma aware she wasn't alone with Regina.

"Do you want some coffee?" Emma asked Regina easily only for her smile to freeze completely when her eyes (finally) fell on Mary Margaret.

"Oh." Emma breathed.

'Oh indeed!' Mary Margaret thought. She increasingly felt irritated over the sudden closeness of the two and being completely ignored in her own home no less! And anyhow why didn't Emma ask her if she could invite someone over at 6:30 in the morning?

Of course it would have been okay for her, even if Regina Mills would not have been her first guess, however it was about the principal of things! Wasn't it?

"Good morning Emma." Mary Margaret said as neutral as possible. Though it ended up sounding cold since her usual demeanor especially with Emma was always so warm and carefree.

"Why are you alre... I mean good morning Mary Margaret. I thought you have a later class today?" Emma interrupted herself mid sentence only to say something only marginally less rude. Clearly having not expect to see Mary Margaret today in the morning.

Clearly not wanting for her to see Regina Mills leaving.

Regina Mills who, now on a closer look, was not in her usual Mayor attire. It was a tick too... much. Nearly like an outfit one would wear on a date. One that you would wear again in the morning for your way home after ... after staying the night.

Mary Margarets head wiped back to Emma.

"Did you guys, uh....." she let her words fade not entirely sure how or even what exactly to say.

It was so obvious, yet her whole body still felt like that could just not be.

Emma hated Regina.

Emma talked about her constantly how horrible she was, how much of a pain in her ass, how annoying she was about every little detail, how caring she was with Henry, how annoyingly self confident, how infuriating hot she looked in her small red dress.

Now that she thought about it Emma had at some point started to sound more and more like she had a crush on Regina then actually disliking her...

Mary Margaret was not sure what to make with that.

It was sinking in more and more.

Her best friend was in Love with the bossy, over controlling Mayor.

Her best friend had taken said Mayor on a date and then brought her home, home to Mary Margarets house to.... to hopefully only sleep.

But suddenly with growing horror Mary Margaret remembered she woke up in the night because an unusual loud fox was screaming in the back yard.

Mary Margaret closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Okay so apparently, unfortunately, now completely undeniably, her best friend had fucked the Madame Mayor in Mary Margarets flat while Mary Margaret was asleep.

She let out a deep sigh and opened her eyes again.

Infront of her Emma was looking like a deer caught in the headlines. Then put her bright red head into her arms groaning like a teenager who got caught looking at porn.

Next to her Regina took it better. Or what if Mary Margaret didn't know her could have seemed like taking it in stride. But Mary Margaret knew her, sometimes more than she thought made sense with them only interacting as teacher and mother of a student.

Her neutral smile fell for just a moment and then it was back but she looked down and then elegantly found an interesting spot on the counter to stare down on.

It was the most obvious 'yes' they both could have given.

After another moment of uncomfortable uninterrupted silence Mary Margaret spoke up:

"Soooo.... how long are you two already an item?"

Emmas ears turned even redder and she let out a breath but didn't manage to answer.

Regina looked at Emma, realised she was completely useless, cleared her throat and answered herself.

"I'm not sure it's any of your buis- ouch!"

"What Regina wanted to say," Emma quickly took over, after very not discreetly kicking Reginas foot under the counter, "is that this is all very fresh and we... we haven't yet told anyone and... and thought we still had some time to prepare before....... making it official."

After a beat she added a bit too quickly:

"Of course I would have told you first!"

"Of course." Mary Margaret repeatedly slightly sarcastic. Not sure if Emma was telling the truth. Not sure Emma was as close to her as she assumed just moments ago.

"Of course." Regina whispered while rolling her eyes, clearly thinking noone would hear her, only to be hit by Emma again.

Mary Margaret didn't feel any empathy for her. She had it coming.

"Sooooooooooooooo....... what do you think?" Emma asked looking like a beat puppy in desperate need of approval.

"About?" Mary Margaret asked confused for a moment only to catch herself a moment later "Ah. That."

"Yeah that." Regina said with venom dripping from her voice. Clearly not liking her relationship to Emma being referred to so negative.

Mary Margaret shot her a -seriously?- look she usually only used on especially stupid comments from her students.

Which worked surprisingly well on Regina who looked, for the first time Mary Margaret known her, somewhat guilty.

"I...." Mary Margaret decided to be honest with Emma, "I am caught off guard. I didn't expect it. However it also, somehow, impossibly so, makes a lot of sense."

Emmas look turned hopefully and happy in a way Mary Margaret hadn't seen on her, ever.

"I get it's sudden," there Emma laughed and turned to Regina shooting her a fond smile, that made them look so much closer than they physically where, "it has been sudden and surprising for us as well."

At Emmas smile and words Regina smiles the fondest smile, Mary Margaret has ever seen on the stone cold face of the Madam Mayor, at Emma.

It makes Mary Margaret involuntary suddenly also smile. She's always been a sucker for love stories that work out against all odds. She's always felt like hers was somehow still on a path to work itself out, her still being stuck in the difficult before stage where she's alone and unhappy because her second half was missing.

But she was surprised to find that she was genuinely growing more and more happy for Emma and Regina who very evidently have found their person.

Reginas smile fell when she saw Mary Margarets smile, but before her face could turn that venomous cold that she sported so often especially when looking at Mary Margaret, Emmas pleading look to play nice, made her force the smile back again.

"You two make a good couple." Mary Margaret couldn't help but note surprising herself and the other two looking at her shocked.

"You are okay with the two of us being... an item?" Emma asked a insecure look at Regina at the definition of their relationship.

Regina was too busy looking at Mary Margaret completely shocked and stunned. Her mouth slightly open and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't get me wrong it was a shock seeing the Mayor walking down my stairs in the wee hours of the day. But I can see that you two," she briefly paused there assessing the two, searching for the right words, "you fit together. You two look at each other with so much care despite both claiming to hate each others guts only weeks ago." she finishes a bit awkwardly.

At her words Emma turns bright red again evading Mary Margaret and especially Reginas eyes.

Regina on the other hand looked like a sculpture. One that blushed ever so slightly and suddenly didn't look quite as challenging at Mary Margaret but rather discreetly looked at the cabinets behind her.

"Thanks." Emma squeaked hoarse, only to look even more embarrassed at her voice failing her.

Mary Margaret chuckled, not being able to stay angry at Emma, and answered warmly:

"You're welcome."

"Just don't have a sleep over again without asking before. I'd like to get earplugs in before I wake up from fox screams again." Mary Margaret adds half serious, half wanting to make Emma suffer at least a bit for surprising her and keeping something so big from her.

Emma looks confused for only a moment until realising just how exactly the fox that sometimes visited their backyard sounded like.

Upon realising turning red again and hiding in her arms with a long suffering groan.

Regina looked at her, eyebrows slightly knitted until realization what Mary could mean dawned on her. Clearing her throat and trying desperately to keep her voice even, despite her cheeks also blushing, she answerd diplomatically:

"I will make sure to not come by unannounced again."

Emma lifted her head again all embarrassment leaving her as she looked, oh so hopeful at the implications of Regina coming by again, wanting to repeat last night again.

And Mary Margaret couldn't help but smile at the two and feel like something just shifted to the better.

[maskedbyghost]

its really satisfying that you left the last part of toxic ghost open ended but a part of me just wants to know for certain that they kiss and make up :(

for those of you who wanted a happy ending for toxic ex!simon and reader… here you go.

You knew you were getting sick last night. Still, you didn’t think it’d hit this hard after you went to bed with a sore throat and a headache that wouldn’t go away. You figured you’d sleep it off, or at least wake up feeling kind of human, but instead you opened your eyes around 9AM and everything hurt, your face was hot, and even lifting your arm to check your phone felt like way too much effort.

You didn’t call in, you didn’t text anyone. You just laid there in the dark under the blanket, sweating and freezing at the same time, because getting up meant moving and moving meant throwing up and, honestly, you didn’t care if work thought you were dead, at least then you wouldn’t have to explain why you hadn’t been in.

At some point you fell asleep again, and it was dark out when your phone buzzed against your leg. You groaned without opening your eyes, because your head was pounding and your mouth tasted awful, and your muscles felt like they were trying to unstick themselves from your bones.

Eventually, you managed to grab the phone and flip it over, squinting at the screen like you were staring directly into the sun.

Simon: Where are you. I’m outside. It’s pissing rain, love. Come out.

You just stared at the screen for a second, because your brain was lagging and it took you a second to remember it was Thursday and he always picked you up on Thursdays, even after everything, even when you didn’t ask.

You thought about ignoring it, but then your thumbs started moving anyway.

You: i didn’t go in. i’m sick. i stayed home. sorry lol

You stared at the message for a little while longer than necessary, waited to see if he’d start typing, but nothing popped up. No little bubble, no read receipt, no sarcastic response telling you that of course, you’re sick, you always do this, you run yourself into the ground, and then act surprised when your body taps out.

So you let your arm fall limp again, dropped the phone somewhere near your side, rolled onto your stomach, and pressed your cheek into the pillow with a sigh. You didn’t even remember closing your eyes again.

You’re not sure how long you were out for, but it’s dark now, and the streetlights outside are casting that ugly orange glow through your curtains, and everything’s gone quiet except for this faint sound, like the low thump of footsteps and something rattling in your kitchen.

For a second, you wonder if you’re hallucinating. You feel hot and cold at the same time, and your mouth is dry, and your head is full of cotton, and you’re already planning on going back to sleep, until your bedroom door creaks open just slightly, and the sound of your ex muttering under his breath breaks through the silence.

You don’t even lift your head, just crack one eye open and glare at the blurry shape in the doorway.

“Simon,” you croak, your voice low and miserable, “are you serious right now?”

“I didn’t break in,” he says, like that’s a completely reasonable thing to lead with, and then he walks in, holding a glass of water in one hand and your little thermometer in the other.

“You literally broke in,” you mumble, dragging the blanket up higher over your shoulder, because your shirt is sticking to your back and you feel gross and you don’t want him seeing you like this, not when you can barely keep your eyes open.

“I didn’t,” he says again, smug in that way that makes you want to throw something at him, “I used the spare key you gave me when we were together.”

You groan. “That’s not permission.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly sound convincing when you said ‘i’m sick lol,’ did you?” he replies, kneeling by the side of the bed and handing you the water. “You think I’m gonna read that and just go home?”

You take the glass, mostly because your throat feels like sandpaper and not because you’re giving in.

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, and you’re too tired to swat him away.

“You’re burning up,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, and then he’s gone again, off to the kitchen, apparently, and you can hear him digging around in your cabinets for something.

You sigh and let your eyes fall shut again. You should tell him to go.

But your bed feels warm now. The apartment smells like him. And for the first time today, you don’t feel like you’re about to fall apart.

So you don’t say anything. You just wait for him to come back.

He comes back ten minutes later, holding one of your mugs filled with soup that looks questionably edible and wearing the most annoyingly smug expression.

You sip it anyway, mostly because he sits there and watches you do it, one hand hovering under the cup as if you’re going to drop it at any second, and even though you shoot him a look, you don’t have the energy to tell him to piss off.

“Your skin’s all sticky,” he says quietly after a while, eyes scanning your flushed face, trying to figure out just how bad it is.

“I feel disgusting,” you mutter, leaning your head back against the headboard, your voice barely audible. “I haven’t even showered since yesterday. Every time I try to get up, I feel like I’m gonna fall over and die in the tub.”

Simon doesn’t say anything right away. He just stands up and walks out again, and you don’t even ask where he’s going this time because you know he’s about to do something ridiculous.

You’re not wrong.

When he comes back, he’s rolling his sleeves up and giving you that look again, the one that says don’t argue with me, and then he’s pulling the blanket off of you in one smooth motion before you can protest.

“What the fuck are you doing,” you mumble, trying to grab at the blanket, but you already know you’re not getting far.

“You said you feel gross. I ran the bath. C’mon,��� he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“I don’t need—”

“You do,” he says, already hooking his arms under your knees and back, lifting you up like you’re made of feathers. “And don’t even start, alright? You’d do the same for me if I looked like you right now.”

You don’t answer. You just let your head fall against his shoulder, hating how much nicer it feels to be held, hating how solid he is under you, how natural this still feels.

He carries you into the bathroom like this is something he’s done a thousand times before, and sets you down gently on the closed toilet lid with a towel over it while he checks the water, adjusting the temperature the way he knows you like it.

“Arms up,” he says gently, and you just stare at him.

“Simon, you can’t—”

“Love,” he says, and there’s just that soft, exhausted edge that always made you give in, “just let me help you.”

You sigh, but your arms go up anyway, and he peels your shirt off carefully with every movement, trying not to make you feel worse than you already do. He doesn’t look at you weird, doesn’t say anything about your messy hair or the sweat sticking your shirt to your back.

He helps you step out of your sweats next, kneeling in front of you, eyes at your knees, and doesn’t once try to make it weird, doesn’t even really look, he just steadies you while you hold onto his shoulder, and then he eases you into the warm water with both hands under your arms.

And it feels… better. Not good, but better.

You sink down slowly, the water sloshing around you, and rest your head back against the edge of the tub, already feeling your body melt a little under the heat.

Simon crouches next to you, arms folded on the edge of the tub, chin resting on top, watching you like you’re something fragile.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he says quietly, eyes scanning your face.

“You’re still not allowed to break in,” you mumble, eyes closed, face tilted slightly toward him.

“Didn’t break in,” he says again. “Got a key. That makes it legal.”

You hum under your breath and let him stay close.

You’re too tired to tell him to go. You’re too tired to admit you’re glad he’s here.

So you don’t say anything. And neither does he.

He just stays there next to you while the steam fogs up the mirror, his hand reaching out every now and then just to check the water or brush your hair behind your ear, as if he’s trying to make up for something he still doesn’t have words for.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

One second the water was warm and his hand was brushing through your hair again, and you were floating there with your eyes closed, forehead a little cooler, chest feeling a little less tight, and the next, it’s the middle of the night and you’re dressed in his shirt you don’t remember being put in, your skin is dry, your hair smells faintly of shampoo, and you’re tucked into your bed in fresh sheets you didn’t wash yourself.

The room is dark, except for the soft glow spilling in from the hallway, and everything is quiet except for the sound of slow breathing next to you. His, familiar and close, close enough that when you shift a little, you feel the weight of his leg against yours under the blanket.

He’s lying on top of the covers, still in joggers, without a shirt, one arm under his head, the other resting lazily on his stomach. It looks like he passed out trying to stay awake.

And for a while, you just look at him.

There’s nothing dramatic about it. You’re not trying to have some revelation or relive your whole relationship in the dark. You’re just looking, and he’s here, asleep next to you like he never left.

You’re not sure if this means anything. You’re not sure if it fixes anything.

But your chest feels a little lighter. And he still smells like home.

So you lean in slowly, still a little unsure, and press your lips to his.

And the moment your mouth touches his, his lips part like he’s been waiting for this exact thing in his sleep.

He doesn’t open his eyes at first, just kisses you back without a second of hesitation, and when you pull away, you hear that rough little sound in his throat, the one you used to love so much.

He blinks slowly, eyes finally fluttering open, and that grin spreads across his face before he even says a word.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, voice scratchy and smug.

You roll your eyes. “You’re in my bed.”

“Wasn’t about to leave you sweating half to death in a tub,” he says, stretching slightly but not moving away. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You definitely do,” he says, still grinning, and you’re too tired to fight him on it, so you just let out a low breath and press your forehead to his shoulder.

After a pause, he speaks again, quieter this time. “So what now?”

You don’t answer right away. You just stay there, pressed against him, thinking about all the things you could say, all the reasons you should still be angry, all the cracks he left behind that haven’t healed yet.

But you’re here, and he’s here.

And you don’t want to start over with someone else. You just want this to stop hurting.

So you mutter into his skin, “Don’t make me regret it.”

He exhales slowly, that smile softening.

“I won’t,” he says. “Not this time.”

You nod once, too tired for anything else.

He pulls you closer, and neither of you says another word.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies

[badathumanemotions]

Spencer with a breeding/ pregnancy kink...

Like part of it is purely out of wanting to be a father but he can't deny that the thought of Reader having a bump and leaky tits isn't nice either. And once he actually gets her pregnant he's rubbing her belly while he fucks her...

I'm cursed I think

Breeding Season

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Masterlist CW:Smut, Pregnancy, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Oral Sex (R rec), Vaginal Sex, Cream Pie, Lactation, Squirting, Fluff, Dirty Talk. WC: 7,893 (Not Proof Read)

The conversation starts with your legs tangled under a blanket and his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along your thigh. The TV is on, volume low, playing something you haven’t been following for the past half hour. You’ve been too focused on the feel of him beside you. The way his body settles so easily into yours now, like it was always meant to be here.

You’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Not obsessively. Just in passing moments. When he kisses the top of your head without thinking. When his hand finds your stomach in his sleep. When you catch him lingering in the baby section at the store, gaze flickering over soft yellow onesies and the smallest socks you’ve ever seen.

But you’ve never said it aloud.

Not until now.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the sound of the narrator on screen.

Spencer hums, warm and content beside you. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s not exactly casual.”

That makes him shift, just enough to glance down at you. He searches your face, already alert, already open.

You draw in a breath. “I’ve been thinking about trying. For a baby.”

His expression doesn’t change at first. He just blinks, lips parting slightly like he wants to make sure he’s heard you right. You can see the way the words land in him, all at once. Not light. Not heavy. Just... real.

“You have?” he asks, slowly.

You nod, watching the way his face softens.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand moves under the blanket, finding your hip, his thumb sliding in slow, thoughtful strokes. There’s no tension in him. Just quiet, thoughtful stillness.

“I didn’t want to bring it up first,” he says finally. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. But yeah. I’ve thought about it too. A lot.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Not uncomfortable. Just full of everything that doesn’t need to be rushed.

“What do you picture?” you ask.

Spencer’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “Everything. You. Me. A house with too many books and not enough shelves. A kid who reads before they’re supposed to. You, laughing in the kitchen. You, holding them. Me, probably panicking over something ridiculous.”

You laugh softly, and his eyes light up at the sound.

“But mostly I just picture you,” he continues. “Pregnant. Glowing. Walking around in a shirt with a bump so obvious it doesn’t matter if I keep my hands to myself or not.”

Your cheeks flush. “You’d be unbearable.”

He dips his head toward you, lips brushing your temple. “Completely.”

The moment settles again. You feel the shift in it, the turn it takes. Not abrupt. Just... natural. Like the moment you decided. Like the moment he did.

“Do you want to?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“I want everything with you,” he says. “And I want to start now.”

His mouth finds yours slowly, reverently. There’s no urgency in the kiss, no crash of movement. Just his hand slipping to your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap while the blanket falls forgotten to the floor.

You sink into him, knees bracketing his hips, fingers fisting in the soft cotton of his shirt. He kisses you like he’s rediscovering something. Like your mouth has changed and he needs to map it all over again.

You feel his arousal building beneath you, hot and heavy and unhidden. He’s already hard, but he doesn’t grind up into you. Doesn’t rush it. His hands settle at your hips, thumbs grazing the curve of your lower belly, and for the first time, the touch feels like a promise.

“You’re sure?” he asks, pulling back enough to look at you.

You nod. “I want it.”

He lifts your shirt slowly, pressing his lips to your stomach. One kiss, then another, just above the waistband of your pants. “Then we’ll try.”

He kisses you once more, slow and deep, then pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Come with me,” he whispers.

You nod, breath already unsteady, and let him guide you up from the couch. His hand stays at the small of your back, thumb tracing your spine as he leads you through the quiet apartment and into the bedroom. The light is low, the sheets slightly rumpled from this morning. He doesn't rush to fix anything. He only turns toward you, both hands cupping your face like he needs a moment just to look.

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, mouth parting yours with soft insistence. His hands drift down to your waist, then lower, until he’s lifting your shirt in one fluid motion and pulling it over your head. Your bra comes next, and when it drops to the floor, his eyes flick to your breasts like they always do. He doesn’t touch yet. Just looks  with something warm and reverent behind his gaze.

His pants and boxers are suddenly gone. Your clothes follow, the final barrier slipping past your thighs before he urges you gently onto the bed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how perfect you are,” he murmurs.

You reach for him, but he shakes his head, smiling softly. “Let me take care of you.”

You lie back on the bed, and he follows, lowering himself onto the mattress between your thighs. He parts them with his hands, slow and careful, and kisses the inside of your knee. Then again, a little higher. And again, and again, alternating sides as he works up your thighs.

It’s not teasing. Not quite. It’s reverent. Like he’s tasting you one inch at a time, learning your body all over again. Then his mouth is on you.

At first it’s just his tongue, broad and slow, one long stroke through your folds that makes your back arch off the bed. You’re already wet for him, and he groans into you like the taste is everything he’s been craving.

He does it again. And again. Slower. Deeper. His tongue moves in smooth, lazy passes, coaxing your body open with steady, practiced rhythm.

He’s not chasing your orgasm. He’s building it.

His hands stay firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking your skin as he mouths at you with devastating patience. He circles your clit with the very tip of his tongue, featherlight, then presses a little harder, holding there just long enough to make your toes curl.

“Fuck,” you whisper, voice already shaking.

Spencer hums like that’s all the encouragement he needs. He shifts lower, spreading you wider with his hands, then licks into you deeper, his tongue dragging along your entrance, dipping in just enough to make your hips stutter.

He does it again. And again. Alternating pressure, pace, direction. Testing how you respond. Not because he doesn’t know. He does. But because he wants to see all the ways you fall apart for him now.

His nose brushes your clit as he works you over, and the angle makes everything sharper. You moan louder, thighs trembling around his head, and he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer.

He flattens his tongue and moves it in slow figure eights, then sucks gently at your clit until you’re panting his name into the sheets. One of your hands fumbles for his hair and threads through it, tugging hard when he slides a finger into you.

You gasp, whole body tightening as he curls it inside you, the motion slow and purposeful.

“That’s it,” he says softly, pulling back just enough to speak, voice husky. “Let me make you feel good.”

Then he’s back on your clit, mouth moving in practiced rhythm, his finger thrusting slow and deep inside you. He adds another, stretching you open, filling you until your hips lift off the mattress and your fingers dig into his scalp.

The sounds he makes, low groans, quiet sighs, the wet suck of his mouth, only drive you higher. He’s in no hurry. There’s no rush in his pace. Just endless, deliberate pleasure, wringing every last ounce of tension from your body until it feels like you could break apart from the sensation.

You’re close. You know it. So does he.

Your whole body seizes up as your orgasm hits, hard and fast and total. You cry out, shaking, thighs clamping around his head as waves of heat crash over you. Spencer groans like he’s the one coming, like tasting you like this is too much to bear.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking you through it, soft and steady, until you’re twitching, too sensitive, pushing at his shoulders as your body finally starts to come down.

Only then does he lift his head.

His mouth is slick with you, chin wet, cheeks flushed. He kisses your thigh again, slow and soft, then moves up your body with reverent care.

When he reaches your chest, he mouths over your breasts, kisses up your throat until he meets your lips. The look in his eyes is too much. Like he can’t believe he gets to have you like this.

He kisses you gently, slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips, before reaching down between your bodies and wrapping his hand around his cock.

You’re still trembling from his mouth, your thighs slick and parted, body already pliant beneath him. But he doesn’t move to press inside. Not yet. He just lingers there, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in the wetness he pulled from you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice thick, reverent. “Dripping for me. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You gasp as the tip nudges your clit, the pressure sharp and unexpected. His thumb presses into your hip to keep you still, eyes locked on your face as he drags himself down again, lining up with your entrance but refusing to push forward.

Your breath catches when he dips just barely inside. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to tease. Your walls flutter around nothing, already clenching with need.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s barely a whisper.

“I’m going to cum so deep in your pussy it won’t have a chance to drip out.”

You whimper as the head catches on your clit, pleasure sparking straight through your core. Spencer doesn’t stop moving. His hips roll hard, letting the underside of his cock rub against you with just enough pressure to make your thighs twitch.

“I need to be inside you,” he pants. “I need to fuck you full.”

You can barely speak, but he doesn’t wait for you to find the words. He watches your face instead, like he’s memorizing every single shift in your expression, every flutter of your lashes and gasp of your mouth.

“I want it,” you breathe. “I want your cum. I want you to fuck a baby into me.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he says. “Cumming in you, watching you take it, feeling your pussy milk it out of me like you’re already carrying my baby.”

You gasp as he pushes in just a little more, your walls fluttering in anticipation.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls. “You're going to take it, every inch, and you're not going to stop me.”

And then he thrusts forward, not slow, not careful—just one long, rough stroke that seats him deep, all the way to the base, until your hips meet and your back arches off the mattress.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice low. “You feel so good. So perfect around me.”

He groans again and starts to move, hips snapping forward in sharp, desperate thrusts. The pace is immediate, all restraint gone. He’s fucking you like he needs it. Like he’s been kept from you for too long.

Every stroke is hard, deep, rough in a way that makes your whole body jolt beneath him. Your breasts bounce with each thrust and his eyes are drawn there, dark and hungry.

His voice is wrecked when he speaks again. “You're going to look so fucking good. Breasts full and heavy. Aching for me.”

His hand comes up to your chest, fingers curving under the weight of one breast as it moves with every rough thrust. You cry out, the sound caught between surprise and need, and his groan follows fast, guttural, helpless.

You gasp his name, your hips rocking up to meet him as your hands scramble to grip his shoulders. “Spencer, fuck...”

He thumbs over your nipple, slow and firm, and the sensation makes you jolt. “Yes,” you choke out. “Touch me. Keep touching me.”

He does. He fucks you harder, rougher, like your encouragement only fuels him more.

“You were made for this,” he growls. “For me. For taking my cock. For carrying my child. Fuck—your body’s begging for it.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling with the force of his thrusts. “I want it,” you pant. “I want to be full of you. I want you to cum inside me until I can’t hold any more.”

The sound that rips from his throat is something primal. He buries his face against your neck, breath scorching against your skin as his rhythm falters for a second, like he’s close already but fighting it.

“You’re going to be swollen with my child,” he says, voice breaking on it. “You’re going to walk around every day with your pussy full of my cum, knowing exactly what I did to you.”

“God, Spencer.” You clutch at him, pulling him closer, your nails dragging down his back. “Yes. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like you’re going to get me pregnant.”

He lifts your thighs higher, folding you open for him, and the angle makes you cry out loud, stars blinking behind your eyes as he slams into the deepest parts of you.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice shaking. “So tight. You’re squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”

“I don’t,” you moan. “I want you to stay right there, filling me up, until your cum takes.”

His eyes snap open at your words, wide and wild and completely undone. “You say shit like that, and I’m not going to last.”

You meet his gaze through the haze of lust. “Then don’t.”

He groans again, hips stuttering, cock dragging against every aching spot inside you. His thrusts are relentless now, every movement harder, sharper, more desperate.

“I can feel it,” he growls. “Your pussy trying to keep me in. You want this just as bad as I do.”

“More,” you whisper. “I want it more. I want you to fuck me again and again until it sticks. Until I’m pregnant and you still don’t stop.”

His hands clamp tighter on your thighs. He pounds into you like his life depends on it, the rhythm so brutal it rocks the bed under you.

“You’re going to take every drop,” he grits out. “Every last fucking drop until there’s no doubt you’re mine.”

“Yes,” you cry out. “Yes, all of it. I’ll take everything. Just don’t stop.”

His jaw clenches. You feel his body coil like a wire pulled taut, fighting the edge with everything he has.

“Not yet,” he growls. “Not until I feel you cum on my cock. Not until I know you're ready to take it.”

Spencer suddenly pulls out, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he looks down at your trembling body. His hands move fast, gripping behind your knees and lifting—higher, higher—until your thighs are flush to your chest, your hips tilted up, completely open to him.

You gasp as the change stretches you out. Your breath stutters from the pressure, the exposure, the sheer vulnerability of it. But he’s right there, gaze locked on where your bodies meet, expression wild.

“Stay just like that,” he mutters, climbing back over you, forcing your knees up even tighter. “I want to get so deep in you there’s no doubt.”

He drops his weight forward, pressing you into the mattress. Your legs are trapped between your bodies, spread and pinned, and he uses it. Leverage. Power. He slides back inside with one brutal thrust that punches a moan from your chest.

“Oh my god—Spencer.”

You can barely breathe. The angle is punishing, his cock slamming into you so deep it feels like he’s splitting you open. He groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

“This is how I’m going to do it,” he pants, each word timed to the roll of his hips. “Just like this. Holding you down. Unable to stop me.”

You whimper, hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but he’s everywhere. His chest presses to yours, his hips grind down relentlessly, the mattress creaks beneath the force of him.

He braces both hands beside your shoulders now, using them for leverage as he starts to fuck you in earnest. Harder. Deeper. Like the thought of getting you pregnant has snapped something loose in him.

He’s not being careful anymore. He’s fucking you with his full weight behind every thrust, each one rougher than the last, forcing soft cries from your throat. The squelch of slick between your legs is obscene, made louder by the slap of his hips hitting your ass over and over.

“I can’t stop,” he growls. “Not when you feel like this. Not when your pussy’s squeezing me so tight.”

“Going to watch your belly grow,” he mutters, breath hot against your throat. “Going to fuck you again while you’re pregnant, when you're already so full of me you can barely take another inch.”

Your head rolls back against the pillow. You're writhing beneath him, thighs trembling, body open and helpless under his relentless pace.

“Say you want it,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Say you want me to breed you.”

“I want it,” you gasp, desperate and breathless beneath him. “I want you to breed me. I want your baby, Spencer.”

His whole body tenses. He stares down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. Then he growls—low and primal—and fucks into you with renewed force.

“That’s right,” he pants. “Say it again. Say who’s going to put a baby in you.”

“You,” you moan. “You are. You’re going to make me pregnant.”

A guttural sound rips from his chest. His hips snap forward, burying his cock to the hilt, then he does it again, over and over, his thrusts harder, sharper, more demanding. He’s rutting into you like he’s trying to etch the shape of himself into your body.

You whimper beneath him, dizzy from the stretch and the speed, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room like it’s the only thing that exists.

“I’m going to watch you swell with my child,” he snarls against your throat. “I’m going to fuck you until I know it’s taken. And then I’m going to do it again.”

He presses one hand to your lower belly, just above where he’s driving into you. The other stays braced at the headboard, keeping you pinned.

“You’re going to walk around with my baby inside you,” he grits out. “Every time someone looks at you, they’ll know I did this. I bred you. I filled you up and made you mine.”

Your breath shudders in your throat. Every word hits somewhere deep in your chest. He’s inside you like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else he’s ever needed to be.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say you want to carry my child.”

“I want it,” you gasp. “I want to be pregnant. I want everyone to know I’m yours.”

He lets out a noise that’s half groan, half curse, and his rhythm stutters for a second. Then he picks it back up, harder than ever. Each thrust is like a claim being driven into your body.

“I’m going to fill you up with cum over and over,” he snarls, “until I know you’re pregnant. Until your belly’s round with my child. Until you can’t take any more.”

His voice is breaking now, wrecked with need, with possession, with pride.

“You’re going to be swollen with my child. Mine. You understand?”

“Yes,” you whimper, breath catching on the word. “Yours. I want to be yours.”

Your voice snaps the last thread of control inside him. His thrusts go ragged, pace faltering as his whole body begins to tighten above you.

“Then take it,” Spencer groans, voice low and ruined. “Take everything I give you.”

His hips move faster, slamming into you with deep, bruising force, over and over, dragging you right to the edge. His hand tightens on your waist like he’s anchoring himself, his eyes locked on where your bodies meet.

“I can feel how badly you want it,” he rasps. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight. She’s begging for it. Begging to be knocked up.”

You sob something between a moan and his name, fingernails biting into the flex of his forearm as your hips jerk up to meet his every brutal thrust.

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “You’re going to look so fucking beautiful with my baby inside you. Soft and glowing. You won’t even be able to hide it.”

You whimper, completely undone beneath him.

“I’m going to keep you like that,” he snarls, slamming into you. “Barefoot and pregnant. Let the whole world see what I’ve done to you.”

He pulls almost all the way out, cock gleaming with slick, then drives back in with a vicious snap of his hips that knocks the breath out of you. His body covers yours, sweat slick and burning hot, every inch of him focused on the act of claiming, of making you his in the most permanent way possible.

“You think I’ll stop once you’re pregnant?” he pants. “Fuck no. I’ll fuck you while you’re swollen. While your tits are leaking. While our baby’s growing inside you. Because you’re mine. Every part of you.”

Then he slams in once, deep and final, his whole body locking above you as his cock throbs inside you. You feel the first pulse of it, hot and thick, and his mouth drops open in a groan so desperate it borders on worship.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck, take it. Take all of it. That’s my baby in you. Mine.”

He doesn’t stop moving. Even as he cums, he keeps grinding his hips in short, dragging rolls, making sure you don’t miss a drop. You can feel him emptying into you, thick and endless, the pressure of it sending heat spiralling through your gut.

But he’s not done.

His grip shifts, and he starts thrusting again. Slower now, but deeper. Focused. Intent.

“I’m not stopping,” he says, voice wrecked but steady. “Not until you cum. Not until I feel your pussy squeezing my cock, greedily taking every drop.”

You cry out, body shuddering beneath him. He reaches down and rubs your clit in tight circles, fingers slick from where you’ve soaked him.

“You need to cum,” he whispers, thrusting harder again. “You need to cum with my seed still leaking into you. Let it take. Let your body catch.”

You’re so close it hurts. Your hips jerk up, meeting his strokes, and he keeps talking, keeps driving it deeper.

It tears through you. The orgasm hits with brutal intensity, ripping the breath from your lungs as your back arches and your walls clamp down hard around him.

You sob his name, trembling uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash through you, your cunt fluttering around his cock like your body is trying to milk him again.

“Fuck yes,” he groans, holding deep inside you, arms shaking. “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Make sure it takes.”

You’re gasping, dizzy, overwhelmed, his body heavy over yours as the aftershocks keep rolling.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move. Just presses his hand to your lower belly again, stroking softly.

“Mine,” he whispers. “All of you.”

And you are. Marked, filled, claimed in every possible way.

At thirty week your belly is round, unmistakable beneath everything you wear, full with the child you made together. Your breasts ache with weight and change. Your back hurts more often than not. And Spencer still looks at you like he’s seeing a miracle.

He’s on his knees at the edge of the bed, mouth pressed reverently to the swell of your stomach, like he can’t help himself. Like he never could.

He’s been like this the whole time. Touching. Kissing. Talking to the baby whenever he thinks you’re asleep. And fucking you as often as he can manage without making you too sore.

“You’re so full,” he murmurs against your skin. “So fucking full of me.”

His hands spread wide across the sides of your bump, fingertips brushing where he knows your skin is the most sensitive now. He’s mapped it all. Counted the stretch marks as they appear, tracked your symptoms like a research project he never wants to finish.

“Thirty weeks,” he says, kissing the top curve of your belly. “And every time I see you, it’s more real. Our baby. Inside you. Growing because I put them there.”

You stroke his hair, thumb brushing along his hairline. He looks up at you like he might cum from nothing more than the sight of you above him like this. Hair messy. T-shirt stretched tight over your breasts.

He glances up, already dazed, already lost in you. “Let me make you feel good.”

You reach for him before he can slide lower, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt.

“Don’t,” you whisper, breath already unsteady. “I need you inside me.”

He pauses, lips hovering just above your belly, blinking up at you.

“I was going to eat you out,” he says, voice low, reverent. “I wanted to take my time. Taste how sweet you are when you’re like this.”

You groan softly and tug harder at his shirt, desperate now. “I don’t need your mouth right now, Spencer. I’ve been soaked all day. I can’t wait. I just want your cock.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Is it the hormones again?”

You nod, tugging him closer, voice nearly a whimper. “They’re out of control. I feel it everywhere. My nipples are aching. My cunt’s throbbing. I just need you.”

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your knees apart with careful urgency. “You want me to fuck you like this? While you’re heavy with my baby?”

You moan just from the sound of it. “Yes. Please, Spencer.”

His breath shudders out of him. You see the restraint break in his face, feel the hunger snap loose in his body.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

He moves quickly, sitting up on his knees to strip off his shirt, tossing it to the floor without a glance. Then he’s reaching for you, hands moving with focused urgency. He helps you sit up just enough to peel off your own shirt, then your bra, until your breasts are bared and heavy between you. The moment they’re free, his hands are on them.

He groans, low and aching, as he cups them fully in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples and you gasp at how sensitive they’ve become.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Full and swollen. Fuck, you're so beautiful like this. Every inch of you changed because of me.”

You moan at the sound of his voice, at the heat behind his words. He leans in to kiss you, slow and deep, hands still working over your breasts until your nipples tighten under his touch.

Then he pulls back, gaze sliding down your body. You watch the way he looks at you, the awe in his eyes, the greedy drag of his stare over every new curve, every stretch of skin pulled tight over your bump.

“I want to see all of you,” he says, voice rough with need.

He helps you out of the rest of your clothes, then stands to shove his own pants and briefs off in one motion. His cock is flushed and leaking, already so hard it juts up against his stomach. You’re bare now, both of you, and the way he looks at you makes your whole body ache.

Spencer steps closer, eyes fixed on your belly, your breasts, the slick heat waiting for him between your legs. His hands return to your hips, slow and reverent as he leans down to kiss you again, this time rougher, hotter, full of need.

Then he pulls back slightly, breath catching as he looks over your body again.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

He hooks his hands under your knees and shifts you downward, guiding you closer to the edge of the bed. His touch is careful, practiced, already knowing exactly where to hold and how much to lift to avoid strain. His gaze flicks to your face every few seconds, checking for any sign of discomfort.

Once you’re positioned just right, he straightens up, running one hand from your thigh to your stomach. His palm lingers there, slow and warm.

“I like the challenge,” he says, smirking as he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “I’ve liked figuring out every way I can still fuck you like this. How to keep you full, even when your body’s already carrying everything I’ve given you.”

You shudder, the heat between your legs going molten. “Then stop talking and do it.”

Spencer growls under his breath, fingers digging into your thighs as he steps between them. His cock bobs against his stomach, flushed and throbbing, the head already slick. He strokes it once, twice, then lines himself up with your entrance.

“You’re really ready for me?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours.

Your response is a broken sound, hands grabbing at the sheets. “Don’t make me beg.”

“I like when you beg,” he says, voice tight. “But not tonight.”

He presses forward slowly, thick and hot, your walls stretching to take him. The fullness makes you gasp, and he groans, sinking in until he’s seated completely.

You moan and roll your hips up.

“I need more, Spencer. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He looks down at you, sweat beading at his temple, lips parted.

“You want me to fuck you like you’re not pregnant?”

“I want you to fuck me like I’m yours,” you say. “Like I’ll break if you stop.”

His next thrust is sharper. He’s not careful anymore.

He starts to give you exactly what you asked for.

Spencer’s next thrust is brutal. Deep. His hips slam into yours hard enough to jolt you up the bed an inch, and you gasp, loud and wrecked, your whole body trembling from the force of it.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, already shaking beneath him.

He groans like the sound fuels him, like it sinks into his bloodstream and drags his restraint out by the root. He pulls back and does it again, another punishing thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

“You’re dripping,” he snarls, voice low and harsh. “So fucking wet for me.”

You are. You can feel it, slick coating your thighs, your heat clutching at him with every motion. You’re soaked, flushed, oversensitive in the way only late pregnancy and surging hormones can bring. Every inch of your skin feels electric. Every thrust sends sparks ricocheting through you.

“Spencer,” you moan, hands scrambling to grab his forearms, his waist, anywhere you can anchor yourself. “More. Fuck, I need it.”

His hands slide to the backs of your knees and shove them higher, angling your hips up. It’s rough, but you welcome it, arching into him, hips already moving to meet his with frantic rhythm.

“I’m not going to stop,” he pants. “You don’t get to ask and not take it.”

And then he’s fucking you. Truly fucking you. Fast, hard, relentless.

Each thrust is sharp, perfectly aimed. The bed creaks with the pace, your breasts bouncing with every motion, and his eyes flick down, hungry and wild.

Your whole body is alive. The pressure is unbearable. Perfect. Every drag of his cock along your walls makes your stomach flip, makes your head spin, makes your body scream for more.

“I can feel you,” you whimper, nails dragging down his back. “I feel everything.”

“I know,” he growls. “That’s what you wanted. To feel it. All of it.”

You nod, too overwhelmed for words, and he rewards you with another brutal slam of his hips that makes your toes curl.

“You’re mine,” he hisses. “All of this. Mine. My perfect pregnant girl. Needy and wet and so fucking full for me.”

His pace doesn’t falter. It quickens, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing something, like he needs to bury himself so deep in you you’ll never be empty again.

Spencer’s rhythm doesn’t falter, but his attention shifts, gaze catching on the way your breasts bounce with every thrust. Heavy, full, flushed at the tips. He groans low in his chest, his mouth going slack for a second as he watches them move.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at them.”

His hands leave your hips without warning, greedy and reverent at once as they come up to cup your breasts. His fingers sink into the soft, swollen weight of them, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You cry out at the contact, back arching. The sensitivity is unbearable. Your whole body is on fire.

“Can’t keep my hands off you,” he growls, squeezing tighter. “So full. So heavy. You look like you’re already nursing.”

Then you leak.

A bead wells at one nipple, then another, and Spencer chokes on a groan like it hits him physically. His hips stutter for the first time since he started fucking you, the vision of it knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Jesus Christ.”

He squeezes again, just enough to draw another slow drop, and it breaks him.

“That’s because of me,” he rasps. “Because I bred you. Body preparing our child. And you’re still letting me fuck you like this.”

You whimper under him, clenching tight around his cock as he rocks forward again, harder now, completely unravelling.

“Perfect fucking woman,” he mutters, eyes locked on your chest, fingers wet with what he’s drawn from you. “You were made for this. For me.”

Your thighs shake. You’re dizzy with it. Every nerve, every pulse, is tuned to the drag of his cock and the possessive weight of his touch on your breasts.

His hands return to your hips for a moment, grip bruising as he pounds into you hard enough to rock the bed. Then one slips up again, greedy and familiar, until it’s splayed wide across your belly.

He groans when he touches it, like the contact is too much, like it short-circuits something in his brain.

“I can’t stop touching you,” he pants, hand stroking slow over the tight curve of your stomach. “You’re carrying my baby. I did this to you. And it makes me want you even more.”

He leans down, weight braced on one elbow, palm still warm on your belly, thrusts still hard and fast and ruthless.

“I should be ashamed of how much this turns me on,” he breathes. “But I’m not. Not when you look like this. Not when I know it’s my child growing inside you.”

You gasp at the words, at the heat of his body against yours, at the fingers pressing just a little firmer into the taut skin of your bump.

“You’re perfect,” he says again, like he can’t stop repeating it. “Big and glowing and already leaking. Your body’s changing for our baby and I can’t fucking get enough.”

He rocks forward again, and you moan louder, helpless beneath him.

“You should see yourself,” he growls. “Stretched and full, taking my cock like you were made for it. Breasts so swollen you’re leaking for me. My baby growing inside you. Every single thing about you right now is driving me out of my fucking mind.”

You shudder under him, eyes fluttering shut. The angle, the pressure, the filth in his voice—it’s all too much.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers, voice ragged with need. “Pregnant. Full. Fucking glowing. And every time I fill you up, I’ll know it’s mine.”

His hand doesn’t leave your belly. It anchors him there, dragging across your skin every time he thrusts, like he needs the reminder. Like he still can’t believe it.

He doesn’t ease up. If anything, the way your belly presses against his hand seems to set something off in him.

He thrusts harder, deeper, until your body jolts with every movement and your fingers twist in the sheets just to keep yourself grounded. The slick, obscene sound of it fills the room. You’re soaked, drenched around him, and he fucks through it like he never wants to stop.

“God, listen to you,” he groans. “So wet for me. You can’t help it, can you?”

You try to answer, but it comes out as a moan. Everything’s too much. The stretch. The heat. The friction. His hand dragging down again to your hip so he can pull you harder into every thrust. He hits deep, again and again, dragging against places inside you that feel newly sensitive. Like your whole body has changed to crave this more.

He looks down at you and groans low in his chest.

“Your tits,” he pants. “I can’t stop staring. I think about them every time I close my eyes.”

His hands are on them before you can speak. He leans up just enough to cup them both, thumbs brushing over your nipples, then squeezing harder. You cry out, hips bucking into his just as your left nipple leaks a warm, sticky line down the curve of your breast.

He groans, rough and hungry, like the sight knocks the air right out of him.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s what I want. So swollen. So ready.”

He lowers his mouth and laps at the spill of milk, licking it from your skin with a low, reverent sound. His hips don’t stop moving. His cock drives into you in a punishing rhythm while his mouth worships your breast like he can’t decide which part of you he wants more.

You feel his cock twitch deep inside you as he groans again, sucking harder.

“Spencer,” you gasp, trying to hold onto something, anything, but all you can feel is his tongue on your breast and his cock pounding into you like he’s trying to break you.

He lifts his head, lips slick, and looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

“You were made to carry my baby,” he growls. “Made to be fucked like this. Big and pregnant and dripping for me.”

He thrusts deeper, angling up so you feel every inch drag inside of you. Your thighs tremble from the force of it.

“Every time you walk into the room,” he pants, “I get hard just looking at you. Just knowing what I did. What you’re carrying. My baby. My cum. My fucking claim.”

His hand returns to your belly, spreading wide across the swell like he can feel the future inside it.

“I can’t stop wanting you like this,” he says. “I don’t want to stop.”

Your walls clench hard around him. Your body is singing with it now, pulsing and slick and desperate.

And he’s still going. Still thrusting. Still holding onto your belly like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

Spencer’s rhythm is unrelenting now, hips slamming into yours with an urgency that borders on feral. The headboard knocks against the wall in time with every thrust, but neither of you notices, too lost in the chaos of slick skin and broken breath.

You're soaked. The sheets beneath you are damp with it, the mess of your arousal smeared between your thighs, all over him, everywhere. His cock slides through it with ease, every stroke deep and devastating, hitting the spots that make you gasp and twitch and sob for more.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his voice unravelling with each word. “You feel so good. I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you gasp, hips jerking up to meet his every thrust. “You feel too good, Spencer, I can’t—”

You break off on a whimper as he angles just right and your whole body lights up. Your legs kick uselessly at the sheets. He doesn’t let up. He’s not giving you time to adjust. He wants you ruined, wants you shaking, wants you right there on the edge.

“You’re going to cum,” he pants, mouth dragging across your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re close. So fucking close.”

His hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit, swollen and slick. The second he touches you, your spine arches like a bow. He circles it fast, tight, his hips never missing a beat.

“Oh my god,” you cry, voice broken and high. “Spencer, please—”

“You’re going to cum so fucking hard,” he growls. “You’re going to soak my cock while I fill you up again. Your pussy’s going to drag every drop from me like it never wants to let go.”

Your muscles are locking, tightening. Every nerve is stretched thin. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as your climax coils hotter and tighter inside you.

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.

“Hold it,” he growls. “I want to feel you cum the second I do. I want you to milk every drop of my cum into that perfect, pregnant body.”

You sob his name, head tossing side to side on the pillow. You’re right there. Teetering. Shaking. One more thrust, one more stroke of his fingers and you’ll fall apart completely.

Your whole body is wound tight, every nerve a live wire. Spencer is relentless, hips snapping forward with deep, claiming thrusts while his fingers circle your clit in firm, precise strokes. You’re soaked, everything slick and hot, his cock dragging perfectly through you each time he plunges back in.

He’s panting above you, flushed and wild-eyed, watching your face like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You’re going to cum,” he grits out. “I can feel it. Right there, aren’t you?”

You gasp, unable to speak. Your back arches, spine bowing up from the bed as heat coils low and tight in your belly. The pressure is unbearable.

“Come on,” he growls, voice ragged. “I want to feel it. I want to see you make a mess all over my cock.”

You cry out when he presses harder against your clit, his thumb unrelenting as his pace picks up, sharp and punishing. The tension breaks in an instant. You don’t just cum — you rupture. Your orgasm rips through you with a raw, helpless sob.

The pressure releases in a sudden rush and you squirt hard, liquid gushing out of you in pulses you can’t control, soaking your thighs, his cock, the sheets. Your legs tremble violently as your body writhes beneath him.

Spencer groans loud and long, like it’s been punched out of his chest. “Oh my god. You’re squirting. Fuck, you’re squirting for me.”

He pulls back just enough to look between your bodies and watches, utterly mesmerized, as another gush spills out around the thick base of his cock. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, gripping your hips like he’ll break apart if he doesn’t anchor himself. “You’re drenching me.”

Your voice is nearly gone. “Spence—”

His gaze snaps up to your face, and whatever he sees there pushes him over the edge. He buries himself deep and stays there, cock twitching inside you as he cums hard. Thick ropes of it flood your cunt, hot and heavy, and he groans through clenched teeth.

“That’s it,” he pants, barely able to speak. “Take it. All of it. You deserve every drop.”

His hips jerk again, slower now, grinding into you like he wants to leave it as deep as it can possibly go.

Your body is still pulsing, oversensitive and spent, but he doesn’t pull out. He stays there, thick and buried and full of everything he’s just given you. One hand slides up to your belly, warm and reverent.

“I made you do that,” he says softly, like he can’t believe it. “You squirted because of me.”

You can’t even speak. You just pull him down into a kiss, still shaking with aftershocks, still stretched and filled to the brim with him.

The room is quiet except for your breathing, both of you still catching it in fits and starts. Spencer hasn’t moved. He’s still inside you, still buried deep, and his body is draped over yours like he doesn’t trust himself to pull away yet.

Your skin is slick with sweat, your thighs trembling, your muscles aching in the best way. Your breasts are sore, your stomach taut and flushed, and you feel him everywhere. In the heat between your legs, in the stretch of your body, in the fullness that’s somehow even heavier now.

He nuzzles into your neck with a soft groan, one hand sliding slowly down your side until it settles over your belly again. His palm is warm, wide, stilling as he feels the rise and fall of your breath beneath it.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs, voice quiet, almost reverent. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over this. Over you.”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “You’d better not.”

His laugh is quiet, more breath than sound. “I mean it. Everything about you. Your body. What it’s doing. What we made.”

His thumb strokes your skin gently. His other hand smooths over your hip, grounding you. You’re soaked between your thighs and still stretched around him, but there’s no rush to move. His cock softens slowly inside you, and you swear he’d stay like this forever if he could.

You turn your head to press your lips to his temple. “Did I really squirt?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s awe there. Still.

“Like your body couldn’t hold back from me even if it tried.”

You laugh, quiet and spent, and he kisses the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“Don’t get smug,” you warn, not even trying to sound convincing.

“I’m not smug,” he whispers. “I’m obsessed.”

You feel the weight of his hand over your belly again. He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s feeling for something, even if the baby hasn’t moved. Like he just wants to connect.

“We really made a person,” you say softly. “They’re real.”

He nods. “They’re ours.”

Neither of you speak for a while. You just lie there, tangled together, soaked and wrecked and content. Eventually, he shifts to clean you up, slow and careful, murmuring little apologies when you wince. He kisses your thigh, your stomach, your breast, before pulling the blanket over both of you and curling in close again.

One hand rests on your belly. The other slips beneath your neck to cradle you closer.

You fall asleep like that. Full. Claimed. Loved.

[jude457]

OKAY i have finally decided on the premise for the jude fix-it fic™

- the officer betrays inho. like he’s just shot jung-bae, he’s on his way back to his rooms for a much needed shower, probably already replaying gihun’s face in his head, thinking about getting blackout drunk on whiskey—and then he gets ambushed. rifle to the skull. goes down hard. he doesn’t even get the chance to fight.

- inho is brought into the dorm room in a coffin alongside gihun. he wakes up stripped of everything—his rank, his immunity, his power. and when he sits up, gihun is already there. kneeling beside him, stunned. “young-il?” he says, and there’s this flicker of hope on his face, like he’s just been given something back. and then—relief. real relief. he pulls inho into a hug before he can protest. tells him he thought he was dead. says he prayed he was alive. inho can’t even speak. he just nods and lies and lets gihun believe it.

- and the worst part? the ptsd comes back like a curse. there’s no mask to hide behind now. no control room. no black mask to keep him untouchable. he’s just another number in a green tracksuit, helpless and terrified. every gunshot makes him flinch. every announcement triggers something deep and ugly. he forgets how to breathe sometimes. he also has to grapple with the fact that he is powerless to ensure gihun’s safety. gihun doesn’t get it at first—he remembers young-il as composed. cool. not warm, exactly, but always calm. and now he’s watching that same man fold in on himself. something is deeply wrong, and gihun can’t figure out what.

key things you will see in this fic:

- inho in a blue bib. gihun in a red one, full protective boyfriend mode. says he’s gonna keep inho safe no matter what. and inho’s just sitting there like 🙂🔫 because he’s the last person worth protecting. the guilt is chewing through his stomach lining. because he doesn’t deserve gihun’s care. but god, does inho want it.

- inho gets hurt. his leg gives out (yes i am putting inho in a position to have a fracture set without pain relief)—maybe he takes a bad fall, maybe he hesitates for one second too long—and suddenly it’s gihun yelling at him to get on—but not onto his back. no, gi-hun drops down and scoops him up, arms under his knees, one hand gripping his back. carrying him through jump rope like he weighs nothing. swearing the whole time while holding inho tight. and inho’s shaking with pain and shame and something deeper, his face pressed into gihun’s neck, trying not to sob. it’s humiliating. it’s tender. it’s the closest he’s felt to safe in years. (side note: in my ideal version of canon, junhee survives and gives birth at the end. i do not care. it’s what she deserves.)

- identity reveal happens after jump rope. they make it through. just barely. and then: the finalist suits. the dagger. champagne flutes clinking somewhere far away. it all hits inho like a truck. he completely spirals. panic, disassociation, hands shaking. gihun’s trying to calm him down and inho—he just breaks. tells him everything. confesses in the most pathetic way possible. “i’m the frontman. you should kill me” and gihun goes silent. their beds end up being pressed together. their backs against the wall. they don’t sleep. an ideological war is waged between them in whispers and glances and the brutal quiet of “you let this happen” vs “i didn’t know how to stop it.” (they may or may not fuck)

- inho and gihun stop the final game and reunite with junho. they live happily ever after. THE END. (junhee and hyunju are finalists too and they jump myung-gi’s ass and survive).

[that-stag-aemilianus]

[ID 1. A screenshot of a 4chan post reading:

"I am a 36 year old with a PhD in Philosophy. I am $450k in debt and currently working two minimum wage jobs in order to stay alive. I word alongside 18 year olds and whenever they ask about my background I just tell them I've been in prison for a long time, which is less embarrassing than admitting the truth. I am probably the most well-informed Husserl scholar on the North American continent, perhaps in the world. My 1,500 page biography of his life has been rejected several dozen times. No college will take me on since they don't think Husserl is relevant, and that other applicants are therefore pushed to the head of the line. I have had 6 Husserl-related papers published in different journals and philosophical quarterlies, but have earned no money or recognition for having done so. I just moved to Abbeville, Louisiana since there is a job opening at the university in Lafayette and I decided to do all out in order to get it. But I've just found out that my application was rejected and now I'm stuck working at a Wendy's three shifts a week and a Barnes & Noble the rest of the time. I have no wife, no children, and at this point no friends I'm willing to talk to due to the shameful nature of my existence."

End ID 1]

[ID 2. A screenshot of a 4chan post, continuing the story of the last, reading:

"Sorry for blogposting but I just need to say this somewhere and it's not unrelated to /lit/. Things are finally looking up for me after years and years. I earned a PhD in philosophy a number of years ago from a mid range public university in the midwest and have been on the job market ever since. Frankly it went awfully, with rejection after rejection from every school I applied to (my research in on Husserl, which a lot of departments don't consider terribly relevant). My fiancee, who had initially supported me during my last few doctorate years and two years looking for a position, eventually left me for a Proust scholar on the West Coast.

My parents took me in for a while after that as I kept looking for jobs, but the stress of my massive debt and the knowledge of my own failure made me bitter towards everyone. I can't really describe it, just a huge sense that I had wasted the first 33 or so years of my life. I worked a few odd jobs to make ends meet but nothing lasted. I couldn't interact with anyone. Each time I talked to someone and told them about my life they gave me this pitying half smirk. Poor bastard, they must have thought, but still, it's his fault for getting a doctorate in philosophy. I became rude and this all culminated with me almost attacking my mother when she (completely innocently) asked about an application I had put in to Bennington. They threw me out, the only two people who could even tolerate my presence, and looking back I can't blame them at all.

I moved to a small town in the south and kind of went all in to get a job at the university there, but without any luck. I had to work a couple different jobs, but this time I just told people I'd stolen a car and boon in jail for while. I got less pitying stares and slowly came back to me senses. Still, I was working dead end, minimum wage jobs, and the pressure of my debt was still huge. One of them was at a Barnes and noble (inb4 pleb), and I used to kind of loiter around the tiny philosophy section as some kind of masochistic exercise. One evening an old black guy came in and started browsing in the section, nothing that odd. He picked up some greek works and chuckled, which got my attention. There was an overview of phenomenology that he picked up next, and my heart almost stopped. I felt kind of numb, and while he leafed through it I slowly stepped forward. I do not know why. He looked up and said something about it being interesting. I shrugged, and he smiled. Something in that smile made me say "I actually wrote my dissertation on Husserl."

(1/2)"

"His smile got a lot bigger then, and he invited me over to the little cafe inside the store. It turns out he was a professor at a small Christian liberal arts school in Georgia. We talked, and it was like the anger and resentment and fear of the last ten years of my life melted away. For the first time in a long time I was not afraid to be passionate about Husserl. I even mentioned my giant biography of the man, which I had long ago hoped to have published. He asked why someone like me wasn't teaching, and suddenly tensed up. But I fought through the years of self-loathing and explained how it had just never happened, and he told me he understood. "We're actually looking for someone right now," he said then. He told me the position was really for a generalist, someone to teach intro to philosophy and maybe a class on his specialty. He told me to apply, and I said I'd think it over. He stuck out his hand and I gave it a firm shake. Inside I was alive for the first time since my ABD days. I applied a few days later, interviewed, and, somehow got the job. It still amazes me when I think about it. I'm still deeply in debt but I'm starting to pay it off, I've spoken to my parents for the first time since the incident, and I just don't feel like a waste of life anymore.

I used to browse /lit/, back when I was in a really bad state, but I stopped after that night in the barnes and noble. I just wanted to tell you guys that everything turned out for the best for me in the end, and that you shouldn't give up hope that it'll turn out okay for you too."

End ID 2]

It's never over. You can recover from anything in life, even a PhD in Philosophy on Husserl.

[xoey101]

☾𖤓 @dawnbreakerbrokeme asked: “Hiyyaaaa Zoey 👋! I saw that your request was open, so I'm taking a leap of faith and requesting something that I've been think about for a while. I'm a zayne girlie so...what if he caught y/n grinding against his pillow late at night after he gets home? That's my request..you don't have to do this if you don't want to, I'm just curious and always ovulating for zayne.....”

hi lovely!! this is my first ask omgomgomg hope i can give you what you’re craving xx

zayne’s just come in from a long day at work. he’s exhausted, slipping off his tie and shoes by the front door, not even taking the time to put them away neatly like usual. 

he makes a beeline for his bedroom, but stops dead in his tracks after hearing the most peculiar noises echoing from that direction.

at first, it doesn’t even dawn on him that you’re masturbating—he’d hear your moans and think you were hurt.

so, heart pounding out of his chest, he races for the door, turning the knob with deathly anticipation.

and there you are. you definitely aren’t hurt, to say the least.

you’re all tangled up in the sheets with his pillow in between your legs. and you’re wearing nothing but your panties and his t-shirt.

“zayne—“ you stop moving your hips, and your heart almost falls through the floor. 

he’s incredibly relieved that you’re okay, but his brain practically short-circuits at the sight of you grinding against his pillow in his bed, wearing his shirt.

“insatiable as ever,” he mumbles from the doorway, trying to maintain his cool demeanor. 

he steps closer, tiredness immediately dissipating.

“my love, there’s no need to do this,” he gestures to his pillow, “when you have me at your disposal.” he chuckles gently.

“i know, i’m sorry i just, i needed you so bad and nothing else worked….” you trail off, realizing you’re coming across as desperate.

zayne shushes you softly, leaning over to press a wet, heated kiss against your lips. “i’m here now, that’s all that matters isn’t it?”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

he fucks you realllll good after walking in on you like that; he knows that the fact you were using his pillow for relief means you’re truly pent-up, and he plans on taking care of that.

he’s got you in a mating press, thighs slug over his shoulders lazily as he snaps his hips into you without rest. 

sweat rolling off his forehead from the sheer work he’s putting in to fucking you right, he’s still thinking about walking in on you.

“can’t believe—“he grunts. “my love was doing something so awful while i was out saving lives—“ 

you mewl, hardly able to focus on his words because of how deep he is. “m’sorry zayne, i’ll make it up to you,” you scream, gripping on to him for dear life.

he speeds up his pace, fingers grabbing greedily at your hips to pull himself even deeper into you, engulfed by your wetness and warmth.

you pant shallowly, trying not to give away the fact that you’re close to your orgasm.

and yet, as attentive as ever, zayne reaches down to finger your clit. “don’t hold back,” he moans out. “take what you need from me.”

and that sends you right over the edge. you’re cumming so hard that it quite literally takes your breath away, and all you can do is shake around zayne as he fucks into you, chasing his own orgasm. 

completely spent, zayne manages to move your limp body over before plopping face first beside you into the bed.

the two of you are a sticky, sweaty mess, almost enmeshed with his crisp white bedding.

zayne tilts his head over to you, feeling a bit playful.

“maybe…. you can continue to take advantage of my pillow when i’m gone.”