#it just feels so wrong to make them short

[science-hoes]

When the words leave Jack’s mouth, your breath hitches. Your hands freeze on the keyboard, the cursor blinking at the end of your patient chart update. It feels like your whole world is collapsing in on itself, with your boyfriend’s statement at the center of the destruction.

You try to find the words to say, but they won’t come out, so you swivel in the rolling chair at the desk hub to face the computer he sat in front of, his impeccable posture indicative of every hour he was in the military. He doesn’t turn, but he can feel your desperate eyes burning a hole through his head.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asks, genuinely, but continues to click through his last patient’s chart.

You swallow hard, hoping that he had just been joking. “Why would you do that?” You manage say.

Jack furrows his brow as he leans closer to the computer screen until the text came into focus. He doesn’t everything except wear those damn readers you bought for him. “Do what?” He questions.

“Get a haircut.”

The words sting even as they cross your lips, stabbing up your chest and throat until they hit the cold air of the Pitt. Jack just shrugs.

“Because I basically have an Afro right now. It’s too much hair. Makes my head hot.” He mumbles in response.

You huff a laugh. “Don’t need all that hair for your head to be hot, Lieutenant Colonel.” You deadpanned.

Jack shot you a feigned glare of distaste before looking back to his screen.

“I feel like Bob Ross.” He admits distractedly, index finger tapping on the computer mouse.

You glide across the floor in your rolling chair until you bump into him. You stare at his whimsical salt and pepper curls that had been cultivating for so long. They’re just so pretty.

“But I like your curls.” You nearly whine. “And you always get your hair buzzed so short on the sides when you go.”

Jack chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, clamping a few curls in his fingers and unraveling them, stretching them out to show his real hair length.

“It’s too long. When I’m in the shower, my hair is almost in my eyes.” He explains.

You watch as the curls snap back into place on his head when he lets them go, taking in every moment you have left with them.

“This is my 9/11.” You pout, giving your boyfriend an unhappy glare.

Jack rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair to stretch. “Do you even remember 9/11?” He questions.

You shrug, leaning your head on the back of your own chair, admiring his unruly hair. “Not really. But I imagine it felt just like this.”

He barks a laugh and places a hand on your thigh, squeezing gently, a rare instance of physical affection that you’re both slow to share out of respect for your coworkers.

“I promise I won’t get it buzzed on the sides as short as last time, okay?” He offers.

You think for a moment, wondering if you should accept his terms. You lean in closer to him, enough for your breath to ghost against the shell of his ear. “It needs to be long enough for me to grab. Gotta have something to pull on, ya know?”

Your whisper sends a shiver down the old man’s spine. Jack hums in fake thought, but he can’t suppress his signature side smile that crawls onto his lips. “Well when you put it that way…” He trails off, running a hand through his overgrown mane. “I guess I can tell them to leave the sides just a little long.”

You grin and squeak in victory. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” You tease before pushing off your feet and rolling your chair back to your computer.

Jack just watches you with enamored amusement, shaking his head with a chuckle before returning to his patient’s chart. You would’ve hated when I had to buzz my entire head for deployment, he thinks.

[fractoluminescence]

First off, this is very interesting, thank you to everyone who participated in this post

Second, a personal reflection. I've been thinking a lot recently about how the series I'm writing is meant to have a positive outlook, and yet things keep going wrong in it. Whatever unconscious part of me is working with conscious me on the plot is very set on making things more complicated, it seems. And it strikes me as peculiar, because, man, this was supposed to be the -one happy story-. All my short stories are sad to some extent, and I wanted something happy for myself, for once. And yet...

And the thing is, if there's any conclusion this story leads to - from its outline, that is, things may change once it's written - it's that you can do everything right and things will still fuck you over. You can have however many positive character arcs you want and you'll still be in just as bad a place, like some endless loop - or, Alan Wake-style, a spiral. Some progress was made, but in what direction? You've been fighting to write yourself and your companions a good ending, but everything looks so similar that you can't really tell.

And there's something to that, I think. Because the story was meant to be about finding a place to belong, but really, it ended up being about mental health and socio-political issues and neurodivency. It ended up being about -not- belonging.

The years go by, and the longer I stick with writing this goddamn thing, the more of them I see, rising out of the shadows like the bodies in the water - all too strange, all too worrying - all too familiar. And I keep repeating to myself that fiction neither dooms nor saves reality, but I won't know for sure until I'll have finished writing this thing, will I? A part of me clings to the thought, and to the sense of agency I can't help but feel it gives me.

How often do the characters in horror stories make it out? And how much do these endings say about the outlook of the artists who crafted them? The more I think about this stuff, the more I wonder about that peculiar relationship. I think it's a lot more interesting than a lot of people give it credit for.

changes and trends in horror-genre films are linked to the anxieties of the culture in its time and place. Vampires are the manifestation of grappling with sexuality; aliens, of foreign influence. Horror from the Cold War is about apathy and annihilation; classic Japanese horror is characterised by “nature’s revenge”; psychological horror plays with anxieties that absorbed its audience, like pregnancy/abortion, mental illness, femininity. Some horror presses on the bruise of being trapped in a situation with upsetting tasks to complete, especially ones that compromise you as a person - reflecting the horrors and anxieties of capitalism etc etc etc. Cosmic horror is slightly out of fashion because our culture is more comfortable with, even wistful for, “the unknown.” Monster horror now has to be aware of itself, as a contingent of people now live in the freedom and comfort of saying “I would willingly, gladly, even preferentially fuck that monster.” But I don’t know much about films or genres: that ground has been covered by cleverer people.

I don’t actually like horror or movies. What interests me at the moment is how horror of the 2020s has an element of perception and paying attention.

Multiple movies in one year discussed monsters that killed you if you perceived them. There are monsters you can’t look at; monsters that kill you instantly if you get their attention. Monsters where you have to be silent, look down, hold still: pray that they pass over you. M Zombies have changed from a hand-waved virus that covers extras in splashy gore, to insidious spores. A disaster film is called Don’t Look Up, a horror film is called Nope. Even trashy nun horror sets up strange premises of keeping your eyes fixed on something as the devil GETS you.

No idea if this is anything. (I haven’t seen any of these things because, unfortunately, I hate them.) Someone who understands better than me could say something clever here, and I hope they do.

But the thing I’m thinking about is what this will look like to the future, as the Victorian sex vampires and Cold War anxieties look to us. I think they’ll have a little sympathy, but they probably won’t. You poor little prey animals, the kids will say, you were awfully afraid of facing up to things, weren’t you?

[kelisewrites]

i think katsuki could literally fuck the sad out of you

“please kats.. I need you” you look up at katsuki, tugging on the hem of his pants.

the weight of the past few weeks had really been getting to you—and right now, you just needed your boyfriend to take your mind off of it all.

“what’s wrong sweetheart? I’m here” katsuki carefully grabbed your hands from his belt, and held them in his own.

you shook your head, “don’t wanna talk,”

he started at you for a moment, before he spoke. “what can I do?” he placed his hands alongside your jaw, thumbing at your cheek.

you whined, “need you to distract me.” katsuki then lifted your chin up, looking into yours eyes.

he lowered his head before pressing his lips into yours. he pulled away slightly, nodding. “don’t worry, m’gonna give you what you need” before slamming his mouth against yours again.

katsuki then kneeled in front of you, smoothing his fingers against your thighs. “so pretty..” he pushed your knees apart so he could squeeze his head in between your thighs.

he placed gentle kisses along your skin, then tapped you, wanting you lift your hips. he then slid your shorts and panties off.

he settled himself in between your thighs again, then grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders.

“need it kats please..” you whine, your legs trembling already from pure need.

suddenly, katsuki jolts you forward, adjusting you so your ass sits on the edge of the bed. he gazes at your pussy before lightly tracing his thumb over your clit.

“ya gotta be patient, want me to make it all go away, yeah?”

you nod, “yeah, p-please kats,” your hips into his touch, needing more. katsuki circled your clit faster, making you tremble underneath him.

katsuki continued toying with you for a few moments, to be sure you were ready for him. now, he had you laid on your back, and he was hovering over you, teasing his tip to your folds.

he sinks his cock into you, letting out a low grunt before he begins moving. you could feel your walls fluttering around him, needing him to go faster.

“more..” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper.

katsuki rolls his hips into yours, getting a feel for you. he picks up the pace quickly, stretching you out.

his lips graze at your jaw, placing kisses along your skin. “s’good?”

you nod, feeling you spasming around him. katsuki grunted out in pleasure as you allowed your legs to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer to you.

he adjusted his angle just a little, making you arch your back up towards him as you let out a loud gasp.

“yeah? right there?” he begins abusing the spot, knowing how good it felt for you.

you felt your body shudder from all the pleasure, and suddenly it felt a little too good and you let out a choked sob.

“kats, wait..” you cried, grabbing at his shoulders, trying to get him to slow down a little.

“shit—s’okay baby, you’re okay. I have you.” he cooed, kissing your forehead gently. you feel your walls clenching against him desperately, and he doesn’t let up. “c’mon, cum.”

that was all you needed. you feel a knot tighten in your stomach, and suddenly your whole body clenched, feeling katsuki cock twitch inside you, leaking his cum into you.

katsuki slowed his movements, then grabbed you by the waist to flip you both around, so now you sat on top of him.

“you okay pretty? feelin any better?” katsuki asked, a little out of breath. his hands sat on your waist, firm but gentle as he rubbed circles with his thumb.

you let out a soft sigh, “yeah, thank you kats”

“good” he smirked, glad that he made you feel better but of course at the same time feeling smug with himself.

ᡣ𐭩

[owensbabygirl]

𝐃𝐑𝐘𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 ─ 𝐒𝐔𝐁!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓

@matthewswife0 ─ I always keep my promise

✧english is not my first language

"I don’t believe that shit."

that's what matt first said when you told him about it. he didn't even thought of the idea behind it, it just seemed ridiculous for him.

getting off when there's no skin touching? yeah right. "there's just no way" he stated, still drawing circles with his fingers on your thigh and scrolling endlessly on his phone.

"no way?" you repeated, scooting closer to sit on his lap "you sure?" you probed, leaning forward to bury your head in his neck, it was so warm against your skin, you had to press a little kiss or two on it.

"you're not serious right now, do you?" he chuckled, there was no way you were actually trying this, he thought you were just going to make fun of yourself.

but that's a show he couldn't miss. he had to let you do it.

"why not?" you asked between kisses, your hands slowly moving down his body until you tagged your fingers in his waistband.

that was the show you couldn't miss. you knew he would love it, and to be honest, you just wanted to prove him wrong. put him and his big ego back in place.

matt kept the smirk on, but the second he felt you pulling down his pants, he knew he won't be able to hold it on for much longer.

with his grey boxers now out on display and the way you started to grind your hips slowly on them.

fuck, he was doomed.

the soft kisses you started to press on his neck before now turned wet, his hand couldn't decide where to reach as you kept rolling your hips on him.

you were so pretty in his eyes, he could swear that just the sight of you could turn him on. so when he could see your hair sliding off your shoulder after every movement and your back arching back and forth with every grind, he could feel his boxers getting tighter.

yet, matt couldn't give in. he knew his cocky demeanor was long gone, but you already being on top and making him feel so weak that he couldn't even let out a proper reaction, he couldn't let you control him like that... right?

"you good?" you asked quickly, trying to not let the sound of your pleasure escape. matt shifted uncomfortably, his hands going under him so you won't see how hard he's holding on the sheets. "sure, I'm fine"

"really?" you questioned, moving harder on the now defined bulge on his boxers until you felt a little wet, dump spot on your pj shorts "still don't feel anything?" you asked again, rhetorically.

"n-no" he answered sharply, his back arching up as he tried to fight his own desire. "no? really?" you smirked as you kept going "because you're leaking." you said as you ground slowly on the dewy spot.

his neck turned red, his eyes widened as he finally looked at you, if he thought that your body was beautiful like that, your face just made him mesmerized.

matt knew he fell for the trap. and big ego or not, he was too desperate to care.

"fuck it" he muttered under his breath when he let his hands out from under him to grab your ass, almost groaning from finally feeling you in his hands.

he tried to move you, he needed it more then everything, even that his arrogance was fighting back. "please... I ne- fuck," he looked up at you, one of his hands moving to grab the back of your neck.

"please keep going, please baby I- you won, okey? just... please" he pleaded, his delighted pupils were all it took for you to cave in.

you leaned closer, pressing your lips against his as you shifted on him, your hips quickening their pace every other second, the wet spot now combined from both of your arousals.

just a mess. both of you, panting like dogs in heat, trying to reach that high from desperate friction, your mouths dump with saliva from how much your lips had moved against each other.

"s-shit... so fucking...god" he whimpered between kisses, his tongue frantically brushing against yours, trying to deepen the kiss, if that was even possible.

"yeah, baby? you're close?" you drawled, after what felt like eternity. matt threw his head back on the soft pillow, looking up your body, seeing so many places he wanted to feel in his hands, it drove him insane.

"shit- so c..so close.." he whined as he squeezed your boobs in his palms, his back arching up towards you, body squirming almost like he was... oversimulated.

the friction, the way he could feel his hair sticking to his forehead from all the movement, the tight knot in his stomach that goes lower and lower, it was all too much.

he kept helping you ride him, the boxers and your shorts were already soaked, it was the first time your heard him groaning like that, so needy that it was almost pathetic.

he could feel the knot loosening just when your fingers went beneath the moist fabric, the smallest touch made him reach his climax.

the tips of his ears got even more red, he came like it was his first time being with a girl, the look on his face was all you needed to see to know you completely broke his ego.

"oh- shit..." he breathed out as he looked up at you, observing how you giggled as you rode him out of his high "the fuck 's you gigglin' at?"

"nothing" you answered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I just knew you'll like this."

"fuck off" he grumbled, looking the other way with his usual irritated face, yet even matt knew himself, he loved it.

masterlist

a/n: finally!!, I'm so sorry that it took me so long but I'm back, so many things coming soon I'm so excited!!!

tags: @frostmellow @zenithsturniolo @tezzzzzzzz @mattsslutt @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @adorechris @spaghettislut1 @mattsplaything @princesspinkkk23 @devotedlyteenagemusic @mattsturniololoverrr14 @h3arts4nat

[whisperedmeg]

QUIET PROOF ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part v

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: a morning ambush from spencer’s friends tests a bond still forming. when doubt creeps in, love answers — not loudly, but clearly.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

w/c: 2.7k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, vague talk of intimacy but nothing explicit, jj and garcia being cutie nosy bffs, reader gets insecure and anxious and spirals a bit, spencer is a reassuring sweetie pie

a/n: this one goes out to all my fellow anxious girlies with a words of affirmation love language. as always, appreciate all comments/likes/reblogs more than I can even express! thank you sm to everyone who has followed this series so far 🫶🏼

series masterlist

I woke to the faint weight of sunlight brushing my face through the thin curtains, soft and gentle like a secret only the morning knew. For a moment, I laid still, feeling the steady rhythm of Spencer’s breath against my back, the warmth of his body curled close. Something had shifted between us overnight — I could feel it in the quiet spaces, in the way he hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t spoken, yet didn’t quite let himself relax, either.

Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to. The air between us hummed with a tentative understanding — maybe hope, maybe fear — and I wasn’t sure which of us would break the silence first.

I traced lazy circles on his arm. His hand found mine, fingers curling around mine with a softness that made my chest ache in the best way. I smiled into the quiet, this small bubble of peace we’d started creating together.

Things started to lean toward something more — a brush of lips, the slow heat of skin meeting skin — when suddenly, there was a loud knock at his front door.

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling away and scrambling out of bed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m sorry.”

He padded quickly across the room in just his boxers, trying to finger-comb his hair into something less Einstein-like. From the other side of the apartment, voices drifted in.

“Hey, Spence,” a woman called through the door. “You’ve been kind of off the grid lately, so we thought we’d drop by.”

“And by ‘drop by,’ she means ambush,” another voice added, singsong. “Hi, boy genius. Don’t mind us. We just want to make sure you’re still alive.”

Spencer winced. “It’s JJ and Garcia,” he whispered, looking like he might spontaneously combust. “They’re my colleagues. I haven’t, um, told them… about you.”

I silently thanked some invisible force of the universe for convincing me I should wear shorts under his t-shirt last night instead of just my underwear.

“I figured,” I said, sitting up and clutching the sheet tighter. “Do you want me to, like, hide under the bed, or should I just pretend I sleepwalked into the wrong apartment?”

His face crumpled into a smile — nervous, but genuine. “I don’t want to hide you. Just… maybe wait a second before you come out.” He finished pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before walking out of the bedroom.

He walked to the front of his apartment and unlocked the door. “Morning,” he said, and I heard the practiced calm in his voice. “Everything okay?”

The more colorful blonde woman — Penelope Garcia, I guessed, based on photos he’d shown me — didn’t even pause. “Define okay. We’ve texted, we’ve called. You didn’t show up to our standing monthly brunch on Sunday!”

“I’ve just… been here,” Spencer said, clearly trying not to panic. “Taking time.”

The other woman, who I assumed had to be JJ, narrowed her eyes. “Time for what?”

That was when I moved. I wasn’t sure why — I could’ve stayed hidden — but something in me didn’t want to. Maybe it was the warmth still clinging to me from the way Spencer had held me all night. Maybe it was just that I liked knowing where I stood. So I stepped quietly into view, hair still a mess, heart thudding like a drumline, blanket wrapped around me like a fluffy shield. “Um. Hi,” I said, voice soft and a little shy and awkward, but steady.

Garcia froze mid-expression, her mouth hanging open before she clamped it shut. JJ blinked once, then tilted her head.

Spencer stammered out an awkward laugh. He ran a hand through his hair and introduced me, motioning for me to come stand next to him.

JJ’s eyes flicked from me to him, then back again. “Nice to meet you,” she said, visibly recalibrating. Her smile settled into something kind. “Sorry to barge in like this. We didn’t know Spencer was seeing someone.”

Garcia, clearly never one to resist a dramatic pause, took a breath and beamed. “You are a vision. Spencer Reid, I did not see this plot twist coming. When on earth did you find the time to meet someone?!”

I laughed, a little startled by how easily they both made space for me. “Sorry for the surprise. This is not how I usually meet people,” I said as I gestured towards my overall messy appearance. “And definitely not how I planned on meeting Spencer’s friends.”

“Trust me, it’s not even in the top three weirdest ways we’ve met some of Spencer’s acquaintances,” JJ teased.

Spencer groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Do you guys want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Garcia said, already stepping inside and handing JJ her purse. “I also want answers, but I’ll wait until we all have some caffeine. I’m not a total monster.”

JJ followed her in with a smile. “This won’t be an interrogation, by the way. We’re just… protective. He’s family.”

“I get that,” I said, glancing at Spencer, who gave me a quick smile over his shoulder as he started pouring water into the coffee pot. “I’m the same way with people I care about.”

We all made our way to the kitchen, where I perched on a stool, still wrapped in a blanket like some kind of toga-clad guest on a morning show. Garcia was already scouring Spencer’s cabinets for mugs.

“So,” she began, “how did you two meet?”

“I’m a nurse,” I replied. Once her blank stare made me realize that my response didn’t actually answer her question, I cleared my throat with an awkward laugh. “At, uh, Millburn. I’m a nurse in the infirmary there.”

That made JJ glance up from where she was doctoring her coffee. “Really? That’s how you two met?”

I nodded. There was a pause — not an uncomfortable one, just a moment of absorption.

“Huh,” Garcia said. “Well, that’s a meet-cute I did not see coming.”

Spencer made a small coughing sound and handed me a mug like he needed to redirect his awkward energy somewhere.

JJ looked at me for a second longer. “That couldn’t have been easy. For either of you.”

“It wasn’t,” Spencer chimed in. “But that part is over now.”

JJ leaned back against the counter. “I’m glad you had someone looking out for you in there,” she said to Spencer.

“I did,” he said quietly. “She’s the one who got me moved out of gen pop, actually. It was her medical report that convinced the warden to put me in protective custody.”

Both women looked at me with something resembling awe and gratitude in their expressions, then we moved along to sipping our coffees.

There was another short pause, broken when Garcia pulled her phone out of her purse and wiggled it dramatically. “Okay. So. About that reinstatement news.”

Spencer groaned. “Penelope…”

“I didn’t break into anything,” she insisted, holding up her hands. “I just… peeked. And word on the encrypted street is, you’re about two weeks away from an official decision. And it’s definitely looking like it’s leaning positive.”

Spencer looked stunned for a second — hope and fear battling quietly in his eyes. He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly.

JJ stepped closer, resting a hand on Spencer’s arm. “Whatever happens, we’re here. Okay? You’re not alone.”

“I know,” he said. His voice cracked a little.

We finished our coffee slowly, the conversation drifting toward lighter things — Garcia’s latest side project (something involving 3D printed dog collars?), JJ’s boys (Spencer’s godsons, I learned) and their ever-expanding collection of Nerf weapons, and the absurdity of trying to explain to anyone outside the BAU what their job actually was. They asked me more questions about myself, but it didn’t feel like an inquisition. It felt like they genuinely cared to know about this new mysterious person in their friend’s life.

Eventually, they stood to go, giving Spencer gentle hugs and me a warm goodbye.

Garcia leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Take care of our boy, okay?”

“I will,” I said, meaning it.

And when they were gone, when the door closed behind them, I looked at Spencer, finally releasing the breath I’d been holding since they first knocked.

“I think they like you,” he said.

I smiled, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with joy. “I like them, too.”

And I liked him. More than I knew how to say. But maybe, for now, this was enough.

—

It had been one week since JJ and Garcia had shown up on Spencer’s doorstep, bright-eyed and suspicious and exactly as wonderful as I’d hoped his friends would be. One week since I stood in his kitchen in a blanket toga, answering soft but pointed questions over coffee. One week since Penelope squeezed my hand and told me to take care of “their boy,” and JJ gave me a look that said she saw me.

In the days that followed, everything had both shifted and stayed the same.

Spencer had his final psych eval with the Bureau. I worked more shifts at Millburn. And each night, I came back to him — or he came back to me — and we made a quiet ritual out of not saying too much about what any of it meant. We kissed until our lungs burned, explored each other’s bodies with hands and mouths that knew how to be reverent. There were moans and whispers, and the dizzying pleasure of being skin-to-skin. But still — no sex. Not yet. Sometimes he’d stop suddenly, forehead pressed to my collarbone, murmuring that he needed a minute. I always gave him one. Sometimes two.

It wasn’t unspoken. But it also wasn’t discussed. It just… was. That boundary had become part of our rhythm. He didn’t rush, and I didn’t press. We were building something with our hearts and hands before letting our bodies finish the story.

Tonight, we laid tangled on his couch, a half-watched documentary playing quietly on the screen — something about extinct languages that I could only follow for about five minutes before getting lost; classic Spencer fare. He was behind me, his arm looped around my waist, and I was tucked back against him like a comma in the sentence of his body. He traced shapes into my hip bone like his fingers were thinking out loud.

But for some reason, my mind wouldn’t still. A silly, passing comment he made earlier about how nice of a person I am tugged at the taut wires in my brain. I stared at the blue light of the TV and tried to focus on the narrator’s voice, the familiar cadence of academia. It was useless, though — my thoughts had already started spiraling.

Spencer always called me beautiful. Kind. Wonderful. Nice. But those words were just broad strokes. They didn’t feel anchored in who I was, not really. He hadn’t said why he liked me, just that he did. And part of me — the part that had built walls and lived too long inside my own overthinking — started whispering dangerous little questions.

What if I was just… convenient? What if I was the safest thing he’d had in a long time, and he was mistaking that for something else? Sure, he looked at me like I was something precious. But that didn’t mean he knew me.

Maybe everything he thought he felt for me was just transference. Maybe I was just the person who kept him from unraveling in prison, and now he didn’t know how to let go.

I felt my body begin to tense. My breathing grew shallow. My chest ached with the weight of my own unworthiness — a feeling I thought I’d outgrown, but apparently not.

Behind me, Spencer shifted.

“Hey,” he murmured, pausing the documentary. The room fell into a soft hush. “You just disappeared. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said automatically, eyes fixed ahead. “Just thinking.”

His hand brushed my side. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t realized I was. My throat tightened. “I don’t want to ruin this,” I whispered.

“You won’t.”

“I just… sometimes I think maybe this isn’t what I think it is. Like maybe you only feel any sense of attachment to me because of what I was to you in there.”

Silence. My shame filled the space between us like smoke.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady. “Please look at me.”

I turned, hesitantly, until we were face to face. His eyes searched mine like they were scanning for injuries — soft, deliberate, full of that quiet panic he always tried to hide when someone he cared about was hurting.

“I know it’s stupid, I know I shouldn’t think like that, but… you’ve never actually said what you like about me. You just use words like kind and wonderful, which are very nice things to be called, obviously, but they’re not… they’re not me, not really. I’m terrified this is all just gratitude disguised as something more. Or that one day you’ll stop being grateful and realize I was part of the damage.”

By now my voice had begun to shake, and I was blinking fast. Spencer moved instantly, sitting me up and kneeling in front of me, both hands on my thighs.

“You’re not part of the damage,” he said, and his voice was low and sure. “You’re the reason I made it out of there still believing people could be good. You didn’t just help me survive. You made me want to.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t fall for you because you were kind to me in prison,” he said. “I fell for you because you notice things other people don’t. You read people like I read books — not just with interest, but with care. You’re perceptive. Sharp. You ask good questions. You make people feel seen.

“I fell for you because you see me, exactly as I am. And you don’t ever flinch. You don’t try to fix me or save me. You just… stay. Even when I pull back. Even when I don’t know how to move forward.”

His voice caught for a second, then steadied again.

“You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You make these little under-your-breath observations that always make me laugh. You help people like it’s instinct, not obligation. And when I panic, you don’t panic with me. You just breathe, and wait, stay, and let me come back.”

Tears pricked hot at the backs of my eyes. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to interrupt.

“I fell for the way you carry things quietly, like your own heart has had to do the heavy lifting too many times but never hardened. I fell for the way you always ask me what I want instead of assuming. And how when you touch me, it never feels like I owe you anything — you touch me simply because you crave my closeness and want me to feel wanted. I fell for your stubbornness, and your calm, and the way being with you feels like home, no matter where we are.”

He paused, eyes locked on mine. “So yeah. I fell for you. I’m grateful for the way you helped me when I was in Millburn, sure, but it’s more than that. I like you. I want you.”

I stared at him, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. “You fell for me?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.

He nodded with that pure, honest softness only Spencer had. “I did,” he said. “I do. I'm still falling for you. Every day.”

I let out a shaky laugh that was halfway to a sob, my chest cracking wide open. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I’m definitely falling for you, too. So much so that it terrifies me — good terrified, though.”

His expression softened in a way that made my whole body ache. Like my words had knocked something loose in him — or maybe settled something that had been rattling too long.

For a long, quiet moment, we just looked at each other. Breathing. Shaking a little, together.

Then he leaned in slowly, resting his forehead to mine. “You’re not something I’m clinging to. You’re someone I’m choosing.”

And I believed him.

ᝰ.ᐟ

[revelboo]

Saw this and flew here to show you and say tfp starscream w his human lowkey

🤣 very accurate. 🔞

Bottom Feeder Pt 12

TFP Starscream x Reader

• “Don’t sulk,” he growls. Sitting mass displaced with you in front of him between his thighs, back to him as he pinches the ridiculously tiny brush in his clawed servos and runs it through your hair, he’s almost happy. Tending to you oddly soothing. And figuring out that you like being brushed, that it calms you down had been a lucky accident. Mostly just not wanting you to look homeless, because you apparently don’t care. At all. It’s embarrassing. He’d got you in the covering he’d picked out after mass shifting and having to catch and pin you down after you’d screamed ‘death before dishonor’ and ran from him.

• Hating that the repetitive slide of the brush through your hair is making you sleepy, that you enjoy it, you yawn. “So why did you decide I need a really ugly, adult princess dress?” You ask and his servos still. Hear him clear his vents aggressively to stir your hair, talons threading through the strands. Maybe he likes the way your hair feels? Or he likes having something to care for? Or you’re just a living doll to him. Who knows.

• “You represent me,” he growls, curling several stands around a servo and resisting the urge to rub his jaw against your head and that softness. Or think about what it might feel like brushing his chassis. Or his modesty plating. Wings flicking, because he keeps having those very wrong thoughts and you don’t help. “You should look appropriate to reflect my station.” Half the time he returns, you’re just naked. Walking around with everything right there on display, like it’s nothing. Or like you’re trying to get his attention. Is that how humans court? Just sprawl naked and wait for another human to climb up and mount them? Were you wanting him to mount you?

• Head turning when turkey.exe stops brushing your hair, he’s just staring into space, brush pinched between his servos as his wings do a fidgety little dance. “Alright,” you mutter, reaching to tug the brush loose and finish it yourself. Because he looks kind of horrified suddenly. Maybe his alien, robot brain fried? “Did you just short out?”

• Shuddering in horror as his spike stirs imagining you just waiting to be mounted. Wanting a spike. Is that what you’ve been doing? Remembering the wanton way Megatron’s human had rutted against his servo, he’s more convinced. “How often do humans interface?” And you wrinkle your nose at him to make him growl. “Frag? Breed?” You know what he’s asking, he knows you do.

• Snorting as you work the brush through your hair, you shrug one shoulder. “We fuck for fun if that’s what you’re asking. Usually with a partner we’re familiar with, dating, but sometimes just someone convenient. Some people not often, others as much as possible.” Did you actually break him? He’s just staring at you. And he stands up, almost knocking you over as he strides to the edge of the edge of the berth, jumps, mass shifts and books it out of the habsuite to make you snort. “I thought you wanted to show off how pretty your puppy is to all your alien girlfriends?!” You yell after him, but he’s gone. And you bend at the waist to yank the dress off over your head, wondering how pissed he’ll be if you maliciously destroy it.

Previous

[riddleswhcre]

hii i hope you’re doing well! 🤍🤍 could u please do one where the reader teases joel by sitting on his lap and casually placing his hand over her breasts while they’re at a gathering and she’s like giggling as he shifts his hips slightly and she hears him stifle a low groan?? and then she excuses herself to the bathroom and joel immediately follows her and pins her against the wall, determined to punish her for being such a bad girl?! (could u also possibly sprinkle a bit of a daddy kink in this if you’d like? like maybe she tells him “i’m sorry daddy” while he has her pinned against the wall and that only gets him more riled up hehehe)

────۶ৎ you started it, sweetheart

you tease joel at a gathering by making him touch you in front of everyone. he follows you to the bathroom and reminds you exactly who you belong to.

warnings: smut, public teasing, bathroom wall sex, rough sex, daddy kink, spanking, begging.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: not really a short drabble hehe i went full feral for u, hope u love this nasty daddy joel as much as i do

more

ᖭ༏���

you know exactly what you’re doing when you crawl into his lap.

it’s subtle enough—just a casual shift, a soft “can’t hear ya over there,” you say with a giggle as you settle across his thick thighs, your back pressed to his chest. his flannel scratches warm against your shoulders. his hand instinctively finds your waist. protective. possessive.

but you’re a menace.

so you guide his hand higher—slowly—until his palm rests right over your tits. no shame. no hesitation. and all you do is laugh like it’s nothing.

joel stiffens under you. you feel it. every tense breath, every tick in his jaw. his fingers twitch like they’re itching to squeeze. like he’s deciding whether to drag you outta here or fuck you right on this sofa.

he shifts slightly beneath you. subtle, but you feel it—the slow roll of his hips under yours, like he’s tryna relieve the pressure already thickening in his jeans.

and that sound. fuck.

a low, breathy groan, half-swallowed, barely audible—but you hear it. you feel it vibrate against your back.

"joel," you whisper over your shoulder, mock-innocent. your smile’s wicked. "somethin’ wrong?"

his eyes are dark when you peek back at him. hungry. pissed.

"you’re pushin’ it, darlin’," he mutters, low and gravelly, his breath hot against your ear. "don’t start what you can’t finish."

you lean in, teasing. grind just the tiniest bit back against him.

"m’not startin’ anything," you murmur. "just gettin’ comfortable."

then, as if you haven’t just lit a fuse, you stand up with a grin and hum, "gonna pop to the toilet."

joel follows. instantly. no words. no pretence.

you barely get the door shut before he’s on you.

his body crowds you back against the wall, one thick thigh between yours, hips pinning you there. he grabs your wrists and presses them up above your head, hard.

"bathroom, huh?" his voice is dangerous now—low, filthy. "you think you can tease me in front of all them people, sit there bein’ a lil brat, grindin’ on my cock, makin’ me hard, then just walk away?"

you’re breathless already. wet already. and his words make your stomach flip.

"joel—"

he tilts your chin up, firm, fingers rough against your jaw.

"s’daddy, now. you wanna play that game, fine. but you say it right."

your cheeks burn. your knees go weak.

"i’m sorry, daddy," you breathe.

his eyes flash.

"oh, you will be."

his hand slips under your skirt. no warning. no mercy.

"soakin’ through your panties already,” he growls, pleased. “you like bein’ bad that much?"

you nod. desperate. he slides two fingers along your slit, then hooks them inside with a curl that makes your legs shake.

"then you’re gonna take it, baby. every fuckin’ inch."

you don’t even have time to gasp before he’s turning you around, pushing your chest flat to the cold tile wall. one big hand stays at your hip, the other snakes between your legs, tearing your panties down with a growl.

"don’t move," he snaps. and you don’t. your thighs are trembling. breath coming short. he’s so big behind you—body burning, cock already out and heavy against your ass.

"look at this fuckin’ mess," he mutters, dragging the tip through your folds, slow and taunting. "drippin’ all over m’cock before i’ve even fucked you."

you whimper, try to press back into him, needy.

"uh-uh," he warns, smacking your ass once—hard enough to make you gasp. "you don’t get to be greedy. you earn it."

"please, daddy," you whisper, almost choking on it. "need you—need it so bad—"

joel leans in close, chest to your back, cock nudging your entrance but not giving it to you yet.

"what do you need, sweetheart?" he asks, cruel and calm. "say it."

you squirm. shameless now. lost in it.

"need your cock," you whine. "need you to fuck me—fuck me hard, please, daddy, i’ll be good—"

that’s all he needs.

he slams into you in one sharp thrust, thick and deep, filling you to the hilt. your cry echoes off the walls. his hand clamps over your mouth.

"shut that sweet mouth," he hisses. "you wanted this, remember?"

he fucks you hard. rough. relentless. hips snapping against your ass with a filthy rhythm. your hands scrabble at the tile. he’s everywhere—his body, his voice, his cock dragging deep and heavy inside you.

"fuckin’ bratin’ it up in front of people—makin’ me lose my goddamn mind," he pants against your neck. "gonna fuck the attitude outta you."

you’re falling apart. crying out under your breath, moaning his name like a prayer.

"daddy—i’m gonna—"

"that’s it," he growls. "cum on my cock like a good girl."

and you do. hard. your whole body shakes. he follows with a groan that sounds wrecked, spilling inside you with a sharp snap of his hips.

he doesn’t move for a second. just breathes, chest heaving against your back, his come dripping down your thighs.

then he nuzzles your shoulder, voice low and smug.

"now that’s what you get for bein’ bad."

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[blackwhitez]

How about enha reaction to you and another member play fighting and the other members ends on top of you , so your position seems really spicy and inappropriate and they get jealous

wait... I like this. It’s delicious enough to get them worked up, but there's nothing deliberate about it to really make them mad. but some of them would still get mad...

let's say the play fight started because you took a funny pic of the member that's your friend, and they want you to delete it.

18+ MDI ⓘ cw: jealousy (of course), manhandling, fingering, angry sex (not violent), humiliation, restraint, oral (m), intentional voyeur baiting (light)

heeseung

he has been watching you both for a while. in fact, he didn't like it. the bickering and fight, from the beginning but stayed quiet. it wasn’t bugging him that much, just the fact your attention was on someone else. like a small inconvenience he didn't bother to fix. so he was quietly between checking his phone and looking up at you two until it happened—jay was practically on top of you.

his eyes changed, deep and heavy, and the corner of his mouth dropped. “hey… cut it out.” his words were short, but the effect it had on you and jay was palpable. jay immediately froze the moment he heard heeseung's demanding voice and backed off. gulping so hard as he took in the situation. but heeseung… he was still mad. upset. furious with you and how you easily let your guard down. right in front of him, too? oh you were in trouble.

the rest of the night goes normally with you by his side, but not really as normal. his hand never leaves you—touching your hand, grabbing your waist, marvelling your thigh under a blanket, then squeezing the inner side of it making your breath catch. he's enjoying your reactions. but you can tell the anger haven't left him, it's intensifying by the second. later that night, he says he's taking you home.

but he didn't leave when he dropped you off. tells you to go ahead and unlock your door. when you do, he's in with you as you both take your shoes off. once that's done, he grabs your wrist and drags you to your bedroom. “heeseung!” you don't know why you're surprised even though you knew what was going to happen from the moment he said he's taking you home.

it takes long to get that anger out of him, which happens in multiple rounds where you're bent into several positions, some you never explored or even thought of! you're on your side, grabbing the sheets for dear life as he's on his knees, holding your knee up and pushing relentlessly into you. his other hand planted on the bed, his sweaty body hovering over you. “know your place, y/n. you belong to me.”

jay

he was smiling to himself as he watched you two, he really didn't think much of it, at first. when all of a sudden, sunghoon was on top of you… trying to reach for the phone over your head, far away he was stretched all over you as if he's reaching for the stars while you both giggle.

jay observed the situation—clenching his jaw, smile wiped out. when sunghoon still haven't moved off of you, he got up and “playfully” removed him by himself. "chill" jay half laughing half warning, as he pats sunghoon on his shoulder. in which sunghoon immediately understands, he did something wrong. jay doesn't want to seem too serious about the whole thing, but at the same time, he wants to set some boundaries.

he grabs you and goes sitting, putting you on his lap, hugging your waist protectively. never blaming you for what just happened. just tucks your hair and kisses your cheek and the corner of your mouth to remind you who you belong to.

but the next time you're two alone? he's fucking you harder than he ever did before and you wonder what got to him. it feels amazing, like he's fucking any stress left in you both out of your systems. it's so filthy and hot.

in missionary, he usually likes to be in your arms and whisper sweet things to your ears. all the affirmations you never bothered to remind yourself of, he did. but now, he's watching. he wants to see you unravel before him.

legs over his strong shoulders —his workouts are paying off. and you do tell him about it, completely smitten by how hot he looks right now. but it comes out in incoherent blabs you make him laugh. “yeah? tell me more.”

you're seeing stars everytime his strong hips are pounding onto you, it's overwhelmingly hot. the next morning, you're a complete wreck. out of business for the next few days.

jake

he wasn't paying attention at all, watching the others play fifa. until you and sunoo were too loud and out of nowhere tangled with each other. he acts in seconds, pulling sunoo away and throwing him to the side. —no sunoo was harmed in the process— jake is a jealous jealous guy. this act is not new to you at all! he always assures you that he's not but once it's in front of him he doesn't hold back.

later that same night when you're all have calmed and the moment was forgotten. he kisses you gently at first, cupping your face. not caring if anyone's watching. his kiss is dripping “mine, mine, mine..” and starts blatantly making out there, you're kind of taken aback. sure, he always kisses you while others are around. it's not a surprise. but the way he deepens it into a makeout only happens when you know you're having a long long night.

so when he can't take it anymore, he shamelessly takes you to the nearest bedroom with everyone's eyes following you both. you burn red at how your friends are aware of what's going down, but you don’t say anything to jake. actually, you're excited.

he's not the "I'll punish you" type. he's the "I'll make love with you until the both of us melt into one." but you could tell, the jealousy really got to him this time by the way he's unintentionally squeezing your waist, by the little pauses where he's just hugging you gently rocking into you.

"baby... did that really upset you?" you smooth his long locks to his ear. "mhmm." he responds after a while, still in your arms. you can't help but smile, "you know we were just playing around, right?" he finally looks at you, he looks like a sad puppy it makes your heart clench. "I know... I just don't like it."

"okay. I promise that won't happen again." you try your best to shift the position to be on top of him and make him lie on his back. without wasting time with useless words, you slowly slide down his body to the rise in his pants. it's your time to make him feel better.

your mouth wraps around him and tongue moves in a rhythm that has him grabbing the sheets and trying his best to not thrust his hips to your face. his little wails and the chocking sounds of your throat fills the room. when he cums, you let it paint your tongue and make him watch.

sunghoon

he's seething, seeing jungwon giggling on top of you like that. eyebrows twitching, jaw clenching. his silence is loud, he's thinking of how he can go about this. looking away, he clears his throat and impatiently taps his phone on the table. small sounds, but loud enough for you to hear it. jungwon did not. he's still hovering over you trying to lock your wrists together so he gets the phone from you.

“fine, fine. take it!” jungwon is not that clueless. he does catch the waver of your expressions and how your eyes changed. he pauses for a second and shrugs it off. keeps it cool while he grabs your phone to delete the picture. you just let him. you look at sunghoon, and he's staring right at you. cold chills run down your spine. he's so so unhappy with you.

later that night—in which sunghoon was incredibly detached and you were just counting your seconds—you're walking to the bathroom when you notice sunghoon is right behind you. you barely say anything before he's leading you inside. still not manhandling you, still holding back some built up anger. “wanna tell me what that was?” he didn't even had to explain, you just knew. 

sunghoon bites when he's pissed, that's something you just find out now. he's usually careful with his teeth but now your lower lip is burning. he started kissing you before you could say much. he tugs at your lip, staring at you and it makes your stomach do a three-sixty. you rarely see him this mad, but this is the hottest you felt about it.

without a warning, his cold fingers slip past your panties waistband. "already wet? you like seeing me like this?" god you're embarrassed. "sunghoon..." his fingers are too perfectly still, against your core. he never moved them actually. "ride it, get yourself off."

there's a flush of humiliation that paints your cheeks, but you can't help yourself. you move your hips against his long fingers, until the tip of it go past the slit. you hum softly, hugging his shoulders. he just watches you in amusement, forehead to yours.

you set a pace, getting deeper until it's hitting the spot you want. you shake, coming with your face still in huffs and puffs against his. he smiles. withdrawing his hand like nothing. "good job, baby." he pats your hair with his other hand, "you did well" then goes washing his hands, and leaves. meanwhile you're hot and dizzy, and wanting more.

sunoo (ft. niki?)

at first, he was just scared niki would accidently hurt you with his aggressive play fight. but something about him being all over you and making you laugh that hearty laugh he loves to hear makes his body tense. so he grabs the phone himself. “cut it out, why are you throwing yourself on my girlfriend dude.”

“my bad” niki says, but there's a teasing grin on his face seeing sunoo worked up like this. "what? we can't breath around her now?" sunoo just sighs. "okay, okay." niki really gets up now and sits somewhere else, letting sunoo take that space next to you.

watching him, you notice the tension on his brow, so you kiss it. a gentle kiss on his forehead, "calm down, baby. you know him... he likes to get you angry." he hugs you, like he's telling you that you don't have to be bothered about it either. "I know."

he rubs your back soothingly, but the words he whisper to your ear is something else. something more charged, a lot more different than how he's carrying himself right now. "I kinda wanna pin you here to the couch and really show him how much you want me."

you think your heart stopped for a second, because your brain can't comprehend anything after that sentiment. he sees how you just froze and your brain short-circuit and it makes him giggle. not his soft one but the slightly darker one with deepr intentions.

when niki goes to the bathroom, you're surprised that sunoo really meant his words. it wasn’t an empty promise. he holds your hands and starts kissing you almost aggressively—when usually he likes to build up the tension, but now he's running out of time. and you thought he'd stop there.

a hand dips inside your panties and it makes you jolt a little, "sunoo!" niki can get back any moment, there’s no way he's really going all the way. sunoo doesn't respond to you, only makes you try your best to hold your sighs and whines.

when niki gets back, his steps halts. he thought you were just making out but when he got closer, there was so much more—sunoo's hand disappearing inside your pants fingering you with technique, his other hand holding your wrists over your head, while his hot lips mouthing along your neck. you see niki, but there's nothing you could do but moan and writh under your boyfriend.

jungwon

he doesn't act at the moment, even though jake's hands are all over you and you're both laughing so loud. it's not that it doesn't get to him. it does, so bad. but... it's that he's unsure if his feelings are valid. if he's being too emotional at the moment and needs time for clarity. so, he just tells you to give jake the phone.

you and jake know how much jungwon did not like that even though he tried to mask his tone with a playful one. jake sits back on the couch but still argues with you over the phone. just like that you all move on. and you thought it was over.

your boyfriend keeps it to himself but when you're having sex. you're surprised there's teeth—he never used his teeth before—gnawing on your shoulder. before that, he was kissing you breathless your lips burn, teeth grazing your neck then bite on it. something about him has been off for a while. so, you pause. "hey..."

when you look at him, there's something unsaid behind his eyes. there is desire, need, but also conflict. "wanna talk about something?" he looks kind of surprised you actually did notice he was fighting something deep inside his head—he didn't notice his own actions himself, he thought he was just loving you as usual.

"sorry." he heavy sighs, and cups your cheek with his thumb stroking. "I don't know what got through me. I think I'm just jealous, but I never felt this way for someone before. not this strong that I'm... kind of mad. " you smile, half glad that he finally got his feelings out and half blushing over his sentiment.

"now I know, I'll make sure to be more careful next time. okay?" you tell him, but he shakes his head. "just be you. I don't want you walking on eggshells." he dips down to your neck again, hot breaths sends chills through your body. "I'll just love you harder. leave marks for everyone to see."

you gulp, it's rare that you see this possessive side of your boyfriend. one that's more scandalous when he's usually the tidy and put together person. he kisses your neck with fervor. he doesn't bite this time, but when he sucks in your skin it's hard your body arch into him.

he meant his words. he makes it his mission to mark you everywhere.

ni-ki

he practically throws himself between you and heeseung by hugging you. he saw it a mile away, the way you and heeseung have been bickering over the damned picture and the way heeseung was leaning on to you too much for his liking.

you're kind of shocked how he came out of nowhere. but his adorable possessiveness never ceases to make you blush. what you didn't know is that this time it wasn't just cute.

"okay, we get it. she's all yours." heeseung laughs and shakes his head, "y/n. not forgetting about it, delete that pic." you barely can hear or see anything when niki is all over you hugging and kissing your face. he is a shameless lover, and though he surprises you sometimes you low-key enjoy it.

"who's girl the hell you think you are?" he says, after finally pausing for a moment. before you could speak, he cuts you. "that wouldn't do it" and you're suddenly being lifted like a sand bag.

"niki! what the fuck!" he takes you to his bedroom, not caring that heeseung and jake are laughing and snickering at you two. you're laid on his duvet, your world still spinning as he's hovering over you. "you know how I don't like it when you get too close with others like that..." he says, hands trailing down your arm and holding your wrists over your head. "and yet, you do it again?"

heart throbbing so loud in your chest, you never predict his next move it makes you both anxious and hot. he holds down your wrists with one hand the other trail down along your body. it passes your neck, chest, belly, and stops at your core. he looks at you for a moment, like he just figured how to punish you.

his hand dips inside and you gasp. fingers work slow, menacingly slow and for a while, you start writhing beneath your boyfriend. "niki... niki... please." your hips rock against him, desperate for more. "stop moving, or I'll stop." you still, feeling like you want to cry for more. but to your surprise, his fingers go in. they move relentlessly and keep hitting the spot.

you fight every fiber of your body not to move too much. all you can do is arch, and move your legs your toes curling on the duvet. "oh my god!" you exhale, and heat up with niki's eyes watching you closely. a slight smirk tugging his mouth. god, how you want him to kiss you again. as you think of it, your high hits you out of nowhere.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: lunch dates

authors note: you guys mentioned wanting to maybe see more shorts/oneshots showing roso before they fell in love, and i wanted to write something comforting, so this is what this is. timeline wise, it's set shortly before roman promises he won’t send solana back to her family.

warnings: fluff

words: 3.5k

The minute Solana notices they’re clearly not heading home, the car ride taking longer than usual, she turns to look at him, frown loading. “Where…where are we going?”

Roman looks up from the phone in his hand, eyes bouncing from her chest to her eyes, before he answers. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

An unexpected answer, the surprise showing on her face and spilling into her follow-up question. “Wh—why?” Solana can think of a hundred and one reasons why that isn’t a good idea, the top of that list including the fact that Roman is clearly a busy man. Leaving work in the middle of the day to escort her back to the house is one thing, but doing so and adding another stop that keeps him away from the office even longer is something entirely different. “I—I was going to cook.”

“You always cook, Solana,” is the counter as he returns his focus back to the phone in hand. “You can take the day off.”

“I don’t mind it though.” She turns in her seat, fighting back a frown. “Really. I—it’s the least I can do.” At that, he’s looking at her again, Solana biting down on her bottom lip, feeling the need to elaborate. “You’ve–you’ve already done a lot.”

Starting with saving her from the house of horrors she called “home” for almost thirty years. That, in and of itself, is more than enough. Keeping distance between herself and her abusers is just icing on a cake she never expected to be served. 

Roman says nothing, not at first, words of another language, low and clearly aimed towards no one but himself leaving his mouth. Her frown deepens. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

A lot of it. She doesn’t understand a lot of it. 

He shakes his head, once again refocusing on whatever he was doing on his phone. “It’s lunch, Solana. Not the Met Gala.” For some reason, she’s not really sure, but something about that makes her smile. Has her holding back some sort of giggle, poorly, because it catches his attention via what must be excellent peripheral vision. “What?”

She shakes her head. “N–nothing.”

“Tell me,” he presses. Not forceful or demanding. Just…intrigued of sorts.

She shrugs with one shoulder, playing with the strap of the seatbelt pressed into her chest. “It's just….you knowing what the Met Gala is is….it’s kinda funny.”

His eyes narrow with continued, growing intrigue. “Why?”

Another shrug as she leans further into the leather seat. “It—it doesn’t really seem like your type of thing.”

He chuckles. “It’s not.” Roman rolls his shoulders, Solana noticing a sort of tension and brief pang of discomfort flash across his face. It makes her smile dim. Is he alright? “But, there are many things that aren’t my thing that I still know about.”

She nods. Makes sense. A man like Roman seems like the type to know many and most things, even if not relevant or pertinent to him, but the knowledge of it something still worth knowing, nonetheless.

Conversation quiets down after that, the two of them arriving less than ten minutes later to their destination. A small Italian restaurant in downtown, often frequented by the upper echelon due to less than affordable prices and what she’s always believed to be a spoken, unspoken dress code. One that, with her skin tight, light green one piece and willowy cardigan, has Solana wondering if an egregious violation has already occurred.

The discomfort in her face is blatant and clear to Roman who looks down as the greeter goes to ensure their table is ready for them. “What’s wrong?”

She looks up, quickly wondering how to word it. “I–” Solana gestures down to her outfit. “I don’t think…I don’t think I’m dressed the part.”

Less a think and more a know. A sentiment clearly unshared by the man before her who could easily pass the attire handbook with his dark jeans and short sleeved, button down black shirt. Then again, Roman feels like the type of man who could be wearing joggers and simple undershirt, yet make it look just as good as the latest out of Men’s Fashion Week. He’s just that handsome.

“You look fine, Solana,” he reassures.

If only it penetrated. “I–I don’t know—”

Once more, the surprises continue to roll through as Solana gasps quietly at the feel of his finger under her chin, lifting her head, forcing her slightly widened gaze on him. “You look fine.” The flash of something unfamiliar, similar to what dances in the base of her belly. “Alright?” Briefly captivated by the depth of his eyes and attractiveness of his blessed features, it takes her a second to nod, only for him to remind. Gently, almost. “Words.”

She licks her lips, broken from her trance. “O–okay.”

Roman takes a step back, ending the minimal but powerful contact, only to take her hand in his as the greeter returns to lead them back to their table. 

They’re seated in a private outside area in the back of the restaurant, the other few tables around empty, allotting them complete privacy. His preference, it seems.

The umbrella over the table is appreciated, shielding them from the bulk of the sun and prompting Solana to allow her slightly oversized cardigan to hang lazily over her exposed shoulders, only a single button keeping it clasped over her abdomen area.

“Water, please,” she asks, as the waitress takes their orders for drinks, Roman opting for wine, something foreign and probably insanely expensive.

It’s only when the girl walks away to retrieve said drinks that he inquires, “you don’t drink?”

She shakes her head, pushing back some of her hair. “Not really.” One hand is more than enough to count the times she has, and none have been bad, per se, but the mere fact that alcohol impairs judgment and chips away coherency is more than enough for her. She prefers to be aware of her surroundings at all times.

Life has taught her that lesson better than any hangover ever could.

He makes a sound, sitting back in his seat, Solana suddenly asking, “do you?” Realizing the ridiculousness of said question given his order, she attempts damage control. “I mean, like, a lot?” Another fail that has her stammering once. “Not that I’m saying you do, I just—”

“Solana.” She’d feel even more mortified, face a terrible, red, blushing mess if not for the small smile on his face. Amused. He looks amused. “I understand what you’re asking.” Such a relieving response. “And no, not often. It’s best I’m aware at all times.”

A sentiment that has her voicing agreement. “Exactly.” The easing of her embarrassment wanes just enough for her to ask, “umm, how—how is your day so far?”

He shrugs, hand toying with the still wrapped set of silverware on his side of the table. “As most.” She’s not sure what that means, whether good or bad, but she hopes for the former rather than the latter. “Yours?”

“Good,” she answers, honestly. A smile appearing on her face, as she shares, “we had more kids sign up for the reading club, and we got some more children’s books in.” She bites on her bottom lip, sighing, “I think they’re gonna like them. Or, I–I hope they do. They typically—” She stops herself, shaking her head and looking down. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling—”

“No,” he interrupts, Solana looking up to see his expression, the perfect balance of neutral and tense. A comfortable space between the two. “You’re talking to me.” That same glimpse from earlier followed with a quiet, “I like it.”

Stunned and frozen, it’s a hard pill for her to swallow for a variety of reasons. When one spends so long being silenced and told the complete opposite of what was just stated, the counter is difficult to hear. Even more difficult to believe.

“Your cousins….” Jimmy and Jey, just the thought of his eccentric yet kind family members enough to chip away some of her anxiety. “They…they said you’re not…not really a people person.” Truth be told, they said more than just that. That Roman hates people, something she doesn’t entirely disagree with given his cold, brief interactions with others. Some of that frostiness displayed even with her, though she also can’t deny the fact that it’s been massively minimized since those few occurrences.

If not entirely gone.

“They’re not wrong,” he shrugs, sitting forward, elbows on the table. “But, you’re my wife now, Solana. That means you’re not in the same category with most people.”

A dangerous, quiet question sitting on the tip of her tongue that manages to escape the clutches of ardent anxiety. “What—what category am I in then?”

Though escaped, it remains unanswered due to the return of their waitress who places his glass of wine and her cup of water on the table in front of them. A continued distraction as she pulls out her notepad to take their orders.

Something that redirects Solana who only then realizes she hadn’t even looked at the menu. Partially thankful for the interruption, she uses that opportunity to peruse said menu and rid her mind of the silly question that should have never been asked in the first place.

Many of the listed items are in Italian, but most of which, despite the language barrier, she recognizes. Being a “cook” of sorts has introduced her to a variety of dishes over the years, some of which she’s tried to make, some she’s yet to try herself. One of which being the special of the day, which happens to be Ribollita.

Her eyes light up as she reads aloud, “Ribollita….”

The young girl smiles, hand over her forehead to conceal the sun beaming down. “It’s really good, too.” Solana doesn’t doubt it. Her mouth watering in anticipation. “The Bistecca alla fiorentina is also absolute gold.”

It doesn’t take long for Solana to spot that as well, that hunger jumping to a different level. Yet another meal she’s always wanted to try.

However, the excitement is quickly stomped on by the reminder of reality. Her reality. In what world does she need to be ordering both of those, let alone one? Red meat and a hefty soup? It feels gluttonous and greedy. She already has enough extra weight on her. Why is she putting herself in a space that’s just going to add on more?

Clearing her throat, she turns the page, back to the salad section. “I’ll just have the chicken caprese—”

“Give her the Ribollita and the Bistecca alla fiorentina,” Roman cuts in, her eyes lifting to his, her mouth slightly ajar. “No salad.”

Several thoughts race through her mind, the majority of which are all able to be reduced down to one word.

What?

The confusion lingers, even as the waitress verifies their orders, relieves them of the menus, and leave them alone yet again.

Except, this time, she doesn’t have to spend too long sitting in her many, overwhelming thoughts.

“It was your father who told you to not eat before our wedding, wasn’t it?” Less a question. More a statement. 

One she finds herself indirectly confirming, fingers moving against the table, gaze down. “He wanted me to look…to look nice.”

“By starving you?” She winces. His tone has quickly shifted from one of calm to something acrid, yet something tells her it’s not directed toward her but the man he speaks of. “Solana, you don’t need to do anything to look nice. You already do.”

She licks her lips, shrugging nervously, eyes down on the table. “I–I could lose a couple pounds.” More than a couple. A lot, probably. 

“Bullshit,” he curses. “And risk losing that ass?” The seriousness in his face and in his voice are a complete contrast to the small smile that appears on her at such an unexpected question and follow up. “Or, your tits.”

At that last one, she moves her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile but unsuccessfully concealing her blush. She’s uncomfortable, yes, sort of, but also…something else. Something beyond just the surprise she feels at his blunt words. “What?”

“Solana, if you weren’t so fucking timid, I’d tell you exactly what I thought and wanted to do when I saw you for the first time.” She stills. “Especially on our wedding day.”

She was already intrigued, along with other things, but that last part has her interest especially piqued. “R–really?” She’s thought about it a couple times, Roman’s non-reaction reaction to seeing her on their wedding day. Specifically, when he lifted the veil to see her. She’d thought, if anything, he was disappointed. But maybe…maybe that wasn’t the case.

“There should be no question when it comes to my physical attraction to you, and the comments from my dumbass cousins about you should only support that.”

At that, she frowns. “They…they say things about me? Things like...like that?”

Sure, they’ve definitely said some things to her, but nothing…nothing that would make her think there could be some sort of attraction, or even some admiration of her. Of her body.

“Too much,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. It makes her smile once more. “The point is, you’re fucking fine and beautiful as hell, and you don’t need to change anything about yourself.” He adds, “except maybe all the stuttering.”

A sentiment he’s shared before. Something she is working on, but a difficult task, nonetheless. Regardless, her focus is less on that and more on him. On the compliment. On his….kindness. He’s being kind to her. Solana isn’t used to that. Isn’t used to men being anything but cruel and hurtful. Roman has done nothing of the sort. He is nothing like that, and she finds herself appreciating it.

Appreciating it a lot.

“Thank you,” she finally murmurs. 

For all of it.

She's grateful the conversation easily transitions into the next topic, Roman asking her more questions about her job, her love of books and the overall written word. It leads to their meals being delivered to them. The table filled with various plates and bowls. Many of which are Roman’s. One thing she’s picked up on during their short marriage—so far—is that her husband can eat. His appetite seems like it rivals that of both her dad and brother’s. However, Roman is also significantly bigger than both men as well, so it tracks.

He asks if she likes it, the food, and it’s an easy answer.

“It’s delicious,” she murmurs, hand over her mouth to hide her chewing. The steak is divine. But, it’s as she starts mixing the Ribollita that she notices the strange look he’s giving her, or more her meals. “What’s wrong?”

The deepest depth of distaste. “Is that soup?”

It’s the scowl on his face and borderline disgust in his voice that has her giggling. “Yes, what’s wrong with soup?”

“There’s nothing to it.”

She laughs, and continues to stir the thick consistency. “It’s hearty.”

His stance remains unchanged. “It’s still soup.”

Solana has to think about it for a minute, recalling a specific instance before she comments. “I’ve made soup for you before.”

He shakes his head, cutting into his own steak. “That’s different.”

She pouts, head tilted. “How?”

“If you cook it, I’ll eat it.”

The return of the mystery feeling and sensation. “R–really?”

He nods, waiting until he’s done chewing before speaking. “You’re an amazing cook, and if you’re going to take time out to make it, least I can do is eat it.” Roman uses the napkin to wipe at his mouth as she works to settle the butterflies that flutter as a result of his words. “You know you don’t have to cook all the time though, right? I don’t expect that from you.”

What do you expect of me?

It’s what she wants to ask, but also not, because deep down, she already knows. It’s been clear since day one. 

“I love to cook.” It’s an easy answer, Solana also allowing herself to savor the delicious soup before elaborating. “It….it was my favorite thing to do with my mom. Makes me...makes me feel close to her.”

Some of the best, wholesome memories Solana has of her times spent with her mother largely revolve around the kitchen. Nina smiling and patiently explaining each step, the reason for the type and amount of seasoning to use. Her tips and tricks. All of it. Memories Solana holds onto with everything she has, because for a long time, it was all she had. 

Roman shrugs, drinking down some of his wine. “As long as you want to.”

She does.

She really does. 

She readies to ask him something else when she sees it again. That brief look of discomfort. It feels impossible for her not to probe. “Are you…are you okay?”

He looks up at her, shrugging it off. “Lil’ sore. Intense workout this morning.”

His answer makes sense, especially when she remembers he had a fight at the Warehouse just the night prior. Couple in what she’s certain must have been a rough workout session for him to basically say as such, him being in some level of pain just adds up.

“You should let me make you some hierbabuena tea. Peppermint,” she offers and explains. A look up over her eyelashes reveals a similar scowl to the one she received at his realization she’d ordered soup. Solana’s smile returns as she shakes her head. “Do you not like tea, either?”

“Not particularly.”

She rolls her eyes, voice uncharacteristically teasing. “What do you like then?” Solana grabs her fork to take a bite of her sliced steak when she casually darts her eyes back up to him to see he’s staring at her. Nothing uncomfortable or strange, just….telling.

His silence is telling.

That bashful, shy feeling returning all over again, she offers a small smile and stabs her fork into the meat similar to the way his kindness seems to pierce into her wall of protection. 

The one around her heart.

Lunch ends up being the kind of sweet, unexpected scene she’s read about in many of her books. The type that would always make her smile and sigh. Think about what it could be like to be the one experiencing firsthand instead of secondhand. Something that’s seemingly become a reality.

An hour later, they stand outside, her to-go plates—Roman has none—sitting in the backseat of the SUV, the door open, waiting for her to climb in. Same as Solo who sits in the front passenger seat of the same SUV. A different one than the vehicle that carried the couple to the restaurant. Roman will be leaving in that separate SUV, heading back to Bloodline Headquarters, while Solo and her security detail will escort her back to the house. 

It’s a purely instinctual thing that causes Solana to bury that small distance between herself and Roman who stands with her in front of the fleet of trucks. That has her arms around him, holding him, her face into his chest, eyes closing when he doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. His hand placement remains respectful, on the small of her back, mindful of her boundaries. 

The same way he always seems to be mindful of her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, heartfelt and appreciative. Solana lifts her head to look up at him, still holding on, his firm, hard body pressed against hers, much softer and smaller. “For taking me out. For…this.”

For all of it, because for the first time in a long time, Solana feels less like life is a thing separate of her, inaccessible, continuing on, passing her by without a second thought. It feels more like her role as a quiet observer has been swapped for a participant. Still on the quiet side but gradually getting there.

She’s gradually getting there.

Roman lowers his hand, cupping her cheek, his thumb ghosting over the bottom portion of her scar. A simple gesture that once evoked discomfort. Now, it’s the opposite. Comforting…it’s almost comforting. 

Her eyes flutter shut, her fingers grasping at his shirt as he lowers his lips to kiss her forehead. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs against her skin. The smallest smile playing on her face as he straightens back to his full height, assessing her once more. “I’ll see you when I get home tonight…alright?”

She nods, fingers gently dancing across his rock hard abs. “I’ll wait up for you.”

He sighs. “Solana…”

A mixture of happiness and playfulness, unfamiliar territory, but a space she’s finding herself enjoying. Enjoying a lot. “I’ve gotta make sure you drink your tea.”

The instant scowl on his face forces out her giggle, Solana turning to climb into the SUV only for Roman to tug on her, gently, but with enough force to bring her right back into his embrace. This time, his arms rest across the top of her back, Solana’s hands on his lower back. Her eyes close once more as he kisses the top of her head, that familiar feeling returning once more but without the unidentified label.

It’s no longer unknown, the realization dawning as he holds her. Holds her firm. Arms that don't restrict. Hands that don't hurt. A man who doesn't harm. Just cares. Protects.

Happy.

She feels happy. 

------

authors note: this idea randomly came to me, and idk, i thought it was cute. i have a brief idea for another date night between them, so if that's something you're interested in, let me know. if not, we can very much move on. :)

[written-in-knife]

Hello! Love your Floyd fic and may I ask a request about Reader/Yuu having a crush on Floyd, but Floyd is not ready to commit yet/doesnt see the point of it so reader keeps getting lead on and reader realizes that it would go to nowhere so they stopped pursuing. Floyd was supposed to be happy that the courting stopped but found out that he can't stop looking at reader interacting with someone else other than him.

Basically like the Flipped movie, just wholesome/hurt/comfort with the main theme of figuring out ones feelings. Reader and Floyd don't require to be together in the end just like in the Flipped movie but Im fine if they get together too! Im torn between the two. Please disregard this if you don't feel comfy creating it ^^

Disappointed

Floyd Leech x gn!reader one-sided both ways, background Ace Trappola x gn!reader, not explicit, could easily be read as platonic and/or fake dating

they/them pronouns, is THIS angst? I think this is angst, background hurt/comfort for reader but not Floyd :)

Word Count: 1098

I've never seen Flipped, but I love this premise and I'm going to make it Worse :) pretty short but this is what we call a tasty little morsel lmaoo

Floyd knew you were interested in him, how could he not? You made it so obvious. He thought it was funny at first, how you kept handing him little trinkets and rushing away, eventually getting brave enough to hang around him. But you kept coming, even on his bad days. For months, you kept stopping by the Mostro Lounge or catching him in the hallways or showing up to basketball games. It stopped being so fun after awhile. He'd thrown most of the trinkets that you'd given him away, not really interested in your courting attempts in the first place. It was just fun for him to watch you flit around like the little shrimp you were. He never stopped you, even if he knew this would never go further than your silly little attempts.

You'd brought him a tiny blown glass eel you'd found in town after a basketball game, catching him before he went into the locker room. You handed it to him with that same hopeful smile you always had on your face, and he took it from you with the same minimal acknowledgement that he always did. The second the door closed behind him in the locker room, he tossed the little eel into the trash with as much acknowledgement as he'd given you before moving to change out of his uniform.

"What was that?" Ace scoffed as he pulled off his jersey, tossing it into his locker haphazardly.

"Shrimpy keeps givin' me crap I don't want." Floyd shrugged, moving over to his locker as Ace gave him a confused look. "I've just been throwin' it away."

He didn't pay any attention as Ace moved over to the garbage, pulling the little glass figure out of the bin with a loud huff.

"You could just tell 'em you don't want it, you know." Ace snapped at him, taking the figure back to his locker. "They spent money on this crap trying to get you to notice them! Quit leading 'em on!"

Floyd rolled his eyes dramatically as he turned to Ace, glaring him down. "And hafta see 'em cry or somethin'? Hard pass."

You knew you were being blatantly obvious about your attraction to Floyd, you thought he might've been flirting back whenever he teased you about it. What you perceived as flirting was the only thing keeping you from getting discouraged after so long trying to court him. You didn't realize exactly how wrong you were until Ace came to find you when he was done in the locker room, the glass blown figure you'd given Floyd in his hands. Your heart sank as he apologized, telling you that he'd watched Floyd throw it away the second you wouldn't see, that apparently that's where all your gifts had gone. In the trash. You were embarrassed and disappointed, a lot of Floyd's actions making much more sense to you now. You took the figure back with trembling fingers, trying to put on a brave face for your friend, but you were devastated. You'd tried really hard to pick out things you thought Floyd would like, you thought you might've been getting somewhere. It hurt to find out where all that effort was really going.

Floyd noticed before the end of the week that you hadn't come by. You'd become a regular presence in his life, not necessarily daily, but often enough that your absence was notable. At first, he really didn't care much, it was one less thing he had to deal with. But something nagged at the back of his head about it. He tried to ignore it, but it was making his mood significantly worse. He didn't even know what it was, he was supposed to be happy that you weren't hanging around him all the time... wasn't he?

He didn't start to realize what the feeling was until he saw you weeks later. Basketball practice had just let out and he spotted you in the hall outside the locker room. Before he could go over and ask where you'd been, Ace pushed past him to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and poking at your cheek. He watched you laugh at whatever Ace had said as the two of you turned away from him to leave. The nagging feeling in the back of his head returned tenfold, surprising him as he watched you disappear around a corner. Why was he jealous of Ace? He hadn't been interested before, why would he be jealous of something he didn't want? It wasn't even on purpose, it felt more like karma that Floyd kept seeing you in the halls every day now. Always with Ace. He saw the delighted smiles on your face, the way you would blush and smack his chest when he whispered in your ear, the damn arm that was always around your shoulders. You'd sure moved on quick, if you could call multiple weeks quick. And why wouldn't you? Ace had likely told you what Floyd had been doing after he found out, he was probably there to comfort you in the aftermath, he was one of your best friends after all. Rationalizing it in his head didn't help, he still had an awful pit in his gut whenever he saw the two of you. You leaving him alone was what he wanted anyways, wasn't it?

Floyd let it go on for a few more weeks, even Jade tried to figure out what had him so upset. But how could Jade help when Floyd couldn't figure out his own feelings about it? It came to a head after another basketball practice, back in the locker room. Floyd was slow to get changed, waiting until Ace had gotten dressed and was about to leave.

"So you and Shrimpy, huh?" He asked as Ace walked past, trying to keep his tone casual.

"You snooze you lose?" Ace offered with a shrug, shooting him a smirk before walking out of the locker room.

"Yeah..." Floyd muttered to himself.

He sat in the feeling for a moment, finally able to see it for what it was. He was disappointed. Disappointed he hadn't realized sooner, disappointed he hadn't just turned you down so he could maybe try himself later. Disappointed it wasn't him. You had become such a regular presence in his life, he hadn't realized he was taking it for granted. Hadn't realized that when he stopped finding your courting fun, it wasn't because he didn't like it, it had just stopped being surprising. And he had no one to blame but himself.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

Begging for Bakugo x nerdy pierced reader. They've known each other for a while, but it's only recently when bakugo notices she's got pierced nipples, pierced tongue, pierced belly button and back dimples too. Maybe even sneak in a cute back tattoo. Anyway long story short, it's a big turn on for him, once he spots the belly piercing by accident and asks her about it, she starts name dropping all the other ones she's got too taking him by suprise. He has never taken her for a type of girl get piercings but gets curious and wants to see them all.

I love this!!!

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled at you, arms folded snd eyes furrowed as he stares at your stomach.

“What’re you on about kats? Im just stretching….” You look down at your body, frantically patting at yourself insane there was some kind of bug on you or something. He walks over to you, stomping his feet loudly and standing barely an inch away from your body.

“This?!” He lifts your top up slightly to expose your belly button, staring at the baby pink little studded piercing now glinting as the gym lights hit it. His face was puzzled and a slight twinge of pink flushed his cheeks as he looked at your piercing more intensely.

“What? Is something wrong? Did I catch it or?” Your own confusion met his, you thought maybe it could’ve gotten caught and ripped slightly? Completely unaware that Katsuki had no idea you had your belly button pierced, let alone about all the others you had.

“This fuckin thing? Since when did you get that? I’ve known for you forever and I’ve never seem that before!” His voice seemed angry, pissed that not only had you gotten it pierced but that he wasnt the first person to know about it right away. You laughed and rolled your eyes, pulling you shirt from out of his and pushing it back down to cover your lower stomach.

“Kats, i swear you came with me to get it done last year didnt you? I couldn’t sworn you did….you called me an idiot didnt you?” You racked your brain for who actually came with you that day, you can remember it being a spur of the moment decision, but maybe he didn’t come with? Was it Mina? As you tried to recall the day, he stepped back slightly, arms now pressed firmly back across his chest, averting his gaze from you as if he was flustered.

“ I think I’d remember if I came with you to get that, dont you think dumbass? Dont tell me youve got more piercings you didn’t tell me about.” His eyes glanced back at you from the corner of his eyes, something in him praying that maybe you had some more intimate ones.

“Well….i mean, I didn’t think you’d particularly want to know about the ones on my chest or my tongue or anything…” your own cheeks now flushed at the idea of telling your childhood friend about your pierced nipples. His eyes now wider as he flicked his eyes momentarily at your chest then back up to your eyes.

“No fucking way. You dont get those piercings, you’re not into the hot girl shit are you?!” He didnt mean for it to come out so loudly, so nervously, and clocked your reaction at the infliction in his voice, and tried to put the stern face back on.

“Sorry, forgot I had to ask for permission to do whatever I want with my body. You’re going to lose your shit when you see this then.” You turned to face your back to him as you pulled your shirt up exposing the large dragon tattoo that filled out most of your upper back. You could almost feel his hot stare burning into your tattoo, you turned your head and looked at him over your shoulder as he open mouth stared at the design. He suddenly became increasingly more uncomfortable at the shift in his trousers as he tried to pull the fabric away from himself. His reaction made you look down and see the large lump forming in said fabric, it making you nervous and embarrassed. You quickly pulled your shirt back down and faced him again, averting your eyes from his stare.

“Since when did you get hot man wtf? I’ve known you since we were kids, I never in a million years would’ve thought youd of been into that stuff…”

“Don’t make me show you the one inbetween my legs Kats.” His embarrassment was incredibly amusing to you, not once since being friends had you seen him so flustered, it made something rise up inside of you. Seeing him look at you like this made you look at him in an entirely different light, was he actually mentally undressing you right now? Why did you suddenly absolutely love it, and why were you now wondering how his mouth felt against the metal bars i your nipples…

He grabbed your wrist and started leading you towards the dorms without a word.

“Erm…what’re you doing kats?” He didn’t even look back at you as he spoke.

“You’re showing me every single new thing you’ve got done, I won’t believe it until I see it.”

[fagsystem]

I did Other/Results because I am not 100% sure how retcon is defined. If I'm misunderstanding I am so sorry.

But I say Jason Todd, and the retconning to his personality when his death was retconned

I am not as well versed in the comics as I could be so I'm sorry if I'm missing something. But my understanding is that while his Robin run was short there were still a few pillar character traits established.

Yes, he was willing to murder people who he thought deserved it. He was also a bit unstable/moody, especially towards the end, due to having childhood trauma

But he was also a bright kid. Both in the sense of being smart and dedicated to school, but also being optimistic. 'Robin gives me magic'. He wasn't that way out of naivety. He had seen and experienced terrible things. He just knew he could make the world a better place and was smart enough that he could absolutely have figured out how to as he got older.

I know about the trope of coming back wrong. I know it would have been a severely traumatic experience and that would change him. I know it wasn't completely baseless.

But I feel as though he's honestly quite unrecognisable from who he was as Robin.

While he had a tendency of violence towards certain criminals and considered killing them just, he was also incredibly affected by casualties. People can be framed. He can misunderstand a situation. He could mistake someone innocent for someone worthy of death.

He just seems to not have nearly enough regard for making sure he's not accidentally killing someone innocent. But also he has killed people for far less than accidentally killing someone innocent. He seems too smart to not recognise he's not infallible.

It also never ever sat right with me him attacking Tim at Titans Tower. Like I get he was angry after his death. But like his dad didn't seem to care that he was killed, at least not in his perspective. He didn't avenge him. He replaced him as though it didn't matter that he was going to lead another kid to an early death. And yes, he didn't consider Tim an adequate replacement.

I felt as though it was weird that he decided he'd kill Robin himself. Like I always felt as though he wouldn't blame a sheltered rich kid for being brought into something he didn't feel as though he understood. But even if he did like I always felt like it would make more sense for Jason to not even be able to stomach the thought of it, because killing Robin meant he was like his murderer. It would make him like the Joker. It would make him a monster.

And I just feel like he's too smart to be trying to make the world a better place by becoming a crime lord. And too good at heart with too much of a traumatic history caused by people close to him struggling with addiction to be doing it for any other reason

I need to sleep

I hope I didn't misdefine retcon

Which Batfamily character has been done the worst by retcons?

[mereyapalais]

My small contribution for my shaylas, Annie x Smoke. Still getting a feel of their characters.

Modern Smoke x Annie.

Warnings: none. Fluff?

Excuse any errors (👀)

The ghost of a faint kiss tickled Annie out of her deep slumber. She couldn’t distinguish if she was dreaming or not. She refused to open her eyes so as to not cut her sleep short, in case she was just dreaming. Her eyebrows slightly furrowed trying to concentrate on the soft lips against hers.

A soft but deep voice whispering in her ear coaxed her out of her sleep. “Good evening my love. Won’t you open your pretty eyes for me?” A small kiss accompanied his words.

Eyes opening in slow motion, she blinked the sleep away trying to focus on the most beautiful pair eyes. When his whole face came in to view, a tired smile appeared on her face.

“There she goes. My beautiful woman. Hi.”

“Good evening handsome. What time is it?” She asked while stretching her body. This pregnancy has taken a toll on her body. Sleeping like a koala any time of the day. Her body required frequent rest.

That’s why her husband reasoned with her to take her maternity leave earlier than the expected time. He was more than capable of taking care of his household.

He wanted this pregnancy to have as little complications as possible.

It wasn’t easy convincing her to leave the job space. Annie is a hardworking woman. Passionate about what she does. Plus she knows the kids would miss her when they won’t see her.

Explaining to them what a maternity leave entails was a challenge it only made the kids even more curious and have a million other questions. Some about the subject and others just random, asking the first thing that came to mind. She loves those little kids. The rest will do her good so she can have a little kid to call her own.

Checking his Patek Philippe , he read the time “it’s 18:37.”

“You and this military time of yours. What’s that in normal people time Elijah?”

“6:37.”

A gasp left her lips. “Already? Wow I wasn’t planning on laying down for that long.” She took his wrist just to make sure it was indeed the indicated time on the watch.

“How long you been laying down here?”

“Um, well, I was just planning on laying down a bit before starting dinner and I didn’t want to go all the way to the bedroom. Because I was only going to lay down for -

Her rambling came full force when she knows her husband had caught her doing something wrong. He is real strict about this pregnancy and wants to follow all the doctors recommendations to a t.

Whenever she thought of dismissing the doctor’s advice, Elijah was there to make sure she was doing everything as told.

Whether it was her diet, hydration or exercise habits, Elijah made sure everything was done well.

“How long Annie?”

At the sound of her name, she looked up at him with a pout forming on her lips. She wasn’t used to him uttering her name. Normally a term of endearment was used to in lieu of her name. ‘Annie’ sounded foreign at times. Of course he still used her name but most of the time ‘Annie’ was reserved for when she was giving him an out of body experience or when he was scolding her.

Like now.

“Since 4:00, I think.”

His silence made everything else go silent with him. She could feel his hard stare but refused to meet his eyes. She hated whenever he was disappointed with her.

He sighed. His eyes wandered to the side landing on the water bottle he bought her to help keep track of her water intake. The bottle displayed the different hours of the day accompanied by words of encouragement for each hour.

That was strike two in Elijah’s book.

“So you’ve been laying here for at least two hours. And, from what I can see, you haven’t hydrated yourself since 2:00.”

“I forgot.”

“How you forget to drink water Annie?”

“Can you stop calling me that?”

They way voice came out so small, like a whisper, only indicated one thing lately. She was about to cry.

Her feelings have been all over the place lately. Changing like the colours of the aurora borealis.

“Come on mama, don’t cry. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to sound mean. Just want to make sure this journey will be as smooth as possible, yeah?” He says wiping away her tears. Pressing small kisses all over her face.

“Let me go get you something to drink.”

He goes to the kitchen, fills up a cold glass of water before bringing it in front of her. “Drink up.”

After she’s done, he accompanies her to the bathroom to run her a bath. His hand finding it’s rightful place at the small of her back. Rubbing soothingly, absentmindedly.

“Go on and sit as I get the water started.”

Before he could leave, she pulled on his arm bringing his head down to her level and kissing him softly.

He left for the bathroom. Opening the tap a little getting the temperature less hot than normally because their doctor advised so.He opted for the epsome salt since they couldn’t use her regular bath bombs. He lit her tulip shaped unscented candle to add to the ambiance.

“You okay sweetheart?”

So lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear him enter her space before he spoke. She looked up at him with sad eyes. “I feel bad.”

“You feel bad? Where.” His hands instantly finding her protruding belly. Rubbing it. She lightly slapped his hands away.

The panic in his voice caused her to roll her eyes slightly.

“No Elijah, calm down, I mean I feel bad.”

“Why, love?”

“Because-” Her voice came out louder than intended. “Because I-I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you. You just came back from work and instead of resting you’re here taking care of me. I feel so lazy.”

“Nah baby, you ain’t lazy, stop that.”

He wiped the tears escaping from her eyes. A kiss on her forehead.

“Besides who said you have to take care of me? Hmm? You’re my wife, carrying my child. Our baby. Your body is accomplishing one of the most amazing tasks. Of course you’re going to feel tired. Lemme take care of you while you take care of our baby.”

She sniffles, “I guess..”

He felt like something deeper was was bothering her. He was going to tend to whatever it was after but for now, he just wanted her to relax.

“Come on. Let’s get you in that bath before the water runs cold. We gon have a talk later.”

Thank you for reading 💋

🏷️ @browngirldominion

If you’d like to be added to the tag list pls let me know

[lsunstreakerl]

1.4k darkbull! max POV, post-kidnapping, domestic max/carlos/daniel/oscar. featuring a question that makes everybody internally panic and pancakes. no smut, but darkbull, so. mature content implied and all that.

It slips out when Max is in the bath. Oscar is sitting on the floor, back against the wall as he scrolls his phone, Carlos is in the kitchen, and Daniel is behind Max, gently running shampoo through his hair.

"Did Red Bull kill my dad?"

He can feel Daniel freeze against him, and Oscar stops scrolling, eyes widening as he fights to stay still. Daniel recovers first, folding a palm across Max's eyes.

"I'm going to rinse."

Max dutifully keeps them shut as warm water rushes across his hair, a few stray drops running down his nose. Daniel's fingers are confident as they scrub across his scalp, and Max is relaxed, feels more like a human shaped lump of goo than anything else.

"Where'd that come from?"

His voice is even, but Max notices the thin thread of tension, the lack of outright denial. Oscar is still tense, but his fingers are moving on the screen, texting someone. They've all got the wrong idea.

"I don't care if they did, I am just..."

He leans his cheek against Daniel's shoulder, sighing. He's so comfortable here, spoiled by his three boyfriends.

"I am wondering."

Daniel hums softly, one hand stroking across Max's side underwater. He does it frequently when he's nervous, like a self soothing motion, except he does it to Max. It works well, always makes Max want to dip back into his fuzzy headspace where he doesn't have to think at all.

"I wasn't around for that, so I wouldn't know, and neither would Oscar. I'm sure if you have suspicions GP would talk to you about it."

It's a good deflection. Max doesn't care that much, it's really only crossed his mind because they're reaching Jos' death date. Normally he doesn't think about it at all, but in light of everything that's happened with Charles, learning about the trackers and the drugs... the idea had crossed his mind, and he hasn't be able to shake it.

"Okay."

He stays curled into Daniel as he's lifted out of the bath, and then Oscar has a warm towel scrubbing at his head, and Daniel has wrapped him in another one. Max leans into it, finally getting his feet underneath him, and he snorts when Oscar lifts the towel and he can see his hair in the mirror.

"Osc, mate."

Daniel laughs, ruffling his hair further, and there's an amused note to Oscar's voice.

"You look like a hedgehog."

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"But a sexy hedgehog."

"A what—"

Max cuts himself off with a laugh, squinting at Oscar. Daniel squeezes his hip, dropping another kiss at Max's shoulder. They'd fucked him before he got in the bath, but sometimes they like going again afterwards— Carlos claims it's something about seeing him so relaxed, naked except for his jewelry that never comes off.

Still. Max wants to eat first if he's going to be coming again.

"Dinner?"

His voice is hopeful, and both Daniel and Oscar seem to snap back to themselves, nodding. Max slips into a pair of shorts— they must be from the private AlphaTauri line, because they're shorter than anything else he owns, with an embroidered Red Bull logo just above his thigh. The shirt is definitely not his, wide in the shoulders and well worn. It probably belongs to Carlos, but Max knows he doesn't care.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon, and Max makes it two steps behind the kitchen island before Carlos is tapping at his nose, gently nudging him back out.

"No, I'm not done yet."

Max wrinkles his nose, resisting the urge to sneeze. There's flour on Carlos' hands, which means there's probably flour on his nose now as well.

"But you are making pancakes."

Carlos grins, pointing a finger at him.

"Yes, making. As in, I am still working on them."

Max will eat raw batter, he doesn't mind. He tries to sidestep Carlos and get past him, but he feels Oscar's hands wrap around his waist, tugging him back into a slim chest.

"Don't worry Carlos, Danny and I will keep him entertained."

Max pouts, but he lets himself be dragged into the living room, immediately perking up when he realizes Daniel is laid out on the couch, loading up Call of Duty. Oscar groans, dragging over a large pillow on the floor as he sits, back leaned against the couch. Max curls up just behind him, folded shins resting against his shoulders as he takes his own controller.

------

He wins every round. Oscar is getting better, but Daniel is still completely hopeless, and demands kisses after each lost round as reparations for how Max must be cheating. Max tells him primly that is of course not how it works, but indulges him anyway, settling halfway into Daniel's lap. His fingers creep up Max's thigh under the hem of his shorts higher each time, and he grins against Max's mouth when he shivers.

"Daniel."

Oscar sounds mildly annoyed, flicking Daniel's knee.

"Food."

Daniel sighs, shifting Max off of his lap.

"Killjoy."

Oscar is the strictest of the three of them about trying to keep Max on a schedule during non racing weeks. Max thinks it has something to do with how he'd seen him with Charles, constantly disoriented and begging for anything.

If they wanted to keep Max tied down for an entire day, he'd let them. But he's unsure if it would bring back bad memories or not, and Oscar seems to know Max's limits even better than he does, so he likes to listen.

He curls into his side of the couch, eyelids heavy, dropping one arm off the side to clasp his fingers together with Oscar. They've all been perfect this week, always knowing exactly what Max needs.

Oscar squeezes back, repositioning slightly so Max can be comfortable. Daniel has switched to a different channel— there's a sailing competition on now— and Max can hear Carlos singing softly in the kitchen as he drifts back off.

------

There's a heavy hand dragging through his hair, and Max can smell cinnamon and Carlos' cologne, blearily waking up. Carlos is leaned back against the couch, and he has Max pulled on top of him, lying against his chest. Max shifts with a small noise as the conversation around him cuts off, and then Carlos' fingers are tipping his chin up, kissing him gently.

He sighs into it, eyes still half shut. Daniel has a palm curled warm over his ankle, and Oscar has his head resting against his thigh. Carlos pulls back, reaching over to a plate on the coffee table, tearing off a chunk of the pancake at the top of the stack.

Max shifts, preparing to wiggle his arm out and grab it, but Carlos uses his arm across Max's stomach and tugs him back in place, hand splayed wide across his skin. Max rolls his eyes but drops his mouth open, letting Carlos nudge the piece between his teeth.

They've all got their own little kinks they think he doesn't know about— Daniel with his blindfolds, Oscar with his tears, Carlos and his constant need to be taking care of Max in his entirety. There's been a few times where Max has been near or entirely immobilized, and while the other two flit in and out, Carlos never leaves.

Max used to think Carlos got off on his helplessness, and sometimes he still does, but he's learned over the years that Carlos enjoys the softness just as much. The quiet moments where he's kneeling in front of Max and wiping at his lashes, when he holds him close in the evenings and presses kisses into his hair.

Moments like this one, where he's carefully tearing off chunks of pancake to feed to Max. Max goes along with it like he always does, listening to Carlos' heartbeat under his ear, playfully nipping at his fingertips when he's not quick enough to withdraw his hand.

He's fairly confident they don't want to fuck again. Everything's too languid, orange light spilling in through the window, syrupy slow and sweet. There's a chance they end up falling asleep out here— a rarity, but not unheard of.

He stretches his legs further into Daniel's lap, twisting to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos' shoulder. GP will want to talk to him about Jos tomorrow, because Max has no doubts that was who Oscar had texted, but for now he's content just like this, spoiled and sleepy.

[smutmind]

A BWC featuring Red Velvet Wendy, where she goes to shower at the gym and enters by accident the mens showers while its empty, when she already took her clothes off a guy enters, but because he is hot she asks him if he "wants to make her sweat again" so he fucks her hard

The gym showers hissed behind a curtain of fog, tile echoing with water and the occasional metallic groan of pipes.

Wendy stepped barefoot onto the warm floor, her towel slung carelessly around her hips. Thirty-one and in the best shape of her life—tight core, lean legs, glistening skin that still held the sheen of a brutal leg day. Her sports bra and shorts were stuffed in the locker. She meant to head to the women’s showers, but the hallway signs had been confusing.

She pushed through the wrong door.

Then saw the row of urinals beside the sinks.

"Oops," she muttered with a grin, stepping inside anyway. The room was empty. She didn’t see a reason to backtrack.

Steam thick enough to swallow shapes whole filled the space. She moved under the spray, head tilted back, water slicking down her spine. Her fingers slid between her legs, slow and idle. Just easing the throb out.

Then a door creaked open.

Footsteps. Firm. Male.

Wendy didn’t flinch. She turned, the mist curling off her shoulders, arms at her sides.

The man was tall, dark-haired, bare-chested with a towel riding low on his hips. Square jaw. Eyes that lingered.

He paused, gaze raking her naked body without hesitation. "You're in the wrong shower."

She looked him over. Broad chest, cut abs, the shadow of something thick beneath the towel.

"Am I?" she asked, voice low. "Guess I got lucky."

He raised a brow. "You always this bold?"

"Only when the dick’s worth it."

He stepped closer. No words. Just dropped the towel.

She looked down—her eyes widened slightly.

"Damn... that’s a bit much," she muttered, more impressed than afraid. As a petite Korean woman, she knew her limits—and this man was pushing them.

He smirked. "You want to back out?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I want to see if you’re all show or if you can make me cum."

That grin disappeared. He stepped in—no kissing, no soft hands. Just gripped her waist and lifted her like she weighed nothing, slamming her back against the cold tile. Her legs wrapped around his torso, arms bracing on his shoulders.

His mouth found her nipple without hesitation. No warning. Sucked hard. Bit harder.

"Ah—fuck," she hissed.

He switched to the other one, biting harder this time. Tongue rough, wet. He didn’t ask if she liked it. He didn’t have to. Her thighs clenched tighter.

"You feel that?" he growled, his cock pressed between her legs. "That’s for you, sweetheart."

She gasped as he rubbed against her slit, not even inside yet.

"Give it to me."

He thrust in.

Her whole body jolted. One hard shove buried him deep. Her breath caught. Her walls stretched. Her head thudded back against tile.

"Oh my God—"

"Take it."

He didn’t let her adjust. He fucked into her, deep and slow, driving every inch in with ruthless control. Her breath broke into short, sharp gasps. He filled her completely, each thrust punching a soft moan from her throat.

She gripped him tighter, nails scoring his shoulders.

"Fuck—right there. Don’t stop. Don’t—"

He didn’t. He just watched her fall apart.

Her climax hit hard, legs jerking, back arching as her body clamped around him. A loud cry spilled from her lips, half English, half Korean. She came fast and fierce, shuddering in his grip.

He groaned, holding her through it, cock still throbbing inside her.

When she could breathe again, she panted, "Your turn. Sit down."

He set her down slowly, his shaft slick with her arousal. She pointed at the bench. He obeyed, lowering himself.

She climbed onto his lap, eyes locked to his. No names. No need.

"You earned a good ride," she said, sinking down on his cock.

He moaned low. "Fuck, that’s tight."

She bounced slowly, building rhythm. Wet slaps echoed between them.

He gripped her hips. "Goddamn, baby. Ride it. Just like that."

Her tits bounced with every motion, nipples still swollen from his mouth.

"You like this, don’t you? Being used by some girl who doesn’t even know your name?"

"Fuck yeah," he groaned. "Keep going, fucktoy."

She clenched around him. "Say that again."

"Tight little fucktoy. Look at you, using me."

She rode him harder.

His head tipped back, lips parting. She saw the break in him coming.

"Where do you want it?" she asked.

He looked up, sweat dripping down his chest. "Inside. I want to feel you dripping with it."

"Then fill me."

She slammed down again and again until his grip crushed her hips and he groaned, spilling deep inside. Thick. Hot.

She ground her hips once more, milking him.

Then stood slowly, his cum dripping down her thigh.

She stretched, turning the shower back on.

"Close the door on your way out."

He exhaled. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

She smiled to herself, never turning around.

[orphicsun]

Hear me out succubus!reader x sub!ellie

warnings: succubus!reader + sub!ellie, slight mentions of inhuman body traits (tongue, claws for nails), tribbing, oral sex (e! receiving)

Ellie knows it's wrong. It's wrong physically, mentally, morally, spiritually. It's wrong in all the ways that count. The predicament she has found herself in is downright terrifying, and it should make her feel similar to how someone must feel surrounded by great, thick patches of forest in the middle of the night with nothing but a dead flashlight and prayers. She should feel each bit of hair raise in the same direction the follicle it protrudes from, and part of her cannot deny the sinister feeling of summoning something so beyond fucked.

But you've got such a grip on her, it's a helpless cause to hope that she can ever feel normal again.

It's easily the third time this week, but she needs it. The craving feels so easy, naturally attained as water soothing the body's thirst. It makes her feel extreme and she finds herself sliding one, two, three fingers into her graciously wet hole, only to whimper helplessly on the brink of an orgasm she will never reach without your help.

It's tragic, really. Walking down the aisle to the love of her life someday, and yet on their honeymoon some place far away, a hotel and soft silk sheets with a poor girl who isn't aware of the ritual a once bored 19 year old Ellie did, Ellie will be stuck in a loop. She'll never be able to cum, no matter how hard she tries. Not to her own touch, not to her wife's, and you'll be long gone by then.

It's a fate she chose for herself, really. She signed the terms and conditions agreement.

But for now, you appear when she feels the need to be stuffed and stretched rise up below her waist.

"You said you'd try to hold out longer," you greet her directly into her ear, deceivingly honey-soft laughter bellowing from your chest. It never gets old, because Ellie jolts, looking around until she finds you in her room. She isn't used to this—a demon available to her whenever she even feels the least bit horny. Not that she is complaining.

"Yeah, well, I guess I've changed my mind." You don't stop to take her in, the boy shorts that hug her hips in a cotton embrace a sight gone to waste as you immediately peel them off of her wanton body. The t-shirt is soon to follow, and Ellie doesn't need to be told to lay down nice and comfortable only to be wrecked beyond comprehension by you.

You're already naked, always are. You're impatient and all of the above, and she doesn't complain. She is ridiculously horny, and unlike you, she doesn't have all the time in the world.

You encourage her legs to part and receive no backlash; then, you find your hips fit snug between them, the fat in the back of her thighs cushioning you like a perfect fit.

Ellie knows this isn't what sex should be, never as perfect as the kind you supply and yet so painful. It reminds her of ballet, in a twisted sense. It's painful and leaves her body and soul weary, but she doesn't take the time to recover, kin to the exhaustion of the dancer whose years of cracked soles amount to an art so refined in the process, it's nearly worth it all. For a ballerina, she thinks it is worth it all. She isn't so sure with you.

She is addicted to the art of being your prey, regardless.

But she needs it like a dosage of her favorite drug, and she lets her hands greedily roam the smooth expanse of your back, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades. She takes all she can get when she is beneath you.

"I can smell how horny you are from miles away, you know." Your tongue is filthy against her neck, each stroke you draw against her jugular sending dopamine through her veins and straight down to her beating clit.

"Please," she murmurs needily, shuddering when one of your leg hitch over hers, feeling your clit easily slide against hers. "Fuck, like that, please. Just like that."

"Good girl, aren't you? Just take it." Your hips rock against hers in a familiar rhythm, just how Ellie likes it. Beneath you, the girl is a babbling mess, whining about how good you fuck her. She is delirious, so much so that she grabs your hips to keep you firmly on her lap as she grinds up against you. It's not enough and somehow too much all the same.

"Fuck, can you please just eat me out?" Ellie blurts out between her panting.

"Aw, getting selfish now?" You coo condescendingly, leaning down to shove your tongue into her mouth. She moans around it and sucks on it, feeling your spit-tanged lips slot against hers in a mockery of a loving kiss. She'll accept it, though. She'll love it.

You break the kiss to lick down her body, pausing on your favorite places. You have sex with her for selfish purposes yourself, none of them really being out of lust, but you still have appreciation for her tits and won't miss the chance to take one into your mouth, attaching your lips to her nipple so you can swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Stop teasing," Ellie grits through her teeth, voice strained and yet the desperate lilt rises even higher when you giggle against her navel, your path clear.

As if she wasn't soaked enough, you spit on her clit, watching as the saliva rushes down her folds and past her perineum. She moans at the feeling. Your saliva is always oddly cooler than it should be, and as soon as you poke your tongue into her hole just barely, the hot muscle a sensory contrast, her pillow is greeted by the back of her head, her neck raised like an arch in overwhelming pleasure.

You always like to make it painful too, so much so that she craves it when you dig your clawed nails into her thighs as you spread them impossibly apart, and in more extreme cases, she begs you to wrap your fingers around her throat and take her breath from her lungs as she cums all over your free hand or pussy.

Before, it was teasing and had her desperate for more. However, the direct stimulation now has her nearly doubling back in overstimulation before her orgasm. You hold her to her words, though. Your tongue clits against her clit, and your tongue feels unlike any human one, roughly textured. You work against her pussy as if you have found a door into her mind and know just how she imagines her pleasure, drawing it out on her body before she can even begin to describe it to you.

When her orgasm crashes over her, your grip on her thighs shifts up to her hips, pinning her quivering body to the bed. Cries of pleasure tear from her throat so loud the neighbor could hear if he were home. Thank Goddess for the community pool he frequents daily in his speedo, because he won't be hearing his neighbor get her pussy eaten by the succubus she made the mistake of summoning.

It's not art, but you look down at her as if she is—her heaving chest, nipples and both lips coated in your spit, pussy leaking down onto the sheets, clit engorged and red, and scratches marks littering her thighs. It's sends power through you just to see the state you've left her from.

But like always, you're gone before she can even think of uttering a reaction. You stay for the feeding, and you've given her her end of the deal.

Ellie is beginning to think of this as a mistake she cannot undo, however.

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a/n: yeah idk how to feel about this but i'm trying to fully get over my burnout and this is a step!!