#look at me trying to justify my thoughts

[zhongrin]

thinking about al haitham picking you up from work with a motorcycle hskdjskdjsl

[themthistles]

i think that while micro labels can seem useful and affirming ultimately they're isolating and kind of an obstacle to your understanding of self. that's because you can never find a word specific enough. there will never be a label or two labels or even ten, twenty of them to perfectly capture and describe all of your thoughts, feelings, experiences, preferences, needs, interests, identities, etc. because you learn more and more about yourself every day and then you change and your wants and needs change with you. having to hop between labels, fearing that you don't 'fit' into a label anymore (both in your own and others eyes), worrying how soon your current label will wear out, questioning if you'll ever fully fit a single one. all that causes a lot of uncertainty and anxiety which could be avoided by just picking a more general thing and molding it according to what it means to YOU. because words will always mean different things to different people, you will never be understood immediately and maybe never completely by anyone but yourself and that's fine

[shrimp-stuff]

ok ok ok something that's been on my mind about Ai Di and Chen Yi & the conflicted feelings everyone (myself included) seems to have around them hooking up

obviously Ai Di taking advantage of drunk Chen Yi is bad. Chen Yi was clearly super out of it, and even if he did eventually recognize that it was Ai Di in front of him, he was still not in the right state of mind to be sleeping with someone

.....but—

it feels weird to even put a 'but' after a statement like that, but honestly, the context is so important. there's a big difference between, say, a sober person irl taking advantage of their drunk heartbroken friend under normal circumstances, and a feral gang member who has literally run people over for the hell of it taking advantage of his crush who is also a gang member and has flung himself at feral gang member (twice now) even though he's supposedly in love with their boss who is also a father figure to both of them.

like... it's almost impossible to view this situation through a "normal" lens lmao. also, most people irl are not in a situation where running away from your guilt entails going to literal prison for four years

so yeah, what Ai Di did was fucked up, real world or fictional, but I think it's okay to not bend over backwards trying to justify his actions when the context is so far beyond what is "normal" circumstances

[gatheringkeepsakes]

i say this as someone with an ADHD diagnosis, but if you find that one of the biggest struggles you face is executive dysfunction... but you also have a history of complex trauma... consider that it might not just be the ADHD, but that you are stuck in a state of chronic freeze response.

[ringwraithmd]

had a convo with someone about fandom and writing and moralization and purity culture and they were against it and yet when we started talking about problematic media and authors the arguments they used were literally the same as moralizing arguments

still trying to understand their logic

won’t go into too much more bc they’re on tumblr too but I’m still thinking about it

think I came off as a dick bc I didn’t just nod my head and agree

but mostly I’m just real fucking tired

[dreamcast-official]

hm.

[pointlesshroom]

thinking about how the first time I saw an older gay couple in real life. it was my cousin, not all that much older than me, just 10 years or so, and his partner - who was only ever referred to by his name, no title to signify their relationship whatsoever, sometimes maybe as a friend. but. they were adults with jobs and an apartment and cats. they were both invited over for sunday dinners, holidays. his partner brought paints and kid sized easel for my cousin's nice and help her figure it out (acrylics! none of that baby stuff).

god, i couldn't stop staring. i wasn't even that young, 17 i think, i've already figured out my own queerness, i strongly suspected my cousin's. i've seen queer couples on the internet, watched youtube channels of happy, queer couples with jobs and houses and pets and kids. and yet. and yet. i could not stop staring. wide eyed. silent. awkward. i could feel everyone glancing at me, i could feel my aunt watching me but i couldn't stop staring.

because yes, i've seen all this beautiful queerness from all over but it was never this real. in my country. in my, especially conservative, region. in my family. mine.

i keep trying to describe this feeling and the only word rattling around in my brain is: visceral

i keep thinking about it and about how, mere two years later, i went to a wedding at the other side of the family with my girlfriend. and how my cousin, not all that younger than me, just 8 years or so, kept staring

[snekdood]

dawg i was having a disagreement with a trans girl on reddit and she stopped responding which i was like. whatever. but then someone else responded to our convo thread and she was like "im being read in bad faith unu" and then the person responded "im sorry that happened to you" like i fucking punched her?????????? can yall maybe not infantalize trans women, reverse sexism isnt it.

[sleepii-moth]

the fact that fnaf after everything with its creator still has adult fans and is getting new merch, games, and other things made for it is wild to me. regardless of how you feel about death of the author or whatever, the new fnaf content that is being made is getting less and less coherent plot wise and the gameplay is getting repetitive. From an objective standpoint i think that the first fnaf game was never meant to be what the series became. As someone who has a general knowledge of how games are made, especially when it comes to narrative driven games, it was clearly meant to simply be a gameplay focused horror game with a little story thrown in to give some cool backstory and add some mystery, and then maybe there'd be a few more games in the series that expand on the mechanics and elaborate on the story a bit but its pretty reasonable to assume that the story of the game was meant to be mostly up for interpretation and that as a series, it wouldnt be too long. Unfortunately though, it ended up gaining fame and people reading more into it which definitely contributed to the series being what it is now (and also yknow.. money is another reason.) It sort of ended up having a certain Supernatural (tm) effect where it kept getting worse but people still watched it which i guess answers my question of why people still like it (because people arent willing to let things they like go even if theyre bad) but that is an unfulfilling answer to me and theres definitely a more fulfilling one

so im wondering now.. are people (not counting kids for a reason) who still like fnaf holding onto the series because they liked the concept (of animatronics, a sprawling mystery, and other things) and have never found or heard of other things that share those same concepts? Or is it really just simply holding onto things that are nostalgic to them? Im genuinely curious because i have been into things that just got bad because they went for too long or tried to do convoluted things with the story that i just moved on from. I still remember when i was younger i watched supernatural with my sibling, and did really enjoy it, we got pretty late in the show before my sibling told me they thought it was getting worse and didnt want to watch it anymore. Of course as a kid who didn't really even know how to tell if a form of entertainment was bad, i was a little upset and didnt understand why but agreed anyway. And so we stopped watching supernatural and watched other things together like steven universe that we ended up liking way more. Occasionally there would be tv show or anime that just ended up sucking and from then on we just stopped watching it and watched something else.

I think the reason i fully stopped liking fnaf was partly that i recognized the content i was watching for it (like lets plays or theory videos) were getting worse and i also just grew out of it? As the years went on i got into other games like half life or portal that had way more fulfilling stories to me that i enjoyed a lot more so fnaf just became something i didnt care about. fnaf is like the cracker barrel of video games to me, i went there as a kid because other people liked it so i was supposed to also like it and mostly really liked it because it was restaurant food and to a kid thats better than anything you get at home (and also they have little toys), and then one day when i was older and had gone to more different places i sat down, ate my food, and thought "wow this is bad actually," and never ate there again. And all of that is to say i really do wonder if the majority of adult fans of fnaf still like it because its one of the few games theyve engaged with in their life, and that if they were to expand their palette, try new things, and look back on their interests, then theyd be able to more easily accept its (and its creators) problems and move on from it as purely a thing of their past. because i promise you, there are better things out there, not everything is cracker barrel or supernatural, theres genres youve never even heard of, games that no one knows about waiting to be played, theres the sprawling mysteries of Outer Wilds, the gut wrenching horror of Devotion, the captivating characters of Psychonauts, the expansive world building of Half Life, there are so many better things out there made by better people. Letting go of something doesnt hurt as much when you have more things to enjoy. There are better things out there, you just have to stop looking in the same place.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

part two

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues. 

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong. 

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs. 

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface. 

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more. 

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment. 

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable. 

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness. 

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak. 

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you. 

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” 

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down. 

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!” 

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time. 

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder. 

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.” 

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could. 

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs. 

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips. 

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade. 

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin. 

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh. 

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles. 

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg. 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly. 

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs. 

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases. 

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents. 

Almost. 

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed. 

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention. 

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him. 

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm. 

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him. 

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back. 

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them. 

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again. 

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him. 

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good. 

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice. 

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

 He hums contemplatively. 

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum. 

“About what?” 

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn you first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine. 

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?” 

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?” 

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again. 

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you. 

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away. 

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet. 

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes. 

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it. 

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message. 

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky. 

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort. 

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh. 

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly. 

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile. 

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily. 

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly. 

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?” 

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy. 

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids. 

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin. 

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum. 

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you. 

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you

I love you. 

[arminsumi]

I WANT TO KISS YOU / キスしたい

↳ GOJO さとる + fem!reader

you and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

2.9k

Chapter index

Summary : you've come to visit Japan to meet these two boys you met online. Though Satoru can't speak English and you can't speak Japanese, the two of you still fall in love. Very cute. Very cheesy. Oh no... wait is there a tension between you and his best friend, too? Oh boy...

Warnings : romantic tension with Suguru / potential love triangle, cat scratch

Note : i think of this fic a lot and i found the continuation hiding out in my drafts sooo here 👍

🍒 More from Jay : Gojo works / Gojo fave works / JJK works

Satoru blinks awake to see your face. His heart beats harder.

結局昨日は夢ではなかったのか？ Yesterday was not a dream after all?

He's not an early bird at all, but from the first day of your visit he magically woke up early as if his soul was too excited to sleep when it knew you were right there, in the flesh. No screen. Just you.

When the first day starts, it feels like you've always been together. Was there ever a screen separating the two of you? And were you really going to disappear behind one again in just a month?

今のところ、彼女はここに留まるように感じています。彼女が訪問を終えて出発するとき、私は空港で赤ん坊のように泣くことになると思います。 For now, she feels like she's here to stay. I think I'm going to cry like a baby at the airport when she leaves after her visit.

Morning routines are carried out. The sky is cloudy at first, threatening rain, and by the time you three cluster into the kitchen to make breakfast together, it starts raining.

You and Satoru banter like two cats. Suguru's morning rasp is very strong.

"Satoru... uh... sugar?" you ask, preparing to make yourself a second one and automatically making Satoru another one, since he looks still very bleary-eyed even after spending an hour freshening up in the bathroom.

"...? Yes?" he tilts his head, then you raise the sugar cube jar. "Yes. Uh... four. Thank you."

Suguru's blushing because of the cute tension between you and his best friend. It fills the whole kitchen, which already felt full with their two bodies and a third one now. Everyone keeps bumping elbows and yet not complaining about it, in fact it's enjoyable to be squished together. Maybe because you three waited so long to be together in person, you don't mind it. There's a silent, ever-present comedy in the air about the tight proximity.

You hum happily, tossing in one, two, three... four? That's a lot of sugar. "Suguru, tell Satoru he mustn't have so much sugar all the time. It's not good for his health."

Suguru laughs. "I try to tell him that every day. But his sweet tooth is incurable."

"His dentist must hate him." you smirk at Satoru, who's been looking at you blushingly after hearing his name mentioned.

彼女の声が今では一番好きな音だと思います。 I think her voice is my favorite sound now.

もう一度私の名前を言ってください。 Please say my name again.

"Satoru? Coffee?" you interrupt his lovey-dovey thoughts and he suddenly reanimates himself, because for a moment there he zoned out and just stared at you with those pretty eyes.

"Mmm... thanks." he takes the coffee from you with a noticeable timidness that you can't quite explain. There's a lot about him that's indescribable, you're having a small internal crisis; aren't you supposed to be fluent in English? And yet you can't even begin to describe just how sweet and gentle Satoru behaves. The most you can do is use metaphors that barely justify him.

"Suguru, tell her... her voice is nice, and also sorry for cuddling you in my sleep (and that she can definitely kick me away at night if it bothers her.) Also!" (the three of you head into the living room, and Suguru habitually trips over the cat who stalks under his feet too quietly to notice) "Also tell her... if it rains today, does she still want to go out? Because if we go out in the rain, she might get sick. And I don't want her to get sick on her trip. Not that I'd mind taking care of you, Y/n, of course."

Suguru lets out a long sigh and pulls a funny face. You smile amusedly.

"...It's too early to be a translator..." he grumbles in English after Satoru overloads him.

"What? C'mon tell her everything I said!"

"Let me have my coffee first. How about the two of you write to each other?" he suggests, putting the rim of the cup to his lips and sipping languidly.

"Eh, fine." Satoru pouts, and stalks off into his bedroom to get his phone.

Then, when he's in his bedroom, his chest flutters for some reason when he sees your suitcase standing there opened and emptied into the free cupboard space. He takes his phone, smiles at the homely feeling of seeing your belongings in his room, and leaves.

"Oh..." he has a sudden idea, and remembers the magnetic drawing board that's hanging in the kitchen. He and Suguru usually use it for writing reminders to each other, like get milk or you're an idiot or sometimes it has doodles of Mint the cat with sunglasses on.

So he returns to you with this magnetic drawing board, and points at it meaningfully, then holds one finger up and bows his head as he begins writing very slowly.

Suguru's checking the weather forecast and muttering sour complaints under his breath to you. "Of course it would rain for three days just when you arrive... at least by the weekend it will be clear and sunny..."

"Mmm... it's alright. A little rain never hurt nobody." you respond.

"I like your optimism." Suguru compliments flippantly at first, but then continues; "It's really uplifting. I think Satoru said something about you being a joy once, he said it really poetically but I can't recall it now."

"Aw..." you dip your head beneath your coffee cup, hiding the bashful expression on your face, which Suguru chuckles at.

And then, for a long moment, you just stare and watch Satoru writing on the board. You're completely captured in this moment, completely captivated in his enveloping presence as he sits next to you. He has slow, meticulous wrist movements. His knees press together, like he's worried that he'll invade your personal space if he sits too comfortably close to you. Funny, considering he cuddled you all night and you had no complaints about it.

He's writing very simply and neatly, just like how he texts you. You're a bit baffled by the characters he's using, though he's trying his best to avoid using any kanji knowing that you don't know a lot of it. He's sure you can figure things out by slowly pronouncing each hiragana character, or at least he hopes.

"Here." he hands you the magnetic drawing board, and then raises from the couch to go feed the cat.

"Minto-Minto... " he calls after the cat and makes a small cute sound to lure her out.

You're trying to read each hiragana character, eyes squinting a bit.

Suguru leans in close to you. He just takes a look, but the proximity for some reason gives both of you butterflies.

"Ooh... that's cute." Suguru comments after reading what Satoru wrote. His voice reaches deep in your tummy.

"Hm... I'll spell it out and... figure it out... anyways, why did you name your cat Mint?"

"Oh... well. There's two reasons. So the first..." he sets down his coffee, like he's about to tell you a great story, "Is because Satoru watched this show called Tokyo Mew Mew growing up, and he liked the character Minto. So he calls her Minto. And then I agreed on calling her that, but I call her Mint, because I hate mint the herb."

"You — haha, wait what? You call her Mint because you hate mint?"

"Yes. I hate mint, both the herb and the cat. She hates me too, clearly." Suguru raises his hand to remind you of how the cat scratched him the night before.

"Such a cute Hello Kitty sticker..." you tease.

"Thank you. Only the manliest men wear Hello Kitty Bandaids."

"How did she scratch you anyways...?"

"Oh, she likes to hang out in the washing machine if Satoru accidentally leaves it open. And when I try take her out of her comfy spot, she scratches me."

You sympathize, "Poor thing."

"What, the cat or me?" Suguru laughs.

"The cat." you lie teasingly.

"Wow! And here I thought you were being sympathetic!" he raises his brows.

You giggle and look at him, eyes finally making contact — ooh no that's bad bad bad, better break it immediately. So the two of you look away like you've both just indulged in a taboo intimacy. His stomach flips.

"Minto has been fed. She gave me cuddles." Satoru comes back into the room, and you admire the feeling he brings with him.

"No scratches?" Suguru asks.

"No, obviously, she loves me more than you." Satoru cheeks.

"Fuck you, haha."

Satoru makes his voice lower and leans to Suguru, "(Did she figure out what I wrote yet?)"

"Y/n did you figure out what he wrote?" Suguru asks.

"I'm trying so hard. What does this part mean...?"

Suguru shakes his head and puts his hands up. "Like I said, I'm not Mr Translator in the mornings."

"But you've had your coffee! Please, just this part..." you beg, and he can't deny that sweet begging. He easily folds for it, just like when Satoru begs for anything.

"Okay, where — this? Uh... Satoru your handwriting isn't usually this neat, is it...? That part means... 'voice'."

"Oh... ohhh!" you suddenly realize, and then the boys swoon over you when you pronounce the characters out loud to yourself.

"Uh... I think I know what it means..." you feel your cheeks warm up from the crown to your jawline.

あなたのこえがすき。 a-na-ta-no-ko-e-ga-su-ki.

"I like your voice, too." you respond to Satoru, and he half-gets it and gives you a thumbs up.

"Thanks."

You look at each other and then promptly look away with shy smiles.

"You two are cute." Suguru comments.

"Ahah... ahah shut up... hey, the sky has cleared up." you point out.

"Ooh... it cleared up 'cuz Satoru walked back into the room."

You awe at what he said.

"?"

"Nothing."

"Hey, Translator — (stop talking about me behind my back!)"

Suguru chuckles, "I wasn't! I was just — never mind. Let's get ready to head out."

And so you head into Satoru's bedroom to get ready, and Suguru heads into his bedroom, and Satoru himself goes into the cramped bathroom. Poor boy. He's really too tall for that archway, he bumped his head again.

彼女に花を買ってあげるべきでしょうか？それともちょっと多すぎますか？ Should I buy her flowers? Or is it a bit too much?

（なんてことだ）、なぜこのシャツには穴が開いているのでしょう？ (Oh my god), why does this shirt have holes?

The door slides open, he steps out of the bathroom half-dressed, and intends to quickly slip into Suguru's bedroom to borrow a shirt instead of awkwardly knocking on his bedroom door and disturbing you.

But oh, you know what? The cheesiest possible thing happens instead. The universe likes making Satoru's life a little more fun in odd times. So the two of you encounter each other in the hallway; you're fully clothed and he's got just pants and socks on.

He stutters once, swallows awkwardly, and even more awkwardly places his hand on your head as if to say sorry for this inconvenience.

But you laugh in response to the funny situation.

ああ、またあの美しい笑い声。 Ah, that beautiful laugh again.

"Sorry." he mutters, and disappears to go get a shirt from Suguru.

"It's okay." you reply.

The image of your pretty smile is burned in his head.

You can hear him telling Suguru something in the other room, and then you hear Suguru's muffled laugh as a response.

"(Don't laugh! I'm embarrassed! She's seen me shirtless now! No one's seen me shirtless except you!)"

"(You're such a virgin.)"

"(Say that again, I dare you.)"

"(Sorry, I don't understand you. I don't speak virgin, only English and Japanese.)"

You're wondering why Satoru sounds so embarrassed and annoyed, and then he groans down the hallway. It feels like you're their roommate, it's funny.

"Hi."

"Hi."

The two of you encounter each other in the hall again. This time he has a shirt, yes. And this time Suguru is there, too, and he's holding back an amused smile. He fluffs Satoru's hair as a way of embarrassing him more.

So Satoru leaves, and he leaves in such a way that it's super comedic, making you and Suguru laugh. Ooh, what a laugh that boy has; his Addam's apple shifts up and down deliciously.

"Ah... Suguru? I need help with the washing machine..."

"Yes...?"

"...this kid on the plane who sat next to me, he spilled strawberry juice all over my shirt and now it's sticky."

"But at least it smells like strawberries, right?" he jokes. "You can put it in the washing machine, I'll be doing the laundry in a second anyways..." there is a small moment of eye contact shared, then Suguru looks down, and frowns at something he sees, "(SATORU YOU LEFT YOUR SOCK ON THE FLOOR AGAIN!)"

"(Haha, sorry.)" you hear Satoru half-heartedly apologize from the other room.

So Suguru picks up the sock like an annoyed mother and goes to lecture Satoru.

"(You're embarrassing me in front of our guest. For the love of god, don't leave your goofy ass socks on the floor. What if she slips on them?)"

"(You're such a mother, Suguru.)"

You're calmly and casually going to put your juice-stained shirt in the washing machine like Suguru said, but then...

(the boys are talking and there's just this hilariously dramatic scream from the laundry room)

"DID THE CAT SCRATCH YOU?"

"(Did the cat scratch her?)"

"Ow, y-yeah!" you whine.

Suguru's the first one at the crime scene, and he picks up the cat and proceeds to lecture the cat as if it understands Japanese. It licks its lips and nubby nose and has an evil stare. You giggle.

"I'm so sorry... come, uh — (Suguru, we still have Hello Kitty adhesives somewhere, right?)" Satoru instinctually holds your hand that got scratched.

And he holds it so tenderly and caringly that it makes your whole chest quake for him.

彼女の手の傷はとても小さなものですが、それでも私は心臓がチクチクするのを感じました。 Although the wound on her hand was very small, I still felt my heart tingle.

He leads you to his bedroom, picking up some adhesives and antiseptic on the way, and sits with you on the unmade beds. You watch his fingers nimbly peeling the plastic off the adhesive, admiring how swiftly and perfectly he does even the littlest things. He has such a great attention to detail, it makes you self-conscious; is he thinking of you with the same attention to detail as everything else? Yes... he is.

He dabs some antiseptic on your small scratch, and then gently wraps and pats the Hello Kitty adhesive around it. You're pretty sure he's the one who bought them. Oh, if only you could ask him, but where even is your phone? Lost in a void somewhere, probably.

"Thank you, Satoru."

His eyes light up. His heart thumps. Why did those small, simple words have such a great effect on him?

"Mhm." he hums in acknowledgement. "You're welcome."

あなたの傷がもっと良くなるようにキスしたいです。 I want to kiss your wounds to make them better.

A second after thinking this and looking at your hand, he brings it to his lips and presses a very delicate kiss to the edge of your wrist, where the small cut spanned up to the base of your palm. Can you even call it a kiss? It's more like his lips graze your skin, hovering timidly.

And for some reason... the atmosphere becomes very intimate. Is it because of the place where he kissed you? The inner wrist has never occurred to you to be an intimate spot, and yet you're feeling as if he just kissed you on the lips.

You hear him audibly swallow, like he's conscious of this, too. The both of you become very aware of the tension in the atmosphere.

And then he looks apologetic, as if he overstepped a boundary. So you mutter a small, whispery "thanks..." which lifts his heart up into his throat and reassures him that you don't mind the intimacy.

"Mmm..." he blinks at you, pursing his lips.

His eyes linger on your lips for a moment, and it feels like he's about to... well you know his body just wants to... he sort of...

"Hey, how's the wounded patient?" Suguru interrupts, and you and Satoru spring apart like you're elastic bands that just got released after being stretched.

"Ahah, I'm okay. It's not a bad scratch." you lift your hand, "I'll cherish this Hello Kitty Bandaid forever, thank you."

"Yeah, Satoru bought 'em so you can thank him."

"I knewww he bought them, haha! So expected... cutiepie." you admire Satoru, and he's pretty sure that the last thing you said is some cute nickname, so he smirks.

"Okay, well... anyways, let's head out before the sun rises too high and it gets too hot to walk."

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[angelltheninth]

Hey idk if you take requests for monster lovers, but I liked the werewolf one so I would like to request one if possible! Can you write something where reader stumbles upon an abandoned castle and she meets the owner of the castle who is a vampire? Normally he wouldn’t tolerate trespassers, but he’s been very lonely these past decades and the new person is rather cute…

Omg this reminds me of Dracula and Lisa! I loved them in Castlevania.

Pairing: Male!Vampire x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, meet scary, first meeting, crushes, falling in love, domestic fluff, touch starved, kissing, neck kissing, drinking blood

A/N: Here's the thing about vampire bites in my headcanon, they actually feel really good when they're from a vampire you're in love with.

Touch-starved!Vampire who closes his doors to everyone, turning them away, scaring them or if they're really stubborn he will drain them of their blood entirely for bothering him too much. He doesn't want anything to do with... well anyone really. He's happy being on his own, for the most part. Or so he thought.

Touch-starved!Vampire who sees you lost near his castle and at first he wants to shoo you away like everyone else. He sends his bats to do the job. But... you're not scared of them. You think they're cute. Oh. Now that he looks at you again, you're pretty cute too.

Touch-starved!Vampire who doesn't know how you'll react to seeing his fangs so he keeps his hand over his mouth until you move it away for him. Are you actually curious about them? Most people scream bloody murder when they see them. Then again they more then likely to end up dead moments after so it's justified.

Touch-starved!Vampire who can't believe how warm your hands are on his cheeks. He's felt humans before but he never let them get close quite like this. Is he cold for you? If you follow him to the castle he can stand next to the fireplace if that would make you more comfortable.

Touch-starved!Vampire who doesn't understand what the hell is happening to him right now. He's rarely felt like this even around his own species, let alone a human woman. Very curious. He'll have to keep you around more, or at least have you visit more often until he figures it out.

Touch-starved!Vampire who can smell when you're approaching his castle and waits for you at the door, offering you his hand to welcome you in. This becomes something of a routine for you two, so much so that your friends ask about the handsome new man who walks you home every night. Very late at night, or just before the sun rises.

Touch-starved!Vampire who loves it when you eat in front if him. He doesn't eat human food, or rather he doesn't need to, but if he knows that you're the one who made it then he will try it. He will even let you use his very underutilized kitchen and cook with you just to be close to you.

Touch-starved!Vampire who panics when you cut your finger. He will leave if you want him too, he will get you first aid supplies too. He can't control the fact that his fangs elongate when he smells how good you are but its in his nature, so hopefully you don't hold it against him.

Touch-starved!Vampire who stumbles over his feet when you offer him your neck. Understand that for him this will be a big step in your relationship, a new dynamic. Are you sure you want to take this step with him? Because if not he would still love to have you around, your company is always welcome in his castle.

Touch-starved!Vampire who moans when he gets to taste your blood for the first time. He feed a few days ago but it wasn't like this. Is this... yes, he knows now, he's in love with you and from the noise you made when his fangs pierced your skin and how you're pressing against him and sighing contently he would say you feel the same.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

pussy privileges

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, partying, drinking, mentions of a drunk driving crash, rafe is kind of mean but in the grand scheme of rafe not really, established relationship

“i thought we were gonna go on a date.” you cross your arms as rafe finishes buttoning up his shirt. 

“we are going out.” rafe tries to justify, but you shake your head. “you’re taking me to a house party, rafe. thats not a freaking date.”

“ill take you out tomorrow. dinner and a movie?” rafe offers to pacify the angry look on your face.

“fine.” you shrug, knowing there is no convincing rafe to not go the party if hes set his mind on it. you point at rafe, making sure he’s paying attention to you. “but im not happy about it.”

you don’t talk to rafe the entire ride there. you would have told him you were staying home, but you already got dressed up and don’t want to waste a full face of makeup and outfit.

“be right back, baby.” rafe says, making you throw your hands up as he walks away to talk to topper, having just entered the party a few minutes ago and your boyfriend is already abandoning you.

“god, rafe is being a dick today.” you groan, stomping up to your friend, who simply shakes her head and hands you a drink. you know that rafe isn’t really being a dick, not in comparison to how he treats other people, but you can’t resist the urge to complain.

“promising to take me out on a nice date night only to take me to a party and fuck off with topper.” you roll your eyes, downing your drink quickly before refilling the cup.

rafe finds you half an hour later, dancing with your friends. the music is so good you don’t stop him when his hands land on your hips, joining you in dancing.

you grind against him until your feet start to hurt, the song shifting to one you haven’t heard before. “rafey.” you whine, leaning back into him. “wanna go home.” “come on, you can wait. keep dancing.” rafe pushes his hips into your bum, making you roll your eyes. “no! im tired.”

rafe taps your hips, trying to encourage you to move, but you keep yourself standing still, much to his displeasure. “baby.” rafe turns you around so you’re facing him. he cups your cheeks as he speaks, “a bit longer. i like you dancing up on me.”

“fine.” you sigh. “gotta get me another drink though.” “thats my girl.” rafe smirks, grabbing a white claw off a nearby table before quickly coming back, pushing it into your hand before twisting your hips around, almost causing you to stumble as he presses his chest into your back, dancing into you again.

“rafey.” you whine when you realize he didn’t even open the can for you like he always does, but hes far too into dancing into you to hear your complaints over the loud music.

you manage to open the can without breaking a nail, grinding back slightly into rafe until you’ve finished the can, the alcohol moving through your system enough to ignore how much your heels are beginning to hurt, dancing back into rafe.

“god, you’re hot.” he groans into your ear, pressing a kiss under your ear before moving to your neck, burying his head in your soft skin, inhaling your scent.

“rafe!” you shout when his mouth presses against your skin and he sucks an incredibly visible hickey into your neck. you pull away quickly, but know it’s already going to bruise as you turn with a frown, your hands on your hips.

“sorry.” rafe says, but the smile on his face shows that he’s not actually sorry.

“whatever.” you sigh, rubbing at the spot. “just take me home.”

“fine.” rafe sighs, reaching for your hand, knowing it’s getting too late anyways. he tugs you through the crowd until you get outside. 

“did you drink or take anything?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at rafe when he walks towards his truck. it’s only a short drive home, but you don’t want anything to happen.

“barely.” rafe says, unlocking his truck and opening the passenger side door for you.

“lets just walk home then.” you shake your head. “it’s so close.” rafe knows how much you hate drunk drivers ever since one hit your sisters car, thankfully she was fine besides a few bruises.

rafe sighs, head tilting back to look at the sky. “why didn’t i just lie?”

“ugh!” you stomp your foot. “rafe, that is so wrong!”

“baby, i really had just like two sips when we first-” rafe tries to explain, he’s truly not even buzzed, but you are already walking away, heading down the sidewalk towards tanneyhill. you don’t make it very far, rafe trailing behind you, until you have to kick off your heels.

rafe would usually pick you up, carry you home, but he knows your mad so decides to stay back, letting you walk barefoot home.

“baby-” rafe finally speaks when you get to the front door, but you just walk in, leaving it open for rafe to follow.

“y/n…” rafe tries again when you both get inside his room, but you ignore his call of your name and begin to take off your jewelry, before moving to your dress, quickly putting on pajamas once you’re naked.

rafe takes it as a sign, undressing himself for bed, relieved when you climb under the covers next to him.

“come here.” rafe holds his arms open. you hesitate for a second before moving in, allowing him to cuddle into you and press kisses all over your face.

“i’m so sorry, princess.” he says softly, connecting your lips in a kiss. 

“you can make it up to me tomorrow on our very nice and well planned date.” you give a look to rafe, who quickly nods.

he leans in to kiss you again, and you accept it, allowing his hand to wrap around your waist and pull you in closer, bodies slotting together underneath the covers.

“i love you baby.” rafe says, his hand moving to underneath your flimsy pajama shirt.

“love you too.” you say, reaching to pull his hand back out, placing it on top of the fabric.

rafe frowns slightly before kissing you again, this time trying to move your leg so he can slot himself in between. you allow it, until he starts to grind into you. the second you feel him begin to swell in his pants, you pull away, pressing your thighs together.

“baby.” rafe whines. “i want you, come on.”

“and i want you to not be a dick.” you shake your head. you may have accepted rafes apology for his behavior, but aren’t willing to so quickly allow him to have sex with you.

“i said sorry!” “you can fuck me after you make it up to me tomorrow on the date. and it better be good, or i’ll get myself off and leave you alone.” you threaten, smirking when rafes eyes widen.

“okay, okay.” he nods. “tomorrow.”

--

rafe does everything right. flowers, a dinner reservation to a fancy restaurant, a new dress and necklace, as well as doting on you throughout the entire date.

“did i make it up to you?” rafe asks.

“hmm…” you tap your finger against your chin, rafe barely able to wait as you stand before him, new dress wrapping around your body like a present just waiting to be pulled away by rafe to reveal what he really wants to see.

“i don’t know. maybe the date was a little too good.” you let out a fake yawn. “a bit tired. might just have to go right to sleep.”

“baby-” rafe whines. he hasn’t gone this long without having you since you first started dating.

“but i guess you could eat me out and we can see if you deserve to fuck me.”

rafe smiles, knowing as soon as he gets between your legs, that you’ll be begging for his cock in no time. he undresses you completely before he even begins to work on his buttons, giving you a show as you lay naked on the bed, head propped up against the pillows as he strips away the layers of clothing until he’s nude, cock already straining.

rafe crawls between your legs, sighing with relief when you spread them, letting him view your pussy as he immediately buries his face between your legs, eating out your pussy like you’ve intentionally starved him of it, not just denied him sex one night.

“god, i fucking love how you taste baby.” rafe mumbles, his words vibrating against your cunt. “‘m so sorry i was a dick. won’t happen again. love you too much.”

you can’t help but smile when you reach down to fist your hands into rafes hair. his tongue gets you to orgasm three times until you’re whining for his cock too much, tugging at his hair.

rafe gives your sensitive clit a final kiss before crawling up the bed, connecting your mouths in a kiss, knowing how much you love to taste yourself on his lips.

“fuck me, come on.” you tell rafe. “need it so bad.”

rafe pushes his cock against your entrance, making you moan as he slowly brings his hips forward, sinking inside of you with ease.

“god, that was as much of a punishment for me as it was for you.” you laugh slightly when rafe is fully inside of you, still for a moment for you to adjust.

“certainly taught me a lesson.” rafe admits. he didn’t realize how hard it would be to go without fucking you. just one night felt like a century, his dick literally hurting when he woke up in the morning with a hard on, one that you would usually crawl beneath the covers to take care of.

“no pussy privledges when you’re mean.” you nod, confirming the rule, even though you hopefully never have to enforce it again.

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[mellowsaturns]

all to myself

CEO!BUCKY BARNES X READER

summary: after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, f!reader, soft!mean!bucky, slight bratty!reader, jealousy on reader's side, possessiveness, teasing, begging, oral (f receiving), fingering, basically fighting then making up

wc: 1.9k

“Don’t leave when I’m talking to you.”

Bucky’s words should have sent shivers down your spine—should have made you stop dead in your tracks. But you were so angry that you just dismissed him and walked away.

He called out your name, in warning this time, and you chose to ignore him once again.

It only took him three steps to catch up to you. He grabbed one of your wrists and spun you around in seconds. 

“Did you not hear what I said? Don’t leave when I’m talking to you,” he fumed. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” you countered, trying to pull your arm from his grasp. But he was too strong.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been acting like this all night.”

Your boyfriend’s company had just hit the next milestone and of course, it was only appropriate to celebrate. But ever since the two of you left the party, you’ve been giving him the silent treatment.

You made sure you were always steps ahead of him when walking out the building. You ignored the farewells and even went as far as slamming the door to his three-million dollar Bugatti that he loves so much without even a second thought. You refused to look at him the whole ride home and when he tried to talk to you, you completely ignored him, focusing on the street lamps instead.

Once the two of you got back to his place, he started confronting you on your poor behaviour and all that other bullshit. As if he wasn’t the one to cause it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re done, I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight,” you said bitterly, finally yanking your arm away. 

“Why are you being so fucking difficult?”

You scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry for being difficult,” you said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Maybe you should go be with those ladies you were talking to the whole night. Maybe they aren’t so fucking difficult.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Is that what this is all about? You’re jealous I was talking to other girls?”

You bit down hard on your lip. “You were flirting with them!” 

“I was not flirting with them.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because letting them touch and throw themselves at you is not flirting.”

Because while Bucky was enjoying himself, you were left to socialize with his stuck-up business partners and had to down your cocktails all by yourself. You got ignored by your own fucking boyfriend. To make matters worse, the two of you haven’t seen each other for a whole week because he was on a business trip. You even wore his favourite dress and did your hair and makeup all pretty for him but he didn’t even pay any attention to you. 

So excuse you for being emotional, but you think your anger is justifiable.

He sighed. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, “I’m going to bed.” 

“We’re not done here,” he demanded. 

“Mmm, I think we are.” 

He pulled you back, this time with so much force that you’re practically pressed up against his chest. 

“You were embarrassing me in front of all my friends, you know that?” 

You scoffed. “If that’s your only concern maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore,” you spat.

His eyes darken, “Say that again.”

You swallowed your breath and could feel yourself heating up at his words. And you didn’t know where all this bravery was coming from because a minute later, you said, “Break up with me then. Go find one of those girls from tonight and fuck them instead. I’m sure they won’t embarrass you.”

He tightened his grip when you tried to writhe out of his hold. 

“Stop fighting me,” he said. 

God—you were even more angry now. Because he’s so sexy when he’s boring his deep eyes into yours in that authoritative and dominating way of his. It was unfair. 

“You’re not leaving,” he continued, “you’re not stepping a foot outside this room unless I say so.”

That intense warmth building between your legs was getting worse and worse by the minute.

“What are you going to do to stop me?” you mocked, knowing it would irritate him to endless lengths. You lifted your hand towards your neck, where the diamond studded necklace Bucky gave you when he officially asked you to become his was delicately located.

His jaw ticked and you ripped the necklace off. 

Before you had a chance to think about what you’ve done, he grabbed you and smashed his lips against yours, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

You whimpered at the force but slowly, you melted into him as his hands made its way to cup your face.

He moaned into your mouth and for a second you forgot why you were angry in the first place.

Fuck Bucky Barnes and his plush lips.

“You’re such a brat, you know that?” He growled into your ear before pushing you against the wall and caging you in between him. Your knees almost buckled at the huskiness of his voice.

He trailed his hand down to your thighs before dipping it into your dress, hiking it up slightly. He smirked. “Look at you,” he taunted, “so wet.”

Your breath hitched as his finger made its way to your panties, rubbing gentle circles on the now damp fabric. He hooked his finger along its band and ripped the lace off—like how he ripped all your other ones. 

“B–Bucky!” you gasped as he cupped your mound, finger brushing your clit and teasing you at your entrance.

His lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin.

You leaned into him. “Bucky,” you whined while rocking against his hand.

“So needy,” he teased. 

“Bucky,” you desperately begged, “—please.”

“Please what, baby? Use your words.”

“Want… need to feel you,” you murmured.

“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve it,” he said. 

“Fuck—” you gasped as he pressed his palm harder against your sensitive sex. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, “I didn’t mean to be bratty. Just wanted all your attention, that's all.”

He hummed. “My girl that desperate for me?”

You nodded. “Y–yes,” you stammered. “Want you all to myself.”

At that, he plunged two of his fingers into your wet core. You gasped at the fullness—at how good it felt.

“Look at you,” he whispered, pumping his fingers in and out. “A mess for me. What happened to all that defiance? Hm?”

You couldn’t even say any snarky remarks back. The only noise coming out of your mouth were your pathetic whimpers and desperate pleas as Bucky fucked you knuckles deep.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, gripping onto his shoulders. “I want to hear you say sorry.”

“I’m sor—ah!” you gasped when he curled his finger at that spot he knows so well. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for acting like that tonight.”

“And?”

“And for slamming the door to your car.”

“No, not that. I don’t care about the car.” 

His hand clasped around your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m sorry for ripping your necklace off. I’m so sorry,” you cried. You leaned into him, just below his ears. “I’m yours, Bucky. Only yours.” 

“Good girl,” he rasped. 

And at that, you come crashing down, an eutrophic wave washing over you. 

He held you as you collected yourself. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s just I really did miss you. I even wore that dress you liked so much. Put on your favourite shade of lipstick.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, stroking your hair. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You burrowed yourself deeper into him. “Thought you got bored of me or something,” you mumbled more to yourself than him, but he managed to pick it up and he took it to heart.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said angrily. He pulled you away and held your face. “I will never get bored of you. You’re the only one I want, you got it?” 

You pouted as if you didn’t quite believe him and if there was one thing Bucky couldn’t handle, it was those sad doe-eyes of yours underneath your pretty lashes. 

His mouth latched onto yours once again, deepening the kiss within seconds. He led you to the couch, never once breaking the kiss. 

You fell onto the black leather as he hovered above you. “What do you want me to do to prove it to you? You want me to kneel? Because I’ll go on my fucking knees for you,” he said, before lowering himself in front of you. And that was enough for you to come undone for the second time tonight.

He grabbed your legs, carefully stroking it before littering kisses all over your calves and thighs. You took a deep breath when he rolled up your dress again, exposing your stomach and cunt. Then he was in between your legs in seconds.

“Wait—” you panted. “Bucky,” you said, tugging onto his hair. “The windows.” 

The blinds to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his New York City penthouse were still open.

“Fuck the windows. Let the world see. That’s what you wanted right? Me on my knees for you,” he said, licking a stripe up your folds. “Let everyone know you’re the only person I would go on my knees for.”

You clenched at his words which caused Bucky to chuckle, his hot breaths hitting your already overheated core. 

The flickering of his tongue combined with the sucking was too much. He was going down on you like a starved man and you pulled on his hair harder when his tongue hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Stop moving,” he grunted, gripping your legs even tighter. “You taste so damn sweet.”

You were trembling by now and he brought one of his hands to your chest to stabilize your body—grabbing and kneading the flesh while he was at it.

Everytime his nose rubbed at your clit, you could feel your orgasm come closer and closer. And when you finally release, Bucky made sure to clean you up with his tongue, not letting a single drop of you go to waste. When he came up, the scruff on his jaw was wet with your arousal. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, trying to come down from both your high and at the sight of him.

“I love you,” he murmured. 

At that moment, you realized one thing. The entirety of New York might want a piece of him—the handsome self-made CEO whose eyes were enough to bring both women and men to their knees—but the only person he’ll ever go on his knees for was you. You’re the one he comes home to. He was yours. Completely, wholly, yours.

Before you got a chance to repeat those words back to him, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulders.

“Ah!” you squealed, “Bucky! What are you doing!”

He gave you a smack on the ass before carrying you towards the bedroom. “We’re not done here,” he said. “I’ll give you all the attention you want, baby. We have all night.”