#so real as someone with fluffy hair too

[mystycalypso]

Can i just say how much i freaking love the work you two are doing, Holly hell this is some wild stuff as veteran of hello neighbor you two are making me proud of this small community that is running on tumblr!

Also i hope you two don't mind me asking two questions.

Firstly, If one of you two had the control over welcome to ravenBrooks show what will be some things you two will change.

Secondly, What are you're thoughts on the artstyle of the show considering that Man of Action is working on the show?

Okay to start, I know I say it every time we get asks like this but y'all are genuinely so sweet and nice and it's just really really cool to see people enjoy our stuff. Like- especially fellow old fans of the franchise. I know Kaydin also really appreciates how sweet you guys are but just idk it feels like my fandom dreams come true when people like things like our au and art for this series

As for your questions...

Personally, to start, and this is Jack being slightly particularly- idk nitpicky? But there are three things I'd want to just- fix immediately and all three of them are Nicky related.

Number one, his shirt. I'm sorry guys but I've been here since the alphas and I didn't even realize this was his Sharkotron T-shirt. It's- It's just an egg

Number two, I realized after intense studying of Nicky's- face that it looks really weird when he's front facing, but his nose is facing right. So scenes like this suddenly seem- off model for no reason? I've poorly edited the image below to fix both of these

Yes I am too lazy to edit them properly, sadly. Did make his shirt logo still one colour for ease of animation. Idk why but left facing nose Nicky just looks less weird. Just me and kaydin? Maybe.

Number three- uh... that hairline is atrocious /lh

I know he wears his goggles in the show like constantly but also- this is a 13 year old boy guys. I was 13 once and I have a very flat (minus a widows peak) hairline, but it did not stop my hair from falling all over my face, and I think it's fair to assume the same for the kid who's hair refuses to behave anyway

Just fluff him up a lil (again I'm sorry these aren't better edits lol)

You don't even have to have it show when his goggles are up because like a headband or headphones it pushes hair back, or otherwise

Although ironically while I'm explaining what I would change in the designs, I don't mind the art style at all, actually I kind of love it. Sure some things you kinda of have to get used to, like their ears being pretty low to the head, but in general I think it really fits the franchise. I know it didn't look too drastically different from the pilot, but there's so many little nuances in the designs that just make it better (especially when you look at characters like Trinity)

I've told Kaydin a dozen and a half times how I think show Nicky is the franchise's second best design for him. The first being this singular piece of art from Nicky's Diaries, like I have gone on for hours about why this rendering of him is just perfect.

Third being fan renders, followed by the book artstyle, the pilot and finally games

And while other designs I wasn't sure about when watching through the show the first time, really just lore hunting instead of caring about anyone who wasn't Trinity or Nicky ngl, when I started doing my expression analysis I realized just how nice the designs and individuality of the characters are. If you put Nicky's expressions oh Enzo or Ivan's on Trinity it wouldn't fit and that's something I don't think people would expect from a Hello Neighbor cartoon.

They also have things I can just appreciate as someone who's special interest is animation (but doesn't have the patience to animate TvT gotta love audhd) for example, just having shading even in shots where they could completely go without it. It makes it less drastic and a smoother transition when lighting gets intense. They're also now afraid to switch up camera angles and push the rigs for a more intense shot.

Also something I really appreciate

Smear frames!

God I love smear frames!!! It's another one of those things that It's like- knowing how much this cost Tinybuild, they could've easily cut it down to save money. But it just wouldn't have been as nice without it.

Sure there are probably people who look at the fact that Man of Action is working on the show and are disappointed by the art style. But I say this entirely genuinely when I say I couldn't picture this show looking any other way and working as it does.

Yeah, they could've used more realistic proportions for these kids, but it works so much better when it's pushed like this when Mr. Peterson is nearly double their height. He's visibly a hulking intimidating man who could lift a middle schooler and lock them away. You fear his build which contrasts his outfit best (really feels like they took the book description of him and just pushed it, as we know he doesn't have this same stature in the games)

Plus it feels like in general, they stopped focusing on that dumb "Oh we need to hide things in every frame" which- thank God. Sure they are still hiding little details, hell I have changed a whole chunk of theory about Theodore's relationship with his son because of something I found on accident

This photo of (seemingly) 12 year old Aaron Peterson.

I'm not gonna go into it here lol because this is already long and it's supposed to be about the animation.

Are they still building mysteries and people are still crafting theories? Absolutely! Not a day goes by that I haven't been thinking about whether or not Aaron will ever be seen in the series in the present day and if he is, what he will be like mentally.

But the point is, they're focusing on crafting something GOOD over just theory fodder. Both animation and story-wise, and I can appreciate that so much.

Like- this is gonna be a really hot Jack take here so be aware.

I enjoy this franchise and it's spinoffs much more than the FNAF franchise.

Sure, Hello Neighbor one is and will always be awful. But I am 100x more likely to play Hello Neighbor 2 or Secret Neighbor than I am to play any fnaf game myself.

When I make fnaf content it is almost entirely AU based. Because the idea of getting lore super wrong since I just can't be bothered to try and figure that convoluted mess out is annoying. Why even try to solve lore if I need to read more than 10 books for a minor detail that becomes a major antagonist? We can't even get a full confirmed backstory for the main antagonist!

But with Hello Neighbor they realized that people don't want to be jumping through 50 hoops for lore. Yes we want mystery, but one we can solve without dumb contrivances and plot holes.

Do I still love FNAF? Of course. My senior quote is from William Afton ffs ("You may not recognize me at first, but I can assure you, it's still me") but one of these franchises is growing to better itself and gain more love, while the other is slowly becoming more of something I enjoy without trying to understand, and I think the Hello Neighbor animated series is- the pinnacle of this difference.

I love Welcome to Ravenbrooks. I love Hello Neighbor. I can’t wait to see what comes next from TinyBuild, and how season two will be even better than season one. (As proven by the fact that Nicky gets to yell louder in that one teaser clip alone than anyone got to in season one lol)

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

Lights, Camera, Drama: Gojo Satoru and Leading Lady’s Off-Screen Feud to SINK Box Office Darling?

“They’ll Kill Each Other!” Insider Source Spills All on the Royal Rivalry Between Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelor and Bachelorette.

Enemies of The Century or Publicity Stunt? Recent Cast Outings Sets Fans Speculating!

---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[lovegasmic]

HOT MILF NEXT DOOR

( request ) 𖥔  ──── Satoru, Suguru, Choso x f!milf reader, mdni. age gap ( all characters are 25-29 and reader around 44-46 ) mentions of drinking , creampie , boobjob and blowjob ( choso ) , titty sucking , breeding kink , cheating on your husband w suguru plot twist he deserves it , cheating with subby choso too and he has mommy issues

rest of the characters here

SATORU !

what a cute gentleman your next door neighbor was, with that charming smile, bright blue eyes and fluffy white hair. he was such an adorable kid, always helping when you brought in your groceries or even offering to check your car for you.

you always thought he was interested in your daughter, being around the same age it was a good match in your head, although you were not going to act like a matchmaker, certain that Satoru’s charm was enough.

little did you know, Satoru was waiting for your daughter to leave so he could pounce on you, watching the girl walk down the apartment stairs with a fit that only showed she was out clubbing, and hopefully stay the whole night away.

long fingers wrap around the neck of a wine bottle, a smirk on his lips and free hand knocking on your door. the mere sight of your confused face and wearing a simple sleeping shirt was enough to make his cock throb. “i met your daughter on her way out, and thought you might want some company” a little white lie.

the company was welcome, he knew you haven’t gotten laid in a while, not that he has been observing your daily routine, of course not, but you were so tending to your home, so responsible towards your daughter that you were coming back from work at the same time every single day.

the glasses of wine come and go like water, between gentle laughs and chatter that Satoru guides until you’re a bit more giggly and loose, not drunk yet, he’s not going to fuck you without consent.

but what comes out of you is a slight sigh, “how I wish I met someone like you when I was younger” again, another throb in his cock.

clearing his throat, Satoru leans closer, just slightly letting his fingers brush on your thigh, “why is that... honey?” he tries, gauging your reaction.

“hm, my relationship with my ex was never good, I had a daughter too young and we forced each other to compromise, I think I never experienced real love”

fuck, why are you making his cock ache so hard? he’s never been this hard in his entire life, not calming down even at the sight of your unconfused eyes and slightly sad tone.

“you’re so young, so beautiful, darling” Satoru tries again, cupping your chin at your willingness, “any man would be lucky to have... such a sexy woman as you, myself included” voice low and husky, stopping himself from drifting his eyes down to where your plump tits squeeze against his elbow.

how much love were you lacking? to so easily fall onto the white haired’s arms, your neediness makes his heart clench and cock splurt another wave of precum into your soaked cunt, spread under him in the same couch you were previously chatting.

it’s just too damn hard to hide how much you affect him, gripping onto your soft thigh, eyes closed and rutting into your pussy like it’s the first time he has sex, going absolutely mad at the sight of your folds stretching to accommodate his girth and how your whimpers of pleasure just grew with each deliciously lewd compliment to your soft body, “your pussy is heaven, darling, i’m getting addicted to you, I need to be inside you forever” he grunts, hips snapping like desperate, wishing to carve his shape into your walls.

“you’re so gorgeous” he palms your wide hips, the scar of your c-section driving him nuts, “so sexy”

and you cream so prettily, with a thumb on your clit and his cockhead stirring your juices overflowing from your stretched hole, you can’t help but continue to moan and stare at him in wonder, fuck, you’re making Satoru fall damn hard.

“Satoru... baby, so close...”

his hips stutter at the petname, another wave of precum into your cunt, with eyes closed tightly so he doesn’t embarrass himself by stuffing you with his load so soon, no, you’ll cum first, by being such a sexy woman.

the hand that wasn’t gripping your thigh goes to your tit, squeezing the flesh with almost black, feral eyes, grunting at the new angle that forces your eyes to cross, gushing your sweet release around his pulsing cock.

“oh, yeah, sweetheart, that’s such a good fucking girl, let me fill you, i’m going to fill, oh, fuck, i’m cumming in your fucking pussy”

and by your reaction, it’s been a while, so Satoru’s new goal is to give you as many creampies as you want, keep you nice and full forever.

SUGURU !

how’s the saying... boys will always be boys? “she’s so fucking sexy, Satoru” Suguru grunts, laying back on his couch while lazily palming his crotch at the memory of you bending over to fetch the groceries from your car’s backseat.

“isn’t she married or something?” the white haired laughs, voice slightly cut by Suguru standing up and peeking through the window and downstairs where your not so likeable husband arrived from work.

“i couldn’t care less” he hangs up, staring down at the other men with narrowed eyes, he hated that guy.

“good morning” doll, Suguru finishes in his brain, giving you one of those half smirked smiles of his, a slight movement of his head to push the hairs away from his eyes, eyeing you up and down bluntly, “heading somewhere?”

why did that look make you fluster inside?

“my son has a camping trip, i’m dropping him off” you smile him back.

his eyes scan the bags at your feet, a tent, a sleeping bag and a large backpack, Saturday and your shitty husband wasn’t home, “looks like you need some help” without waiting for a response, Suguru slings the bags over his shoulders and walk downstairs, hearing you get your son ready and follow him back.

“where is your car?”

“um, my husband took it, I was about to call a cab” luckily Suguru’s back is facing you, or else you would have seen the absolute anger look in his gaze.

“i’ll drop you off” and again, without waiting for a reply, he makes his way to his own car, jaw tense and eye twitching.

the drive is nice, you never expected for your slightly isolated neighbor to be so good with kids, his eyes gentle and words soft. same treatment you receive even after dropping off your kid, “would you like to grab some lunch with me?” and you can’t refuse.

without realizing you spend the afternoon with Suguru, grabbing lunch, going grocery shopping together and even deciding to grab a drink late at night, your husband was not going to wait for you at home either way.

that one restaurant was nice, and the parking lot was quite large, lucky, that way no one could see the fogging windows and slight movement of Suguru’s car with every bounce of your pretty body atop his pulsing cock, this was wrong, so damn wrong but why did it feel so good? “g-ah, Suguru... haah, shit...!” have you always been this vocal? you don’t believe so, or else the black haired could have heard you at least once through the wall.

his eyes are half lidded, a smirk on his face at the lewd sight of your tits jiggling with every bounce, with every time you impale down on his veiny cock, so pretty and desperate for a good orgasm. “good girl” he chuckles, adoring the way your pussy walls quivered at the praise, “you haven’t been fucked good in so long, haven’t you?” he coos.

your head shakes in a squeaky cry, angling your hips just right to hammer into your g-spot until your eyes crossed and drool seeps past your lips, glistening your chest, “that’s a pity” his words are slightly mocking, but not to you, mentally wishing you husband could see how dumb you look on his cock, “sexy bodies like yours deserve to be filled every day” lazily reaching to cup your tits, licking your saliva and trailing to suck a nipple into his mouth, “you make cute kids, you should make more, can I make you a baby?”

a smirk covers his mouth at your immediate agreement, “fuck, yes, Suguru, get me pregnant, get me pregnant” you repeat dumbly, losing all coherence at the drag of that engorged tip dragging across your walls and soft lips wrapped around your sensitive nipples.

“i’ll give you as many as you want, I can’t wait to see these all plump and full of milk”

CHOSO !

Yuuji’s teacher is pretty damn hot.

Choso has eyes, and eyes are too see is what he says to himself when he finds himself staring at you for too long when he picks up Yuuji from school.

your husband is there... sadly, all affectionate and smiley, giving you a kiss while you both climb in a car. it looks like you have a healthy and happy marriage, something the black haired wished, with you.

pumping his cock at night at the memory of you, at the kind smiles you give him whenever your eyes meet, or that one time he introduced himself as Yuuji’s older brother, your hand was so soft around his, Choso wonders how it would feel around his cock.

parents meetings weren’t an issue for Choso, that until you became his little brother’s teacher, then his palms began to sweat at the fact of being in the same room with you, alone, nothing but the sound of your breathing, your scent and the loud thumping of his chest.

“Choso, are you okay?” you offer him one of those smiles where Choso feels like fainting, “you’re a bit red” and sweating, but you weren’t going to say that.

“fine, i’m fine” he hurries, yet your smile doesn’t falter, a hint of something behind your eyes.

“i see, perhaps it is something related to Yuuji, isn’t it? that’s alright, we can talk about it later, right now I have to meet the next parents” huh, weird... but alright.

it’s already dark when Choso walks into your office again, slightly less nervous than before, “so what is the issue?”

there really is no issue, at least none he can tell you about, “everything is alright, Yuuji’s been doing good so far” he shrugs, brushing off his nervousness.

yet you stand and he stiffens, taking a few steps closer to him, “so the issue is not Yuuji... is it me?” you grin, a slight tilt of your head, “i can see the way you look at me, Choso” your steps are light on the carpet, every second closer to where he sits before you drop to your knees and he gasps.

“i don’t...” he starts, but is quickly cut by your hands on his thighs, fuck, don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t....

“you’re hard” shit.

“i’m sorry, I really can’t help it, you’re so... beautiful”

you hum a little laugh and his eyes are about to roll back.

“no need to apologize” have you always sounded so sensual?, “but this is my fault so... let me help” you murmur, waiting for any sign of refusal from Choso, who just leans back, panting and gasping with his eyes locked on you.

life is unfair, tossing the biggest tests at Choso, which currently is holding back a fat load of cum from staining your face solely by seeing your plump tits, your pretty flowy dress around your waist and breasts squishing his cock, the tip lewdly peaking from the top and smearing precum all over your collarbones, “feels good?” good is an understatement, he feels in heaven, holding the urge to snap his hips and fuck your tits nice and good.

“y-yeah...” is all he whimpers, toes curling in his shoes and waterline aching from the need to release a few pleasure tears.

“your cock is so pretty”

ah, fuck... his cock twitches, “don’t... u-ugh, say that...”

you hum amused, deciding not to tease the man and sticking your tongue out, moving your breasts more eagerly up and down his cock, tongue poking to lick the drooling tip, “a-ah, shit! i’m going to cum!” he warns and you don’t care, slowing down your movements until his trembling subsidies, with a low chuckle at the protesting whine and groan.

tears finally released from his eyes, “please...” what a good boy, begging for you to milk his cock.

you start again, tongue wrapped around the tip and the underside of your tits smacking on his damp pelvis, “you love this, don’t you? you needed someone to milk your pretty cock, was jerking off to the thought of me not enough?” how did you even... was his face that obvious.

“i need you so bad mo— hngh....”

“cum for me, pretty boy” cumming on your tits and face was a wonderful idea, balls clenching and veins throbbing while the sticky semen lands on your stretched tongue.

his glossy and unfocused eyes land next to the chalkboard, a picture of you and your students hanging in there, you’re so good with kids... and Yuuji would love a nephew or niece.

[thephantomsdream]

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[aayakashii]

soooo I wrote this for the art god @devotion-disorder because

1- they're one of my favorite artists ever!!!!!!! And they're someone who portrays yanderes in such a 😙🤌 chef's kiss way that I can't help but admire

2- I am obsessed with their oc kuuya

but if you'd rather I delete it, just let me know!!

Warnings: NSFW, yandere behavior, unhealthy obsession !!! Minors DNI !!!

Part 2 of this fic here <3

The skin on the nape of your neck prickled, making you shiver at the strange sensation.

The steady gaze outside your window was so piercing and unmoving that it could be as sharp as needles nicking your skin.

Although, if you were to be fully honest, it felt more like a knife.

It would be just another night, if it wasn't for the fact that your co-worker lurked outside your house.

"Kuuya", you mouthed his name, just to feel how it moves against your lips, because you could never really say it during daytime without having him spiral headfirst into a meltdown.

Kuuya was a disaster.

He never talked to you.

You would sometimes catch him staring at you during work, which made him blush like an anime schoolgirl, but that was the extent of his interaction with you.

He was a regular employee, didn't stand out much, nor caused problems. He was just... there. Constantly looking exhausted, with his back hunched and in the verge of a mental breakdown.

And you were so attracted to that mess of a man.

Your friends would probably frown and sigh if they knew, but they were also pretty much aware of your type: sickly victorian-looking men, anemic, with extremely dark circles under their eyes, who probably sneeze a lot and shake like chihuahuas.

And, hey, that was Kuuya to a T. How could you not have a crush on him?

You soon realized, however, that he probably had a few screws loose.

It started slow, a few things going missing. First it was a pen, then some of your hair ties, then old post-it notes you had forgotten about, until their absence reminded you of their existence.

These things were inconsequential.

You wouldn't even notice their disappearance, if it wasnt for the fact that one day you saw Kuuya with a fluffy hair tie that looked way too similar to yours to be a coincidence. It even had the same little star charm that yours had.

And then you noticed the pens, carefully placed inside a cup near his computer.

And the erasers, the post-its, the pencils, all the other office appliances that you were pretty sure were yours.

But they weren't, right?

That was just your fertile imagination playing tricks on you.

Right?

One day, just to erase this silly idea from your head – I mean, you were probably just paranoid – you waited until you saw Kuuya take a break from his assignments and make his way to the bathroom.

You observed through the corner of your eyes how he stared at you while making his way to the other side of the office, anxiously shaking your leg as you mentally egged him to hurry up and go to the damn toilet.

As soon as you were sure he was inside and you were out his sight, you bolted towards his desk, earning a few pissed off glances from your other coworkers.

You had to work quickly though, since you didnt know how long he would take to come back. Looking over your shoulder constantly, you opened the drawers under his desk, searching for something and feeling silly all the while (what if you're the crazy paranoic one for real?), until your hands haphazardly touched some papers and you heard the sound of crinkles.

Looking over your shoulder one more time to make sure he wasn't around, you lifted the papers and mouthed a silent "oh." as you saw what was underneath them.

Dozens and dozens of candy wrappers, discarded notes and even more of those old post-its laid organized in what you could say was impeccable fashion, if it wasnt for the fact that it was all trash.

Your trash.

In the back, you saw some plastic bags with questionable contents, but your anxiety was in an all time high and you decided to just put things back were they were and close the drawer.

You had your confirmation. He WAS crazy and you were still paranoid, but at least you were right.

You made way back to your desk and sighed, sitting down.

Conflicted feelings pooled in your gut.

You knew all of that meant that he was indeed crazy and obsessed and potentially dangerous, but also... you couldn't really deny the excitement that made butterflies fly all around in your stomach and the giddy feeling that made your heart race with expectations – of what, you didn't know.

And as these feeling swarmed you, you failed to realize the pair of eyes that were locked tight onto your figure from the very start.

If Kuuya could properly express his feelings, he would be moaning and whining in pure despair.

They saw everything. They saw where he keeps all his treasures he had been collecting for the past months.

But why?! Why did they even think about looking for that? Has Kuuya been acting too obvious? But he made sure he wouldn't be too creepy! Well, at least not as creepy as he truly wanted to be. How was that happening all of a sudden?!

The taste of copper interrupted his mental breakdown and he looked down at his thumb, where tiny droplets of blood appeared after he anxiously chewed it.

"It's okay, it's fine" he kept repeating in his mind, like a mantra. He'd just need to see how you'd act around him after that.

If you stopped interacting with him (even if most of those interactions were just good mornings and good evenings coming from YOU), he would probably just... end it all for once. Or maybe kidnap you so you wouldn't run away. Whatever crossed his mind first.

With his heart beating loud on his chest, Kuuya walked back to his seat and forced himself to work, spreadsheets and numbers flashing on his mind, unnoticed.

All he could think was of your hands rummaging through his drawers.

Oh god, your hands touched his things.

Kuuya exhaled sharply, rubbing his thighs together to alleviate the sudden discomfort in his groin. What would he do if you never even looked at his direction again? Sure, you could even report him to the HR, but not being able to see you was a fate worse than being fired!

His mind tumbled, wandering through every worst scenario possible, and in his despair, he didn't notice it was already time to clock out.

"Good evening, Kuuya." You say as you pass by him, nodding your head, with a tight smile.

'Huh?'

Kuuya stares at nothing in front of him, until the fact that you talked to him registers in his mind.

'HUH?'

You talked to him?

Wait.

Did you really see what was in his drawers? Was he just hallucinating? No, there's no way he was. He saw how your colleagues stared at you when you ran to his table. They SAW you. Just like he did. So you saw everything. And you don't hate him? What the fuck. You don't find him disgusting? What? What the hell.

He didn't understand.

He couldn't understand.

He had to understand.

And so, he led himself towards your house, hiding in the bushes right in front of your bedroom window.

How lucky was he that you didn't live in an apartment building?

He was there to understand you better. Just for that. And it'd be just this time, he swore. Just to see what was up with you.

His breath was ragged and heavy and his cheeks burned red. He bit his bottom lip tightly to keep any moan from escaping as he palmed himself through his pants, while he watched the way you stripped yourself of your work clothes.

Quickly undoing his belt buckle and his pants, he let himself be completely overtaken by pure lust and began pumping his dick mercilessly as he was graced with just a little bit more of your skin, right in front of him.

He saw you sigh as you got rid of your pants and his eyes rolled back, imagining how you'd sound if he was the one taking your clothes off.

Oh, what would he give to be able to jump through your window and grab one of your dirty clothes and get drunk on your scent...

The thought made him buck his hips forward clumsily, and he gritted his teeth, hard.

Well, fuck.

He panted, while he observed the way his cum dripped from the leaves of the bush, and as coherent thoughts started flowing back to his mind, he suddenly hoped he wasn't moving too much to catch your attention.

You hadn't even looked his way, so he was safe, right?

Right?

You rubbed your thighs together as you kept your back turned to the window. The windowpane was open, in order to allow the wind to flow through your bedroom, and due to this little fact, you could hear a faint sound coming from the plants right in front of your window.

A quiet, almost indiscernible (if you weren't paying close attention) plap plap plap sound.

You bit your lip to keep your grin from spreading through your lips.

The dumbass was masturbating! Right there! Right in front of your room!

You sighed, feeling the heat pool in between your legs, but controlled your instinct to pull him out from wherever he was and fuck him silly in your bedroom.

You desired him so fucking much. You thrived in his attention, like a sunflower leaning towards rays of light.

The thing is: while you loved his obsession, you were also deathly afraid that he would lose interest in you as soon as he found out how much you also wanted him.

Much like a cat who discards a prey. Except this cat was wet, sad, pathetic and still, you were ridiculously eager to keep playing dead so he would put his grimy, sticky little paws on you just a little bit more.

How would Kuuya feel, you wondered, if he knew you were as obsessed with him as much as he was with you?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Dauntless Matchmaker Part 2

Danny knew that his strange new boss was rich. He figured that much out by the overly priced suit and the wad of cash, but when he followed him into an Uber, he never thought he would wind up at the Waynes.

Everyone knew who the Waynes were. Danny personally thought it was no exaggeration when people called Bruce Wayne the Prince of Gotham.

He thought it fit the lovable man far more than the title of White Knight. It wasn't that Bruce didn't do the most out of all the ultra-rich to help the city, but rather, it mirrored the Dark Knight too much.

Danny thinks Bruce Wayne and Batman were too different to be compared like that. At least Mr. Wayne is real.

"Welcome home, Master Damian." The butler said as soon as the two walked through the door. His intrigued eyes slowly glanced at Danny, causing the teenager to stand straighter. "And who might our guest be?"

"I believed he was here for Drake." The young boy- apparently named Damian, fibs. Danny is a little impressed that he can sound so uncaring about what is happening despite being the whole reason he is here.

Danny knows that his job is to fool the butler and act like he isn't very aware of Damian. He offers the man his best smile. "Yeah, I came to see Tom. "

The older gentleman raises a brow while Damian shoots him a look of utter venom. Danny fights the urge to cower underneath the boy's displeasure. That is one nasty scowl the boy had.

"I am afraid Master Tim, is currently unavailable in his room"

Aw, crude, he said the wrong name. "Um, I know he said he needed a few minutes to get ready, but I was allowed to go up to his room. I'm sorry, sir I'm a little nervous."

"I see," The other says carefully before sharing a look with Damian. There is a moment where the two just stare at each other, and after a few small hand signs- sign language, maybe?- the butler clears his throat.

"That's quite alright, young man. You may go to Master Tim's room. It's up the main stairway on the third level, fifth door on the right."

Danny practically ran to the stairs, throwing a quick "Thank you, sir!" as he scurried away from the Butler and his boss. The boy still looked greatly displeased with his performance.

He prays he gets better at it once he speaks with Tom-er Tim and gets their story straight. Curious, He glances around, taking in the tasteful night pictures of Gotham City and the scattered few statues.

His breath catches when he sees a large frame photo of a man lying on an old couch looking into the far distance, his smile curving with mischievous glee and the sunlight reflecting the blue of his eyes.

There is a background of an old library, but the sun streaming through the window drapes him with a glow that makes the other man seem otherworldly.

It feels like it should be a painting, but it is so clearly a photograph that Danny has half a mind to wonder if someone who looked like that could possibly be real.

"Wow." He breathes, stepping closer to the frame.

"Wow, yourself." A gruff voice suddenly says, making Danny jump. Whirling around, he finds a boy about his age leaning on the doorframe.

It takes Danny a moment to realize that he is the subject of the art he was just admiring. But while the teenager in the photo seemed like a visiting angel, draped gracefully put together the teenager before him is, in a slight word, a mess.

He was wearing an oversized, fluffy, red open bathrobe. He seemed to only bother to slip on some baggy sweatpants and one sock. His hair didn't seem to have been combed in days, and there were dreadful bags underneath his eyes.

Despite that, Danny felt his heart flutter slightly when he made eye contact with the other.

"Who are you?" The stranger asks, voice a soft mutter.

"Um...I'm looking for Tim?"

"You found him." There is a half smile, but it falls quickly as the boy's demeanor seems to grow sad. Welp, his boss did say he was recently heartbroken.

"Oh great! I was told by Damian to do this when I found you." He places his hand on the wall, knocking six times, pausing for a few seconds, then knocking four.

Tim's face flashes through emotions faster than Danny can understand before the other teens' eyes water. That's all the warning he gets just as Tim bursts into tears.

He has no idea what's happening, but Danny's protective core has him rushing forward to bring the sobbing boy into his arms. He fumbles for a few seconds, unsure if it's welcome, until Tim melts into him, sobbing softly into his chest.

"It's okay. Shh. Shhhh. It's alright, everything will be alright. Why don't we head to your room?"

"Okay," The other whimpers. Danny helps him to his room, trying his best to offer as much support as possible. He is just starting to wonder if he should offer to get him some water or something when Tim kicks the door close, and the tears are all gone.

"Alright, we managed to fool Alfred. He was watching from the stairway," Tim whispers, leaning in close to Danny's face. He gave the startled half-ghost a sneer. "Now, who are you, and why did Damian send you to be my fake boyfriend?"

"Wait, you guys have a code for fake dating? That's what that was?"

"That's not important. I want to know what your objective is."

Danny tells him everything that Damian has told him since finding him. It's only been a few hours since he was fired and since he was taken by Damian.

Tim took it all in without much emotion.

"So you're here as my pity date to get Alfred to leave me alone? And was the Demon Brat the one to hire you? A likely story."

"No, I swear everything I've said is true."

"Oh, and I bet Batman is going to come out of the closet, too," The other said, rolling his eyes.

Danny frowns. "Batman isn't real."

At once, Tim's entire body seemed to have frozen. He blinks slowly, almost as if he is delayed in the reaction. "What did you just say?"

"Batman isn't real," Danny repeats slower, suddenly afraid for Tim's mental health. Next thing he knows, Tim will say the tooth fairy is real.

"Yes, he is."

"No, that's what the government wants you to think so they can hunt him down."

Tim blicks even slower before a blush starts to climb along his cheekbones. He reaches up to play with the hair at the back of his neck. "If that's true, then what is Batman really?"

"A ghost," Danny says confidently and Tim's face grows even redder. It's....endearing.

"You're weird," Tim says, looking away. His gaze lands on a hanging mirror, seemingly taken aback by his reflection. "Oh, I haven't showered in a few days, have I? Do you mind?"

Danny shakes his head, smiling. "No, go ahead. "

Noehter notices the small boy who moves away from Tim's door. And if that boy happened to be pumping his fist into the air in celebration well, that's no one business but Damian's

[femdomlieeh]

Sunset (m)

Sub!Pussy drunk!Needy!Beomgyu (TXT) x Dom!Afab!Reader

THEMES—nsfw ✧ a bit romantic ✧ and emo ✧ just a tiny bit toxic ✧ a bit nasty

WARNING—4.3k wc ✧ public sex (car by the beach) ✧ good boy & bratty!beom ✧ oral (f rec.) ✧ body worship (f rec.) ✧ teasing (f/m rec.) ✧ face-sitting (m rec.) ✧ praising ✧ light degradation (calling him dirty, your little slut etc) ✧ hickeys (f rec.) ✧ spitting (m rec.) ✧ hand job ✧ crying ✧ brief cum play ✧ cumming untouched ✧ hair pulling (m rec.) ✧ pet names (mommy, baby, little slut etc)

NOW PLAYING—SWEET / I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO DANCE ✧ Tyler, the Creator ft Brent Faiyaz & Fana Hues

M.LISTS—txt ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

A/N. To sort out any possible confusion, this is what the interior of the car looks like; vintage, flat like a bed style. BUT imagine it's a roof less car🤟

All rights reserved © femdomlieeh

You were sitting on the driver's seat with your right hand on the steering wheel, left hand up in the air, warm wind kissing your skin before you put it down to rest on the edge of the car door. He was laying across the passenger's seat with his head on your thighs, staring up at the sky. You were on your way to nowhere in particular. This was your definition of adventure. His smile was bright contrary to his past, his eyes were full of the hope of a child and his laugh was the sound of an angel. With his sock-clad feet on the edge of the door and his long, fluffy, soft hair on your exposed legs he lowly sang along to a song.

You were watching the road, he was watching the pineapple purple sky until his eyes were on you. Smirk grew on his face. God knows what was going through that mischievous mind of his.

You remembered his soft lips crafted by the most-detailed-and-in-love artist on the skin on your thighs. The kisses he left were so light, barely brushing against you. Your hand found its way to his hair, he looked up at you with those impure eyes as the kisses he placed got slightly rougher. He loved seeing your reactions to his touches, gaining your approval; the satisfaction of your pleasure. Insecure boy. And damn was he horny too. Or was he in love?

Maybe he just lived in the moment.

Who would have the idea of spontaneously driving to nowhere for no reason, taking off their shoes, resting their feet on the edge of a car driving in high speed to get fanned for free by Mother Nature, put their head on the driver's lap and start kissing their thighs?

Beomgyu.

That was the simple answer. Beomgyu and nobody else.

He was the kind of character you saw in films and wish you'd had the pleasure of acquainting yourself with in real life but you don't because those people came from someone's fantasy and were carefully written and too rare to find in real life. You were lucky to have met him. Your dear, sweet Beomgyu.

After some minutes, he turned his body completely and laid on his tummy so he could get easier access to your skin, instead of having to turn his neck to kiss. Wearing shorts today had its perks. Kisses were peppered with so much care as he put his hand on your left leg and caressed it lightly so it'd be occupied and get attention too. As each second passed by it got harder and harder to focus on the road. He was such a distraction and he knew it. He loved distracting you. He loved any attention you gave him really, whether it was direct words when you'd praise or degrade or just knowing he was present in your thoughts whenever he received a cute "I miss you" text during long work hours.

"Baby, what are you doing?"

After two extra passionate kisses he answered, "Loving you."

"I'm driving."

Kiss. "Yes." Kiss. "And?" Kiss.

"Can't you love me some other time?"

He looked at you. Kiss. "Impossible." Kiss. "I can't not love you." Kiss.

You put your hand on his cheek softly, "I love you too, Beomgyu." Looking at the road, you couldn't see him but you felt his cheek move into a smile against your palm upon hearing your words. You smiled back at him, taking a quick glance at him and detecting a strand of hair in his eyes. In a split second you brushed his hair away, before Beomgyu went back to kissing your thighs again. He had always been so affectionate towards you, showing how much he appreciates all of you: your mind, your face, your body — your everything. He was so good with his words, hands and lips. You loved all of him.

A slow Lana Del Rey song later his featherlight kisses grew deeper until he was sucking on your flesh, trying to create purple marks. "You're making hickeys? How juvenile."

He laughed at your comment. It was true. Last time he remembered he'd put effort into creating hickeys was back in high school. "Maybe, but I bet your thighs will be so pretty with hickeys on them," he went back to work, making sure to suck more harshly to emphasise his point.

You were starting to get wet. And it was hard concentrating on the road and trying not to look down at the pretty man's lips on your lap every minute. You were driving on an empty country road so, thankfully, nobody could witness this raw act of love. Five or six or — who knows? — that's how many hickeys Beomgyu had created already and he was not finished yet. He experimentally bit on your thigh, looking up at you to observe if you liked it. "Hmmm." His bite got a little bit harder, still looking at you. "A bit gentler, Baby," you patted his head. "Okey," he smiled cutely at your small action and nickname and went back to the same force as on the first bite. Fuck, you needed to get out of this car and fuck him soon or you would go crazy.

The sun had begun to set. 19:22. There was plenty of time until the sun was down and gone. The sky was still somewhat bright with colours of pink and blue. You wanted to watch this beautiful sunset with Beomgyu but he was busy with his face in your thighs. Your eyes were on the empty road, looking at the signs and trying to come up with where to go when you recognised a name you'd heard of before when talking with friends about a nice little beach trip — if you made a turn in a few kilometers, you would soon make it to a pretty and unknown beach. Perfect!

You looked down. So many hickeys scattered around only on your right thigh, the left one only being touched by his hand. You rested your hand on the back of his head, playing with his long locks, "You're so pretty." He mumbled a little thank you on your skin, back to kissing your thigh gently now.

It all felt so sweet and romantic somehow, his big hand massaging your left thigh, slowly moving towards the inner part, fingers ghosting teasingly on your naked skin. He was distracting the driver with his mouth and hands — how could he make that feel sweet and romantic to the point you almost forgot how irresponsible you were being? Almost. Your eyes weren't on him. Most of your attention was on the road and he was only getting a tiny fraction of the attention he craved so much. Because he needed all of your attention right now. Sure, he needed your hands stroking his hair but he also needed your smiling eyes on him and your sweet and mean whispers; eyes and mind full of him only.

Determined to get more of your attention, he moved his unholy fingers towards your pussy. "You're so dirty," the grip you had on his hair tightened and he whined. He would always do this, turn to being bratty if he didn't get enough attention from you. If a good boy wouldn't get all your love and touches at least a naughty boy was sure to get all your degrading words and oh so lovely punishments — and he enjoyed being your naughty boy as much as your good boy; he could be anyone and anything you wanted as long as it meant he was the sole object of your affection.

His whines were always so pretty and light, causing you to clench your pussy around nothing. It never failed to impress you how he whined and moaned whenever you were the one being pleasured and not him. He moved up a bit and kissed your shorts right above your clit. There was fabric hindering the full sensation but you still felt it a little, already so sensitive and wet from the teasing. He looked up at you. You had shorts on so it was a bit difficult to pleasure you the way he wanted to, but Beomgyu was creative and undid your zipper. As much as he wanted to pull down your shorts so he could properly eat you out — he wasn't that stupid and careless to actually do it when you were driving, right? — so you were curious where he was going with this but also nervous.

Nose pushing up your shirt so he could kiss the skin on your waist, naughty hand gliding under the shorts to feel your hip. There were no cars on the road — and there hadn't been for a while now — so you decided to tease him a bit back, put him in his place so he knows better than to completely ignore that you're driving and that he can't do everything he wants right now, he has to be patient and wait. You grabbed his chin and made him look up at you, looking back at him for a split second. "Open your mouth."

He did so even faster than you averted your gaze, waiting for your spit. "Aw, so eager now are we?" You said, still looking at the road.

"Please, look at me," he nodded and whined impatiently, mouth ready for your spit. He looked so pathetic, bedroom eyes and long, styled hair a bit fucked up from you gripping it. Touching your skin but not getting to feel your wetness, not getting to pleasure you was in a way teasing him too, his cock now hard and pink.

"You're so pretty, Baby." His mouth was still open but he almost looked like he smiled for a second.

You spat in his mouth fast, immediately looking back at the road. He swallowed it happily like always, no matter how humiliating and mean it was, especially since you didn't even look him in the eyes or let your saliva drip slowly into his mouth, much more intimate, like you usually would do. "Good boy."

"Thank you, Mommy," he went back to kissing your waist, nose under your shirt, eyes looking up at you. Your right hand went back to resting on his head, threading through his long hair occasionally. "Look at me, please." There was something about you spitting in his mouth that always turned him so pathetic and shameless about his neediness — if you wouldn't judge him for swallowing your spit then he could express himself sexually to the fullest.

"As much as I want to, I can't, Baby. I'm driving," you took a quick glance down at him. His eyes were so glossy, almost like they would fill with tears at any second. You were so distracted by him but you were still aware enough to only look at him for a maximum of two seconds at a time. Although you were driving below the speed limit and hadn't seen another car in the past half hour you didn't want to risk anything.

He whined at that, causing you to smile. Soon it would be the opposite. His hand went under you shorts again, moving down your hip and to your lower stomach. You had a feeling you knew where this was going. Spitting didn't help slow him down and learn to be patient. No, spitting so meanly in his gaping mouth was the first time he'd had almost your full attention during the whole car ride so he had to continue misbehaving so you would humiliate him some more, giving him more and more of your attention. Sweet, stupid, sexy Beomgyu was something else.

His long fingers went lower until they reached your slit, happy now. "Baby—" Then, somehow, under your tight shorts he managed to move your underwear to the side so he could slip his long, thick middle finger in you. "Hm?" he mumbled against your waist, mind half listening to you and half inside your pussy, eyes rolled back like it was his dick in your pussy and not just his finger. Fuck. You had to find a way to get off the road but you were not very familiar with this road or even this part of the country — but like said before, this adventure had no directions or map.

"Are you this desperate, slut?"

He pulled his hand out to stick his wet finger in his mouth, licking, savouring the little taste he got of your pussy and mumbling an 'mhm'. He wanted more. He didn't just want to suck on his finger. He wanted your pussy on his face, wetness on his tongue and all over his face.

"Please, look at me, Mommy," he mumbled like a slut, sticking his pussy wet finger inside you to lick your sweetness again, eyes never leaving yours, "Need your pussy."

"You have to wait, little slut," you soothed him with your hand on his cheek.

He felt like crying. He needed you to stop the car somewhere; anywhere, he didn't care if he had to lay on the cold evening sand on the beach that would get all over his clothes and hair or, fuck, he would even be ok in the woods next to a camp site with German hikers as an audience as long as you would sit on his face. He needed you and your attention now. His dick was leaking pre-cum and you had only touched his face and hair so far.

"Please, Mommy," he kissed your stomach, middle finger deep inside you.

"Baby, wait, be patient," you were struggling too. Maybe you should just say fuck it and drive across everything in your way until you reach the beach so you can park the car and then park your pussy on his face? (Obviously no, be a responsible driver!!)

He wasn't satisfied with your response, you didn't sound anywhere near as needy or bothered as he was — your eyes didn't even leave the road for a second to look at the man whose face was on your lap — so he decided to take matters in his own hands and began to finger you deeply, easily adding a second finger with how wet you were.

"Fuck, baby!" you moaned, grabbing his hair and arching your back, eyes still on the road.

He took the opportunity and, with the help of his unoccupied hand, pulled down your shorts mid-thigh, making you shiver at the cold you felt as your wet underwear was exposed to the air. He looked up and blushed when he saw you already looking at him with your needy eyes. You were looking at him! His lips moved down your stomach and lower until he reached your underwear-covered pussy, placing a big kiss on your clit. You arched your back again, the sensation was so much greater now that only a thin fabric was between you.

Moaning, you looked at the road and saw a sign that told you there was a parking nearby in 800 meters. Fucking finally! He began kitty licking you and at this point you were so sensitive and needy that you had to pull him up by his hair, much to his dismay as he whined and his eyes filled with tears. "Why?"

"Baby, I found parking."

"Oh! Fucking finally!" As if a switch was flipped, his frown turned into a smile, a tear escaping his eye. He leaned into your touch as you brushed the tear away from his cheek.

You slowed down and turned the car into the parking lot, which was just grass with faded sprayed parking lines, miraculously deserted. He started kitty licking you over your underwear again. You moaned, grabbing his hair, "Fuck, Beomie, can't you wait for a little until I've parked? You're really that needy?" "Yes."

You decided to park the furthest away, turned towards the dead beach so you could have a view of the sunset and ocean — and the yellow, orange, red and pinks of the sky reflected on Beomgyu's pretty face, dirt-colored eyes twinkling like stars. "Baby, fuck, slow down," you had to pull him off your pussy.

"I can't," he took this opportunity to fully pull off your shorts to discard them to the back. "You didn't give me any attention when I just wanted to love you."

You kissed his pout, "You will have all my attention now, Baby."

The pout turned into a smile. "Thank you, Mommy." He pulled your right leg up, positioning his face in your pussy, dropping your thigh on top of his neck. His tongue immediately went to work, kissing all over your pussy, underwear still on. He always liked eating you out with your underwear on first so he felt more rewarded when they were off and he could taste, smell and feel your pussy so much more.

But you were having none of that, pussy clenching around nothing, aching at this point. "Stop teasing me and eat me out properly," you pulled your underwear to the side, grabbing his hair to push him more into you. He was looking at you and you could see the smile in his eyes, content he had your eyes on him and your pussy on his tongue. You had been teased and turned on so much already that you knew it would only take a minute or two of his talented tongue to cum. He too could sense you were near, hearing your gasps and moans, feeling your back arching, looking up at your eyes. His hands were on your thigh and boob, touching you the way he knew you liked it. The way his hand moved up your thigh to grab your butt never failed to make you feel hot.

"Choke me with your thighs, please?"

"If my slut wishes it," you smiled at him, flexing your thighs around him a little, not sure how much he could handle yet. Hair matted on his forehead, tears filling his high eyes, hands grabbing your skin, moaning against your pussy, and the colours of the sky on him. You didn't know it yet, focused on the pretty view that was Beomgyu, but he was leaking so much pre-cum there was a stain on his pants from the sweet familiar taste of you, seeing you in pleasure along with the pineapple purple sky sunset behind you.

"Fuck, you're doing so good for me, Baby. Your mouth was made to eat my pussy, wasn't it?" He nodded, mouth still against your pussy, tears flowing by now. It was true. He eats it almost everyday, sometimes he'll lazily lap at your pussy under the sheets in the morning, sometimes in the shower if you'll let him (yes, he can do that), sometimes when you're watching a boring movie he will lay on his back on the sofa and ask you to sit on his face, sometimes he'll get on his knees as soon as you open the door to your home after a double date because he's jealous some other guy made you laugh a lot, sometimes when you're waiting for noodles to cook on the stove he'll give you puppy eyes so you'll let him eat you out on the countertop — fuck, sometimes when he's bored he'll randomly get on his knees in front of you and beg you to please let him have a taste. Safe to say he has learned every little trick to please you and make you cum in a few minutes just by eating your pussy. And he loves it.

"Mhm, you're such a good boy for me, my sweet little pussy hungry slut," you pouted at him condescendingly; he moaned at the mean praise, hips twitching up. You looked down at him, there was a huge wet stain on the front of his pants. "Awww, Baby, you're so wet just from my pussy. I should let you cum on it for being such a good slut, right?" His moans on your pussy were so desperate and sent sweet, sweet vibrations that tipped you over the edge, thighs shaking around his neck, "Fuck, I'm cumming, Baby." He slowed down, eating your cum, helping you calm down from the intense orgasm, not overstimulating you. But after a while it became too much, your pussy way too sensitive for his never ending kitty licking, so you opened your thighs and pushed his head away.

"You did so well for me, Beomie," smiling, you patted his head softly, seeing the sunset shine in his pretty eyes, your cum glistening all over his lower face, tears dried, lips pulled into a smile after he was finished licking them clean. You pulled him up from between your thighs to give him a kiss on his forehead after pushing some damp hair away, "You want to get your reward now, Baby?" He gulped, still, not answering your question. "Baby... Don't tell me you already came—" you pulled down his pants to have your suspicions confirmed; he did, in fact, cum untouched. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to cum without your permission, and I really wanted to hold back so I could cum on your pussy when you told me, but it felt so good to have your attention and taste you and-and— I couldn't control it. I'm so sorry," he cried, apologizing profusely.

You held him in your arms, fingers carding through his long, beautiful hair, "Beomie, it's okay, no need to say sorry. I'm very flattered actually. Besides your pretty mouth did so well for me that I can't be mad at you. You were such a good boy." He hummed against you, pecking your neck every now and then. After he calmed down, he pulled back to look at you; tears on his cheeks and half of the sun in his eyes. You dried his tears with your fingers and kissed him on his lips, calling him your good boy. The look in his eyes wasn't sad anymore. He gulped again before trying to give you his best puppy eyes, kissing the back of your hands. You knew he wanted something whenever he acted this clingy and cute, "Yes, Baby?"

"C-Can... Can I still cum on your pussy?"

You giggled, grabbing his cock, "You're hard again, this fast?" He hid his face with an arm, flustered, "Mhm. You kept calling me your good b-boy." "Awww my cute little slut. Getting hard from being called a good boy?" you giggled because although this was dirty, it was still somehow cute in a way how he got hard from your praise alone. He shook his head, face still hidden by his arm, "Your good boy." You smiled. "Mmm, Baby. You really are my good boy?" He nodded. You looked down at his dick, it was hard, pink and twitching, dirty with his previous cum. "Then show me your face, I don't want you hiding from me." His dick twitched and did as told. "Good boy." He shook his head, "I-I'm Mommy's good boy." He was always so cute and malleable whenever he came untouched and heard those sweet praises that tickled his soul. You kissed his shoulder as a reward. "Yes, mine. Now let me lay down so you can sit between my legs." "Oh yes." He did as told, hands behind his back without being told — he knew how you wanted him. You pulled him down to you momentarily to hold his cheeks and give him a quick kiss, both of you smiling into it. "I love you so much." "I love you more."

His pink dick was leaking pre-cum already. "My sweet boy won't cum without my permission again, right?" He whined, embarrassed, "I won't, Mommy, but please stop teasing." You giggled, he will cum any moment now you already know especially since he's so sensitive from his orgasm. Holding his dick confirmed your suspicions, Beomgyu moaning and dick twitching at your small touch. "Please, please, please," he muttered, tears already in his eyes, "Please, Mommy, I wanna cum on your pussy, please?" There was something about cumming on your pussy that drove him crazy, maybe it was because he would get an excuse to lick your pussy clean off him. "Not yet, Babyboy. I wanna play with you a bit first," you started moving your hand up and down on his cock, his loud moans following immediately after. He was struggling, biting his lower lip, pinching his arms behind his back, not looking at your naked pussy because he didn't want to cum without your permission again. "P-Please, Mommy. Ngh— I've been a good boy for you, please can I cum?" "Oh have you? Weren't you a bad boy the whole drive? And then you even came without Mommy's permission, right?"

He whined, tears running down his eyes again. "Please, Mommy, I'm so sorry I just wanted your attention. I-I always wanna please you and have your attention. Wan' be your personal toy." You smirked, going faster, "Yes, you are my little toy. So pretty and dirty for me." "Yes, yes, always. I— Fuck, I'm cumming, Mommy. Please, let me cum on your pussy, Mommy," he cried, looking at you with his slutty eyes. He knew how to get to you; how to look so sexy for you that you just wanted to reward him. "You can cum, my good b—" "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck— Thank you, Mommy." His eyes rolled back as white ropes of warm cum covered your pussy. "You did so well for me, waiting for my permission," you hugged him as he came down from his high, kissing his cheeks. "Really?" He pouted, fishing for more praises, which you knew and granted him, "Yes, really. My good boy." You kissed his pout, "Now clean up your mess." He smiled.

You and I, we fell in love

I ain't read the signs, ain't know what it was

But God gotta know he might have peaked when he made you

The cosmos' only mistake is what they named you (what that mean?)

They should call you sugar, you're so sweet

Even if

You left me out here stranded

My feelings wouldn't change a bit

My heart beats triple time when I see you

Somethin' I can't control

If I compared you, the sun is a stand-in (sun)

You got a smile that could light up a planet (smile) yeah (oh, oh)

And you look so good (yeah)

And you smell so good (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

And you taste so good (yeah)

And you're so, so good (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

You're the sweetest (yeah)

Yeah, you are, ha-ha

Sweet like, like motherfuckin' brown sugar sweet potatoes (are you ready?)

Or somethin'

Ha-ha

The plan was to stick my toe in and

Check the temperature, but

Next thing I know, I'm

I'm drownin'

— Tyler, the Creator

[greyskyflowers]

I really really really wish that Edwin had stay all bloody and filthy when he and Charles came back from hell.

Blood feels weird. It's got a weird.. texture? Consistency? Idk. Anyway, if I was in a dark room and someone said can you guess if it's water or blood on your hand? I would probably be able to tell by feeling it. As it dries it gets a sticky tar feeling and personally, it makes me itch when it dries.

Not to mention the smell and taste of it.

It's unpleasant.

Listen, I had a lot of nose bleeds when I was little, like my parents took me to prompt care because there was so much blood and it'd go on for like a hour straight heavy nose bleeds. I was also played a bunch of sports and was outside a lot so lots of experience with blood.

I think Edwin would absolutely hate the feel of blood on him. Now, ghosts may not be able to feel it like the living would, but I feel like it would still feel weird on them. Maybe like when you walk through a spider web and it's just that almost unnoticeable wispy tug on your skin?

I feel like Charles wouldn't mind it. In a way, he's probably used to it.

And he's the brawn so like of course he's cool with blood, greysky. Where are you going with this?

I think there's a specific intimacy with cleaning someone up.

They're familiar with cleaning blood off each other, although never to this extent and usually it's Charles getting clean up instead of Edwin. He finds he doesn't quite like the role reversal.

So what if...

Edwin came back from hell still bloody and filthy, hands sliding on the floor when he tries to brace himself to get up, looking at Charles with huge, terrified eyes.

A unspoken I don't know what to do is this real please help me what do I do what if it never comes off Charles please

And Charles doesn't even hesitate. He's on his feet and helping Edwin up in seconds.

He ignores the way the blood is making his own skin sticky and probably getting all over his clothes. Instead he notices how in the light he can see there's faint lines running down Edwin's cheeks that don't seem as filthy as the rest of him, how he's still barefoot and it makes him a little shorter than he usually is, how he's grabbing back at Charles a little desperately and is doing everything he can to keep him close.

They could feel each other down in Hell. Charles could feel how cold Edwin's fingers were and his own skin had broken out in goosebumps. Leaving seems to have returned them to normal but there's a little extra sensitivity, a little extra rawness, to his skin.

So he makes sure the water is warm, because he doesn't know if Edwin's skin feels the same way and taking a chance by cleaning him up with cold water feels cruel.

It doesn't stop the shaking though.

And the water swirls down the drain in shades of black, red, and pink.

One of the girls leaves a few big towels by the door and Charles brings them in by opening the door just enough to squeeze them through. He's not ready to let the real world in yet.

Edwin sits there, all wrapped up in a big, fluffy towel and looking lost in the quiet of a bathroom that still smells like mud and rust, like he's still not sure he's really there.

Charles takes a smaller towel to his hair, dries it until it's all messy and Edwin looks so young in the florescent lights as he blinks up at him. The shadows under his eyes seem worse without the filth covering them.

Charles cleans himself up too because the idea of getting blood on Edwin now makes him want to throw up. Edwin sits in the same spot and stares off into space in a way that makes him keep the shower curtain half open to watch him.

It feels like the world has narrowed down to just them. The mirror is still fogged up from the steam and it's quiet except for the occasional drip from the faucet.

There's a dampness in the air as they sit there next to each other, but it's nothing like the heavy humidity that seemed to linger in those hallways where he found Edwin.

They sit there on the floor, wrapped up in damp towels, backs to the door and they stare at the wall. Edwin tilts his head just enough to cautiously rest in on Charles's shoulder, like he's still scared this will turn out to be a trick, and Charles finally let's out the breath he's been holding in since Edwin was taken.

💧💧💧

I don't know. The vulnerability and intimacy of cleaning someone up, taking care of them like that, it always gets me. 😢

[hopefullyababe]

huh. i miss her.

[dearsnow]

YOUR REAL BOYFRIEND

- you go on your first date with your “bar boyfriend”, who seems a whole lot nicer than the guy that tried to pick you up earlier. (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff <3, you don’t necessarily need to read part 1 but it provides some context)

PART 1

word count: 1,686

a/n - i did not expect part 1 to do so well, omg 🥹 thank you all for the love. if i had the writing stability I would’ve turned this into a series, but there is still time for that yet lol. enjoy this fluffy part 2 <3

You sit in your small apartment anxiously. Your first text to Bob has just gone through, and in the heat of the moment, you threw your phone across your bed and smothered it with a pillow. It was a simple thing, just saying “Hey! I’m Y/N from the bar :)”, and you really have nothing to be scared of, but your breaths are uncomfortably quick in the early morning. It’s like you just took a five mile run. You pick up the book on your bedside table and flip through a few pages, failing to read a single word.

You only put down your fruitless attempt at calming yourself down when your phone gives a muffled buzz from underneath your pillow. You grab it quickly, seeing his just-saved name flash across the screen.

Bob: Hello, Y/N from the bar! I was a bit worried you weren’t going to reach out, but I’m really glad you did.

You: Of course I reached out. You’re a nice guy, I would be stupid not to.

You internally groan before hitting send. He makes your insides turn to mush just by typing on a screen. At this point, you’re scared of professing your undying love.

He is a nice guy, and a polite guy, and honestly an everything-you-could-ever-want guy. You barely spent thirty minutes with the man and you already find yourself wanting to slip a ring on his finger. He’s different, a really good kind of different.

Bob: I’m flattered.

Bob: This might be too soon, but would you want to go out sometime? I know this nice place by the beach where we could get to know each other better.

You: I’d love to!! Lmk the details and I’ll be there <3

As you fling your phone across your bed again to kick your legs, you almost feel bad for it. The man of your dreams is asking you out, and you can’t physically handle the joy that’s pouring out of you right now. You can just imagine his quiet, smooth voice talking away while his eyes light up. When you get the date plan, you eagerly type it into your calendar.

Saturday, 5:30 PM, Ocean’s Cove Seafood and Bar. It’s perfect.

You don’t know how you can get through the rest of the week with the date looming in your mind, but, somehow, you’ll have to find a way to manage.

Your management ended up being text conversations with Bob so frequently it felt like you were always checking your phone for a new message. For the first time in your pitiful dating history, he was the one reaching out often and matching your energy. Talking with him is like a breath of fresh air. It’s almost better than than the fresh air you’re breathing now, walking through the open entrance of Ocean’s Cove. You immediately notice a very handsome man sitting at the table you’re directed towards, with his sandy hair styled perfectly.

As you walk over, he stands and pulls out your seat for you, only sitting down himself when you’re situated. His cheeks are tinted pink. “Hi.” He offers, clearing his throat. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you, Bob. You look amazing too.” You say, reaching out to brush against his blazer’s collar. “You always do.”

His face grows impossibly redder.

Just like the first time you met, you fall into the rhythm of conversation easily. It’s awkward, at first, as things often are, but it quickly becomes one of the best talks you’ve ever had. Your food is eaten between giggles and playful comments.

“He seriously made you do five hundred push-ups for someone else’s mistake? Man, you must hate this Hangman guy after he pulled that.”

“Oh, everyone hates him. In a loving way, mostly. Just be glad you’ve never been around him while he’s drunk.” Bob’s eyes are lit up, and the sight is better than you could’ve ever imagined.

You wipe your mouth with your napkin gently, trying to not rub your makeup on the soft cloth. “Wait, what’s he like drunk? He’s gotta be a character.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, and you engrave the sound in your memory. This is amazing. “He gets so competitive, but he’s too drunk to throw the darts straight or hold the pool cue proper. It’s really funny, because he thinks he’s doing well until the darts end up pinned through Maverick’s uniform.”

“Oh geez,” you laugh. “That reminds me of my old friend. She drunkenly spilled tequila down the front of our boss’s suit while trying to impress our coworker.”

“It seems like we’ve got a lot in common.” He smiles. He’s about to say something else, but your waiter stops in front of your table before he can get the words out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, sir, but we have another couple waiting for your table. We have a three hour policy.”

Three hours? You’ve been here for three hours? You check the dimming light and realize that what you thought was forty minutes was, in fact, a hundred and eighty. Bob pulls out his card and signs the receipt, seemingly a little embarrassed that he also didn’t realize the time. “Here. Sorry for the trouble.”

The card is whisked away before you can even request a separate check. “I would’ve paid for that.”

“No can do.” Bob says, placing his hand over yours gently. “It’s my treat.”

You try to formulate a response to his kindness, but your mouth falls dry. All you can do is whisper a “Thank you,” as the waiter comes back with his card and ushers you out politely.

The outside air is heavy and chilly, cut with the smell of sea spray. As the sun dips below the horizon, you shiver. Without a word, Bob drapes his blazer around your shoulders. You turn to him, eyes slightly wide. “Are you sure?”

The question is about more than just the blazer. It encompasses everything you’ve wanted to say to him, everything that you’ve been worried about from the beginning. Is he sure that he wants to do this? That he really actually likes the person he just so happened to save at the Hard Deck?

“Always.” Is his simple reply. Your hand finds his, and he entwines your fingers like it’s natural. “I apologize if this is overstepping-“

“Do you want-“

You both start and stop at the same time. “Continue.” You say, a smile working its way up to your eyes.

“No, you go.” He insists. He swings his arm a bit, taking your hand with him. You can feel his blazer dip past your hand and onto his, as the sleeves are too long for you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go down to the beach with me. It might not be good for our formal clothes, but I really like you, and I want to spend more time with you. As much time as possible, actually.”

This time, it’s his eyes that widen. “You read my mind. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

You laugh, a sound that’s music to his ears. It’s perfect, like everything about you. Like your humor and your storytelling ability, like the slope of your shoulders and the softness of your hands. He could spend his whole life drowning in you. “Then let’s go, before we miss the entire sunset.”

You pull him along, your thumb smoothing over his own, and he thinks he’d let you lead him anywhere. “Look, the beach is so pretty at this time of day! It’s like something out of a magazine.” You exclaim, expensive heels digging into the sand. You can’t bring yourself to care about washing the sand off, not right now.

“It’s almost as pretty as you.” Bob breathes. He doesn’t expect you to hear it, but you do. You turn around and slide your palm over the smooth fabric of his shirt, playing with the collar, before kissing his cheek softly.

For once, you take initiative in your movements. You can’t let him slip away; you think you’d be devastated if you didn’t see him again, if you never told him exactly how you feel. “I’d say it’s nowhere near as pretty as you.” You can tell your face is warm, and his definitely is. “We need to do this again.”

“For sure.” He murmurs. His expression is conflicted, and you feel a small bit of insecurity bubbling up. Does he not want this as much as you do? He takes a small breath of air, eyes flicking up to the sky for a brief moment. His glasses slide down his nose just a bit, but he doesn’t push them up. He’s only focused on the words timidly making their way out of his mouth. “Please stop me now if you don’t feel the same way.”

“If ‘feeling the same way’ means wanting to continue talking, I wouldn’t stop you for the world.” You can feel a hint of anxiety in your tone. Bob takes both of your hands, and the small butterflies are eaten by larger, rougher butterflies. Think atlas moth sized butterflies.

“In that case,” he almost whispers, “would you let me be your boyfriend? For real this time. And I won’t hold it against you if you say no, or want to wait, because I know we’ve only really been talking for a week, and-“

You cut him off with a kiss. His lips are soft and don’t demand anything from you. He reaches for the back of your head, cradling you like you might break. When you finally break away, his glasses are just a bit crooked. You reach a hand up to fix them. “Yes. Yes, I’d love it if you were my real boyfriend.”

“Awesome.” Is all he can manage to say. You giggle anyways, placing your hands on his chest.

“Next time, if a creep hits me up in a bar, we won’t have to lie.”

He places a sweet kiss on your forehead. “If I’m there, I hope he wouldn’t even think to try.”

Taglist: @seitmai

[its-avalon-08]

HI! i know you are on brk, so do write this whenever you want, take all the rest you need carlos x norris!sister

age gap of about 3 years

angry lando, secret dating, angst then fluff

im backkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!! im so thankful for all of the adorable messages, thank sm for the support, without you i would not be able to do this! p.s get ready for post spams because your girl had too much ready!!!!

give me a chance (cs55)

✦ pairing - carlos sainz x norris!sister!reader

✦ genre - angst, fluffy ending

The tension in the motorhome kitchen was thicker than the stale coffee Carlos was reheating. You, Lando's younger sister by three years, fiddled with your phone, stealing nervous glances at Carlos. He nursed his mug, a self-conscious hand brushing over the small, purple mark blossoming on his neck. It mirrored the one blooming on yours – a secret souvenir from a stolen kiss in Monaco the previous weekend.

"We should be more careful," you whispered, pushing the stray tendril of hair that kept escaping your ponytail back behind your ear.

"Yeah," Carlos agreed, his voice low. "But seeing you in that dress..." He trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. The memory of you slipping into the tiny hotel balcony, the twinkling lights of Monte Carlo sprawling beneath you, still sent shivers down your spine. Just as Carlos leaned in for another kiss, the door swung open and Lando burst in, interrupting your stolen moment.

"There you two are! Let's go, debrief's about to start."

Relief washed over you, momentarily eclipsing the disappointment. Keeping your relationship with Carlos a secret had been stressful, but Lando finding out was your worst nightmare. He was fiercely protective of you, the age gap somehow making him feel more like a brother than a sibling. He'd never approve of you dating a teammate, especially someone older.

The following days were a tightrope walk. Stolen glances across the paddock, whispered jokes in between briefs, unsupervised moments – it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

Then came this morning. Lando had been glued to his phone all breakfast, oblivious to the way your hand instinctively brushed against Carlos's under the table. But just as your fingers intertwined, Lando looked up, his gaze landing right on your neck. His eyes widened, then flickered to Carlos, who was sporting a matching mark.

The silence stretched, thick with dawning realization.

"What the…" Lando finally sputtered, his voice a strangled whisper.

Then, a volcano erupted.

"Y/N! Carlos!" Lando slammed his phone on the table, the clatter echoing off the metal walls. "What is this?!"

"Lando, it's not what—" you began, but he cut you off.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" His voice was laced with a fury you'd never heard before. "You two? Since when?"

Carlos opened his mouth to speak, but Lando wasn't done.

"I can't believe this! You, Carlos? You're supposed to be like family!"

"Lando, please," you pleaded, standing up. "We can explain."

"There's nothing to explain!" He threw his hands up in the air. "This is a disaster! You know I wouldn't have approved!"

"That's exactly why we didn't tell you," Carlos said, his voice surprisingly steady. "We were afraid of this reaction."

"Afraid? You should be ashamed!" Lando glared at both of you. "This is unprofessional. This makes things awkward. This messes with everything!"

And with that, he stormed out of the motorhome, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the entire vehicle.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You looked at Carlos, his expression mirroring your own – a mix of guilt, fear, and a stubborn determination to fight for what you had. You knew this wouldn't be easy, but one thing was clear – the secret was out. And the real race for your relationship had just begun.

The slam of the door echoed through the motorhome like a thunderclap, leaving behind a silence that vibrated with tension. You stared at the empty doorway, tears stinging your eyes. They spilled over unchecked, tracing a warm path down your cheeks.

Carlos reached out a hand, hovering hesitantly in the air before settling on your shoulder. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

You turned to face him, tears blurring your vision. "What have we done?" you choked out, the question a ragged whisper.

Carlos flinched. "We… we just tried to be happy," he defended, his voice strained.

"But look at what it's done," you sobbed, gesturing towards the doorway. "Lando's furious. This is exactly what we were afraid of."

"We can talk to him," Carlos insisted, his jaw set. "Explain things better."

"Explain what, Carlos?" you snapped, a spark of anger igniting through your despair. "That we broke his trust? That we jeopardized everything for a few stolen moments?"

The anger in your voice seemed to take Carlos aback. He recoiled slightly, the hurt flickering in his eyes a fresh wound.

"That's not fair, Y/N," he said, his voice low. "We both knew the risks. We both wanted this."

"Maybe I shouldn't have," you mumbled, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air. Carlos's eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Maybe this whole thing was a mistake," you said, your voice cracking. "Maybe we should have just—"

You couldn't finish the sentence. The regret in your voice, the implication that you wished you'd never let things go this far, ripped through Carlos like a punch to the gut. He felt a lump form in his throat, his own tears threatening to spill.

"Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't say that."

But you were already shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. "I can't do this anymore, Carlos," you said, your voice breaking. "This is tearing everything apart."

Without another word, Carlos turned and walked away. His broad shoulders slumped, his steps heavy with unspoken hurt. He didn't look back at you, and as the door to his room slammed shut with a dull thud, you sank to the floor, the weight of your words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You had just broken his heart, and in that moment, you weren't sure if you had broken yours too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Regret, a bitter taste on your tongue, pushed you to find Lando. You found him on the balcony, overlooking the bustling racetrack, a world away from the storm brewing inside you. The sight of him, usually your confidant, now felt daunting.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him hesitantly. "Lando," you choked out, hating how shaky your voice sounded.

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a guarded expression. "Y/N," he said simply, offering no invitation to sit.

You stood awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. "Lando, I…" The words stuck in your throat. "I messed up. Big time."

The anger you'd seen in him earlier had morphed into a wary curiosity. He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue.

Taking another deep breath, you launched into a monologue, your voice trembling. "It started with his eyes, Lando, the way they crinkle when he smiles. And his smile, oh God, his smile makes my heart skip a beat. And then there are his hugs… warm and safe, like a place I can always go home to. And his kisses," you whispered, the memory sending shivers down your spine, "like fireworks, Lando, exploding with a kind of magic I've never felt before."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I love him, Lando. I never knew I could love someone like I love Carlos."

As you spoke, a figure appeared in the doorway, frozen in place. It was Carlos, his face a mask of pain, each word a fresh blow to his heart. But he couldn't tear himself away. He needed to hear it all.

You continued, your voice thick with emotion. "I panicked, Lando. I thought this would ruin everything, for you, for the team. But all I see is broken trust and a pain I caused the man I…" Your voice broke, a sob escaping your lips.

Lando watched you silently, his initial anger replaced by a flicker of understanding. He took a slow step towards you, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your surprise, he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "It's okay. You love him, I get it."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Just… promise you'll take care of each other. And promise me you won't keep things from me again."

A choked laugh escaped your lips. "I promise, Lando. I promise everything."

Suddenly, you felt a warm presence behind you. A tear slipped down your cheek as you turned to see Carlos standing there, his eyes red-rimmed, a tear tracing a similar path down his own face.

He didn't say a word. He simply walked towards you and pulled you into his arms, his embrace a silent promise. You buried your face in his chest, tears streaming down as the weight of the last few hours lifted.

Lando stepped back, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched for a moment, his heart heavy but strangely at peace. "Alright, lovebirds," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's not turn this balcony into a waterfall."

You both pulled away slightly, but Carlos kept his arm wrapped around you, his touch a warm anchor. You looked up at him, his eyes glistening.

"Thank you, Lando," Carlos said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Just don't break her heart," Lando warned, a hint of his usual playful banter returning. "She's the only sister I've got."

Carlos nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on you. "I won't," he vowed, his voice a husky whisper.

And you, nestled in Carlos's embrace, knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn't face them alone. You had love, forgiveness, and a newfound understanding – a foundation strong enough to weather any storm.

[devilfic]

sleeping headcanons about bruce/reader… need to see that man rest, or like blink for more than a second

you are so real for this

bruce would be the type of boyfriend/husband that HAS to sleep closest to the door. like if the door is facing one side of the bed, that's the side he always sleeps on. same with windows. it helps him sleep knowing that if someone were to break in, they'd have to go through him before they got to you

does not EVER wear a full set of pajamas. hasn't worn them since alfred stopped trying to force him into the little silk pjs he had as a child

he has three looks for bed: oversized band tee + ratty pajama pants, shirtless + ratty pajama pants, or briefs. just the briefs

when his hair is long, he keeps a few hair ties on his wrist to tie it up when he's washing his face before bed

("wash" is generous... he's splashing his face with cold water)

when his hair is short, he does not bother keeping it out of his face. he comes out of the bathroom with his hair dripping down his forehead and you buy him one of those cute fluffy headbands for him to use

bonus points if you get him a sanrio headband

bonus bonus points if you get him one with kuromi on it like THIS and you get a matching my melody one

he's a super light sleeper, like you could slip out of bed to use the bathroom and you'll hear him suck in a breath like "everything ok?"

this also makes him a little restless on really bad stormy nights :((

he refuses to wear earplugs or a sleeping mask because he gets very worried about being at a disadvantage in case something happens

the best you can do for him is let him curl up to your chest and let him get caught up in your heartbeat instead

him being a light sleeper also means he randomly wakes up throughout the night as soon as he has to use the toilet or gets a craving for something to eat, so be prepared for him to move around quite a bit

when he actually IS asleep tho, he does not move at all

he also doesn't naturally cuddle when he's sleepy unless he's cold, he usually is the one being cuddled

sleeptalks

this happens more often when he's got a lot on his mind (so all the time) and you'll usually hear him saying random, incoherent sentences or calling out names

it actually really embarrasses him when you tell him he does this because alfred and his roommates at boarding school used to comment on it when he was younger and he just assumed he'd grown out of it but. let's be honest. he hasn't slept with another person in the same room for years. don't know why he came to that conclusion

it's also a little rare when you catch it because he tends to fall asleep only after you do

you catch it more in the morning when he's sleeping off a long night of batmanning

it's best not to tell him if he's said anything embarrassing,,, it will literally keep him up all night

it gets a little worse when he has nightmares. you can hear him calling out joker or the riddler's name seconds before he wakes up in a cold sweat

you don't tell him exactly what you hear, but you always ask if he's ok and if he'd like to head back to bed with you or not

since he was raised by Real Brit Alfred Pennyworth, alfred did sort of imprint upon him a tea addiction

there's one particular blend that alfred swears used to put bruce out like a light when he was sick so you make that for him when he's particularly stressed and it always works wonders

speaking of him being sick. he is a COMPLETELY different sleeper when he's sick

sleeps like the dead, snores LOUDLY, cuddles like crazy

it's actually the worst because he'll be so happy to pull you in and lay his head on your shoulder but then. he drools. and the. snot. the snot.....

you can imagine that whenever he's sick, you may as well be sick too

he does have the decency to wait until you start sneezing before he gives you a nasty little cough syrup-flavored kiss like the disgusting germ gremlin he is

he won't complain about feeling bad but he will sometimes have a little delirious moment where he'll be all cute and beg you to come to bed with him because he can't sleep if you're not there next to him

like you may go sleep in one of the guest rooms until his cold passes and you'll wake up to him curled up on the loveseat on the other side of the room or even just straight up laying across the foot of the bed so he won't accidentally cough in your face

it's hard to get him to fall asleep but sometimes he pushes himself to such an extreme limit that he accidentally falls asleep anywhere

in the cave? he's passed out on his desk

working on his car? takes a quick little power nap under the engine

in the middle of a business meeting? nodding off in the chair

has fallen asleep on the floor on the WAY to bed before and when you wake him up he doesn't even realize that he never actually got there

also slipping this in here for indulgence purposes but if you've adopted dick, dick will fall asleep on bruce anywhere

like he'll see bruce conked out on the couch like a dad who insists on getting up at the ass crack of dawn and just scooch on in and fall asleep on his shoulder

even FURTHER, if you guys adopt ace, he will nap on dick

the three of them can regularly be seen napping all over the place as the years go on. thank god your bed is big enough for all four of you

having dick and the dog actually makes bruce sleep more and also more soundly because when they're sleeping on top of him it's like a weighted blanket. like if a cat fell asleep in ur lap u wouldn't get up would you? you would simply sit there and rot. same thing with bruce

last thought but I also think as bruce gets older, he's going to fall asleep more often and that will result in a lot of conversations that go like this

bruce: that was a good movie

you: you fell asleep halfway through

bruce: I was resting my eyes

you: I paused the movie and you didn't even react

bruce: I was watching the movie

you: so who died at the end?

bruce: the villain

you: no one died at the end!!! we were watching paddington 2!!!!

but also somehow hears you if you make fun of him in his vicinity. you put a phone in this man's face to take a picture of him sleeping and when you go to look at the photo you see his eyes open like this

jumpscare warning: robert

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @geekyfer @thescarletfang @navs-bhat

[nereidprinc3ss]

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers. 

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door. 

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this. 

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door. 

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth. 

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up. 

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it. 

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety. 

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement. 

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care. 

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves. 

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone. 

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you. 

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are. 

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh. 

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex? 

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours. 

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly. 

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it. 

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now. 

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it. 

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt. 

"Goodnight," he whispers back. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that. 

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

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache. 

But you’re just friends. 

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away. 

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt. 

Friends. 

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.  

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer. 

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips. 

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away. 

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words. 

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing. 

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words. 

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you. 

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment. 

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again. 

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses. 

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck. 

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there. 

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later. 

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you. 

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you. 

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum. 

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders. 

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs. 

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans. 

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want. 

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close. 

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course. 

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty. 

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway. 

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently. 

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt. 

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about. 

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further. 

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway. 

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words. 

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you. 

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation. 

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating. 

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation. 

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet. 

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb. 

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing. 

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter. 

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck. 

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. 

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure. 

[little-star-library]

Headcanons: Playing with Astarion’s Hair

Summary: Just some soft and fluffy headcanons about playing with Astarion’s hair. That man deserves to be coddled and pampered with all of the affection.

At first, Astarion didn’t care for anyone to touch his hair other than himself. After years and years of seducing so many people to lure back to his former master, there were plenty of people who had tangled their fingers through his hair and he developed a feeling of disdain and loathing at the sensation whenever someone got too close, like a hot brand that persisted until he was numb from the pain because none of it was ever real to him. It was all an act that he had to endure. But somehow that wasn’t the case when it came to you. You were different from everyone else. And it was frustrating beyond measure to accept the fact that he began to accept your touch more and more as the two of you grew closer.

It started with small, fleeting brushes of your fingers when you noticed the leaves and small twigs that got caught in his hair after a run in with some goblins. He hesitantly let you pluck out the debris and a twinge of warmth emanated from his undead heart at your gentle ministrations.

From then on, he would purposefully dishevel his snow colored waves and come to you with the excuse of the lack of his own reflection, saying that he only trusted you to fix it because Karlach would surely singe his hair by her own touch and Halsin’s hands were too large and would crumple his hair even more. You knew what he was doing, but secretly you didn’t mind at all.

“There we go, good as new.” You would say this every time with a smile and even though you would love to keep stroking his hair, as soft as it was, you would never cross that boundary unless he expressed his full consent to do so. You knew of his past and empathized with him not being comfortable with non-sexual intimacy because it was a foreign concept to him. He never got to personally experience something so simple and loving as that. And gods help him did he want you to keep going, but never really knew how to ask without embarrassing himself.

Luckily for him though, he didn’t have to wait too long before the opportunity arose. It was after the first time he convinced you to sleep with him and the two of you were laying in the grass under the starry night sky and he was nuzzling against the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath even if it wasn’t really necessary. You were caressing his shoulders and your hands began to wander up to the curls at the nape of his neck and tentatively pet his hair , but you pulled away briefly so as not to upset him.

“No, don’t stop…please.” His voice came out as a soft whisper and he tightened his grip around your waist like you were going to disappear if he let you go and it made you melt from the inside to see him like this, and you didn’t need to be asked twice. You went back to entangle your fingers through his hair once more and lightly scratched at his scalp and he let out a hum as a silent ‘thank you’ and practically started purring when you kissed the crown of his head. The world around you began to blur until it was just you and him and there was nothing else that mattered other than this moment, and he silently pleaded for the sun to never rise so he could bask in your embrace just a little longer.

And after that night, he was hooked. Every night he would actively search you out and you would never turn him away. By now it was a common occurrence to spend the night in the privacy of your tent in comfortable silence by each other’s side while the rest of your traveling companions were asleep, usually with him reading a book and you playing with his hair as he rested his head in your lap.

One of his favorite pastimes however was when you would offer to wash his hair. You always thought he looked ruggedly handsome and carnal when he was in his element. You know it’s kind of off-putting to be attracted to something like that, but the sight of him when he had blood splattered across his cheeks and twisted into crimson ribbons throughout his hair was downright breathtaking. But you knew from your own experiences in battle that after a while, the blood cools and congeals into a sticky, wet mess on your skin and it was awfully discomforting after walking under the hot sun all day. Although Astarion would rather prefer an actual proper bath compared to scrubbing down in a freezing lake, he still insisted on using these special soaps and pomades which he may have acquired not so honorably stating that he wouldn’t be caught red-handed walking around smelling like ‘orthon roadkill’

He would give you detailed instructions on which products to use as you went and you dutifully complied just to see his expression turn to one of instant contentment as you scrubbed gently at his scalp to work the soap through the strands until the blood washed away and he was slowly oozing into a puddle of relaxation, almost slipping away into a short trance to rest his weary body. He would gladly return the favor in kind, making sure to wipe every patch of dirt and grime away until you were clean, his dexterous fingers feeling like an absolute godsend as they nimbly stroked thoroughly in your hair and he would smirk with pride when he had you moaning so sweetly just with his delicate touch.

He always enjoyed these small acts of intimacy that you shared with him and you helped show him a side of affection that was completely different from what he knew. There were no strings attached, no obligations he had to fulfill because there was no need for that. You were just expressing your care for him and you didn’t need to be repaid, always insisting on doting on him with your kindness and that made him nervous. He thought that after years of torment he would never actually catch a break or deserve any sort of reprieve after all of the awful things he went through, but you were his saving grace, the light at the end of the dark tunnel of his lonely existence. But as long as you were there, holding him in your arms and indulging him with your soothing touch, he felt like he could get used to this.

“You are worth so much more than you think, Astarion. I know it’s hard to see that, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to show you that.” Your hushed words struck him to his core and he desperately tried to contain the tears welling in his eyes from falling, pulling you closer to him as you both laid in your bedroll and left a chaste kiss on your lips in reverent gratitude. Although you two had only known each other for a short time now, you had already fallen for him and vice versa. There was no need to come to terms with your relationship until he was ready and if playing with his hair had been the beginning of your virtuous tenderness towards him, then he could not wait to see what else you had in store.

[talaok]

Mornin', Birthday girl

Pairing: No-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: it's your birthday, and Joel and your daughters have planned the perfect morning

Warnings: A bunch of overly fluffy smut (cause, as we've established, im delusional): Oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie.

a/n: Guess what, it's my b-day!!! And since I'm delulu I wrote myself a little birthday fic as a present (the fact that this is not my real life is such bullshit tbh) and i thought why not post it on here? maybe today's someone else's birthday too and that would be a nice surprise for them, no?

Sleep was still holding you captive when Joel started positioning himself, making the bed creak with his every movement and cussing internally each time, until finally, he was where he needed to be, right between your thighs.

And what a place to be.

A soft smile pulled at his lips as he watched you peacefully sleeping, your mouth slightly parted, your chest slowly rising and falling... You looked like an angel even when asleep, and his heart filled with that warmth only you knew how to create.

But enough of that, he had to get to work before you woke up.

He gingerly placed his hands on the outer side of your thighs, before slowly, oh so slowly, leaning down to start a trail of small kisses from your navel down to your clit, feeling your body react to his every move.

You still hadn't woken when he glanced up, so for good measure, he flattened his tongue and licked your whole slit like an ice cream cone, and like clockwork, your eyes snapped open.

"b-baby?" your voice was more of a whisper as you finally found the source of your sudden awakening.

"Good mornin', birthday girl" Joel murmured, wasting no time before bending down to taste you again.

"oh my god" you whimpered, having woken from a dream just to get thrown into a new one.

Good morning indeed

"I might just get used to this" A breathy chuckle left your lips, as he licked and sucked your cunt like it was his duty.

"Oh yeah?" the vibrations of his voice made a shiver run up your spine as he answered "I might too" he smirked "I'll just start having you for breakfast"

Your ability to tease and speak quickly disappeared when two of his thick digits plunged into your heat.

"Oh f-fuck" you choked, your hand quickly reaching for his locks to have something to hold onto as he started curling and moving his fingers inside of you, and his mouth closed on your bud to suck on it greedily.

"O-Oh- baby" your back arched from the bed, as he groaned at the feel of your walls tightening around him.

"fuck, you're delicious darlin'"

but you could only hum a low "Oh god" as your legs wrapped around him and your hips started desperately grinding on his face of their own accord.

It didn't take long before your orgasm was approaching, and your legs were shaking.

"C'mon mama" he murmured "Give it to me"

And that's all you needed.

Joel watched hypnotized as you threw your head back, your left hand going to your tits as your right hand gripped his hair for dear life.

He didn't stop, letting you ride out your high until your breathing had become more even, and your fingers in his hair had relaxed.

A soft smile pulled at his lips as he crawled up to meet his lips with yours in a sweet kiss.

"Happy birthday, sugar" he beamed

"thank you, baby" you whispered, one of your hands reaching for his cheek to guide him down for another kiss.

And as the kiss grew hotter, and his hands started roaming every inch of your body, you reached for the bulge in his boxers you could feel rubbing against you.

He groaned into your mouth as you freed his cock and started slowly pumping it.

"fuck" he breathed, leaning down to reserve some attention for your neck "Today's only about you, darlin'" he murmured to your ear, as he took his dick from your hand "let me take care of my wife like she deserves"

You beamed happily at his words, closing your eyes as you felt him position his tip at your entrance until-

"wait" your eyes widened

"what, sugar?"

"is the door locked?"

Joel grinned "Yeah sweetheart"

"oh" you breathed a sigh of relief "ok"

You learned the hard, and very embarrassing way, the importance of a lock to your bedroom door when having two incredibly nosy children.

You tried to get back to your previous excitement when you heard a faint buzz coming from outside your room.

"Is that...music?"

Joel's head fell to your shoulder in frustration as a soft chuckle fled his throat

"It is" he answered, kissing your neck "I told the girls to put on some music"

You frowned "Why?"

A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned up to look at you.

"So that you can make all those pretty sounds you love to make"

Your mouth opened to say something, but all you could do was grin like an idiot.

"You're the perfect man, Joel Miller"

"mh" he considered, kissing the corner of your mouth as he got back to positioning his manhood to your entrance "Only 'cause you're the perfect woman, sweetheart"

And with one slow thrust, he was filling you to the brim, and for once, you could cry out like you always wanted to.

"Jesus Christ" he groaned into your neck "always so tight f'me sugar"

"oh my god" you moaned, as he started to move, finding a slow but, oh so fucking deep pace that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"I love you so much baby" he breathed, as he hit that spongey spot inside of you with each thrust "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but-" he paused to take a breather as your pussy squeezed him so good it was getting hard to breathe "but christ darlin' I'm thankful for you every day"

"J-Joel" you whimpered as your eyes watered and your hands clawed at his back "I love you too, baby" you promised, "I love you so so much" you murmured, nestling your face in his hair as your breathing got more and more ragged, and the mixture of his lips on your skin and his cock deep inside you started to get too much.

The bed was creaking with every thrust, and the sound of his skin meeting with yours was filling the room, but your hearing had become fainter... like you were still dreaming and the only real thing was Joel's broad body hovering over yours, and your impending orgasm

"o-oh god" you cried,

"let go baby" he murmured, sucking on a spot just beneath your ear as he kept pounding you like he wanted to split you in half "Come for me"

And that was it. Your vision went blank and the world went mute for a minute as a wave of pure pleasure took over your entire body.

Joel kept going, trying to last as much as he could for you, but once you let out yet another breathy moan resembling his name, he couldn't do it anymore, and filled you up completely with his cum.

Silence spread as you both tried to learn how to breathe again, but after a good minute, Joel finally reemerged from the crook of your neck to kiss your lips.

"Let me clean you up" he spoke, pulling out of you and walking into the bathroom "I think breakfast is almost ready"

You nodded mindlessly, too fucked out to realize what he'd just said, until, as he reappeared from the bathroom with a wet cloth in his hand, you finally realized.

"Breakfast?"

__ __ __

"Happy birthday mommy!" Your youngest, Eva, came running towards you as soon as you stepped into the kitchen to hug you as tight as she could.

"Happy birthday Mom!" Sarah smiled, joining the hug just a moment after as Joel stumbled into the room to watch the scene unfold.

You bashed in the warmth of their embrace for a moment, before coming back to earth.

"thank you, babies" you murmured, stroking their backs with your thumb as a gigantic smile spread on your face.

"We made breakfast!" Eva announced as they both leaned away.

"You did?"

"We made birthday pancakes" Sarah explained, pointing at a plate stacked with them.

"Like you do!" Eva chirped

And your words got stuck in your throat as you took everything in.

They did all that. Just for you. Your two beautiful daughters.

"I-" you stuttered, as your eyes started to water.

"You did all that on your own?"

"yup!" 

A tear ran down your cheek faster than you could wipe it away.

"mommy, why are you crying?" Eva asked, concerned "daddy, why's mommy crying? Did we do something wrong?"

"N-no baby, you did nothing wrong" you smiled, as other tears fell from your eyes

"I think mommy's crying 'cause she's happy babygirl" Joel explained, coming in to help.

"Oh" her eyes widened "Are you, mom?"

"yes baby" you reassured her, crouching down to their level to be able to hug them again. "You're the most amazing daughters in the whole world, you know that?" you smiled, soaking in their scent "And I love you more than anything"

"go sit down now" you urged, getting back up as they ran to the table, clearly eager to eat their own creation.

But as they did, your eyes couldn't help but focus on the kitchen.

It was a complete mess.

"I'll clean it up, don't worry" Joel spoke, meeting you by your side, and taking your hand in his.

You smiled for what felt like the millionth time this morning.

"thank you" you beamed "for everything"

"It's the least I could do" he shook his head, leaning in to tenderly kiss you 

And as much as you were enjoying the kiss, you couldn't help but laugh as you heard the comments it was eliciting from the audience.

"Ew," Eva groaned, making a disgusted face.

"gross" Sarah agreed.

You and Joel chuckled as you took a step back for both their sakes.

"c'mon, let's go eat," he said "Breakfast's gettin' cold, mama"

~~~~~~

The fic is done this is just a bunch of other shit cause i feel like it, and id like to take a moment to thank my friends for supporting and feeding my delusions

The birthday wishes a friend sent me

And what has now become one of my favorite things I've ever been gifted, the Italian literary classic: Il fu Pedro Pascal