#…I don’t know…I want to be with you

[electronsprotonscroutons]

something seems to have happened with the rise of tiktok, where people are doing a different form of linguistic analysis that fails to acknowledge the language of law. it appears to me that when considering the language used in online social interactions, people forget these interactions don’t just exist in isolation. logic can and will be used against you. words have very real and concrete meanings while also being inherent abstractions. every time some influencer says sewer slide or seggs to bypass the Al Gore rhythm, it is imperative that you put on your thinking cap and remember the power that words hold. remember how that power can be used to hurt you. know you can use that same power to protect yourself.

hey in case you didn't know trans inclusive terminology in healthcare is not about protecting peoples feelings, it's to stop insurance companies from going "well it says here that hysterectomies are a procedure performed on WOMEN and you keep insisting that you're a MAN so we do not in fact have to cover that have a nice day and eat shit"

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

-

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you. 

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before. 

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him. 

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink. 

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.” 

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this. 

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need. 

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes. 

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm. 

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath. 

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers. 

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric. 

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him. 

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes. 

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together. 

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat. 

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles. 

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home. 

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him. 

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs. 

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them. 

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer. 

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail. 

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum. 

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent. 

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you. 

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe. 

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?” 

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now. 

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.” 

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend. 

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze. 

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall. 

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep. 

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before. 

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down. 

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue. 

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist. 

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex. 

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor. 

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed. 

It must be the heat making you act this way. 

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple. 

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin. 

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back. 

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles. 

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again. 

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat. 

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head. 

His palms are slick on your skin. 

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well. 

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest. 

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips. 

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you. 

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest. 

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. 

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed. 

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way. 

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it. 

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.  

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black. 

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open. 

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole. 

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out. 

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath. 

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much. 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you. 

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress. 

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool. 

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit. 

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest. 

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though. 

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours. 

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another. 

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again. 

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The way Nanami subtly doms you

Tags: dom!Nanami x fem!Reader, sub!Reader, dom/sub relationship, NO age regression, sub space.

An: yeah idk i feel like nanami’s very subtle with his domming style, but i see shiu kong as full on dom.

• Nanami isn’t the type to flex his dominance over you. He doesn’t have to be rude or degrading to drive the point home. You know exactly when he gives you that look, it means to behave. His hazel eyes cut in your direction, and his eyebrow raises ever so slightly, like he’s amused by your disobedience. However, he doesn’t smile — doesn’t reward bad behavior.

• “Want to say that again?”, “Language.”, “Didn’t I tell you no pouting?” when you’re being a brat and mouthing off. bonus points if he’s pulling his tie away from his neck and slowly wrapping it around his palm.

• It’s simple, but he gives you his hoodies or coats to wear when you’re out and about. He likes seeing his clothes encompassed your body, and he enjoys that everyone will immediately be able to tell just whose you are.

• Speaking of clothes, Nanami’s not the type to tell you when you can and can’t wear something. He’s confident in his abilities to keep you safe, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make suggestions. “Are you sure about the skirt, sweetheart? I don’t want your legs getting cold.”

• He takes great care of you in an inconspicuous manner. He’ll adjust your clothes on you, buttoning up your top or gently fixing your unruly hair. He’ll throw your towel and pajamas (that he picked out for you) in the dryer when you’re in the shower, so they are all warm and cozy for you when you get out.

• Nanami is also the type to set a pretty firm bedtime for you. He knows how much you like to stay up and how ill you get in the mornings if you hadn’t had a minimum of 8 hours of rest. So, he sets you on a pretty strict bedtime schedule and routine. Don’t worry. He’s there every night to cuddle you to sleep.

• Insistent that you hold his hand while you two are out. He knows how distractible you are, and it eases his mind when your palm rests in his.

• The way he talks can throw you straight into a more submissive headspace, and he knows it too. He doesn’t do it often, but when he notices you getting too stressed or burnt out, he’ll immediately start with the dom talk, “My baby needs a break, doesn’t she?” He’ll coo and pull you into his lap, and when you inevitably lean into his touch, “There she is. Did my baby miss me?”

• Nanami sees it as a gentlemanly thing, but it could also be seen as another form of domming. He doesn’t let you touch a single door handle if he’s with you, and you best believe he’s walking on the outside. You’re tucked beside him on the inside of the sidewalk. He’ll also never let you hold a shopping bag. No, he does not care that he’s holding a bunch of Victoria’s Secret and Ulta bags. He pays for everything. If your car needs gas, Nanami fills it up.

• On the off chance that you two are out, and he’s not right beside you, all he has to do is curl his finger and point at the ground in front of him to let you know that he wants you to come to him, and you better do as you’re told.

• The king of giving simple stern instructions. “Look at me.” “Speak up, baby.”, “Come here, now.”, “Give me a kiss.”, “Ask nicely.”

• Nanami will sit on the couch, spread his legs, and pat his knee when he wants you to sit on his lap. He doesn’t even have to give simple instructions for that.

• Even while he does all this, he respects your independence, autonomy, and intelligence. Let’s bffr rn he’s your biggest supporter in everything you do. He’s so in love with you because he knows how smart and hard working you are. He’s so damn lucky that he gets to be the man to pamper you and ease your weary mind. He loves being that safe space for you, so you can just relax, lean on him, and just be you.

[oceantornadoo]

when you first start talking to simon riley, you want to check yourself into an insane asylum.

you like to think you’re cool, you’re chill, you’re nonchalant. but he takes eight hours to text back, sending you a “come over.” text at 7pm like he hadn’t just ignored you the whole day. you complain to your friends, of course, which is a terrible move when they tell you to drop him and if he wanted to, he would! and you think he does (want to), he’s just so insanely nonchalant about it. so the next time he comes over, chinese takeout in hand after not texting you back since 8am, you go a little crazy…

you open the door for him, stepping back awkwardly when he tried to peck your forehead. he practically shrugs it off, toeing off his boots before setting the food down on your table. “got tha’ dish ya like.” you nod, forgetting his back is to you. simon unpacks the boxes with precision from the bag, not stopping until it’s all laid out on the table. you’ve been quiet for a while, unusual since you’re the talker of the bunch, and that creeping feeling that’s been sliding up his skin finally sets its hooks in him. he turns around curiously, brows furrowing at the sight of you still standing by the door, biting your lip with a timid look and wet eyes. “love?”

you shake your head with a watery smile. “can we talk?” simon follows you as you walk to your couch, feeling like he’s been dropped into an op with no details. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that you’re hurting and he seems to be the cause of it. “i just…don’t get it. how you’re acting so normal.” you’re twisting your hands together. “somethin’ happen, love? got me confused.” you give him that small, weak smile again and it’s like you’ve stabbed him in the heart. “you- you barely talk to me all day and then you just come over here like it’s nothing. it’s just so hot and cold and i’m wrecking myself over it when it’s so clear you don’t care. i’m just so confused, si.”

simon runs through his memories. he texted you good morning, you texted it back, then he went about his duties for the day until he was finally free to ask about dinner. hadn’t even picked up his phone in the meantime, security risks or just plain busyness being the cause. “‘ve been busy, sweetheart. ‘s why i asked t’ come over when i was done.” you shake your head, biting your lip. “it’s the modern day, simon. everyone’s on their phones. i don’t think you’re as into this as me, and that’s fine, but i just want to know!”

now simon’s the one shaking his head, pulling out his phone. he might not be tech savvy but he does know this move from johnny, the fucker constantly complaining about his screen time. he pulls up the screen time tracker and turns it to you. “not everyone.” you’re a bit shocked to be honest. his screen time is ten minutes for the entire day. a few in the morning when he texted you and nothing until nighttime, when he texted you again. you’ve never seen anything like it.

“‘m not a big texter an’ we don’t use personal phones for work, so it’s jus’ a brick i leave at home or lug around. ‘s nothin’ on you. been thinkin’ about you all day, to be honest.” your mouth is open, honestly. any other man would have never shown you their minute-by-minute screen time, would have begged off the “busy” excuse while having been on social media for four hours. simon, by all standards, is genuinely different.

“so, you do like me?” he nodded stiffly, gloved hands reaching for you. you slid into his lap easily, tucking your face into his neck to hide your heated cheeks. you’d even shed a few tears over this, how embarrassing. “‘course i like you, sweetheart. an’ im sorry if it didn’t feel like it. let’s have it out, yeah?” you nod into his skin and he takes a deep breath, pulling you closer to his heart.

from that day on, you compromise with phone calls. when he’s got a few minutes and you’ve hit a lull at work, he’ll call you. it’s better than any text in the world - hearing his gruff voice asking questions about your messy coworkers or dinner plans. not so nonchalant as you thought.

-

i wish this was from personal experience but unfortunately for me, it’s closer to the men not responding for days but having a screen time of six hours.

[pucksandpower]

Fourth Time’s the Charm

Max Verstappen x Norris!Reader

Summary: it starts, as all the best things do, with a bet (“If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”)

Note: thank you so much to @altxanna for the fantastic idea

The lights of the Las Vegas strip pulse outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse, but neither of you cares. You’re both tangled up in each other under the covers, limbs lazily draped and intertwined. The TV is playing some action movie you both stopped paying attention to an hour ago, the volume low, serving as nothing more than background noise.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you say, your voice soft as you trace a finger along Max’s arm, admiring the way his muscles shift beneath his skin.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs, resting his head against the pillow. His accent wraps around the words in a way that feels so familiar it’s comforting.

“About the race?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Max turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes catching the dim light from the window. “What else would I be thinking about?”

You hum, tilting your head in mock thought. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how your girlfriend is ridiculously good-looking? Or how lucky you are to have me?”

His lips quirk into a smile, the kind that’s as much in his eyes as it is on his face. “You’re right. I should focus on what really matters.” He shifts slightly, leaning closer to you. “You’re ridiculously good-looking, and I’m very lucky.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder lightly. “That’s better.”

He catches your hand before you can pull it away, his fingers lacing with yours. His expression grows more serious as he says, “But yes, I’m thinking about the race. I’m thinking about winning.”

You roll your eyes at the sheer confidence in his tone. “You think you’re going to win.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Think? I know I’m going to win. You don’t believe in me?”

“Oh, I believe in you,” you say, smirking. “I just also believe in my brother. And if Lando finishes ahead of you, the title fight goes to Qatar.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Don’t remind me. The idea of dragging this out another week …”

“What, scared Lando might pull it off?”

He narrows his eyes at you, feigning offense. “Scared? Me? No. I’m just saying it would be … inconvenient.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, shifting onto your side to face him fully. “I don’t know, Max. Lando’s been looking pretty good lately. He might surprise you tomorrow.”

Max’s hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re really going to sit here, in my bed, and tell me your brother is going to beat me?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s make it interesting.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“A bet,” he says simply.

You prop yourself up on your elbow, intrigued. “A bet?”

Max nods, his smirk growing. “If I win the race tomorrow and take the championship, you owe me a favor. Anything I want.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

You consider it for a moment, then ask, “And if Lando finishes ahead of you?”

“Then you get a favor. Anything you want.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too broadly. “You really think you’re that unbeatable, huh?”

“I know I am,” he says, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, holding out your hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He clasps your hand in his, his grip firm but warm. “Deal.”

You let your hand linger in his for a moment before pulling it away. “So, what’s this big favor you’re going to ask for if you win?”

He leans back against the pillows, his smirk turning devilish. “You’ll find out when I win.”

“If you win,” you correct, lying back down beside him.

“I’ll win,” he says confidently, his voice low as his hand trails down your back.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest.

You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for a moment, the room falls quiet. It’s peaceful in a way you don’t get to experience often, and you savor it.

“You know,” you say after a while, your voice quiet, “if Lando does win tomorrow, it’s not because you’re not good enough. He’s just …”

“Your brother?” Max finishes, his tone teasing.

You laugh softly. “Yeah, that too. But he’s been working so hard for this, Max. You both have. It’s … complicated.”

He runs a hand through your hair, his touch gentle. “I know. But on the track, it’s not complicated. It’s just me, the car, and the finish line. No brothers, no girlfriends. Just racing.”

You tilt your head to look up at him. “And what about after the race?”

“After the race …” He pauses, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “After the race, I’m just me. And you’re just you. That doesn’t change, no matter what.”

You don’t respond right away, letting his words sink in. Then, with a small smile, you say, “You’re really not scared at all, are you?”

“Of Lando? No,” he says, his voice light. “Of you? A little.”

You laugh, shoving him lightly. “Good. You should be.”

He catches your hand again, this time pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’ll remember that.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing against his. “You’d better get some sleep, Verstappen. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He hums in agreement, but instead of pulling away, he leans in, pressing his lips to your neck. “One more kiss,” he murmurs against your skin.

You close your eyes, your breath hitching slightly. “Just one?”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his smirk returning. “Maybe two.”

You shake your head, laughing softly as he pulls you back under the covers.

And for now, the world outside doesn’t matter.

***

The final lap of the Las Vegas Grand Prix feels endless. The crowd’s roar grows louder with every corner, drowning out even the hum of the engines. Your hands are clammy as you grip the edge of your seat in the Red Bull garage, your eyes glued to the screen. Max’s car slices through the neon-lit streets of Vegas, and Lando is right behind him.

It’s close. Too close.

“Come on, Lando,” you mutter under your breath, though your heart isn’t entirely in it.

Max is P5. Lando is P6. A single position apart. If it stays this way, the championship is Max’s.

You’re not sure who you’re rooting for anymore.

The chequered flag waves as Max crosses the line, and your both heart drops and soars. P5. It’s done.

“MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!” GP’s voice explodes over the team radio, his excitement nearly incomprehensible.

Max’s laughter comes through the speakers, unrestrained and wild. It’s a sound you know all too well — relief, joy, triumph all rolled into one.

“Yessss!” Max shouts. “That was incredible! Thank you so much for this season!”

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, even as the realization sinks in. He won. He really won.

The camera cuts to the Red Bull garage, where the team is in chaos — cheers, hugs, champagne spraying already. Christian adjusts his headset, leaning in to speak.

“Max, congratulations, mate. What an unbelievable season. You’ve done it again.”

“Thanks, Christian. Four in a row — unreal.”

You watch the screen as Max’s car slows on the cooldown lap, weaving slightly in celebration. You know him well enough to see it, even through the helmet — the ease in his shoulders, the grin he must be wearing.

Then his voice cuts through the radio again, this time steadier, more purposeful.

“And just so you know, I’m calling in my favor now.”

Christian’s confused laugh is audible even through the crackling radio. “Your favor? What are you talking about?”

You freeze, the air catching in your lungs.

Max chuckles, low and mischievous. “I had a bet with my girlfriend. I told her I’d win tonight. She owes me a favor, and I know exactly what I want.”

Your stomach flips, a mixture of dread and anticipation.

GP’s voice comes through, confused but amused. “Are we supposed to know what this favor is?”

“No, no,” Max says, his tone casual but firm. “But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Christian presses again, trying to pry it out of him. “Come on, Max. What’s the favor?”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels deliberate, like Max is savoring the moment.

“I want to marry her. Tonight. Right here in Vegas.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, your pulse racing.

GP bursts out laughing. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Max replies, his voice steady, no hint of hesitation.

You sit frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. Did he just-

“Max,” Christian says, a mixture of disbelief and laughter in his tone, “does she even know about this?”

“She does now,” Max says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

The team radio falls silent for a moment, and the TV commentary fills the void as the podium finishers begin to line up. But you barely register any of it.

Max is proposing. No — not proposing. Declaring.

The camera pans to his car as he pulls into parc fermé, the four-time World Champion. The team swarms him, pulling him from the car, hoisting him into the air. The crowd’s cheers are deafening, but all you can think about is his voice in your head.

“I want to marry her. Tonight.”

You barely notice when someone taps your shoulder, Max’s PR officer. “You should get down to the celebrations,” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “He’ll want you there.”

Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, weaving through the sea of Red Bull personnel to get to the barriers.

***

When you finally see him, his helmet is off, his face flushed from the race and grinning so wide it’s like he’s glowing. He spots you instantly, cutting through the crowd like no one else exists.

“Max,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low but firm, his eyes locked on yours. “I want to marry you tonight.”

You stare at him, still trying to catch up. “You’re insane.”

He steps closer, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Probably. But I’m serious.”

“Max, you just won a world championship,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re supposed to be celebrating, not-”

“I am celebrating,” he interrupts, his voice softening. “With you. And I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve known for years that I want you. Why wait?”

Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest. “This is insane. People don’t just get married in Vegas on a whim.”

He tilts his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “People do it all the time, actually.”

“Max-”

“I love you,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I love you, and I want to start the rest of my life with you. Tonight. Right now.”

You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you — the team, the media, everyone waiting for your reaction. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

“Say yes,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “Say yes, and let me win you, too.”

You laugh, a shaky, breathless sound that comes out more like a sob. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

You take a deep breath, your hand tightening around his. “Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The smile that breaks across his face is pure joy, unfiltered and blinding. He pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as the team around you erupts into cheers.

“Alright, Verstappen,” you say, laughing as he spins you. “You’ve got your favor. Let’s get married.”

***

The wedding chapel is everything you expected it to be: over-the-top, tacky in the most endearing way, and bathed in flickering neon lights. A bright red Cadillac is parked out front, its headlights beaming into the frigid Vegas night. Inside, the carpet is a deep, gaudy red, and plastic flowers line the aisle. The faint smell of cigarettes lingers in the air, clinging to the cheap velvet curtains.

It’s surreal, to say the least.

“This is insane,” you mumble, standing in a side room with Lando, who’s staring at you like he’s still trying to process what’s happening.

“You think this is insane?” He replies, pointing vaguely toward the chapel. “What about the fact that you’re marrying Max Verstappen in a Vegas chapel at 3 a.m. with a guy dressed as Elvis officiating?”

You groan, adjusting the makeshift bouquet of roses someone from the Red Bull team had pulled together. “Don’t remind me.”

Lando smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t think I have to. This is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life.”

You shoot him a look. “You don’t have to be here, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” He folds his arms, the grin never leaving his face. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Besides, who else is going to walk you down the aisle?”

Your stomach flips at the thought. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Lando softens a little, stepping closer. “Hey,” he says, his voice quieter now, “you sure about this? I mean, it’s Max. And Vegas. And Elvis.”

You bite your lip, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I love him, Lando. He’s ridiculous, and he drives me insane, but I love him.”

Lando watches you for a moment, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess if anyone’s crazy enough to keep up with Max, it’s you.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, but your smile betrays you.

There’s a knock on the door, and one of the chapel staff pokes their head in. “We’re ready for you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat.

Lando claps his hands together, his grin back in full force. “Alright, let’s do this.”

***

The chapel is even more ridiculous than you’d imagined. A man dressed as Elvis stands at the altar, adjusting his oversized sunglasses and strumming a guitar idly as he waits. Max is already there, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another podium ceremony.

When he sees you, his face lights up, and any lingering nerves you had melt away.

“You ready?” Lando whispers, offering his arm.

“As I’ll ever be,” you whisper back, looping your arm through his.

The music starts — a surprisingly heartfelt rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” sung by Elvis — and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

“You’re walking down the aisle to Elvis,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, though you’re smiling.

The walk feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Max’s gaze is fixed on you the entire time, his expression soft and unguarded in a way you don’t see often. By the time you reach him, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Lando hands you off with an exaggerated sigh. “Take care of her. She’s the only one who can put up with you.”

“Don’t worry,” Max says, smirking as he shakes Lando’s hand. “I plan to.”

Lando steps back, but not before whispering, “If you hurt her, I’ll crash you out next season.”

Max laughs, then turns back to you, his hands finding yours.

“You look amazing,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I look ridiculous,” you whisper back.

His grin widens. “Even better.”

Elvis clears his throat, drawing your attention. “Alright, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”

The ceremony is exactly as absurd as you’d expected, and yet somehow, it feels perfect.

“Dearly beloved,” Elvis begins, his voice smooth and practiced, “we are gathered here tonight to witness the union of Max and …” He pauses, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You realize no one ever told him your name.

“Uh,” you startle back to reality for a moment, “Y/N.”

“Max and Y/N,” Elvis continues smoothly, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

He launches into the ceremony, peppering in car-themed metaphors and Elvis song references.

“Marriage,” he says at one point, “is a lot like a road trip. Sometimes it’s smooth sailing, sometimes you hit a few potholes, but as long as you’ve got each other, you’ll always find your way back to Graceland.”

You glance at Max, who’s barely holding back a laugh.

“Are you laughing at our wedding vows?” You whisper.

“I’m laughing at the potholes,” he whispers back.

Elvis continues, undeterred.

When it’s time for the personal vows, Max surprises you.

“I know this is all … unconventional,” he says, his hands still holding yours. “But that’s us, isn’t it? Unconventional. From the first time we met, I knew you were different. You don’t just keep up with me; you challenge me. You push me to be better, on and off the track. And you put up with all my nonsense, which is honestly impressive.”

You laugh, tears stinging your eyes.

“I promise to always be your biggest fan, even when you’re cheering for your brother,” Max continues, his voice softer now. “I promise to always fight for you, always support you, and always love you, no matter how crazy life gets.”

You’re not sure when the tears started falling, but they’re there, hot and fast.

“Your turn,” Elvis says, nodding at you.

You take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “Max, you drive me crazy. You’re stubborn, competitive, and impossible to argue with. But you’re also kind, loyal, and the most passionate person I’ve ever met. You make me laugh when I don’t want to, and you make me believe in things I never thought I could.”

His eyes soften, and you squeeze his hands tighter.

“I promise to always stand by your side, even when you’re impossible. I promise to love you, challenge you, and never let you win a bet without a fight.”

Max grins, and the rest of the room seems to fade away.

When Elvis finally declares you husband and wife, it feels like the world stops.

“You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a flourish.

Max doesn’t hesitate, pulling you close and kissing you like the world outside doesn’t exist. The room erupts into cheers, Lando’s voice loudest among them.

When you finally pull away, Max leans his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“We did it.”

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “Yeah. We did.”

And just like that, Max Verstappen is your husband.

***

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughter, chaos, and an overwhelming sense of unreality. The “reception” is cobbled together on the fly, with Red Bull team members and an assortment of drivers spilling out of limos and taxis into a nearby lounge they commandeer for the celebration.

Max stays close to you the entire time, his hand resting on your lower back or entwined with yours. Every time you glance at him, he’s already looking at you, his expression so full of love it makes your chest ache.

Eventually, you both slip away from the commotion, winding your way back to Max’s penthouse. The city hums below, the neon lights still pulsing with energy, but inside, everything feels quiet. Peaceful.

You’re curled up together in bed, the chaos of the night left behind, when Max finally speaks. “So,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “are you going to tell me what your favor would’ve been if you had won the bet?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, Verstappen.”

His brows lift, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”

You tilt your head, feigning deep thought. “Well, it would’ve been something big. Something life-changing.”

His grin widens, and he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Life-changing, huh? What, were you going to make me switch teams? Retire early?”

You smirk, letting the pause hang in the air just long enough for him to grow impatient. “A ring.”

Max blinks, caught off guard for a split second. “A ring?”

“Mm-hmm.” You trace lazy circles on his chest, pretending not to notice his stunned expression. “I was going to ask for a ring. But you, being Max Verstappen, had to be a few laps ahead and beat me to it. Like usual.”

His laughter bursts out, warm and unrestrained. “You’re telling me you were going to propose to me?”

You shrug, unable to keep the playful smile off your face. “What can I say? I wanted to beat you at your own game.”

Max shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you fully. His grin is impossibly wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement and something deeper. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You married me,” you point out, grinning back.

“I did,” he agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And I’d do it again. But I have to say, I think I prefer this version. Me proposing. You saying yes. Vegas. Elvis.”

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He’s still smiling, but his voice softens, turning serious. “I love you, you know. And I don’t care if it’s Vegas or a ten-minute ceremony or some ridiculous bet. This — us — feels right. It always has.”

Your teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer. “I love you, too. Even if you are insufferable.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “Insufferable and married. To you. Forever.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Forever, huh?”

“Forever,” he repeats firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And just for the record, I would’ve said yes if you’d proposed first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His lips brush against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad I won this time.”

You laugh against his mouth, your arms winding around his neck as you pull him closer. “Don’t get used to it, Verstappen.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs. Verstappen.”

The name catches you off guard, and your heart stutters in your chest. Mrs. Verstappen. It’s ridiculous and perfect and makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You like that?” He asks, clearly noticing your reaction.

You bite your lip, nodding. “I think I could get used to it.”

His grin returns, smug and full of mischief. “Good. Because you don’t have a choice now.”

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The city lights outside keep shining, the noise of Las Vegas carrying on far below, but in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

And that’s all that matters.

[sttoru]

outlaw!toji who initially kidnapped you for money, to rob you from your valuable belongings, eventually forms a strange attachment to you. he can’t help but feel a faint twinge of guilt for robbing a pretty and delicate little thing like you.

so, he decides to let you return to your beloved family in town. though he does not let you go completely.

every now and then when toji is passing by the town you reside in - avoiding sheriffs and other people whom could possibly recognise him from the wanted posters plastered on every wall - he looks for you.

of course, you freak out the first time he sneaked up on you. however slowly yet surely, you let your guard down. the outlaw didn’t harm you in any way after all.

“how ‘re ya doin’, princess?” toji would always greet you with that signature, cocky smirk of his, leaning against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his chiseled chest or his hands on his worn gun belt.

sometimes you reply quickly, but on other occasions you indulge him and continue the conversation. it’s often at night that he visits you, so you have less of a chance to get caught together.

you don’t know when or how toji found out where your family’s house is. he simply started showing up at your balcony once in a while, just to catch up. after a couple times, you even let him in.

those nightly visits swiftly turned into something more intimate. it feels so wrong yet so right. a dangerous criminal who’s killed hundreds, who had even kidnapped you one day, being invited into your bed— how scandalous.

though you can’t help it. his callused yet warm hands that touch your skin, his burly body that presses you into the mattress just right, his slightly chapped lips that nip at your flesh and leave marks. . . you don’t regret a thing.

especially when you’re both catching your breath after an intense encounter. toji’s muscular body, filled with countless of scars, blankets yours easily. his arms cradle you to his bare chest afterwards and all you can do is relax against him.

“i think i really hit the jackpot with ya, aye? may not have robbed ya of yer stuff that day, but i got ma prize money one way or ‘nother,” the rugged outlaw grins as he lights up a cigar and holds it between his lips.

you can’t even tell him off for smoking in your room. toji’s fingers massage your scalp so good to the point you’re putty in his hands. the scent of tobacco is also comforting. it’s one you associate with him, because he always smells like it. it’s always a combination of tobacco, nature, horses and gunpowder.

toji knows that he has to leave before anyone comes checking in on you, but he can’t leave you when you look so adorable, clinging onto him like a lifeline.

every time he visits, it’s the same exciting story.

when toji is in a more sentimental mood, he takes you out on a ride. he settles you on the back of his horse, speeding off into the sunset, letting you enjoy the view outside of town.

the beautiful freedom that comes with the life of an outlaw. the freedom of seeing nature in all its glory. you get to experience it all.

at times, when you’re out and about, he takes his chance and teaches you how to handle a gun. toji knows you’ve been spoiled rotten by your parents growing up, so you probably haven’t touched a gun a day in your life. that’s where he comes in.

“oi, watch out. yer gonna blow my fuckin’ face off, girl,” toji grunts with a faint chuckle as he notices your clumsy hand gestures while holding his revolver. it’s endearing, truly. he doesn’t yet understand why it warms his heart to see you try and shoot at the targets he set up.

what the outlaw loves more than that, is when you’re both resting against a large oak tree, with his head on your lap. especially after he gets back from a long and successful heist in a far away town.

toji often lets his cowboy hat cover his face while he naps and uses your thighs as the perfect, plush pillow. the gentle breeze only adds to the perfect moment.

when you take his stetson and put it on your head instead in a innocent gesture, he lazily opens one eye and raises a brow in amusement.

“oh? that yer way of telling me y’ want a ride?” toji teases before pinching your cheek. he loves seeing that flustered expression on your face when you’re once again reminded of the cowboy hat rule he taught you the other day.

toji never misses the opportunity, however. he sits up and leans back against the tree trunk, patting his thick thighs which he spreads lightly.

“hop on f’ me then, pretty. show me how good of a cowgirl y’ are, yeah?”

well, briefly said, it’s never a dull moment with outlaw!toji.

[nanaslutt]

minors and ageless blogs dni

nanami kisses the side of your thigh slowly, sucking the skin into his mouth, making you clench the muscles in your thighs. you have to bite back a moan at the tease.

“don’t hold back your noises from me, i want to hear you, sweetheart.” another kiss is planted on your inner thigh, closer to your clit this time. you accidentally do as he says, a whine spilling free.

you’re rewarded with his cheeks dimpling with his smile. the most handsome sight one could ever see. “feeling good?” you nod, locking eyes with his when he flicks his up to meet yours. “good. i love your thighs” kiss “so soft” kiss “so beautiful” suck.

you hissed in through your teeth, tangling your hand in his hair. it’s as soft as it looks, and the touch makes him purr against your skin. the vibrations tingle through your body, finding your clit with ease.

“ken… please. no more teasing” your voice is wrecked, pathetic, breathy. his pupils dilate at the sound of it, and you know you’re about to get exactly what you want.

“i could never deny you anything, honey.” you almost cry when his plush lips wrap around your sore clit. thighs twitch unconsciously around his head, and your legs shake from where you stand. his large, warms hands slide up the backs of your thighs, cupping your ass.

moan after moan spills from your lips when he shakes his head back and forth while flicking your clit with his tongue, a long groan in his throat, only adding to the sensation.

“f-fuck kento!” he nods, lapping his tongue to catch the wetness at your entrance between your folds. the feeling is euphoric. “you taste exactly how i imagined. i should have done this ages ago.” your toes curl where you stand when he dives back in to suckle on your clit perfectly.

his mouth is so warm and so perfect, it’s like he knows exactly how to get you off. you regret not asking kento out to dinner years ago, if this was what you were missing out on. one of his hands leave your ass to join his tongue in playing with your pussy, and you have to put extra effort into staying on your feet.

“i’ll be careful. i want to stretch you out with my fingers for a while before we have sex.” he whispers against your clit before pressing a kiss to the sensitive nub. “i’ve only read about this, so let me know if it doesn’t feel right.” what? he’s never?

your brain nearly short circuits when he slides his fingers inside you and crooks them forward repeatedly, rubbing against that sweet spot inside you and sending you spiraling. “is this your gspot? i thought it would be harder to find. you get really right when i touch you here.”

as if demonstrating, he did it again. “fuck! yes kento! this- you’ve never fingered anyone before?” you asked breathlessly, digging your nails into his scalp. he shook his head, eyes locked on where his fingers were disappearing inside of you like he was mesmerized.

“no, i’ve never gone down on anyone either. how are you feeling? is it good for you?” jesus. what a fucking question. you nodded dumbly, pushing his handsome face back against your clit, you hummed when he found your clit and sucked eagerly, timing his sucks perfect with his thrusts. his gorgeous eyes bore into yours, silently begging for a response. for praise. for reassurance that he was doing good.

“yes. so good. don’t stop.”

[ripcupid]

Sevika is now a council member, why not make it smut 🤷🏾‍♀️

- I honestly don’t know how I feel abt this or even the ending of arcane but fuck it btw I have another sev fic i should finish soon. 🤞🏾

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” You pants, holding Sevika's shoulders as she fervently kisses your neck, pressing you against the table, her breath hot against your skin. "You have a meeting soon, what if someone walks in?"

Sevika pulls back to you, her eyes dark with desire as a mischievous smile plays on her lips. "I don't care, let them," Sevika smirks, lifting you easily onto the table and wrapping your arms around her neck before saying, "You know why? Cause I'm a fucking councillor now, I make the rules, baby.

You giggle at her boldness, unable to push aside the ache growing between your thighs at the possibility of the rest of the council walking in on you. "Please just be quick, Sev," you plead, playing with her hair as she leans in closer, her lips brushing against your jaw.

"I can't promise that, babe," she chuckles, kissing along your jaw as her hands slips under your shirt, pulling you closer.

You can't help but moan softly as she nips and sucks at your neck, moving your head to give her better access as you give in to her touch. Sevika's hands move with urgency, making quick work of your shirt and bra, tossing them to the floor before standing back to get a good look at you.

"Fuck, baby" she breathes, trailing her eyes over your exposed chest with hunger in her gaze. "Take those off for me," she demands, her eyes locked on your every move as you eagerly comply, stripping yourself of your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear. You blush at her staring, shying away slightly before meeting her eyes with a shy smile.

"Stop being shy, c'mere," she murmurs, stepping forward, her hands tracing your waist before settling on your hips. "You’re so fucking hot," she says against your lips making you giggle before pulling you into a passionate kiss, her lips moving hungrily against yours.

Sevika guides you to her designated chair around the table, pulling you onto her lap as she deepens the kiss, her hands resting on the curve of your ass. You wrap your arms around her neck, subtly grinding against her thigh as she kneads your ass, giving you a playful spank. You tuck your head into the crook of her neck, hiding the whimper that escapes your lips as she rubs over the now sensitive skin.

"Don't hide from me, baby," Sevika demands, spanking your ass again, making you gasp. You face flushes as you meet her intense gaze, feeling a surge of arousal at her hands slowly guiding you to grind against her thick thigh. Your clothed clit rubs against your panties, the damp fabric creating a delicious friction that makes you twitch in her lap.

"Oh fuck, Sev," you moan, bunching Sevika's shirt in your fists as you grind harder against her. The feeling of her strong thigh against your throbbing clit fogs your brain, forgetting about the meeting starting soon, only able to think about how badly you want to cum.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Sevika coos, brushing back your hair and holding your face in her hand. You nod, unable to form words, the only sounds escaping your lips being desperate whimpers and cries. "Yeah, you wanna cum for me?"

"Yes, please," you manage to gasp out, your hips faltering when Sevika flexes her thigh against you, increasing the pressure on your throbbing clit. Sevika's hand leaves your face, trailing her fingers down your neck to your tits, teasingly circling your hardened nipples.

You twitch as she pinches the sensitive buds, chuckling softly at your reaction. She leans back in her chair to watch you squirm in her lap, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she taunts, "My meeting starts soon and I would hate to leave you like this." You whimper in frustration, feeling the heat pooling between your legs as Sevika's finger trails even lower.

"No, please, I'm so close," you cry, humping against her thigh desperately. Sevika's grin widens as she pulls your panties up against your dripping core, reveling in the way you writhe and moan under her touch. As your orgasm builds, Sevika guides your hips to move faster, feeling you drip onto her thigh.

"Can I cum, Sevika, please? " you beg, your voice shaky with need as your head drops against her chest, feeling the tension building in your belly.

Sevika chuckles, stroking your hair gently as she whispers, "Of course, baby." With her encouragement, you finally reach the edge, tucking your head in her neck to muffle the cries of pleasure as your body trembles.

As you come down from your high, you face Sevika again, a shy smile on your lips as you give her a quick kiss before getting off her lap with shaky legs. "You need help?" Sevika jokes, watching you stumble slightly before getting up to help.

"I'm good, just need a minute," you pant using the table to steady yourself.

"Let me help," Sevika insists, picking up your clothes and carefully dressing you.

"Thank you," you whisper, once she's done, leaning up to kiss her once more before heading towards the door, "Have a good meeting,” you wink as you exit, running into another council member as you speed down the hall

[dissapointu]

how about the arcane characters seeing their crush fight someone for the first time (and winning)? and like, they just didn't know how strong reader truly is?

OH SNAP. YOU’RE OUT HERE THROWING HANDS AND TAKING NAMES?? The Arcane crew would LOSE IT seeing you handle business for the first time—especially since they had no idea you were this strong. They’d be standing there like, “Wait… when did you become a total badass??”

Jinx

Jinx would be cheering you on like a maniac.

• The moment she sees you throwing punches, she’s SCREAMING. “GET ‘EM! GET ‘EM! THAT’S MY CRUSH!”

• She’s doing the chaotic Jinx laugh the whole time, completely hyped up by your energy.

• When you win, she’s sprinting up to you, grabbing your face, and grinning like, “That was AMAZING! You’re, like, a total beast! Why didn’t you TELL me??”

• Lowkey? She wants to see it again. “We should start a fight club or something. You’d crush it!”

Vi

Vi is SHOOK but also a little turned on, let’s be real.

• She’s watching you handle the fight, and her jaw just DROPS. “Damn, I didn’t know you had it in you…”

• She’s impressed as hell, crossing her arms and nodding as you take down your opponent like a pro.

• When you win, she saunters up to you all casual but can’t hide the smirk. “Not bad. You’ve been holding out on me, huh?”

• You’d catch her sneaking little proud glances at you for the rest of the day. “That’s my kinda person.”

Sevika

Sevika’s eyebrows are practically in her HAIRLINE watching you fight.

• She didn’t think you had it in you, so she’s just standing there, arms crossed, staring like, “Well, damn. Look at you go.”

• When you win, she’s all smug, leaning back and grinning. “Didn’t know you were such a badass. Guess I’ll have to start watching my back, huh?”

• She wouldn’t admit it, but seeing you fight earns you a TON of respect in her book. She’s definitely bringing it up later. “You know, not many people can throw a punch like that. I’m impressed.”

Silco

Silco is stunned but trying to act like he’s not.

• He’s watching the fight with a raised eyebrow, sipping his drink like, “Interesting.” But internally? He’s like, “Where have they been hiding this?”

• When you win, he calmly walks up to you, gives you an approving nod, and says something cryptic like, “You’re full of surprises. I admire that.”

• He’s definitely making mental notes about how you might be a bigger asset than he realized. But also? He’s secretly impressed by how you can handle yourself.

Vander

Vander is proud AND worried all at once.

• He’s watching you fight, hands on his hips, muttering stuff like, “Didn’t think they had that in ‘em… but damn, they’re good.”

• When you win, he walks up to you with the classic dad voice: “You alright? Didn’t know you could handle yourself like that. You really showed ‘em, though.”

• He’s proud as hell but makes you promise not to take unnecessary risks. “I know you’re strong, but don’t go looking for trouble, yeah?”

Ekko

Ekko is blown away and immediately HYPED.

• He’s watching you fight like, “Ohhh snap! Look at them GO!” He’s bouncing on his heels, ready to jump in if you need backup, but realizing… you don’t.

• When you win, he’s practically tackling you in excitement. “That was AMAZING! Since when were you such a badass??”

• He’s 100% bragging about you to the Firelights later. “My crush? Absolute legend. You should’ve seen them.”

Jayce

Jayce is equal parts surprised and impressed.

• He’s standing there with wide eyes, muttering, “Wait, when did they learn how to do THAT?”

• When you win, he’s immediately running over, grinning like a golden retriever. “That was insane! You’re incredible—how come you never told me you could fight like that?”

• He’s hyping you up for DAYS afterward. “No, seriously, did you see how they took that guy down? Absolute powerhouse.”

Viktor

Viktor is completely blindsided.

• He’s watching the fight like, “Wait… what is happening right now?” He’s genuinely shocked because he didn’t think you were the type to throw hands.

• When you win, he’s just staring at you in awe. “You… you didn’t even break a sweat. That was incredible.”

• He’d definitely be curious about how you learned to fight and want to hear all the details. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn is lowkey AMAZED but trying to stay professional about it.

• She’s watching you fight, hands clasped behind her back, muttering under her breath like, “Impressive… very impressive.”

• When you win, she gives you a warm smile and says something like, “I always knew you were capable, but I didn’t realize you were THIS capable. Well done.”

• She’s super proud of you but probably a little worried you’ll get hurt next time. “Just… be careful, alright?”

Mel Medarda

Mel is intrigued and very, VERY impressed.

• She’s watching the fight with a small smile, sipping her wine like, “How fascinating.”

• When you win, she gracefully approaches you and says something smooth like, “You’ve been holding out on me. That was quite the performance.”

• She’s 100% filing this information away for later, already thinking about how your strength could come in handy.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa is IMPRESSED beyond belief.

• She’s watching you fight with a smirk, nodding to herself like, “They’ve got potential.”

• When you win, she strides up to you and claps a hand on your shoulder. “You fight with skill—and heart. I respect that.”

• She’d probably want to spar with you later just to test your limits. “Let’s see what else you’re capable of.”

Heimerdinger

Heimerdinger is both shocked and fascinated.

• He’s watching the fight with wide eyes, clutching his little staff like, “Oh dear, oh dear… they’re actually quite formidable!”

• When you win, he’s rushing over to check on you. “My word! That was… extraordinary. Are you alright?”

• He’d definitely want to know more about your skills. “Your technique is quite remarkable. Have you considered joining a combat academy?”

Salo

Salo is quietly impressed but not super showy about it.

• He’s watching you fight with a raised eyebrow, muttering under his breath like, “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

• When you win, he gives you a subtle nod and says something lowkey like, “Not bad. You’re tougher than you look.”

• He’s definitely rethinking everything he thought he knew about you.

Scar

Scar is losing his mind in the BEST way.

• He’s hyping you up the whole time, yelling stuff like, “GET ‘EM! That’s my crush right there!”

• When you win, he’s immediately running over, laughing and clapping you on the back. “That was EPIC! You’re my hero!”

• He’s bragging about you to literally everyone. “Yeah, my crush just took someone down like a pro. No big deal.”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie is floored but super proud.

• She’s watching you fight with wide eyes, quietly whispering, “Wow… they’re amazing.”

• When you win, she’s blushing and smiling as she walks over to you. “That was incredible. Are you always this strong?”

• She’d definitely admire you even more after seeing you hold your own like that.

Lest

Lest is completely captivated.

• She’s watching you fight with a mix of awe and concern, muttering to herself like, “They’re… really strong. I had no idea.”

• When you win, she’s rushing over to make sure you’re okay, brushing some imaginary dust off your shoulder. “That was amazing, but are you hurt? You’re incredible.”

• She’d probably be in awe of you for DAYS afterward. *“I can’t believe you did that. You’re amazing”

[tender-rosiey]

Broooo i need more of sukuna and his shy daughter. PLEASE🙏

quiet strings — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

your daughter sits in the corner, her small figure nearly swallowed by the shadows as she stares at the koto placed on its low stand in the middle of the room.

the delicate strings, taut and gleaming, shimmer in the fading light, waiting for the timid touch of her fingers.

sukuna leans against the doorframe, his imposing figure filling the space as he observes her with a sharp, unreadable gaze.

the contrast between his crimson eyes and the softness of the room’s light is almost startling.

he tilts his head slightly, breaking the silence with a muttered, “how long is she going to sit there staring at it?”

you turn to him, shooting him a look that carries years of unspoken understanding.

“she’s just nervous,” you say softly, the familiar warmth in your voice tempering the sharpness of his. “give her a moment.”

“nervous?” sukuna snorts, his lips curling into a smirk that reveals a glint of his sharp teeth. “over a bunch of strings? she’s my daughter, isn’t she? she should be tearing that thing apart by now.”

at his words, your daughter flinches ever so slightly, her small shoulders hunching as she curls inward, her fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve.

you sigh, brushing past sukuna as you cross the room to kneel beside her. the subtle rustle of your robes is the only sound as you reach out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“sweetheart?” you call, your voice as gentle as the breeze filtering through the open window.

her wide eyes, so much like her father’s but lacking his imposing intensity, flick up to meet yours.

“yes, mama?” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the cicadas.

you smile, radiating a quiet reassurance that you know she needs. “you’ve been looking at the koto for a while,” you say. “do you want to try playing it?”

her small hands fidget with the hem of her sleeve as her cheeks flush a soft pink. she shakes her head quickly. “no… I can’t. I won’t be good at it.”

from the doorframe, sukuna lets out a low grunt, but you silence him with a quick glare over your shoulder.

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. you turn back to your daughter, cupping her cheek in your palm, your thumb brushing lightly over her soft skin.

“you don’t know that,” you say with quiet conviction. “why don’t you try just one string? I’ll stay with you.”

her gaze darts to sukuna, who stands silently watching. his expression is as inscrutable as ever, but the weight of his attention seems to unnerve her.

still, she gives you a small nod, and you smile, helping her to her feet.

as you guide her to the koto, sukuna pushes off the doorframe and strolls lazily into the room, his presence looming as he stops a few steps away, arms crossed.

“you’re coddling her,” he mutters under his breath.

“she’s learning,” you counter without missing a beat, glancing at him over your shoulder. “not everyone leaps straight into things like you.”

his smirk deepens, but he says nothing more.

your daughter kneels beside the koto, her tiny hands hovering uncertainly above the strings. “just one,” you encourage gently, sitting beside her to offer your steady presence.

her small fingers tremble as they pluck a single string. the note rings out, soft and clear, hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

she freezes, her wide eyes staring at the koto in awe as the sound resonates and fades.

“see?” you say, smiling warmly. “you can do it.”

she glances up at you, her lips parting in a tiny, hopeful smile. encouraged, she plucks another string, then another. a tentative melody begins to form, its simplicity endearing.

from his spot a few paces away, sukuna raises an eyebrow. “is that supposed to be music?” he drawls, his tone sharp and teasing.

your daughter’s hands falter immediately, her shoulders tensing as she shrinks back.

“sukuna,” you snap, your voice low but firm. it’s the same tone you use when reining him in—something none other than you would dare.

he shrugs, completely unrepentant. “what? if she’s going to play, she might as well do it properly.”

your daughter begins to pull her hands away from the koto, her confidence shaken, but you place your hands gently over hers. “don’t listen to him,” you say softly, giving her an encouraging squeeze. “you’re doing wonderfully.”

she hesitates, her gaze flicking between you and sukuna before nodding timidly. “really?”

“really,” you say firmly, shooting sukuna a pointed look. “and I think you should keep going.”

her small hands return to the strings, and this time her melody grows steadier, her confidence building with each note.

sukuna lets out a low grunt of approval. “not terrible,” he admits begrudgingly.

your daughter’s face lights up, a shy but bright smile breaking through as she turns to him. “papa?”

he steps closer, crouching down to her level. his crimson gaze bores into hers, but his gruff tone softens slightly. “you’re still not that good,” he says, resting an arm on his knee, “but at least you’re trying.”

her eyes sparkle, her voice earnest as she promises, “I’ll practice more, papa!”

“good,” he replies, standing to his full height again.

you are silently encouraging d/n to play more, before you’re whisked up in your husband’s arms.

you look back at your daughter—who did not notice your absence—and then at your husband before frowning, “hey, what gives?!”

“I want another one.”

“what.”

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sage & stardust

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol. 

☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu. 

Prologue

Pandora lives in a little cottage in the forest. Even though she’s young, she knows the trees and ferns, the mushrooms and flowers. Who needs mundane playthings when you have four entire acres of wilderness to keep you entertained? 

Her mother is an artist, and steady hands run in the family. Pandora spends her evenings carefully painting a dollhouse model of the cottage that her father had crafted for her in his little workshop shed outside.

All in all, it’s a peaceful existence, and things are very predictable. Mother is in the studio solarium room, fingers covered in inks and colorful spots. Father is crafting something in his shed, fixing up the house as he engages in an endless war against the elements of the forest. 

Pandora flutters around, checking in on her parents, and exploring the immediate grounds around the cottage. Today, she’s following a particularly beautiful butterfly as it glides amongst the trees down by the pond. She’s so enamored with the pretty wings, that she almost doesn’t notice the fairy ring. 

A circle of mushrooms, one she’s scouted out before, is along the bank of the murky water. Pandora has heard tales of fairies and pixies, and has been warned not to enter circles like this. She sidesteps the ring, and that’s when she notices something out of place, something that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Just outside of the little circle, is a small creature. At first glance, the glossy wings look butterfly-like, but Pandora has never seen sage green wings like these on a bug. The small child pauses, hiking up her dress and kneeling down to get a better look.

Definitely not a butterfly. Where an insect would have a thorax at the joining of wings, this creature has a tiny little man. Well, he’s bigger than a butterfly would be, but it’s clear to the young girl that she’s looking at a fairy, and as she inspects him further, she notices one of his wings is torn.

Pandora has mended butterfly wings with her father before- she knows what to do, but she’s hesitant. Should she help this small fairy, as she’s helped many bugs before him? Is he simply resting and not in immediate danger?

She looks around, noting any predators in the surrounding area. A large bird circles overhead, and Pandora decides she has to act. Reaching for a leaf, she scoops the tiny fairy's body into the greenery, carefully carrying him back toward the cottage.

As she gets there, she sees her father getting into his work truck to head to town, and Pandora knows better than to stop him. She also knows better than to go interrupt her mother, who is on a deadline for a piece and has asked not to be disturbed.

No, Pandora will have to do this rescue mission herself, and she heads into her father’s workshop to find the glue.

She does her best to be gentle, even with her pudgy fingers, as she mends the torn wing. When she’s done, Pandora finds one of the many small boxes her father has made. It’s a cedar box, with a small, iron latch.

Leaving the fairy, she goes outside, collecting a little nest of moss to put into the box.

When everything is finished, she sets the fairy into the box, carefully closing it and latching it shut. He needs some rest, and as far as the small child is concerned, he’s safer in her little box than lying in the grass where big predators might hurt him.

One:

“I’m sure it’s no surprise that your grandmother left you the cottage,” the lawyer in charge of the estate tells you as he looks over the papers on his desk. “As you are the only artist in the family, Pandora wrote that she hopes the solace will inspire, as it had inspired her, and her mother before her.”

You nod solemnly. It’s a monumental gift, one your cousins would kill you for- but alas, you’d spent the most time with your grandmother in her later days, and the solarium studio is already set up as your own. To be young, and a homeowner now- this had never been your intention in spending time with her, but perhaps it’s a happy outcome, given the dire situation of her passing.

“She also wanted me to tell you, that you can finally open the box.” The lawyer looks at you expectantly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know what she was referring to?”

“Yes,” you respond. “She’d kept this small cedar box. Her father had made it for her when she was a child. It’s on her nightstand, but she’s never opened it.”

“Well, that’s… interesting.”

“Yeah, Pandora’s Box, I know the story,” you let out a sad chuckle. “Part of me doesn’t want to open it, she always told me not to, I guess I made it this big bad thing in my head as a kid.”

“I’m sure it’s just jewelry or something of the sort,” the lawyer assures you, and you remind yourself that men of the law are never the superstitious type.

Two:

You’re a few glasses deep into your bottle of wine, and you find yourself looking at your grandmother’s small cedar box. Curiosity is getting the better of you, and liquid courage is doing wonders to calm your superstitions. 

There can’t be anything dangerous in the box, or your grandma wouldn’t have left it for you… right?

Taking a breath, you approach the box. It’s sitting on your dining room table, you’d gingerly carried it from the bedroom earlier, with the intention of opening it, and now, you will. 

You sit, staring at it for a few moments. Your hands shake when you reach for it, but you push away your anxiety. The iron latch is old and worn, but it clicks open after a bit of work. Taking another deep breath, you lift the cedar lid. 

Nothing happens, no surge of dark spirits releasing the worst of humanity, no hurricane or pestilence-

You lean forward, looking into the box, and you’re shocked by what you find there.

Half buried in a nest of mossy greens that looked like they were only picked hours ago, is a small winged man. It’s a fairy, you realize, with glossy wings-

He stirs a little, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

How could this be? Ignoring the moss that’s apparently been preserved for over seventy years, how is this tiny creature still alive after being shut away for a lifetime?

Part of you wants to close the box, to forget about it- but then the tiny man’s eyes open, and he stares up at you. You freeze immediately, as if paralyzed, your mind going blank in the face of the supernatural.

The fairy rubs his eyes, sitting up amongst the bed of moss. His hair is all messy, but in a way that’s kind of adorable. He gazes up at you, and then, he speaks. “Hello?”

“Hi?” It comes out a question, and you’re unsure how to proceed, so you say nothing else.

“Sorry, this is embarrassing,” he laughs, and you note the way his skin has turned pink. “Did you save me?”

“As horrible as this sounds, I uh… inherited you?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” the tiny man muses. “I remember being attacked by a large bird in my realm, my wing was damaged, I made my way to a fairy ring to come to your world and recuperate, but I must have passed out.”

You consider his words for a moment. “My grandma used to fix butterfly wings, is it possible she found you and fixed yours?”

The fairy extends one of his sage appendages, inspecting it. “It definitely looks repaired… Your grandma, you said?”

“Yes.” You nod. “I was told she’d had this box since she was a girl… have you been in here for a long time?”

“I was in hibernation, the dark and the moss- it was healing, I awoke because of the light.”

“So you have been in there for years,” you conclude, shocked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“How many years is ‘years?’ You humans have a different view of time than I do.”

“Probably seventy or eighty?” you suggest.

“It didn’t feel like that long.” He cocks his head to the side, clearly thinking, then he looks up at you again. “How long have you had me?”

“I uh…” you swallow thickly at the question. “Well, I just inherited the cottage, and my grandma left the box to me in her will too… so, only two days.”

He nods, looking down, continuing to think hard about whatever it is that fairies ponder deeply on. 

“How… how do you feel?”

“Well rested,” he smiles, breaking the look of deep concentration. “I’m ready to get back to tinkering.”

Tinkering… that definitely sounds like a fairy word, and you don’t question him further. 

“Please don’t let me stop you from getting back to your home,” you tell him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of my grandmother keeping you in this box all this time.”

“It’s alright,” he yawns again, then pushes himself up from the moss. He’s dressed in a little green fairy outfit, and you do your best to commit him to your memory. His wings are truly beautiful, the way they shimmer even in the electric light of your kitchen. “I remember a pond.”

“Yes, there’s one right out the back way, must be a fairy circle there,” you nod.

“Thank you for the directions,” he smiles sincerely, and then, he begins to fly. You wonder how such delicate-looking wings could carry his body weight as he heads toward your open kitchen window. He lands on the ledge there, turning to give you one final nod of farewell, and then the fairy is gone.

You sit there for a few minutes, staring after him in shock.

How much wine did you have to drink?

Three:

It’s a Thursday like any other. You’re getting used to living in this cute cottage in the woods, spending your mornings waking up with the sun, heating a kettle for tea, and letting the creative juices flow in your mind before you ease your way to the studio to paint.

It’s the end of spring, and the promise of summer warmth is looming on the horizon. 

You’re just beginning to contemplate breakfast when there’s a knock at your door, and it makes your heart freeze in your chest.

Although you might be getting somewhat accustomed to the seclusion, there are still very real dangers of being a single woman out on a large property alone in the woods, and this fact makes you hesitant as you head to your front door.

You can make out a large man through the glass, and you take a breath before peaking your head out. “Hello?”

It takes you a moment to recognize the man, as he’s substantially larger than the last time you saw him. The fairy is no longer palm-sized, instead, he’s well over six foot, and he flashes an awkward smile down at you. “Hi.”

You take in his attire, the worn jeans and the green flannel… you also note that he’s barefooted. “You’re wearing my grandpa's clothes.”

“Yeah, I uh… noticed the box in your truck, figured you might be getting rid of them anyways, so I slipped in through a crack in the window. I couldn’t just show up naked.”

Good point. “You’re big now,” you point out.

“Can I uh… can I come in?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, surveying your front porch.

You take a breath. Part of you says this is a bad idea, but part of you is also saying that this is a fairy the size of a human man, and if you don’t hear him out, you’ll be wondering what could have been for the rest of your life.

You push your door open for him. “I just made some tea, follow me.”

The fairy’s footsteps are loud on your wooden floors as he shadows you to the kitchen. You give him your cup, pouring a second one for yourself before leaning back against your sink. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” the fairy sighs, taking a seat at your small dining table. He cups his large hands around the mug of tea, as if warming himself.

“Well, I’m y/n,” you tell him.

He smiles thankfully. “Mingyu.”

“Nice to meet you again, Mingyu, how about you tell me how you’re human-sized and your wings are gone?”

“Fairies can transform. In my own realm, keeping my smaller shape is easier, but here- it takes less energy to just… blend in. It’s a sort of, um, adaptation, for survival, I guess.” 

“It doesn’t make sense how you can go from tiny to massive,” you point out.

“Well, you see, I’m big for a fairy,” Mingyu laughs nervously. “It’s part of the reason I never fit in that well with others of my kind.”

You frown at his words, giving him the space to continue.

“Yeah, so anyways, I went back home, and I had been gone a while, and it just felt weird. I hadn’t fit in before, and I didn’t fit in when I got back, and I guess I just figured… you’re a girl, and you’re here alone, in the forest- I mentioned I’m a tinkerer right? I fix things? Was thinking maybe I could help fix up your place.”

Is he seriously offering to fix your house? You stare at him in shock. “I’ve never really thought about fairies being blue-collared.”

“Blue-collared?” he looks down at his flannel in confusion.

“Never mind, it’s uh, it’s a phrase, it means you’re a worker, you do building and stuff.”

“I’m really good at building and fixing things,” he nods solemnly. 

“So… you want to stay here with me? Room, board, food… in return, you’ll fix up the cottage?” you clarify.

“I guess.”

You study him. “I’ve heard about pixies and fairies who try to lure people into fairy rings-”

“It’s not like that, I promise.” He meets your gaze. “Look, what if I fix your little shed workshop thing, show you what I can do, and you can decide later?”

You consider it for a moment. “I guess that could work, but first, you’ll need some workboots.”

“If you think that’s best.”

God, he probably does most of his tinkering while fairy-sized and barely wearing clothes… which isn’t something you want to think about.

Setting your tea down, you head to one of the back closets, where you’d stashed away a few of your grandfather’s possessions, the important things, unlike the donation box currently in your truck.

You find Mingyu some shoes, and when you go give them to him, he flashes you a smile and heads outside to get to work. 

Four:

You’re doing your best to focus on painting, but your solarium gives you a perfect view of your grandfather's old work shed, where Mingyu is currently tinkering around. 

He’s fast, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing.

Your grandfather’s shed has a whole stash of tools, shingles, and wood, and Mingyu has already redone the roof, ripped a few worn boards off to replace them along the sides, and completed general tidying work.

He’s even weed-whacked the tall grass around the workstation, and as lunch turns into evening, he comes back from the woods with a small tree on his shoulder, which he then begins to chop for firewood.

You can definitely see how he’d be helpful to have around… and you can afford to feed him if he’s going to fix up your home. He’s probably already done a couple hundred dollars of work, maybe even a thousand- work that you’d been meaning to hire someone to deal with once you’d settled in a little more. 

You get started on dinner. You’d planned on rice bowls, and it’s easy enough to make a plate for him. Then, you go outside, calling him toward you.

Mingyu’s sweaty, and he’s got some sawdust on his jeans- but God, does he look handsome and chipper.

“I made dinner,” you tell him.

He nods, smiling before following you inside. You note the way he takes off his boots at your door, brushing off his pants, careful not to bring any dirt into your otherwise tidy house.

The two of you sit down to eat, and he’s extremely verbal about how thankful he is for the food, and how good it tastes-

You come up with an avenue of discussion to distract him from his praises. “What would you living here entail?”

He pauses. “I hadn’t thought too hard about it.”

“I feed you, you do work, you live here?”

“Something like that.”

“How long do you keep your human shape?”

Mingyu takes a breath, setting down his spoon. “I’ll be honest with you, whether you see it this way or not, your grandmother saved me. I was wounded, I came to your realm, anything could have gotten me, but your grandma saved me, glued my wing, and kept me safe so I could hibernate and heal. I owe your family. My home isn’t my home anymore, please let me help you make this cottage your home.”

“No, I-” you release the tension in your shoulders, “you can stay, but, seriously, how long do you keep your human shape?”

“Is it a space thing?” Mingyu looks around. “I can be small when I sleep if it’s a space thing-”

“I mean, my grandma has a replica doll house of the cottage that her dad made for her, was going to offer that up for you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Mingyu takes it completely seriously, nodding diligently. 

“That works, I just have to go collect some moss to make a bed-”

“Are you being for real?” you ask, blinking at him.

“I should probably go back to my normal size when I sleep, it makes sense and takes up less space,” Mingyu nods.

“If you change your mind, I do have a spare bedroom.” 

“Nope,” the man-sized fairy shakes his head, “the doll house works.”

“Well… if you want to go get some moss, I can grab the box of clothes from my truck,” you suggest.

“Let’s do it.” Mingyu is so easy, he just agrees to everything. 

Soon the two of you are reconvening at your front door, you with a box, him with a palm full of moss. “The doll house is in the studio, I was planning to paint it.” Mingyu follows you to the solarium. In the dark of the evening, you have to turn on the fairy lights you’d strung up, and Mingyu lets out a breath.

Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.

“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.

“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art. 

“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”

“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”

“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.

“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.

“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”

Five:

You wake up feeling as refreshed and well-rested as ever. It’s odd how much of a difference having a male presence in the house can make, even if he was the size of your palm while you were sleeping. 

You’ve been here over a month, but you’ve not yet gotten used to the seclusion, the feeling of being alone. Mingyu is an unexpected comfort, and you quietly tiptoe to your solarium to see if he’s awake.

The nest of moss in the dollhouse is empty, and you move to your kitchen, getting a kettle started before looking out the window. Mingyu’s lumbering around in the tree line. He’s dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, and damn does it look good.

You turn on some music, quietly making breakfast for two while trying to fight the urge to watch the beautiful man.

You’d slept in more than normal, another byproduct of feeling safe, and due to that, by the time you’re taking two plates of food outside, the temperature of the late spring air is already warming with the noon sun.

“Mingyu,” you call, finding him by the workshed, “breakfast!”

He bounds over like a puppy, and you set the plates down on a small circular table. The metal lawn set can be a bit rough, and you’ve tried to soften it with comfy pillows. Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind as he plops down, grabbing the bacon sandwich you’d prepared.

“Smells delicious,” he tells you, taking the largest bite of food you’ve ever seen.

You watch him, amused. “Did you get up early?”

“Yeah, I don’t need much sleep. Just spent eighty years sleeping, or so you tell me.” Mingyu smiles at you, a tight-lipped smile to hide the food in his mouth, you’re sure. 

“It’s a nice day,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair and looking at the world around you.

The sun is out, it’s a little cold, but the sky is clear. Dew drops are in the last stages of evaporation, clinging to the green strands of grass along the hillside area that leads down to the pond.

“Every day is a good day for tinkering,” Mingyu agrees. “Which, I meant to ask- is there anything you wanted me to do?” 

“Uh… like what?”

“I’ll finish the shed soon,” Mingyu promises. “I already have ideas about extending it, but, if you wanted me to paint the house, fix anything inside that’s a little wonky and in need of tinkering-”

“I think you should focus on the shed, if you want to extend it, you should.” For some reason, you’re apprehensive about him coming into the house just yet- you need to… acclimatize to his presence, and right now, having a wall of glass between the two of you is keeping your heart from exploding every time you look at him. “Do you uh… do you need anything to build your addition?”

“Your grandfather kept a lot of tools, nails, screws- and we’re surrounded by trees. He had loads of extra shingles, enough for years of repairs to the cottage and the shed.” Mingyu smiles at you. “I think I’ll manage… but, when it comes time to paint it, maybe we could paint it together?”

“Maybe.” You can feel your skin heating at the idea. “Anyways, I wanted to bring you some food, now I’ve gotta go inside my studio and get to work.”

“Sounds good, tinkering calls, thanks for breakfast.” Mingyu pushes the last massive bite of his sandwich into his mouth before standing up.

He nods to you and then you watch him go, sneaking a look at his butt before you tear your eyes away.

This could either be the best idea of your life, or the worst. 

Six:

Mingyu had taken his time with the shed. He’d made it twice the size, and added more windows that your grandfather had left sitting around in the original structure- it’s crazy how much he’s accomplished using only the things that are left over and semi discarded.

Then, Mingyu had taken to restoring the inside. He’d spent two days just moving stuff around, tidying and dusting- and another day just cutting wood to fill up his firewood stash. 

Now, a week after showing up at your door, he’s finally come inside to begin tinkering with old hinges and loose screws. He’s going over every inch of your cottage to make sure it’s up to his fairy standards, and you’re extremely aware of him, especially when he makes it to the solarium to begin to work.

The french doors have been a little off for years, one hinge is a little wonky- and it’s hard to focus on your painting while Mingyu’s standing there and fiddling- or, scratch that, tinkering. 

“Watcha working on?” Mingyu asks, and you suppose he must have caught you staring.

“Oh, uh… it’s a new project, and starting is always the hardest part.”

Mingyu comes around your easel, looking at the new blank canvas you had pulled out just an hour ago.

“Do you have any ideas?” he questions.

“I mean… one or two.”

Mingyu cocks his head at you. “Tell me.”

You release a deep sigh. “I guess… I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could paint your wings sometime, in an abstract sort of way.”

Mingyu is quiet for a few moments, and you immediately try to backpedal, but he stops you. “No, it’s okay, sorry, I was just- I’ve never been someone’s muse before.”

“You haven’t?”

He shakes his head. “In uh… where I come from, my wings aren’t exactly that extraordinary.” 

“Really?” you ask in shock.

“Yeah, they’re just green. I know a lot of fairies with all sorts of colored wings, pinks, purples- every color of the rainbow. Green is… well, it’s bland, it’s like everything else in the forest.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You seem to forget that I came to the forest for inspiration- the greens here are beautiful. If I remember correctly, your wings are like… sage and stardust.”

“Sage and stardust,” Mingyu repeats, his voice like a whisper. He cracks a smile. “I like that.”

“So you’ll let me paint them?”

“If it would make you happy.”

“It would.”

“Then yes, you can paint by wings.”

Seven:

Mingyu’s continued his daily tinkerings, but now, your evenings are spent in your solarium. You’d found one of your grandmother’s magnifying glasses, the type she used for butterfly wing repair, and Mingyu is the perfect muse, sitting patiently and letting you inspect him.

You’d spent half an hour just trying to get the color of his wings right, and now, you’re doing long brush strokes against the cream canvas. You’d found some glitter too, and while Mingyu spends most of the time sitting on your shoulder while you’re painting, he also offers to douse his hands in sparkles and do the small details for you.

It’s odd, thirsting for this large, beefy man during the day, only for him to downsize and nuzzle into your hair at night- he’s still so cute as a fairy, and his wings are truly beautiful.

“You see me like this?” Mingyu asks, fluttering off your shoulder to gaze at the painting. He’s so small in comparison to the large canvas. “These are really my wings?” 

“They’re beautiful, Gyu,” you tell him, giving him a nickname without a second thought.

“Gyu,” Mingyu repeats, turning to look at you. “I like that.”

You hold out your paint brush, and he flutters over to it, balancing on the wooden handle.

It’s crazy how you’re already getting used to him- to the little things, Mingyu included. 

Eight:

It’s gotten to the point where Mingyu wants to paint the shed, so the two of you decide to head into town together. It’s a small population, and you know that the sight of the two of you is raising a few eyebrows as you enter the paint store.

Mingyu sticks out, not only for his size, but his beauty as well. He truly is stunning, and you notice multiple women staring as the two of you wander around the store.

“So what coloring are you thinking?” Mingyu asks, heading to a wall of paint swatches. 

“I mean… I just sort of figured we’d repaint it to match the house again?” you suggest.

“Well… it’s your house now,” Mingyu points out. “What are your dream colors?”

“My dream colors?”

“Yeah, I promised you I’d help you make it your dream home, didn’t I?” 

Your heart melts as you stare up at this gorgeous man. He has such a soft heart, you can’t believe how much you care for him after only two weeks, how much he clearly cares for you- but you try not to read into it too deeply. 

You turn to look at the paint swatches, truly considering what your dream home would look like.

You choose a pallet, showing it to Mingyu, and he nods. “This will be great.”

The two of you go to get the paint, and soon, you’re back in your truck. You try to play the radio, but it doesn’t drown out your thoughts, so you turn the music down.

“Did you notice how many people were looking at you today?” you ask.

“Hmm?” Mingyu tears his gaze from the trees moving by.

“Girls, a lot were staring.”

“Were you staring?” 

You flash a glimpse at Mingyu and find him grinning at you… is there a mutual attraction here? Does he like you the way you like him?

Things are just so easy. Choosing paint with him for your house, letting him make your house your dream house- it all just feels so domestic, not to mention the fact that you generally don’t like people watching you work on your art, but you feel comfortable with him.

“I, uh… yeah, I look at you, we’re friends.” You cough, forcing your eyes back to the road.

“Close friends,” Mingyu confirms.

You turn the radio back up, and Mingyu looks out at the trees again, but he doesn’t stop smiling, and your heart doesn’t stop racing either.

Nine:

It’s hard to sleep. You can’t help but think about the car ride with Mingyu earlier. 

He has to be attracted to you… right?

He’s been more touchy during your late-night painting sessions, and less afraid to cuddle up in your hair. You’ve noticed him watching you too… often when you look at him, you catch his gaze already on you.

Cohabitation with a man as fine as he is- well, you know where it leads, and you’re a little shocked you’ve gotten this far without breaking first.

You toss and turn in your bed, groaning.

God, when was the last time you were this horny?

Can you… can you touch yourself with him right downstairs? Is that weird? What if he catches you? Mingyu said it himself, he doesn’t sleep much- and… is his hearing better as a fairy? You don’t actually know much about his abilities when he has wings… maybe these are things you should ask.

You let out a sigh, bringing your hand to your breast through your sleeping shirt. In no time at all, your nipple is pebbled against your touch. You release another breath, closing your eyes and thinking about Mingyu. 

You search through your memories, deciding to focus on the thought of him chopping wood. God, in his little tank top, his muscles all bulging and glorious- the way his sweat begins to drip, making the fabric stick to his skin, showing off his abdominal muscles-

You can feel your pussy getting wet, and you begin to glide a hand down between your legs-

You stop, opening your eyes. Fuck, you can’t do this. It feels dirty, sinful- and not in a fun flirty way. 

This isn’t something that you can continue with- you can’t keep feeling this way. You have to tell Mingyu how you feel. If it ruins everything then it ruins everything, but you can’t keep this cohabitation agreement up if you’re falling in love with the man- or, should you say, fairy.

God, maybe you should have never opened Pandora’s Box. It wasn’t a flurry of chaos, not one you could see anyway, but you’re beginning to feel chaotic inside, and coming clean to Mingyu is the only way to get it settled. 

Ten:

When you wake up the next morning, you move slowly. You have a shower, make some tea, and then, after going through an internal script numerous times, you decide to go outside to tell Mingyu how you feel. 

He’s been painting the shed all morning, that much is obvious from how much he’s completed- and to make matters worse for yourself, he’s shirtless.

You almost turn and go right back inside, but instead, you pull up your big girl panties, taking a few deep breaths.

You have to do this, you’ll regret it if you don’t- just as you knew you’d regret it if you hadn’t let Mingyu inside a few weeks ago to hear him out.

“Gyu?” you call.

“Oh, hi!” he waves, and you watch paint splatter everywhere from the brush in his hand. “Oops!” 

God, he’s so- he’s so- he’s a big dork, in the best way possible.

You watch Mingyu wipe his hand across his abdomen, clearing the splatter stain there. “Had to take my shirt off, painting isn’t my strong suit sometimes,” he explains, putting the brush back into the can before he approaches you. “What’s up?”

Suddenly, everything you’d planned to say to him just disappears from your mind.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask, voice cracking.

“Could use some water,” he nods.

“Come inside,” you instruct, tearing your gaze away from Mingyu’s perfect body to lead him back into your cottage.

He follows you like a good boy, taking his boots off on your deck before joining you in the kitchen where you have a cup of water waiting for him. 

Your hand is practically shaking as you give him the cup, and he looks you up and down, an expression of concern appearing on his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly, shaking your head. “Just… a little jittery.”

“Is there something on your mind?” Mingyu questions, taking a sip of his water.

God, he’s still shirtless, and it’s as if he doesn’t even realize it! It’s as if being half naked in your kitchen is the most normal thing in the world to him!

You take a deep breath, doing your best to hype yourself up. “I like you,” you say finally.

“I like you too,” Mingyu grins.

“No, I… I like like you.” 

“Like like?” he repeats, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

“As in… I think you’re really amazing and good with your hands, and you’re handsome, and I enjoy spending time with you,” you blurt. 

“I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. 

You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

“Mingyu,” you take another very deep breath, stepping closer to him. “I feel for you, in here.” You put your hand over his heart, looking up at him, searching his brown eyes for some form of recognition, of understanding. 

Mingyu’s lips part, and his gaze shifts to your hand, then, he slowly places his own over yours. His palm is warm, and he squeezes you gently. “Are you saying you love me?” he asks.

You blink… it feels like he’s skipping a few steps here. You love him as a friend, and you’re attracted to him, but you’re not… in love with him, not yet anyway. 

“I-” You swallow thickly and decide to just be honest. “I think… things could be heading that way, with some more time.”

“More time?” Mingyu frowns a little. “Humans can be weird.”

“We can?” you laugh. “What’s love like for you?”

“Fairies don’t do anything halfway. We feel intensely, more so than humans I think.”

“Have you…” you cough. “Have you ever been in love before?”

“No.”

“So… how do you know what you’re feeling right now is love?”

“I know it because I would do anything for you. Just being near you makes me happy. I want to protect you, and provide for you- I’d give up my wings for you. I choose you over any of my own kind, because you understand me and accept me better than my own kind. I don’t need anyone else but you.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you choose not to say anything. Instead, you get on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his own.

Mingyu freezes for a moment, but then he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your body to pull you tight to his chest. 

It’s a slow kiss, an exploratory one. It’s soft and gentle and every good thing, but you get the sense you’re going to have to lead the build-up of this. After a few kisses, you lick at his lower lip, and Mingyu responds by opening his mouth, allowing you to deepen the experience. 

His hands grab your hips, and Mingyu pushes you backward until your bum hits the counter, then he lifts you onto it, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. 

As you kiss him, there’s a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that this is a fairy. His original form is small… but as he grinds against you, you realize that what’s inside his pants right now is anything but tiny. 

God, he feels so good- and he’s already shirtless, which gives you the perfect opportunity to graze your hands along his body, teasing the muscle you find there. Mingyu shivers from the contact, breaking the kiss.

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and you can feel his heart racing under your palm. 

“Do you want to do this? Even though you don’t love me the way I love you?” He asks.

“I want this, and I do love you Mingyu, I just…”

“You need more time,” he sighs.

“I think… do you remember how you said eighty years felt fast in the box for you? I feel like, you just move faster than I do, and that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… something we have to adjust for.”

“Adjust how?” Mingyu questions, looking down at you as his hands grip your hips harder.

You shrug. “Maybe you’ll just have to be patient with me.”

“Do I have to wait to say ‘I love you’ since you’re waiting?”

You smile up at him. “You can do anything that feels right, Mingyu.”

“This feels right,” Mingyu muses, pulling you closer to the edge of the table so he can grind his denim-clad cock against your core.

“Then do this,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and drawing his lips back to yours. 

Mingyu doesn’t fight it, in fact, he melts into the kiss, and then, his hands are grabbing your thighs and he’s lifting you up.

You grip his strong shoulders, releasing a small squeal of shock- but you refuse to break the kiss as he begins to carry you through your cottage. He knows where your bedroom is, and it’s sweet that he wants your first time to be on an actual mattress- you’d half expected him to bend you over in your kitchen and have his way with you right there, but you suppose that’s not really his style.

You still have so much more to learn about Mingyu, and you’re excited to take your time learning it. 

Mingyu lays you down gently on your bed, and his lips move to your throat. His hands find yours, and your fingers intertwine as he sucks on your sweet spot, making you moan and writhe against the bed beneath him. 

“Fuck,” you groan, brows furrowing from the pleasure already coursing through you. 

Mingyu grins against your throat, and then he begins to descend.

You’re wearing a sleeping shirt and boxers, and Mingyu’s hand is sneaking up the oversized fabric. “Can I take this off you?” he asks, pulling away and swallowing thickly, his gaze fixed on your covered chest.

You nod, but instead of forcing him to do it, you push on your wrist confines, prompting Mingyu to let you go so you can sit up, tearing the shirt off. You’re not wearing a bra, and Mingyu’s pupils blow at the sight.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again as he helps you back down to the bed. You relax against the duvet, enjoying the sensation of your bare chests rubbing against each other. Your nipples are pebbled from interest, and each brush of him against you feels like magic, especially when he begins to swivel his hips, grinding down against your pussy.

His mouth begins to move down again, and this time, there’s no fabric to stop him in his tracks. Mingyu’s lips wrap around your nipple, your fingers threading through his hair as you fight the urge to arch your back and moan like a whore in heat.

“Feels good,” you tell him, earning a groan from the large man who sucks on your pebbled bud even harder.

His free hand is on your hip, but soon, it’s rising to massage your neglected breast. His warm palm feels so good- your eyes close in pleasure, your body reacting to Mingyu and the foreplay he’s providing.

You thread your fingers deeper into his curls, gently massaging his scalp while he works you up, teasing you in the best possible way.

He’s clearly solely focused on you, you don’t think there’s an ulterior motive, a motive of getting you to beg or forcing you to wait, you think he’s simply enjoying you, and you love the feeling of being enjoyed in this way.

Even so- now it’s your patience that’s running thin, and you tug at his curls, forcing his mouth away from your breast. He looks up at you with confusion, lips parting in a silent question.

“I need you,” you tell him, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” he assures you with a laugh. 

“I mean-”

His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing your pussy through your boxers. “You mean, you need me here,” Mingyu finishes for you.

Fuck, he’s so hot- part of you had expected him to be a virgin fairy who’s never been in love, but it’s clear from his dirty talk that he’s no virgin. 

Your pussy is wet, and you can feel a wet spot to match in your shorts, you’re sure Mingyu can feel it too.

“Since…” Mingyu takes a breath, and you can see his skin beginning to flush a pretty shade of pink, “since I’m the one who likes you more, maybe you’ll let me take my time and do what I want to do? Out of… pity?”

You laugh. “Pity? I don’t pity you- I kind of love you, Gyu, I said that-”

“Just kind of, though,” he points out, leaning down to bite your nipple gently.

You groan, arching your back and taking a deep breath. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me. Take your time. Worship me. Make me fall in love with you.”

Mingyu smiles, and then he whispers a soft, “Thank you,” before diving back toward your chest.

It’s clear that now that you’ve given him permission, he’s in no rush.

He worships your breasts, just like you’d told him to, taking all the time he wants to massage and lick and kiss and bite- and then, one of his hands returns between your legs, pushing your boxers to the side so he can access your dripping pussy.

He’s gentle at first, circling your sensitive clit and teasing your slit up and down. Then, after too much teasing for your tastes, he eases his finger into your tight hole. He’s gentle as he begins to finger fuck you, working you open at a snail's pace-

You think, as someone who time moves fast for, he really must be savoring every long moment of this. He wants to take his time with you, and for a fairy, that means something.

Mingyu’s lips are still wrapped around your nipple, and as he adds a second digit to your core, you think you might just combust.

“Gyu,” you whimper.

He hums in response.

“I’m close,” you tell him, beginning to wiggle your hips against his hand. “I’m so close-”

Mingyu’s palm finds your clit, and he finger fucks you harder, crooking his digits to reach a spot that has your toes curling.

“Oh my god-” you groan, closing your eyes and latching onto Mingyu’s hair as an anchor, keeping his face buried in your tits as he works you closer and closer to the edge-

One graze of his teeth across your nipple has you cumming on his fingers, and Mingyu releases his own sound of pleasure to echo the whimpers escaping your lips.

He’s got you pinned to the bed, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he’s giving you.

He works you through your high, allowing you to feel every lick of pleasure as it courses through your entire body-

You’re a gasping mess at the end of it, and Mingyu gingerly removes his fingers from your pussy, pulling away from your chest to sit up on his knees, licking his digits clean as he inspects you carefully.

“Are you okay, my star?” 

You shiver at the nickname, a whispered echo of your pleasure running through you.

“Yeah,” you nod, still trying to catch your breath.

“Was that good for you?” he asks, teasing his wet finger across your nipple and making you shiver again. “It was good for me.”

“It was so good,” you groan, shifting against the bed.

“Good.” Mingyu hooks his fingers in your boxers, tearing them down your legs. 

You’re now completely bare for him, and you expect Mingyu to work on his jeans next, but he doesn’t. He lays down between your thighs, looking up at you as he peppers your skin with chaste kisses.

“Ready for more?” he questions.

You groan, and the groan turns into a laugh. “I guess I told you to do whatever you want to me,” you sigh, adjusting your legs so your feet are flat and your knees are bent, giving him better access to your pussy for what you know is about to come next. 

“You did.” Mingyu’s breath is hot against your still pulsing core, and you grab at the duvet in preparation, knowing he’s about to completely rock your world for a second time. 

Mingyu doesn’t say anything else, he continues to kiss up your thigh, and he doesn’t stop. When he reaches your core, he licks your clit gently, circling it.

You open your eyes, looking down at him to find his own lids are closed. He’s completely focused on pleasuring you, and as he pushes his tongue into your core, lapping at your slit- well, fuck, no thoughts are going through your mind.

You can only whimper, grabbing the duvet tighter, your toes curling deliciously as this man eats you out in a way that no man ever has.

He really is taking his time. It’s clear this isn’t just a duty or a ‘task’ he has to complete in order to fuck you, no, eating you out is as much his pleasure as it is yours, and somehow, that knowledge makes it even better.

You give yourself to the pleasure. There’s no anxiety, no racing thoughts, or pressures you’re imposing on yourself.

You know there’s not a time limit. Mingyu’s not eager to make you cum so he can fuck you, he’s simply enjoying the act of licking your pussy- so you simply enjoy it too.

You’re not keeping track of time, your focus is solely on the pleasure running through you, and the way it’s building.

Soon, you’re at the edge again, and you warn Mingyu, your thighs twitching around his head.

Mingyu groans in response, lips wrapping around your clit. A squeal escapes you, your chest heaving, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm slams into you.

This one is even more electric than the first, and it almost feels like you’re floating off the mattress- like you’re truly ascending to cloud nine, as if you - like Mingyu - have wings.

God, there’s not a feeling like it in the world, especially as Mingyu continues to suck your clit, working you through the most intense high of your entire life. Your legs are fully quaking around him now, your grip like a vice on the duvet.

Thank God you live in the middle of nowhere because you’re aware that you’re being loud. 

Mingyu’s groaning too, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you pinned and in place for him to eat you through the pussy contracting pleasure convulsions that are threatening to overtake your entire body in an ecstasy you’ve never, ever experienced before. 

The large man finally lets up, and you gasp, flopping back down against the bed. There are aftershocks of pleasure, and you jolt a little, goosebumps erupting on your flesh from the sensation. 

You feel the bed shift, and you look from under heavy lids to see Mingyu standing at the foot of the mattress, finally taking off his jeans.

Fuck, he’s huge- maybe foreplay wasn’t so much of a want, as a necessity. 

“You still want me?” Mingyu asks, joining you on the bed again, his breath hot against your throat as he grinds down against you, teasing his cock against your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, I need you,” you tell him.

Mingyu kisses you then, grabbing your hands and putting them above your head. He collects your wrists in one grip, and with his free hand, he grabs his cock, lining it up with your core.

“If it hurts-”

“You’ve made me cum twice,” you tell him, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”

“Whatever you say, my star,” he grins, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your tight, wet hole.

You groan desperately, struggling against his grip on your wrists, but Mingyu doesn’t let up. In fact, he tightens his hold on you, pushing his cock even deeper into your core.

The sounds you’re making are feral as he kisses you, his lips and tongue are hot against your own in the most delicious way.

You can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate for his girth, and when his hips are finally flush against your own, you think this might just be the most full you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Mingyu breaks the kiss, panting and looking down at you. “You feel perfect,” he whispers.

“You feel perfect,” you counter, feeling a little dim with your repetition of his own works back to him, but also too fucked out to think of anything better. 

He only grins, drawing his lips to yours. It’s a gentler kiss as he begins to fuck you, his motions slow so you can acclimatize to the massive cock that’s already rearranging your guts. 

You get lost in him, and there’s a kind of safety in having your hands pinned down above your head. You can’t quite explain it- maybe it’s just a size kink? You can’t have a bondage kink, can you? Does Mingyu even know what bondage is? Do fairies watch porn?

You push the thoughts from your head, focusing on the cock that’s dragging against your sensitive inner walls.

Soon, you’re moaning loudly again, and Mingyu finally lets up on your wrists. “I kind of…” he swallows thickly, thrusts faltering, “I kind of want you to ride me when you cum.”

“You do?”

“I’ve… well, I know I’ve been a little rough-”

“You haven’t been rough,” you assure him.

“I just mean, the first two times you came, I did what I wanted, and I want you to be in control for this last one, don’t want to overstimulate you.” 

It’s a soft idea, and you nod up at him. “I’ll ride you.”

“Good.” Mingyu kisses you gently, and then the two of you are adjusting.

He lays flat as you swing your leg over his hip, grabbing his cock to line it up with your core so you can slowly sink down on him.

Mingyu groans, his hands settling on your hips to help you be gentle as you come to a fully seated position on his cock.

“You look so perfect like this, my star,” he tells you, one free hand moving up to grab your breast, massaging it gently and pinching at your nipple.

“Think you can cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, beginning to bounce.

You watch Mingyu’s lips part in concentration, his gaze fixed on your chest. He’s clearly in a daze, and it’s adorable. “I’ll cum with you,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smile.

Mingyu’s ears turn pink first, and it’s so endearing to watch the massive man flush from a compliment as you’re riding his cock.

God, he is a perfect man, isn’t he?

“I think… I think I was made to be found by you,” Mingyu says, looking up at you with eyes full of adoration. “I don’t know what I’d do If I never met you.”

“Gyu,” you coo, slowing your thrusts. Mingyu sits up, allowing you to pull him to your chest, cradling him to your breast as your fingers stroke through his hair. 

“I do love you,” he continues. “And… it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way yet. I know it’s fast, even for me, but… yeah.”

“It’s fast, but that’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You don’t have to hide from me either,” Mingyu promises.

He lays back down flat, and you move with him, your chests pressed together as you ride his cock, groaning into his ear.

Mingyu’s hands are warm on your hips, and he steadies you, beginning to thrust up to meet your movements.

You both release sounds of pleasure, and you can feel your hearts racing together in your chests as they remain pressed to each other.

You’re tired, but you’re also eager to cum again, so you push through, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure instead of the increasing burn in your thighs.

“Are you close?” Mingyu pants in your ear. “I’m close.”

His sounds are like magic, and they help drag you to join Mingyu on the edge. “I’m close,” you confirm, swallowing thickly.

“Can we cum together?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, muscles clenching in preparation. 

Mingyu fucks up into you even harder, and you put all of your energy into carrying this out, into riding this man until you pass out from how good everything is about to feel.

He releases another grunt, and you press your lips to his own, which is all it takes for you to both fall over the edge together.

You feel like you’re flying again, it’s almost an out-of-body pleasure-fueled experience, but this time, Mingyu’s with you, and you know you’ll be safe with the man who knows how to navigate the skies.

He cradles you to his chest, keeping his cock buried as deep as it can go in your core. You’re both kissing each other desperately, shaking and contracting from orgasms that continue to surge through you. Your hearts are racing together, and you’re both trying to catch your breaths even in the midst of a passionate kiss.

Everything just feels so right, and natural.

It’s as if your body was made to do this, with Mingyu especially.

Soon, your orgasms are subsiding, and you’re simply kissing now. 

Mingyu holds you close, not letting you go until he’s good and satisfied.

You take a deep breath, breaking the kiss to look down at him. “So…”

“So,” he grins.

“So… I guess this changes our arrangement a little?”

Mingyu laughs, holding you tighter. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse anymore?”

You find yourself chuckling too, and the contraction it causes of your pussy around Mingyu’s cock makes him groan desperately, his hand pushing on the small of your back. 

“You don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse.”

“I meant it when I said I’d give up my wings for you,” Mingyu muses, turning serious as he looks up at you.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“The future-”

“Is something we can talk about later,” you assure him. “Right now, I just want to enjoy you.”

“I guess… I guess we can do that,” Mingyu concedes. His arms wrap tighter around you, securing you down against his chest. He tucks you under his chin, releasing a deep breath, and that’s where you fall asleep, completely content with your blue-collared, human-sized, fairy lover.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! we all need a domestic blue collar man who's obsessed with us and wants to build our dream house for us ✨MANIFESTING IT💅

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🔮 preview. “I’m happy where I am… but, when you cum, I’ll let you warm up while I fuck you stupid.” Mingyu never used to swear. He used to call sex ‘making love’ and something about it had made you uncomfortable in some weird way- so your soft lover has taken to using profanity for your own benefit, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to the term ‘fuck you stupid.’

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, size kink, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple play, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, hand job, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 175

🌙 starring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s summer, and you’re more in love than ever. Mingyu’s made you rethink what it is to live in your cottage. He’s done everything in his power to make it your dream home, and his latest upgrade is a small rowboat that he’d handcrafted with the purpose of meandering around your pond.

You can’t stop smiling and giggling as Mingyu rows you around, the sunlight kissing his skin in the most beautiful way. He’s so gorgeous, and his soul is just as stunning.

Every day is a dream with him… but there are still things on your mind, things you need to discuss. 

“Mingyu?” you ask, drawing his attention away from his haphazard rowing.

“Yes, my star?” he pauses to look at you, setting down the oars to give you his complete, and undivided attention.

“I’m just… I’m thinking.”

“That’s not always the best sign,” Mingyu teases. “Thinking about what?”

“Just… we’ve been together a while now, and, I guess I’m starting to look at the future more, and I’m not really sure how to envision it.” 

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[gloomwitchwrites]

141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)

Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): hidden feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, intimidation, crushes, suggestive themes, swearing

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.

Yet he feels completely out of control.

This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.

Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.

A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.

Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.

His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.

Good. Fucking good.

You turn too, brow furrowed.

"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.

John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."

"Y—yes. Sir."

The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.

What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He’s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.

Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.

Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.

“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” he growls.

Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”

The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.

“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.

Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.

"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.

"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"

"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.

Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.

He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.

The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.

You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.

But that hardly matters.

Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.

He is so close to making you his.

No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)

"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."

Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.

It still hurts. Still aches.

The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.

His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.

"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.

Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.

"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.

"She's mine."

"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.

One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.

"Take a deep breath, Lt."

"I'm trying."

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[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

[luveline]

I would like to say that this is NOT a smut request(unless of course you want it to be but it does not matter to me), but I’d love to see hotch finding out his sister and Spencer are not just an innocent couple because I know that would be so so so funny and awkward and I’m a sucker for awkward Spencer

Aaron wants you to be happy. More than anything, he wants you to have all the things in life he himself has been lucky to experience. A well paying job that he likes, a wife, a child. He wants you to be fulfilled, even in parts of life he’d prefer you didn’t have at all. 

“Remember that?” 

He wrinkles his nose. Spencer’s leaning over you, a hand encroaching the inside of your thigh, and Aaron isn’t that kind of brother but he sort of is; he feels a mixture of horror, mild disgust, and anger at the sight. He remembers you’re a grown up and so is Spencer before he can voice these emotions. 

You’re laughing. “Remember what, Spencer? Your dire inability to make a hickey?” 

“I’m not giving you a hickey!” Spencer whispers severely. “What is with you and biting? I don’t wanna bite you, and especially not where you wanted it.” 

“Everyone gives hickeys, Spencer.” 

“Please don’t say anything else. I don’t wanna know a single word’s about who’s been doing what to you.” 

“Just before,” you say. “Spencer, it’s just a kiss. And you like them, don’t you?” 

Your laugh turns to panicked giggling as Spencer squeezes your thigh. 

It’s sort of nice. If you weren’t his sister, Hotch might say it was romantic, or at the least, earnestly human. But you are his sister, and this is ridiculous, you knew he was coming over. 

He clears his throat loudly and opens the door. 

You, to your credit, look immediately embarrassed, and Spencer —honestly, he looks like he’s going to throw up, careful as he climbs off of you but rough the moment you’re no longer touching. 

“Hotch!” Spencer says, “I–”

“You knew I was coming,” Aaron says. 

You check your watch. The breath you let out is steam. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking at the time.” 

“I see.” 

“This is embarrassing.” 

You stand up. When you pull your t-shirt back down, Aaron wonders if he might be better off transferring Spencer to a foreign department. But then you give Aaron one of your I’m so sorry please don’t be mad looks and he decides to let it go. You weren’t even kissing, just talking about them as you play-fought or whatever it was. If anything, Spencer was being gentlemanly. 

Well, perhaps he shouldn’t go that far. “Come on, then. This car won’t pick itself up.” 

Spencer can barely look at him as he stands. “Uh, thanks again, Hotch. For taking us.” 

“I think this one falls under older brother duties, Reid.” 

“Okay. Sorry.” 

He takes a long breath. “You should be.” 

You jab Aaron in the arm, “Stop.” 

“What?” he asks, failing to hide his smirk. 

“You know what, stop being mean. Remember that time I walked in on you and Haley in the hot tub at–”

“Enough. Do you want to go get this car or not?” 

[wilwheaton]

President-elect Donald Trump will come into office next year with four extra slots to fill on the federal bench, thanks to a deal Senate Republicans struck with Democrats. Republicans agreed to relent on their procedural warfare waged in recent days in an attempt to thwart the confirmation of President Joe Biden’s judicial nominees to lifetime appointments in his final weeks in office. In exchange for the GOP allowing lower-level district court nominees to receive quicker votes, Senate Democrats will not move forward with confirming four higher-level circuit court picks and saving the positions for Trump to fill. Both sides spun the arrangement as a win-win: Republicans will guarantee slots for Trump judges, and Democrats will save valuable floor time on fighting for nominees they were unsure could be confirmed.

Trump scores win on judges from Senate GOP despite attendance problems

I’m old enough to remember Democrats “keeping our powder dry” during the entirety of the GW Bush years, while the entire — literally the entire — Democratic base was screaming for them to do anything to reign him in.

So when I see Durbin pull this shit, I am both entirely unsurprised, and also furious. They all told us, again and again, that if Trump wins, our entire country and everything it means will be destroyed. I happen to believe that is true, but I don’t know that they did (or care that they will be affected, too).

Because if they did believe that the entire American Experiment was on the line, they would be doing what the GOP in North Carolina is doing, and what Republicans do every single time they lose their majority: exploit every loophole, push every boundary, use every single tool, no matter how cynically, to push through as much of their agenda as they can, and make it as hard as possible for the incoming majority to enact their agenda. Use the tools you have to protect and expand your policies, and let the winners complain about it, because policy is what matters.

Instead, we get a bunch of Model UN dorks who want to write stern letters and wring their hands at the lack of comity, while the Republicans are walking around setting the entire building on fire.

Durban, Schumer, and all the elder Democrats have got to go. We’ve tried it their way since the 90s, and look where it has gotten us. Get out of the way and let younger Democrats who aren't afraid of being disinvited from country club parties and fancy DC dinners do the work we sent you all to Washington to do.