#'he's probably on pace to do it' *fond smile*

[cementcornfield]

Is it on your radar at all - the triple crown for Ja'Marr? And how close he is?

No, I know he's first in just about everything right now, so he's probably on pace to do whatever the triple crown is. What does that - what does that mean?

Most receiving yards, catches, and touchdowns.

I know he's got a lot of touchdowns, and a lot of yards, and a lot of catches too...so he's probably on pace to do it.

[cosmictheo]

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | feyd-rautha

(gif credits to @pascow)

— summary: an arranged marriage with feyd-rautha in the name of reconciling your houses was something you were not expecting, neither was the soft and light way he seemed to behave towards you and only you. —pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x female!atreides!reader —word count: 3k —warnings: arranged marriage, feyd being gentle and calm because the reader is the love of his life (as it was written), probably ooc!feyd (sorry but i just love to see the most savage and feral men fall on their knees for their s/o)

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ part one ── part two ── part three (coming soon)

Your arranged marriage to Feyd-Rautha had been the reason for House Atreides and Harkonnen to strengthen their alliance, ensuring that neither would stab each other in the back, which was most expected from the Baron. Your Houses had been wavering on a faint thread that separated you from a war and this marriage arrangement had pacted a reconciliation. It had been your parents' idea and obeying your parents was the most important thing for you, right after protecting your family and indeed that was what you were doing, guarding your family.

Your twin brother did not like the idea, he was not very fond of Feyd-Rautha and his House, moreover, he found him rather... repulsive. For Feyd was a savage, a ruthless and bloodthirsty man.

However, he had to admit that, next to him, you would be basically untouchable, after all, it was like having a guard dog, the most possessive and protective dog, a dog that was ready to kill and ravage for you if necessary.

“He's scary.” Paul's voice echoed inside your head as together you walked along the vast hallways of the Harkonnen palace, at the end of it, Feyd-Rautha stood, engaged in a conversation with your parents, forever as stiff and somber as he had been since you had first met him.

“Just look at him, you'll have to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.” Your brother insisted, throwing you a knowing and concerned look. “We can fix this without you having to marry that man, sister. There must be something—”

“Enough.” you interrupted him, finally dragging your eyes from your betrothed to your anxious brother pacing beside you, you made an effort to offer him a reassuring, soft smile, grateful that he was always so caring and concerned about you and your well-being. “There's nothing else we can do. You know about my visions and what they foresee. Our House will not endure if I do not accept this offer.”

“We will do whatever it takes to survive for now.” You added, holding Paul's gaze, noting the sadness and pity behind his dark eyes, and like the good sister you were, you sighed softly, leaning closer to him to bring him some kind of reassurance. “Our turn will come to make our move and win, brother.”

“Whatever it takes.” He echoed, nodding his head, fingers brushing your clasped hand around his forearm, as you were accustomed to do when you walked side by side.

“The marriage will take place two weeks from now.” The Duke's voice gave out the news once you were all inside the assembly room, with the Baron at the head of the table, of course, looking uncharacteristically approving and pleased to hear the announcement.

The massive man showed his approval with a hint of a phantom, twisted smile, plump fingers taping the edge of the black table in front of him. “We will have the princess as a guest in our home for a week and then the na-Baron will visit her home for the last week, prior to her coming to live here.”

He planned the whole thing and there was absolutely no one in the room who had the idiotic courage to be against his command, so, it was settled.

Once you said goodbye to your family and gave a tight and emotional hug to your brother, you were left alone in the dark and gigantic planet of the Harkonnen family, feeling like an outsider, like a small prey surrounded by bloodthirsty predators. Although, the place possessed an indescribable and incomparable beauty, the sun was black, and the light that irradiated was whitish, giving it a beautiful contrast with all the black buildings rising majestically. But the place was rather... depressing, quiet and somewhat eerie, it was nothing like your home.

You soon felt out of place, and everyone who looked at you could see it too. It was as if you had some kind of golden aura, glowing among all the darkness and gloom of the place.

Feyd-Rautha watched you attentively, analyzing every expression and emotion you let be shown across your face, catching the look your eyes possessed, that special little gleam that flashed in your orbs as you admired Giedi Prime as if it were one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen in your life, his home.

“Do you like it here, my lady?” His husky, raspy voice managed to snap you out of your trance, and your heart skipped a beat once you trailed your gaze from the horizon beneath the balcony to him, meeting his deep, dark gaze. He always seemed to look at you with those eyes, captivated, as if you were some form of strange spectacle.

And indeed you were, you stood in perfect contrast to the planet, your eyes were bright, lively, your aura was vivacious and hopeful. And because of that, he liked to look at you, study your face, your body language, every little reaction you had in response to something. You were fascinating.

Whenever you entered any room, his deep blue eyes were pulled to you like a magnet, drawn to orbit around you like his planet circling the dark sun.

Feyd noticed out of the corner of his eye how your hands clasped lightly around the balcony fence in front of you, skin contrasting against the blackness of the material. 

You nodded your head very slowly, twisting your body just enough to be able to look him directly in the face, big eyes looking up at him, not with fear, but with expectation. “I do.”

Even your voice was the opposite of his, keeping that soft and delicate tone, as elegant as you.

He seemed satisfied with your positive response, and so, he dared to lean against the balcony fence right next to you, but careful not to cause you to feel too uncomfortable or intruded upon. His eyes never left you for a second and he was quite pleased that you were bold enough to hold his powerful and intimidating gaze.

“Good, it will soon become your home too.” Feyd answered you, in a tone that oscillated between amusement and fascination, you didn't quite know how to decipher the expression on his face either, naturally.

He was very complicated to read, even if you tried extra hard, the many tutoring and lessons with Lady Jessica didn't seem to do much use, with him. Perhaps because he made you feel unnerved, he made your soul tremble like no one could, stepping beyond your walls and standing where none of your senses seemed to work. Where the eye could not see.

“Are you mocking me?” Still, you had the courage to ask him that bold question, one eyebrow rising on your forehead and your head twisting slightly, defiant face and all.

Your bravery made him laugh slightly this time, a noise that was heard almost unnaturally, with a small crooked smile on his lips that looked all too unusual and strange on him. For not even his strongest and most powerful enemies had had the courage to stand in front of him and challenge him like you were doing right now. You were a fierce girl. And he liked that.

“I wouldn't be likely to mock you, my lady.” Feyd-Rautha replied calmly, his tone of voice the exact same, as if you were a spectacle. Your eyes lowered to his hand, which snaked slowly to the edge of the balcony fence, fingers stroking the smooth surface. “I'm just stating the obvious. You'll be living here with me soon. It will be our home and you will reign with me when it's my turn.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at his response, not yet quite convinced that he would behave so calm and composed with you, when not more than two days ago you had seen him slicing men to pieces in the arena. “You are not bothered by me invading your space?”

You asked that question because you knew how... eccentric men usually behaved, you could see it in basically every man with any power you had ever met, in the so many meetings with the Duke back home. You could see how they treated their wives, how they looked at them and how they talked to them, as if they were dealing with a servant. You feared this marriage was like that too.

Even your parents' marriage was broken, since Duke Leto kept close to his heart another woman who was not Lady Jessica, he did not love her as he loved that unknown woman. You had grown up seeing an empty and cold marriage, merely to fulfill a duty.

You understood that your marriage would also have that basis, and therefore, you knew that duty was the death of love. But for some silly, innocent reason, you wanted to think there might be love here. As the naive, young girl that you were.

Feyd-Rautha shrugged, not taking much interest in the matter of the question, “You'll be my wife, my space is your space.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw that his answer pleased you. You could begin to understand that to him the whole arranged marriage thing wasn't as important as it was to you, or maybe it was, but it didn't seem to bother him or disagree.

“Does this marriage bother you?” It was his turn to ask, staring down at you, noticing how beautifully your skin reflected the pale natural light of the black sun. He could see how frustrated you were now, to be there, with him. “Does it bother you to be my wife?”

You sighed heavily, peeling your eyes from Feyd-Rautha and returning them to the beauty of the landscape below, pondering the questions. His dark eyes followed your every movement as your body turned forward again, hands gripping the balcony fence as if your life depended on it.

“Do you care much for my opinion of you?” You decided to answer him with another question and that seemed to annoy him for his frown deepened and his fingers halted on the fence, devoting himself to glaring at you with his azure eyes, mirroring the pallid light of the gloomy sun.

“Woman, I will marry you and live by your side for the rest of my life, of course your opinion is important.” He took a couple of steps closer to you as he spoke, hand closer and closer to yours, managing to make you even more nervous. “Don't speak nonsense, it doesn't suit you. You're a smart girl.”

Seeing the expression on your face, he leaned even closer and out of the corner of your eye you watched as his hand rose to your face, resting on your chin and turning it ever so gently for you to look at him, but your eyes lowered, fleeing from his.

It seemed astonishing to him that you didn't even flinch away when you sensed the approach of his hand to your face, as if it wasn't the same hand that had slaughtered so many and slit so many necks by the same motion.

“Don't take your eyes off me.” He demanded in a low, raspy tone of voice, you could feel his breath brush against your face. “Look at me.”

When he whispered your name in that delicate, nearly pleading tone, you finally summoned the courage to look at him, allowing him to cradle your chin between his fingers and allowing him to be so close to you that you felt suffocated by the warmth of his body against yours.

“You fear me?”

He asked in that tone of voice, whispering, silently asking you to have mercy on him, not to fear him as everyone usually feared him, not to see him as the monster everyone saw, but as your husband, your protector and your lover.

He saw how your eyes watered slightly as fear peered into your usual stoic, cold face, and Feyd-Rautha was used to beholding that face, was used to fear, because it was always the last look of his enemies.

“I'm afraid. Of leaving home, of living on an unknown planet, of marrying someone I don't know.” Then you shook your head softly, looking up at him through your long eyelashes. “But I am not afraid of you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“You're very bold... and emotional.” He whispered in a disapproving but gentle voice, fingers tracing barely a caress along your lower lip before he reached up and dried the couple of tears that had managed to escape from your pretty eyes. At the closeness, you could begin to see through the mask he always carried, hiding his emotions. “You can't let yourself look like this in front of your enemies, it will make you appear weak.”

“I can't let myself look like this in front of my future husband?” his dark eyes lowered to your lips as you modulated the question, pupils dilating slightly. You swallowed as you saw desire and lust darken his orbs even more when you referred to him as your husband. You sniffed, feeling suddenly embarrassed by your outburst of emotions. “I'm s—sorry. You shouldn't see me like this, my lord.”

“Don't apologize.” He again reprimanded you in that passive-aggressive tone of his, like a hiss of a snake, shaking his head a little. Even after he wiped away your little tears, his hands remained in the same place, cupping your face, each of his thumbs resting on your flushed cheekbones.His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against your skin, sending shivers all over your body beneath their path. “You can be like this only with me, you understand? You can trust me, I want you to trust me.” His fingers took a lock of your hair and pulled it away from your face, running it carefully behind your ear. “But I really don't like to see you cry, my wife-to-be.”

After barely a second of silence with his azure eyes again flicking down to your parted lips, he spoke again, muttering, his raspy voice indicating that perhaps it hurt his throat to talk like that. “Pretty girls like you should cry out of pleasure only.”

He studied your face once more, not missing the way you blushed at his open flirtation and suggestive words, how you bit your lower lip, pupils expanding in thick blackness. You weren't used to so much attention, let alone men saying those kinds of words to you, it was evident. You were so innocent that it provoked a rare feeling of tenderness in Feyd-Rautha.

Perhaps it would be the closest thing to an act of consolation you would get from him and it was likely the only time in his life he had ever done that.

Promptly, you managed to make him smile again. “You Atreides are so strange and delicate... but then again, you will soon be Harkonnen, the prettiest na-Baroness, my pretty little wife.”

From his voice, his careful choice of words and the way he was looking at you, you expected him to kiss you right there —perhaps that was what you wanted, amidst all the tumult of emotions that shook your little heart, beating in rumbling noises inside your chest, pumping fiery blood through your veins.

But after a few seconds, he pulled his hands away from your face and backed away from you, taking a few steps back and offering you a look that you managed to perceive as soft rather than harsh. You knew that he was controlling himself well in maintaining a good demeanor, perhaps because his uncle had ordered him to do so; to do his best to make a good impression and not bring shame to the family. And also because he wanted you to have a good image of him, he was a prideful man, he was used to boast of his virtues and his power, and he was above all, protective of his own person and his glory.

He made a short gesture with his head pointing to the open balcony door, his hands clasping together behind his back pragmatically, as if he were presenting himself in front of a superior. “Now come, pretty girl, I'll show you the palace myself. You're future home.”

You walked towards him, a little smile curving your lips, the first smile on your face during the entire conversation, and he admired it in all it's glory.

“You don't have to be all stiff when you're with me, Feyd.” You eyed his posture with light eyes as you passed him and made your way inside the guest room with graceful steps, him following close behind.

He wasn't very fond of being addressed by name directly, of having his name used so freely, but the way you pronounced his name made him so utterly proud to be called that, he suddenly was wishing you would just call him that, in that tone of voice, tongue savoring his name as if it were the most delightful thing to say.

You turned to look at him for a few seconds, your tone of voice becoming reassuring, something he wasn't quite used to, yet he heard and savored it as if it were the sweetest thing in the world.

“If you can see me cry, then I can see you relaxed. It is only fair, no?”

Feyd-Rautha received your words positively, causing him to deepen his breathing into a snorting chuckle, eyes sparkling with amusement now behind your back.

“I'll try for you.” His response made you smile once more.

[boneblushed]

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. compression shirts & sweatpants.

about. hello u guys wanted me to finish this so i did lol !!!! i just can’t get the idea of him in compression shirts out of my mind ok enjoy !! <3

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. suggestive, making out, hickies, dry humping, bakugou being a huge tease, gn!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

“do you get off on this? dressing like a slut?”

after pushing his bread down into the toaster, bakugou stops mid-sip, his signature red riot coffee mug about a quarter of an inch away from the pink and plush curve of his lips. he looks over to you as if he’s an animal that’s been caught doing something it’s not supposed to. a deer in headlights if you will.

“hah?”

you clench your fists, the foulest pout you can muster spread thinly over your features like a veil, as a petulant huff escapes you. you pretend to be mad at the man for as long as you can, turning your head away from him with your arms crossed over your chest. but you can’t help it. you can’t fight it… your gaze trailing back over to him at a snail’s pace.

katsuki bakugou looks like a fucking god.

not only does the stupid black compression shirt he’s wearing highlight the slender accent of his hips and itty bitty waist — but it clings to every muscle in bakugou’s marble-carved body. you can see every bulge of his biceps and ripple in his backs, even down to his washboard abs. honestly, you count your lucky stars every day that you managed to sink your fangs into the blonde before anyone else did, claiming him as your own. you might have even thrown up if anyone got to see him lounging about the place in grey sweats the way you did, the material just barely sitting on his hips.

you have to swipe at your mouth to stop yourself from drooling when he puts his mug down and lifts an arm up high to put the coffee granules back in the cupboard — his shirt riding up just enough for you to get a good look at a slither if his his sun-kissed, diamond cut v-line and waistband of his boxers too. it’s like the guy is purposefully trying to kill you.

just the very sight of katsuki like this, probably fresh from his work out, has you in a shambles — breaking out into hot sweats, panting like a dog. someone might even think you’re sick.

katsuki pays your little tantrum no mind, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the kitchen counter while he waits for you to finish.

“you look so good.” you relent eventually, shoulders sagging.

shaking his head in a fond manner, the blonde rolls his ruby framed eyes. “no, you look good.” katsuki coos amusedly, arms opening wide for you as you pad further into the kitchen to snuggle against his chest. although he’s taunting you and you’re playing right into his game, you will always love that katsuki finds little ways to compliment you and make you feel adored — you feel it as he presses the wisps of a kiss into the crown of your head. “you always do.”

“it’s not fair that you get to go around like this! wearing that and making me feel all—!” you wave your hands about eccentrically, a heated frustration burning at your nerve endings as you screech your feelings out.

bakugou smiles to himself, sexy and slow, barely jumping when his toast pops out of the toaster. he grabs it, holds the corner of his food between his rows of pearly white teeth and spins your positions so that he traps you against the kitchen counter. “gonna need some context, babe.” you think that he’s going to touch you but instead reaches behind you to grab at his coffee.

freaking tease.

it’s impossible to think clearly when your boyfriend is this close — his intoxicating musky scent of sweet sweat and cool toned aftershave making you dizzy. “i hate you.” you state indignantly, flopping against his chest and letting it’s plushness muffle your speech patterns. “you’re stupid hot. and a slut.”

“you slut shamin’ me, sweetness?”

“s’what you deserve. dressin’ like you don’t belong to nobody. like you belong to the streets.”

“i belong to you, baby. you know that.” chucking his toast onto the counter, the blonde swoops down to kiss you hungrily — tasting of freshly brewed coffee grounds and salt. of course he would get off to something like this. he’s got you right where he wants you, weak in the knees and melting in his arms.

you screw your eyes shut, squirming in place as bakugou steps back and guides your hand under his tight fitting compression shirt, overloading your brain with just how built he is. fleshy pecks and golden abs. he ends up keeping it rolled up so you feel hot all over. “i can get undressed if it makes ya feel better.”

you can’t help that your eyes drop back down to his cotton grey sweats — they’ve slipped a little lower, low enough for his sharp v-line and soft blonde curls from his happy trail to peek out from the waistband. if you squinted (not that you would need to) you could make out the outline of his semi as it brushes against your inner thighs.

this is it. this is the end. “it makes me feel worse actually. like i might die of thirst or something. especially if you don’t—“

“if i don’, what?” his hands are all over you now, splayed over your tummy, digging into your waist — he overwhelms you. pressing his body against yours until you practically feel him through your pores. bakugou is hot (physically, sure) but against you, your desire for him spreads like a heatwave through every inch of your body — from the tips of your fingers and toes to the top of your head.

“kiss me.” you breathe, a neediness seeded into your tone.

bakugou arches a blonde eyebrow, looking down at you cockily. “c’mere then, brat.”

he uses a finger and thumb to tilt your chin up towards him, leaning down to kiss you before tricking you with a fake out. just as you begin to whinge and complain, the blonde squishes your cheeks so you can’t wriggle away from him and licks into your mouth with a teasing laugh. he only kisses you fully when you grasp at his slender waist, feel him up from under his clothes and slip your hands over his ass — just bellow the waistband of his sweats.

“fuckin’ tease,” katsuki grunts, tugging on your lower lip with his teeth and sucking in your tongue.

a free hand wanders from his bottom, climbs up the rippling muscles of his back and tangles in bakugou’s sandy roots — fisting then as you drag him closer, working your tongue into his hot and welcoming mouth. “takes one to know one, kats,” you mewl into him, letting him swallow your satisfied gasps and squeaks.

every action, every groan and grope becomes rougher, needier, hornier — squeezing each other turns to grinding on one another until there’s no room for either of you to breathe and just as you move to shove your hand down the front of his boxers, everything comes to a halt.

you knock bakugou’s coffee over when he lifts you onto the counter.

“ow! hot!” you squeal, still tilting your head back to make room for the blonde at your neck.

he doesn’t stop, nipping at your skin. “yeah, so you’ve said babe.”

“not you, dummy!” swatting at your boyfriend, you push him off. “the fucking coffee on my ass!”

katsuki blinks, his lashes fluttering against the column of your throat while be peeks over your shoulder at the beverage spilling across the counter and seeping into your clothes.

“that’s what you get for callin’ me a slut.”

“oh…oh fuck you.”

“‘m trying babe.”

“fuck you. slut.”

“keep degrading me sweetness, ‘m kinda into that.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Sunday, Welt, Gallagher, Blade, and Dan Heng react to his shy gn s/o asking to kiss him on his forehead in hopes that it would bring him the same love & comfort they felt whenever they received it?

Sunday: his first reaction is; aww aren’t you just the most precious and adorable thing he’s ever seen.

He immeditly obeys your wish and presents you his forehead, where you planted a soft, tender kiss against.

He instantly relaxes beneath the featherlight touch of your lips against his forehead, smiling softly as he selfishly indulges himself in your presence and the way you managed to calm him without uttering a single word.

Your wish is his command in every sense of the word.

You’re probably the only person he’d gladly kneel before, but only in private though because he wasn’t fond of people staring at what was meant to be a special moment between two lovers.

And the fact that you weren’t fond of overcrowded places, regardless of whether they were staff members hired by The Family or just regular pedestrians who can’t go a single day without sticking their noses into things that don’t concern them.

So before anything happens Sunday makes sure to take you to your shared room for a much more private setting for the both of you.

After all this moment was meant for you two and you two alone.

So back to the moment you kissed his forehead, Sunday felt the weight of his responsibilities slip off his shoulders like water off a ducks back and he could even feel himself breath again now the weight was nonexistent; And you were to thank for making him feel that way.

You, sweet, kind, generous, you. Sunday’s own personal angel who makes him forget about his duty and make him feel alive again as you breathed new life into him with just a forehead kiss.

Welt: he would welcome the idea of you giving him a forehead kiss wholeheartedly.

He knows that it was nearly an impossible task for you to ask anything of him and he’s more then willing to let you go at your own pace, as he could clearly see that you didn’t expect to get this far.

‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t feel up to it just yet dearest.’ He says calmly as he places a comforting hand on yours. ‘There’s no time limit to do things under, so please take your time and remember to take deep breaths if needed.’ He adds.

He just wants you to feel comfortable and not feel pressured to do something that you weren’t comfortable with doing just yet. For it wasn’t fair on you in the slightest.

‘No. I want to do this, it’s just-‘ you then took a deep breath before refocusing yourself in the moment. ‘You know what I’m just going to kiss your forehead now. If that’s alright with you.’

Welt smiles. ‘It’s more than alright with me. Please continue.’

The moment your lips touched Welt’s forehead, he felt as though he were a young boy in love, everything he was feeling the longer your lips lingered were both indescribable and addicting.

He felt warm, he felt giddy, he felt excited but most of all he felt loved, cherished and really happy.

Nothing else existed in that moment but you two and that was fine by him because at the end of the day he would love nothing more than for it to be you whom he sees no matter what.

He often feels as though he wasn’t putting as much time in your relationship as he was with anything else but when you kissed his forehead, all of those worries he had yet to speak up upon faded away as he was reassured with the way you treated him as though he were priceless.

For he viewed you within the same point of view and was glad that feeling was reciprocated tenfold.

Gallagher; ‘Gallagher, can I-‘

‘Yes.’ He says with impeccable speed.

‘I-i haven’t even asked yet-‘

‘You don’t have to because my answer is yes little bird.’ He cuts you off once again with a wolfish smile before dragging you to sit on his lap as you rested your hands against his shoulders for stability when you kissed his forehead.

The feeling was incredibly fleeting for Gallagher as before he could fully enjoy the feeling of your lips against his skin, you pulled away, Gallagher was pouting like an overgrown child.

‘What?’ You said, thinking you’ve done something wrong.

‘It wasn’t long enough.’ He mutters and tugs you by the waist, causing you to be flushed against his chest. ‘What wasn’t?’ You asked, not understanding what he was getting at.

‘The forehead kiss.’ He clarified. ‘It wasn’t long enough for my liking so I want another.’ He adds, getting a lot of enjoyment from your wide eyed expression as he lifted your head to meet his eyes with a finger under your chin.

‘Don’t you have work to get back to? Won’t Sunday be mad?’ You questioned, knowing that the Halovian’s patience was wearing thin with Gallagher recently, and you didn’t want him getting into even more trouble just because he wanted more forehead kisses.

‘Who cares what that winged prick thinks little bird,’ Gallagher practically purrs, ‘I’m the one busting my ass. So I feel like I’m more than deserving of an extra five minutes to spend with a cutie like you in my lap, giving me a shit tone of forehead kisses.’ He adds.

And that’s exactly what you ended up doing for those extra five minutes.

Blade: ‘why?’ He asks bluntly.

You fiddled with your sleeve, a force of habit of yours that has stuck with you since as long as you could remember. ‘I just hope that it’ll bring you the same comfort and love I feel when you kiss my forehead.’ You admit sheepishly.

Blade knew the kind of guy he was and he wasn’t one that made people feel loved or comforted, if anything it was the complete opposite, but upon hearing you -sweet,shy and socially awkward you- admit that you feel love and comfort from a simple gesture he’s done once maybe twice.

Blade remained silent for a while before feeling himself begin to crumble under your patience gaze and muttered out a gruff. ‘Sure.’

The twinkle in your eyes and the tender smile across your lips melted his scarred heart, but the moment you gently held his face between your hands as though you were holding something worth admiring and pressed the sweetest kiss against his forehead, Blade felt himself practically become a puddle between your palms.

He hums in content as he closes his eyes and lets the love and comfort you claimed he gave you, spread throughout his body, from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his ears. He could feel your love for him encase him in a protective, warm embrace and Blade couldn’t help but selfishly wish to stay here in this position for the rest of your lives.

However you pulled away and Blade noticed how much colder he felt without your touch as he catches his breath, it almost as though he was plunged into an icy cold bath with the way his muscles became frigid and taut.

He had got a mere taste of your affection and now he craved it more than anything.

Dan Heng; knew how hard it was for you to ask for anything of him, despite him countlessly reminding you that he was more then willing to fulfil your wants and needs the best he could.

So when you managed to muster the strength and asked to kiss his forehead, he felt his cheeks become aflame but lets you do so anyways as he casts his gaze elsewhere, praying that you don’t hear how fast his heart was going.

He purrs. I repeat, he purrs the moment your lips touched his forehead as his inner dragon noodle was bursting with happiness upon receiving your affection. It wasn’t something that happened often but when it did, it was always something that never failed to make you smile and him slightly embarrassed at how easily you affected.

He’s just unsure how to voice his liking for your affection without it coming across as awkward or forced. He’s not a man of words when it comes to you as you often left him speechless and unable to think about anything that wasn’t the feeling of your plush, slightly cracked, lips pressed against his forehead.

In that moment all he could think about was you and how despite your differences, you two couldn’t have been a better match for one another.

It was during tender moments like these did Dan Heng want to cling onto forever for they reminded him that he has someone who was worth everything to him.

Someone who loved him regardless of who he was in the past. Your love knew no bounds and Dan Heng could feel every ounce of that within a simple thing as a forehead kiss.

[dollfacefantasy]

SO, KISS ME ♡

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: to celebrate six months of being together, you and logan head off to a secret spot. and it wouldn't be a celebration without a few drinks, right?

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, fingering, light dubcon, intox kink, alcohol + intoxication

kinktober slot: day 2 - intox kink

Being the guidance counselor at Charles Xavier's school, you take your work seriously. You dedicate all that you have to the students. Helping them blossom into healthy, well-adjusted adults means everything to you in both a professional and personal sense. But because of your fierce ambition, you never really get the chance to let loose. Your nights consist of reviewing your cases. When you do have free time during the evening, you often spend it alone or with your boyfriend, just relaxing.

Tonight is different though.

It's your six month anniversary with Logan - which he makes sure to remind you multiple times, is not a real anniversary since it's not annual. But regardless, he indulges your desire to celebrate.

Holding hands, he walks you through the overgrown grass down to the neglected boat house that stands a few hundred yards South of the school's main building. The buttery blades of the field brush against your knees as your steps trail his larger strides. He glances back at you every now and again, a subtle way of making sure you aren't having any trouble.

The path the two of you take winds down to the old wooden structure. A collection of trees secludes it and the dock coming off of it. He leads you up the creaky steps and through the small musty corridor, smirking at your complaints about the possibility of bugs or other small creatures.

At the end of this trip, you finally reach the destination he wanted to take you. The small area that comes off the boat house and sits a few feet above the moderate-sized lake on this corner of the estate.

"Wow, this is kinda pretty," you say, peering around at the secret spot he'd found for the two of you.

"Kinda? That's all you'll give me?" he teases.

He pulls you the few remaining paces to the edge of the pine slats. You smile up at him, tucking yourself underneath his muscular arm as the two of you overlook the turquoise water.

"Ok, ok. It's super pretty. I never thought you'd be the type to do something so romantic," you correct.

"Yeah, well... I can be when I want to. And for you... I guess you're worth it," he says, keeping a cocky look on his face. He could never have you taking his words too seriously. Couldn't clue you in to the depth of what he feels for you in the short span of time you've officially been his.

He sits down first, and you follow in suit. His legs dangle, hanging inches above the murky liquid. Yours stay tucked up on the wood, crossed over one another. You take a few more moments to enjoy the scenery around you. It's nice and quiet out here. Pretty and green. Maybe it would feel creepy if not for Logan, but his presence prevents any eerie feelings from tainting your fun.

The hand that hadn't been used to guide you down here holds a six pack of Logan's beverage of choice. He sets the perspiring cans next to his thigh and hooks his elbow over your shoulders, pulling you close to his side again. His lips land against your temple, silent affection you'd grown accustomed to from him.

You tilt your head upward to brush your nose against him and look into the pair of eyes you found yourself getting lost in more and more often these days.

"You could've picked a more romantic drink though," you joke.

He scoffs playfully. "I'm celebrating too, aren't I?" he says.

Reaching over, he pulls one of the cans from the plastic wrapped around the top. He watches how your eyes follow his hand.

"You want one?" he asks.

You glance up at him and nod. Sure, you didn't care for the taste of beer. You weren't too fond of alcohol in general. But tonight was a special occasion. You figured it wouldn't hurt. It'd probably be fun trying out a new change of pace.

He rolls his eyes and frees another can from the pack, sliding it into your hands.

"All that complaining, but you're still gonna drink anyways," he mocks.

"Shut up," you say and give his arm a little shove.

The lid spurts as you pop it open. You bring the container to your lips and take a drink, scrunching your nose at the flavor. He grins at your exaggerated show of displeasure.

"No one's forcing you," he chuckles.

"I know," you say after swallowing.

You scoot a little closer to him and lean against his side. He doesn't need anymore words to understand what you're trying to communicate.

The two of you drink and talk for an amount of time that fades into irrelevancy in favor of enjoying each other. You sip your drink while he pops open another. The once-serene quiet of the lake becomes filled with the sounds of your combined voices and laughter. You swap stories in between lazy kisses, vent about nagging problems of your lives now as your hands roam each other's bodies.

You end up finishing two drinks. Your head is spinning by the time the second can leaves your fingers. He can see from the look on your face how you're feeling. Even if he didn't have his advanced olfactory, he would be able to smell the smooth scent oozing off of you.

After laughing a little too hard at a joke that wasn't that funny, you go for another one. He grabs your wrist and then cups your jaw, tilting your head upward so that your glassy eyes are on him.

"Think you've had enough, baby," he smirks.

You give him a goofy smile and shake your head. "Have not."

"Hmmm, I think you have. You're a total lightweight," he teases. His arm snakes around your back and scoops you up, pulling you to sit on his lap.

You don't protest the adjustment and instead snuggle into his chest.

"But today's special," you pout.

"That's true, but tomorrow isn't. And you're not gonna feel very special if you give yourself a killer headache."

You scoff despite the truth of that statement.

"You're no fun," you say and flick at his face.

He swats your hand away gently and shifts you on his thighs to make sure you're supported and won't go toppling into the water below. You still try to reach for another drink, but he stops you again.

"That last one's for me," he says. He knows that won't be enough to sate you though, so he tries an offer, "If you really want some more, I'll give you a sip of mine. Deal?"

You pause like you're thinking about it. In truth, that's just the delay needed for the words to register in your mind.

"Deal," you agree and smack a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

He smiles, and the two of you stay like that for a while. You continue talking, but it's a bit closer to rambling now. He doesn't mind though. The sound of your voice in either form is always enough to entertain him.

Every so often, you pull at his thick forearm, indicating you want a little gulp. Most of the time, he obliges you, raising the drink to your mouth and letting you have some.

He's not sure what it is about seeing you like this that gets his blood pumping, but sure enough, after watching your eyes flutter and your mouth swallow a few times, he feels the familiar sensation of heat pooling in his gut. Like a slow whirlpool, it lingers, teasing the idea of sinking.

His fingertips glide along your jawline as you drink, keeping your head at a suitable angle. He notices how glossy your eyes have become - similar to that of a doll's. When you pull back after a few moments, your lips shine with traces of beer. His dick throbs at the way your lids droop slightly when you give him a big, sweet smile.

"Why're you staring at me?" you ask playfully.

"I'm not... Now I know you've had too much - you're seeing things," he says, voice lowering as he leans in to kiss at your neck.

You hiccup a small laugh and shake your head. "I am not," you respond.

He smiles against your skin, but his lips don't deviate from their task. They continue moving along your neck, laying hot pecks along the column of your throat. The wet sensation makes you squirm a bit, soft whimpers spilling from your lips. He can feel his cock filling out in response.

Pulling back a little, he glances at your face. His own eyes are becoming a bit hooded by lust now. He brings the can back to your mouth.

"Take another drink for me, honey," he directs, "Want you to finish it off."

"Mkay," you hum and accept the liquid being poured into your mouth.

His eyes fixate on you as you swallow it down. He can hear the small clicks of your throat with each mouthful you take. His thumb rises to the corner of your mouth to swipe away the bit of excess that drips from there.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Nice and slow."

The low and smooth cadence of his voice brings a shudder up your spine. You keep accepting the liquid down your throat until no more oozes from the can at your lips. He pulls it away and looks into your eyes.

"Such a good girl for me," he says in that same tone, "Did you like that?"

You nod, a small, helpless giggle trickling from your lips. It's involuntary, a natural reaction to the man holding you right now when you can't think to stifle it. You lean back into the warmth of his chest. Your thighs press against one another and rub, trying to create some friction for the blooming ache between your legs.

He feels the subtle movements, the little back and forths on his lap. One of his palms lands on your leg. His fingers grip the squishy flesh, adding to the heat at your center.

"What're you doing, sweetheart?" he asks teasingly.

"Nothing," you say with a little smile.

"It doesn't feel like nothing to me," he says, digging his digits into you with a slight increase in pressure.

Your breath hitches, and your legs spread apart a few inches out of instinct. You craved his touch a few inches upward, ached for him to ease the tingling that resided at your center. He grins when he sees how your limbs move for him.

"You feeling a little restless, baby?" he breathes. His hands slide up to the hem of your shorts, teasing the fabric that rests against your leg. "You're getting all squirmy. Think the beer is making you feel funny, huh?"

"Little bit," you agree with a lazy nod. Your hand grabs his and drags it up to slot it against your covered pussy. You gently rock your hips to signal what you want.

He laughs at your bold display, letting you hump his palm but not doing anything to add to your pleasure yet.

"That's where you need attention?" he teases.

"Yeah," you whimper. You try to buck your hips more, but it's hard to get real stimulation with how he has you situated on his lap.

His smirk doesn't let up as he watches your desperation.

"Tell me what you want. Exactly what you want."

"You," you whine, "Need you to touch me. Rub my pussy. Gimme your cock. Allll of it."

His eyes blaze with desire at your words. Under usual circumstances, that took much longer to coax out of you. He'd have to really work you up to being so explicit about what you needed. But with the liquid courage in your veins, it all came much easier.

He rewards you by sliding his hand up and then tucking it beneath the waistband of your bottoms. His fingers venture down, cupping the expanse of your cunt before parting your lips and gently swirling his fingertip around your poor little clit.

A sharp whimper comes from you. Your legs writhe with delight while the rest of your body melts back into his.

"Those drinks just washed all the thoughts out of that pretty little head, didn't they?" he whispers, "Drained all that need down here. Now the only thing you're thinking about is getting this little pussy filled up."

You bite your lip. Heat floods your cheeks. But you still nod.

"Mhm. I can see it all over your face. Poor thing," he mocks.

He boosts you closer on his lap as his fingers continue to tease and flick at your sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingertips are rough, blunt contrast to the velvet softness of your folds. They swipe through your arousal. He gets you to whine a few more times before they coast down and poke into your entrance.

You mewl and arch your back. It was just the two of you, so you took no care to be quiet or subtle.

One slides in first and then a second. They're just fingers, but they're so fucking thick and lengthy. The stretch feels like the perfect warm up to what you really want.

He pumps them back and forth a few times. Your walls clench around him with each motion. He doesn't go too fast just yet.

Your head still spins from the booze, but the feeling is amplified with the waves of ecstasy washing over you. His hand that isn't knuckle-deep in your cunt holds you upright, occasionally groping your breast to give that extra burst of heat.

His cock hardens to the point of pain beneath your ass. He can't help it with how enticing you look, whimpering and fidgeting in his lap like this, completely lost in the pleasure he's providing.

"So sweet for me. So easy to get you all wound up," he murmurs. He grinds the heel of his palm over your clit, pulling more erotic noises from your throat.

"L-Logan. Need more," you stammer.

"You do? Already?" he teases.

A petulant whine erupts from you as your feet kick with desire.

"Pleaseeeee," you pout, "Need it in me. Need your big, fuckin' cock in me."

He chuckles against the side of your head. The words sound like your attempt at imitating dialogue from a porno.

"Yeah? Need me to ruin that tight little pussy?" he responds, mimicking the same style of speech.

Ordinarily, you probably would've laughed at the obnoxious nature of the words, but in this moment, you moan and nod eagerly.

He decides you've had enough teasing and indulges you. It is supposed to be a celebration after all. He slips his fingers out of you and frees his hand from the confines of your shorts. With you still on top of him, he scoots back on the wooden dock. The last thing he needed was for you to fall in the water mid-riding him.

The thought makes him decide to flip the two of you over entirely so that you're on your back against the planks. He could only imagine the other's reaction to you both trudging back in the mansion soaking wet, the scent of alcohol coming off you in waves.

You giggle when your head clunks against the hard surface, already squirming to get your clothes off. He helps you out with that and shoves your shorts and underwear halfway down your thighs. It would be enough for right now. The two of you could do this properly later tonight in the comfort of your bed.

He kneels above you and unzips his pants before pulling his length out. It's rock solid, yearning to slide inside you. He doesn't waste any time. His body hovers above yours, his bulky arms on either side of your head. He nudges his hips forward until his tip meets your dripping cunt.

You whine as he splits you open on the thick shaft. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You don't feel anything else in the moment, not the rough wood against your arms or the cool breeze blowing over the both of you. Right now, everything is about you and him.

He pushes his cock all the way in and then drags it back just as slowly. Your slick coats him down to the base, making the swath of dark hair there shimmer with evidence of your connection. He grunts at how tight your pussy grips him. The wordless plea for him to never leave.

His hands stay planted against the wood as he begins to rock back and forth. Your legs stay bent up, pressing against his sides as he works.

You babble out words of praise, but they slur together and end up incoherent.

"What's that?" he asks with a playful smile.

"Said it feels s'fuckin' good," you choke out again. Your words fizzle away in an instant though when a hard thrust rips a squeal from you.

He chuckles and only pumps his hips harder.

"That right, baby?" he taunts.

Your head bobs in agreement, more mumbled enjoyment coming from you. You try to boost your own hips to reciprocate a bit, but you're too out of it. All you can do is lie there and let him make you feel good.

He doesn't mind. He likes the control over you, the duty to provide your pleasure.

"Taking it so well for me," he grunts, "Can't think or talk, but your body still knows what it's doing."

"Mhm," you whimper.

He smiles at the weak noise.

Your legs quiver in their folded position, the muscles in your thighs spasming as the feelings in your belly become harder to deal with. The blooming sensation of euphoria makes your brows furrow and your jaw clench.

"Oh, I know that face," he coos, "You getting ready to cum?"

"Y-yeah," you force out around whines.

You look so fucking cute like this, he's about ready to finish too. Everything about you is just so precious in this moment. The needy look in your eyes, the faint pout on your lips. All of it makes him throb.

Seconds later your hips buck and your back arches off the wooden dock. Your arms fly up and wrap around him. The sound of his name comes out garbled among other expletives and cries.

Every syllable is drenched with satisfaction, and it's enough to drive him over the edge as well. He's not as loud as you when he cums. His pleasure comes out in a muted groan, made even softer by burying his face against the skin of your neck.

You barely register the feeling of his release. Most of the time, it was your favorite part, but in your blissed-out, intoxicated state, it's harder to focus on.

The feeling that stands out to you most is when he slides out and peels himself off of you.

You whimper and grab at him. "Don't leave." you pout.

He laughs at your little display, shaking his head. "When have I ever left you, hm?" he asks and leans over to kiss your forehead.

You suppose it's true, so you don't protest further. He takes on the responsibility of putting himself and you back together. His zipper slides back into place before he tenderly pulls your panties and shorts up over your ass again. In a lazy attempt to help, you scoop up the used beer cans in front of you.

"We can't litter," you say before laughing a little more.

He decides to gather you up into his arms, carrying you back in the direction of the school. He didn't want you to trip and fall while inebriated. Plus, this would probably be faster anyway. 

You hold the lot of cans in your arms like some sort of makeshift aluminum baby. Your eyes stay on his face though, gleaming with adoration. He notices the look and raises his eyebrows.

"What are you staring at me for?" he asks, mocking your earlier question.

"You're seeing things, old man. Think you had too much to drink too," you answer before letting your head dangle back over his arm, another laugh echoing across the open expanse of the field.

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Do you mind doing a smut blurb about dry humping with Logan pls. I just need to read some dry humping with that man omfg

Tysm in advance you write Logan smut so well 😫😫 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Ofcourse I can lovely, and thank u so much omg im blushing. I'd do anything for this old man and if it were up to me I would have achieved atleast 1 nut on every inch of his body. you know how it is. I love writing dialogue so much, so I hope when I do it's like sexy and in character and not like ew why would he say that ykwim 😭😭😭 Also just realized u said dry humping and this is very much not dry, so if u want specifically some like over the clothes bumping and grinding I fuck with that too, just lmk 😋

Logan couldn't wrap his head around how so men come home to their beautiful girls, just to mistreat them. (he told me himself)

He couldn't imagine coming home and doing anything but pleasing whatever fresh faced beauty had burrowed their way into his heart.

Especially when that freshed faced beauty was as freshed faced and beautiful as you.

You'd fight him, shoo him away when he leers over your shoulder at your makeup routine and scold him when he's got his phone camera in your face. You'd never change his mind, no matter how hard youd try.

He didn't know how you could either, especially now when he's got you like this.

The room is hot and sticky as sounds of you and logans debauchery fill the room. The scene is nothing short of pornographic, since hes got you with your soaked core pressed into his thigh, your legs moving you in a mind numbing pattern.

Logans hands on your hips do most the work, though. He's got you pressed down in a way you're not sure you could sustain on your own, your hips locked back and clit taking most of the abuse, and it's driving you up the wall.

Your eyes are cast down, stairing at the fat of your pussy being smushed back and forth, leaving a slimy trail of slick to drip down the sides of Logans limb.

Logans eyes, however, have not left your face for a moment. You look jaw dropping like this, your head bobbing as your hands desperately grab onto whatever they can hold, your moans reaching a fever pich every time he applies just a little more force.

"You can take it, right baby?" The words don't make it past your lips, but you shakily nod and pant an audible "mhm".

"Atta girl," He praises, one hand coming up to grab your chin. He's got a goofy grin on his face, his pupils blown out and his hair falling into his face as he brings your eyes back up to his.

"There she is," His smile turns fond upon seeing your face again. His hand quickly returns to your hip and resumes his relentless assault on your core, this time his eyes locked on yours in an intimate embrace.

Not only can he smell it, but he can feel your impending climax. He can feel the way the slick is pouring from you, can feel the way your bud gets all stiff and sensitive. If nothing else, it was hard to ignore the way you shake like a leaf, your lungs void of air as it all overwhelms you.

"That's it right there, huh princess?" He asks, your voice becoming high pitched and whiney as you nod, your hands tightening on his tanktop.

"Let me see it baby. Don't take those pretty eyes off of me," He orders, picking up the pace, sprinting to bring you to your finish.

"Lo- its- mph~ i-im-" "shhh, just let it go," He whispers lowly, the sound going straight to your already buzzing center. It's not long before your eyes break his gaze, mindlessly rolling into the back of your head as the feeling consumes your body whole.

His hands don't falter, working you through your orgasm as you relentlessly shake and cry in his hands. Your face ties up, eyes now scrunched up and mouth dropped open in what is probably his favorite of all your looks.

He doesn't stop till you're twitching and squirming, whines going from orgasmic to almost painful as your whole core becomes sensitive.

"Fuck- Logan," you plead, wrapping your arms around his waist and hiding your face into your neck. You let out a deep sigh as you relax into him, feeling the waves of your release leaving you and being left with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

He wraps his arms around you too, comforting you with his big arms and firm embrace.

"You have fun, princess?" He teases, kissing the crown of your head and pressing his face against it.

You respond with a quiet "mhm", face refusing to leave his neck.

He holds you like this, whispering soft words of so good, so pretty, my baby, into your ears and making your mind get all floaty and soft.

hope u enjoyed!! thank u for the request, keep them coming I'm having so much funnn omg

[katsu28]

i saw requests were open and i simply could not resist

holding both their hands while holding their gaze gently, just before leaning in for a kiss + oscar maybe? honestly whoever you want to write it with, i’ll be happy!!!

you’re the best, love you, hope you’re having the most beautiful day ever💛💛

marissa babe i love you loads, thank you so much for this request <3 i've melted into a puddle writing this i kid you not

oscar piastri x reader, 1.8k. request something from here!

You’ve gone back and forth between canceling your date three times in the past two hours now. 

You should be showering, getting ready, finding a cute outfit, but instead you’re pacing a hole in the floor of your room, staring at your phone on your desk. 

You’ve been going out with the sweetest guy, Oscar, for a bit, and you like to think things are going well. He’s so kind and so cute, and you still can’t quite wrap your mind around the fact that he likes you enough to have gone on five dates with you. 

But for some reason, he makes you so unbelievably nervous. You feel like a bumbling fool around him whenever you’re together, tripping over your words, laughing a little too hard for a little too long at something that probably wasn’t even that funny, but you can’t help it. When Oscar is around, it’s like some little person in your brain wrenches away control from any rational thinking and just goes crazy. 

The worst part is, you don’t even know why. He’s just your type, he makes you feel like you’ve known him for much longer than you have, and you thought that would put you at ease. 

You’ve never felt this way with any other person before. Maybe that’s why you’re acting this way. This thing you have with Oscar is special, however new it is, and you’re afraid of fucking it up. You haven’t even kissed yet, but you’re afraid of fucking that up too. 

At that moment, your phone buzzes with a text from none other than Oscar himself. 

Oscar: Can’t wait to see you tonight. Miss you :-)

You’ve only gone four days without seeing each other and he misses you enough to tell you so. Fuck, he’s adorable. 

You have to go now, because the moment you finish reading his message you’re grinning like an idiot, giggling alone in your room at an eight word message and a stupidly endearing smiley face. 

Unfortunately, your nerves and anxieties have come to bite you on the ass. Now you’ve only got a little more than an hour to do everything you should’ve been doing to get ready for dinner instead of sitting around being indecisive. 

How you manage to get ready and out the door on time is a miracle, and before you know it you’re in an Uber on your way to meet Oscar. The driver is a kindly older man, rather talkative, which normally you weren’t very fond of, but his stories about his grandkids do wonders at providing a distraction from your thoughts. 

You almost forget you’re on your way to meet Oscar until you get out of the car and spot him across the street, slouched against the wall of the restaurant scrolling on his phone. 

He looks devastatingly handsome in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, both of which fit him fantastically, if you say so yourself, hair fluffed to perfection even though you know for a fact he probably hadn’t done a thing to it.

As if he senses you’ve arrived, he glances up, beaming brightly at the sight of you. He raises his hand in a wave, pocketing his phone immediately and coming to meet you at the other edge of the sidewalk.  

“Hey, stranger. Long time no see,” He says warmly, effortlessly folding you into a hug. You let yourself melt a little bit in his embrace, cheek pressed to his firm chest. “You look really pretty.” 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You reply. He smiles bashfully, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Shall we?” He offers out the crook of his elbow and you loop your arm through his, happy to follow his lead into the restaurant. 

Dinner goes well, all things considered. You’re frustratingly aware of how Oscar makes you feel the entire time, but you think you’re playing it off fairly well.

Or at least, if Oscar does notice, he doesn’t say anything. He’s absolutely perfect the whole time, polite and engaged with your stories, and funny in that dry sort of way of his that you’ve come to like. 

You insist on splitting the bill once it comes and he doesn’t waste time by fighting you for the check like a lot of guys always seem to do, but he does call dibs on paying for ice cream at a place down the road he’d spotted on his way in, which you agree to. 

He slides his hand into yours almost shyly at the start of the walk over, peering over at you through that one swooping curl of his that never seemed to stay put, as if to ask if it was okay he was holding your hand.

Your relationship (if you could even call it one at this early stage) is still new to the point where both of you aren’t quite sure what’s okay and when. Your response is to simply lace your fingers through his and squeeze. 

You quite like holding his hand, even if it does make you worry about if yours is too sweaty. 

Oscar opts for double chocolate chunk as his scoop of choice, which surprises you a little bit. You thought he would’ve gone for vanilla, but he always finds new ways to surprise you. He even pokes fun at your choice in flavor, bumping his shoulder against yours with that big smile that makes your heart dance in your chest. 

You find a nice place to sit and eat your ice cream on a bench in a cute little park across the way, and everything is going swimmingly, but then he asks. 

“This might be a stupid question, but are you alright?” 

You nearly choke on your ice cream at his words. You’ve learned that Oscar is usually pretty blunt, but you’re still trying to get used to it. “Am I—what?” 

“Are you okay? You seem…different. Was dinner alright? I’ve never been there before, but one of my mates keeps going on and on about it so I thought—” 

So he had noticed. You shake your head firmly, placing a hand over Oscar’s. “Dinner was lovely.”

“Ah. Okay. Is it something else then?” To his credit, he looks genuinely concerned that something’s wrong, even with ice cream smudged at the edge of his mouth. You have to fight the urge to wipe it away for him. “You don’t have to tell me, but you can if you want to. I’m a good listener.” 

You could tell him. It would benefit you to tell him, but for some reason, you hesitate. 

How are you to tell Oscar that he makes you feel like you're not yourself when he's around? That you get so nervous in his presence that you always feel like you're doing or saying the wrong thing? 

That every time he holds your hand or touches your cheek or texts you silly updates about his failed attempts at keeping a plant alive, you have to fight the urge to scream because you like him so much it scares you and you're afraid you’ll chase him away if you let him in on it. 

How do you tell someone all that without sounding completely and totally mental? 

You’ve only been on five dates, for fuck’s sake. For all you know, he could be planning on telling you it just won't work out between the two of you as soon as you get home tonight. You know he wouldn't do that because he's way too nice, but it doesn't stop you from jumping to conclusions.  

You must take longer than you think to respond, because Oscar says your name again. He’s fully facing you now, one hand on your knee when you come back down from your thoughts, brows furrowed. 

“I like you.” You blurt. 

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “Well, that's good, ‘cause I like you too.” 

“No, Oscar, I—” You pause a beat, trying to gather your thoughts into something more coherent. “I really like you. Like, so much that I feel like I’m messing everything up.”

“You could never mess anything up,” Oscar says fondly. So, so fondly. Your heart feels like it's about to leap out of your chest at his sincerity. “I really like you too. It’s a little scary, actually.” 

“Oh, thank god. I thought it was just me,” You breathe, shoulders sagging in relief. 

“That’s it, though?” He prods, cocking his head to the side curiously. 

“Uh…yes? I’m sorry, were you expecting more?” 

“No, no, of course not. I just—I thought maybe you were acting differently because you didn’t like me anymore. Got tired of me, or something like that,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

His shoulders hunch in on themselves, brows knit in something akin to embarrassment as he stares off at something in the distance. “It sounds stupid now that I hear it out loud, actually. Forget I said anything.” 

“Oscar,” You hum, just as soft as the way he’d reassured you moments earlier. His eyes shift over to meet yours, rich, warm brown like fresh coffee looking wide eyed back at you. You ease the nearly half empty paper cup out of his grip, taking both his hands in your own. You don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. 

“Hm?” He sounds flustered, gaze flicking down to your lips momentarily before coming back up. It’s only a split second, but you know what it means. 

He wants you to kiss him. You want to kiss him. You haven’t yet because you’ve been scared, but you don’t feel scared anymore. You’re not at all sure where this sudden burst of confidence is coming from, but you’re sure as hell not about to let it go to waste, so you lean forward, pressing your lips against his gently. 

It’s like he’s been waiting for this moment, because as soon as your mouth is on his, he sighs, tilting his head accordingly so your noses won’t smash together. You can taste the chocolate from his ice cream on his lips as they move against yours, and it’s not a perfect kiss by any means, but Oscar’s kissing you back, so it feels pretty perfect to you. You’re rather sad when you have to pull away, but air remains a necessity. 

Oscar’s eyes flutter open slowly. “That was…” 

“Nice?” You supply hopefully. 

Oscar bobs his head quickly, agreeing wholeheartedly. “Really nice. We should do it again. Can I…?” Now it’s your turn to nod, and he wastes no time in kissing you again, maybe a little too excitedly, because he knocks both your ice creams off the bench and onto the ground with a sad splat. He pulls away just enough to look at the splatter of melted dessert already starting to seep into the cobblestones under your feet. “Oh. Crap, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

“Forget the ice cream,” You mumble, already chasing him for more. You reach around to tangle your fingers up and into the hair at the nape of his neck as a means of pulling him closer. 

Oh, this newfound confidence is really working out for you. 

He lets out a hitched exhale, swallowing hard again. “Yeah, yep. Forgetting the ice cream.” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[hyunsvngs]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 - lee minho x fem!reader

wc: 5.8k

cw: this is a piss fic, you have been warned - don't like don't read, established d/s dynamics in a relationship, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: your boyfriend has something he wants to try in bed. you didn't expect to like it so much.

a/n: like i said before this is a piss fic, if you don't like don't read! thank u to the sweet girl who commissioned this & thank u to my babies may and nessa for proofreading and also my ems <3 i was super nervous about this so i hope u like <3 smut warnings ofc under cut

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: PISS, established d/s dynamics, dom!minho, sub!reader, subspace, SERIOUSLY THERE’S PISS, face fucking, oral (m rec), very negotiated kink, minho calls reader a plethora of pet names, nipple play, one (1) face slap, minho’s condescending and MEAN, choking, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, degradation, squirting, reader calls minho sir briefly, brief aftercare but more offscreen!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s always daunting when Minho gets like this. You know exactly what’s going to go down tonight - you’ve discussed it extensively. You always have to discuss it extensively. Minho is nothing if not a good dom, and there’s rules and regulations that you have to adhere to, even if he is your boyfriend.

It still catches you off guard. He paces across the room to your shared wardrobe, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing his veiny forearms. You’re perched on the bed, the exact way he told you to be in your plain black underwear. The fresh sheets are a welcome coolness on your warm skin. You’re overheating in excitement. You can’t wait. 

He’s going to piss on you tonight. He’s going to piss on you tonight, or maybe even in you, he’d said - he wanted to make you well and truly messy. Just the way he liked you. He told you he’d be mean, maybe even meaner than normal, and you’d agreed to it all before climbing into his lap and begging him to take you on the flimsy dining table chair in your kitchen in all of your excitement. He had chuckled, brushing a hand over your head with a teasing little “you want it that bad, huh?”. He still fucked you, so your plan went as hoped.

“I want to talk to you about something before we start, jagi,” His voice is smooth, low in volume, yet you hear every word loudly. You nod in response, and he turns and blinks at you, slow and cat-like. Oh, yeah. You were forgetting yourself already.

You blush in embarrassment of how far gone you are already, and he smiles, soft and barely noticeable. Fond. “Yeah, Min?”

The blush only continues to spread when he finally, finally climbs onto the bed next to you. He’s still in his work clothes, shirt tight on his broad pecs and his trousers tight on his thighs. You try not to stare. You fail, and he chuckles, using two fingers to prop your chin up to look directly at his eyes.

“This scene is a little harder than the other ones we’ve done,” He looks at you. It would feel scrutinising, the way he’s sizing you up, but his eyes are so full of fondness you can’t feel perceived at all - only admired. “I’m a little worried you may fall into subspace. Do you know what that is?”

He’s using his dominant voice on you, you swear. The tone of voice that’s level, not quite monotone but very, very straightforward and firm. Almost strict. It makes you rub your thighs together in need. Your boyfriend is so sexy when he’s like this. 

A quick scratch to your chin has you blinking back into reality. Yes. “Yes, I do know what that is. I’ve never done that before though, have I? So I probably won’t now, and-”

“We don’t know that,” He’s firm when he cuts you off, but presses a kiss to your nose nonetheless. “I need to know if you’re okay with me continuing if I notice you getting all floaty, jagi. I won’t if you don’t want me to. This is all in your hands, yeah? You know you run this show.” 

He chuckles, lightening the mood, but he’s right. When Minho first introduced you to this, you realised very quickly that despite the dominant being physically in charge, it was definitely the submissive that held the reins. It’s hard giving yourself over to someone so viscerally - it’s a vulnerable state to be in, letting someone decide your limits and decide what’s best for you.

Despite that, you’d let Minho fuck you outside in six foot snow, so you were definitely down for being fucked in subspace.

“Yes. Yeah, I want you to- I think it’d be hot, I think,” You’re babbling already, and Minho smiles again, his teeth glinting in the low light of your lamp. “I think it would be hot if you carried on, and I was like- all fuzzy, and stuff. You know?”

It’s silent for a beat, and then he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Cute. Remember I love you, jagi, okay?”

Oh. Oh, you were starting? He normally only said that before you started, and before you can question him, he’s pressing his mouth against yours firmer, harder. It’s messy, the way he dominates your mouth instantly and uses one hand to tangle in your hair, yanking your hair back. You whimper against his lips, and he bites your bottom lip in response, finally moving to press you down to the bed with him on top of you. He starts to trail kisses down your face and your neck, and you can't help but let out a small noise of excitement. Before you can beg him to leave his mark on you, he quickly moves back up to your lips and starts to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth in an act of possession. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer, feeling yourself getting a lot more than just worked up.

His chest is muscled, the slightly toned soft muscle that only makes sense on Minho. He’s not heavy on top of you, only a presence where he licks and sucks into your mouth until you’re leaking into your panties. He pulls away, his lips dropping to your neck, and you can’t be anything more than pliant the way you let him use your skin and mark you as his. You are his. Mentally, emotionally, physically - any way he wants you, you’ll let him.

“I love this body,” Minho groans, his voice low and gravelly. “Such a filthy fucking body. You’re gonna let me piss on it, aren’t you?”

You whine, loud and unabashed, and Minho chuckles. It’s a puff of air against the exposed column of your neck and your hips cant up, searching for friction. 

“Oh, you are,” His hand moves down to your bra, searching through the lace for your pebbled nipple. The lace is thin, pitch black and almost sheer, and a grin forms on his face when he manages to pinch your nipple meanly. “Look at how excited you are for it. Your nipples are so hard, are you that excited for my piss?”

You try to nod in response, but a quick slap against your cheek using his spare hand has you reeling to try and form words. You’re babbling before you can even think. “Y-Yes! Yes, Minho, I’m excited. I can’t wait, I wanna- I wan’ taste it, will you let me? Please?”

He hums in consideration, yanking down the cups of your bra to expose your tits to him. He was right - your nipples are hard and pebbled, dusky against your flesh, and he ducks down to engulf one in his mouth. His lips are full, plush like pillows, and his tongue darts around your nipple in small kitten licks. Soft, wet, warm. Pliant. His.

Minho’s bunny teeth are quick to bite at the peak, and you whine, back arching up to get more of the painful pleasure. He coos at this, finger running over your areola once when he pulls back from your chest. He sits back on his haunches, fingers deftly making quick use of his belt. The way he pulls the belt from the loops on his trousers have you remembering all the times he’s whipped you with it, and your eyes go blurry. You’re staring directly at the extremely prominent bulge in his trousers as if you somehow have x-ray vision and can see his cock in all its glory already.

“I’m going to fuck your face,” He explains, pushing down the expensive branded boxers to his thighs. His thighs are thick, muscled from years of dance, and you nod at his words despite having your vision solely trained on the bulging muscles. You can’t even keep your attention there for long - his cock springs out, hard and flushed and so big, so thick in the tight ring he forms around the base. The veins look as though they could be practically throbbing beneath the skin with arousal. “I’ll fuck your face, and I’ll piss down your throat. Do you want that? Tell me.”

He’s asking you, and you can’t believe it. Of course you want it, but you respond anyway. “I want it. I want it so bad, Minho. How do you want me? On the floor, on my knees? Or do you-”

“On the floor,” He looks towards the ground, pleased with himself when you heed his commands immediately. You’re quick to dive off of the bed and sink to your knees on the floor, and Minho lets out a fond chuckle before standing in front of you, ever the image of dominance. The hardwood floor doesn’t save your knees, still feeling hard and uncomfortable, and the way the pain bites into your legs has you shifting even more. It turns you on, being used and treated like an object, and being put on the floor to suck cock doesn’t help any. You’re positively ruining your panties by now.

His trousers are pushed down to his ankles, the perfect juxtaposition of black, thick material against his milky skin. His shirt is rolled up just enough for you to see the bottom of his tummy, hairy and soft above his cock. You expect him to keep it on, but you watch in awe as he unbuttons his shirt quickly and throws it to the side. His chest is exposed to you then, all broad muscle and dusky pink nipples against his skin.

He pumps his shaft in his hand a few times for good measure, just barely a few inches from your face, and then he’s tapping the cockhead on your lips. “Open wide. C’mon, kitty cat.”

His tone is condescending, almost patronising, and you hold back a whine. When your lips fall apart, he’s pushing into your mouth before you can even process it. A blistering, feverish pace immediately takes over his hips, and his cockhead is ramming down your throat with only a slight bit of pain beneath all of the pleasure. You try to run your tongue over the tip, to trace the veins with the tip of your tongue, but it’s impossible. He’s using your mouth like he’d use your pussy, unabashed and downright mean.

“Take it,” he grunts, looking ever the ethereal being above you. If you didn’t know him, you’d swear he was an angel - no, a fallen angel, debauched and with black, wiry wings sprouting from his back. Sweat covers the top of his chest, shiny and wet, and his cockhead presses firmly into the back of your throat. Your eyes water with the intense ministrations on your throat, hands aching to reach out and grab onto Minho’s thighs. They stay securely on your own limbs, and Minho groans, his eyes staring down into yours.  “Fucking take it for me. Take my cock, dirty kitty. Don’t you dare fucking cry about it.”

You’d swear he was composed if it wasn’t for the way he was looking down at you. Minho’s mostly quiet in bed, only a few sparse noises, but the fire in his eyes is visible.

The sounds in the room are filthy. Your eyes are hazy already with the force that he’s rutting into your mouth, but when his hand goes into your hair, yanking with all of his might, you hear yourself whine between gags and you’re not even trying to. You’re floating, fuzzy where your boyfriend fucks his cockhead into your mouth - you can’t even consider what’s going on, not too out of it but out of it enough to question what’s actually happening around you. Is this what Minho was talking about before? Subspace?

“Oh, Jesus. Are you feeling fuzzy already, kitty?” He pulls his cock out, tapping the cockhead on your bottom lip. A string of drool attaches his cock back to your mouth and he groans in approval, feline eyes narrowing. “Went down so easy for me, huh? Do you think you can take a little more?”

You’re nodding then, subconsciously, but a slight smile on your face. You want more. You need more. You need his piss, wherever on your body that he deems acceptable - it’s like he’s marking you as his territory. It’s such a primitive act that gets you more than just hot under the collar. If he pisses on you, or in you, it’s as if he sees you as an object that’s beneath him, not worth anything more than his piss. 

“Good,” He muses, and then his hand is forming a tight ring around his length. It’s throbbing, long and thick where it protrudes from his groin with drops of pearlescent precum, and he presses it past your lips again with a small sigh. “I’ve gotta take a piss, kitty cat. I want you to swallow it all for me, and then you can have some milk in that pussy for being good. How’s that?”

You can’t reply, because he’s already bouncing your head on his shaft. He’s resorted to pulling you up and down on his shaft by your hair this time, not grinding his hips rhythmically into the hot, wet cavern you’ve provided. 

“You know, I really thought you’d say no to this,” How the fuck is his voice calm right now? “But then I realised that of course you’d be into it. My filthy little fucking urinal.”

You moan loudly around his shaft. Minho chuckles, and then he’s pulling back again, your throat abused and aching at the alleviation of pressure. His cockhead stays at the entrance of your mouth, and he drops a hand from your hair to pump it a few times, raising an eyebrow at you.

“It’s coming,” He warns. “Are you ready? Are you ready for my piss, filthy bitch?”

You moan, nodding, and when your tongue lolls out of your mouth, Minho lets out a loud groan. It’s primal, and you watch silently as he shakes his head and flutters his eyes closed to try and gain some control of himself. He runs his finger over the slit of his cockhead, and then he’s pushing the tip past your lips again and - oh. 

His piss begins leaking out of his tip, a slow and steady stream that tastes surprisingly a lot like you expected. It’s purely Minho, raw and unfiltered, and you whine and whimper and let him fill your mouth up with his piss. It feels filthy, your pussy positively dripping through your panties and onto the floor by now. The stream floods down your throat even as you continue to gulp it down greedily, and you allow your hands to finally find purchase on his thighs, fingernails digging into the muscle. He allows it, his hands both moving back to your hair to bob you on his tip just a little to get the rest of his piss out.

Minho pulls out of your mouth with a soft noise, his eyes staring down at you almost menacingly. You dip your tongue into his piss-slit once more, moaning at the remnants of the taste, and then you’re whining, loud and un-muffled. 

“Minho,” You say, voice high and needy. You feel as though you want to say so much, you want to beg so much, but nothing is coming out of your mouth. You’re so fucking turned on you feel like you could die. “P-Please. Please, please. I can’t, I can’t, please, please-”

He positively growls. You’re pulled up by two hands underneath your armpits and thrown onto the bed less than unceremoniously, his body sidling up next to you. He’s kicked his trousers off, you notice, body warm and firm next to you.

“Was it that good? Dirty little thing,” He hums, tongue licking one fat stripe up your neck. “C’mere. Let me taste it on you.”

Minho’s lips are firm against yours, and his hands are anything but gentle as he slides them down your body. It’s like he’s igniting you with electricity, every area of skin that he touches feeling warm and too sensitive. His lips trail down your neck, leaving another trail of fire behind them. You’re pliant, letting him pull you by your hair and your throat into his dominating, overwhelming kisses.

His fingers reach your panties, and his finger dips underneath the waistband. You gasp, holding your breath and wishing, praying that he’ll push his whole hand into your underwear, but he simply pulls his finger back with a small amused puff of air. 

“Hnnfg, Minho, Minho, please, I don’t, I can’t-“

Minho leans over you more then, his eyes dark and half-lidded when he stares into yours. His gaze is all-consuming, but there’s a slight hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “Jesus, kitty. Be quiet,” His voice is low, amused, until all signs of a smile drop from his face upon his fingers finally delving into your underwear. His forearm obscures your vision, muscled and veiny, but you can feel the way your wetness immediately drenches his fingertips. His eyes flicker from your face to your core in awe, lips slightly parted. “Fuckin- shit. Jagi, tell me this is a joke. You’re fucking drenched.”

You are. His fingers smear around in your wetness, spreading it all around your folds. He drags his middle and ring finger down to your hole, wet and sloppy, and you look at him with pleading eyes. You’re not sure you could talk even if you wanted to.

Minho simply smiles that toothy smile that you love, eyes crinkling. You’re confused - he’s being nice - until he’s shoving both fingers into you at once. It was a stretch you hadn't been prepared for, and you jolt with a squeal, hands going up to grip onto his forearm. 

“Do you remember what I said before, jagi?” He muses, fingers curling up into that spot that makes you whine. You do whine, legs thrashing around and toes curling against the sheets. “If you have any in there, I’m fucking having it. I want you to piss all over my cock before I fuck you with it, remember? I want you to treat you like the dirty little thing you are.”

You nod, brain still fuzzy and way too overwhelmed. Your pussy squelches loudly around his digits, and his spare hand wraps around your throat in a dangerous grip. It’s not too hard, but definitely there, and you whimper in approval. 

Your eyes roll back into your head at the pace he sets against your g-spot, and after a brief, tight squeeze, Minho removes his hand from your throat in favour of using two fingers on your clit along with his harsh fingering. His arm is curled underneath your waist in a position that must be painful to him, but you ignore it in favour of your own pleasure. 

You feel like you could scream, and you do let out some strangled noise that sounds nothing at all like you. Just when you think it can’t get any worse - or any better, actually - he slides another finger in, stretching you out with three of his digits. You’re dripping down onto his knuckles and you wail, starting to hump against his hand. You’re going to cum embarrassingly quickly.

“You better be fucking thinking of asking for permission, bitch,” Minho hisses in your ear. You moan in response, nodding. Of course you’ll ask. Something about your boyfriend just makes you want to be good. You want to obey him so he continues to give you such nice things. “You don’t make the decisions. I'm the one fucking that hole with my fingers right now, I'll be the one who says you can cum.”

His fingers thrust into you faster, if it was possible, and you thrash around. The movement brings Minho’s cock against your thigh, and you gasp at the realisation that he’s next to you, naked, in all his glory. Your fingernails still dig painfully into his forearm, but he doesn’t seem phased. “Minho, Minho- I’m gon’- please, please, please, I wanna cum, let me come, it hurts, I-“

“Oh, I know, I know. It just feels too good, doesn’t it? You can’t even fucking control yourself, writhing around like that,” He groans, eyes fixated on your face. You know your expression is screwed up in pleasure, eyes watering from the feeling of his fingers inside of you. His fingers begin to slide around on your clit rather than provide any direct pressure due to how wet you’re getting, but you still hump against the sensation with gratitude. You’d never have anything other than gratitude when Minho’s being so nice like this. “You’re behaving like a fucking whore. Beg me for it. Beg me to let a fucking whore like you cum all over my fingers, tell me how good it feels.”

He starts kissing up your neck again with the open-mouthed, wet movements, and you feel like you’re about to burst. Just a little more. Just a little more, and you can, you just have to will your brain to speak. “I-I love sir's fingers, fuck, I love when sir fingers me like this- fuck, sir I'm gonna- can't hold it- I, hnng, I can’t, I don’t- pleasepleaseplease-”

Minho pulls away from your neck with an alarmed little snort. “Sir? God, you are far gone,” He points out, but then he’s pinching your clit meanly with his fingers. It makes you hump his hand a little faster and whine a little louder. It’s quiet for a beat, and then he’s sighing as if he’s annoyed. You swear you catch him rolling his eyes through your blurry vision. “Okay, fine. Go on then, if you want to cum so badly. Cum.”

With one word, you feel like your whole world is falling apart. A gush of wetness bursts from you and all over the bed, probably soaking Minho too. Your ears are ringing and you can feel the tears brimming in your eyes begin to fall, fat streaks of wetness painting your skin. His fingers don’t slow, but he’s groaning in your ear now, coaching you along. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing over your clit with a wet hand that only made you let out another gush everywhere. You were sure you'd screamed.

You wail and thrash through your orgasm, and then you’re panting, body dropping back onto the bed. You don’t register Minho groaning, licking his fingers clean - you only realise he’s moved when he’s on top of you, yanking your soaking wet underwear down your legs and finally unclasping your bra. Your hands go above your head, pliant and willing, letting him take control. You’re fucked dumb by now, anyway. You’d be no use.

“If you had all that in there for me, you have some piss in there,” He muses, and you whine, shaking your head.

“D’nt need to pee, Min,” You insist, head lolling back on the sheets. You’re pliant, and Minho grabs your chin with his hand, making you face him. His ears are burning a shade of delectable pink, the flush travelling over his chest and making him look almost embarrassed. You know this state of Minho all too well, though. He’s so horny he feels like he’s about to explode.

“You do,” He responds, quick as a flash. You whimper as he presses his cockhead into your folds, just barely teasing the ruddy, flushed tip at your hole. Your hands move to grip onto the sheets next to your head, and just when you’re sure he’s going to put it in, Minho leans down, and then his hand is pressing on the bottom of your stomach. You wail, shaking your head. Minho chuckles knowingly. “You need to piss, don’t you?”

You do. Embarrassingly quickly, just from him pressing on your bladder. “I- it’ll make a mess, Min, I can’t, I can’t-”

“I want it to make a fucking mess,” He scoffs, pressing harder. He continues to drag his cock through your sopping wet folds with his other hand, his feline eyes staring at you with a renewed fire burning behind them. He’s daring you to disobey. You would never disobey him. “I want everything you have to give me. Piss all over my cock. Do it.”

You clench your thighs, stomach tensing. It doesn’t take much, only a slight rubbing of Minho’s hand on your tummy and you’re pissing. The stream erupts from you in a messy spurt, and Minho groans, pumping his cock to coat it in your mess. You whine, trying to shift your hips to catch his cock inside of you, but the mess you’re making ensures that it’s too slippery to do so.

“Stay still, you’ll get it in a second,” Minho mumbles, hand tightening around the head of his cock. It’s substantially lubed now, but he still continues to pump it, hand easing up on your stomach. Something about it has your mouth watering, staring at his cock and wondering how it tastes. Maybe he’ll let you suck it clean next time, let you taste his cock mixed with your own piss. “That’s it, kitty. Get sir’s cock nice and wet with your piss. Dirty little thing.”

When the stream finally finishes, you shift against the sheets, soaking wet and definitely a lot more aroused than you were previously. There’s still only one thing on your mind. “Can- can I have it now, please, please?”

Minho nods, his cheeks blazing red. He’s losing his composure. “Yeah. God, yeah, kitty. You can have it, c’mere,” He sighs, finally pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It slides inside easily with the wetness of your pussy and the mess you’d made on him, his thick shaft stretching you out and making you moan out for him. You catch sight of Minho’s eyes rolling back into his head, a long, drawn out noise leaving his lips. “Fuck, this is so fucking dirty. You’re filthy, letting me do this.”

No. You’re not, are you? Are you dirty? “Filthy?” You question, completely in bliss at the feeling of him finally inside you. You’ll be filthy if it means he’ll fuck you. Minho chuckles, and then his hips start to move, a sinuous grind against yours. The noises your pussy is making are beyond debauched, wet, slapping sounds from how soaking wet you are. You whine, bucking your hips up, and Minho lets you, gripping your hips to pull you off of the mattress.

“I’m gonna go harder, okay? I want you to take it for me, all of it,” His voice is close, leaning down to whisper it against the skin of your neck. You nod eagerly, and he pulls your thighs up to rest your ankles on his shoulders. The change in position has his cock hitting you deeper and you gasp, fingers moving to grip on his biceps. He sits back slightly, pulling you closer to him, and then he’s pounding into you. With little to no buildup, you can’t help but squeal, your pussy gushing around his fat length. “You love this, don’t you? My cock, covered in your piss, stretching your little cunt out. You love being filthy for me.”

“Hhnnfg, hhng, Min, Min, Min, you made me pee, you-”

Minho scoffs, hand threading into your hair. He wraps your hair around his fist and pulls, bent half over you while he pounds your pussy into oblivion. “Don’t make stupid fucking excuses for yourself. I can see it in your eyes, you love being like this for me.” 

You whine, tears brimming in your eyes again uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but just lay there, pliant and gripping onto his biceps for him to stretch your pussy out with his veiny fucking cock. It feels almost too good, too overwhelming. The ridges of his shaft are pressing against your walls, causing a delectable friction that has you clenching down on every outwards motion from him. It’s as if your pussy doesn’t want him to leave, and you don’t want him to leave, pulling him close by his arms every time he thrusts inside of you. 

Minho pushes your thighs apart, and then he’s bending you into a sort of mating press. Your legs rest on his upper biceps and his body folds you in half for him, making you whine at the stretch on your muscles. You’re loud, embarrassingly so, little “ah, ah, ah”’s leaving your mouth with every thrust. The change in position allows him to hit your cervix with his length, long and throbbing inside of you, and you’re only louder and more pathetic for him. 

“Can you hear that, kitty cat?” He whispers, and you hold your breath. Once you’ve stopped making so much noise, you can hear it - the sound of your pussy is even louder, wet and messy and when you look down, his cock is soaking with you. With your piss or your slick, you’re not sure, but it has you clenching down deliciously anyway. “I’m fucking your own piss into you, and you’re whining like a little bitch.”

You can’t even make sense of what he’s saying. Your previous slight fuzziness has morphed into full blown floating, and you think you’re crying, but you’re not sure. All you can hear is your own noises, loud and desperate while he ensures your pussy never forgets the shape of his cock. “Ah, ah, I don’t- sir, I don’t, I can’t, I don’t know- ah, oh, I can’t-”

“Ah, fucking hell,” Minho hisses, gritting his teeth. You watch in disappointment as he pulls his cock out of you, forming a tight ring around the base with his fingers. “I need to cum inside you. I need to give you your milk, kitty cat, c’mon. Flip over for me.” 

He tells you to do it, but helps you anyway. You feel his hands go to your hips to flip you over, and then you’re face down, and some part of you finds the strength to push your hips up to present your pussy for him. But, milk? You’ve been good enough for that?

He sinks back inside you, his cock slick and fat and too much for your little pussy. “There you go, jagi. Biiig stretch, feel it,” He moans, and you push your hips back on him easily. In this position, your lips are parted and you can feel yourself drooling up a puddle on the sheets. It adds to the mess, filthy with piss and slick and sweat, and you want Minho to lick it all up and spit it in your mouth. He immediately resumes his punishing pace, hips slapping against your ass with every thrust and hitting that delicious spot inside you so well. “Fuckin’ tight pussy, ah, it’s so good.” 

“H- haa, Minho, have I been good?” You question, eyes blurry and bottom lip slick with your own spit. Minho groans, deep and loud, reverberating through your whole body. He knows you need reassurance, and he nods, a little smile on his face despite his lust-filled, half-lidded eyes.

“You’ve been so good. So good I’m giving you my cum, yeah? Gonna breed that little pussy, filled it with your piss already, needs my cum now,” He’s babbling, which is a sure sign that he’s close - but you can’t even fathom it in your state. “Little girl, kitty cat, so good for me, c’mere.”

You don’t move, but Minho slinks one hand around your hip to rub at your clit. The added pleasure has you jolting with a whine, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air at your reaction. His fingers slide around your clit wet and imprecise, but it’s enough to have you hurtling towards your second orgasm. His cockhead slams against your g-spot, bordering on painful, but the sensation only adds to the throes of bliss he has you tumbling through.

“Min, Min, Min, it’s- ‘s so good, so good, so big, so- Min, Min, I g’ta-”

“You can cum whenever, jagi. Give it to me, I want it,” His voice is higher, more desperate, and you nod eagerly. He sidles over your back, his sweaty chest pressed to your skin, and then he’s pressing his lips against yours.

It’s less of a kiss and more of a messy exchange of spit and breathing into each other's mouths. Minho’s tongue slides against yours as he continues to rub messy circles around your clit, and before you know it, you’re cumming around his cock with a sharp gasp of pleasure against his lips. He swallows your noises, finally engulfing your mouth with his, and you moan and sigh freely through gushing all over his length, the electric feeling making your toes curl.

Minho envelops your hair tightly with his spare hand, thrusting harder and faster, his breathing becoming ragged as he approaches his climax. With a broken whine, you feel his cum fill you up, thick and hot and heavy.

He flops on top of you with a sigh, his body weight a welcome presence for you. You ignore the feeling of the sheets beneath you in favour of closing your eyes and humming contentedly. You’re still floating, but it’s calmer now, softer. It feels like you’re on a cloud. “So good, Min.” 

“Yeah?” Minho grins, his hand now stroking softly through your hair in favour of yanking on it. “You did so good for me, jagi. You were so, so good, made me cum so hard.”

“You made me cum hard, too,” You respond, opening one eye to see his face over your shoulder. His cheeks are flushed, hair sweaty and floppy over his eyes, but he has a blissed out smile on his face. When he catches sight of you looking at him, he smiles, and the sight of his bunny teeth has your heart singing. How can he look so cute after fucking you like that? Before you can say anything else, you yawn, and Minho giggles. “‘M sleepy.”

“Bath first, jagi,” He coos, kissing your hairline. “My sweet girl. Let’s get you nice and clean and then we’ll nap.”

“Mm, okay,” Minho hops off of you and you stretch out leisurely like a cat, your body sticky and defiled. You hear him tinkering around the room behind you, humming a tune to himself, and you smile fondly. “Love you, Min.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

[aurumalatus]

kinich + 2 pls 😔🙏 pls continue doing these i’m love them and enjoying them sm

a/n. we had a lot of ppl request 2 w kinich so hopefully this satisfies the urge hehehe, spy au, cw mentions of poison and blades

the ballroom chandelier glitters almost blindingly overhead as you eye the rest of the party. men and women are laughing and dancing, donned in expensive silks and jewelry that weighs heavy on their wrists and necks.

if you were a trust fund kid with nothing better to do with your money, this entire event might've actually been enjoyable.

you meet kinich's gaze across the room. he raises a brow at you over the rim of his glass.

what is it?

you gesture toward the drinks table. there’s a variety of beverages in different colors, many of them alcoholic. if you were a bit braver, you would drink a bit just to make the night go faster, but you decide against it—after your last drunk stint, you think it’s better not to embarrass yourself in front of everyone. still, you make a drinking motion, smiling.

let’s get wasted?

he rolls his eyes, then twirls a finger next to his ear.

you’re crazy.

he acts annoyed, but it’s probably the most interesting thing to happen to him in the past few hours. you'd received intel that the target was supposed to attend this party, but the man himself has yet to show. for now, all you can do is mingle and dance, pretending that you give a shit about whatever this whole celebration is about.

pacing around the edge of the room, you meet kinich in the middle. he doesn't look out of place in his styled hair and black suit, but the boredom written on his face sticks out more than anything.

you frown, tugging at his collar. "your tie is crooked."

he sighs. "i hate these things."

if it were up to him, you know kinich would rather be on the roof of a building some distance away, one eye zeroed in on the party through a scope—sniping is far preferable to him, and requires much less social interaction.

but mavuika had decided that a quieter method would be more palatable in a highly populated place like this, much to kinich's chagrin.

"i don't know, i'm having a good time," you tease lightly, brushing lint off his shoulder. he watches you with a fond smile. "have you tried that steak tartare? it's to die for—"

suddenly, kinich pulls you in by the waist, dragging you toward the dance floor. his grip is tight, a warning.

the target is here.

"hold that thought," he murmurs, lips nearly brushing your forehead. "someone interesting just walked in."

he engages in an easy waltz with you, gaze trained somewhere over your shoulder. you don't dare glance back, trying to maintain a subdued presence. he squeezes at your hip twice.

almost time.

you feign a flirtatious laugh, fingers brushing over his belt and subtly pulling out the dagger hidden there to slide it under your dress. in the event of any issues, you'll need to defend yourself. the vial of poison sits in kinich's pocket, ready to be slipped into the target's drink.

kinich tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in even closer. a smirk is written over his lips, as if he's whispering something scandalous.

"let's go in one minute. stay close to me, okay?"

even for someone so deadpan, his words are laced with concern—he's always worried when it comes to you, even though you both have been doing this for years. you merely nod, offering him a grin in reassurance.

"yes, yes, i'll be very good," you say, batting your lashes. kinich rolls his eyes, but he can't prevent the smile that surfaces on his face.

"that's my girl. let's move."

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw so stay tuned...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

Part 4:

From here on out, you saw Alastor almost every single night. You felt brighter and Alastor definitely felt a change in you too. He wouldn't pry, for as long as you were happy, he was happy too.

The nightly meetings occurred for a month or two before one night, you saw Alastor and Mimzy chat before he came over to see you. Mimzy had finally told him that the reason that you were at the bar every night was because you were staying with her for the time being until you could find a place to live.

Alastor couldn't deny his affection for you any longer after hearing about your situation. He knew what he had to do. He had to make you his.

With a confidence like no one has ever seen before, Alastor twirls you around to face him, away from the patron you were helping serve drinks to.

He pulls you close and whispers in your ear, "My dear (y/n), I must ask you to accompany me to my home tonight. There is something I must ask of you."

A rush of blush appears on your cheeks, a reaction that he often and easily elicits from you. You nod in confirmation, speechless, mind racing at what he could possibly want to ask you.

Sure enough, Mimzy witnesses this encounter and walks up to you two "Alrighty, alrighty, I think we've all seen enough! (Y/N), you're done for the night! Get out of here you two!"

Bewildered, you look at Alastor. He held his arm out to you to hold on to, "Shall we head home, my dear?" Without any hesitation, you link your arm through his as he escorts you through the dimly lit streets back to a small home on the outskirts of town. It was secluded, bordering a forest.

"We have arrived, welcome, to my humble abode dear (y/n)"

After a small tour of the house, the two of you sit down on the couch in his living room. You turn yourself towards him "Your home is so lovely, Alastor. But.. what did you want to ask me?"

A gentle smile and expression creeps up onto his face, "Ah yes, I was enjoying your company so much that I nearly forgot!"

He tilts his head slightly and leans in towards you as he asks, "(y/n), it would be my honor for you to call this your home as well."

Alastor stands up and paces around the living room while he talks, "When Mimzy informed me of your plight, I couldn't resist taking you home with me. For you see, I am quite fond of you my dear."

You shoot up from the couch and immediately hug Alastor, "Oh my stars, I would love nothing more than to live with you, Alastor! It is no secret I am very fond of you as well."

Taken aback by the sudden contact of the hug, it takes him a second to adjust before reciprocating the hug, "My dearest love, I will do everything to make you happy."

From this point forward, you spend many happy months together, painting many a painting out of love for him, helping assist his radio shows, and still occasionally heading into town to pay Mimzy a visit.

It was almost pure bliss. Until one fateful night many months later.

-> Part 5

[omgsecretsecret]

Sweet Fuckboy

Pairing : Lee Minho x gn!reader (use of you/your pronouns) ; friends to ??

Genre : fluff ig ; hurt/comfort if you squint reallyyyyy hard

Word count : about 2,500

Warning : talking about sex ; HyunSung are a couple but honestly it's just barely mentioned twice (I'm just having fun so don't come after me for that please) ; no smut here but in the part 2 there will be (there will be two versions for afab and amab reader) ; cursing (fucking, bastard, bitch) ; english is not my first language

Author's note : idk this just popped in my head when I saw some My Pace era Minho pictures again ; the pics on top are not mine, credits to the owners ; lots of love to @giddyfatherchris who helped me a lot by proofreading this <3

Reminder : you are not “a baby” if you are a virgin, nor are you “a slut” if you are not

Masterlist || Part 2 afab ver & amab ver

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

Minho is a fuckboy, and your closest friend. He is known for pretty much giving his dick to whoever asked him to fuck them. You know it’s exaggerated by the rumors and he does not actually fuck anybody, but it’s true that he isn't too hard to convince. It isn't bad though. People do not see him as a whore, he is seen as a boy who can help you out if you are in need of some.. relief.

You, on the other hand, have never slept with someone else. You have already tried some solo pleasure, of course, but you are a virgin. And you are tired of being one. You want to see what real sex is like.

This is how you ended up here, sitting in the school library, talking about it with your friend Hyunjin because to hell with taboos.

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

"You can ask Minho, no ?

— Yeah, I guess. But I don't want him to be awkward. you reply with an unhappy pout.

— Who says he will be ? We're talking about Minho here. He'll probably tease you a bit, but he's the sweetest and most understanding guy I know under his 'do not touch me i am not nice' act. He'll stop joking as soon as he sees it makes you uncomfortable and we both know how observant he is, he'll know if it bothers you in less than a second.

— I know. But what if he just doesn't want to ? And if he's too kind to say no ? It's not every day your best friend asks you to take their virginity.

— Sweetie, calm down. Once again, we're talking about Minho here. He's an honest guy, he'll tell you if he doesn't want to do it. He knows it'd do more bad than good to force himself to do it. And worst case scenario, it'll be a little bit awkward between you for a few days, but it'll be back to normal soon. You know him, it wouldn't change the way he sees you. Hyunjin reassures as he puts his hand on yours and gives you a fond look before chuckling. Besides, he'd be stupid to refuse !

— Yeah... You're right. Minho's amazing for that. But you say that like anyone would want to fuck me. It doesn't feel like it. you pout again, playing with his long fingers.

— Well, maybe I wouldn't, because I'm already in a happy relationship with Jisung. But it doesn't prevent me from admitting that you are hot, even though I say it without being attracted to you. Plus I wouldn't be your friend if you were a bitch. And it's always better to fuck someone with a good personality. he winks, trying to make you relax slightly and it actually works as you release the pressure in your shoulders and give him a small smile.

— Mmh.. I'll see if I ask him later. you say softly and shrug before squeezing his hand lightly as a sign for him to get up too. How about we go to the cafeteria grab some food now ?"

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

You leave the library and head to the cafeteria to eat with your friends, sitting next to Minho as usual. You talk normally, laughing to Felix's jokes and Seungmin’s fake gag at how lovely dovey Jisung and Hyunjin are being, until the latter started kicking your leg not so gently under the table. You roll your eyes at him, silently telling him to please stop doing that right fucking now before you throw your ratatouille on his oh so pretty and new white shirt. He immediately puts away his leg, not without glaring at you meaningfully. ‘you know I'm right’. You sigh and go back to eating while listening to the others.

It's only a little bit later though that you get the opportunity to actually talk with Minho when he turns to you discreetly and looks directly in your eyes. He seems to be feeling a mix of annoyance and concern as he puts his hand on your chair before speaking.

“Okay what’s up ? he doesn't beat around the bush when he asks you that, just being his usual honest self. You've been having a whole conversation with your eyes with Hyunjin for the past few minutes without even opening your mouth once. I would have let it be and thought it was none of my business if Hyunjin hadn't been looking at me so intensely while you were pouting, avoiding my face and just openly being unhappy. So I'm asking you. What’s up ?” he asks in a gentle and low voice despite the bluntness of his words, not wanting the boys to meddle in your business.

You sigh again. Great. Now you were going to have to tell him. He would know immediately if you lie, you didn't have a choice. You give Hyunjin a death glare. ‘thanks, bastard’. Why did he always have to be like that ?

“Look, Minmin I… Can we talk about it later ? After school we can go for a walk or I don't know. you don't even really look at his eyes as you speak, too embarrassed.

— Mmh… Sure, yeah.” he looks cautious, yet he nods and squeezes your shoulder lightly as a sign of reassurance.

He lets his arm rest wrapped around your shoulders for the rest of your lunch break, not even bothering to remove it. You're still slightly nervous, but he doesn't say anything about it, trying to not make you uncomfortable or self-conscious.

The rest of the day goes by like this. You're not really able to focus completely on your classes, a part of your mind constantly going back to the conversation you were going to have with Minho. ‘It's going to be sooo awkward if he says no’. Yet you try not to worry too much. As Hyunjin said, Minho is honest and (secretly not so secretly) very kind, so everything will be okay. With that, Minho spends the day being his caring self, even paying extra attention to not tease you too much as he senses your tension.

“Alright. This was the last class of the day. Where do you want to go to talk ? Minho looks at you patiently as you walk together.

— I don't really know, Minho. you mumble and he arches a brow in slight concern at your anxious tone.

— Okay, okay. What about we go to the grocery store to grab a little something to drink while we walk to my place ? We can pass by the park, it's always nice. he offers nicely as he looks at you fondly.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and nod, giving him a small but genuine smile. You walk together peacefully, Minho complaining about random stuff to make you laugh and distract you. By the time you reach the grocery store, you're a lot more relaxed and confident about telling him.

“What do you want to drink ? he asks as he stops in front of the cold drinks section, hands on his hips.

— I think I'm just going to take a lollipop, don't worry. you shake your hand softly for him to let it go but all he does is tilting his head to look back at you with a raised eyebrow and you can't help but laugh at his position.

— You serious ? It's hot out there, you know.

— Yes, thank you. I’m not that stupid. you roll your eyes before staring at him in disbelief when you hear him mumble a ‘not so sure’ and run after your laughing best friend, chasing him until he can't run anymore.

— I was joking ! I was joking !” he pleads as you punch his shoulder more or less lightly, still laughing.

You just pout and punch him once more before smiling at him thankfully. You know he could just push you away but he lets you do that to make you feel better.

“Seriously though, are you sure you don't want anything to drink ? he asks when you finally stop.

— Yes, sir. you answer with a chuckle and he frowns, looking at you with squinty eyes for a moment before moving.

— We’ll share a bottle of juice. he simply states. Which one do you want ?

— What ? No, Minho I–

— Let's go for this one then. he ignores you and grabs a small bottle before heading towards the store cash desk, making you sigh.

— Thank you.. you mumble and he doesn't say anything, yet you don't miss the way his lips curl up slightly.

— Here's your candy !” he says as he throws a lollipop of your favorite flavor at you.

You fight for a minute about who is going to pay until you find a nice compromise. On your way to the park before you go to Minho’s place, you forget to worry about asking him. You’re just comfortable with your best friend and it's all that matters.

“Minmin– you start but he cuts you off.

— Are you seriously going to call me like that again ? he groans.

— But it's cute ! I like it, and I'm sure that deep inside, a little part of you likes it too. And you let me call you that in the cafeteria !

— Because you looked nervous as hell. he gives you a stern look.

— You know what, whatever. I was going to ask if we could talk but forget it. you pout and turn around.

— Seriously ? Oh come on ! Do you want to talk here in the park or at my place ? he asks but you keep pouting for a second before speaking.

— Here.” you mumble as you sit on the nearest bench.

He settles next to you silently, watching you with a soft gaze as you take a deep breath. Although you're a lot calmer than earlier, you're still worried about telling him. But if you keep spiraling on that, you’ll never do it, so you cut your thoughts and begin.

“So…I don't know how to say this so I'll just ask like this, okay ? you pause, waiting for him to nod before continuing. You know that I'm.. y’know.. like.. I've never had sex... And hum.. well I-I don't want it to be like that anymore and I trust you and I know you and I know you're somewhat, like, hum… e-experienced..? So I was wondering if you could help me maybe ? you ramble in a shy voice, speaking more and more lowly with each word and by the time you're done your face is bright red.

— So you're asking me to be your first and take your virginity because I'm your best friend and I fuck regularly, right ? you look at him with wide eyes, his expression unreadable. How can he be so blunt ?

— … more or less yeah. you look down with embarrassment.

— Why did you not just say it like that ? I can't believe you were in such a state for this ! he bursts out laughing. Now I understand why Hyunjin was looking at you like that.

— It's embarrassing.. you hide your face in your hands.

— No, y/n. I’m actually very flattered, you know ? If you want me to do that, it means you trust me enough to show yourself to me without anything. And I'm really grateful for that. I’m glad my reputation can actually be useful. he smiles at you and rubs your back gently as you sigh in relief, slowly resting your head on his shoulder. But I understand why you were stressed about it.

— Yeah.. you whisper with a tiny smile, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you simply enjoy the moment. Everything feels so easy with him.

— So.. do you want to do it today ? We don't have to though if you want to wait a little. he offers softly after a small, comfortable silence. We can just start with some kissing, to see how it feels. he says before you can start panicking.

— You'd really do it, like, now ? you ask and he gives you a slightly annoyed, yet still soft, look. I-I mean… yeah, it'd be good. you blush slightly and he chuckles, ruffling your hair gently.

He doesn't reply, just carefully removes your head from his shoulder to make you look at him. He smiles sweetly as he looks at your red ears, eyes slightly widened in apprehension. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face and strokes your flushed cheek in a gentle, almost romantic gesture, before suddenly bursting out laughing. You immediately look at him with confusion, your whole body tense.

“If you're going to act this awkward we're never going to get through this. he laughs and you look down, embarrassed. It's okay. Just close your eyes and let me guide you, okay ? You trust me, don't you ?” you nod and he smiles softly.

You do as he says, closing your eyes and letting him do the rest. He carefully cups your jaw before leaning in closer and landing his mouth on yours gently. The kiss is soft and tender, and it’s so good. You melt into it as your hand instinctively reaches for his own. He takes his time, not rushing anything. He started slowly moving his lips, letting you get used to it and mirror his actions. When he pulled away and looked at you, your eyes were already opened and shining, a grin forming on your face.

“I guess you liked it. he chuckles again as you nod eagerly.

— It was so sweet ! I didn't know you were such a great kisser. And I didn't think it would feel so nice. you squeeze his hand still in yours and he looks at you fondly. You are so cute.

— So what ? Were you expecting me to be a bad kisser ? he teases.

— No ! It's not what I meant. you roll your eyes. Is it okay if I want another one ? you ask somewhat shyly.

— Sure.”

He kisses you again and it's just as good. There's still no rush, no pressure. It's just full of the tenderness and affection Minho has always had for you as your best friend. You keep going like that, kissing again and again with the same softness until you naturally move to straddle his lap carefully, arms wrapped around his neck to continue to kiss him softly again and again. It's so nice, and you feel him smile against your lips.

“I think we should maybe continue like that at my place, love. Unless you want to do it another day. It’d absolutely be okay.” he whispers when he pulls away, resting his hands on your hips and looking at you patiently.

You're a bit embarrassed at first when you notice the way you're sitting on his thighs facing him. You didn't think you were that close to him when you first moved to settle there. But you quickly forget about it, deciding it doesn't matter and you can just trust Minho.

“I think… it's a good idea.” you reply with a somewhat shy smile.

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

Part 2 coming more or less soon ~

do not repost, translate or rewrite without my written authorisation

[gabessquishytum]

Dream is NOT going soft. But when he first meets hob in 1389 he does have a slight fondness for the adventurous, intelligent omega. Most of the rest of the story is as usual. They make their deal. They meet every one hundred years. Hob aggressively loves life.

He also puts on strong mating hormones that Dream ignores.

But Dream does worry about hob. It is a hard world for omegas. After 1689, hob certainly knows it. But in 1789, dream makes a split second decision to tell hob that if he is ever hurt or captured or in danger, just call and dream will hear him.

Sure enough a few decades later, hob calls.

Alarmed, Dream appears ready to defend him. They’re alone in a nice hallway where hob is pacing. He looks very relieved and Dream scans the area but can’t sense an obvious threat. No demons. No Constantine.

Hob twines his arm with Dream’s with a wide apologetic but frantic smile and leads him into the next room where a group of humans wait, including an angry alpha holding flowers.

“This is my alpha,” hob says firmly and squeezes Dream’s arm. “I really am mated. So for the third time, I can’t accept your proposal.”

So yes hob probably shouldn’t be cashing in his favor for a fake mate but this alpha was getting really pushy, and hob is improvising. It has nothing to do with the fact that hob’s been fantasizing about being Dream’s for centuries.

And Dream is not soft. And yet he finds himself unable to deny hob this service. How hard could acting be?

I'm deeply obsessed with the idea of Dream decked out in early 1800s fashion, standing awkwardly in the doorway, holding Hob’s hand in a way that suggests he has quite clearly never held anyone's hand before. He should probably be angry, but instead he finds himself faintly amused by this little scheme that Hob has whipped up. Soon he finds himself suggesting that he ought to appear around town with Hob, if they really want to stop all those pushy alphas from proposing all the time. Hob is only too pleased to accept, and thoroughly enjoys promenading the streets arm and arm with his stoic, silent, slightly eldritch alpha. The gossip about Hob and his mate is rife. And despite the potential danger for Hob that comes with becoming notorious, he finds that he really doesn't mind. After all, Dream has promised to keep him safe.

Of course it makes sense that Dream is also there to help Hob through his heats. And take care of him as he recovers afterwards. And buy him all kinds of nice clothes to show him off in public. And take him to balls and concerts and the theatre. But when he watches Hob happily cooing over their firstborn child together, Dream has to wonder... is he going soft, after all? Well. Maybe a little bit.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Driving him crazy

Word count: 1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x assistant!reader

Summary: When Toto Wolff’s assistant navigates the fast-paced world of Mercedes F1, playful banter from drivers and engineers uncovers a growing bond between them, as Toto acts like a father figure to shy young driver Kimi Antonelli and struggles to hide his own deeper feelings.

________________________________________________________

It had been a busy day at Mercedes' factory, with engineers bustling about, drivers popping in for updates, and, of course, Toto Wolff overseeing it all with his usual intensity. You, his assistant, had gotten used to the fast-paced environment. Working alongside Toto was challenging but exciting — not to mention, you had grown quite fond of him. There was something about the way he carried himself, his sharp intelligence and wit, that never ceased to captivate you. And Toto, well, he’d never admit it outright, but there was definitely something he enjoyed about keeping you close.

This particular day, things took a lighthearted turn. You were standing next to Toto in the briefing room, typing furiously on your laptop, trying to keep up with the conversation when Kimi Antonelli, Lewis Hamilton, and George Russell sauntered in after their latest sim sessions.

Lewis was the first to make a remark, flashing a mischievous smile. “Hey, Y/n, how do you even keep up with this guy? He’s a machine.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not easy, I can tell you that. He has me running all over the place.”

Toto, standing tall beside you, glanced down with that signature half-smirk. “She manages just fine. In fact, she probably knows where I’m supposed to be more than I do,” he teased.

George piped up, raising an eyebrow. “Honestly, mate, we’ve all been wondering… do you ever give her a break? Because if I were her, I’d have to call HR by now.”

The room erupted into laughter, with Lewis doubling over dramatically. Even you had to admit that working for Toto wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Kimi Antonelli, the young and shy prodigy, stood awkwardly in the corner, clearly amused but too timid to jump into the banter. Toto, always the father figure to Kimi, gestured for him to join the conversation. “Kimi, don’t stand there like a wallflower. Tell them I’m not so bad, hm?”

Kimi blushed a bit, looking at the ground. “Uh, well… I mean, he’s okay,” Kimi mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “He just… works a lot. A lot.”

“Exactly!” Lewis chimed in. “It’s borderline criminal.”

“Okay, enough of that,” Toto cut in, though his smile didn’t fade. “Y/n handles things perfectly fine. Besides, if anyone gives her too much trouble, I’ll know about it.”

The way Toto said it had the drivers rolling their eyes, though George and Lewis exchanged knowing glances, clearly onto the growing connection between you and Toto. But before they could tease further, the engineers started to pile into the room, signaling the start of the technical debrief.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but notice how Kimi kept glancing nervously at Toto, as if trying to gauge his reactions. You’d known for some time that Toto had taken Kimi under his wing, treating him almost like a son. The older man’s protective nature was endearing, especially when it came to the younger drivers.

Once the debrief ended, the teasing started back up again.

“So, Toto,” George began, leaning casually against the wall, “when are you going to let Y/n manage the team for real? She’s practically doing it already.”

Toto gave George a sidelong look but didn’t deny it. “She’s good, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

You shot George a playful glare. “Please don’t put any ideas in his head. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

Lewis chuckled. “Come on, Y/n, it’d be an upgrade. I mean, working with us drivers instead of constantly babysitting him?” He pointed toward Toto, feigning innocence.

Toto crossed his arms, looking down at Lewis with a mock serious expression. “You lot are barely manageable as it is.”

Just as the room filled with laughter again, Kimi, who had been quiet for most of the time, softly chimed in. “I, uh… I think Y/n’s the only one who can keep up with him. None of us could handle it.”

Everyone paused, looking at Kimi in surprise. The shy teenager wasn’t usually one for chiming in, but when he did, it was always genuine.

Toto smiled at Kimi warmly. “See? That’s why you’re my favorite,” he teased, giving the young driver a pat on the shoulder. “Now, if only the rest of these clowns would learn to follow your example.”

Kimi’s face turned bright red, but he smiled nonetheless, clearly pleased with the attention.

“Careful,” George said, smirking, “we might have some competition here, Y/n. You’ll be replaced as Toto’s number one.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh, I’m sure Kimi could do a better job. He’s quieter, less trouble.”

“Not a chance,” Toto interjected, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “No one replaces you.”

The teasing died down for a moment, and you felt your heart skip a beat. The banter was fun, but every once in a while, Toto would say something that made it hard to ignore the undercurrent between the two of you.

Lewis, ever the one to pick up on things, wasn’t about to let it slide. “Ohhh, what’s this? Toto’s playing favorites.”

“Always has,” George added, his grin widening.

Toto rolled his eyes, though his tone remained playful. “Alright, enough of this. Don’t you lot have cars to drive or data to review?”

“Just trying to keep it interesting,” Lewis said, throwing his arm over George’s shoulder as they began to exit. “Besides, I think we’re all interested to see where this goes.”

Once the drivers and engineers cleared out, you and Toto were left in the now-quiet room. He glanced at you, his expression softening from the banter-filled façade he wore around the team.

“Ignore them,” he murmured. “They like to cause trouble.”

You smiled, leaning slightly toward him. “Maybe, but they’re not wrong. You do act like Kimi’s dad sometimes.”

Toto let out a low laugh. “Someone has to look out for the kid. He’s too shy to speak up most of the time.”

“And what about me?” you asked, teasingly. “Are you looking out for me too?”

Toto’s eyes glinted with a warmth that made your stomach flutter. “Always,” he said quietly, his tone more serious now. “Always.”

[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Sunday Affection hc's

I have now played 2.2, no spoilers though

If you're the kind of person that really likes spontaneity, Sunday probably isn't the person for you...

He's got about five itineraries going at once

What meals are being prepared, the clothing you'll wear through the week, exactly what days chores need to be done on, all on top of his meetings and other droning work

So, pretty much all dates and outings are preplanned down to the most insignificant details, ensuring everything runs perfectly

Sunday needs control of his environment

Any little hitch could be a potential threat to your safety!

Chances are, most of the outings and time spent together outside of your shared home, is done in the dreamscape, where he has complete control

Lovely little picnics with the most exquisite view of the beautiful dreamscape sky, or any view you want really, will be off limits to everyone else (except maybe a few trusted dreamweavers, in order to ensure nothing happens)

He's an anxious mess, though he hides it well, every time anyone else approaches you for any reason, his arm around you always, pulling you right into him so he's prepared

That being said, he does truly enjoy going out with you

Walking around the dreamscape, holding your hand or linking arms as he watches all of your perfect reactions with a soft smile, tightening his hold a little when he worries you might run off...

His eyes rarely leave your face in those moments, as if trying to memorize every little micro expression

"I'm merely curious on what you find most pleasing. We're always looking for guest feedback, love." He'll tell you with a reassuring little quirk of his lips, as if his eyes don't soften every time you smile

He's partly true to his word, taking mental notes of everything you like to implement it further, and maybe even make a particular little slice of the dreamscape all for you

One where you can live happily forever, with every little thing you could ever want... It consumes his mind most waking hours

Affection wise he's always very reserved in public, and even embarrassed easily in private at the beginning

That fades soon enough, with him happily taking every opportunity to remind you how much he loves your sweet smile

He unconsciously covers the two of you kissing with his wings, as if creating a little shield, even in private

His wings in particular are known to show his emotions far more than his practiced expressions, twitching and fluttering and even flapping right in front of his face when surprised

When annoyed they'll fluff a little, and when really angry they look as sharp as blades

In public he usually kisses your hand, looking up into your eyes while doing so in a way that feels far too intimate

A lot of his public acts are subtle, adopting your walking pace, keeping a close eyes on your heart rate, gently guiding you when you stray a bit, glaring at anyone who gets too close

He'll probably always default to big spoon, to holding you and comforting you and dote on you

He just wants your happiness, your satisfaction, your safety...

Everything he does is for you

During the beginning of your relationship, he tenses at every little unexpected noise

Being the partner of a powerful figure can be dangerous!

It's not his fault he lays awake at night, watching your breath with unblinking eyes, grappling with these horribly overwhelming feeling of desperation

You need to be safe. You need to be safe.

He's not particularly fond of having his eyes off of you, but the eyes of trusted bodyguards will have to suffice for when he has no choice...

This is especially true with the fear of "death" in the dreamscape at it's peak... You won't spend a single second out of his sight, if he lets you enter the dreamscape at all

The strong should protect the weak, it's his responsible to protect you, in every way possible, no matter what, forever...

He loves you, an overwhelming amount, a truly heartbreakingly tragic amount

No matter what, he hopes you'll love him too

[mountedeverest]

His pace (inspired by the 7x09 cutscene)

Rated E Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Thomas "Tommy" Kinard Fandom: 911 on ABC Words: 1.6k Enjoyyy~ rest of fic under the cut

“Were talking about your intentions.”

“Are they honorable?”

Tommy remembered the first night he slept over at Evan’s. It was right after the hospital wedding, Chim was feeling weary and the crowd shuffled out of the room-turned-wedding hall when Buck looked up at him, all twinkly-eyed and sheepish.

“You must be wiped. Y-you could stay at my place tonight, shower, sleep, no ulterior motives. I-I can lend you clothes.”

The ‘if you want’ hung back unspoken at the end, and Evan looked at him like a pleading puppy, unable – to the best of himself – to play it cool. Tommy just chuckled and closed his eyes for a second before answering that it sounded like a great idea. If Buck had had a tail he would’ve wagged it. Instead, he just leaned forward, wide toothy grin threatening to smash against Tommy’s own in a sweet but clumsy kiss.

That night, Tommy had laid down his turnouts at the door of Buck’s loft, while the younger firefighter wrestled with the noticeable full-body flush he was sporting. Tommy would never reveal his play, not even under duress, but he could admit that in that moment, he might’ve been trying some things, pushing some buttons. And he’d laugh, once out of the shower, at the clothes that Evan had laid out for him, which were perfectly fine… except for one white t-shirt that might’ve belonged to another, smaller version of Buck. He put it on nonetheless, the fabric almost see-through with the way it stretched over the swell of his muscles. He could probably tear the shirt if he flexed hard enough, Tommy thought. 

Walking out of the bathroom, Tommy wagered that the shirt worked in his favor, as well as Evan’s, judging by the way the younger man was practically drooling on the floor. 

“I think your shirt might be a tad small. Do you have another? Or- y’know, I could just go without. I… run hot at night.”

Evan just nodded vigorously, made faces and choked off sounds like he was trying to find his words, and Tommy grinned. It had been a while since he’d made a man go non-verbal.

“Right.” Tommy pulled the obscenely tight shirt off of himself while Buck watched, making sure to flex a little, drag it out just a little bit. “Where’s your couch?”

Buck looked dazed, stuck. His eyes were hazy and his cheeks were furiously red.

“Evan?” Tommy tried gently snapping him out of it.

“Uh? Uhh, don’t have one.” 

Buck squirmed in his seat at the kitchen island, embarrassed.

“You don’t have a couch? Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Friend’s wife gave birth on the last one, haven’t gotten around to buying another one yet and umm…” Buck squirmed even harder then. “W-with me?”

Tommy softened, a lazy smile on his features. He was secretly fond, well, maybe not so secretly. That night, they slept each on one side of Buck’s enormous bed at first, and then slowly inched towards each other until they were spooning, Tommy’s face nestled in the crook of Evan’s neck as his big arms encircled the younger man. Tommy was out like a light, the weariness of the past 24 hours weighing on him finally. They stayed like that most of the night, until Buck inevitably starfished on the bed and Tommy moved snuggly on his back.

Now the night was innocent enough, it was the morning that took them one step further in the physical aspect of their relationship. Tommy had wanted to go at Evan’s pace, not rushing him into this frankly new territory he was now in. He didn’t account for the speed at which Evan was willing to go. He found that out pretty quickly, gasping his orgasm into Evan’s mouth as they jerked each other off in the massive bed. 

From that moment on, everything kind of… snowballed. 

They were together pretty much every time their shifts synced up. Three days after Tommy had slept over for the first time, they had gone to Maddie and Chimney’s to welcome the latter back home from the hospital and settle him in his home for the next few weeks as he recovered. They had said their goodbyes early as Chim was too tired from the meds and Maddie had to put Jee to bed. Barely thirty seconds through the door of Tommy’s house, Buck already had a dick in his mouth for the first time. And once Evan discovered he was good at something, he just wanted to do it over and over and over again. 

One morning, after the whole Shannon-doppelganger-brownies debacle, Evan just walked out of Tommy’s shower and into his bedroom with intent and what seemed like frustration, demanding that Tommy finger him. 

“Something’s missing when I do it.” Evan rasped, straddling Tommy and fishing in his bedside drawer knowing he’d find a bottle of lube there. He hadn’t even dried off before and water fell everywhere on the sheets and on Tommy, but the older man didn’t care. 

“Your hands are so big.” Evan practically cried into his mouth as Tommy crooked a first finger inside of him. He was so pretty like this, all flushed and wanton and wet. Evan’s hair curled when it was wet, and Tommy liked it a lot. They ended up going up to three fingers, with Evan on his back begging and babbling. He came untouched.

Turns out Buck loved getting his ass played with. It wasn’t long before Tommy was fucking him in earnest. The first time they did, they couldn’t even make it to a bed.

“Fuck me here.” Evan had begged and commanded both at once, pressing his ass backwards into Tommy’s hard on. They had been sparring in Tommy’s garage, finally getting those Muay Thai lessons so enthusiastically promised. Sparring was a loose term in this case, as the actual sparring had only taken place for about ten minutes before it devolved into furious rutting and making out. 

“Uh– baby, lube.” Tommy was wrecked. Even with the younger man pinned under him he didn’t have the upper hand. Evan had his chest pressed into the mat for leverage, a hand grabbing behind him into Tommy’s hair. It made Tommy’s head spin.

“First aid kit on the tool bench, every good kit has some.” 

Buck had a point there, and indeed there was, Tommy remembered. A first responder was never off duty.

“Ahh–” Buck had just tugged harshly at Tommy’s hair while grinding up into him. “Condoms.”

“Do we need ‘em?” Evan had said practically on a whine. “We’ve swallowed each other’s cum enough already, I think one of us would’ve said something by now.”

Evan, enthusiastic in his newfound bisexuality, had gotten tested the day after their coffee date. Tommy, for his part, had a standing annual checkup which included STI testing. He hadn’t had any other partner between his last checkup and Evan.

“You sure?” Tommy checked in, he always checked in.

“Tommy, if you don’t fuck me into this mat right now I swear–” Buck was cut off by Tommy thrusting hard against his ass, grabbing his chin, and kissing the younger man filthily until Buck was a puddle under him.

“Hold tight.” Tommy pecked Evan’s temple where his birthmark was, and then he was gone. Seconds later, he returned with the lube which was not intended for sex, but would work just fine in a pinch. 

Evan had dragged his shorts and briefs down with both hands while his cheek pressed into the floor, fingers fumbling in his haste. A finger quickly gave way to two, then three, and it wasn’t long before Evan begged for the main event.

That first slow thrust felt like sliding home. Buck was drooling into the mat; the prep had been done well and there was no resistance at all. Tommy bottomed out and Evan was already rocking shallowly against the older man, using his forearms as leverage. It had helped somewhat that Evan was regularly taking fingers, Tommy was not small in any way.

They were not gentle, as Evan coaxed Tommy into going harder and harder until Buck came with a keen and a hand in his hair. Evan squeezed around Tommy’s cock, chanting for him to come in me, please Tommy. And so he did, with a drawn out grunt, punched out of his gut with monster-truck force as his vision blurred. When he came to a few seconds later, the Evan under him had drool on his chin, cum dripping out of his ass, and a deeply sated grin on his face. Brat.

Evan had turned on his back and dragged Tommy down for kisses. They must have stayed like that for at least twenty minutes, just lazing about in the afterglow. At one point, Buck’s stomach grumbled and Tommy proposed a shower and a bite which Buck agreed to easily, even if that meant breaking apart for the time it took them to get to the bathroom.

Tommy remembered fondly, thinking about all the times that came after that, and all of the places it happened too. Just this morning, before the medal ceremony, Evan had climbed on top of him and ridden him while Tommy was halfway into putting on his dress blues. 

“Tonight, medals stay on.” Evan had said breathlessly against Tommy’s mouth as he took him like a pro, completely naked against the older, much more clothed man.

Tommy smiled internally.

“I’m wearing a medal.”

Okay. The big sisters were going to need more than just jokes. Just went to show how well Evan was loved.

“We are taking it very slow.” Lie. “In fact, I’m letting him set the pace–” Tommy tried not to look smug as he could see Hen trying to fight off a grin. That part was very true, but not nearly as much as the next. “–and I’m just trying to keep up.” 

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NP tags ~ @tizniz @hippolotamus