#*gestures at the fucking state of the world*

[magical-awesome-kid]

Chronomancy. The fabled art of time manipulation.

It was theoretical, at best, in most circles. Some believed that spells like Haste and Slow impacted time around a person, and it was therefor considered Chronomancy. Others scoffed and pointed out that it was an obvious mental and physical manipulation.

This guy, though? His spell was the real thing.

Time had slowed to a near stand still. Darwin was mid-swing, suspended in the air with his war hammer. Cass had a spell rocketing from her hands. Dave was, well, Dave, but he was frozen in all his Dave-ness.

The spell caster crackled, so sure of his victory… until he saw me stalk forward.

He stopped laughing. “Impossible! How can you still move? My spell stops time!”

True. It did. Sadly, he’d never done his homework.

Because while my compatriots were of this dimension, bound to it, I had… a looser grasp on physics in comparison.

There were facts of this universe that simply did not apply to me. I had no mana in my blood, and I had needed to collect artifacts and learn from the ground up how to do things that the average child of this world could do easily.

At the same time, this world had a lighter grasp on me when it came to gravity, friction eased, and I was able to slip past magical barriers that would stop anything living with Mana.

And this time spell seemed to pray on that.

I could see now. He stumbled back, sparks on his finger tips, but this spell must have been holding all his power hostage.

I grinned, gripping my staff. The mana did not flow through it, I could tell, but a metal staff could still whoop this idiot’s skinny ass.

“Yeah, that’s the problem right there, buddy. You created a spell that stops time...”

I rushed forward, staff coming around as the guy screamed. He tried to scramble away, but I was faster.

“…when you should have made a spell to stop me.”

Darwin looked around, confused, as his battle cry suddenly cut off. The target he had been aiming for was just… gone.

A blast hit the far wall, and Darwin spun to see Cassandra looking confused. “Wait, what…?”

“Over here!”

Darwin turned to see their other warrior, Fir, standing by the doorway they had just entered through. Besides them, the crazed mage William was tied and gagged, beaten to a pulp. His minions were all tied up alongside him in further states of defeat.

Also, Fir was sipping coffee, looking much like they had rolled out of bed not an hour prior from a long rest.

Fir was an odd one. They had a natural resistance to anything mana related, for both good and bad. Things that most people could interact with simply, such as a magicraft self-heating pot, would not activate when Fir used it with their bare hands. They had forged their gear to specifically channel mana, to work where they failed. Still, healing spells often failed to fuse flesh back together and wounds did not heal as quickly on the warrior.

Still, they armed themselves and fought. In some ways, they lacked, but their skills alone made them great.

Beyond that, they were a fine friend.

Dave appeared next to Darwin, looking confused. “What did you do?”

“Hm? Oh. Not much.” Fir sipped their drink. “Beat and tied everyone up. Took a nap. Made some coffee.”

“We are in battle!” Cassandra waved her staff. “How?”

“Oh, right, that was hours ago…” Fir stretched. “Yeah, the idiot over here,” they gestured a thumb at William, “cracked the code on Chronomancy. His spell lasted long after I kicked his ass, though. Took care of the goon squad, which was super easy considering none could hit back. Then I got bored and tired. Found the bed chambers and made myself comfortable. He’s got a good stash of coffee.”

Darwin opened his mouth to comment, but his jaw moved without letting any words out.

“That’s impossible. Chronomancy is theoretical.” Cassandra pointed out.

“Pick his brain over it.” Fir shrugged. “Or maybe we can use that weird mind-spell thing. Probably can’t make him forget the whole spell process, but fuck up a bit of it? Probably not good to let that spell loose in the general public.”

Darwin found his words. “But… it was a time spell? Wouldn’t you have also been affected?”

“My mana thing was a loophole.”

Cassandra continued to pick away, shaking William and trying to get the blacked out wizard to answer as she also kept at Fir. Dave had disappeared, but Darwin was sure that their little mischief maker was either looking for outstanding traps or gold.

Darwin sighed, just sitting down. The report to the Guild would be a pain to explain…

"Impossible! How can you still move? My spell stops time!" "Yeah that's the problem right there buddy. You created a spell to stop time when you should have created a spell that stops me."

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Where The Shadows Dance (vii)

Bodyguard!Azriel x AutumnDaughter!Reader

CHAPTER VII: The Betrayal

SUMMARY: After a night in which things change completely between Azriel and yourself -- you wake up alone.

WARNINGS: angst :( oh no, not again...

NOTE: look at me updating a week later! no more year waits hehe

WORDS: 1K

You woke up alone.

The sheets were cold beside you, indicating Azriel had not been there for a long while. You waited a few minutes – maybe he was bringing you breakfast in bed – but he did not return.

You slipped out of the sheets, the material gliding across your naked body. You stood in front of the mirror, glancing at the purple marks that marred your body. Your fingers delicately traced over one on your neck, the memory of Azriel’s lips lingering there. A quick glamour hid them all from view – you did not need the uproar the sight of them would cause.

After wrapping your robe around your body, you headed out of your room and to your sitting room. You expected to see dark wings resting over the couch, a book in scarred hands – but no one was waiting for you. No breakfast, no tea… no Azriel. Where was he?

You quickly got dressed and headed down to the dining hall for breakfast. Two autumn soldiers followed you, but no shadows. Still no sign of Azriel, no matter how hard you looked – no matter how hard you hoped.

The dining room held one person – but it was not the male you wished to see. Your brother, Eris, sat in his designated seat, waiting patiently. You wondered if he was waiting for you as he looked up, meeting your eyes.

“Where – where is Azriel?” you asked hesitantly.

Eris’s eyes darkened slightly, and he sent the guards away with a flick of his hands. He gestured for you to sit down and you complied, taking the seat beside him. Eris was silent for a long while, as if debating what he should say.

“Azriel spoke to our father this morning,” your brother said gently. “He… he wishes to withdraw from his position as your personal guard. He wishes to return to the Night Court.”

Your blood froze, so unfamiliar to the fire that usually ran in your veins. The words registered immediately, but it took a few moments for you to comprehend what they meant. Azriel was… leaving?

“What?” you whispered.

Eris’s eyes softened. “He is leaving, Y/n.”

“When?”

The word was sharp out of your mouth. It was laced with venom, with hate, with resentment. How could he leave? How could he leave, especially after last night?

“The day after tomorrow,” Eris supplied. “Father convinced him to stay for your birthday celebration.”

Your birthday – your eightieth birthday. You had almost forgotten – it had seemed so insignificant with Azriel around. Everything else seemed insignificant with him – it was as if he had become the most important thing in your world.

But he was leaving. He was going home to the Night Court, going without you. Even though you had expressed time and time again that you wished to go – that you wished to live there. He would leave you in this festering court, leave you to be married to a heartless, wretched noble. To leave you in misery, while he left to go home to love, to his family. 

Even after last night. Even after you had bared yourself to him, given everything to him, he was still leaving. He had fucked you, had gotten what he wanted, and now he was leaving. Had you simply been a quest for him, been something to conquer? Did he even truly care for you? When he had asked you, last night, about the implications of him sullying you – had it not been to protect you, but to protect himself?

“Y/n–” Eris began, but you cut him off.

“I need to be alone right now,” you stated, standing up.

You exited the room quickly, hearing Eris call after you, but you paid him no attention. You walked and walked, until the light was no longer that of artificial fae lights, but sunlight, and until you were far from the castle, but still on the grounds. Because no matter how far you wished to run, the useless guards would follow you. Not as Azriel had – not close enough to brush against, but still close enough to keep you from leaving, to keep you trapped.

You had thought you had found your freedom in Azriel. You had thought that maybe, maybe, he had felt the same way about you. That maybe he was your knight in shining armour, the male who would whisk you away to a land of love and freedom, just like in the novels. But you only had yourself to count on to escape this place.

Footsteps reached your ears, and you didn't turn, even when Eris placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Y/n,” Eris said softly.

You sniffled, your eyes stinging. “I thought… I thought he felt the same way. I thought… I thought he loved me.”

The words came out as a broken whisper, and Eris pulled you into his warm embrace. You leaned into the hug, sobbing into your older brother’s shoulder. His hand rubbed your back comfortingly as you cried and cried, until the tears dried up and you only felt resentment towards the shadowsinger.

“He should just go back now,” you muttered. “I don't want to see him tomorrow night.”

Eris sighed. “Father wants him to attend, so he will attend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you knew what your father said was law. If, for whatever reason, your father wanted the shadowsinger to attend your birthday, then he would attend, and you would have no say whatsoever. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

Your brother watched you carefully. There was no advice he could give you – nothing that would help. Nothing that would halt the cracking of your heart, the tightness of your heartstrings. Nothing that would bring Azriel back – bring him back in the way you knew him. Or, the way you thought you did.

You had thought him to be selfless. To be brave, to be fearsome, but also to be kind, compassionate. Difficult to open, but easy to talk to. Easy to love.

You now knew him to be selfish. Cruel. Just like everyone else in this wretched court. One to take whatever he wanted, no matter the price. No matter how much it hurt someone else – no matter how much it hurt you.

You would forever mourn the shadowsinger you thought you knew.

TAGLIST: @honeybee54321@marigold-morelli@lucky7rosie@itsswritten @paankhaleyaar @bubybubsters @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria@sheblogs@thelov3lybookworm@blushingfawnsposts@thisiskaylin@morganisheree@sleepylunarwolf @bakananya @bookishbroadwaybish@namelesssaviour @glitterypirateduck @sfhsgrad-blog@ash-mc@feyres-fireheart@ib525@azrielswhore@copenhagenspirit@eternallyelvish@teenagellamaangel@thisiskaylin@littleladdty@dnfhascorruptedme@taylorgriffin@fightmedraco@superspideyparker@talesofadragon@enfppuff@darling006

[weirdly-familiar]

That is definitely TF on the left though.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐭 — 𝐂.𝐒.

Synopsis: Chris isn't too pleased with how short your skirt is.

Warnings: Smut, p n v, degrading, praising, possessive behavior

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your skirt was an issue. 

The short article of clothing had been so goddamn annoying to Chris and you all day. 

Chris was annoyed for a couple of reasons. For one, you were his. Only he was supposed to see your soft skin that dangerously high. He could see his buddies trying their best to keep their eyes up, but it was obvious how your thighs were basically magnets to any passing eyes. 

And, on top of that, he was just bothered. Angry and flustered. He was livid at lingering eyes, but his own had caused him a painful issue. An issue that made his pants uncomfortably tight against his groin. 

You were annoyed at Chris’s incessant hands that attempted to magically pull the fabric longer. It wasn’t gonna work and you were getting annoyed waiting for him to realize that. 

Getting dropped off by the group of friends, you both climb out from the back seats. Chris had insisted on sitting in the middle which was unusual. At first, you were grateful for the gesture. 

But, you realized why.

Chris didn’t want you to climb out after him. The skirt was already too short. No one except for him was gonna indulge more in the view. Unbeknownst to you, it was also for proximity reasons. His other buddy sitting in the back would not get to look—let alone touch your exposed thighs. 

So, you sat by the window. Chris’s large hand was covering your thighs, kneading the flesh a little more aggressively than what he casually tended to do. 

And that had you here. 

Chris was no longer trying to pull down your skirt. In fact—he had bunched it up on your waist. 

“Mmmm–Chris!” 

Your moans are muffled by the pillow your face is shoved into. Your nose aches with each thrust, but he’s hitting the exact spot that makes you feel numb with pleasure. 

“Yeah? My girl feels good, huh?” 

His pace lessens for a quick second as he leans over your back, his lips spitting a menacing chuckle. 

“It feels that good?” he mocks, in a faux soothing voice. 

The only thing you pick up on is the word ‘good.’ And it feels so fucking good. Nodding along to his degrading taunts, you moan loudly, lost in the pleasure of him slamming even deeper—-even harder into you. 

“Gotta—fuck—my girl—like the, fuck—like the slut she is, hm?” 

Your pussy is condensing down on him, squeezing him for dear life as you go rigid. Babbling nonsense, you feel your high of euphoria accompanied by a warm dart of liquid with Chris’s stuttering hips. 

Chris slowly pulls out, but you don’t move. You're still gasping for air, not even sure if the world around you exists anymore. Large hands grope on your propped up ass and thighs, spreading to expose you further. 

Your boyfriend grins sickly at the sight, proud of your fucked-out state. 

“Oh baby,” he whispers, soft kisses pressed on your ass, contradicting the way he had just abused your body with pleasure. “Such a slut.” he murmurs under his breath. 

He licks over your dripping cunt, humming at the sour taste of mixed cum.  “My slut.”

[bullet-prooflove]

The Asshole King: Jack Abbott x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gabsgabsvaz @yousigned-upforthis @flyinglama @cosmic-psychickitty

Companion piece to:

Masochist

Seven Shades of Fucked Up (NSFW)

Meeting you was the best thing that could ever happen to Jack, he fully acknowledges that as he watches you potter about the kitchen in a Stevie Nicks t-shirt that barely covers your ass and black panties. You have Rhiannon playing on the vinyl player in the living room, the sound from the LP serenading the two of you as he sits at the kitchen table sipping decaf tea.

Before you everything was a vacuum, a slow empty death. There was no joy in his life, no heart, just the relentlessness of living in a world that lacked saturation and colour. Now he wakes up to this every day, a wife that sprinkles kisses on his face before she puts on a Fleetwood Mac record and dances around the kitchen as she makes her to do list.

The thing he loves the most about you is the fact you don’t let anything dim that light. You see the worst of humanity in your work as a psychiatrist. The broken, the damaged and sometimes the irredeemable and you handle it with a sense of grace and calm that’s truly remarkable, even if your methods aren’t exactly conventional.

He’s talking about the singing, the way you get your patients to calm down when they’re in a heightened state by using music therapy.

One of the first things people experiencing anxiety are advised to do is to breathe slowly however telling someone that usually has the opposite effect because they hone in on the fact they’re not getting enough oxygen.

That’s where singing comes in.

It’s a form of regular, controlled breathing that stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system. Focusing on the lyrics distracts patients from catastrophising, lowering their blood pressure and improving pain management.

 The first time he heard about it from Dana, he called bullshit but then he’d seen you in action in The Pitt when a vet presenting with complex PTSD was brought in, panic stricken and injured. They couldn’t calm him down and were discussing sticking him when you’d snapped on your gloves and instead of verbally manhandling him you’d taken your phone out and asked him his music preferences.

Country, he’d told you his entire body vibrating with terror.

It had taken three songs to calm him down, Jack had literally watched the tension melt from his body as you sing along with the lyrics, pretending to check vitals while encouraging him to do the same. By the time you got through Kenny Chesney’s American Kids a med student was already in the process of stitching up the 6 inch gash in his leg from the cycling accident that brought him to The Pitt in the first place.

“He spend two months in a military infirmary in Basrah.” You tell Jack in the aftermath as you fill out the discharge paperwork. “Being here took him there, which was why he was reacting so badly.”

Jack gets it, he’d worked in a dozen of those places over his years in the military and they’re not for the faint of heart.

“You are not a real person.” He’d responded, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking Disney Princess thrust into the middle of a hellhole.”

“And you’re the asshole king of said hellhole.” You’d reminded him gesturing at the chaos around you. “You know where to find me if anyone else gets too rowdy.”

He does find you, unintentionally at the end of his shift waiting for an Uber because your car’s in the shop for the third time in three months.

“Come on Cinderella.” He’d sighed because at this time of day surge charges will be through the roof. “I’ll give you a ride.”

He doesn’t make it home that until a couple of hours before his next shift because the two of you get talking about your record collection in the car. You have a rare Bob Dylan bootleg your father gave to you before he passed away and Jack, he’s been in love with that man’s music since he saw him play Nashville in the 90s. He spends the morning in your armchair, listening to the bootleg with headphones that remind him of the ones you used to get in the listening booths of those vintage record shops before they all closed down.

He jerks awake up in the early hours of the afternoon to find a blanket tucked around him and the headphones resting on the cabinet where the vinyl player resides. His gaze comes to linger on you, asleep on the couch, the book you were reading resting underneath your palm. He raises to his feet, draping the blanket over you and you mumble into the cushion, settling deeper.

“It’s alright Sleeping Beauty, it’s just me, the asshole king.” He murmurs as he picks up the book and sets it on the coffee table. “I’m gonna let myself out, let you get some rest.”

You don’t respond and he doesn’t expect you to. He’s an insomniac at heart, he hasn’t slept a full eight hours since his first tour abroad and you’re normal, so wonderfully fucking normal it hurts his heart.

It’s when he steps outside into the sun that he realises somethings changed. The world seems a little brighter and he knows that that’s because of you, you and that bootleg copy of Bob Dylan.

When you start your shift that evening you find a gift at your work station up in Psych. A glossy black bag from one of the last vinyl places in Pittsburgh. You smile as you remove the sleeve from the packaging.  

It’s a Fleetwood Mac album, one you’ve been trying to track down for a couple of years. There’s a yellow post it stuck to front, written in an unfamiliar hand.

Noticed this was missing from your collection.

- The Asshole King

That vinyl, it’s the start of something wonderful, something he never saw coming.

“You wanna do laundry or groceries?” You ask him drawing Jack back to the present as you bend over the counter, filling out your to do list. He shifts in his seat at the kitchen table, his toast forgotten as his gaze fixates on the way your ass looks in those black cotton panties.

You’ve been married three years now and he still can’t believe that this is his life.

Fleetwood Mac, he thinks as the record switches to Say That You Love Me, I owe you the fucking world.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[goddamnitmahtin]

Damian’s Babysitter

This is a sequel to this post. Since it was actually based on a wild dream I had, I figured I’de add more.

Danny and Wes found the gala boring as all hell. Almost immediately after showing up, they were sent to off to the “kids room.” Were Danny and Wes full on adults? Yes. But apparently rich people don’t want to look at you if you don’t have access to money they can convince you to give them. Which honestly, fair. Danny and Wes didn’t want to look at the rich people either.

Danny and Wes walked into the room filled with discarded children and found a sofa to sit on. It wasn’t like they were going to actually try to mingle with these children. Most of them were very clearly going to be mean. Most of them that weren’t too young to hold a conversation with were standing around on little cliques gossiping to each other about each other. It was like if you took all of the pettiest 5th graders in the entire state and put them into one room.

“I still can’t believe we are doing this,” Danny said, groaning. This entire thing was such bullshit. The entire atmosphere felt so fake.

“Lucky for us, I brought my laptop so we can just game until it’s time to leave,” Wes said, pulling his laptop out of his bag.

“Oohhh so that’s why you brought a purse,” Danny said, poking fun at the style of the bag. It was duty of a cousin to be a menace after all.

“It is not a purse!” Wes said, laughing. He gave Danny a playful shove before opening the computer and pulling up the game library. All of the games on the laptop were single player so they were going to have to take turns. Danny told Wes to go ahead and go first.

“Daniel Fenton,” said a child’s voice. One that he recognized.

Danny looked up from the computer and smiled, “Damian! What are you doing here bud?”

The child scoffed as if Danny were stupid, “I am here with my father. What are you doing here? You aren’t a part of Gotham’s elite.”

Danny had babysat Damian plenty of times in Metropolis when his father had odd work hours. Never once did he even consider that Bruce was from Gotham. Or part of it’s elite. Danny had always gotten paid well and it was a nice gig so he never really asked questions. But now that he thought of it, if Damian lived in Gotham, why did he want a babysitter in Metropolis?

Wes shoved Danny in the rib, “Danny- I think this kid is-”

“I’m here as a favor to a friend,” Danny said, ignoring the dull pain in his ribs, “Sam Manson.”

The child nodded, “Yes, I know Sam. She is not as pathetic as the other elite spawn.”

Danny laughed, “I agree.”

“Wait, how do you two even know each other? And how come he gets to call you Daniel?,” Wes asked. He had paused his game and was looking back and forth between Danny and Damian.

“Oh this is Damian! I babysit him every once in a while,” Danny sad gesturing to the young boy.

“Yes, when my father has work in Metropolis, I request to spend that time with Daniel when I am not needed,” Damian stated matter of factly, he crossed his arms looking proud of himself as he said, “I gained the right to refer to him as Daniel by proving myself in hand to hand combat.”

Wes gave Danny a look and Danny just shrugged, “He wanted to spar, who was I to say no? The kid has moves and I respect that.”

Danny smiled proudly and so did Damian at the acknowledgment of his fighting prowess. Wes just looked at Danny like he was the stupidest person in the world.

Wes’ judgement didn’t last long as a discord call started to ring on his laptop. Danny watched as his face flushed before answering. He was about to ask who it was but before he could, he heard a crash and then Damian’s voice.

“HEY!”

Then another voice unapologetically, “Sorry! Haha!”

Danny looked to see if Damian was alright just to see him holding a platter like a frisbee one one hand and using the other to flip someone across the room the bird, “Fuck you Tim!” (not really)

[cntloup]

nsfw hcs

these are just my personal opinion :)

tbh i don't see simon as a hard dom at all. he's a service top through and through.

he gets off on getting you off. seeing that content fucked-out look on your face would send him straight to a state of absolute bliss.

he needs a lot of reassurance. he'd ask 'am i doing well? does it feel good?' constantly. even if he doesn't give voice to his concerns, it's always on his mind.

now if you're more on the petite side, he'd be extremely concerned about hurting you and would need a lot of reassurance on that matter as well.

he starts slow and gentle and you'll need to convince him that he can let go and you won't break that easily.

big on foreplay and aftercare. he'd take care of you as if you're the most precious gem in the world.

also big on having a safe-word/gesture. he'll make sure that you know the word/gesture and you'd use it if something makes you even slightly uncomfortable.

he'd be slightly on the fence about being a hard dom. if you're into being heavily dominated and ask him for it, he'd need a lot of convincing and to make sure you’re comfortable at every step.

his sub phase occurs very rarely. and that is if you have earned his utter trust and devotion over time.

he's more into intimate touches than the sex itself. sex is just a way to experience that intimacy on a deeper level.

if you've been in a relationship for a long time and he knows that you're satisfied with your sex life, he'd be into quickies because he always makes sure to make up for it later even though you always reassure him that there's nothing to make up for and you always enjoy it no matter what.

to be continued... :)

[kannouo]

Ticklish?

fandom: obey me pairing: demon brothers & dateables x gn!reader warnings: suggestive on asmo's part summary: in which they find out you are ticklish. prompt by anon: The brothers + dateables reaction to the MC being ticklish because ik most of them are menaces about it A/N: lol rest in peace. good fucking luck mc. also i swear to god i know there's more to satan's character than his love of cats it just fits guys pls forgive me

LUCIFER

• Lucifer likes to appear as this super-serious macho man figure who, although he has his moments of going along with his siblings' antics, isn't a very playful guy. He's unlikely to find this out because he was trying to tickle you. Rather, it'd be by complete coincidence.

• When he offered to teach you to dance in the privacy of his room as classical music played in the background, you weren't expecting his hand on your waist to bother you as much as it did. Try as you might, you can't hide from him how you're biting your lip and stifling a giggle.

• "Is something funny to you?" He asks, unamused. You shake your head.

• "No, sorry. It just... tickles a bit."

• The only reaction you get in the moment is a hum and a nod. You're admittedly a little suspicious, but mostly grateful the dance lesson continued normally until you were able to return to your room.

• He's so unbothered by this new information, in fact, that you may even dare to think he'd all but forgotten about it when a few weeks pass by. Little did you know, he remembered. He was just storing it away for later use.

• Even the student council's representative of the human world was not immune to falling into Satan and Belphie's schemes, it seemed. After a failed attempt to capture a pic of a sleeping Lucifer, you find yourself trapped between him and the wall as he looms over you. You desperately hope that, just maybe, Satan or Belphie would come to your rescue — but alas, you had been left abandoned in the lions' den.

• "Bold of you to attempt to sneak up on me in such a vulnerable state," he clicked his tongue, agitated. "I'd assume you would know better by now."

• "I'm sorry, I—"

• "'Sorry'? Yes, you will be." He closed in on you.

• The shrieks that emanated from Lucifer's room that night could only be described as unholy as he unleashed his brand-new punishment on you. Out of everyone in the House of Lamentation, you hadn't expected the mighty first-born to be the one to tickle you half to death, but it was effective. If that was what was waiting for you, you were more than willing to give Satan and Belphie the cold shoulder the next time they suggested a new, ingenious prank to play on Lucifer. Sorry guys. It's not worth it.

"Come on, MC, this'll be our best work yet," Satan trails after you you down the hallway, clearly not keen on letting the matter go. He had taken the liberty of convincing you of the Anti-Lucifer League's newest escapade, as Belphie apparently refuses to be of any help. "We've planned it all out. It won't go wrong this time. I swear." You turn to look at Satan, catching a glimpse of Lucifer a short distance away over the fourth-born's shoulder. All it took was a knowing smirk and a mildly threatening gesture with his hands for you to turn pale. "MC?" "...I'm good, Satan, thanks."

MAMMON

• Unlike his older brother — Mammon would absolutely find this out on purpose.

• He's the spiritual eldest when it comes to playing around with his siblings, so he's experienced in tickle-fighting. You, unfortunately, only realised this while wrestling with him, when he suddenly starts tickling your sides to gain the upper-hand. It works, and now you're flailing around beneath him.

• "Hah! Take that!" You hear him laugh triumphantly above you as you struggle to force his attacking hands away from you. "Ya give in?!"

• "Yeees! You win, you win!"

• After your rather humiliating fake-wrestling defeat, he only gets more annoying with abusing your weakness as the days go by. As he learns all of your worst spots, he gets more and more bold, until not one day can go by where you aren't tackled and tickled to tears by the Avatar of Greed.

• Eventually, you're going to have to set some ground rules with this guy, because he just will not stop. For weeks after that initial incident, you find yourself constantly on edge no matter where you are, because he could be anywhere. Just planning the next tickle.

• Sure, it can be fun at first, but he always manages to take his play-fighting just a little too far. You don't have the same tolerance as his brothers, being a human and all, and he needs to remember that.

• Being tickled by Mammon is nowhere as unfair and torturous as it is with Lucifer though, mostly because unlike his older brother, Mammon is ticklish too. This means you can fight back and potentially even gain the upper-hand. It's unlikely you'll win in a chase, however — no matter if you're the one running or if he is — he's just too damn fast.

• He's the definition of being unable to take what he dishes out. Not only does he cry 'uncle' as soon as you land on a weak spot, but he'll be super pouty and embarrassed afterwards too. As if he wasn't the one who initiated it.

"Mammooon..." You poke his cheek, trying to provoke any sort of response. He huffs and turns his head away, but still doesn't say a word. "Mams... Babe..." "That ain't fair," he finally speaks, his cheeks tinging with red. "Ya can't call me that when I'm tryin' to be mad at ya." You can't help but smile at the demon before you. "I'm sorry for tickling you, Mammon." "Yeah? Well... I think I'm owed some compensation for that. 5,000 Grimm, at least!"

LEVIATHAN

• Levi wouldn't find this out on purpose. Or, rather, at all. At least not on his own.

• He freaks out and backs away every time his hand manages to accidentally brush against yours when he hands you something. He apologises profusely and feels like the absolute perverted scum of the earth when he happens to bump into you in the hallway. He refuses to hold hands with you beyond intertwining your pinkie fingers together, because anything more than that is too lewd for him.

• So yeah. He's not going to tickle you. Not even accidentally.

• He only ends up finding out when he catches you and Mammon having a tickle fight in the living room one day, to which he promptly leaves before either of you can notice him. Both to quell the jealousy bubbling in his chest, and to avoid Mammon roping him into his shenanigans.

• After that, he... does nothing, really.

• See, here's an interesting fact about the Avatar of Envy: He's ticklish too. Very ticklish. And his siblings, especially Mammon, tease him for it all the time. He absolutely hates it and it's just not funny to him. So even if he was able to touch you without taking 6000 points of damage to his psyche, he still wouldn't tickle you, because he understands how it feels.

• Instead, you could say that you two form an alliance of sorts. You defend him when one of his brothers (MAMMON) starts chasing him — using your pact if you have to — and he allows you safe refuge in his room if somebody is after you. His door has a lock on it after all, and knowing the consequences of trying to force their way inside the resident hermit's safe abode, your pursuer is unlikely to look for you in there.

• He might make fun of you a little for it, but that's the most he'll do. He won't lay a finger on you. Good guy Leviathan.

You restlessly chap on Levi's door, moving back and forth on your toes as you desperately hope for him to let you in. The seconds count down before your attacker will find you, when finally... Click. The door unlocks and you grab the handle, swinging it open and nearly hitting Levi in the face in the process. "Sorry, sorry!" You profusely whisper-yell apologies as you shut the door behind you. He locks it, and you can finally breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you... You saved me..." Levi's cheeks burn red at your words. "Y—yeah, well... don't make a big deal out of it, normie. If you're staying in my room, then you're playing games with me too while you're here, okay? So... make yourself useful or I'll kick you back out!"

SATAN

• Maybe this is just me, but have you ever had a cat on your lap that just won't stop moving around and it sort of tickles? Yeah.

• A simple date to a cat café went from good, to better, then to worse in a very short span of time. Most of the kitties were awake and lively, wandering around and allowing you to pet them. So when one of the cats jumped up on your lap, both you and Satan were ecstatic, cooing endlessly at the little ball of fur that had made itself at home on your legs.

• The only problem was, the cat seemed to be unable to find a comfortable spot. You were trying to stay still, you really were, but the cat's paws constantly moving against your thighs made you really need to move around in your seat. Satan noticed how you had to force yourself to stay put by gripping onto the table in front of you, and he also noticed how you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot, but he didn't say anything at first.

• The first time Satan tickles you, it comes completely out of nowhere. To you, at least. Some exams were coming up and you agreed to let him tutor you, but the material was just so boring, and Satan's delivery of it certainly wasn't helping to keep you engaged...

• You were abruptly brought back to reality by a sharp jab to your side. You jumped and looked around, as if searching for the culprit, only to see Satan, with his eyes narrowed at you. "Pay attention."

• "I was!"

• "No you weren't," he poked you once in the side for each word to enunciate his sentence, and then grabbed you by the waist to prevent you from escaping. "Are you going to listen to me now?"

• "Ye-ees!"

• "Are you sure?"

• Satan's kind of a dick about it, to be honest. He'll tickle you to convince you to do things with him. You don't want to partake in his newest prank against Lucifer? Uh... yes you do, remember?

• He's also a hypocrite. He is ticklish but he hates it just as much — if not more — than Levi. So if you do it back to him, he'll shove you off or yell at you.

"Fi—fine! Fine!" You yell, and Satan's attack on your sides ceases. He looks down at you with an eyebrow raised. "You'll do it?" "Yes!" You nod furiously. If getting him to stop meant agreeing to prank call Lucifer, you suppose you'll just have to do it. "Now get off!" "Good," he smiled and moved off of you from where he had you pinned. "Now, about the plan I had prepared..."

ASMODEUS

• ...You know the deal. There is going to be a struggle keeping these headcanons SFW.

• He can find out one of two ways: the first being that he was doing your makeup and somehow found out by brushing too close to your neck or jawline, the second being that you two were leading up to... other activites.

• We'll be going with the former for my own sake lol. He realises what your reaction was for after the first time you tilt your head away from him, and can't help but tease you for it right away.

• "Oh darling, how did I not know this before? Are you keeping secrets from me? ♡"

• Somehow, Asmo ends up being one of the worst for how he takes advantage of this. He will tickle you anywhere at any time and for any reason.

• If he thinks you're not paying enough attention to him, he'll tickle you so you're forced to focus on him. If he sees you using makeup wipes on your poor, delicate skin, he'll tickle you as a "warning" to never do that again. Eventually he just starts making up reasons.

• You can tickle him back, but he enjoys it and will try to use it to lead into sex. So, unfortunately, that won't work to dissuade him.

• Don't think for a moment he's embarrassed or ashamed of his behaviour in public settings, because he isn't. He has no qualms with tickling you in a restaurant with strangers around, and doesn't care how much attention you end up attracting. It's hell.

• He's another boy you're going to have to set boundaries with at some point just because of how frequent it is. The tipping point came when he squeezed your leg in the middle of a student council meeting and you hit your knee so hard on the table you were convinced you broke something.

• He'll back off if you tell him to. You just need to actually tell him to, otherwise he won't realise how much it bothers you.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry..." Asmo pouts as he gently rubs your aching knee. "I didn't realise you'd react like that." You huff and turn your head away from him. "Don't turn this on me." "I'm not!" He shakes his head and leans forward to look you in the eye. "I swear! I just didn't know that'd happen. Can you forgive me, honey? I promise you I won't do it again. I can't have you bruising that beautiful skin because of me..."

BEELZEBUB

• Beel, similar to Levi, isn't likely to find out on his own. For different reasons, though.

• Beel isn't afraid of physical touch, but he is scared of hurting you. He's so big and you're so small. He's fully aware of his strength, and even if he has good control over it, he tends to treat you like how one would handle a delicate China plate. It's not that he doesn't touch you at all, but he's so careful when he does that he probably won't even unintentionally find out that you're ticklish.

• The only way he'd find out is if he stumbled across you in the midst of a (usually very one-sided) tickle fight with one of his brothers. In which case, he will usually step in to save you.

• As the second-youngest, he's used to being teased in a similar manner by his older siblings. So if he sees you pinned down, he'll intervene so you can catch your breath and get away.

• If you run to him for protection, much like Levi, he'll take you back to his room and won't let anyone else except Belphie inside until it's safe to assume whoever was after you has given up. You don't have to, but if you thank him by bringing him a few snacks from the fridge later, he'll be happy.

• Such a sweetheart and probably won't ever tickle you. He really doesn't want to upset you.

• The only time I can see him tickling you is if you're having a bad day and he decides you need cheering up. He'll be sat next to you, staring intently at your frowning face as the gears turn in his head. He doesn't know what your day was like or why you're so peeved, but he knows he wants to see you smile again.

• He'll scoot closer, trap you in a hug with one arm and use his free hand to (very carefully) tickle you until you give in. He'll apologise, but as long as that smile is back on your face, he's satisfied.

• "Do you feel better?" He asks, a sweet smile on his face as he pats your head. And you have to admit, you do.

You could swear you saw Beel's eyes sparkle as you offered him the box of chocolates in your hands. You were saving them to eat yourself at some point, but... seeing as Beel valiantly defended you from Asmo earlier, you figure he at least deserves this. He manages to pry his eyes away from the chocolates to look at you. "...Why?" "Because you saved me from Asmo earlier," you explain and hold the box of chocolates closer to him, urging him to take them. "This is my 'thank you'." Finally, he takes the box from you. "...You didn't have to." Despite his words, he opens the lid and starts devouring the chocolates inside so quickly that you don't even have time to remind him to take the wrappers off.

BELPHEGOR

• There are a few scenes in-game where he tickles or tries to tickle the MC, so yes, he'd absolutely find out very quickly.

• Belphie is not only a little shit — he's also spoiled and likes getting his way. So, like Satan, he'll tickle you to convince you of things. Usually it's when he doesn't feel like doing dinner duty or cleaning his room, or if he can tell you're hiding something from him.

• The first time he tickles you, it's because he had an assignment due the next morning. One he had procrastinated on for weeks. You had reminded him time and time again to start working on it as the deadline approached, but he ignored you, and the situation he's in now is, quite frankly, his own fault. So even as he whines to you about how sleepy he is and tries to butter you up so you'll do it for him, you don't give in.

• That is, until he has an idea. With an exaggerated pout on his face, he moved up behind you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, lazily slumping against your back. Just as you were about to scold him, you felt him start to ruthlessly tickle your sides.

• With his body weight on you, there was little you could do. And even as you fell to the ground, he simply followed you, taunting and teasing you the whole time. When he thinks you've had enough, he hovers above you with a smirk on his face.

• "So? Do you feel like doing it now?"

• Little fucker. He cuddles with you later to "thank" you, but you're still salty about it.

• Like most others on this list, you can get him back. He's the baby of the family so of course he's ticklish. Expect him to use dirty tricks to win any tickle fight you initiate, however. Like "giving in" only to immediately attack once you stop, or using the fluffy end of his tail to catch you by surprise.

• Beel tends to come to his rescue a lot as well, so beware of that.

"I—I give! I giiive!" You smirk in triumph as the youngest demon brother surrenders beneath you, and you let up your tickling assault. You roll off of him, fixing your ruffled hair. "See? That's what happens when you challenge me," with your back turned, you're too busy congratulating yourself to notice Belphie slowly sitting up behind you. "Anyway, you need to— AH—!" You shriek as you're tackled down to the bed again, cursing as Belphie grins down at you, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic light. "Belphie! That's cheatING—!!" And so, it starts again.

DIAVOLO

• Diavolo likely finds out in a similar fashion to Lucifer. Only it might be at a ball rather than in a secluded area.

• He's confused at first. He knows what tickling is, but being extremely sheltered, he's never received much affection like that in his life. As a result, it takes him a moment to put the pieces together. Once he does, he smiles fondly down at you and apologises, and that is that.

• ...For now.

• What he didn't show right away was just how giddy this discovery made him. What an adorable trait to have! And one he had to see more of. He'd missed out on tickle fights his whole life — he had to wonder what they were like?

• He made a mental note to experiment with this information the next time you came around to the palace. And that he did.

• Literally yells "tickle fight!" before pulling you close and going to town. You have to yell for him to be gentler, because inexperienced as he is, what should tickle actually kind of hurts at first.

• "Ah, I'm so, so sorry," he relaxes his fingers a little, no longer digging into your skin. "Is this any better? My sincere apologies."

• His apology would seem a lot more genuine if he didn't continue to tickle you while saying it.

• That, and he doesn't quite understand the concept of a tickle fight. What he's doing to you is more like a tickle beat-down. It's so one-sided it's almost comical. Unable to fight back or escape, Barbatos has to come and tell him to stop before you piss yourself.

• This was fun! He decides completely on his own. We should do this more often! He says, as you are gasping for breath on the fucking ground.

• After this first experience, he incorporates more minor tickling into your daily lives. Instead of trapping you like the first time, he'll sneakily poke you while walking by, and then look back at you with a wave and a completely innocent smile on his face.

"MC? Apologies, you seem to be in the middle of something. It won't take long," Diavolo smiles as he enters the empty student council hall. Indeed, you are in the middle of sorting some letters, but it isn't as if you can deny an audience to the Demon King. "I have a question for you. It appears... as if you've been avoiding me lately. Why is that?" You blink, trying to discern if he was serious. The look on his face said yes, he was. "...Diavolo, whenever we sit next to each other, you keep reaching over to tickle me." He meets you with a surprised expression as if this is somehow news to him. "I did not know it was such a problem," He confesses. "Very well, then. I'll stop. If I do, will you start sitting beside me again? I quite miss it."

BARBATOS

• He already knew. Lol.

• He officially "finds out" for the first time when he just happens to walk in on Diavolo tickling you half to death and saves you from his grasp. In reality, he already knew this was going to happen and planned to show up just in time to clean you off of the floor once Diavolo had his fun.

• You're thankful he showed up, though. If not for the fact he rescued you, then for the tea he served you afterwards to ensure you wouldn't have had an entirely terrible experience that day.

• As for what he does with this information? Well, not much. At least, it doesn't seem like it to you.

• Barbatos knows how to be sneaky with how he uses this to hear you laugh throughout the day. He'll brush his hand against your skin while reaching for something, "accidentally" touch your back and make you jump while walking by you, and it will always seem unintentional. At first, that is.

• Red flags start to raise when these accidents seem to happen multiple times, every single time you're around him. He knows when you're starting to get suspicious too, and that's around the point he stops even trying to pretend like it isn't intentional. He'll keep doing it, but flash you an infuriating, coy smile after each time.

• Now it's war.

• If this is the game he's playing, you might as well participate.

• The only problem being... it's Barbatos. He knows when you're planning something and exactly how you're going to execute it. You can't even land a hand on the bastard.

• And even if you did somehow manage to (AKA he lets you), you genuinely have no idea if he's even ticklish. He won't react to anything you do to him, but he also won't give you a straight answer if you bluntly ask him if he's ticklish or not. He just looks at you with that signature poker-faced smile. And with that, he turns and walks away. YOU NEED ANSWERS.

• Eventually you become convinced that he isn't actually ticklish at all, but he lets you think he could be because he enjoys seeing you so determined to catch him off-guard.

"B—Barbatos!" You jerk your body away as his hand "somehow" manages to pinch your side while reaching for the utensils drawer next to you. He smiles. "My apologies, it was an accident." He says, and you call bullshit right away. With a newfound desire for revenge, you latch onto his side and start to tickle, but frown when he doesn't react at all. In fact, he simply opens the drawer and takes out a few of the cutlery inside like he initially intended to do, as if you aren't even there. He meets your eye with another, slightly more amused smile, before turning and leaving the room. You stand there, dumbfounded. Though... you could've sworn you saw him flinch a little when you first touched him.

SIMEON

• Simeon is also ticklish and is another example of someone who knows how it feels. He's not likely to tickle you often.

• That's not to say he doesn't find it amusing or cute — he absolutely does — but his first thought when the back rubs he gave you with the intention of being soothing turned ticklish wasn't that he should take advantage of it, rather that it's just something new he now knows about you.

• Simeon won't ever intentionally tickle you because it's, well, mean. He'll only do it if he gets "permission", meaning if you do it to him first.

• He enjoys seeing you smile and laugh, but he doesn't ever want to go too far. Most of the tickle fights you initiate are won by him — don't let his appearance and sweetness fool you, he's still much stronger than you are — but they also don't last long. He'll stop, apologise, and offer to make up for it with anything you want.

• "Sorry, sorry," Simeon smiles as he helps you back to your feet, brushing your hair out of your face. "Are you alright? Come on, let's sit down together. No more tickling, though."

• He... tries to be a protector of sorts if Solomon or anyone else is after you. I can't say it works out well for him though, and whoever was after you just ends up with two victims instead of one.

• Bless him for trying. At least you're not suffering alone.

• When you come around to Purgatory Hall, depending on your friendship with Luke, you two may have playful tickle wars that go on. He won't interfere, but Luke does tend to use Simeon as a shield or claims that you're "bullying" him. Simeon never takes it too seriously and you can usually continue your playful tickle-attack uninhibited.

You lay, breathless and sweaty on the floor. You stare up at the ceiling as you pant for air and slowly sit up, wiping at your forehead. You turn to the man sprawled out on the floor right next to you, the both of you having just endured the same tickle-attack by Solomon. "...Are you alright?" Simeon slowly turns his head to look at you and meets you with an exhausted smile. "Yeah, I'm fine... you?" "...Yeah." You sigh. Silence fills the air for a moment, interrupted only by your heavy breathing. "...Wanna get him back?" As angelic as Simeon still is... even he can't refuse that offer.

SOLOMON

• This shady sorcerer absolutely finds out on purpose.

• After one too many times where you've outright banned him from the kitchen to prevent some kind of national tragedy, he decides he's owed some kind of penance. So the one time you allow him in the kitchen while you cook — under strict supervision — he sneaks up behind you and...

• "Solomon!" You squeal, nearly dropping the ingredients in your hands as he hugs you from behind and uses the position to start furiously tickling you.

• "What? Why are you laughing?" He asks cheekily. "You better be careful. You don't want to ruin dinner, right?"

• After the first incident, it gets much, much worse.

• He'll tickle you at any time, anywhere, whenever he feels like it. It doesn't matter how busy you are or how important what you're working on is, he will interrupt you out of nowhere to tickle you until he's satisfied. Prick.

• He thinks it's funny to tickle you in inconvenient or inappropriate settings, too. If you're sat in front of or next to him in class, you can expect him to start repeatedly poking you or enchanting a few items to tickle you as you desperately try to hold back any reactions because then you'll be the one embarrassing yourself.

• He's also ticklish, but will go to great lengths to avoid you ever figuring that out. Probably drinks some kind of potion that dulls his sensitivity before seeking you out to tickle you just in case you try to get revenge on him.

• Of course, you can still catch him when he's unprepared. And when you do, it's war.

• At least Purgatory Hall is never boring with you two around.

You stare down Solomon as you face one another at opposite ends of the dining table. He's grinning at you, and every now and again tries to rush over to where you are, at which point you circle the table to keep the distance. "You can't keep going forever." He taunts. "Watch me, motherfucker," you curse, but it's true. You're already out of breath. He tries to charge you again and you react quickly, hurrying back around to the other side of the table. Just as you do, however, he changes direction. You're unable to turn around in time and he catches you, damn near lifting you up into the air with how he grabs you. "Solomon! Stop it!" "You started it," he argues. "Now suffer the consequences."

[mxnhoo]

dangerous (l. hs)

✎ lee heeseung x reader genre kissing, blowing vape air into one's mouth, experienced boy x unexperienced girl trope, strawberry flavoued air, first kiss, reader has like 0 experience at all, not poofread cos a girlie just wants to write - get the idea off her head - sleep warnings ALMOST smut, vaping, nicotine (duh), hee wants to corrupt her lowk word count 905 cly's note i think this is different from what i usually write but i saw a tiktok with this idea and i couldn't stop thinking about it even during work. HENCE i am staying up to actually write it so i can get it OUF MY HEAD. i hate the thought of smoking/vaping but isn't this so hot omg. plus i've been so inactive i'm so sorry, so here's a proper fic i've written in a while (though it is short)

now playing heaven and back - chase atlantic

You breathed heavily, your eyelids heavy as you continued to stare at Heeseung, who layed below you. The room was dimly lit, the only light source coming from the lamp on your study table. You can't even explain how you got into this situation with Heeseung, your best friend — how you were sitting on Heeseung's lap, him being shirtless and just vaping in front of you. Though you've always known that he was quite literally the opposite of you, you and him remained as close friends regardless, and today you were seeing him in a different way.

Your chest moved rapidly, a new gush of unfamiliar feelings taking over you as you observed him taking another puff from his vape device. He exhaled and blew the air away from you, hitting the back of his head against the headboard afterwards, staring at you.

A strong strawberry scent took over the room, the sweetness making you want to melt into him. Despite the fact that he was the only one that was shirtless and that you were hovering over him, you still felt vulnerable, feeling unsure as to what to do next and anxious that you might fuck things up somehow.

He smirked seeing the state you were in, clearly enjoying the view of you. He was aware about how you were so naive and pure — you haven't kissed, smoked, vaped, or even fucked — and Heeseung just wanted to be there to open the new world to you. He wanted to check off every single thing off from the list, since he knew best how untouched you were. He wouldn't admit it, but he wanted to corrupt you.

He blew air up to his forehead, lifting the bangs away and he threw his head back, making himself more comfortable and showing his featuers off even more, especially his prominent Adam's apple and collarbone.

You couldn't explain it, but everything about him just felt so.. hot at the moment. You've never felt this way for anyone, but the way he was looking at you with such predator gaze, the way his exposed chest was moving up and down, the way he held his vape with his thumb and middle finger, his collarbone and neck, and even more.

"Say, you haven't fucked around nicotone like at all, right?" Heeseung questioned, his voice raspy after taking a huff of his strawberry-flavoured vape.

You shook your head and bit your lip, almost feeling humiliated that you haven't tried anything at all, and that for your entire life, you've stayed away from these things. You looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze, overthinking that he probably thought you were a loser.

He lifted your chin up with his finger, interlocking eyes with yours once again and he smirked, "Wanna take a step into my world?".

Your heart immediately skipped a beat, feeling thrilled at the thought of doing something you've always strayed away from. You stuttered, "O-okay".

He turned his neck downwards to look at you properly before flicking his middle and ring finger, gesturing for you to lean closer to him. You were already sitting on his lap as he layed down, and the closeness and warmth was driving you wild. You'd never experienced something like this before, only simple hand-holding and cheek kisses.

"I won't bite," he reassured, his voice still sounding dark, but you finally started to lean closer to him. Your hands inevitably rested on his bare chest, his chest muscles and abs feeling hard and the way he hitched his breath when you touched him didn't go unnoticed.

You were finally leaning closer to him, your hair falling forward as he nodded in approval, "Want a taste of my vape? Strawberry flavour, you'll like it". You nodded and he chuckled, bringing the vape to his mouth and taking another huff, making you slightly confused. Was he not going to hand the vape over to you?

You wanted to ask until you confirmed that he wasn't. He grabbed the front of your shirt to pull you even closer, his eyelids halfway open as he started to blow the air into your mouth. You immediately inhaled the air, tasting the sweetness of the air and suddenly feeling hot as your heart rate starts to increase.

You only stared at his lips as he blowed the vape air into your mouth, only wishing it was on yours, and he immediately noticed, immediately closing the gap between both of your mouths and smirking as he could feel you immediately snap back to reality from the sudden kiss.

He immediately pulled back, his thoughts feeling hazy as he is met with your half-fucked up face, chuckling that you were already half-spent when you did practically nothing other than share a huff and kiss for a second. "Did I take your first kiss?" he genuinely questioned, observing as you recovered from the kiss and puff.

"You did," you remained quiet before continuing, "I expect you to take my second, third and more".

"Is that a challenge?" he raised his eyebrows, clearly liking your boldness and the idea of kissing you as many times as he wanted.

"Maybe it is? Maybe it isn't?" you shrugged.

His face immediately darkened, the smirk on his face growing deeper, "I never back down a challenge". He put his hand behind your head to push you closer to him, causing your lips to clash once again.

watch out we pop out~ let's fill up some dopamine~ (if u understand ily)

[artbyblastweave]

The thing about Captain America is that he is, as the name implies, a super soldier. He patches a lot of the traditional holes in soldiery. He’s strong, he’s fast, he’s smart, he’s tough, he maintains peak condition with limited time and resource input. He’s better at soldiering than normal soldiers; if you had an army of him, you’d have the best possible army. And you could��have an army of him, because he’s got no esoteric powers; he’s an exaggeration of traits that militaries are already used to planning around and equipping, so incorporating a host of super soldiers into your planning and logistics is an easy deal. ( A teleporter like Nightcrawler or Cloak could be handy to have on retainer, but you can’t structure anything beyond a special-ops group on the idea you’ll have consistent access to their abilities- If you integrate them into anything important and they die, you’re fucked! They’re self-siloing.)

But what’s really important he’s also at the upper outer edge of how powerful you can make a super soldier before they become more trouble than they’re worth. If he goes rogue, you can kill him; in terms of power levels he’s one of the most powerful and effective superheroes who you could nonetheless definitely kill by just throwing wave after wave of conventional infantry at him until one of them gets lucky or he gets tired. You’re at substantially less risk of a Weapon-X style defection cavalcade, where anyone you send out who’s actually capable of killing him will wind up being an even bigger problem in the long run. You can still bomb his ass. All their asses, if he talks the clean-up crew into defecting as well.

I originally began writing this about two years ago because I saw someone expressing confusion that so many Marvel storylines involve state-level actors trying to reproduce the super soldier serum specifically instead of any of the other significantly more powerful heroes, and this confusion confused me because I found the value added pretty obvious. Captain America- and the kind of super soldier represented by Captain America- rests on this knifes edge between “best soldier ever“  and tipping wholesale over into the realm of humanoid WMDs that require a complete overhaul of the logic of warfare, and probably a world destroying arms race. It’s the split being gestured at with Comedian and Dr. Manhattan- they’re both “super soldiers“ but Comedian isn’t the one who nearly makes the cold war go hot. Two different ball games, two different uses cases. If it hasn’t been done yet, I might have to write the story where consistent super solider infantry is treated as a hot-ticket item despite the ubiquity of government-aligned worldwreckers- you’ve got guys that can paste an army from orbit, but you still need boots on the ground if you want to garrison the rubble.

[o-sunny-day]

@forgettable-au FAN ANIMATION ! LOUD NOISE WARNING!

*What was it all for…?

Song: Vishnu <3 by Peter Cat Recording Co.

…okay.

The main inspiration for this…can be summed up with I LOVE HOW SAD THIS CONCEPT IS. BUT i also adore how WEIRD it is.

This whole thing must be pretty weird and creepy for the characters right??? Like- we dont know for certain what EXACTLY is gonna happen, but we know for a fact that Wingdings finds out hes in a game, then kills himself so he can be closer with god-

THATS PRETTY WEIRD 😭😭 also sad but we can ignore that for now

I also experimented a tad with this in working with silence, so timing things at my own pace! It was really hard! I HAD SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!

But, time for my FAVORITE PART….ANALYSIS!!!

DISCLAIMER: some things stated as fact haven’t been said in the blog/arent canon to the au itself, just my animation/theories/interpretation, cause i’m silly and headcanoning :3

TITLE:

The proper title ive given this is “To You” which means 2 different and very vague things. What happened to you? and sending a message like “this is To You”.

In that case, “you” is whichever version of Papyrus/Wingdings/Gaster you want- Its not exactly clear which version of him means “you” which is kinda the point. The lines blur together sometimes…

But yeah, Gaster/crazy WD sends messages TOO himself so they’re “To You”

CONTEXT

Wingdings has JUST turned himself into Gaster. Ignore how impossible Sans interacting with him in this moment is, and just hear me out on the angst possibilities-

SCENE 1

As Sans approaches the mess- Gaster is encased in shadow, and looks at him. Expression not telling much- just looking blankly. Doesn’t even look like he’s alive… just… moving. Also the eye thats open, is just a slit. because- perspective. BUT I also had fun putting that there and going hehehehe it looks like WD/Papyrus’ eye

Sans approaches, and getting engulfed in the shadow, leaving the light.

His expression here was REALLY fun and REALLY hard to draw. Angry? maybe. stunned and terrified? DEFINITELY.

In this context (that doesn’t have a lot to go off of with the comics, YET) Sans knows that this was all very much intentional. He absolutely does not want to be angry, and is certainly only feeling it subconsciously.

But… he wanted so badly to understand, and enter his brother world. But now, Sans is just… Baffled. Hes like “what the fuck did you do???”

SCENE 2

Gaster continues to look blank. Looking up at Sans as he approaches, encasing him in even more shadow.

Sans’ hand reaches to Gasters face. From Sans’ perspective, his intentions are like checking for a pulse. Not literally ofc cause pulses arent on our face- but like, feeling for him. For a sign that something is there. (It’s also meant to be something motherly/comforting)

But then, Gaster leans into the touch, somewhat reciprocating this wordless “ive got you” gesture. That’s what makes Sans go from Terrified to just purely grief stricken. His brother is still alive. And he loves him.

But this form wont last for long…For universe fixing screw ups reasons :D 👍

SCENE 3

Gaster then opens his eyes, revealing hes even still got eye lights available for him. Thats what just SHATTERS the dam, and Sans embraces him suddenly.

SCENE(S) 4

Then, the “reset” happens, Gaster is gone, and Papyrus appears in place of Wingdings in his bed.

Nothing is boiling to add to a “frozen in terror” feeling!

Now- drawing all of the differences between the past and present rooms. DESTROYED ME. i HAD SO MUCH FUN BUT I ALSO CRIED 😭 There are no thank-you letters to santa, no racecar bed, no silly bone painting, no action figures, just BORING

I also wanted to keep everything monochromatic, so ofc we’ve got black and white for the void/Gaster, blue for Sans, red for Papyrus, and purple for Sans and Papyrus together.

The tape recorder and lab coat are still greyscale though cause Wingdings still has SOME of his stuff lying around. But the tapes are indecipherable, and Papyrus threw out that lab coat the first chance he got. It gave him the absolute worst feeling, worse than anything he’s ever experienced.

Something I also really enjoy is the fact that the dress shirts were still technically Wingdings’ but they’re red for Papyrus. The lab coat is the only real WINGDINGS thing that Papyrus wants absolutely no part in. Some things that were Wingdings’ are now Papyrus’ cause :D👍

in place of the bone painting are just family photos that I also have extra to say about. Someday I wanna make a comic of what happened to those/what I think would happen to em.

One day Papyrus is like “HEY UH- SANS! THESE PHOTOS! I DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT THEM! CAN WE NOT!?” Aka, he doesn’t remember these things happening/these photos being taken… BUT THEYRE PHOTOS OF HIM.

So he just feels really uncomfortable looking at memories he should reasonably remember, but doesn’t at all- and Sans gets that. But he keeps em in his drawer. Then! they hung up the bone thing in place of it cause SILLY!

But the family photos, I still had fun with. From left to right theyre a photo of Semi with the twins, the twins as baby bones, then as slightly older kids, then WDs graduation photo.

CONCLUSION!

This entire thing was so much fun, and I feel i’ve really grown as an artist over the process of experimenting and not being knocked down by annoying setbacks,

Also, as usual, Works In Progress’ plus extra behind the scenes stuff will be posted shortly after this!! YIPPEEE!!! HAPPY NIGHTMARES!!!!!

OHHHH ALSO EXTRA ART!!!

“AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL?”

That silly moment when your clone is really weirdly obsessed with stars and enthusiastically holds your eye sockets open to show you them

[vieoeil-riae]

take you down with me

steb/fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, dry humping, making out, selectively mute!steb, 18+ MDNI, 3.1k words

synopsis: Both of you think the other might have died in the battle for Piltover, so you get emotional and fuck in a broom closet when you see each other again. Sounds fair, no?

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It had been two days since the war ended, a miniscule amount of hours since the retreat of the Noxian soldiers following the death of their leader. The dead had to be collected, the wounded had to be tended to.

As someone with some amount of medical knowledge, Steb had immediately fallen into line attending to the wounded. He supposes his bedside manner was definitely below standard, the man having grown even quieter in the wake of all the death and displacement. It kept his hands busy however, and it kept his mind away from you.

When the fighting broke out he wasn’t sure where you’d ended up. Though there had been civilian evacuations, there was no guarantee you’d even managed to get on one of the airships.

For all he knew, you could be face down in the streets, another littered body buried under many others. Steb shivered at the thought, the pallor of death imagined on your face made him queasy and he couldn’t be throwing up on patients. So he shoved the thought down, drowning it in the wounds of his comrades and fellow city-goers alike.

Just a few days without you were hell, though, and he’d already had a taste of it several months ago when you’d frowned at him and averted your gaze — avoiding him for almost a week after Caitlyn’s strike team weaponised The Gray.

But that was a silly worry then, that you wouldn’t come back to him, because back then there was always the chance you would. Now, there was always a chance you’d be lost to him forever, and that cut much, much deeper.

Steb worried his lips as he debrided a fellow enforcer's wound — gruesome work, both for him and the patient — his careful hands easing out the shattered fragments of a Noxian blade from a wound on the man’s thigh. The man hissed, and so did Steb.

It smelled awful, but if he concentrated hard enough he could imagine how you smelled instead. The scent of your body soap, your perfume, your natural scent, all mixed together into a smell he could almost taste. God, how long had it been since he smelt something other than rubbing alcohol and infection?

Not that there was anyone to complain about that to. The only person who wasn’t you, that could understand all of his gestures without a long game of charades and short words was both dead and a traitor of the state. Steb swallowed around the memory of the way her ginger hair fell over her eyes as she slumped to the floor with a bullet between her eyes.

You’d understand, one look and you’d have him in your arms and muttering about how he really ought to quit. You’d trace the shape of his eyes and know him, it was the most relaxing game in the world and the prize for winning made it golden. To get him like that… without the words, it always made his heart flutter.

Steb held a sigh in the back of his throat, despite the summer heat the atmosphere was frigid. You would warm him up nicely, let him drift away in your soft skin, the swell of your breasts, the chub of your thighs. Two days of barely sleeping, you sounded like heaven.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Footsteps, a regular noise around the hall that had been turned into an impromptu medical care station. He payed no mind, still lost in his thoughts and in his work.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Running, also plenty familiar — especially on the first night.

“Steb!” Oh, the lack of sleep must really be getting to him.

“Steb!” A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, too gentle to jostle his work. A familiar sense of care, but also maybe he was hallucinating. He stared at his hands, when had he finished with the man’s wound?

“Steb…” Melodic and warm, fond like the hand that reached up to tilt his chin towards you.

Not making things up in his head then. Steb’s eyes widened at the sight of you, perfectly fine and haloed by the setting sun through the broken window. 

His eyebrows pinched and his lips fell open just enough for you to see a sliver of his tongue. The way he stared at you was precious, like he was afraid to look away lest you vanish. You smiled fondly back, he must’ve been worried — Steb had a strong sense of duty, both to his work and you, sometimes at once, like the past few days. 

Steb’s face shifted again, blinking several times before searching your face desperately like he was trying to drink in your whole visage at once. You flustered, even in strained circumstances, he certainly knew how to make you feel wanted.

His hands gripped at your wrist, one thumb digging into your pulse. He rested there for a moment, his eyes glazing over with focus as he felt for the steady thrum of life there — finding it and latching on like it was the only thing in the world.

The frills decorating his cheeks fluttered, a ripple that spread across his cheekbones. You followed it closely, rhythmically, as it almost copied your heart beat. Following it further, you found his ears pinned closely to his skull. Worried must’ve been an understatement, then. You frowned slightly.

Steb’s eyes met yours as you traced his frills again. The energy you found there was intense, thick with a multitude of wants. Turning his head and tugging at your wrist, you felt a soft kiss land over your pulse — the shape of Steb’s lips was unmistakable, thinner on the top and plumper on the bottom and always in a sort of mildly pouty frown. 

You bit your own lip, staring intently at where his lips landed, where the projected trail of his kisses went. For a moment, Steb’s face grew somber, then soft in the most incredible way. So pretty, he was, even from where you stood above him; jewel-like eyes and soft, almost luminescent skin that looked so artful in the sunlight that poured in around you.

Taking advantage of where your hand ended up, you gently brushed his cheek. Exploratory, but known, you reached around to cup where the back of his head met his neck where your fingers found the small fins that trailed down his back. 

With even more care, your thumb gently stroked the shell of Steb’s ear, tracing over its points. Under your touch, he shivered, eyes closed as he subtly twitched between leaning into the touch and pulling away. 

A shaky sigh left his lips as he finally leaned into your touch. The way he opened his eyes and gazed at you was lethal; the intense glacier-blue of his eyes eaten up by his blown out, hazy blue pupils; the slump in his shoulders; the reverence that saturated every inch of his face.

You tilt your head subtly to the door, watching the twitch in his eyebrows and eyelids. They scrunched in worry, Steb’s head turning to look behind him again, at the patient he’d been tending to prior. You watch a little longer, letting his face speak.

The man on the floor behind him shrugged and rolled over. Steb looked back to you, searching your face also. You smiled again, cheekier, and nodded towards the door once more — your eyes focused on his, gazing at him through your lashes.

Sliding his hand around to hold yours, you pulled him up from his small stool. Steb let you, eyes shimmering as you walked hand in hand out of the door.

You dropped the collected facade the second the door closed behind you, gripping his hand tightly as you speed walked down the hall all but dragging him behind you. You heard him snort, and you smiled at the sound.

Your eyes spied exactly what you were looking for. A door slightly thinner than the others and less ornate. Crossing the hall with Steb in tow, though he looked more confused now — frills fluttering almost nervously — you carefully opened the door, listening for voices inside.

Waiting a second, you felt Steb press into your space behind you. His breath skimmed your ear as he listened alongside you and your teeth found your lips again, biting and pulling.

You deemed it clear, and possibly a little ungracefully, yanked Steb into the broom closet behind you and slammed the door shut.

In a flurry, you had his back pushed against the wall with your hands pawing at his front. Yet you refrained a moment longer to look in his eyes. Permission. You wanted permission to unravel in his arms and a sign that said he wouldn’t mind if he did the same.

His eyes seemed to glow a little brighter in the dark, and you could feel the way they traced from your lips to your eyes, to your lips again. Looking up again, this time through his lashes, Steb brushed his nose against yours; an invite.

You took it gladly, meeting his lips with your own. Just a few days without him had left you starving, the fear of having lost him plaguing your thoughts since you left, you drank him in.

The kiss grew less chaste and more desperate. You toyed at his bottom lip, plump and warm under your ministrations, listening to the way he sharply inhaled as you gently bit his lip. Steb’s hands dragged over your waist, needy, but it was a ghost of a feeling — he was refraining from touching you.

Frowning, you pulled away. Steb chased you as you left, lips unwilling to part with yours, eyes opening in confusion over your sudden absence.

He tilted his head with a concerned look. You settled your hands over his, and gently pushed them down to meet the flesh of your waist once before letting off and giving him the choice. His lips made an ‘o’ that turned into a bashful smile.

Steb wiped his hands on his jacket, he’d been fiddling with wounds, without handwashing (which he’d prefer) this was next best. One hand returned to your waist, but the other drifted up to your face, brushing stray hair from your eyes before carding through your hairline. Soft under his touch, you nodded in understanding. 

Steb kissed the corner of your mouth, reveling in the way he could feel your smile, before trailing slow kisses across your jawline as if he was savouring it. You dragged your hands up his sides, draping them across his firm shoulders as he worked towards the junction between your neck and your jaw.

You shivered at the sensation, inhaling sharply when his teeth met a sensitive spot, and sighing when his lips soothed it.

In a shuffle, he’d turned you around — pressing you to the wall instead, caging you in as he wrapped his arm around you tighter. The hand in your hair remained there, but his other hand took a downward path, tracing the curve of your spine like it meant the world to him.

Against your neck, you felt his frills flutter; ticklish and delicious, you clocked how heavy Steb’s breathing had gotten, how his ear twitched when you gasped. Your own hand weaved into the back of his hair, brushing gently against the tiny fins that began to appear where the back of his skull connected to his spine.

“‘Door’s not locked.” You mumbled into his uncharacteristically messy hair.

“Mn.” Too late to stop now, Steb was long lost in you. 

Your smell, familiar and so normal compared to everything around you. Your softness, the way your unbroken skin gave way to his touch. How warm you were, gasping and arching into him. There was no helping himself as he drank you in greedily, moving your shirt’s neckline and peppering your collarbones with nips and kisses. 

You tilted your head, both out of pleasure and a need to give Steb the most area of exposed skin to lavish as you could. 

“Steb…” You called breathily,  the feeling of his tongue dancing over your sensitive skin making your knees buckle. 

There was relief, there was need, and they brought both of you to the floor. Steb not once letting go as he followed you downwards. 

If anything, it meant he could focus on groping you more. Pawing at your chest, while his other hand slid south to squeeze you your hip — having ended up pressed to your side as you were both brought to your knees. His head was spinning, touching you was dizzying every time but right now it was satisfying a desperate sort of hunger.

Taking a deep breath against your skin, he dragged you closer. You whined at the feeling of his bulge pressing against your hip, your cheeks flushing with heat as Steb’s eyes grew even hazier. Your combined panting filled the small closet, you were warmer now but neither of you could tell if the shivering was borne of coldness or bubbling desire. 

Quietly, Steb whined, burying his face back into your neck — letting the frills that decorated his pretty cheekbones rub against your hot skin as a shiver traveled the length of his spine. He couldn’t tell if the pulsing he felt was his racing heartbeat or his throbbing cock, aching and needy.

For a moment, he pulled back. His smouldering eyes met yours and Steb thoroughly enjoyed the ruined look that swam in your lust-widened pupils. The marks and reddened skin were a delicious look on you, and it only served to make his cock feel heavier in his pants.

Steb’s head sunk back into your shoulder, biting and nipping with more forced than before — the way he seemed so intent on devouring you, tasting every inch of you that you offered, made you mewl.

You whimper, but don't resist as Steb moves to settle between your legs, all but haphazardly manhandling you with his needy grasp.

His ears flick at every sound you make. It was utter indulgence the way you hum and sigh and gasp, tantalising in a way that went straight to his cock. You sound so much better if you were even closer if that were even possible with the way he pressed your bodies flush. 

Steb let out a sinful moan, grinding his throbbing cock against your clothed cunt, catching on your warm, pulsing clit. The noise and the way his hips buck into you has your eyes fluttering closed.

You shift, tightening your legs around his slender hips, moaning into his ear as you feel him grind harder against your cunt. He pants down your neck, and you feel the sweat and heat starting to creep into the miniscule gaps between you.

Teeth nip at your earlobe, nibbling so delicately it makes you shiver. They trace your jaw, kiss the nerves that lay under your ear and trail down your soft neck in what feels like worship. You grip Steb tightly, one hand twisting itself into his jacket while the other runs up the length of his spine before drifting towards his ear, petting the ends with a trembling eagerness.

It pays off as he gasps against the junction of you neck; his hips cant into you with a jolt. You can’t help but smile, pleased, as you trail your fingers feather-light across the delicate frills you could reach — watching as they fluttered out of sync at your touch.

He pulls back, flushed, with swollen lips that had felt so hot against your skin and looks at you with such wet eyes. God, he’s pretty when he’s needing it so bad.

Your hand travels in reverse, over his frills and then his ear and tangles in his hair, before you pull him into a deep kiss. It’s hungry and heavy and you swallow each other whole as Steb’s hip move sensually slow.

His hands find their way under your shirt, finally. His fingers skip down your sides like sparking electricity. 

You moan into the kiss, pressing your warm cunt against his leaking cock in a way that makes him shudder and grunt, chasing his tongue. Your cunt throbs as he does much the same, but Steb-like — quieter, more intimate than wanton. You love it, he’s yours alone, you’re the only one who gets to hear him whimpering desperately into their ear.

His thumbs dig into your waist, holding you tighter, and you writhe in your spot at the feeling.

A breathless, loud moan bubbles from Steb’s throat as his face twists in pleasure against your mouth. He pulls back and you're graced with the pretty sight of his head tilted back and his mouth opening in a silent continuation of a moan. His cock ruts into you frantically, you hold him tightly, it feels like you’re reuniting after years — but no, a few days is all it takes to become so starved of you he becomes a sort of need-driven beast.

You can feel your own arousal pool in your underwear even better when he pushes you back into the wall hard, his hips bucking wilding against your cunt. You arch into the wild movement, deep, heady desire pooling in your gut as you angle yourself to catch you clit on Steb’s thrusts.

You pull away from the kiss, panting, and he takes the opportunity to bite down hard on your shoulder. You yelp and it only sends a pang of need to his gut. Your clit is throbbing and his cock aches as the feeling of his length rutting sloppily against your clothes folds.

Steb prying your thighs apart, gripping at your ass and pulling the soft plane of your cunt even closer. His thrusts become sharper, an unraveling held in the jerking motion that begged for just a little more.

He groans and you almost drool at the rare sound. Its muffled, in a familiar way, when he bites down on the bruised flesh of his bottom lip. He’s close. You grin through a whine at the thought, your hands tangling in his hair yet again and giving it a tug.

It pulls Steb’s face away from you enough to enjoy the way his eyes roll back as his hips move in an even more erratic pattern as he cums. The vigour of his thrusts as he rides his high tips you over the edge soon after, making you grip his hair as tight as he was gripping your ass.

Panting, still out of breath, you guide his lips to yours; a kiss strikingly sweet compared to the last god knows how long. You can feel him smile against you and the feeling is contagious. You know you both have each other, the world feels at peace again.

A/N: I figured out how to do the cool text I'm so proud of myself! (if I post this and it breaks I'm gonna lose it!) if u saw me on ao3 first ily

banner cr: @/cafekitsune

[robo-writing]

Hello!! I came from your single mom one shot and I am in love with how you write Logan. Could we have a worst!Logan and wife!reader at a bar and he’s getting hit on relentlessly by a girl who won’t take the hint even though he has stated that he is happily married MULTIPLE TIMES and then reader comes in and rips the girl a new asshole and Logan likes it a little too much and practically drags her home to fuck because of how hot he got from her getting angry and defending him?

How very Beth Dutton of you op! The girl that stands in front of him flashes him a smile—pearly whites, black hair that reaches down to her back, topped off with a low-cut shirt and a pair of jeans that draw the eye of everyone behind the bar—everyone except him that is.

He knows what she wants from him before she can utter a single word, eyes shamelessly moving across his body with not a hint of subtlety. A few years earlier and it might've worked, she's cute enough. A vixen, all doe-eyed and determined, if he was a younger man she might've been his type. But that's all in the past; she's cute, Logan thinks to himself, but she's not his wife. His eyes don't move from where you're standing at the bar, barely giving the girl more than a passing glance as she speaks. "Hey there, mind if I keep you company?" He almost rolls his eyes, but he keeps himself in check in hopes that he can resolve this without any trouble.

"I do unfortunately," he says, flashing the pretty gold band around his finger as he takes another swig of his beer. His fingers play with the ring around his finger, smiling to himself like a love-struck fool when he remembers what it symbolizes. He'd hope that would be the end of it, but unfortunately for him, it is.

The gal's either too drunk or too pig-headed to get the hint, so instead of backing away she leans in real close, too damn close—close enough that it starts to draw your attention from across the bar.

Suddenly your interest isn't in your drink anymore, and before you can walk closer Logan puts his hands up, mouths out lemme handle this, before speaking up again. "Listen, I'm a taken man." He says with a sigh, giving her his full attention. It doesn't deter her in the slightest, a coy smile tugging on the ends of her lips. "That's a shame. Your wife know you're here?" "She does," he nods with a smile, "and she's right over there." He points right to you, where you raise your glass with a thin-lipped smile, sarcasm evident in your body language. He can tell you're in a good mood tonight because you haven't dragged the girl by the hair yet, and he'd rather not ruin the night because she can't take a hint. Surely, she'll leave—except she doesn't. No, she does the exact opposite; she looks back and sees you, laser-focused on the two of them, and with all the audacity in the world, she fucking smiles back. You almost shatter the damn glass in your hand. "Oh, that's alright," she whispers with a wink. "Lemme go talk to her." His eyebrow damn near reaches his hairline, looking at the young girl as if she's truly lost her damn mind. Normally he wouldn't give a damn if someone wants to catch their death, but he takes pity on her for the sole reason that he really doesn't want to get kicked out. "I don't think that's a good idea." "Don't worry," she says, and to put the icing on the cake she puts her hand on his chest, loops her fingers around his dog tags and tugs him down. "I can handle myself." With that one gesture he knows she's just sealed her fate. No, you can't, he wants to say, but she's already making her way across the bar where you stand, looking like hell itself. You know he doesn't have eyes for anyone else but you, but it doesn't matter—someone else touched what's yours, so you have to remind Logan where home is. He's not really sure if he should feel happy that his girl is so protective of him, or sad that he's about to get kicked out of his favorite bar. Logan sighs and puts his beer down, reaching into his pocket and dialing 9-1-1 just as the telltale sound of glass shattering echoes across the bar. It really is a shame—he liked this bar too. The only good thing that comes from tonight—minus the visual of you with blood across your face—is the jaw-dropping sex that ensues the moment the two of you get home, remnants of rage seeping through every touch as you drag him upstairs by the collar. He's more than happy to let you take the lead, content in being your personal scapegoat if it means he gets to see you bounce on his lap like a woman possessed.

Lips intertwined, clothes askew and hair tousled. The taste of iron—a split lip, he remembers—then moans into your mouth when he remembers how you got it. Is it wrong to say you look your most beautiful when you're mad? He doesn't give a shit if it is, especially if his punishment is your pussy gripping him like a vice. He likes you like this—jealous, protective—it's what drew him to you in the first place, how you bite down on what's your and refuse to let go. From the moment you saw him you staked your claim and he was more than happy to follow you for the ride. "You like it when she touched you?" You mutter, lips pressed against his as you ride him for all your worth. Sweat beads off his brow, eyes closed in bliss, he nods his head no but it's not enough—you want to hear him say it. You teeth dig into the skin of his shoulder, a delicious groan erupting from him as you repeat yourself. "Answer me Lo, did you fucking like it?" "No, no—" he gasps, hands wandering across your body. "Wasn't even looking at her, swear to god—" "And who were you looking at?" you ask, and the answer makes your walls flutter across his cock. He lets you hear him loud and clear, giving you a lop-sided grin as he thrusts up into you.

"You, sweetheart, only you." "Louder," you moan, scratching at the expanse of his back, encouraging him. He repeats himself, fucking into your gushing cunt, his words bringing you to a new high with every thrust. His words are long, drawn out, caught in his throat as he struggles between speaking and catching his breath. "Only got eyes for you baby—fuckin' christ—" He speaks long after you've stopped, so engrossed in pleasure you can barely hear anything beyond your ringing ears and the slap of your ass against his thighs. "All yours baby, all fuckin' yours."

[rafelandia]

Hwy can you wtite dad rafe x mom reader after giving birth to their daughter how did the first time (s€x) went or something like that, you can do what you want.

I feel like Rafe is hesitant to initiate once they get cleared by the doctor. He wants to so fucking bad but these last few weeks had been rough and he knows Y/N hasn’t had the best time. He unintentionally makes the drive home awkward and quiet, not wanting to bring it up until she does.

It probably starts out slow and on a whim, maybe she goes to check on Rafe in the middle of the night because he’d been out of bed a bit longer than he normally is. She finds him in the kitchen cleaning a bottle and there’s just something about the way the moonlight is hitting his broad chest and toned arms that reignites the flame deep in her tummy. Rafe would scoop her up and sit her on the cool, marble countertops of their kitchen and lazily plants warm and wet kisses down her neck and chest. He thinks it’s finally happening and right when his fingers navigate their way through her sleep shorts and hover over her sweet heat, they’re interrupted by a piercing cry of their newborn that jolts them out of the passionate state of longing they were in.

The next time, she’s nervous. She knows her body has changed and while she is extremely confident that Rafe could care less because she’d given him the most precious gift in the world, it’s a personal hurdle that she hasn’t quite been able to jump. She eventually agrees after being begged for what felt like the millionth time to let Rafe eat her out. He takes his time, refamiliarizing himself with her pussy and relishing the taste that he’d missed so much. Rafe’s got some stubble now due to late nights and exhaustion, which only enhances the sensation Y/N feels while he massages her clit with his tongue. The build up is intense and it doesn’t take long before her back arches up from the plush mattress they share when Rafe gently pumps one of his fingers inside of her and she’s seeing stars.

The rekindling of their sex life makes them feel young again — they find themselves sneaking away during any free time they have when baby girl is asleep. She’ll sit on his face while he devours her, and she’s leaning back so she can haphazardly stroke his thick cock. She’s getting more comfortable and gaining her confidence back — Rafe knows it won’t be long until she’s begging him to fuck the daylights out of her.

The first time they actually have sex is probably on a whim too — no elaborate gesture like flower petals on the bed and no meticulously planned “massage” that they both knew what would really end up going down. Rafe and Y/N are probably just in the hot tub after enjoying some wine at dinner and what starts as slow, drunken kisses turns into her on top of him and his hands shoved down the back of her swimsuit. He’s rubbing circles on her ass while she’s sucking on his neck, fingers moving dangerously close to her sweet spot. She’s putty in his hands and it’s not long before he’s teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, waiting in agony for her to make the next move. The look in both of their eyes is unmistakably lust-ridden as she slowly sinks down into him. Rafe brushes her hair out of her face with a wet hand and tells her that she’s beautiful and to go as slow as she needs to, though he knows he’s on the brink of cumming just from the way the jets are swaying her body back and forth against him.

It would start agonizingly slow, Y/N having to stretch herself to fit all of him inside. He jumps the gun and bucks his hips on instinct. She tenses up at the sharp movement and he kisses the swell of her exposed breast before muttering a breathy, “Sorry, baby,” against her skin. Only a few minutes of rocking back and forth against him pass before they’re both out of air and panting heavily in each other’s ear. Rafe takes over for the last little bit, bouncing her up and down on his length. He tells her he’s close and is a bit embarrassed by it, but as her core rocks against the trail of hair beneath his navel and he knows she’s not far behind him. He gets it out of her when he starts talking, moaning into her neck about how much he missed fucking her pussy and how good it feels to have her again after what felt like centuries. Her body convulses as she comes undone, making her clench around his cock. That was all he needed to finish, though he makes sure to pull out before cumming into the water. They lay there for a bit, Y/N on top of him while she regains her strength. Swimsuits are abandoned in the hot tub when they head up for a shower and some sleep, knowing the house keepers will find them in the morning. Neither of them really seem to care.

Rafe is deeply unserious so he probably says something stupid like, “We are so back,” and playfully slaps her naked bum as she makes her way up the stairs and into bed. He’s missed his girl and the feeling he gets when he sees her with their daughter makes him want to put another baby in her and do it all over again. He knows it’s ridiculous to want another so soon — it’s more of a newly developed breeding kink than anything. But he’ll wait patiently until the time comes.

Little did he know.

[amywritesthings]

dating on airplane mode. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader Fandom: attack on titan (modern au) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics / gif by pankago

part one. / part three. | masterlist

There’s a pop-up shop about six floors above yours—

A noisy bar quickly becomes background white noise.

—if you don’t mind walking a neighbor home.

And within a breath, the world ceases to exist.

You’re not sure what you were expecting him to say, but it sure as hell isn’t that.

(He gets paid to be a smooth talker, but holy shit, it is catastrophically different when you’re saddled with the reality that you can walk — run — straight to the man inviting you to his home.)

Before you can even think, your voice blurts out of your parted lips:

“I don’t mind.”

Not.

At.

All.

Annie will forgive you.

Hell, you bet everyone crowding that tiny high-top table will forgive you come Monday morning when you’re back in the office.

Half of them won’t even remember that you were there in the first place. It’s a win-win situation.

There is no hesitation in the way you pick up your purse from the countertop and rush towards the front entrance of the bar, your eyes zeroed in on a patient Levi.

It takes some serpentining, but eventually you burst through the doors.

Levi turns towards you, his cell phone still held to his ear. 

There’s a little pink in his cheeks — from the nipping bite of the cold evening weather or his quick-witted pick-up line, you aren’t sure.

“Sorry,” you exhale like you’ve run a marathon in such a short distance. “I should’ve said bye or something before running out here, but I figured—”

The fringe of his hair shakes in his eyes as he holds up a finger to his lips.

Silence.

A stern expression replaces the debonair, and for a moment, you wonder if something is wrong.

But then—

“Yeah, no, I’m calling out for the evening,” he states. “Will you relay, Petra?”

Petra.

You know that woman’s name.

(The hotline receptionist responsible for connecting you to him.)

“Not an emergency, no,” he reassures, brows briefly knitting together. “Just taking some time off.” A pause. “Why are you laughing?” Another pause. “Forward them to Erwin. I trust him not to run my damn clients off. Thanks.”

Oh.

He’s—

“Sorry about that.”

Pocketing his phone, he squares his shoulders and waits expectantly. 

A suspicious crawl of embarrassment runs through your veins, like somehow being spontaneous — selfish — inconvenienced him.

“You had a shift tonight?” you ask belatedly.

“I did,” Levi admits, that buttery-smooth voice curving with a lift of amusement. “And now I don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to mess up your—”

“I have over a hundred hours of time accrued,” he interrupts in the very tone he’s used in your sessions before when you chalk up your existence as being a nuisance to him: stop. “If anything, it’ll get them off of my ass for never using it.”

Your brows raise. “A hundred?”

“Over,” Levi corrects, “so you’re doing me a favor — if you’re still in the mood for tea, of course.”

There’s a pause. A taxi flies by to fill the anticipating void.

I’m well past the mood for tea — is what you would say if you were a psychopath.

Instead you clamp your mouth shut and nod. 

Levi nods with you, seemingly exhaling a breath he may have been holding. As he steps forward, one foot in front of the other.

His attention drops from your face, searching your form in a way that makes you feel exposed.

Wanted.

Then he clears his throat and raises a stiff elbow — a polite gesture.

Take it.

The sheer idea of touching him is so fucking daunting.

Until now, you haven’t done anything but fantasize about him, but he’s flesh and blood and right in front of you — if you’re willing to simply take.

So you do.

Slowly you glide your hand over the crease of his elbow, tucking it against his side until your bodies are looped. The sheer cut of his bicep in his 90-degree angle threatens to make you lose your composure.

Jesus, it’s so solid.

(It’ll be a miracle if you even make it back to his apartment in one piece, let alone your own after everything is said and done.)

He walks. You follow until you match his pace.

For most of the journey, the two of you step in silent tandem. 

While he stares ahead, stopping you both whenever you reach a crosswalk, you can’t help but look over his profile. His cheekbones are even higher than you imagined, chiseled from the Gods, with dark hair that fades in an undercut at the nape of his neck.

Levi is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life, and you live in a pretty damn busy city, so you’ve seen a lot of men.

“Stairs or elevator?” he asks once he breaks the rhythm of your feet to move two paces ahead, grabbing the door with his fist. He detaches from you to pull open the door, offering you to walk through first. 

You’re so giddy over the chivalry you nearly miss the question. 

“Wait, what?”

“Stairs.” He nods his head, the stark black fringe waving with it. “Or elevator.”

“You live on the sixteenth floor.” 

“Yeah.”

“Wait — Levi, do you walk the fucking stairs?”

Levi blinks like he has to remember that isn’t normal before clearing his throat.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh my god.”

“I didn’t want to get complacent after losing my job at the gym,” he states, changing his trajectory as he heads for the elevator instead.

You’re grateful that, for once, you’re not trying to act brave — or stupid.

Your big mouth doesn’t try to say that sixteen flights of stairs is totally fine just to impress him.

(This man has already heard what you sound like when you orgasm on more than one occasion. In some twisted way, the two of you are way past the surface stages of courting, but it doesn’t make this any less daunting.)

Once more he tracks ahead to hold the elevator door for you. Waiting until you’re comfortably inside, he presses the grayed ‘16’ button on the panel. It illuminates in an outdated hazy yellow — forcing your attention to the grayed ‘10’ just below it.

Six fucking floors, all this time.

Once the doors close, Levi Ackerman leans his back against the metal wall, his arms crossed and forearms barred from his rolled-up sleeves. 

You stay put in the dead center of the lift, watching him stare at the elevator panel until he lifts his chin to look back at you.

Neither of you look away.

The prolonged eye contact feels like an acknowledgement of a solved mystery between two people.

He knows you better than most people. You’d wager you may know him just as well.

“You okay?” he asks, softer this time. 

The intensity of his gaze doesn’t waver.

You find yourself nodding before you realize it. 

“Are you?”

Levi takes a moment to drop his attention an indiscernible amount, mulling over your question, before meeting your eyes once again.

“Yeah. Better than.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Nothing can stop the smile growing on your face, not even by pressing your lips together.

“Never told me your preference,” he states casually, shaking some of his black fringe from his eyes. “In tea, I mean.”

“I’m happy to have whatever you have,” you promise. “I’m not picky.”

“You can be,” he promises right back. “Trust me, I have every type of tea you could think of.”

“Hoarding?”

“Hopelessly addicted, more like.”

The elevator pauses and gives way to the sixteenth floor’s hallway. When the door opens, Levi unfurls his arms to hold his hand out for you to take — only to seem to think better of it and fish for his keys instead as he takes the lead.

Instinctually your hand flexes at the ready to accept, but it falls limp to your side with the decision to simply follow behind.

(Yeah — you’re not used to the proximity yet, either.)

After passing a few apartments, Levi pauses at a door identical to yours and fiddles with the lock until it gives. 

He pushes it open, gesturing for you to walk in first.

A part of you wants to hesitate.

The rest of you refuses.

His apartment is clean to a degree you’ve never seen before — for a person who had no idea he was going to end up coming home with a stranger, you’re impressed by the lack of clothes lying about or…

Really anything.

Everything appears pristine. 

Taken care of.

So meticulously in order that you quickly toe each shoe off before stepping inside to leave the dirt and grime of the city at his doorstep. 

Levi follows suit, removing his shoes and closing the door behind him.

As you stand awkwardly by the door, he shuffles around you to the kitchenette mirroring yours a few apartments below. 

He reaches up into the cupboards to take out two mugs, preparing a kettle on the stove.

“Make yourself at home,” he offers, glancing over his shoulder towards you.

Right.

At home.

At home in the apartment where you got your shit verbally rocked for a week straight.

Afraid of offending him, you begin a slow mosey around the perimeter.

To the right is a cluster of framed photographs hanging on a wall — one portrays a tall, handsome blonde wearing dog tags around his neck and an all-smiles brunette with glasses cinching a less-than-enthused Levi between them. 

The proximity suggests they could be his friends, though the keys each person holds in the photo makes you realize a second later: 

In the background is a boxing ring, barely unpacked.

The co-owners of the old gym, maybe?

Considering the one person has dog tags, you can only assume they all met in the army and found themselves in the same city after deployment.

Another framed photograph has Levi in a similar annoyed disposition, arms crossed and unenthusiastic in contrast to the surrounding smiling young adults. They crowd him in various poses of muscle flexing, proudly sporting Survey Gym tees.

So his gym was called Survey Gym, huh?

The name rings a bell, if only in passing.

The young faces surrounding him must have been his trainees. His fighters.

(The people he held dear before the gym went under and he had to find a new path.)

“Trying to find dirt on me already?”

His voice makes you jump out of your damn skin.

“Oh — shit, sorry,” you sputter, stepping away from the wall. “I was just—”

“That was a joke,” he interrupts, the corner of his lip twitching. 

Levi takes the initiative to walk over to you with both mugs in hand, steaming from freshly brewed tea.

He holds out a no-frills emerald mug to you, and the scent finally catches your nose:

Lavender.

“Those are my friends, if you’re too polite to ask.”

“I was relying on context clues,” you confess, mindful of the heat when taking the mug from his hand. You sip until a familiar warmth spreads through your body. “Co-owners?”

“Used to be,” he answers after his own gulp. His free hand gestures to the photo with two people. “Hange’s probably clinically insane and Erwin’s not much better.”

“The guy you mentioned over the phone to Petra?”

Levi nods, taking another long sip of his tea. You follow suit, enjoying the taste.

“Same guy who got me into the hotline, yeah.” He switches focus to the other photo. “Some of my fighters. They’re busy training with other coaches and shit now.”

“Would you ever go back to training fighters if you could?”

“Probably,” Levi replies, “but I’m not exactly the easiest to work with. If I’m training anyone, it’s alongside Erwin. No exceptions.”

Silence settles between your bodies.

As you continue to stand there, allowing the aroma of the tea to calm your senses, you know — the longer you stand here, the more what ifs begin to plague your mind.

What if you met his friends, became a part of his life?

What if you don’t measure up to his expectations?

What if you just said what was on your mind without holding back — would it scare him?

When you feel your mug suddenly grow light, your instinct is to clench your hand around the ceramic handle.

However, you come back down to Earth to realize the person maneuvering the cup is Levi, who has in turn moved closer to you —

So close you can smell the faint scent of a woody, musky cologne.

Angled towards your body, he pauses in removing the mug from your hands when he feels your muscles tense. “You’re disappearing on me.”

So he noticed, even in person.

Say it.

Say it, idiot.

“Just…” 

Trailing off, you find yourself trusting him; letting go of the mug freely so that he can take it back. Levi sets both mugs down on a slender table situated just under the photographs, placing them on swirling marble coasters.

“Just?” he repeats, a mere murmur this time.

“This doesn’t feel real yet,” you confess. “Being here with you. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I wanted this but in my own apartment. Hell, it feels like this is my apartment because we have the same fucking layout — but yours is so much cleaner, I won’t even lie to you.”

It brings you both to laugh under your breath, octaves intertwining. 

When he shakes his head, you find yourself gravitating to his orbit.

“Doubt it’s bad.”

“Oh, it’s a pigsty compared to this place,” you nervously giggle, moving even closer. “Like, I should go home to clean it – but later.”

“Definitely later.”

“Like tomorrow kind of later," you accidentally joke.

“Agreed.”

Oh.

Before the realization hits you, your breath tickles his cheek. Levi is practically toe-to-toe and warm, so very warm, to the degree of dizzying every reservation you had.

You don’t have the confidence to stare anywhere but his lips, parted with little puffs mirroring yours.

“And what is that you want now?” he adds quietly — a question that shoots straight to your core, twisting it with an intense desire that it nearly takes your breath away.

You know.

And if you were a gambling woman, then you suspect that he knows, too.

Three words exit your mouth, straight from your very soul:

“To be selfish.”

It’s all it takes.

As if released from a leash holding you both to your leads, you meet Levi in a passionate, suffocating kiss. 

His hands reach for your face the same time you reach for his, mangling your limbs in a race to touch, to hold — to feel.

Manners are left behind as you press your lips to his, kissing him like you’ll die without. Your own hands bury themselves in the softness of his hair, dragging through the freshly-buzzed undercut and earning yourself a groan.

Shit.

He sounds even better in person.

“Levi���”

You part your lips with a shuddered breath when his tongue leisurely slides across it. All coherent thought ceases to exist.

It’s just him pushing closer — guiding you backwards — until your back hits something solid.

A surprised grunt melts into another groan as he moves one hand to cradle your head, mindful that the back of your skull doesn’t slam against the wall.

Levi tastes like the pineapple seltzer you abandoned back at the bar.

You want this.

Him.

Never in your wildest dreams have you considered sleeping over a man’s apartment before the third date, let alone the first, yet the heat of him — the taste of him — opens brand-new possibilities that mostly focus on the rest of that body underneath his gray long-sleeved shirt.

You're already grabbing the hem of your shirt. The fabric feels too tight against your blazing skin.

Off.

Everything needs to be off.

“Hey,” he exhales in-between kisses, catching your lower lip in his teeth to tug at it. Instantly you whine into his mouth, an involuntary (and fucking embarrassing) noise. “Hey—”

If he asks, you’ll say yes. 

To hell with the unwritten rules.

You’re consenting adults, it’s clear you both want this, and when push comes to shove —

A hand shoots out, covering yours before your shirt can lift over your bra.

“Baby—”

All motor functions effectively freeze when you realize Levi is pulling away, forcefully creating some distance between your panting bodies.

“Baby, listen to me.”

As if in pain, he grits his teeth and pulls away from the kiss, eyes damn near black. 

You’re left watching, stunned and disheveled and painfully aroused.

Worries go from nonexistent to overdrive in a matter of seconds.

“What’s wrong?” you quietly ask despite your budding panic. “Fuck. Sorry, did I do something wro—”

“No. Shit, are you kidding?”

Those stormy eyes catch yours, and you feel another sharp wave of desire flow through your body.

“You’re perfect,” Levi continues, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re fucking perfect, it’s just—”

Just.

One word acts like a splash of cold water.

You’re perfect, but something is imperfect about this. 

You’re perfect, but he still wants to stop.

Levi scowls, voice rough. “Oi. I can hear you thinking a mile a minute.”

Heat rises to your face. “Me?”

“Yeah, you — so don’t.”

For good measure of reassurance, Levi leans back in to gently peck your lips. It’s less heated but by no means less passionate.

You belatedly press your lips back to his before watching him pull away. 

His lips are slick with saliva and exertion. 

There’s a deeper flush on his face that wasn’t there earlier.

“It’s just that I don’t want to rush this,” he states as calmly and evenly as he can.

Objectively, you get it.

Objectively, Levi is making a whole lot of sense. Rushing into things could end up with a lot of heartbreak and confusion. Taking it slow hurts way less than speedrunning the firsts of a new dating-situation-whatever this is.

Subjectively, you’ve heard him moan in your actual face and you would very much like to hear it again and again until it’s burned into the back of your brain like a core memory.

“And I’m not trying to say that we can’t — trust me, I want to — but you’re not some one-night stand to me in any capacity of the damn phrase.”

Unable to help yourself, you nervously roll your eyes and shrug a shoulder. 

“Technically we’re kind of way past one night stands considering we’ve had, like, six.”

A wicked smirk flickers across his face. 

“Yeah, no fucking kidding — but that isn’t what I mean.”

Taking yet another slow, even inhale, the dark-haired man runs his thumb affectionately over your cheek.

“Let me do right by you. By this. Even if it’s corny as shit, I’ll try it.”

Pausing, he drops the hand on your face to gently take your hand.

“I want to take you out on a date. A nice date. Something proper — starting with finishing our tea, then walking you home so I know you got to your apartment safe.”

“I’m six floors away, Levi,” you tease.

“I’ll settle on taking the elevator with you,” he retorts, teasing right back. "Still: let me prove I can be good to you. That I can earn you."

He pauses, jaw clenched.

"Earn us."

Reluctantly you both detach, the taste shared on your lips. He wastes no time to take your hand in his, squeezing it for emphasis, before giving you back your cup of tea.

Although the room is charged with tension, you both behave.

Sipping tea.

Holding hands.

Staring.

As much as you want to act on your desires, you’re flattered he’s so adamant to take this slow.

It only grounds this fantasy further into the woven fabric of reality — of what’s to come in your life.

Levi is good on his word: he walks you to the elevator, through the corridor and to your apartment.

And when you’ve managed to wriggle your keys into the door, he gently calls your name.

Just as you turn, he places that warm hand on your cheek and presses his lips back to yours.

This time it’s chaste, sweet — lingering.

They brush yours methodically, as if committing your body to memory, before reluctantly pulling away.

“Goodnight, formerly Scarlet,” he states under his breath for only you to hear.

“Goodnight, still Levi,” you return, mirroring his intimacy in tone.

Satisfied, he kisses you one final time before pulling away. 

You watch as he walks backwards towards the stairwell of the apartment complex, a certain glow about him as he asks:

“Will I see you at the gym in the morning?”

As if you’d ever skip a leg day now.

.

Author's Note:

First of all, much love and appreciation for your patience as I finally found the mental capacity to write this chapter. Naturally it was easier to write in the summer, and fall has been A Time (TM). I have a lot of big life events coming up in the next few weeks, but I will keep the dash posted on when they should expect part three.

Thank you for any likes, replies, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[pucksandpower]

Sweet Nothings

Day 18 → Praise Kink 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The noise of the bar hums all around you — chatter and laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep thump of music. It’s warm in here, that hazy warmth that comes from a few too many drinks, and Charles — sitting right next to you — has the same glow.

“You were something else today.” Your voice spills out, laced with a bit of a slur but heavy with excitement.

You lean in closer, draping an arm around Charles’ shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His skin is warm under your touch, even through his shirt, and he gives you that boyish grin, all dimples and teeth, the one that usually makes the fans scream. Now, though, it’s just you two, and you can’t help but feel smug about it.

“Come on,” he says, laughing softly, “it’s not all me. You … your work-” He gestures vaguely with the hand that isn’t clutching his beer bottle. “You know how much you help, right?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious. That win today — it was all you, Charlie. All you.”

He shifts slightly under your arm, but you don’t move. His shoulders are tense, and it doesn’t register right away because you’re too caught up in the rush of adrenaline from the race, the alcohol, the celebration, everything.

“You were brilliant,” you continue, turning a bit so you’re nearly face-to-face now. Your words come in a rush, like you’re trying to get them all out before the buzz fades. “The way you handled that last corner? God, you were on fire. No one else could’ve done it like that.”

Charles blinks, his smile faltering for a second. His eyes — usually sharp, alert — start to glaze over as you go on.

“Seriously, you’re driving like you’re on another level right now,” you push, squeezing his shoulder gently. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s like — like you just know what the car needs, before anyone else does. And the overtakes, Charlie, the overtakes!” You laugh, a bit too loudly, maybe, but who cares? You’re celebrating. “I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet.

You tilt your head, frowning a little. His jaw is clenched, his breath a little too fast, and you can feel him trembling under your arm. “Charlie?”

His eyes, wide and almost glassy, flicker down for just a second before they snap back to yours. “I-” He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first. His face flushes deeper, his neck and cheeks bright red now.

“Hey, what’s wrong ?” You ask, voice softening as you lean in closer. He’s not acting like himself, and it throws you. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head, biting his lip, but he doesn’t say anything. His gaze drops again, and it’s only then that you realize something’s off. Really off. You follow his line of sight downwards, and your breath catches when you see it.

The front of his pants is dark, a wet patch spreading, and for a second, you’re confused — until the realization hits you like a sledgehammer.

“Charlie …” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect, and you feel your throat tighten. His whole body is trembling now, and he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s staring straight ahead, as if he’s trying to pretend this isn’t happening.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, barely audible over the noise of the bar. His voice cracks, and there’s something so raw, so vulnerable about it that it makes your chest ache.

You blink, trying to process everything, trying to understand how it all happened. How you went from praising him for his race to this. You weren’t even touching him like that. You were just — talking.

And now, you realize, the praise alone had pushed him over the edge.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe slowly. He’s clearly not in any state to be left alone, and you have no idea how to handle this. But you know you can’t just — leave him like this.

“Charlie,” you say softly, pulling your arm away from his shoulders. He flinches at the movement, and you wince. “Hey, look at me.”

He doesn’t.

“Charlie,” you say again, firmer this time, and finally, his eyes meet yours. They’re wide, panicked, and his cheeks are still flushed. He looks so young, so … lost. It twists something inside you.

“Let’s get you out of here, okay ?” You say, keeping your voice gentle. “You shouldn’t be here right now.”

He swallows, his throat tightening, and nods stiffly.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to handle this delicately, but you know the first thing you need to do is get him away from all these people, away from the noise and the chaos. You glance around, making sure no one’s really paying attention to either of you. Thankfully, they’re all too wrapped up in their own conversations, their own drinks.

“Do you … do you want to go back to your room ?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady. You have to play this carefully — he’s already so on edge.

He nods again, quicker this time, still looking like he’s about to come undone at any moment.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Can you tell me your room number?”

He hesitates, his lips parting but no sound coming out at first. Then, after a beat, he stammers, “Twelve … twelve-fourteen.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear it, and you nod quickly.

“Twelve-fourteen. Got it.” You stand up slowly, trying to act like everything’s fine, trying to keep things as normal as possible. “Come on, let’s get you there.”

Charles follows your lead, getting to his feet, but he’s unsteady, his movements stiff, almost robotic. You keep close to him, one hand lightly on his arm, just in case he stumbles.

The walk to the hotel is quiet — well, quiet between the two of you. The city’s alive, buzzing with nightlife, but all you can focus on is Charles. He’s still trembling, still flushed, and you can tell he’s mortified. Every now and then, you glance at him, but he keeps his eyes forward, his jaw tight.

When you finally reach the hotel lobby, it’s quiet, thankfully. You guide him to the elevators, and as soon as the doors close behind you, you feel the tension between you both shift. It’s heavy, pressing, but you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment, confusion, or something else entirely.

“Charlie …” you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp inhale, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse, and it makes your chest tighten. “Just … don’t.”

You bite your lip, nodding silently. The last thing he needs is for you to make him feel worse. The elevator dings, and you both step out, heading down the hallway to his room in silence.

When you reach his door, he fumbles with his key card for a moment, his hands shaking so badly he can barely get it into the slot. You reach out gently, taking it from him, and slide it into the door for him. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Charles steps inside, pausing in the doorway, as if he’s unsure of what to do next. He turns to you, his eyes still wide, still glassy, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring at each other.

“I’ll … I’ll make sure you’re okay,” you say quietly, stepping in after him. “Just for a bit, alright?”

He doesn’t respond. Just nods, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion, embarrassment, and something else you can’t quite place.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dim light of Charles’ hotel room. The air is thick with tension, the kind that clings to your skin and weighs down every breath. Charles is standing there, hands awkwardly by his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He still hasn’t said much, and you can see the embarrassment practically radiating off him.

You take a step forward, your voice soft but steady. “Let’s sit down, yeah?” You nod toward the couch on the far side of the room, hoping the invitation will put him at ease.

Charles hesitates for a moment, but then he walks over, his steps slow, almost hesitant. He sits at one end of the couch, keeping as much space between you as possible. His hands fidget in his lap, and his eyes are fixed on some spot on the carpet, anywhere but on you.

You follow him, sitting at the other end, leaving a careful distance between the two of you. Silence stretches for a beat too long, the kind of silence that fills with everything unspoken. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, how his chest rises and falls a little too fast, like he’s still trying to catch his breath.

“Hey,” you begin gently, folding one leg under you as you turn to face him more fully. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

His jaw tightens at that, and he lets out a sharp breath through his nose. Still, he doesn’t look at you. “You don’t … understand,” he mutters, the words barely audible.

You scoot a little closer, not close enough to crowd him, but enough that he can feel your presence more. “I do understand,” you counter softly. “You think I don’t, but … it’s not a big deal. It’s just-”

“It is a big deal,” he snaps suddenly, his voice raw, and it surprises you. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like he’s trying to pull himself together. “This — it doesn’t happen to normal people, alright?”

You blink at him, startled by the edge in his voice, but you stay calm. He’s unraveling, and the last thing you want is to make him feel worse. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you say softly, leaning forward just a little. “It doesn’t make you any less, you know that, right?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line. His hands are shaking slightly, clenched into fists on his lap. “You don’t know the half of it,” he mutters, his voice barely a whisper.

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, quieter still, “This … it’s not the first time.”

Your brow furrows at that. You weren’t expecting that. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes in a slow, shaky breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are glassy again, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability swirling in them. He swallows, his throat working hard, and then he says, “It happens. Sometimes. During races.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “During races?” You repeat, confused.

He nods, his gaze flickering away from yours again. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “When you … when you talk to me over the radio,” he admits, his voice small. “When you … praise me.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence, your brain working overtime to make sense of what he’s telling you. He’s not just talking about tonight. He’s talking about during races — while he’s driving, while you’re guiding him through strategy and telling him he’s doing a good job.

It hits you all at once, and your chest tightens with a strange, overwhelming mix of emotions. You feel a pang of something — affection, maybe — curling in your stomach as you look at him, sitting there on the couch, all closed off and ashamed.

“Oh, Charlie …” Your voice is soft, almost a coo, and you can’t help it. You reach out before you even realize what you’re doing, your hand resting gently on his knee. “My perfect Charlie …”

He flinches at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, panic still simmering just beneath the surface, but there’s something else there too — something softer, something that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed,” you tell him, your thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of his jeans. “You’re … you’re perfect, you know that?”

He shakes his head again, his throat working hard as he swallows. “I’m not.”

“You are,” you insist, scooting a little closer. “You’re so perfect. You’re so good at what you do, Charlie. Every time you’re out there, I’m in awe of you. And if this happens because of me — because of my praise — then I don’t mind. At all.”

His breath catches at your words, and he finally looks at you again, his eyes wide and full of something you can’t quite name.

You can’t help yourself. You reach out further, gently guiding him to lie back against the couch. He resists at first, just for a second, but then he gives in, too exhausted to fight you, too tired to keep up the pretense that he’s okay.

“Come here,” you murmur softly, coaxing him until his head is resting in your lap. You stroke a hand through his hair, smoothing the dark strands away from his forehead, and you feel him relax just a little under your touch.

“Shh,” you whisper, your fingers moving gently through his hair, petting him like you would a skittish animal. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He closes his eyes, his breathing still uneven, but he’s calming down, slowly but surely. His hands, still resting on his stomach, twitch slightly, but you can feel the tension leaving his body bit by bit as you continue to soothe him.

“You’re so good, Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “So, so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat at that, something between a whimper and a sigh, and you can’t help but smile softly.

“You’re always so focused out there,” you continue, your voice gentle as you praise him. “So calm, so in control. You handle everything so well, even when things get tough. I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

Charles shivers under your touch, his body curling slightly into itself as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. But he doesn’t move away from you. If anything, he seems to lean into your touch more.

“I’m always so impressed by you,” you say, your fingers trailing down the side of his face now, brushing lightly over his jaw. “Every time you drive, you amaze me. And I know you think it’s all just — luck, or timing, or whatever, but it’s not. It’s you. You’re so talented. So brilliant.”

He lets out another soft sound, this time more of a sigh, and you can feel the tension leaving his body completely now. His breathing evens out, his eyes fluttering closed as you continue to stroke his hair, your other hand tracing light, soothing patterns on his arm.

“You’re perfect, Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now. “Just perfect.”

He doesn’t respond, but you don’t need him to. You can feel the way his body has relaxed, the way his breathing has slowed. You keep petting his hair, your touch soft and careful, and before long, you realize he’s fallen asleep.

You sit there for a while, your fingers still combing through his hair, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps. His face is peaceful now, all the tension and embarrassment gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

Your heart swells with something warm and tender as you look down at him. This is a side of Charles that not many people get to see — the side that’s vulnerable, that’s unsure of himself, that needs comfort and reassurance just as much as anyone else.

You keep stroking his hair, even though he’s asleep, your movements slow and gentle. The room is quiet now, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of Charles’ breathing.

Eventually, you lean back against the couch, careful not to jostle him too much, and close your eyes. You’re not sure how long you sit there, with Charles’ head resting in your lap, but you don’t mind. You’re not in any rush.

You’ll stay as long as he needs you to.

***

After that night in the hotel room, everything shifts between you and Charles. What had once been professional, with the occasional friendly flirtation or shared joke, turns into something more — something neither of you fully acknowledges but both feel, constantly simmering just below the surface.

Charles no longer hides from you, no longer keeps his walls up. He starts to let you in, piece by piece, letting you see the parts of him that he keeps guarded from the rest of the world — the parts of him that are vulnerable, needy.

It’s subtle at first: the way he’ll lean into you a little more when you’re sitting together, the way his hand will linger on yours for just a second longer than necessary. Then, there are the nights he starts inviting you over to his apartment, no longer under the guise of needing help with something or work. He just wants you there.

It happens naturally — one night turns into two, then three, until you’re staying over more often than not. His place starts to feel like home, and you fall into a routine with him that feels both new and familiar, like something you’ve both been waiting for but didn’t know how to ask for.

You’ve gotten used to how he melts under your touch, how he craves your praise in a way that makes your heart ache with something tender and protective. He’s always been private, always been in control, but with you, he lets go. He trusts you in a way that makes you want to take care of him, to give him everything he needs.

One night, the two of you are curled up in his bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. It’s quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that comes with being completely comfortable with someone. You’re lying on your side, facing each other, your bodies close but not quite touching. His arm is draped loosely over your waist, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip.

You watch him for a moment, taking in the relaxed lines of his face, the way his eyelids are heavy with sleep but he’s still fighting to stay awake. He looks so at peace, so open, and the sight makes your chest swell with warmth.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want to try something.”

Charles blinks, his eyes focusing on you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach, but you press on. “I just … I want to see something. Can I?”

His brow furrows slightly, but there’s no hesitation when he nods. “Yeah, of course.”

You smile, your heart pounding a little faster now. You shift slightly, sitting up just enough to pull the duvet down from where it’s wrapped around both of you. The cool air hits your skin, but you barely notice. Your focus is entirely on him, on the way his eyes widen slightly as he watches you.

“Relax,” you whisper, your hand finding its way to his chest, palm resting lightly over his heart. You can feel the steady thump beneath your fingers, but there’s something else there too — anticipation. “I just want to talk to you.”

Charles swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, but he doesn’t say anything. His breathing is a little uneven now, and you can see the way his muscles tense slightly, like he’s bracing himself for whatever’s coming next.

You lean down, close enough that your lips brush the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “You’ve been so good today, Charlie.”

His breath hitches immediately, and you smile to yourself, watching the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now. Your hand slides down from his chest, grazing lightly over his stomach, and you feel him tremble under your touch.

“You’re always so good, though,” you continue, your voice soft and low, dripping with praise. “So focused. So controlled. The way you drove this weekend? God, you were perfect.”

Charles lets out a soft, shaky exhale, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him, knuckles white. His eyes flutter shut, and you can see the way his whole body is reacting to your words — the way he’s barely holding himself together.

“You make everything look so easy,” you murmur, your hand continuing its slow, deliberate path down his body, never quite touching him where you know he needs it most. “But I know it’s not. I know how hard you work. How much you push yourself.”

His hips twitch slightly at that, and you can feel the tension building in him, the way he’s teetering on the edge already, just from your voice.

“You’re incredible, Charlie,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his jaw now. “No one else can do what you do. No one else is as good as you.”

A soft whimper escapes his throat, and you glance down, seeing the way he’s already hard, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to touch him, to give him what he so clearly needs.

But you don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you keep talking, keep pouring praise into his ear, watching how every word affects him, how it drives him closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so perfect,” you breathe, your hand skimming over his hip now, so close but still not quite touching him. “Do you know that? Do you know how perfect you are?”

Charles’ head tips back against the pillow, his lips parted, eyes squeezed shut. “P-please …” he whispers, his voice broken, desperate.

You smile softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck. “Please what, Charlie?”

He shudders beneath you, his hips lifting slightly off the bed as he tries to get some kind of relief, but you’re still holding back, still teasing him with nothing but your words and the lightest of touches.

“Please,” he breathes again, his voice trembling. “I can’t …”

“Shh,” you coo softly, finally letting your hand drift lower, brushing lightly over the waistband of his boxers. “You don’t have to do anything, Charlie. Just let me talk to you.”

He whimpers again, his whole body trembling now, and you know he’s close. So close. You can see it in the way his chest is heaving, the way his hands are gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” you whisper, pressing another kiss to his jaw, then his neck. “So good for me. Always so good.”

And then, just like that, you see him break.

His whole body goes tense for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, and then he’s gone, spilling untouched into his boxers with nothing but your words pushing him over the edge. His hips jerk against the sheets, and he lets out a low, broken moan, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

You watch him, your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of awe and affection swirling inside you. You’ve never seen anything hotter than this — Charles completely undone, trembling beneath you, just from your praise.

It takes a few moments for him to come down, his breathing slowly returning to normal, but even then, he’s still trembling, still so sensitive. You run your fingers through his hair, soothing him, whispering soft praises into his ear.

“You did so well, Charlie,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “So perfect. You’re always so perfect.”

He lets out a soft, exhausted sigh, his body finally relaxing completely as he melts into the bed, his head resting on your pillow. His eyes flutter open after a moment, and he looks up at you with a dazed, almost disbelieving expression.

You smile down at him, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “You okay?”

He nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, still catching his breath. “I … I don’t know how you do that.”

You laugh softly, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I just know you, Charlie.”

He smiles at that, a soft, tired smile, and his hand reaches up to take yours, squeezing it gently. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his eyes half-closed, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

You shake your head, leaning down to press your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. “You deserve everything,” you whisper against his mouth. “Everything.”

He sighs contentedly, his body relaxing further into the bed, and you can see the way sleep is already tugging at the edges of his consciousness.

“Get some rest,” you murmur, pulling the duvet back up over both of you, tucking him in. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles nods, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally lets himself drift off, a soft, peaceful smile on his lips.

You watch him for a moment, your heart full, and then you settle in beside him, pulling him close, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll be there to guide him through it. Just like always.