#Hold him there hold him there both sides all the ways around

[marks-bby]

⠀⠀⠀ANNOYING "FWB"

⠀⠀⠀made for mohawk!mark but can be anymark

"cmon, mark. i have work!" — you groan, your body being bent over you bathroom counter. you wanted to fuck him once and now he won’t stop coming back, saying he’s “pussy hypnotized”.

“you don’t wanna give me any today?” — he chuckles, shedding his suit off. when he should be out terrorizing chicago, he’s here; blowing your back out.

he slides his hand down the valley of your back, his calloused hand a huge contrast to your soft, buttery-like skin. “you didn’t miss me?” — he feigns a hurt expression. “you’re batshit crazy. why would i miss you?” — you scoff, looking at him through the mirror.

that was true. the mental asylum wasn’t an option for him. knowing him, he’d spend his time there terrorizing the nurses for a fun time passing. “you love this batshit crazy guy. you keep letting me in after hours.” he pulls down your pants, still blabbering about how much you love and need him.

he wasn’t far off. you loved the sex. not him. in all honesty, you don’t know what exactly about him makes you keep coming back. he’s a maniac. he kills people. for all you now, one bad fuck and you’ll find yourself in a body bag.

“you love the way i make you squirm on my ton — ” — you interrupt him. “mark, enough! just get it over with already!” — you were getting frustrated and angsty, barring your bare backside being presented in front of him and him not taking any action.

he smiles wickedly, “if you say so.” he shrugs, his suit and boxers pooling around his ankles. he drags his firey tip up and down your soppy slit, teasing you. he chuckles, “come on, beg for me.” he grins devilishly at your hips trying to connect with his. he defies you, pushing your hips away.

“fuck. you.” — you seethe. “there she is.” — he snickers before easily slipping into you with how wet you were. “forgot how wet she gets.” — sshlop, sshlop.

the noises the two of you were lewd, disgusting enough that it made you water even more. he takes a fist of your hair, pulling you back and forming your spine into a ‘U’. “look at us. we’re perfect.” — he forces you to look at the scene before you, your body rocking back with every impact coming from his hips.

“look at herrrr.” — he smiles at the slight of his glistening c*ck. “fuck, you’re gorgeous.” — he leans backwards, his pace quickening. your ass ripples at the impact of his hips.

“come on, baby. remember when you squirted on me last time? can you do it again?” — he coos.

you remember that embarrassing moment. his face was stuffed between your legs, lapping at you live a starved animal. he didn’t give you any breaks, repeating that this is for him and not you.

you laugh breathlessly. “you think your d!ck can do that?” — your emasculating words flicked a switched. his hips came to a halt. with out another word, his hand leaves your hair and both settle on either side of your hips, holding you in place. you couldn’t escape now. you brought this on yourself.

“you wanna bet?”

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ HOW HE FUCKS YOU AFTER WINNING A MATCH

cw. fratboy isagi, smut mdni, rough sex, praise

when isagi wins a football game, you’re always in for a real treat. he just fucks you so, so good, like he hasn’t before.

and don’t get me wrong, isagi is always good in bed. he’s always so attentive and sharp when it comes to you, making sure to coax out those pretty moans and whimpers of yours, whispering all the things you want to hear whilst going at the pace he’s learnt that you love.

and there’s never been a time where he hasn’t made you cum. he knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows exactly what gets you off and what gets that building pleasure going until he sees your back arch and your toes curl, the moans from your mouth getting whinier when you call out his name.

but isagi is safe. for the most part it’s exactly what you want. you don’t really want constant sex that’s leaving you insanely sore or with bruised skin, having people question why you’re walking funny. isagi makes love most of the time. most.

after winning a match it’s like all that goes out of the window, the adrenaline and pure euphoria of being crowned as a winner just brings out another side of isagi, especially when he has his stunning girlfriend clapping and cheering for him on the bleachers.

you think it’s definitely got something to do with his ego or this alpha male mentality most college boys have. but when he has you face down ass up, pounding into your poor, abused pussy and bottoming out completely inside you as his tip kisses your cervix with your gummy walls fluttering around his shaft, those thoughts you once had become completely irrelevant, his name a moaning mess on your lips.

and that’s what makes isagi worse. hearing you moan out his name like a beautiful prayer just sends him over the edge, fucking you even harder and even faster whilst chasing both your highs before edging them, and repeating.

the pleasure is so overwhelming mixed with your body’s constant need to release that knotting pleasure building again and again in your stomach, isagi’s rough pounding thrusts driving you over the edge.

so you’ll beg him to let you cum, tears streaming down your face as you look back at him and for a moment he almost feels bad.

“i’ll let you cum soon, baby. just hold out for me, yeah? you can do that, can’t you?”, he’ll ask as you give him a weak nod, “that’s my girl, y’so good for me.”

and in the moment that’s all you can do; be good for him and do as he says until he gives you permission to cum, which is one of the best of your life.

with the constant denial, the build up to your orgasm is so intense that when it finally hits, it’s way too much. your eyes spill with tears of pleasure and your thighs shake beneath you, causing you to collapse as you feel pure euphoria shoot through your veins.

and the way you moan out isagi’s name sends him over the edge, his own orgasm following behind and just as intense as yours, still sloppily fucking your overstimulated pussy and ultimately releasing his load into you.

he always did that after sex like this. you’re not really sure why, but you didn’t complain much.

after all, isagi was still your sweet, caring boyfriend. so, he’ll always clean you up and give you the most precious aftercare. especially after fucking you like that.

safe to say you’ll be having a lazy morning in bed tomorrow.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Little big spoon

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: Lando is your little spoon.

⸻

Lando has never been the little spoon.

It’s not that he’s against it—he’s just always been the one pulling you close, the one wrapping you up in his arms after a long day. He likes it that way. It makes him feel like he’s protecting you, keeping you safe.

But tonight, you have other plans.

“Turn around,” you say, tugging lightly on his arm as you both settle into bed.

Lando blinks sleepily, looking over his shoulder at you. “Huh?”

“I want to be the big spoon,” you say matter-of-factly.

His brows furrow. “You what?”

You grin. “Come on, just try it.”

Lando scoffs. “I don’t know, love. I think I might be too big for this role.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. There’s no height requirement for being the little spoon.”

“I just don’t think I’m built for it.”

You laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Still, he hesitates, his hand drumming lightly against your hip as he contemplates it. You know he’s stalling, trying to come up with a reason to say no without actually saying no. Lando is stubborn, but you know him better than anyone—he’s also a sucker for you.

So, you play dirty. You pout. “Just one night? For me?”

His whole body deflates instantly. “That’s unfair,” he mutters, already rolling onto his side to face away from you.

You grin, victorious, and immediately wrap yourself around him from behind. Your arms settle around his waist, pulling him close until his back is flush against your chest. He’s warm—so warm—and for a moment, he stays perfectly still.

“…This is weird,” he mumbles after a beat.

You hum, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’ll survive.”

He shifts slightly, as if testing out the position. At first, he’s tense, clearly not used to being held like this. But you let your fingers start tracing slow, lazy circles on his stomach, your hand splayed out gently against him, grounding him. He lets out a slow breath, melting just a little bit more.

A few moments pass in silence before he speaks again, voice softer this time.

“…Okay, this is actually kinda nice.”

You smile, resting your head between his shoulder blades. “Told you.”

Another beat of silence. Then, in an even quieter voice, he adds, “Feels… safe.”

Your heart swells.

“Good,” you murmur, hugging him a little tighter. “That’s kind of the point.”

Lando doesn’t say anything else, but the way he relaxes into you says more than words ever could. His fingers lazily find yours where they rest against his stomach, tracing little patterns over your knuckles before his hand stills completely. His breathing evens out, slow and steady, and you realize—he’s already falling asleep.

You grin against his skin, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck.

Lando shifts slightly in your hold, letting out a sleepy hum as he presses back against you. You smile to yourself, enjoying the warmth of him, the way he fits so perfectly against you despite all his earlier protests.

“You’re really settling into this, huh?” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando lets out a tired chuckle. “Maybe,” he admits, his fingers absentmindedly playing with yours where they rest against his stomach. “Not saying I love it yet, but…” He sighs, utterly content. “I can see the appeal.”

You press your face into his back, laughing softly. “You’re such a liar. You love it.”

“Shhh,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Let me have my moment.”

You roll your eyes but let him be. The room falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels natural and warm, where neither of you needs to fill the space with words. Your fingers continue their slow, absentminded patterns on his stomach, and every now and then, you feel the smallest of shivers run through him.

“Hey,” Lando mumbles after a while, his voice groggy. “Promise we can do this again?”

Your heart swells. “I thought you weren’t sure if you liked it?”

He shifts slightly, one of his hands coming up to loosely rest on your arm, keeping you close. “Shut up,” he mutters, half-asleep now. “Just promise.”

You smile against his skin, hugging him just a little tighter. “I promise.”

Lando hums in satisfaction, already drifting off completely.

Lando sleeps soundly in your arms, his breathing slow and steady, his body fully relaxed against yours. It’s a rare sight—he’s usually the type to toss and turn, mumble in his sleep, or wake up at odd hours. But tonight, he’s still, completely at ease, like he’s been the little spoon his whole life and just never realized it.

You can’t help but smile, running your fingers lightly up and down his arm. “So much for ‘not being built for this,’” you whisper playfully, even though he’s too far gone to hear you.

A few minutes pass, and you start feeling yourself drift too, lulled by the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing. But then, Lando stirs slightly, shifting in your hold. For a second, you think he’s waking up, but instead, he just presses back into you even more, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

“Mm… stay,” he mumbles groggily.

You chuckle softly, tightening your arms around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighs, his fingers sleepily brushing over yours where they rest against his stomach. “Good.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, sinking even deeper into sleep.

You stay awake a little while longer, just enjoying the feeling of holding him like this. Lando has always been the type to take care of others—to be the strong one, the comforting presence. But right now, in this quiet moment, he’s letting you take care of him, and it feels… perfect.

As sleep finally starts to pull you under, you press one last soft kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “Told you you’d love it.”

Lando doesn’t respond—he’s already too deep in his dreams—but the small, content smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[linoxpudding]

Fading Love- Lee Know

summary: as your marriage begins to crumble, you hold onto hope that a newfound joy might bring you both closer again

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, married couple

word count: 645 words

warnings: mentions of broken marriage, pregnancy, nausea

a/n: got sudden inspiration of this idea, so jotted it down quickly 🫣

Masterlist

~°~

You felt the shift almost two months ago.

At first, it was subtle, Minho stopped initiating kisses. When you leaned in, he only gave you a peck, never deepening it, never pulling you closer like he used to. The teasing remarks that once made you laugh were completely gone. Now, your conversations were short, filled with empty pleasantries instead of warmth.

And then he started ignoring you.

Coming home late without explanation, scrolling through his phone when you spoke, walking past you without sparing a second glance. The man who once couldn’t keep his hands off you now felt like a stranger in your own home.

You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that marriage had its ups and downs.

Then your nausea started. The fatigue. The overwhelming exhaustion that settled deep in your bones. You thought it was stress. You thought maybe the weight of your crumbling marriage was making you sick.

But today, as you sat in the clinic, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, the doctor’s words shattered every assumption.

"You're pregnant! Three months along. Congratulations."

Three months.

Your mind raced, piecing together the timeline. Three months ago.... the realization struck like lightning— that weekend. The one moment where things felt right. You and Minho had gone on a mini vacation, escaping the chaos of daily life. You remembered the way he held you that night, his lips brushing against your skin as if you were his whole world. That night, your child was conceived. 

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, here you were, clutching a sonogram with trembling fingers, trying to process how quickly things had changed.

Still, hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe this baby was the miracle you both needed. Maybe this would bring you close again, remind him of the love that once burned so fiercely between you.

So you poured your heart into tonight.

A candlelit dinner, his favorite dishes, soft music playing in the background. You set the sonogram neatly in a small envelope on the table, waiting for the perfect moment to share the news.

You wanted to believe that tonight would mark the beginning of something new.

Then he walked in.

He didn’t even glance at the table. His face was unreadable, his hands clenched into fists as he stood at the doorway. Something about his stance sent an icy dread crawling up your spine.

“Minho?” you called softly, forcing a smile. “You’re home.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We need to talk.”

The words alone made your blood run cold.

“I want a divorce.”

For a second, you thought you misheard him.

Your lips parted, your breath catching in your throat. “W-What?”

Minho shut his eyes for a moment, as if saying it aloud hurt him just as much as it hurt you. When he opened them, there was a flicker of something broken in his gaze.

“I… I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “We keep trying, but it’s not working. We’re hurting each other just by staying.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers trembling at your sides.

No. No, this wasn’t happening.

You wanted to speak, to beg him to stay, to tell him about the baby, but your voice wouldn’t come out.

Minho swallowed hard, stepping back. “I-I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. We can… talk later.”

And just like that—before you could say a single word—he turned and walked away.

The door closed behind him. The room fell into silence.

The weight of everything came crashing down all at once. Tears welled up your eyes as you looked at the dining table where the envelope sat. Your knees gave out, and you collapsed onto the floor, arms wrapping protectively around your stomach.

Soft, shattered sobs escaped your lips as you cradled the life growing inside you— the life Minho didn’t even know existed.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos

[daenysx]

literally on my knees for drummer!James, idk if it counts but if it does I would love it !!!

-send me drabble requests!

drummer!james potter x fem!reader, a bit suggestive

"Do you think you'd let me bite your biceps?" you ask James, the world slowly settling down in your eyes. "I promise I'll be gentle."

He laughs so bright, you can't help a stupid smile forming on your lips. He holds your waist to keep you steady, wavy hair falling on his forehead, and his arms fully on display.

"Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?" he asks, laughs again when you lift your head for a kiss.

"I'm not drunk," you say. "But your arms-"

You're not drunk, that's true. James would say you're slightly tipsy after a few cocktails you had as you watched their band play. His eyes followed you even when he had to pay attention to playing, he was flirting relentlessly with you and his drums. You remember getting yourself another drink because suddenly everything around you felt hotter.

"Come here," he tells you, gets you into a somewhat emptier corner in the bar. You see Sirius shouting at something behind, Remus is there too, they laugh and you turn back to your boyfriend. Gorgeous boy with a gorgeous face. James Potter has been blessed by divine beings, he helps you sit down on a bar stool and you hold onto his arms. His arms.

"What were you thinking when you put this shirt on tonight?" you ask. "Because it's like you're trying to give me a heart attack."

He steals a quick kiss from your lips. You taste like something sweet, your lip gloss got messed up, and you're eager for another kiss. Your fingers squeeze his arms and you let out a soft noise. You're really glad for being tipsy, it gives you new ways to be courageous.

"You played so good," you tell him. Your lovesick eyes, he loves looking at them. He fixes the smudged mascara with his thumb. "But you know that already."

"Always nice to hear," James says. He knows it's time for silent confessions of love in the crowded bar, an invisible bubble around both of you as he gets praised by his lover girl. "I played for you. Got this shirt on for you. I even practiced extra to look at you without making a mistake on the stage."

"You did?"

"Yeah," he murmurs against your lips. "I love when I get to see my girl admire me. Your eyes get all wide and you keep squirming in your seat, did you notice?"

"James-"

Your words are silenced as he presses his lips on yours in a proper kiss. His fingers are tired, he keeps them on your neck as the cute top you wear exposes your skin to him. He needs a drink, maybe you'd want one more, too. James thinks he lives for that admiring looks you give him, your gentle praises and smiles, your greedy hands on his arms.

You break the kiss and take a deep breath. He looks sinful, but still your boy under all this drummer persona. He just carries it so well, a new part of him, you like seeing him embrace something he loves. The band will do better in time. You know you'll always be in front of the stage to watch them play like they were born for this.

"The shirt is a good choice," you manage to say. "If I didn't make that obvious enough."

James smiles. You want to pinch his cheeks and play with his hair.

"I'm loving this new side of you, angel," he says. "Gonna look for more shirt options, see if I can find something more revealing on the arms."

You let him have fun with the new knowledge he has on you. He deserves it after being so good on the stage.

[devdozes]

♥ COLOGNE

SPIDERMAN PHAINON OH MY GORR

A soft hum of a show’s theme song filled your dimly lit room, accompanied by the glow of your laptop screen. You were bundled up like a burrito under a heavy blanket, comfortably settled into your bed, and very much unwilling to leave. It was one of those nights—you had zero interest in going out, zero interest in moving, and definitely zero interest in whatever plan Phainon had cooked up this time.

Unfortunately, you had a certain overly enthusiastic Spider-Man who didn’t believe in personal space.

A familiar knock on your window made your eye twitch.

“[NAMEEE]!!! Open up!”

You buried yourself deeper under the blanket. “Go away.”

“But I just got here! And you didn’t even look at me yet!” Phainon whined from the other side, knocking dramatically. “C’mon, you love looking at me.”

“No, I don’t.”

A beat of silence. Then, the click of your window unlocking.

Your heart sank.

“Did you— Phainon!”

With a triumphant ha-ha! Phainon pushed your window open and gracefully slipped into your room. His Spider-Man suit—black, white, and blue with elegant gold accents—hugged his form perfectly, and his mask was pulled halfway up, revealing his ever-so-cheerful face with that boyish grin. His cerulean blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he waltzed right over to your bed.

“I knew you’d leave it unlocked for me,” he chirped.

“That was an accident.”

He dramatically gasped. “Oh, so you don’t want me here? How cruel!”

You rolled your eyes. “Phainon, it’s my night off. I just wanna watch my show in peace.”

Phainon, naturally, ignored your plea for solitude and flopped onto your bed, making himself right at home. He rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head at your laptop. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Something you don’t care about.”

“Orrrrr,” he drawled, poking your blanketed form, “I do care, because I care about you. Which means your interests are my interests.”

“Lies.”

“Betrayal!” He gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “Here I am, your bestest friend—”

“Self-proclaimed.”

“—who just wants to share quality time with you,” he continued, completely ignoring your interruption, “and you reject me? After all the cool crime-fighting I did today?”

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “Phainon, if you don’t let me enjoy my show, I will literally punch you.”

“Joke’s on you, I’m into that,” he quipped.

“OH MY GOD—”

Before you could retaliate, Phainon swiftly yanked the blanket off you in one motion. You yelped as cold air hit your skin.

“PHAINON, I SWEAR—”

But the menace wasn’t done yet. Before you could crawl back under the covers, he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style.

“Time to goooooo!” he announced cheerfully.

“What the— PUT ME DOWN!” You struggled in his grip, but he held you tight, effortlessly standing up.

“You had your chance,” he teased. Then, with an absolutely mischievous grin—

He sprinted to the window.

“Phainon. No. NO—”

And jumped.

Your scream got swallowed by the night air as he shot a web toward the nearest skyscraper, the both of you swinging high above the city in an exhilarating rush of wind. Your arms clung around his neck instinctively as your stomach plummeted from the sudden movement.

“Phainon, I hate you SO MUCH—”

“Lies! You love me!” He laughed, effortlessly maneuvering between buildings, his movements graceful and precise. The golden accents on his suit glowed subtly under the city lights. “C’mon, [Name], don’t tell me this isn’t fun!”

You gritted your teeth. “I’m going to kill you.”

“That would be murder, and you’d miss me too much!”

You let out a strangled groan, burying your face into his shoulder. “Just—Just get this over with.”

“Aw, but we just started,” he pouted, but the way you clung to him made his grin widen. He loved it when you relied on him. When you held onto him like this, he felt like the most important person in your world.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hold on tight, [Name]!” he chimed before dropping down from a building, making you scream again.

Phainon’s laugh echoed through the city as he swung with you through the skyline, his grip firm and secure.

You were never gonna get rid of this menace, were you?

The city blurred past in a whirlwind of neon lights and towering skyscrapers, the wind whipping through your hair as Phainon swung effortlessly through the skyline. You were still clutching onto him—your heart hammering from the initial rush—but there was no denying the way exhilaration bubbled in your chest.

“…So THEN—get this, [NAME]��this absolute idiot of a villain tried to rob a bank with a banana.”

You blinked. “A banana?”

“A banana,” Phainon confirmed, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “Not even a fake gun, not a knife—just a plain ol’ banana. And the guy had the audacity to point it at people like he was in an action movie. Like, ‘Freeze! Hand over the cash!’”

“Oh my god.” You snorted. “Please tell me he slipped on it.”

“HE DID!” Phainon howled with laughter, almost missing a web shot. “Dude ran, tripped on his own banana peel, and knocked himself out cold! I barely even had to do anything!”

You cackled, gripping his suit tighter as he swung around a tall building. “Phai, what is your life?”

“Absolute cinema, dear,” he shot back, winking.

Your stomach did an unexpected flip.

It wasn’t just the wind rushing past you anymore—it was him. Phainon. His warmth, his voice, the way he held you so easily in his arms. Even as he soared through the air, he was relaxed, confident, completely in control. His cerulean blue eyes sparkled with mischief, even behind the shadows of his mask.

And god, that little smirk of his? Annoyingly attractive.

You shook the thought away. No. No way. This was Phainon. Your annoying, overly cheerful Spider-Man best friend who loved nothing more than dragging you into his chaos.

And yet—

“You okay?” Phainon glanced down at you, the breeze tousling his white hair slightly under his mask.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking about how cool I am?” He waggled his eyebrows.

You deadpanned. “Thinking about how I should’ve stayed in bed.”

He gasped, dramatically offended. “Wow. You wound me.”

“Good.”

“Okay, you know what?” Phainon gave you a look, then suddenly loosened his grip on you.

Your stomach plummeted. “PHAI—”

He caught you immediately, laughing. “Relax, I gotcha!”

“You absolute menace—”

“Ohhh, says the one who’s clinging onto me like a koala,” he teased.

Your brain short-circuited at the comment. But you refused to let him win. Then you just give him the most fucking judgemental side eye ever before doing something incredibly stupid.

You let go.

With a mischievous grin, you pushed yourself off him, falling freely through the air. Wind roared past your ears, the city lights a dizzying blur as you plummeted. But instead of fear—

You laughed.

“C’mon, Phai! Catch me!”

“Oh, you little—” Phainon immediately shot a web toward you, diving after you with pure panic flashing in his cerulean eyes.

For the briefest moment, you saw something shift in his expression. Something raw. His usual lightheartedness cracked, replaced with something deeper, heavier—like his world would shatter if he didn’t catch you.

And then—

He caught you.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you flush against him as he shot another web and swung back up. Your heartbeat was wild—not just from the fall, but from the way Phainon was holding you. His grip was desperate, his breathing heavy.

“You,” he exhaled, voice lower than usual, “are insane.”

You smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

He let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. For a second—just a second—his gaze dipped to your lips.

Phainon landed smoothly on the rooftop of a tall building, his grip on you still lingering even after your feet touched the ground. The city sprawled beneath you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sirens.

And yet, your focus was entirely on him.

He pulled back slightly, keeping one hand on your waist as if reluctant to let go. Then—

That damn wink.

Confident. Dorky. Absolutely Phainon.

“Wait five minutes.” He grinned, then leapt off the building without another word.

You blinked. “Phai—WHAT—”

But he was already gone, swinging downward toward the city streets.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “This idiot…”

Exactly two minutes later, a soft thud landed behind you.

You turned—and wheeze-laughed on sight.

Phainon stood there, his Spider-Man suit completely gone, neatly folded in his arms. In its place, he wore a loose white T-shirt, slightly oversized, draping over his frame in a way that showed off his collarbones. Paired with black cargo pants, he looked effortlessly relaxed, like he hadn’t just been swinging around the city at terrifying speeds.

“You stole that outfit, didn’t you,” you deadpanned.

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “EXCUSE me? [NAME], I am offended.”

“You absolutely stole it.”

He smirked. “Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did. Not.”

“Phai.” You gave him a knowing look. “There is no way you just had a fresh change of clothes on standby.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“…Okay, technically, I just ‘borrowed’ them.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh my god.”

“It’s fine! I paid for them with my charm.”

“You mean you confused the poor cashier with your chaotic rambling until they just let you take the clothes out of fear.”

He grinned way too proudly. “Works every time.”

You groaned again, but you couldn’t stop laughing. God, why was he like this?

Phainon just watched you with a lazy smirk, arms crossed, and you hated that it looked stupidly attractive. His hair was still slightly tousled from the wind, strands falling over his cerulean blue eyes—eyes that gleamed with mischief but also something warmer.

Something softer.

And the way his white T-shirt slid slightly off his shoulder? Not fair.

You clicked your tongue, looking away before your thoughts spiraled further. “You are the worst.”

“Aww, c’mon.” He nudged your side, stepping closer. “You love me.”

Your heart skipped.

But you just raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Debatable.”

Phainon gasped dramatically again. “Ouch.” Then, after a pause—he tilted his head with a lopsided grin.

“…So, are you coming willingly, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Phai. Don’t you dare.”

His smirk widened. “No promises :).” . . . .

A mischievous glint flashed in your eyes as you stepped forward, rising onto your tiptoes. Phainon barely had time to react before you flicked his forehead, making him stumble back slightly with a surprised blink.

“Ow—HEY!” He pouted, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

You smirked. “For dragging me out of my warm, comfortable bed and kidnapping me via rooftop parkour.”

Phainon gasped, placing a hand on his chest as if truly wounded. “Kidnap is such a strong word. I prefer the term ‘spontaneous adventure with a touch of reckless endangerment.’”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Spidey.” Then, tilting your head, you grinned. “Let’s go to McDonald’s. And you’re paying.”

Phainon blinked. “Wait—what?”

You patted his shoulder. “Because you forced me outside, and I’m hungry.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, in a completely serious tone, he muttered, “This is robbery.”

You shot him finger guns. “Yup.”

He groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe this. This is extortion. This is—”

“I will leave you on this rooftop,” you threatened, turning away.

Phainon immediately perked up, skipping to your side like a loyal puppy. “Fine, fine! Let’s go! But just so you know, this is coming out of my superhero budget.”

You gave him a look. “You don’t have a superhero budget.”

“…Okay, true, but if I did, this would definitely affect it.”

You simply smirked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the nearest fire escape. “C’mon, before you start monologuing about your tragic financial struggles.”

As you both climbed down and started walking toward McDonald’s, the city was alive around you. Neon signs glowed in the distance, taxis honked impatiently, and the streets bustled with late-night wanderers. Phainon, now completely out of his Spider-Man persona, walked with an easygoing energy beside you—his white hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, his black cargo pants hanging just low enough to be unfairly attractive.

You hated how effortlessly cool he looked.

But he wasn’t cool at all.

Because he would not stop talking.

“And THEN—get this—this dude at the store earlier saw me swinging down in full costume, right?” Phainon launched into yet another one of his endless stories, hands waving animatedly. “And I swear to god, the first thing out of his mouth was, ‘Damn, Spider-Man’s built different.’”

You snorted. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

Phainon smirked, striking a fake flex pose. “I am pretty built.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have noodle arms.”

He gasped in betrayal. “EXCUSE ME?! These arms carry you through the city at high velocity, Miss ‘C’mon, Phai, Catch Me.’”

You just smirked, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see those muscles in action when you carry the McDonald’s bags.”

“Oh my god, you are milking this.”

“Damn right I am.”

By the time you reached the McDonald’s entrance, the warm scent of fries and burgers filled the air, making your stomach growl. The place was still busy despite the late hour, a mix of students, late-shift workers, and other night owls filling the booths.

And then—

Right at the front counter, a bright red sign caught your eye.

“COUPLES GET 40% DISCOUNT.”

Your eyes gleamed.

Phainon, still in his own world, was stretching his arms, completely oblivious to your brilliant, devious plan.

Without missing a beat, you turned, grabbed his hand, and dragged him straight to the counter.

“Wha—?” Phainon stumbled forward, blinking as he suddenly found himself standing very close to you.

The cashier, a tired-looking teenager, barely glanced up before mumbling, “Welcome to McDonald’s. Are you two—” He paused, glancing at your intertwined hands, then at the bold discount sign behind him. “Oh, a couple?”

Phainon’s brain stalled.

“Wait—” He opened his mouth, eyes widening, but before he could protest—

You smirked, leaned in, and—

Pressed a soft kiss against his jawline.

Phainon froze.

Like. Literally. He felt his throat tighten up, like a lock had been placed in his throat and the key had been thrown away. He felt like his heart stopped, Like— God you were going to be the absolute death of him. And then before he even gets to recover himself a little bit, your lips barely left his skin before you shifted slightly, brushing another light kiss beside the corner of his lips. “Yep, we’re a couple!” you chirped, completely unbothered. “I’ll have a large McNugget meal, extra fries, and a vanilla milkshake. And he’ll have… A large Big Mac, large fries, and an Oreo McFlurry, thank you." The cashier hands you the receipt as you take it from her hand and drag Phainon's huge frozen body to the chair. After you seat yourself down and look beside yourself to see Phainon. Only to find him stuck in place, malfunctioning.

His entire face was burning.

From the tip of his ears down to his neck, his skin was flushed a deep red. His cerulean eyes were wide, his lips parted, but no words came out. He wasn’t breathing. He just stood there, completely frozen, staring straight ahead like he had just experienced a full system crash. And then, Phainon made a noise. a small whimper as his left hand goes to his jawline, the exact same area where you had placed your soft lips on. He could still feel the warmth of your lips against his skin. The way you had leaned in without hesitation. The soft pressure against his jawline, the slight graze near his mouth—

His heart was hammering.

His brain was short-circuiting.

You kissed him.

The moment you stepped out of McDonald's, the crisp night air hit your skin, a pleasant contrast to the warm atmosphere inside. You cradled the McDonald's takeout bags in your arms, feeling victorious from your ingenious scam—the couple’s discount had worked flawlessly, and now you had free food and a flustered best friend in tow.

Speaking of flustered bestfriend—Phainon stepped out behind you, his movements stiff, shoulders hunched slightly, as if trying to fold in on himself.

And then—

The stares started.

People on the street, whether passing by, sitting on benches, or just minding their own business, suddenly turned their heads to look at him. Their gazes lingered, eyes darting between his face and his overall demeanor. Some exchanged amused glances, while others outright giggled as they passed.

A group of teenagers sitting by the sidewalk nudged each other, whispering and pointing directly at him. A woman, holding hands with her boyfriend, looked at Phainon, then at her own boyfriend—her eyes clearly saying why don’t you ever look like that when I kiss you?

It took you exactly two seconds to realize why.

Your lipstick marks were still there.

Still boldly visible on his jawline and beside his lips.

Phainon, in his post-flustered daze, hadn’t even wiped them off.

And now he was just standing there, dressed in a loose white t-shirt and black cargo pants, looking like an absolute wreck of a man who just got kissed senseless in public.

Oh. Oh, this was golden.

You opened your mouth, ready to tease him about it—but you never got the chance.

Because before you could even get a single word out, Phainon’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly as he suddenly dragged you forward.

“Wh—? Phainon—”

“Nope. Nope, no, absolutely not.” His voice was fast, frantic, as he swiftly maneuvered you both into a nearby alley.

You barely had time to tighten your hold on the McDonald's bags before Phainon’s arms locked around you—one arm securing your waist, the other ensuring the takeout wouldn’t drop.

And before you could protest—

Whoosh.

A strong, sudden force yanked you upward. The world blurred, a rush of air slicing past as Phainon swung you both up, up, up— the city lights below morphing into glowing smudges, the sounds of traffic turning into a distant hum.

Your stomach flipped, but exhilaration coursed through your veins instead of fear. The weightless feeling of being carried mid-air, of soaring, of being so high up with only Phainon’s grip anchoring you—it was thrilling in a way that made your heartbeat race.

Within seconds, Phainon landed smoothly on the rooftop, feet steady as he held you close for just a moment longer. The city stretched beneath you—lights blinking in rhythm, streets weaving like veins through the concrete jungle.

You let out a breathy laugh, looking up at him. “Damn, Phai. Could’ve given me a warning.”

Phainon, however, wasn’t looking at the city.

He was looking at you.

Still flustered. Still down bad.

His hands hadn’t moved. His arms were still wrapped around you. He was holding onto you like you’d disappear if he let go.

And his eyes. Oh god.

His cerulean eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were soft. Warm. A little dazed, like he still couldn’t process the fact that you had kissed him.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still thinking about it, huh?”

Phainon blinked. Then—his arms tightened.

Like a dam finally breaking, he collapsed against you, burying his face into your shoulder.

A muffled groan escaped him.

“I’m literally going to die,” he mumbled against your skin. “You actually kissed me. In front of people.”

You chuckled, shifting slightly so the McDonald’s bags wouldn’t squish between you both. “Yeah, and?”

Phainon lifted his head just enough to glance at you, his lips parted like he wanted to say something—but instead of words, his forehead bumped against yours.

You stilled.

Your smirk faltered.

Oh. Oh.

This—this was new.

The playful, chaotic tension between you two had always been there, but this? This was different.

His breath was warm. His fingers, once gripping your waist firmly, now curled slightly, as if reluctant to let go. His eyes, up close, weren’t just flustered anymore—they held something deeper.

Something fond.

Something achingly, terrifyingly real.

“…I should be making fun of you right now,” you muttered, voice softer than you expected.

Phainon exhaled a laugh, his lips barely ghosting against your skin. “You should be.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with something heavy. Charged.

Then—suddenly—

Phainon moved.

Not away. Closer.

His arms shifted, fully wrapping around you. A hug. A full, desperate, clingy hug.

He buried his face into your neck, holding you like a man starved.

“…I don’t wanna let go,” he admitted, voice muffled, boyish, soft.

Your heart did a weird, traitorous thing.

“…Then don’t,” you murmured.

And he didn’t.

He stayed pressed against you, completely attached, a lovesick puppy in human form.

You snorted, patting his back with one hand. “You’re so clingy, Phai.”

“You made me like this,” he grumbled against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “No, I think you were always like this.”

Phainon huffed dramatically but refused to move.

“Just… let me have this,” he muttered. “For like, five minutes.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re an idiot.”

Phainon nuzzled into your neck. “And yet, you kissed me.”

You groaned. “Shut up.”

He grinned. Didn’t shut up.

“…Do it again.” His voice was soft, playful, but you could hear it. That little hint of hopeful longing. The barest trace of desperate wanting.

You snorted, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

Phainon froze.

His playful grin faltered for a moment. His eyes widened slightly, processing your rejection as if you’d just broken his heart into five tragic pieces.

And then—he pouted.

Oh. Oh, no.

You were not prepared for full-sad-clingy-puppy-mode Phainon.

His bottom lip jutted out slightly, his brows furrowed, and his usual confident, cocky demeanor completely melted into pure, shameless, pathetic neediness.

“But whyyyy?” he whined, dramatically nuzzling into your neck again, refusing to be ignored. “You did it before. You can’t just kiss a man and then cruelly take it away.”

“Oh my god, stop.” You laughed, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

He was completely latched onto you, arms locked, legs refusing to move, as if he’d become some kind of living, breathing, human-shaped magnet permanently stuck to you.

“You’re so clingy,” you groaned, but the amusement was clear in your voice.

Phainon huffed dramatically, his pout deepening. “And whose fault is that?”

“I dunno,” you teased, tilting your head. “Seems like a you problem.”

Phainon gasped, offended. “A me problem? A me problem?” He leaned closer, his nose brushing against your skin. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. You did this. You kissed me. You ruined me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I kissed you twice.”

“And yet,” Phainon sighed dramatically, gripping your waist tighter, “I am now a ruined man. Devastated. Completely in shambles. Unrecoverable.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine,” he declared, burying his face into your neck again. “I won’t be fine unless you kiss me again.”

You opened your mouth to protest—

But then he bit you.

Softly.

Lightly.

A small, almost teasing nip at the curve of your neck.

You immediately tensed.

Your breath hitched, a small shiver running down your spine.

Phainon stilled for a second, gauging your reaction—then, realizing you weren’t pushing him away, he did it again.

Another tiny bite.

Then—a slow, teasing drag of his lips over your skin.

Oh. Oh no.

Your grip on the McDonald’s bags tightened, fingers digging into the paper as heat rushed up to your face.

Phainon, the absolute menace, let out a low, smug hum against your skin.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, his voice mischievous, but softer this time. Lower.

You narrowed your eyes, trying not to show how flustered you actually were. “Phainon, I swear to god—”

“I swear to god, too,” he mimicked, grinning against your neck. “Swear to god you should kiss me again...Please baby :(" "Ugh c'mere"

Bonus part-

The second you and Phainon finally made it back to your apartment, barely stepping foot through the doorway, he was on you.

Immediately.

Like a damn puppy seeing its owner after a long day, he lunged, arms wide open, and tackled you onto the couch, wrapping himself around you like an oversized, overly affectionate weighted blanket.

“Finally, home!” he cheered, burying his face into your shoulder, grinning like an absolute fool.

You groaned, laughing, trying to pry him off, but he was stubborn as hell.

“Phainon, get off me.”

“No.”

“Get off me.”

“Absolutely not.”

His arms tightened, his legs tangled with yours, and now you were completely stuck, trapped beneath a very happy, very clingy human spider.

You huffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “You’re literally the most affectionate menace I’ve ever met.”

Phainon giggled, actually giggled, and nuzzled into your neck. “You love it.”

You let out a mock sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “Unfortunately, I do.”

At that, Phainon gasped dramatically, pulling back just enough to look at you with wide, sparkling cerulean eyes. “You admit it?”

You smirked. “I admit nothing.”

And with that, you did the unthinkable.

You flipped the script.

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in so suddenly that he actually yelped.

“Oh?” Phainon blinked, caught completely off guard.

You grinned, wickedly.

“Two can play this game,” you murmured, voice low, teasing, challenging.

Phainon stared, and for the first time in a while, you had him on the defensive.

He barely had a second to react before you wiggled out of his grip, shoved him onto your bed, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

“Wait—oh. Ohhh.” Phainon’s lips curled into a slow, cheeky smile. “Now, this is interesting.”

You ignored him, reaching over to your nearby vanity and grabbing something crucial.

Lipstick.

Bright. Bold. Unforgivingly pigmented.

Phainon tilted his head, curious. “What’s that fo—”

Before he could finish, you swiped it across your lips, coating them fully.

Phainon’s eyes flickered. His hands settled on your waist.

“Ohhh. I like where this is going,” he teased. “You finally gonna kiss me again?”

You grinned, devious.

Then—without warning—you attacked.

Not just one kiss.

A thousand.

You scattered kisses all over his face, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his jawline—everywhere.

Phainon yelped, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his body stiffening beneath you.

“Oh—oh my god—wait, wait, sweetie, [Name], hold on—”

You did not hold on.

You pressed another kiss onto the corner of his mouth.

Phainon let out a low whimper

And when you finally pulled back to admire your work, Phainon looked fully ruined.

His face was littered—completely, hopelessly covered in smudged lipstick marks.

And he was so flustered.

His eyes were hazy, his cheeks burning, and yet—that stupid, teasing, smug grin was still there.

He was grinning like an absolute menace, but oh god, he was absolutely, hopelessly down bad.

"Holy, sweetheart.” His voice was lower than before. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You smirked, placing one final peck on his jaw before pulling away entirely.

“Well,” you said, grinning as you wiped excess lipstick off your mouth, “you kept begging for more kisses. Thought I’d be generous.”

Phainon laughed breathlessly, tilting his head up slightly. “Oh, I should beg more often, then.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder.

But as you tried to move off his lap, his grip tightened.

“…You know,” he murmured, voice slow, thoughtful, laced with something dangerously teasing, “You might have to take responsibility for what you’ve just done.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Phainon.”

He tilted his head, grinning.

His hands moved slightly, gripping your hips more firmly.

“What?” he said, all fake innocence.

“You are so annoying.”

“I’m also so in love with you.”

You froze.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You quickly shoved him back onto the bed, rolling over to the other side before he could see how red your face had just become.

Phainon laughed, loud and cheery, before pulling you back into his arms anyway.

He wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

PHAINONPHAINONPHAINON OH MY GOD I NEED HIM

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ Even Seas Must Dream — One Piece x Reader Sleeping HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: Characters included: Luffy, Zoro, Law, Ace, Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Mihawk

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Luffy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Always clings to you no matter what, you can try to put pillows between you and he'll just cling to them instead

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He can either wake up the second you leave the bed or sleep like a stone anchored into sand depending on the night

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Don't be alarmed if you wake up to rubbery arms wrapped around you like a hose, he's just making sure you don't fall out of bed or anything

ᯓᡣ𐭩 If you get up to get a drink or something there's a good chance he's gonna follow you for his 5th midnight snack of the night and keep am arm around you the whole time

Zoro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sleeps like a stone. Unmoving, mostly on his side or on his back, somehow manages to look tense while doing it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 When he sleeps on his back he loves for you to lay with your head on his chest, or even directly on him if he's comfortable enough. When on his side he prefers to be cradling you from behind

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Probably the most open with affection when he's sleepy, he reaches a point where he's too tired to care about others and openly leans on you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The second you get up to get something he notices, he'll always offer to go with you even if he can barely stay awake while saying so

Law

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He has a terrible time falling asleep. I feel like he'd be the type to constantly be aware of the health of others while hypocritically not acknowledging his own

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You have to practically drag him to a place to sleep whenever he's been up for way too long, which he'll argue about for the longest time

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once he falls asleep, he'll eventually curl around you and hold you tight to his chest. You are now stuck for the rest of the night, his grip while sleeping is surprisingly strong

ᯓᡣ𐭩 In the morning he's gonna complain about being hot despite being the one who refused to stop cuddling you for even a second

Ace

ᯓᡣ𐭩 His body temperature is naturally pretty high. It makes him amazing for cuddles in the winter, but in the summer you might wanna keep a little distance

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Messy sleep schedule. Naps wherever he feels like it and spends a lot of time at night doing sneaky side jobs (mostly breaking into bars) with all the extra energy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sleeps very heavy when he does manage to rest, you can barely wake him for anything and he'll nap far into the afternoon if you don't get him up

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Both fortunately and unfortunately, his favorite way of sleeping is tucked directly into your side, giving a random kiss to your shoulder before he's fully asleep

Sir Crocodile

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Pretty average sleep schedule despite how invested in his work he always is. He insists on keeping his mind sharp, and sleep is part of that, though he isn't opposed to an all-nighter now and again

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Not that flexible when it comes to it either— when he says it's time to sleep, you gotta head to bed too. How can you expect to be there for him if you can't even keep awake for yourself?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Very light sleeper. The second something is wrong, he'll be up. Unfortunately this also means a night of restful sleep is rare to come by for him more often than not

ᯓᡣ𐭩 His quality of sleep began improving greatly when he started letting you hang onto him, something about reaching out in the middle of the night to feel you close by comforts him

Buggy

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Claims he 'doesn't need sleep' and then will only go a few hours past his typical bedtime before absolutely crashing

ᯓᡣ𐭩 A big con of sleeping beside him is he can have cartoonishly loud snores when he's really out cold, and he insists on having you close at all times

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sometimes in the search for the perfect sleep position his limbs will move around in their detached state. It was pretty startling the first few times you woke up to a separated arm or leg hanging onto you

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One of the cons is he let's his hair completely down to sleep and you're the only one that gets to mess with it however you want (though he will playfully complain no matter what)

Mihawk

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sleeps in calculated amounts to keep his mind sharp. He's pretty lenient on when you sleep, but he'll subtly hint to you when he's ready to head to sleep

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He goes to sleep on his side of the bed but always ends up cuddled up to you by the morning. He claims he doesn't know how it keeps happening

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Most times he wakes up way earlier than you do, so by the time you go to find him he's got breakfast ready and did most of the household chores

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One of the only times he doesn't look like he's constantly frowning is when he's asleep, it's a unique kind of peaceful others don't see from him, a sight reserved only for you

[rainydayathogwarts]

Mrs. Malfoy Riddle - Mattheo Riddle

summary: mattheo doesn't care that you're betrothed to his best friend, especially not when you're so in love. so he guarantees one last night before you're officially his. wc: 1k+ cw: smut, public sex (on private property), fingering, kind of cheating (r! is arranged to marry draco)

Ever since you were a young girl, you knew how likely it was that you’d end up marrying Draco Malfoy. Your families had pushed you together, ensuring a close-knit friendship between you, so that when the day came for them to reveal the news of your engagement, you wouldn’t put up a fight. But ever since Mattheo Riddle whizzed into your life, you knew he was the love of your life.

It was risky, yes. The gazebo wasn’t far off on the estate to the manor, but he was irresistible, and in that moment, the only thing that mattered was Mattheo’s lips against yours, his hand softly placed on your chin to keep your lips slightly parted, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth as he kissed you.

Your legs were strewn over Mattheo’s laps where you both sat on the gazebo’s cold stone bench, but the summer’s chilly wind was shielded by Mattheo’s kiss, sending warmth through your veins. You tightly gripped Mattheo’s collar, tugging him as close to you as possible as he ran one hand up and down your thigh, the other one travelling to hold your left hand, pulling it away from his collar to intertwine your fingers together. Mattheo groaned into your mouth, tongue aggressively pushing past your lips to glide against yours, assertively claiming control of the kiss as his fingers brushed against the cold ring on your finger.

The rich metal banding your finger had a big diamond placed atop it, tying your loyalty to the Malfoy boy whose best friend had stolen your heart. Mattheo broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips together. He looked down to where you held hands, pulling his hand away from yours to trace the expensive ring on your finger. You saw Mattheo’s eyebrows furrow, his lips pulling into a frown. You moved a hand to cup his cheek but Mattheo had already averted his attention from the ring, placing possessive kisses on your neck, biting just softly enough that it wouldn’t leave marks.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell my father I want to marry you.” He started in between kisses, snaking your fingers together once more. “And you’ll be mine.” You gasped as he started sucking on a spot on your neck, eyes widening as you realised he was intending on leaving bruising hickeys on your skin. “Mattheo, you can’t-” “Draco will be out of your way before he gets to realise I’ve made my mark on you.” Your thighs unconsciously clenched together at his words and a moan broke past your parted lips. Mattheo smiled slightly, finally connecting your lips in a kiss as his hand trailed under the skirt of your dress, with no intent of stopping as he reached the hem of your panties.

“Come on, one last orgasm before you’re officially mine.” And just as you were about to object, questioning your location, he started toying with your clit, immediately extracting a high-pitched moan from you. Mattheo kissed you deeply, swallowing all your cries of pleasure as he gathered your wetness, bringing two fingers to your entrance so he could slide them inside you. You gasped, mumbling your lover’s name as he swung a leg over the other side of the bench, manoeuvring you so your back rested against his chest.

Mattheo curved his fingers into you, pulling one of your legs to the side to spread them wider, giving him easier access to plunge his digits inside you. You arched your back against Mattheo’s chest, and the boy cursed loudly when your sounds dispersed into the air. He quickly moved his free hand over your mouth, glancing around the gazebo to make sure there was no one nearby.

Mattheo heard the muffled cry of his name and he shushed you softly, muttering words of praise in your ear before beginning to press kisses wherever he could reach. He looked at you questioningly as you took hold of Mattheo’s hand over your mouth, moving his hand around so you could take two of his fingers in your mouth, immediately beginning to suck on them. Mattheo groaned as your tongue ran over his digits, the feeling going straight to his cock.

He pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth, causing tears to gather in your eyes as he continued thrusting into you, palm pressing against your clit ever time his hand thrusted closer to your cunt. Mattheo grinned as your moans vibrated against his fingers, feeling you grind down on his hands as you chased your orgasm. Mattheo curled his fingers softly, chuckling softly when you threw your head back on his shoulder, thighs clamping together as you finally came all over his fingers. Mattheo pushed his fingers deeper into your mouth as your moans grew louder, gagging you slightly before he pulled his fingers out of your cunt. You grabbed his second wrist, pushing his fingers out of your mouth and turning around on the bench just in time to see him put his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking on them while keeping his eyes trained on you.

Mattheo was quick to have his hands on you again, pulling you closer to him to slam his lips against yours. You moaned softly, snaking your fingers into Mattheo’s dark curls before pulling away softly.

“Go to bed sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Riddle.”

Your cheeks flushed at Mattheo’s use of his last name, and you stood on shaky legs before making your way back into the manor. You shot one last look at the gazebo, watching closely as Mattheo waved at you before apparating away.

The next day, you were woken up by your mother, who was demanding the Malfoys’ engagement ring back. “The Dark Lord has demanded you marry his son. You're no longer getting married to Draco Malfoy, but to Mattheo Riddle. You’ll be meeting him and his family tonight, start getting ready.” And as she walked away, you did something you never thought would happen: you held both your hands in front of your chest and shut your eyes, thanking Tom Riddle for the happiness he would bring upon you.

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl,, @juliet-017, @boromoony

[sturnioz]

☆. . . CHRIS IS YOUR NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR that you're been friends with for years that suddenly got hot over the summer, and now you can't stop thinking about him in such intoxicating ways.

you hung out almost every single day, and you could confidently and proudly say that he is your best friend, but when summer got too busy to the point you were both unable to see each other, you didn't hang out at all.

the first time you see chris again is when summer is almost over and he's standing in his garden, shirtless, holding a soda in hand and standing next to his brothers who are grilling meat for their bbq.

the first time chris notices you is when you emerge from your house in the most tiniest shorts to accompany your family who were relaxing in the garden. admitting, chris was staring at your thighs and ass the entire time, wondering when the fuck you had that glow up.

he has always found you cute and adorable, but now? you're hot—fucking drool worthy.

your mother notices him looking over and is the first to initiate the conversation, beckoning him over to ask all types of questions on how he's been. she even compliments his appearance, calling him handsome and grown which makes you embarrassed at her forward behaviour, but this helps start up yours and chris' first conversation for the last remaining week of summer.

you're back to hanging out and talking every day again, sitting in his garden under the blazing sun in your most tight fitted bikinis which chris starts to notice, but he doesn't comment on it. instead, he wears his own tight fitted swim shorts, flexing his thighs whenever he sits down beside you—his knee always touching yours.

you both get a little tipsy after the beers are brought into the mix, and this is where the honesty rolls off your tongue with no hesitations. you tell him how you don't want to be a virgin anymore, and that going to college with no sexual experience makes you sound lame (although, it really doesn't. you just suffer with bad fomo when hearing your friends talk about their hookup stories).

chris just stares at you with his lips curled upwards, nodding slowly and humming along to all the things you blurt out to him, and then he says it.

the way he so casually offers to take your virginity almost makes you choke, but you keep as calm and collected as you possibly can, simply nodding your head and laughing it off.

you thought chris would've dropped it after that, or maybe laughed along with you and told you that he was joking, but what you didn't expect was for chris to take your hand in his to pull you up from the chairs in his garden to tug you inside of his empty house, immediately pulling you onto his lap the second he drops down onto the couch.

he leans back quite smugly against the cushions, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he moves your bikini bottoms to one side and circles his fingers around your entrance with the other.

chris is anything but kind to you for your first time—of course he makes sure that you are wet enough and enjoying yourself, but he wants to make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he even thinks about shoving his cock inside you.

he makes you do that yourself too, gesturing you to wrap your hand around his cock and ease it in between your puffy and wet folds, to slide down on him at your own pace as he captures your lips, swallowing the sounds of your whines and moans as he helps you ride him, making sure to give you the most mind blowing experience for you to share with your friends this time.

© STURNIOZ

[heartbreakfeelsogood]

coffee run | buddie | ~1k | for @bark-barkley ♡

It starts with an Instagram post.

Buck’s a sap, okay? His explore page is constantly filled with ‘send this to your best friend’ posts, and you know what? Nine out of ten times he does send them to his best friend, even if said best friend doesn’t see his dms for about a week. Point being: it’s not surprising to see a post stating, “morning, because if it was a good morning, my best friend would be in the same city as me and we'd be getting coffee together.” Beneath the text is a sketch of two people holding iced coffees. Buck does not pout as he reposts it to his story; that’s just his face.

What is surprising is when Eddie likes Buck’s story upload within minutes, because Eddie barely uses Instagram. He goes on once, maybe twice a week when he’s bored. Eddie just moved to Texas, though, and is quite literally in the process of unpacking, so how could he be bored? Yet here he is in Buck’s notifications. Not only that, but he reposts it to his story, too.

The pout that was definitely not on Buck’s face turns into a small smile as he sees that. Buck knows what it feels like to be left and ignored, but this is the first and only time Buck is experiencing someone leaving and openly missing him. Buck misses Eddie like a lung, but that feels okay, because Eddie misses Buck, too. It’s a lot for Buck to wrap his head around.

Buck closes Instagram and opens his recent call log. Underneath the names of Maddie and a guy from C shift who was asking for coverage is Eddie. Buck presses call.

“You bringing me a coffee?” Eddie greets.

Buck huffs out a laugh and responds, “Might be cold by the time I get there.”

Eddie laughs a little louder than necessary, but Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t like that. He loves how easily he can make Eddie laugh. Even when everything feels bad, Buck can say something that makes Eddie laugh, and when Eddie laughs it makes Buck feel like everything will be alright.

“I could use a coffee right now, man. I’m losing stamina. That’s why I’m on my phone instead of unpacking,” Eddie pauses, and Buck hears a box move. “Living room: throw blankets,” he reads off.

Maybe it’s because Buck’s a well-established sap; maybe it’s because Buck would do anything to hang out with Eddie right now, even if it’s eight-hundred miles apart over the phone; maybe it’s because Buck really wants an iced cookie dough latte with oat milk and mocha sauce; maybe it’s all of the above that makes Buck say, “Let’s go get coffee together.”

Eddie laughs, and Buck can practically hear his eye roll when he quips, “Yeah, sure, I’m on my way now.”

“No, I’m serious. Well— I don’t mean it like that. I— I mean you should go get a coffee, you deserve a break, and I’ll go get one too. We could stay on the phone.”

Now that Buck’s said it he’s worried he sounds juvenile. He imagines this is what kids Christopher’s age do with their online friends. (Christopher has rules, and he’s come to Eddie or Buck any time something weird happens, so they trust that he’s safe.) All the fear melts off of him when Eddie responds though.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice sounds soft, “we could do that.”

They both drive about twenty minutes to get to their respective coffee shops. Mindless chatter fills their cars through the speakers as they make their way. Eddie tells Buck about a chess tournament Christopher is going to be playing in, which gets Buck going about some videos he watched to better understand chess. He tells Eddie about the history, the different strategies, and various records set by players. Eddie listens intently, always happy to learn about both what Buck is learning about and his son’s interests.

They’re still on the phone as they make their way into the cafes, when they’re standing in line, and when they each approach the counter. Buck’s line is shorter, so he orders first. He steps to the side to wait for his latte and checks in with Eddie.

“You about to order?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m next. Hey—“ Eddie pauses. For a quick second, Buck wonders if he got called up. “This might seem stupid, but this place has similar flavors to the one we go to back h— in LA. And I really want that iced latte you get me. If I make this call a FaceTime, will you order it for me?”

Something flips inside Buck’s stomach. His lips part pointing upwards and he has to stop himself from tearing up over the fact Eddie wants him to order him a coffee from eight-hundred miles away. Good tears, to be clear; emotional, but filled with love.

“Yeah, of course, Eddie.”

Their timing is perfect, because not even thirty seconds after the FaceTime connects Eddie is being called up to the counter. Buck is turned towards the barista, who looks rather confused by the whole interaction, so Buck makes a joke about how he got Eddie hooked on a very specific latte and orders a cinnamon latte with soy milk and a quad shot.

They both sit in the back corners of their respected cafes with their phones propped up on napkin holders, FaceTime still connected. Eddie takes a sip of his latte and hums.

“Thank you for ordering this for me. Think it’s exactly what I needed.”

Buck’s smile as he responds is all teeth. “Any time. I’m glad to be of service.”

Eddie laughs at the way Buck salutes as he says that. He leans his head on his hand as he looks back at Buck fondly through his screen.

“God, I love y— Hanging out with you.”

If Buck notices his fumble, he doesn’t say anything except: “Yeah. You too.”

[chrattho1]

matt sturniolo blurb

want more?

warnings: finger sucking, dry humping, sub!matt, not proofread

you and matt were sat on his bed, the morning light shining on both of you through the window.

matt had a plate of pancakes that you made him on his blanket covered lap.

he was hungry, so he woke you up hoping you’d feed him, and when you walked in with a plate of pancakes and placed it in front of him-his face lit up.

now you’re watching him eat in hurry, you’re concerned if he is even chewing or just downing every bite. the sound of the knife clinking with the plate is all that can be heard in the room, matt’s a silent chewer. the pancakes wet with the amount of syrup seeping through them.

he takes the last bite and hums in satisfaction, mouth still full as he moves the plate on the side table and looks over at you.

“that was the best meal i ever had” he said after swallowing.

your gaze falls to the corner of his mouth, syrup threatening to dribble down his chin.

you reach your index finger up to his face, picking up the syrup and bringing it to your mouth-sucking it clean.

he watches with wide eyes as you remove your finger from your mouth and raise an eyebrow at his expression.

“what?” you ask noticing the way his cheeks and ears flush at your actions.

he shakes his head frantically, not sure what to reply when he feels blood rushing to his dick in the matter of a few seconds.

“don’t wanna tell me?” you tease tilting your head, still holding your finger up in the air.

his eyes follow your finger, debating if he wants to tell you what he wants.

you raise your finger up and pull on his bottom lip with it. his breath hitches, the blanket tenting on him tenting.

“can i…” he trails of when you bring your face closer to his.

“hm?” your finger slowly making its way into his mouth, grazing his bottom teeth just a little. a small gasp leaves his mouth when he feels you move on top of him, straddling his lap.

he wraps his lips around your finger, his dick twitching at the taste of your saliva and the faint sweetness of the syrup.

his eyes roll back when he starts sucking on it softly, wanting more.

“god…” you whisper under your breath, the sight of him squirming under you while he sucks on your finger immediately wetting your panties.

you lean forward, pressing your body onto his a little more. matt whimpers around your finger sending shivers down your spine.

his hands lay softly on your thighs, fingers twitching as he feels his heart race.

“you’re so fucking pretty you know that?” your lips hover over his earlobe, he lets out a muffled moan at the praise.

“so so good for me” your words make him whine in pleasure and in desperation.

“want more?” he doesn’t wait for you to finish your question and nods desperately.

you gently and softly push another finger in his mouth, going in deeper this time.

matt exhales sharply, his hips bucking up in yours. he is a whimpering and squirming mess.

drool pooling around his mouth when he swirls his tongue around your fingers and sucks on them.

matt’s chest heaves, the blanket between your bodies growing a wet patch of pre-cum on it.

you bring your free hand up to hold on to the headboard, slowly starting to grind on him.

“mhhphh—” matt’s face scrunches in pleasure, feeling the way your hips rut against his-pressing onto his dick lightly. his cheeks hollow as he sucks harder on your fingers.

“look at you..fuck” you push your fingers in deeper, matt’s eyes press together.

his head rolls back pushing into the headboard with his back arched. mouth agape now, leaving your fingers sitting in it and his chin covered in drool.

“pl—please” he manages to speak with your digits in his mouth, eyes threatening to fall shut.

your hips push into his harder, slowly grinding on him.

“ahhh—mph” he thrusts up, legs shaking in agony.

you watch him with fascination, letting out soft moans yourself.

“fmh—fuuck” his hands fly to your sides, guiding your hips into his faster.

“i—i cant, ma-” your fingers fall out of his mouth unnoticed and tug on his bottom lip as you focus on grinding on him.

“mama im—gon’ cum, cummin-im—” matt thrusts up haphazardly, easily moving your weight up and fucking the blanket in between.

he shudders coming undone under you. wetting the blanket.

your slick fingers fall from his face down to his chest, feeling it heave on your palm.

his body twitches with the aftershocks, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“this gotta go in the washing machine right now” your eyes fall down to the blanket.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @whore4chris @chris-halleluja @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo @slutformatt17 @realuvrrr @sweetxcheeryx @sturnl0ve @estellesdoll @glitterybtch @courta13 @mattsbitchh @slvtf0rchr1s @submattenthusiast

[issues4him]

Wait i was just kinda thinking about blue collar rafe (im literally thinking about him all day long what am i talking about ) but imagine his necklace dangling in front of your face during missionary 😮‍💨

blue collar!rafe’s chain dangling in your face

cw: smut, 18+, just fuck, use of ‘daddy’, mild degradation

rafe’s body is heavy above you—not in a bad way, not in a suffocating way—but in that perfect, grounding way. like he’s keeping you tethered to the moment. one arm braced above your head, the other gripping your thigh to keep you wide open for him. his rhythm is slow, low, almost intentional. like he’s not chasing it—he’s giving it to you.

his brows are pinched in that way he gets when he’s focused, jaw clenched tight, lips parted just enough to let out these low, breathy groans. a bead of sweat drips down from his temple to the curve of his jaw, and you can see every strained tendon in his neck. his hair is damp, disheveled from your hands tugging at it earlier, and his hat was tossed somewhere across the room in the heat of it all.

and dangling above your face was that damn chain. the thin, worn silver glints in the lamplight as it sways, slow and steady, brushing your collarbone and the curve of your throat with every deep thrust. your lips are parted, chest rising and falling as you stare up at him—completely dazed, legs trembling around his waist. that chain still sways gently, brushing your throat, your collarbone, your lips like it knows what it’s doing to you. and when you bite it—just a soft little tug between your teeth—it’s instinctual. you don’t even think. you just want him closer.

you jerk him forward. hard. his chest collides with yours, hips driving deeper. his hands slam down on either side of your head, the bed frame creaking beneath him as he lowers himself, his face right there above yours. his breath is hot, uneven, nose brushing your cheek, “you’re a fuckin’ slut ya’ know that?” he whispers with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. but you don’t let go. you still have his chain in your mouth—half-teasing, half-daring him to take it. and he does.

he leans in and kisses you—with it still between your mouths. it’s messy. warm. slow and desperate and full of need. his lips crush yours with the chain caught between, cold metal clinking softly as your teeth clash, as your tongues slide over the gold, as you gasp and kiss around it like neither of you can stand to let go first. it makes the kiss tighter. closer. almost too much. you can’t open your mouth all the way without feeling the pull of the chain tugging back toward him, and it only drives him crazier.

his hand slides under your thigh, hiking your leg up higher on his hip as he ruts into you harder, deeper, every movement knocking a strangled gasp from your throat, “this what you wanted, baby?” he grits out, breath warm against your jaw, the chain now pressed between your chests again, smeared with both your lips, “wanted daddy close? real close?”

and God—you’re gone. because it’s not just the chain. it’s the way he’s on top of you, holding your body like it belongs to him. it’s the way he’s fucking into you like he’s got something to prove. it’s the feel of him—sweaty, golden, muscles flexing as he groans against your mouth.

that chain is just the cherry on top. the proof that no matter how deep he is, how close he gets, how wrecked you feel—you’ll always want him closer.

a/n: this is kinda ass i am sorry😭

[gourmand-cookie]

The One Who Hears Him

inspired by @odileeclipse's beautiful and yummy oneshot The One Who Sees You, a Shadow Milk Cookie POV of the events that happened and perhaps a little more

—What was better than stealing such an unlooked treasure from that pathetic thief?!

Apparently, one that walked right onto his stage to be his centerpiece.

tags: Shadow Milk Cookie/Reader, One-sided Pure Vanilla Cookie/Reader, Mentioned PureLily, Slow Burn-ish (In terms of Timeline), Character Study, Love, Loyalty, Bittersweet, Happy Ending, Angst, Shadow Milk Cookie Has Abandonment Issues, Shadow Milk Cookie Submits to the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known

If he could be honest for once in his second life, he didn't think you'd listen. Shadow Milk Cookie figured he'd have to put in the effort, make a real glamorous show to keep your attention, was looking forward to it even– What was better than stealing such an unlooked treasure from that pathetic thief?!

Apparently, one that walked right onto his stage to be his centerpiece.

"Come one, come all! Well, I suppose that's still one of you, to witness the comedy of The False Heroes!" You had scoffed, you had gazed at him then with a raised brow and exasperation but you stayed to listen to his fantastical, fanatical retelling.

And that was all that mattered, really.

You didn't participate at first, merely an audience who watched his antics with quiet eyes and a tired face, but oh were you enraptured, he just knew it.

(Look at me. Look at me.

I'm looking.)

"I can see you, darling." He crooned, bowing low, hand held out, eyes filled with mirth, dark amusement has his slitted pupils dilating with anticipation, "I said you'd be part of the show, didn't I?"

There's something funny about this, coaxing you to step into the backstage with him, out of the spotlight shining down on you, into the shadows to play with the puppets he's made just for this spectacle.

"But then I won't get to 'witness' it." You rebuke but you've already made a step forward, grasping onto his hand and he could feel your breath hitch with how solid it feels against your own dough.

"Oh but that's the best part, little star! You won't get to just witness it. We'll be spinning the narratives ourselves~"

He pulled you in before you could think, it was just so easy.

And yet he's never had more fun playing with you, it must be because the plan was going well, it definitely is!

(He's already fallen once.

What's one more?)

Your kingdom reminded him of a fortress, walls built tall and high, hidden away– So how did he end up here?

He knew why, this was what he had been striving for after all, months of late night talks, whispered ponderings and soon enough, secrets told were what lead to this.

He just didn't expect to find himself inside palace walls so soon, trailing after you as you quietly greet your subjects, just as loyal, just as patient as you, they'd been waiting for your return, never once wavering in doubt for your arrival.

He watched you, silent for once, taking it all in, you were a walking tragedy all on your own.

It's funny. It isn't.

"He's not going to greet you like this." A lie. He would, just not in the way you wanted, he would say your name with warmth, perhaps reach in for a hug, but his frame wouldn't soften in the way it would have, reserved for someone else that wasn't you.

"I know." Your replies grow more and more neutral, used to this song and dance the both of you have started moons ago.

Shadow Milk felt his mouth twitch, this was good, he could use this–

And yet.

"Hey, hey, won't you be the star of my show?" You paused, turning around to see his waiting hand.

He ignored the rush of warmth when you don't even hesitate anymore in taking it.

"Just for tonight?"

"Ah," He found himself laughing, a new plan stringing up his mind, "Don't stars always shine every night?"

He pulled you along, taking you with him, his hold firm and unwilling to let go. You may not wish to take what you want but that was fine, he could be selfish for the both of you.

(Plans never survived with contact from the enemy.

He knew this, of course. He just didn't think you were a threat.

Now, his heart starves for something to fill it once more.)

"Would you wait for me?" He asked it on a whim, there was something he wanted to see, check on that thief's kingdom if it had fallen to ruin—

"Of course." Your voice trembled but your words hold a truth that burned him into a wide eyed stupor.

(Oh.

Oh.)

He doesn't know how long the both of you stayed in that moment, a revelation, the climax, of what has become of the both of you.

"Oh, my little star." Shadow Milk breathed, crowding your glassy eyed face with a too wide grin, grasping your cheeks as he felt the truth crush him once more.

"Did you really think I won't come back? I might not!" A lie. The biggest he's ever told.

You listened and laughed wetly, leaning in to press your forehead against his, tethering him to this world, stronger than any crack in that damn seal ever could.

"And miss tonight's show?"

(He came back just before night fall.)

"Are you truly happy?" He paused at his other half's question, one he could never find himself to ask themselves, what good was the truth anyways? All it did was–

"I am." You didn't even hesitate.

Something settled in his chest, left him breathless, so heavy and warm, he might just think his body was truly real.

He giggled from where he was draped over you and he delighted in seeing you smile at the sound.

"Is that a smile I see? Ah, no no, don't look away from me, my little star. I saw that!"

(And if tonight was a fullblown musical– well, who didn't love a good song?

You certainly did.)

[reiding-writing]

BOUNDARY LINE. /spencer reid/

you go back to spencer’s apartment after a night out together, and what starts as a moment of mutual tension does not end as such.

s10!cold!reader 4.1k angst series masterlist. main masterlist.

CW | starts suggestive but definitely doesn’t end suggestive 😭, reader setting strict boundaries that spencer has no problem with, reader gets frustrated with spencer for not standing up for his own desires (but that man does not care rip), open communication, some wholesome comfort at the end

a/n | you thought it was gonna be smooth sailing now they’re officially together? oh you poor sweet naive child

The walk back to Spencer’s apartment is slow, unhurried, as if neither of you are particularly eager to reach the destination. The city hums quietly around you—distant car engines, the occasional trill of laughter from a nearby bar, and the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.

His hand brushes against yours once, then again, until his fingers finally catch yours and lace them together. It feels easy. Natural. Like second nature.

By the time you reach his building, the wind has died down and the streets are quiet. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, always the gentleman.

His eyes linger on you a fraction longer than necessary, dark and quietly affectionate, but he doesn’t say anything. Just offers you that small, familiar smile before following you inside.

The elevator ride is still. Comfortable, mostly. Your bodies are close enough that his sleeve brushes yours. He smells like his usual soap, a faint hint of cologne still clinging to his skin. It’s a scent you know well by now, one you’ve leaned into on days when the world felt too heavy.

When you step into his apartment, the door clicks shut softly behind you. The place is familiar, almost like an extension of him—the slight disarray of books stacked on the coffee table, the worn throw blanket draped haphazardly over the back of the couch. The soft, warm lighting makes the whole space feel a little smaller, more intimate.

You slip off your shoes by the door. He does the same, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there in the gentle quiet, facing each other. You know exactly what’s coming—it’s in the way he looks at you, warm and patient, but slightly hesitant, as though he’s silently asking permission.

When he steps closer, you don’t move away.

The first kiss is tentative, barely more than the brush of his lips against yours. But when you don’t pull back, he kisses you again, more deliberately this time. His hand comes up slowly to cup the side of your face, his palm warm against your cheek.

You tilt into him automatically, letting your hands find their familiar place—one resting lightly at the nape of his neck, the other brushing against his side. His fingers slide into your hair, anchoring there, and the kiss deepens in slow increments. Soft, careful, as if he’s trying not to press too hard or ask for too much.

But you can feel the slight shift in his breathing when you pull lightly at the collar of his shirt, guiding him in a little closer. There’s the faintest hitch in his breath, just barely audible, when your teeth graze his lower lip.

You think it’s your idea to move toward the bedroom, but you can’t be sure. Maybe it’s his. Maybe it’s neither of you, maybe you both just fall into the same rhythm so easily that the decision makes itself. His hand finds yours, and you let him lead you down the short hall.

Your heartbeat has picked up. You feel it in your chest, in your throat. You can’t tell if it’s anticipation or nerves. Maybe both.

Inside his room, the light from the hallway spills softly across the floor. Neither of you bothers turning on the lamp. You don’t need to see him—you’ve already memorised the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the thoughtful crease between his brows. You could map it all out in the dark.

His mouth finds yours again before you can think too hard about any of it. His hands are careful where they touch, trailing lightly over your arms, your waist, your back. And yet, there’s still a quiet urgency beneath it—a gentle but unmistakable need.

You let him press you back slightly, your legs brushing the edge of the mattress. His lips trace along your jaw, down the side of your neck. The feeling is soft but deliberate, and you instinctively tip your head back to give him more space. You exhale sharply when his teeth catch just faintly against your skin.

And then—

You stiffen.

It’s subtle at first. Your hand stills where it had been idly running over the back of his neck. The other, previously clinging lightly to his shirt, goes slack. Your breath, which had been coming unevenly, holds for a fraction too long.

Spencer doesn’t notice right away. Or maybe he does but mistakes it for adrenaline. He leans back just slightly, lips parted, his breath still warm against your skin. His hands drift lower, skimming along your waist. The touch should be reassuring, comforting, but it isn’t.

Your body reacts before your mind fully catches up. You flinch—just barely—a faint, instinctive recoil from the press of his palms.

He stills immediately. You feel his lips pause against your skin, lingering there without moving. His hands stop where they are. He doesn’t pull back, but he doesn’t push forward, either. He just waits.

For a second, neither of you moves. Your heart is suddenly loud in your ears.

You want to ignore it. You want to push through it, to will your body into cooperating. You try to relax into the warmth of his hands, but your body refuses. There’s a pressure building in your chest—tight and unwelcome—and suddenly, the room feels too small.

Your fingers find his wrist and you push lightly, wordlessly, just enough to put a sliver of distance between you.

He pulls back immediately. No hesitation, no resistance. His hands fall away, giving you all the space you silently ask for.

You can feel the heat still lingering on your skin, but the moment has already fractured. You take half a step back, then another. Your arms come up loosely around yourself, a self-soothing gesture that you’re barely aware of.

Spencer’s breathing is still slightly uneven, but his voice is steady when he asks, softly, “Hey… are you okay?”

It’s the gentleness of it that nearly makes your throat close up. His voice is quiet, careful, and so achingly tender. You could lie to him. You know you could. But you can’t make yourself do it.

You shake your head once, too quickly, and then, with more force than you intend, you say, “No.”

The word lands with more weight than you expect. It sounds hard in the quiet. Sharp-edged and abrupt.

You turn away from him without thinking. You don’t mean to, but you do. Your arms are still around yourself, and you squeeze slightly, as if you can keep all the fractured parts of yourself contained if you just hold on tightly enough.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You feel the space you’ve created between you like a tangible thing. You expect him to be frustrated. Or at the very least, confused.

But when you finally glance at him, he doesn’t look either of those things.

He just looks concerned.

His brow is faintly furrowed, his eyes searching yours. But there’s no trace of disappointment. No flicker of frustration. He’s just… waiting. Not pushing, not prying. Just there.

“Hey,” he says again, voice still low, still soft. “It’s okay,”

And it almost undoes you—the simple kindness of it. It makes your chest ache with something heavy and unnameable.

You swallow thickly and nod, but it’s a hollow gesture. You can feel your hands trembling faintly against your arms. You don’t want him to see it, but of course he does. He always does.

Spencer doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t reach for you. He just gives you the space you need, even though you can see the faint crease between his brows that only ever appears when he’s worried.

You don’t speak again right away. You don’t trust your voice. Instead, you sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, curling in slightly. The warmth that had filled the room minutes earlier is replaced by a tightness in your chest that refuses to ease.

And still, he waits.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, willing your hands to stop shaking. When you finally glance back at him, he’s watching you carefully. Gently. With more patience than you deserve.

You can’t meet his gaze for long. So you focus instead on the floor, on the soft, uneven rhythm of your own breathing, trying to piece yourself back together.

You don’t look at him when you say it.

You can’t.

Instead, you keep your eyes trained on the floor, your hands gripping loosely at the hem of your shirt, twisting the fabric around your fingers. Your voice is low, almost flat, when you finally speak.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.”

The words come out sharper than you intend. Blunt and inelegant, but it’s the only way you know how to say it—quick and clinical, like ripping off a bandage. You don’t soften the edges or give it any room to linger. You just let the words hang there, heavy and clumsy, as if speaking them fast enough might lessen their weight.

The silence that follows is instant and absolute. You brace yourself for… something. You don’t know what. Disappointment, maybe. Or confusion. Or even a flicker of hurt that he won’t be able to hide.

But there’s none of that.

Instead, Spencer’s response is immediate, without even the briefest beat of hesitation. His voice is soft, steady, and utterly sincere when he says, “That’s okay,”

Just that. Two words, simple and unshaken. Like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

You look at him then, and you hate how kind he is about it. How completely unaffected he seems. His eyes are gentle, patient, and so heartbreakingly open. No trace of disappointment. No flicker of frustration. Just genuine, unwavering acceptance.

It should ease you. Should soften the sharpness in your chest.

But it doesn’t.

Because you know what he’s doing. You know he’s trying to be understanding, and kind, and gentle. You know he means it when he says it’s okay, and that only makes the whole thing worse.

Your throat tightens. Your hands, still gripping your shirt, clench harder. Your voice feels smaller when you force out, “No, you don’t get it.”

You shake your head slightly, half to yourself, half to him. You can feel the heat building behind your eyes, sharp and humiliating. Your voice wavers despite yourself.

“I might never want to have sex with you.”

You say it too forcefully, with too much bite. It sounds harsher than you intend, but you can’t make yourself soften it. Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you hate how small it makes you feel.

But Spencer doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stiffen or shift away. He just holds your gaze, calm and steady, his expression completely unchanged.

“That’s still okay,” he says quietly.

You stare at him, almost disbelieving. You search his face for any sign of pretense—for the slightest flicker of reservation or doubt. But there’s nothing. Just gentle sincerity.

And that’s what makes you snap.

“Stop saying that,” you snap, your voice suddenly brittle.

He blinks, surprised but not startled. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. He just waits, letting you unravel without any resistance.

You exhale sharply, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “It’s not okay.” Your voice is frayed, uneven. Your hands are trembling faintly against your lap, but you don’t unclench them. You shake your head again, hating the thickness in your throat, the tightness in your chest.

“You want that.”

He swallows. It’s the first indication that he’s at all bothered by the conversation, and he gives a tiny nod in acknowledgment. “Yeah. I do,”

There’s no sense in denying it. The fact that he wants it��� but that he isn’t going to get it… it hurts. And you can clearly see it in his eyes.

You force yourself to keep going, even though the words scrape painfully against your throat. “It’s not fair,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You shouldn’t have to… settle for someone who can’t give you what you want.”

You can feel the weight of it catching in your chest—the guilt, the self-loathing, the ache of it pressing too hard against your ribs.

Because you’ve known what he wants. Not because he’s ever pressured you or even implied it. But because it’s normal. It’s human. He deserves that kind of connection with someone he loves. He deserves it in all the ways you’ll probably never be able to give it to him.

You glance at him again, expecting—wanting—to see at least a sliver of resentment. You want him to be angry with you. Or disappointed. You want him to want something you can’t give.

But he still just looks at you the same way. Softly. Patiently. With so much unshaken tenderness that you feel it press hard against your chest.

You let out a shaky breath and look away. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand how easily he accepts it—how completely. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.

Your voice is tight and bitter when you say, “You’re supposed to want more than this.”

You feel the words lodge painfully in your throat. It’s not cruel, but it is cutting. And it’s meant to be. Because you want to make him *see* how unfair it is. You want him to feel it, to want more than you can give.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step closer. Still careful. Still calm. He doesn’t touch you—doesn’t even reach for you—but he’s close enough that you feel the warmth of him, grounding and steady.

When he speaks, his voice is soft but steady. “I don’t want more than you’re willing to give me,”

The words hit you so squarely in the chest that you actually forget how to breathe for a moment.

You look at him, startled by the firmness in his voice. Not forceful. Not desperate. Just certain.

His eyes are steady on yours—calm and clear, utterly unwavering. He says it again, quieter this time, but just as certain.

“I don’t want more than you.”

And there’s no room for argument in his voice. No trace of doubt. Just quiet, uncomplicated honesty.

You feel the pressure building behind your eyes, sharp and sudden, and you hate how quickly your throat closes up.

You shake your head slightly, trying to reject the softness of it. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.”

There’s no hesitation. Not even a heartbeat of doubt. He says it so simply, so effortlessly, as if the truth of it is absolute.

You stare at him, feeling the warmth in your chest expand, painful and overwhelming. Your vision blurs faintly at the edges, and you look away, clenching your jaw tightly against the burn behind your eyes.

He waits. Doesn’t push. Just lets the silence settle, soft and unobtrusive.

When you finally glance at him again, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s still watching you with the same calm, unshaken tenderness.

“You could go the rest of your life without that?” you ask quietly, your voice raw and disbelieving. “And you’d be fine with it?”

He doesn’t even pause. Doesn’t blink.

“Yes.”

The answer comes so simply, so easily, that it knocks the breath from your chest.

You exhale sharply, overwhelmed by how *effortless* it is for him. You feel the ache in your throat spread, pressing hot behind your ribs. The room feels smaller somehow—too close, too warm.

You close your eyes and try to will the pressure back down. Try to keep it from spilling over.

But it’s no use.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say, “I don’t believe you.”

And his response is just as quiet.

“I’ll prove it to you. Every day if I have to,” He breathes out slowly, like even disrupting the air is too much. “Because I love you,”

There’s no flourish in his voice. No grand declaration. He just says it plainly, without hesitation. Like it’s already been true for a long time.

And you can’t breathe. You can’t move. You can only look at him—searching his face for any trace of uncertainty, but there’s nothing. Just calm, honest certainty.

Your throat closes up. You can’t say it back. You can’t. Your hands are trembling slightly, and you know he notices.

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come. You can’t even force them.

He just shakes his head slightly, smiling softly. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but certain. “I know,”

And somehow, that’s what undoes you.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t push or pry or ask for more than you can give. He just watches you, quiet and patient, letting the moment settle between you.

The weight of his words still lingers in your chest, pressing against something fragile and unfamiliar. It’s too much and not enough all at once, leaving you unsteady in a way you don’t know how to handle.

You feel raw—like an exposed nerve, too sensitive to touch. But Spencer, as always, seems to know exactly how to navigate around your jagged edges without cutting himself on them.

After a moment, he shifts slightly, just enough to close some of the space between you. Not too much. Just enough to make his presence feel like something solid, something grounding.

Then, gently, he says, “Come here.”

It’s not a command. Not even really a request. It’s an offering—quiet, patient, free of expectation. An open invitation to let yourself rest, just for a moment.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t know how.

Spencer seems to sense it. He always does.

So instead of reaching for you, he just shifts back slightly, lying down first. He moves slowly, deliberately, giving you space to decide for yourself. He leans back against the pillows, stretching out on his side, but his eyes never leave yours.

The mattress dips slightly under his weight. The space beside him remains open. Waiting.

You swallow. Your fingers are still curled against the hem of your shirt, twisted tight around the fabric like an anchor. Your body feels tense, wound up like a coil that might snap at any moment.

But Spencer doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t urge you or coax you further. He just waits.

And maybe that’s what makes you move.

Slowly—almost hesitantly—you shift, easing yourself onto the mattress beside him. You’re stiff at first, uncertain, still holding yourself slightly apart even as you settle next to him. Your body isn’t quite ready to let go, to accept the comfort being offered so freely.

Spencer stays perfectly still, giving you time to adjust. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t assume.

Then, softly, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

Your breath catches slightly in your throat. The question is so simple, so quiet. There’s no urgency in it. No insistence. Just gentle, patient kindness.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want it. But because you’re still not sure if you can.

But when you glance at him—when you meet his gaze and see nothing but quiet understanding there—you find yourself nodding before you can second-guess it.

“…Yeah,” you murmur.

Spencer waits a beat, as if making sure, and then—carefully, slowly—he shifts closer.

His arm comes around you, tentative at first, giving you room to pull away if you need to. When you don’t, he lets his hand settle lightly against your back, his fingers barely grazing the fabric of your shirt.

You exhale, shakily.

The warmth of him is immediate. Steady. Solid. He doesn’t pull you in too tightly. He doesn’t press too close. He just is, his presence a quiet, steady reassurance against your skin.

For a long moment, you stay stiff in his arms, your muscles still braced for something you can’t quite name.

But then—slowly, almost imperceptibly—the tension begins to drain from your body.

It happens in small, gradual shifts. The tightness in your shoulders eases. Your hands, still curled slightly against yourself, loosen. Your breathing slows, aligning itself with the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest.

And he feels it.

You know he does.

You can tell by the way his hand moves just slightly, his fingers tracing the faintest, absentminded patterns against your back. Not pushing, not pressing. Just a quiet acknowledgment of the trust you’re offering him, even if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud.

Spencer doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

He just holds you.

Spencer's arm is warm around you, his touch gentle and patient. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a peaceful stillness. His breathing is quiet, steady—nothing urgent, nothing demanding. He isn’t asking for anything from you now, and the lack of expectation gives you space to simply be.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight of your past, the endless thoughts and anxieties that usually crowd your mind, seem to soften. The world outside the room, with all its noise and pressure, fades into a distant hum. It doesn’t matter right now.

You don’t need to talk. There’s no pressure to fill the silence with explanations or justifications. The quiet is enough. The simple act of lying there together, holding onto each other in this fragile, honest way, is more than enough.

Spencer’s hand moves slightly, a quiet, reassuring gesture as he pulls you just a little closer, as if you could sink into him and find a quiet refuge from everything else. You allow it, letting yourself sink deeper into his warmth. You don’t worry about what it means, or what might come next. You don’t have to.

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your hair, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear, and the rhythm of his presence becomes something you cling to, soft and grounding. You don’t need anything else right now. Just this—just the quiet comfort of being together, of letting the world drift away, if only for a little while.

The vulnerability between you both is palpable, yet it doesn’t feel like weakness. Instead, it feels like something shared, like a moment of mutual understanding, one that doesn’t require words or explanations.

It’s in the way your bodies are pressed together, the way his hand rests lightly against your back. It’s the gentle warmth you both offer in silence, simply by existing in each other’s presence.

There is a comfort in the simplicity of it—just this.

Slowly, like a tide creeping up to shore, the exhaustion begins to settle into your bones. The soft weight of Spencer’s arm around you becomes a source of quiet comfort, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulls you into a sense of peace that feels almost unfamiliar, like a dream you’ve been chasing but couldn’t quite reach.

The gentle pull of sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness, your body growing heavier, the warmth of his embrace sinking deeper into your skin. You let yourself drift, knowing you’re safe here, in this shared silence, where nothing is expected and nothing is demanded. Just the quiet togetherness of it.

You feel Spencer’s breath grow deeper, slower, the rhythm of his body relaxing into the bed. You shift slightly, just enough to curl into him more fully, as if the simple act of holding on to each other will somehow shield you both from everything else.

The world outside fades. Time slows.

And eventually, without even realising it, you’re asleep.

[itsraceweekbitches]

JUST HOW FAKE ARE WE?

summary: Your so-far-successful fake relationship with Max takes a different turn in Monaco. But how far will things go eventually? ✤ pairing: Max Verstappen x reader ✤ wc: 3.2k ✤ tags: fem!reader, marriage talks, fake relationship, teenage crush, excited-puppy-in-love!Max ✤ note I'm a goddamn idiot who deleted it, so here's the repost.

[march 2025 – australian grand prix]

The media is having a field day with your suddenly revealed relationship with Max, who seems to enjoy this show a little too much. I’m bored, it’s fun, and it’s absolutely no big deal, he said.

And he clearly means it, because he doesn’t let go of your hand when you’re walking down the paddock together for the first time on Saturday, and he always makes sure he has a hand on your body, or places a kiss on your cheek whenever there are cameras around.

The inevitable happens shortly before qualifying, when the first article about the two of you is published on a well-known gossip site. And then comes another. And another. Followed by social media posts and video edits by fans. The fans are obsessed with this turn of events.

Some immediately catch on, stating that there is no way this relationship is real, that it’s nothing more but a decoy. They’re right, of course, but lucky for you, there are many more fans who believe the lie. Some even uncovered a few photos from the boys’ karting days, ones where you and Max can be seen together talking, laughing, and even hugging.

Charles has been apologizing non-stop, telling you he feels guilty since the press got the conversation from his account, and he even believes he shouldn’t have joked about it at all.

Now Max is attending an emergency meeting to discuss how to handle the situation, while you’re hiding in his driver room, talking to Charles who has already returned from his own emergency meeting.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Charles tells you during your video call, although you can see the doubt in his green eyes.

With a groan, you lean back on the bed, but you can’t calm down, you can’t think clearly, not when your brain is in overdrive by the fact the whole room—and especially the pillow—smells like Max. You’re not used to being surrounded by this scent, and it feels like you’re invading his personal space.

And the decorations keep reminding you that you’re not at Ferrari anymore, that this is uncharted territory, something you know nothing about yet. Sure, you will have to get familiar with things here, but you are still feeling out of place.

“I know it’s not the end of the world,” you finally speak up, “but now we dragged Max into this, and—”

“Hey, no, no, no, he volunteered. We didn’t hold him at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, then give him a look that immediately silences him, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he forces himself not to go on. You’ve known Charles literally your whole life, you know each other like you weren’t just best friends, but siblings who are stuck together.

“I’m just worried he’ll get into trouble because of me. You should have seen the faces when I showed up in Red Bull territory this morning,” you note with a grimace.

The most shocking moment was running into Christian, who watched you with narrowed eyes, as if he was thinking about what ulterior motive you had. If he only knew the truth…

On the other side of the line, Charles lets out a heartfelt laugh. “You as a corporate spy… Nah, you would suck at that,” he points out, then takes a deep breath. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Here you go again, he’s apologizing once more, and probably not for the last time. You wish you could go over to him and give him a big hug, then play video games until you both fall asleep. Like in the good old days.

After shaking your head, you sit up and lean your back against the wall behind you. “Charles, it’s not your fault. And I could never be mad at you, you know that.”

You want to go on, just to make sure he understands that there’s no reason to blame himself, but you’re interrupted all of a sudden.

“Honey, I’m home,” you hear Max’s familiar, cheerful voice from the door when he enters the room. “Oh, I didn’t know you were talking to someone,” he says when he comes to a halt in the middle of the room.

You flash a smile at him and shake your head. “It’s just Charles.”

“Just Charles?” the Monegasque asks with a roll of his eyes.

Before you know it, Max kneels on the edge of the bed, and leans down to press kisses all over your face, a move that brings a stupid giggle out of you. “She’ll call you back, now she’s all mine,” Max announces when he looks at the camera for a second.

It’s hard to miss the expression on your best friend’s face, the way his nose scrunches and he acts like he was about to throw up. “Disgusting,” he notes.

Next to you, Max doesn’t seem bothered by that, if anything, it just makes him more smug than he usually is in your company. “Screw you. I can shower my girlfriend with kisses anytime I want.”

“Since when?”

You let out a tired sigh as you push the man on your side away before he can give you another kiss on the cheek. “He’s been like that all day, he thinks he’s funny,” you tell Charles with a shake of your head.

“I’m hilarious,” Max corrects you as he lies down on the small space on your side. “And since we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, it’s only natural to act like this, no?”

“Only in public.”

“If you touch her in an inappropriate way, I’ll push you off the track tomorrow,” Charles warns him.

Instead of being scared, Max only lets out a carefree laugh. “You’ll have to get close to me first.”

When you turn back to the phone, you can see that little shit kind of grin on your friend’s face. “Your car sucks this year,” he notes happily. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to you later.”

You wave him goodbye, then end the call with a sigh.

“So does yours,” Max mutters under his breath, even though Charles isn’t there anymore.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly to calm yourself. Soon this will pass, soon you’ll be free again. Until then, you’re stuck here with the Dutchman, who happens to act like the perfect boyfriend.

When you look over at Max, you notice that he’s staring right back, as if he’s been watching you all this time. But what if he has truly been watching you? There’s something in those blue eyes you can’t quite place yet. It’s something you’ve never seen before, an emotion that’s completely unfamiliar, and maybe even a little unsettling.

Before you could say anything, though, he grins at you then rolls off the bed, heading to the mini fridge in the corner to get a Red Bull out for himself. He asks you if you'd like one, but your heart is already racing, an energy drink is the last thing you need.

Just two or three more races. The storm will end, and you can all go back to your everyday lives.

[may 2025 – monaco grand prix]

Over two months later you’re still pretending.

And now it’s time for the most important race of the season: the Monaco Grand Prix. Charles’s home race. The one you want to watch from the Ferrari garage along with his family you’re so close to.

But first, it’s time for dinner with Charles, his mom, and Alex, to which Pascale invited Max too. If Charles brings his girlfriend, you should bring your boyfriend too, she said. And who are you to say no to your second mother?

Later in the afternoon you’re trying on dresses in your family’s penthouse, happy that they are away with their friends until Saturday since Max decided to jump in and pick you up. He arrived early–like, two hours early—so now he’s the one rating your outfits.

“The color is nice, it suits you, but the shape is terrible,” he comments as he holds up the makeshift rating card, a smaller whiteboard he writes his points on.

Six points. Okay, this goes back to the walk-in closet, but you only leave after sticking out your tongue at him, because you love this dress so much that hearing it doesn’t look good on you physically hurts.

Three more outfits later he lets out a groan and jumps up after tossing the whiteboard to the other end of the couch. “I have an idea,” he begins as he follows you to the bedroom for whatever reason.

“I’m not gonna wear jeans with a Red Bull Racing shirt, forget it,” you point out without looking back at him.

“What? No, I’d rather you wear that when you’re with Ferrari this weekend.”

You spin on your heels to look at him, and sure enough, there’s that cheeky, boyish grin you were expecting. But how does he know about your plan to spend the weekend on Charles’s side of the paddock? You never mentioned that.

To your surprise, he knows perfectly well what’s going on inside your head. “What? You thought I wouldn’t know that this weekend is special? I discussed this with Charles a while ago, everything’s ready for you,” he tells you casually.

“Thank you. So, what do you have in mind, then?” you wonder as you walk closer to him.

Max lets out a thoughtful hum as his eyes sweep over your body, as if he was making this up on the spot. “Well, I would suggest jeans and a Simply lovely shirt, but no, I have a better idea. I have a surprise for you in my backpack, give me a sec.”

You watch him rush out of the room with a frown on your face, wondering what the hell is happening here. Max being nice and thoughtful is nothing new, but today it just feels different, like something has shifted in your fake relationship.

To be honest, you may have been thinking about him more than you probably should, even when he’s not around. You find yourself opening the messaging app you usually use, typing some words before changing your mind and deleting them. Or other times your finger hovers over the screen as you wonder if you should call him or not.

You’re kind of afraid of whatever that means. Is this more than just pretending?

At this point, you can’t help but wonder if it’s time to put an end to this. By now the press moved on, focusing on other drivers’ relationships instead of yours. It’s yesterday’s news, and everybody knows Charles and Alex are back together, and that they’re happier than ever. So what’s the point of this? Nothing.

Yet…

“Before you ask, I cheated and asked Charles to somehow get me what size you wear. Apparently Alex straight-up asked you, so,” he begins with a sheepish smile as he holds up a dress.

It’s a beautiful dark blue cocktail dress, which somehow didn’t have any wrinkles on it despite spending God knows how much time in that backpack. You don’t even know what to say, mostly because this gesture only proves what you’ve been suspecting about this certain shift you’ve noticed.

“You don’t like it.”

Your eyes move from the dress to your fake boyfriend, and you don’t hesitate to shake your head. “No, it’s beautiful. I just… Never mind. Thank you.”

Max lets out a sigh as he places the dress on the back of a chair. “Listen, I can see something’s bothering you. What is it?”

What are you supposed to say to this? That your brain is wandering to places you don’t want to explore?

“I’ll try on the dress, so could you wait outside?”

Nodding, Max gives you one last look, then leaves the room without a word. That’s the last time you speak until you meet the others, and even then, you keep an unusual distance. For him, it’s about being cautious. For you, it’s about making sure you make a fool out of yourself.

Charles, of course, notices the change in the atmosphere right away, and he even pulls you aside to start questioning you. But, even though he has known you since you were born, meaning he could probably give you some advice, you decide to lie and act like it’s nothing. 

But it’s not nothing. 

Your eyes keep finding Max throughout the evening, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head. Does he have the same thoughts? Or is he desperately waiting to be free of you? It’s hard to tell. 

Just as you planned, you spend the weekend with Charles, arriving at the paddock with his family, staying in Ferrari territory just to be safe. Safe from Max. Safe from your thoughts. Safe from the media. 

But there’s an itch in the back of your brain, one you can’t scratch. And the itch even has a voice, repeating his name over, and over, and over again. It’s getting louder with each passing second, with each moment you see him on the screens on the wall, when your phone buzzes to notify you of a new message from him. 

Alex gives you worried looks every now and then, but it takes her a while to open up and tell you what it’s about. And when she finally tells you what’s going on, you feel like the whole world has turned against you. First, everyone was freaking out because they thought you and Charles were getting married. Then it was you and Max. Now? Now the fans are mad because you chose your best friend over your boyfriend. 

You close your eyes for a moment, but then you take a deep breath and leave the garage, trying to move in a way that doesn’t scream how terrible and pathetic you feel right now. Some fans are screaming bloody murder because Max is starting the race from P10 after a mechanical issue in Q3, which only happened because his lucky charm–you–wasn’t there with him on Saturday. 

To be honest, you haven’t talked since the dinner. You’ve been avoiding him, ignoring him, and you hate yourself for not answering him. 

“Wait,” you hear a familiar voice calling after you. 

Fuck. 

Max ran all the way here, ready to jump into the car based on the suit he already wears, but despite this, here he is, looking for you. There are people already turning in your direction, you can’t just leave him there, so you come to a halt and force a smile on your face. 

“Hey, I–”

Before you could say anything, he gently but firmly puts a hand around your neck to pull you into a kiss. It’s rushed, passionate, and messy, yet it feels perfect. This is the first time the two of you kissed, until now you carefully avoided that situation, but God, what did you miss?

It’s only when he lets go for a moment that you notice the cameras around you, but it doesn’t seem to bother him, in fact, it just draws a smug smirk on his face. “Well, if you want to jump ship, Red Bull’s always waiting for you. I love you,” he adds quietly. 

This short-circuits your brain. This didn’t sound fake, you have a feeling he meant it. But if he meant it, then… Okay, you need to stop, you can’t overthink, you can’t let him put ideas in your head. 

You want to say something, anything, really, but nothing comes to your mind. 

He flashes a big smile at you before pressing a rushed kiss on your cheek. “Come over tonight. The cats miss you.” And with that, he waves goodbye and leaves. 

What the hell just happened?

Luckily, you have enough brain capacity left to send him a quick good luck message.

“I was hoping you would jump in, but don’t worry, I’m glad you’re here now” Max says when he opens the door of his apartment. 

Yeah, right. The invitation. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t go there, not now. Not when you had these confusing feelings and thoughts. Did he mean it when he said those words? Did he catch feelings just like you did?

Because you did. You caught feelings in the past two months, and it wouldn’t be fair to deny. Just how long can you play pretend knowing damn well you want more from him? 

Letting out a sigh, you go straight to his living room without saying a word–something that confuses him based on the questioning hum he lets out as you walk past him. Once he catches up, you gulp and prepare to speak up, breaking the awkward silence. This has never been the problem, not once. You could always chat and laugh, but now it feels different. 

“Maybe it’s time to end this fake relationship,” you announce, even though the thought breaks your heart. 

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats stubbornly as he sits on the couch and picks up his youngest furry kid. “Aren’t we having fun? Why can’t this become something real? Come on, you enjoyed that kiss this afternoon, didn’t you?” 

Oh, that confident smile of his is driving you crazy. You just want to slap him. 

You want to slap that handsome face. 

DAMN IT! FOCUS!

“Max, people have moved on, there’s no reason to keep going,” you try, although your voice lacks conviction. 

And he knows. He always knows if there’s something you’re not telling him. This time he starts with a doubtful look, which is followed by a wide, Cheshire Cat grin. The thing is, Max always gets what he wants, and this time you have a feeling you’re what he wants.

Before you know it, he puts the cat to the side–who gives him a mean look in return–and reaches out to take your hands to pull you into his lap. Your brain melts when you feel his hands on your waist, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. Why does it feel so good? You don’t want to like it as much as you do. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to pry his hands off yourself to break the spell, but his grip only tightens as he launches himself forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Another mind blowing kiss that knocks every coherent thought out of your brain. 

The fact you like it is pathetic.

But still oh so good.

Maybe giving him a chance is what you should do now. Maybe he’s right, maybe you would be good together. So, without thinking more, you let yourself get lost in the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. But he suddenly leans back to build a little distance.

“I have an idea,” he begins with a smile, his lips red and swollen. “I have napkins in the kitchen, let’s write a contract. Seems to work for you.”

“God, you’re so silly,” you tell him with a grin, then kiss him again.

[gatorbites-imagines]

What do you think is each Mark Variants’ favorite sex position?

Invincible Variants favorite positions

Hey Nerds, you dont wanna know what my search history looks like making this. Some of these have the dumbest names, but thats what the site calls them. 

I think my package is getting here tomorrow, so im excited. 

Enjoy 

Sinister Mark 

The kind where you got him face down against something, gripping the back of his neck like some kinda rapid dog, so you can use the grip to thrust into him. 

Or the one called the wheelbarrow. 

High-top Mark 

Literally any position where you can tie him up. 

Or, ones where you get to abuse his flexibility as much as possible. 

Prisoner Mark 

Missionary, with loving eye contact 

That one where he's sitting with his back against your chest, and you can hold around his torso and kiss his neck and stuff. 

20/20 or lensless Mark 

Missionary, but with the most feral nasty eye contact. Even better if you choke him or spit in his mouth. 

Would go crazy in a full nelson if you can lift him. 

Flaxan Mark 

Cowgirl, just let him ride you. 

Would also enjoy some missionary, but against the wall. 

Mohawk Mark 

Would literally like all positions, places and times. He just wants to get railed and laid. 

Long Hair Mark 

Doggy, so you can grab his hair and pull it. 

Kind of a mating press, but where he can do autofellatio, cuz he thinks its really hot and embarrassing. 

Bug eye Mark 

That one where hes laying down and you got your arm hooked around his throat, so you can really rut into him. 

Just likes the ones where he just needs to push his pants down his thighs so you can get access. 

Half mask Mark 

When you straddle his face and fuck his throat, like, him lying on his back with you above him. 

69, especially likes doing it flying so you are standing and he's upside down. 

Maskless Mark 

Kneeling at the end up the bed, back arching very pretty, so you just need to bend your knees a little to get access. 

Any position where you guys can kiss tbh. Loves holding hands as well. 

Full Mask Mark 

Spooning, especially after you guys have just woken up or you are about to fall asleep. 

Likes sitting in your lap, especially when you are “busy”, aka just acting like you are but it makes him happy. 

Moustache Mark 

Bending over a counter or the couch, or anything. If he's wearing panties, then anything where you can just pull them to the side. 

Likes riding you too, but always ends up a bit too into it, making your hips hurt. 

Shiesty Mark 

Literally any position, what wouldnt he be into?  

Big sucker for a mating press or good ol “wrestling moves” 

Omni-Mark 

Bent over the counter or couch, but the kind where you lift one of his legs and put the knee on the table so you can take him from the back. 

Likes kneeling when no one else is around and just having his mouth on you. 

Viltrumite Mark 

Any position where hes like “below” you in a way, like doggy or him just kinda bent in half, with his hands and face on the floor, and his hips in your lap. 

Likes kneeling and being tied up, arms behind his back and legs folded in half and tied up. 

Bulletproof Mark 

Laying on his back with his arms above his head, but bent so his armpits are like, exposed, cuz he likes body worship. 

This goes hand in hand with the one above, but after hes been massaged all over and is all shiny with oil, spread his legs and just drag him down the bed so you can stand at the end. 

Faceless Mark 

That one where hes sitting with his chest against the back of a chair, with his fits hanging off the edge of the chair, so you can milk him with both hands. 

Spooning position, or just laying on your sides in general with his leg lifted in the air. 

Empire Mark 

Any position where you can choke or spank him, like doggy or misionary. 

Mating press, please put him in one of these. 

The cuck chair,,, he likes to watch and get the sloppy seconds. 

Original Marks (OCs) 

Cyborg Mark 

Frotting or dry humping cuz hes still embarrassed about his body.  

Thigh fucking, may or may not have made the insides of his thighs a softer squishier material so you guys can do this. 

Evil emperor Mark 

Roughest rider you have ever met, will throw his weight around, makes you think hes cracked your hips when hes done. 

By extension, amazonian position. Will sometimes very rarely do doggy, but most of the time likes being in control. 

Viltrumites are actually alien Mark 

Him on all fours with you placing a container or bucket under him so you can milk his eggs into it,,, his eyes go all blurry and he will start drooling a massive puddle. 

Somehow always ends up putting you in a mating press when hes kinda egg crazy. But when hes not, then he enjoys good ol missionary. 

Tiger Hybrid Mark 

Hands and face against the wall, so he can arch his back and push back against you. Wraps his tail around you, ends up clawing the wall. 

Just lovemaking in his nest in the closet. 

Wolf Hybrid Mark 

Doggy. Doesn't matter if its you or him on top, but likes this position so he can pull his tail to the side, or knot more comfortably. 

Wants you to sit on his face, will lift you with his super strength if need be. 

Vampyr Mark 

Does it in the coffin for fun, so him lying on his back, or you laying on your back on the silk covered bottom of his coffin. 

Floating, or him just, becoming shapeless and giving it to you from all angles.