#a little something cute for a lovely person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delopsia · 2 days ago

Text

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!"

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house.

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?"

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert."

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words.

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you.

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more.

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head.

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it."

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Or whenever you feel like, really.

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint?

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan.

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add.

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel.

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place.

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up.

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship.

Or at least, you thought you did.

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner.

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it.

That should technically be the last of your encounters.

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks.

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head.

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah."

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble.

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling.

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him.

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry."

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?"

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once.

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame.

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question.

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure.

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place."

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music.

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks.

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before.

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout.

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale.

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist.

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No."

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow.

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?"

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment.

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks.

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap.

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button.

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh."

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back.

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making.

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out.

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall.

"What was that?"

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer.

The bathroom plunges into darkness.

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out.

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely.

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot."

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins.

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears.

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms.

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down.

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey?

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it.

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks.

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?"

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense."

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it.

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?"

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight.

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies.

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines.

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office.

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand.

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?"

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body.

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt.

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side.

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes.

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?"

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads.

You're gone the moment he's in front of you.

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine.

He turns.

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape.

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you.

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working.

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him.

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground.

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip.

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily.

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before.

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together.

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying.

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut.

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right.

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his.

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless.

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ."

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name."

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh.

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely.

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough.

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later.

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins.

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most.

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch.

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure.

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me."

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now.

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised.

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face.

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest.

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing.

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again.

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place.

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance.

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin.

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps.

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later.

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow.

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore.

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt.

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck.

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?"

Your hand is crimson.

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it.

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one.

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened.

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing.

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it.

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game.

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all.

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out.

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing.

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment.

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party.

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried.

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time.

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details.

The music swells.

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack.

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off.

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh.

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past.

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you.

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms.

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream.

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter.

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus.

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons.

Because it certainly feels like you did.

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human?

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you.

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince.

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized.

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door.

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key.

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward.

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more.

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh." His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy.

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more.

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder.

"What, don't like being teased?"

"I might die if you keep talking."

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long.

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive.

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine.

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye.

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily.

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time.

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his.

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that.

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality.

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious.

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine.

Yeah.

It's been too long.

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock.

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up.

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find.

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full.

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath.

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat.

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more.

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh."

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall.

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine.

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp.

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder.

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me."

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them.

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper.

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan.

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually.

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?"

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided.

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time.

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns.

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?"

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all.

"...huh." Is all that he can say.

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too.

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down.

But he's not done talking.

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—"

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you.

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself.

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim.

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself.

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you.

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones.

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment.

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried.

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets.

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets.

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set.

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom.

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation.

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh.

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #oneshot #bob floyd

162 notes · View notes

bloggerspam · 1 hour ago

Text

Steph's new year resolution is to spend actual time with Val.

First step: Val's phone number.

Asking Jason will be a bust. He's Val's boss, a good one, so Steph won't even bother asking when she knows he won't divulge employee information like that.

That leaves asking Val herself, or passing a note along with Jason.

She trusts Jason, she does. He's leagues better than if Steph were to ask Dick, or even Tim.

She'd rather get made fun of, in that loving way Jason does, than be smothered and inundated with questions and screams the way Dick and Tim do.

But Jason is a good boss, and Steph's grown up with too many Bats to know what the normal boundary is between employee and employer.

So, obviously, she stalks Jason at work in her free time to see if Val works any of those shifts to ask her herself.

She hits money on the third day.

"Val!" Steph saunters over with a wide smile. "I haven't seen you since Riddler took you away."

"Hey, Steph." Val looks so cute when she's flustered, "Yeah, sorry about that."

Val's working on a car, in that delicious coverall grease monkey look, doing a simple oil change. Steph perches herself delicately on the side, so as to not be in the way.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Steph pouts, "It's dangerous to go towards the Rogues, you know."

"Oh, well…" Val laughs nervously, smudging more grease when she rubs at the back of her neck "Y'know, Amity Parkers are just built different I guess."

"I have no doubt that you…handled yourself just fine," Steph placates, leaning forward a bit to run a finger down Val's well muscled biceps, "but I would feel so much better if you played by Gotham rules…"

Val does that nervous little laugh again, breathy, and gods does Steph want to ruin her.

"I can try," Val bites her lip, "But with friends like Danny…"

Steph giggles. "He's a trouble magnet huh?"

"You have no idea." Val smiles helplessly, and they get caught like that for a long moment.

Val's eyes skip back and forth between hers, even flicking to Steph's lips for a scant second, making Steph's heart skip a million beats.

But then Val coughs, breaking eye contact to reach under the hood to do…something. Steph's too busy mourning the death of a moment to really figure it out.

But Steph is nothing if not persistent.

"So, hey, speaking of friends…" Steph clears her throat, "You go to Gotham U, right?"

"Yeah," Val confirms, flicking a glance over at her as she shuts the car hood, "Early education major."

Steph pauses. Because what are the chances? "No way."

Val hunches her shoulders up, "I know, doesn't really suit me but—"

"No!" Steph frantically interrupts, "That's not what I meant, it's just, I'm a human development major!"

Val stares at her, uncomprehending, which is fair. Steph smiles helplessly as she explains, "I want to be an special education teacher, for teens with learning disabilities."

Val blinks. "…How have we not seen each other on campus?"

"I have a night job, so I take a lot of my classes online." Steph explains, "The ones I do have to go in person for are late afternoon classes, usually Wednesdays."

"Ah." Val nods in understanding, "I take mostly morning classes, and afternoon shifts here at the shop."

"Like ships in the night," Steph smiles ruefully, "Or bikes in the afternoon, I guess."

Val laughs, voice a yummy timbre that brings a little shiver down her spine. There's a rasp to her, and her accent makes everything sound so much nicer.

"That means this will work out." Steph gets them back on track, feeling all sorts of nervous.

"What will?" Val wipes her hands on a rag, tossing it over her shoulder as she leans on the car next to her.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to study together some time," Steph bats her eyelashes, "With my schedule being the way it is, it's kind of hard for me to make friends…"

"S-sure, yeah, sounds great." Val stutters, patting her pockets for her phone, only to realize she's in her coveralls. "Ah…"

"Just dictate it to me, and I'll text you so you'll have mine." Steph giggles, pulling out her phone and creating the new contact as Val gives her the info.

"And hey, maybe we could spar some too," Steph eyes Val's biceps, remembering the little brawl she and Danny had and licking her lips, "It's one of my new years resolutions to keep fit."

"I'm not an easy opponent y'know." Val smirks, looking Steph up and down and sparking shivers with her gaze.

"Trust me," Steph mutters as she sends of a winky face text, "I know."

(Val, without Steph's knowledge, doesn't realize it's flirting flirting.

She just thinks it's Steph's personality, being flirty with the winky face.

Sam bangs her head on her desk when Val texts her so.)

===

Danny is visiting on Valentines Day, in protest to the holiday itself.

Danny's always kind of hated holidays in general, now that Val thinks about it.

Tucker says it's leftover trauma from the school bullying, Sam says it's because his parents are assholes about them. Val just thinks Danny hates capitalism.

It could be all of the above, honestly.

The point is, it's Valentine's Day and Danny has just texted her that he's on his way to Gotham to hang out with her, and Val's not sure if this means Jay's done something wrong or not.

Val has been talking to her friends on almost a daily basis, but Danny's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jay.

After Christmas Break, after the phone number exchange, Team "Get that D in Danny" thought it was a done deal.

Jay was a straight forward kind of guy, and Danny's never been shy about flirting.

Surely, something should have happened, right?

But Val wasn't really present when Danny and Sam were sort of dating, and Val was in the relationship with Danny, so she doesn't actually know how Danny is when he's dating someone.

She's been taking her cues from Tucker, who says that Danny isn't really the "my girlfriend/boyfriend" type. Danny's always referred to Sam and Val, in their respective relationships, by their names.

But then again, everyone in Amity Park knew each other, and ghosts hardly ever care about such mortal statuses. (Ignoring Johnny and Kitty, whose whole shtick is their relationship. That's a whole different can of worms.)

The point is, Val is suffering. Team "Get that D in Danny" is suffering.

And she needs to know if she has to beat up her boss for Danny or not.

Jay's been Fort Knox about the whole thing too, and it's getting irritating.

"Danny's coming to pick me up." Val finally says at the end of her shift, glaring up at her boss. "What did you do?"

Jay, wide eyed and covered in grease, drops the washer fluid in his hands on his (thankfully) steel-toed boot.

"Danny's what—" Jay lunges for his jacket, draped over his workstation, frantically pulling up his phone and— "I gotta go."

She then watches her boss, resident Crime Lord, Billionaire baby Jason Peters Todd-Wayne, book it to the back rooms.

What the fuck?

Ten minutes later, Jay comes back out, freshly showered and in clean, fitted clothes. He's even got a red rose from…somewhere.

Val reiterates: What the fuck?

"Danny hates red roses." Val says, confusion laced through her entire fucking being. They look too much like blood blossoms for any of the Amity Parkers to have any sort of affection for the flower. "He doesn't like red flowers in general."

Jay immediately tosses it into a nearby oil catch tray, looking like he might even set it on fire, if he could just find a match…

"Okay, seriously," Val puts her hands on her hips, "What the fuck is going on? Was that an apology rose?"

"What?" Jay whips his head towards her, "No!"

"Gods," Val throws her hands up in exasperation, "Are y'all dating or what? Danny's been weirdly adamant y'all are just hangin' out but I see you in here, moonin' and what not."

Her accent is getting worse in her agitation and she really hates it, which turns into a vicious cycle.

"We're not dating." Jay finally admits, sitting heavily down on one of the stools by his workstation. "But I am wooing him."

There's a long beat of silence.

"Pardon?" Val's voice is flat, disbelieving. "You're what?"

"Wooing." Jason juts his chin out, "We've done a couple of face time hang outs, streamed movies together and stuff. But it just never seemed the right time to ask him for a visit, or for me to go visit him."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Val tries to soften her voice. Red Hood, resident crime lord and bad ass, is a romantic. Huh.

"I wanted to ask him in person." Jay mumbles, "Important stuff's for in person conversations."

"In this day and age?" Val asks unthinkingly. "I doubt Danny would care."

They both know he'd probably say yes.

"Yeah, but Danny's been…he's been looking into schools to transfer to," Jay looks down at his hands, "Didn't want to influence the choices."

Danny had come out to this parents about Phantom just last month. It was a development everyone was not only extremely thankful for, but still getting used to.

The Fentons, as expected, were fully supportive. They turned a dime, burned their research metaphorically and literally to 'start over from an unbigoted perspective.'

Jazz has been thoroughly enjoying the family therapy sessions.

Schedules were created, to lessen Danny's load, and better safety locks were made to mitigate the necessity of those patrols in the first place.

Overall, Danny's been sleeping more, less stressed, and happy as a clam, if a little embarrassed by his parent's smothering love and support.

Val had thought that maybe Jay was a big part of that too, romantically speaking. Clearly, she was only half right.

"Danny loves Gotham." Val starts, carefully picking her words. Because it's true, he loves it more than she does. "He likes how weird and crazy it is, and Gotham U's engineering program is one of the best in the nation."

It would have to be, with how often things need to be reconstructed around here.

"The pizza's great too," Danny's voice suddenly cuts in from behind her, "Not to mention the company."

Val twirls around, hearing the clatter of Jay jumping up suddenly and banging his hip on his worktable with a pained hiss.

"How long have you be standing there?" Jay squeaks as he rubs his hip, face burning.

"Not long, since Val said I love Gotham. Which I do." Danny tilts his head with a confused smile. "Why? Gossiping about me?"

"We were talking about your choices in transfer." Val quickly covers, as much fun as it would be to just call both of them out, Val's not that mean. "Didn't want to accidentally influence the choice or anythin', y'know."

"Last time I checked you were looking into Star City, right?" Jay quickly adds, shooting Val a grateful look.

"Yep." Danny grins, popping the 'p' obnoxiously, "They've got a pretty comprehensive scholarship, but it's about the same as Gotham's, and honestly, Gotham's in my top two choices—"

"Gotham's a top choice?" Jay cuts in, confused but sounding a little…hopeful, "Nobody ever…I mean, even I know Gotham's crazy…"

"Gotham's a lot like Amity Park," Danny shrugs, before looking away with alarmingly red ears, "Just bigger, more goth. Plus, y'know, you and Val are here…not to mention the rogues here are way more fun than Amity's ghostly menagerie…"

"Are you sure you don't mean the vigilantes?" Val smirks, sensing an opportunity. "Or maybe a certain vigilante?"

"Mmm…nope." Danny feigns thinking hard about it. "I definitely meant the rogues."

"Uh huh…" Val drags out, "Nothing at all to do with your third place hall pass pick."

"Hall pass pick?" Hook, line, and sinker. Jay tilts his head. "What's that?"

"It's a list of celebrities monogamous couples will allow their significant other to sleep with and not count as cheating." Val innocently explains, gleefully watching Danny squirm. "It was mostly a joke, but me and Danny had one when we were dating."

"And heroes and vigilantes are basically celebrities," Jay follows the line of thought, before his eyes get a little gleam to them, "Which Bat does Danny have a celeb crush on?"

"No-one!" Danny hastily answers. Val wonders what Jay would do to his siblings if Danny did have a celeb crush on them.

"Red Hood." Val smiles with all her fucking pearly whites. "Danny likes bad boys."

Danny makes a noise like a tea kettle. "Don't judge me!!!"

To Val, Jay looks like he doesn't know whether to be flattered, or concerned.

To Danny, he must look thoroughly confused.

"Listen," Danny tries to explain himself, "Have you seen those thigh holsters???"

Jay chokes. Val laughs her fucking ass off.

(The three of them get pizza afterward.

Val missed her opportunity to leave them to it, and has to sit there and watch Jason stare at Danny making porno noises at how good the pizza is.

She texts Steph about how much she hates Valentine's Day because of it.

Until, of course, Steph joins in and she hates it a little less.)

===

Easter break, and Steph is bored out of her god damn mind.

She texts Cass first, then Babs, but one's in dance practice and the other's working a shift at the library.

Naturally, she texts Val next, sending over a selfie of her pouting and sad, with an appropriately dramatic lovelorn caption.

She gets back a picture of Sam, Tucker, and Danny fighting each other on a couch, controllers in hand with a glow reflecting against their faces in a dark, but massive looking room.

"Back home in the trenches," Steph reads aloud, sighing and lovesick.

They've been texting back and forth for the past month now, and honestly? Steph considers them dating.

The problem is, even when Steph says "it's a date!" Val just…doesn't seem to get it.

Steph would call it a straight girl move, if she didn't know 100% that Val at least thinks Steph's sexy af.

Or, at least, really wants to kiss her, if the way the other girl stares at Steph's lips is anything to go by.

And Val stares a lot.

But she always pulls back with a nervous laugh, as if Steph is the one rejecting her.

It's very frustrating, but Steph has learned that Val doesn't actually have a lot of experience with girls, so she might just be…shy.

But! At least they've been on study dates, and sparring dates, and one time they even got froyo!

Steph's been trying really hard to be patient.

It's not really working.

There's another ding! It's Cass, telling her to come over to Wayne Manor. The Batkids are having a sudden movie marathon.

She has a lot of fun with her family, watching terrible horror movies and throwing popcorn at all the stupid people doing stupid things. She sends Val a selfie of her cuddling up with Cass and Damian, of Dick and Jason dumping buckets of popcorn on each other, of Tim and Duke taking god damn notes.

It's even more fun when Val sends pictures back. Of Sam sitting on Tucker and Danny laughing so hard he's fallen off the sofa. There's a selfie of Val and Sam painting the boy's nails in bright neon green color, and a selfie of the group in matching ghost themed pajamas, what looks like Wallace and Gromit playing on the big screen behind them. A picture where Danny and Tucker are snoring, cuddling each other very intimately, with Sam in the background doing a little peace sign.

Steph's buried under Tim's legs and Dick's arms now, hardly able to send a selfie of her face with the way it's covered in limbs, but she manages it.

Val sends one back, in a darkened room where Sam is watching some movie next to the sleeping boys. Val's sleepy smile and half lidded gaze warms her up from the inside.

It's a great night, all in all.

She dreams of soft kisses, warm cuddles, and B grade horror movie kiss scenes with a smile on her face, she's sure of it.

(Steph wakes up to someone rudely tearing off the blanket she was sharing with Cass and loudly announcing it's breakfast.

She throws a pillow at Damian for it, who scoffs and dodges her 'paltry attempt.' Her head hurts from all the sugar she consumed last night, and there's an ache in her back from sleeping on the floor.

Val sent her a good morning text and rumpled selfie that features a soft smile, and Tucker two steps away from spilling pancakes all over Val.

Steph eats breakfast with such a wide smile, Duke asks if she won the lottery or something.)

===

It's looking to be a very hot summer in Gotham, if April is anything to go by.

Isn't April supposed to be full of showers? They had an abrupt chill last week due to Mr. Freeze, but since then it's been hot and Val is suffering.

But Danny has come 'round to visit, and it gives her the energy she needs to get through the day so she can hang out with them over the weekend. Danny's always run cold, and Val's never been shy of siphoning off that chill in the summertime.

Val didn't have a shift today, so Danny picked her up from school and they've decided that pancakes and waffles are in order.

It's 2pm on a Thursday, but that hardly even matters.

What matters is that Danny is wrong and waffles are clearly more superior than pancakes.

"You can throw pancakes like a frisbee, what are you even saying," Danny rolls his eyes as they cut through an alley to get the Denny's, "Waffles are way too crunchy."

"I want to look inside your head and see what delusion is playing 24/7," Val shoots back, "Why would a food need to be used as a frisbee to be superior, first of all, and second of all, the texture is not crunchy."

"The inside of my head is just like any other human," Danny scoffs, "It's been tested and everything. Plus, if you can't use your food item as a frisbee in order to quell the sausage rebellion, is it even worth having as food?"

Val squints her friend for a moment, even going so far as to pause her walking. Danny, after another moment, stops with her but does not meet her eyes.

She smacks the back of his head.

"Ow! What the fuck Val! Just because I'm right!"

"No joking about tests." Val growls, waiting until Danny shows the appropriate amount of regret, before swiftly getting back on topic, "Besides. Waffles are sturdier, and the shape can still be used as a frisbee against sausage rebellions."

Danny takes a breath for the admonishment, centering himself from bad memories. He thinks on her latter statement, nodding reluctantly. "Textures still shit though."

Val groans, continuing their way through the alley, "The texture is so that syrup has places to be, syrup on pancakes just slides off—"

"Hands up!" Just in front of them, a man is brandishing a knife in one hand, with the other reaching palm up, "Give me your wallets and nobody gets hurt."

Val internally scoffs, making eye contact with a gleeful Danny. He's been involved in more Rogue incidents than Val has, and he doesn't even live here.

"Aw, c'mon man," Danny simpers, hands in his pockets and shoulders scrunching up, "Can't you see we're just poor college students just trying to get to Denny's?"

"And you and your girl can go along your merry way," The mugger rasps, "after you give me your wallets. You can take the date home."

Val and Danny simultaneously make an uck sound.

"Been there," Danny grins, ruefully.

"Done that." Val rolls her eyes.

"Got the scars and everything to prove it!" Danny chirps, showing his lichtenberg scars even though they're irrelevant.

Val smacks him upside the head again, but Danny doesn't even flinch. Stupid halfa-biology.

"Just give me the money!" The mugger loses his patience, pulling out a gun. Ugh.

"And why don't you give me a break," A modulated voice says from above, before something large drops down and breaks the mugger's arm.

"Hah! Break, that's a good one." Danny laughs.

Red Hood freezes, before groaning with that modulated voice. "Nobody tell Nightwing. I'd never live it down."

Val bites her lip, wondering if Nightwing is Dick Grayson, the asshole cop who arrested her and Danny a couple months ago. Dude was not subtle in the interrogation of his sibling's new friends, and kept riffing with Danny using puns.

Val hates the guy on that principle alone, so it won't be hard.

"Lips are sealed, Bo—ahem—ig guy." Val really has to figure out the best time to let her boss know that she knows.

"Thanks for saving us, Red Hood, sir." Danny smiles at Hood, shy-like. "I didn't think we'd see you again after…"

"That thing with Riddler?" Even through the modulator is apparent Hood is smiling. "I thought you were finding trouble on purpose, but maybe trouble just likes to find you?"

Val's gotta hand it to him, Jay's a good actor. But as someone who knows who he is? It's clear that Hood is relishing the attention. Finding out your crime lord persona is a top choice must have outweighed the confusion of a crime lord persona being a top choice.

"Either way, it's no problem. Punks shouldn't be muggin' in my territory anyway." Hood peacocks his way into a casual leaning pose, and it's funny as all hell.

"Oh!" Danny looks around, "I didn't realize we were already in Crime Alley?"

"The one Denny's in Gotham is in Crime Alley," Val sighs, "I told you this."

"I thought we established that I don't listen to you." Danny retorts, "That's why we broke up."

"We broke up because of your clear preference for dick, Danny." Val drawls.

Hood chokes.

"This is bullying," Danny jokes, ears bright red from Val no doubt embarrassing him in front of his favorite vigilante, "And you have no leg to stand on, with the way you were drooling after Kate Winslet."

"Most of your hall pass picks were men," Val reminds him, and because she's nothing if not an opportunist, "Speaking of which—-what's it like to be texting one of them almost every day?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Danny sniffs, trying to pull Val through the alley, "Why do you keep bringing up my hall pass picks anyway?"

"Everyday?" Hood's voice, even modulated, sounds jealous. He's probably wondering if Danny's been texting the other top two choices above him.

"Yeah, everyday." Val confirms, much to Danny's dismay.

"Val!" Danny hisses as Hood leans a little closer. "Shut up."

Danny's probably thinking she might embarrass him by mentioning that Red Hood is Danny's third place pick. If only he knew.

"My boss is his fourth place pick." Val grins, as Danny slumps in relief. If only he knew!

She watches intently as Hood freezes, hand going to a pocket that isn't there, almost like he wants to immediately text someone. He seems to settle for a slow drawl, "S'that so. Small world. You work for a vigilante I know or something?"

Damn good actor, but not subtle enough for someone whose looking. He's definitely warring with a bunch of different emotions, and even through the helmet she can tell.

He wants to know why his civilian identity is fourth, when his crime lord persona is third.

"O-KAY!" Danny yells, pulling her more forcefully, "That's enough of oversharing with a crime lord who doesn't know us and clearly has other things to do. Thank you again Mr. Hood, big fan, love your work, the 8 heads was inspired really—"

Val cackles all the way through the alley, watching as Hood grapples away in a daze.

When they sit down at Denny's, Danny gets a text from Jay that makes him mumble into his menu.

"Why does he want to know my top two hall pass picks? I'm not even in a relationship!"

Val tosses a jam packet at his head.

(Steph texts her afterward, asking about Val's Hall Pass picks.

Val texts her no comment.

Somehow, Jay finds out, which leads to Danny finding out.

Danny texts Steph that Kate Winslet, Amanda Seyfried, and Black Canary were her top 3.

When Steph texts All Blondes, huh? Val lunges at Danny right there in the Denny's.

They get kicked out, and are summarily banned from the establishment.)

===

Gotham is muggy in May.

Steph hates how sticky it makes her skin feel, how lethargic her body gets, and most of all, she hates how her she stupidly made her Spoiler uniform have a lower face mask.

She's definitely going to get pimples, and it's going to suck.

The bright side is that she's best friends with not just one, but two Wayne kids.

This means that she can enjoy the Wayne Manor indoor pool with the other Batkids for most of the summer day until patrol time.

It's good to have connections.

She's relaxing with Babs and Tim on the lounge chairs, and whilst normally she would join in on the watergun fight the other batboys and Cass have going on, she's just too tired.

It's been a long first week of summer, especially with that Mad Hatter case she and Cass broke two days ago.

Mad Hatter cases always gave her the heebie jeebies, considering her own blonde hair and blue eyes.

So: chilling at the pool. Val comes back next week, with a bonus Danny in tow to start the process of finding an apartment for both of them to share, and Steph's not the only one excited about it.

Jason's been over the god damn moon.

Her phone buzzes with two incoming texts, but before Steph can even reach over to grab it, a loud thump! startles all vigilantes to whip up towards the sound.

Jason has tripped over a lounge chair, ass over kettle, groaning.

Amidst the laughter, Steph gets another buzz, so she checks her phone. It's two discord messages from Val.

valerino: Phantoms dog has invaded sams pool valerino: D's really excited about it 🙄

The last text is a photo of Danny, shirtless, getting absolutely slobbered on by a glowing green dog. Holy shit. Wait a second.

stephieeee: uhm???? green dog????? stephieeee: did u send this pic to Jason too? valerino: Yeah, long story short, hes a ghost dog. Hes cool though. And what? No, why? stephieeee: cuz he just ate shit tripping on a lounge chair stephieeee: right after u sent that pic valerino: Lol danny sent a selfie i think. We're taking a break from a water fight tucker started to play with cujo stephieeee: lolllllll stephieeee: that tracks stephieeee: we had a water gun fight too stephieeee: but i sat out with the girlies stephieeee: the heat is just stephieeee: Too Much valerino: Lol danny just showed me the pic he sent. Its a thirst trap, and he didnt even know valerino sent an image

The picture of of a shirtless Danny, with abs, holding up a see through, green dog. His arm muscles glisten in the lighting as he smiles a beaming smile, teeth white and gleaming, with his face smooshed up against the dog's stretchy, pudgy little face. It's adorable and all kind of rippling muscle-y. Boy is lean, mean, and looking good in his NASA swimming trunks, even to Steph.

stephieeee: OMGGGGG stephieeee: hes actually RIPPED??? stephieeee: also i love cujo so much? he's adorable???? valerino: Hes stronger than he looks, remember? lol and yeah, cujos a real sweetheart

Steph honks out a laugh so loud it echoes even amidst the clamour of Jason being chased around for his phone. Babs hums an intrigued note, but Steph simply smiles at her and flaps a hand at where Dick has Jason in a headlock, whilst Damian grabs the phone and attempts to hack into it.

Steph decides to take a picture of the rowdy group, Jason with his really red face, Duke and Harper jeering at the photo with Dick. Damian had gotten bored once he saw it was just a picture from his so-called 'paramour.'

stephieeee: the fam is never letting him live this down stephieeee: plssssss stephieeee: Jason is so down bad its embarrraasssssiinnngggg

Satisfied, Steph decides to get up and grab some of the iced tea Alfred left for them earlier. She's taking a much deserved sip to soothe her throat when she her phone buzzes twice more.

valerino has sent an image valerino: Danny is embarrassed as all hell, his face is SO red!

It's a selfie of Val laughing with her whole body, sort of cut off as Danny scrambles to get a shirt on. He's alarmingly red, looking like he's tripped in his haste to get the Red Hood themed shirt on, but Steph can't focus on that.

She focuses on Val, wet in a bikini top and daisy dukes.

Steph chokes on her tea and falls into the pool, cup and phone and all.

At least, Steph thinks as she recovers from her almost death-by-bikini-pic fall, my phone is bat certified and waterproof.

She takes another quick look at the photo, before she dunks herself in once more, just to cool her flaming cheeks down.

Tim'll fish her out, if only to see what happened.

Until then, the water feels great.

(Val and Danny get a series of photos after, from an unknown number that claims to be Jay's brother Tim.

One of Jay and Steph red faced and commiserating with each other. They're clearly talking about something, hands gesturing at what looks like Jay's phone.

One of Steph in a simple purple bikini emerging from the pool glorious and slicking back her hair out of her face, eyes half open, looking sultry as she catches sight of the camera.

One of a shirtless Jay getting shot by multiple streams of water, one arm up and laughing and smiling, handsome and joyous.

One of Jason, toppled over a lounge chair with his hands covering his clearly red face.

One of Steph with only her eyes above the water, cheeks and neck so red you can still see them even submerged.

Val and Danny practically faint. Sam and Tucker have to write their thank you texts for them.)

===

"I might be dying." Val groans from where she's sprawled on the floor of the new apartment she and Danny are sharing for their duration of Sophomore year.

It's a nice place, for the Narrows. Big living room, two bedrooms, a nice bathroom that heats up in only a couple minutes. The kitchen isn't anything fancy, just a stove top and a microwave, but Val and Danny don't have the capability of cooking up fancy stuff anyway.

Val's stuff was packed up easy, not hard to do when a college dorm room doesn't really allow for a lot of stuff in the first place. Though she did have Tucker bring up Huntress stuff, as well as some of the packed up clothes she didn't get to bring up the first time she moved now that's she's got the room.

Danny doesn't have that many belongings, per say, He's minimalist, in that way.

But he has a lot of stuff for his workshop. Since they don't' have a third bedroom, most the living room's going to be dedicated to it. There's a big rolling table with drawers under it for storage that can be pushed to the side so Val can practice her katas, and an industrial tarp they can throw over it to use it as a dinner table if need be.

Danny, like his parents, likes to spread out whenever he's working on something.

Unlike his parents, however, he's paranoid about contamination, and always puts everything back in its place when he's done.

He's been burned too many times to not be.

Plus, Val can use his stuff to do maintenance on her hoverboard.

They like to be efficient and practical about things.

The point is, she, Danny, Tucker and Sam have spent most of the day lugging up heavy cardboard boxes and furniture that is heavy and sometimes metal.

"I said I might be dying!" Val reiterates into the silence of the now cardboard filled room.

"We heard you to the first time." Sam drawls as she walks into the living room with a cup of water from the kitchen. "I don't even know why you're whining."

"Yeah, Danny did most of the heavy lifting," Tucker chimes in as he trails in behind Sam with a box of pizza. She hands it over to Val as she sits up from her sweaty sprawl.

Val rolls her eyes, because that is inherently untrue. "It's June, it's hot, and most of us did heavy labor."

"No, no. Tucker's got a point," Danny cuts in, lugging the last box of what looks like a bunch of a tools. "I did, in fact, bring up all the furniture, and the bulk of the community stuff."

He sets it down with the rest of his workshop stuff, dusting his hands and adopting a stupid pose where he flexes his arm muscles. Val gulps down her water in disgust.

"And Val and I brought up all the clothes and bedroom stuff," Sam scoffs, "Tuck got a couple boxes of all that electronic crap."

"And none of us have halfa strength to make it easy." Val points a finger threateningly at Danny, who puts his hands up in surrender. "Hard. Labor."

They sit in a circle around the pizza and shoot the shit—making the same old banter that never gets old, making grandiose travel plans that may or may not ever leave the group chat.

About how Sam's set to intern at the Daily Planet, finally about to work with her hero Lois Lane. How she hates how shiny and modern Metropolis is. How Wes has this crazy theory that dorky, clumsy, always going to the bathroom Clark Kent is Superman. How Sam believes him 100%, but won't ever tell him because she thinks it's funny.

How Tuck has this suspicion that the Flash is affiliated with Star Labs, somehow. That the tech in there seems out of this world almost, inter-dimensional in the way ecto-tech can be, but on a different frequency. How his dorm-mate is definitely some kind of meta, maybe even a time traveler, with the way he keeps using words like crash and mode in weird ways. But he's a great roommate, so Tuck minds his business.

And then, of course, the conversation ends up to their love lives.

Sam's got this enby in one of her journalism classes that keeps talking circles around her and Sam's this close to hate fucking them about it.

Tuck's been flirting it up with the girls, per usual, but there's a girl whose been trying real hard to pick up what he's putting down, and he's not actually sure if he wants that.

That conversation goes on a tangent about asexuality and aromanticism, but it'll have to be tabled until after Tucker has time to really…research the idea.

"I'm telling you, Val," Tuck changes the subject, "Steph is definitely into you."

"All the spars? Study dates?" Danny adds in, "Hasn't she been taking you on those ice cream dates too?"

"First of all, it's froyo," Val corrects haughtily, "Second of all that's all friend stuff. I did all that stuff with you guys, and I'll be doing them with you once the new semester starts."

"Third of all," Sam continues, "You have no leg to stand on, Mr. can't play doomed tonight guys," Her impression of Danny is nasally, and horribly wrong, but it's too funny to not laugh at, "I'm gonna watch a movie with Jason on discord!"

"That's—that's different." Danny sputters.

"Dude sends you food on a weekly basis because you said you forget to eat sometimes," Tucker says reluctantly, "And sends you letters."

"Letters???" Sam says indignantly, "You didn't tell me about any letters!"

"Since when has he been sending you letters??" Val asks, grabbing Danny's collar and shaking him when he mumbles and doesn't answer them clearly.

"Since January!" Danny finally yells, grabbing her hands and pulling them off, "They're just, they're not—they're nice! He's being nice. I told him I missed getting letters, and…"

Tucker, Sam and Val all groan in unison.

"He's been wooing you for half a year and you didn't even notice??" Val shrieks, into the ceiling. The ceiling is unsympathetic, but Sam and Tucker are.

"You've basically been dating Steph for half a year and you didn't notice!" Danny's voice is high pitched, his ears are red, and he's screeching with his hands on his face as he falls back and rolls all over the ground.

"You're both useless." Sam intones, "This could be solved by texting them."

"I can't just text her." Val says hotly, at the same time Danny says "Important conversations are not for texts!"

"Gods, you're perfect for him," Val mumbles under her breath, remembering Jay's very same fucking words all those months ago.

"Relationships are all about open communication, y'all." Tucker says in a wise tone.

They all stare at him. He makes a face, shrugging. "Fair enough. Carry on being useless."

"You really think he likes me?" Danny says, in a small voice through his fingers. He's not looking at any of them, and is curled up on the floor. "You think he's been…wooing me?"

"Danny…." Sam shakes her head, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. "The man has been trying his damnedest to make this whole thing romantic for you, hasn't he?"

"You've been having virtual breakfasts together, haven't you?" Tucker softly adds in, scooching over to pat Danny on the head.

Val rolls herself over to Danny's other side, the three of them surrounding him and patting him in some way. He reaches over, snags on Val's shirt sleeve.

"I'll text him," Danny's voice trembles, "But only if you text Steph."

Val opens her mouth to argue, but shuts it at Danny's pleading eyes. She sighs.

Tucker hands Danny his phone, and they draft about a million texts before they collectively settle. Movie and a dinner, just the two of them. Easy.

"Here goes nothing…" Danny takes a deep breath, before pressing send. He laughs nervously, before straight up chucking his phone at Sam, who catches it.

"I'm going to obsessively check my phone until he answers so let's work on your text instea—" A buzz interrupts him, all four heads swinging towards the phone in Sam's hand.

Her eyes widen, mouth gaping. Danny rolls over, leans to see—

"…Oh." Danny's face crumples. "I guess…I guess that's a no, then."

"Danny…" Tucker reaches for him, but Danny shakes his head and stands up.

"I gotta…I gotta get my room set up. Thanks for all the help guys, I—" He cuts himself off, voice going small and hurt, "I guess he got tired of waiting?"

He bites his lip. Val doesn't know what to say. None of them do.

He goes to his room, and Val never sends that text to Steph.

(Red Hood gets a text message from Danny asking Jason if he'd like to catch a movie together.

There's a follow up text where Danny asks if maybe Jason would like to get dinner afterward too, just the two of them.

Red Hood is in the middle of Nanda Parbat, stealing his stupid brother's no longer missing spleen back from the creep who tried to clone him.

Red Hood has bloody gloves, and has three ninja assassins stalking him.

Red Hood texts back a "can't." but nothing to follow up, not without getting a knife to the neck.

He manages to get back home, toss the spleen back at his brother, and fall into a dead sleep 18 hours later.

When Jason wakes up another 10 hours after that, it's to an abundance of messages from his friends and family. Only one is important.

dannywithawhy: ok.

Jason falls out of bed.)

Mechanic!Val AU, but make it gay and sapphic.

ya'll can thank the HH discord for this one. Specifically the menace known as @clockwayswrites (and @impyssadobsessions for the art that inspired the damn thing)

Dead on Main and with some future Val/Steph >)

also @belfry-ghost did a doodle for this AU and everyone should go love on his art. Val's so unf.

===

Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord.

She’s pretty sure he’s The Crime Lord, actually. She’s like, 98% sure she works for Red Hood now, and she’s low key mad about it. She squints at the man now, with his white streak and almost imperceptible green sheen to his eyes.

The problem is that Val did perceive it. Because she used to date a guy whose baby blue eyes changed ever so slightly in the same way. Thinking about Danny makes her even madder.

To be clear, she’s not mad about Red Hood himself.

She’s just mad that, of all the mechanic shops in all of Crime Alley, she just had to work for her ex-boyfriend’s third place Hall Pass pick. It also makes her miss her friends way more, and Val is hardly what one would call a well-adjusted woman, so she’s mad about it.

She huffs as she lifts the hood of the second car she’s working on today. Being a mechanic wasn’t really on the docket for Val’s life goals, nor was being in Gotham, but she got a full ticket ride on Wayne Foundation scholarships, and honestly?

Gotham is Amity Park Lite: Gargoyles and Furries Edition.

Between a full ride to Gotham U and being stuck at Elmerton Community College? The choice was easy.

So here she is, working for the resident Crime Lord in his civvies.

Jay pays good, teaches her what she needs to know, and bonus: he sometimes helps with her English Literature class. He’s flexible on hours, and she’s even got rudimentary insurance.

All in All? It could be worse—she could still be working for Vlad, after all.

It's the little things.

570 notes · View notes

siriuslylantsov · 10 hours ago

Text

mistletoe

pairing: spencer reid x reader

description: in which you and spencer decorate your apartment for christmas.

tags: fluff, roommate!spencer, gn!reader, idiots in love, pinning, decorating!, spencer lifts reader up super quick, reader teases spencer bcs its fun, a little singing.

a/n: woahhh first christmas fic. MY BAD i listened to our love by curtis harding when i wrote majority of this so it just became what it did (not rlly sure what that is). you'd think a reader fond of christmas would only be playing christmas songs (esp when decorating), but she doesn't even?? idk guys. also i gave a hack making a header for this one, might continue making them. anyway lmk what you think, happy reading :))

wc: 1.7k

“tacky, tacky, tacky...” you drone, fingers skimming over the themed trinkets and signs on the shelves. you’re christmas decor shopping with spencer. it's almost the end of november, which you personally think is too late (being a strict ‘christmas starts on november 1st’ believer), but you had no choice in the matter, wanting to wait for spencer's schedule to free up so you could go together.

“oh cute!” you chirp, picking up a porcelain snoopy with a santa hat on. you show it to spencer, who trails behind you with a sparsely filled cart. “beside the-”

“tv,” he finishes for you, nodding in agreement. you place it in the cart and continue walking down the aisle.

“i hope you’re checking the price tags,” he muses from behind you, scanning over all the items. you shoot him a look paired with an unconvincing “yeah.”

“be serious,” he says, though a little amused.

“i am,” you step closer to him, meeting his somewhat challenging gaze. you try to hold your ground but something about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he squints at you makes you want to look away. “fine, i'll look over everything before check out. deal?”

he smiles, victorious. “deal.” he holds out his hand and you give it a firm shake before continuing your perusing.

you spend the next 2 hours like that, complaining about the abundance of generic things and squealing when you do find something nice. in the end, settling on an assortment of baubles, to add on to the ones you already had from last year, a new green blanket, a mulled-wine scented candle (that took you way too long to pick), the snoopy ornament, and 2 matching mugs which you had to sweet talk spencer into buying. you can never have too many mugs.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

you light the new candle and set it on the dining table, briefly glancing at the flame. the warmth on your face feels nice but you pull away quickly, knowing that if spencer catches you that close to the candle, he’ll chastise you about the fumes.

he's digging through the closet for last year's decorations. the tree is already up–7ft something–tucked in the corner of the living room, bare and in dire need of some personality. he finds the box, and you pull out the fairy lights, starting to swirl the wire from the top down, spencer opposite you to help.

music faintly plays from your speaker, so you turn it up, landslide by fleetwood mac.

you circle around the tree with a handful of baubles, a collection of reds and whites, hanging them up where they felt right. spencer nudges you for approval on a few placements and you give him a reassuring smile. the two of you move in sync, on either end. he places a custom ornament of his team somewhere to the front of the tree. when you put up the last of the new ones, you take a step back and give it a good look. happy, spencer hands you the star. he hovers two tentative hands under your arms, over your rib cage, to lift you. there’s a stool near you that would’ve been perfectly fine, but you wiggle in his grasp anyway, telling him he can. despite his lanky frame, he picks you up with ease. you place the gold topper on firmly. when he puts you down you lean back into him, swaying. you hum quietly to the music. he presses his lips into your hair, lingering, before pulling away. you instantly miss his warmth, but you don't dwell on it, why should you?

the click of the kettle sounds from the kitchen, he's probably making tea. you think to tell him to use the new mugs, but he already knows. you're still swaying, head dipping up and down as you move across the room. you look through the box for more things to decorate with when your eyes land on a sprig of artificial leaves held together with a red bow.

“hey, when did we get mistletoe?” you call out, hoping your voice carries to the adjoining room.

“hmm?” he pokes his head through the door, looking at the item in your hand. “oh... penny got it for us last year, didn't put it up though.” he explains before returning to the tea, you put it in your pocket for later. you were well aware of what his teammates thought of you, or rather you and him. over the course of the 2 years you lived with spencer, you’d been taken to their family dinners and get-togethers as his plus one, never a girlfriend or a date, you. they ceased their relentless teasing for your benefit, but you knew spencer got the brunt of it when you weren't around. they mean well, they’re just annoying, he told you after you met them for the first time.

you saunter over, ready to tease him. you can't help but want to, he's just so easy. plus, you think it's endearing when he's flustered. “you wanna put it up?” you ask with a smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“what! oh- i don't know, no- uhm- well i don't mean no like it would be bad a bad thing- i just mean–” he stammers nervously, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before you cut him off with a laugh.

“calm down, pretty. i'm just joshin’ ya.”

he lets out a sigh of relief, though it's laced in hidden disappointment. he wouldn't mind if you put it up, wouldn't mind at all. he hands you your mug, navy with little yellow speckles that resembled stars. with his own in hand, he leads you out of the kitchen.

you settle on the couch beside each other. your shoulder lightly bumps against his in steady beats because you're still swaying, as you blow at your drink. worried about you spilling he peels it from you and sets it down on the arm rest to cool on its own. your knee is bouncing now as the next song starts playing, our love.

“there's a girl in town and words gone around she's just fine,” you sing quietly, head dropping onto his shoulder. “so i don't worry my head cause i know her heart is tied to mine.” you tip back onto the cushions, and you raise a dramatic hand to your chest, over your heart. “the life that we live and the love that i give to her. each day it grows more and more i'm sure, it shows. well,” you shift to face him, leaning closer.

“our love, is a bubblin' fountain. our love, that flows into a sea. our love, deeper than any ocean. our love, for eternity.”

you quiet as the second verse starts playing, switching to mouthing the lyrics instead. you look at him with a reverie, head tilted in observation, that makes him nervous. “…he holds me down for sure.” in diligent self-sabotage, he combats this by starting to sing along with you, putting his mug down beside yours, effectively ending the moment as you spring in recognition.

your eyebrows furrow in amusement as you follow suit, planting your hands on his shoulders to move his in tow with yours. the angle is awkward, and he looks a little silly as he does it but it's fine. the chorus plays through and you tire, dipping your head back into his shoulder as he returns your mug to you, albeit still quietly mumbling the lyrics.

you practically chug the tea, having reached an ideal temperature. spencer sits sipping slowly, a serial sipper. you curl into his side in the meantime, arm looped through his. after several minutes, he finishes and you take both mugs to the sink, rinsing them swiftly.

you slowly but surely continue decorating. two stockings adorned with your initials hang from the key rack in the hallway. handmade paper snowflakes are stuck to the window, snowflakes that had you and spencer hunched over in concentration on the floor a few nights ago, tediously cutting away. you go back and forth on whether the tinsel would go well with the tree, realising all it missed was something sparkly, you wrap it around. spencer nails a simple wreath on the front door, there's a little purple bow on it. snoopy is placed in the midst of the trinkets that sat at your tv table–good choice, you think. you change out the pillowcases on the couch for ones with a red flannel pattern and throw the new blanket across the back.

the space is perfect, standing in the middle of the room you take a deep breath. waxy candle scented greatness fills your senses, and somehow pine? from the wreath you assume. it's dimly lit, and the low light reflects off the sparkles on the tree gracefully. you wish you had a fireplace during times like this, you take a picture to preserve it anyway.

you leave to change into your pyjamas, quickly so the cold doesn't linger on your skin. when you return to the living room you find spencer on the couch, a book perched in his lap. you come up to the back, mistletoe that you fished out of your pocket in hand. you crouch behind him, a little to his right, with the leaves dangling over his head. you graze it lightly on his hair and he looks up. his eyes widen slightly in realisation, but he doesn't try to move, he's intently still. with an amused huff, you lean in and kiss his cheek softly. he's still frozen in place, so as to prolong whatever's happening, a flush spreading across his face. you lean back and drop the sprig into the seat beside him.

“goodnight spencer,” you whisper, suddenly timid. he touches his fingers to the area as you walk away.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

a few hours later, he walks into your room, quietly padding across the floor, to your side of the bed. he made the mistake of drinking a cup of coffee a few minutes after you left and now, he can't sleep, naturally. he bends and presses a kiss to your forehead, in some kind of implied reciprocation. you don't feel it, you don't even stir, but for now, that's alright with him.

he’ll put the mistletoe up, maybe in the doorway to the kitchen. and hope to god you both find yourselves under it at the same time.

m.list | comments and reblogs are appreciated :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #christmas

147 notes · View notes

m-jelly · 1 day ago

Text

Protective

Mafia/gangster/yakuza Levi

"Mm."

Levi stared at you as tears filled your eyes. The more upset you were, the angrier he got. How dare someone make you cry? How dare someone hurt his precious love bunny. You were his goddess, queen, love, squishy cutie. He could tell you didn't want to give up the name of who hurt you because you were a good person, pure, and sweet, but he wasn't.

It was well known throughout the city and beyond that Levi, the most dangerous man, was deeply and madly in love with you. People would say that you might as well shoot yourself in the head than insult or hurt you, clearly, someone didn't get the memo.

He moved closer to you. "Come here."

You rubbed your tears away. "Mm."

"Come on, little bunny." He opened his arms. "Come to your grumpy kitty."

You dove into his arms and clung to him. "Levi."

He massaged his fingers in your hair as he soothed you as best as he could. "I'm right here." He kissed the side of your head a few times. "I love you. I love you so much. You're so precious to me."

"I love you, Levi."

He pulled back and rubbed your tears away. "Tell me what happened. Please?"

You opened up and revealed everything. A leader of a small gang bumped into you at a shop and began ripping into you about your looks, weight and worth in the world. Everything he said to you was non-stop insults and how Levi should have left you already for a better quality woman.

You sobbed a bit. "I'm sorry I'm not a high-quality woman."

He crashed his lips against yours. "Mm, are you kidding me? You're a goddess. You are incredible. You are perfection. I adore you and love you more than anything in this world." He cupped your face and massaged. "Ignore that fucker, okay? You're a perfect little bunny peach that I want to eat all the time."

Your cheeks heated up. "Leviiii."

He hummed a laugh when he saw you pouting. "You're so cute." He leaned closer and lightly bit your cheek. "My tasty bunny."

You mewled. "I want you, always. I love you, Levi."

He nuzzled his nose against yours. "Mm, mine." He played with your hair and kissed your temple. "Go wrap up warm in bed, okay? I have to head out and do something."

You let Levi push you to the bedroom. "Do what?"

He helped you into comfy clothes, which were mostly his, as he talked. "Something important."

You pulled on a cardigan of Levi's. "Levi."

He stiffened at your stern tone. He commanded many people and ordered others, but you were the only person who could command him. "Okay, okay, I'm going to see that gang leader Mr Hawes who spoke to you."

You followed him into the living room. "Levi?"

He wrapped a blanket around you before scooping you up into his arms. "I'm just gonna talk to him."

"Levi."

He sat you on the sofa. "I'm just gonna talk to him."

"Levi!"

He smiled at you. "I'm just gonna talk to him."

You pocked his puffy cheek. "I know what you're gonna do. Just...wear the leather gloves to protect your knuckles from cuts. Also, try not to get too much of his blood on you."

He kissed you and hummed in happiness. "Promise."

Taglist under the cut

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid @abiatackerman

#levi ackerman #levi #aot levi #snk levi #aot fanfiction #fanfic #levi x y/n #levi fanfiction #levi x you #levi x reader #levi x yn #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #jelly fanfics #jelly fanfic

88 notes · View notes

tswkento · 2 days ago

Text

a.n.: cry by cas is from gojo’s pov and bored by billie eilish is from reader’s pov. literally crying, don’t thank me.

gojo who desperately wants to return your feelings, but he just can’t.

whose heart tightens painfully every time he is reminded of the fact that you have very strong feelings for him and he doesn’t have the same feelings for you.

every single time you look at him there are fucking stars in your eyes, as if he is the one who discovered the universe and earth, who made the world a place to live, and it hurts his soul to see you craving something he can’t give you.

maybe you didn’t really want to fall in love with him in the first place; maybe it was just a subconscious decision to use him as someone you could pour your love into since he was one of the few from who stayed in the shitshow that was the whole jujutsu society.

there was no geto, who could accept your love as a given, there was no haibara who’d preen under your attention, there was no nanami who’d give you the same love tenfold.

it was just his very flawed self that you chose to love.

gojo tries to find something that could ignite the spark in him and make him the lovesick fool that you need, but there is nothing that burns inside of him other than a hope for a better future. and you aren’t the issue either, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, never was and never will be.

you’re an angel sent from above and not everyone knows your worth; your bright smiles, your never ending belief in the better things, your strong will and your admirable character — you’re the embodiment of perfection, yet satoru can’t find it in himself to fall under your charms and he thinks there is a lot fucking wrong with him.

there is this beautiful person, you, ready to accept him with open arms and hold him close until the end, and satoru is so fucking helpless, he doesn’t even understand why would anyone harbour such feelings for him. the sound of word “love” is like a punch in the gut, something gojo avoided thinking about his whole life because there was no point of loving someone for him. he knows he will only ever have himself in the end.

he will hurt the person close to him and be alone forever. that’s what he thinks.

at some point, satoru tries to have something with you in hopes of falling for you too. because you’re pretty likeable and very cute in your own way, and he’d be blind to not see that.

he starts reciprocating your fleeting touches, puts a little more charm into his smile and accepts your affections as much as he can, and the passionate glint in your eyes would be the best reward if guilt didn’t start eating him from the inside as soon as he started this whole thing. your toothy smiles and warm touches would be the best thing if only gojo knew how to fall in love with you.

your kisses feel impossibly good but they don’t belong on his lips and he claims them unfairly, like he deserves them. his hesitation is concealed by his desire to make you happy even though the voice inside his head is screaming at him to fucking stop this act and pull away and apologise for being the biggest asshole in the universe, yet he doesn’t stop.

he selfishly relishes in the feeling of your warm body pressing against his, the softness if your skin and the wanton moans you let out at the slightest touch he plants on you — your eyes full of yearning, longing for him and his presence, and satoru’s mind becomes foggy with need to feel someone, something. something strong, something powerful that will certainly shake him to his core. he has to love you.

but he can’t. and it’s too much for him to keep inside so he ends everything the next day.

and you don’t cry. your eyes turn hollow and satoru never sees you again.

#– len writes ✨#GOD THIS HURT SO FUCKING BADDD #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojou x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo angst #satoru gojo

144 notes · View notes

rootspiral · 11 hours ago

Text

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2])

I was so looking forward to brighten this particular scene, it's the darkest yet and it's such a beautiful one it's a pity to miss even one detail

oh no lilia stop being so cute????

have you ever seen jen with a bigger smile? and she's quiet as usual, it's almost like more than the ride she's enjoying how much fun her friends are having. especially lilia, those two have been forming a bond that is equal parts bickering and a growing respect

I'm just glad alice had this moment of pure unadulterated joy before it came all crashing down

agatha is very, very quiet. despite never letting herself feel anything freely, she takes a moment to close her eyes and enjoy the beauty of it all

she looks back at rio, so sensual and confident

how can kathryn hahn convey so much with so little time? her breath catches at her sight. and then worry and fear take hold and she gives the tiniest shake of her head, as if she's forbidding herself to entertain any kind of thought about rio. she looks away. the blood moon behind her spells disaster

meanwhile billy is that kid who has the time of his life hanging out with the teachers during a field trip

I want to personally thank aubrey plaza for every acting choice she made as rio, but ESPECIALLY for this witchy laugh

(I just brightened the salem seven witch vomiting bees and it's actually pretty impressive! but I don't want to trigger any insect haters around here) (I love insects though so please talk to me about spiders if you want)

they couldn't get a good look at the cabin before rushing in and I couldn't either until now, do we know if it's something from Agatha's past? did she use to live there?

I'm salty that alice had to die in these stupid clothes

So. I think this trial is the most fucked up and humiliating yet. Billy knew nothing about jen except superficial facts, so he put her in a scenario that matched her work aesthetic, more of a personal insult than a wake up call (compare it with the broom lilia just made for her: roots and flowers, something that speaks about jen's work, beliefs and traditions.)

Alice's trial was entirely based on lorna, we know billy is a big fan so he ran with that concept creating something that really shook alice, and not in a good way. she was forced to sit in her dead mom's house and wear her clothes for god's sake. she took it as the Road wanting to teach her a lesson, when it was just a teenager with the grace and subtlety of a newborn puppy.

Now, agatha. billy doesn't know a thing about her because she's private to the point of paranoia. he has gathered that there's something in her past about a dead child and that's probably what makes her grumpy, so he... tried to make her talk to nicky. with a fuking oujia board. Despite having had his share of shock and trauma billy inevitably has a kid's point of view re: death, and even more so because he's functionally immortal. death is something that happens to other people, or far far away in the future. he thinks he's giving agatha much needed therapy, when he actually put a grown woman in child's clothes and made her relive her traumas for everyone to see.

btw I'm not in any way saying that the trials are bad writing. they are brilliant writing. they're just tragic and fucked up behind the funny exterior, just like agatha herself. sorry for the rant.

I mean I wouldn't be opposed to that. we could put billy back in a closet for a little while and get down and dirty with it. and ooh there's a little leaf on rio's shirt, I hadn't noticed it!

jen's retainer always SENDS me

agatha's face when she realizes it's her trial

agatha is irrevocably, eternally linked with death in all its forms

looks like rio is playing along and setting the scene, but she's also doing something more subtle that only agatha understands: she's provoking her, and it's becoming more personal and hurtful. she's testing and punishing more than she used to. she is growing angrier.

agatha wants to tell rio to fuck off but knows she deserves it. agatha is NOT happy to be in this trial for reasons that go beyond what everyone present (except rio) assumes, but she'll bite the inside of her cheeks until they bleed before she shows any of it

the way he says it with a straight face too (again, NO PUN INTENDED. forgive me joe, I would never)

oh great alice has only thirty minutes to live

everyone looks worried and on their guard, rio has her whole knife out, playing along. agatha is STILL trying to look cool and casual, it's painful to watch. girl is panicking, hard

meanwhile billy is always bringing a whole different energy, he's playing and having fun! think back to the second episode when they met lilia and then jen and alice for the first time. billy had no clue about the tension, the fear and hate between them and agatha. right now he's still more excited than scared. he's about to have a rude awakening.

do not taunt the spirits, AGATHA.

lmaooo. this motherfucker.

another moment when billy sounds chillingly cruel. being jigsaw without realizing it

I'm not pointing it out every time but whenever agatha does this with her arms she's really, really really nervous

what does agatha do when she's scared or overwhelmed? she puts on a show. like clockwork. and rio has already guessed what's about to happen

I really want to continue this so there will be more later today, stay tuned!

go to episode 5 part 3

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #agatha harkness #billy maximoff #rio vidal #alice wu gulliver #lilia calderu #jennifer kale #character study

84 notes · View notes

insonniacaotica · 2 days ago

Text

Batfamily damn good ao3 tags pt.3

This is part three of a list of ao3 tags about batfamily that I think deserve to be used more (semi-serious list).

Canon tags:

• Alfred Pennyworth's Cookies (Read this tag and tell me you didn't smile. It's impossible. I know you smiled) • Red-Haired Jason Todd (eh, but the retcon- I DON'T CARE, I LOVE MY RED-HAIRED JASON) • Artist Damian Wayne (The child has talent) • Dick Grayson Has ADHD (please for me it's a fantastic tag) • Skateboarder Tim Drake (This is a canon Tim hobby and it's CRIMINAL how little it is used in fanfiction) • Conspiracy Theorist Bernard Dowd (Fanfictions where Bernard theorizes are the best Tim/Bernard fanfics) • Tim Drake's Hero Worship (I find it cute) • Dick Grayson is Not a Police Officer (Nice if you tie it into the fact that Duke hates cops, Jason lived on the streets, and three-quarters of Gotham's cops are corrupt.) • Dick Grayson Misses Jason Todd (The fact that this is a tag makes me cry) • Good Person Damian Wayne (I refuse to believe that Dami is not good) • Smart Bruce Wayne (I expected this tag to have something like 5000 fanfics. It doesn't even reach 20. I protest) • Vegetarian Damian Wayne (The Animal Lover Damian Wayne tag exists and there are fanfics but there are very few with Dami as a vegetarian (canonical, by the way))

Fanon/not yet canon tags (tags that I have used or seen around on ao3 but that are not recognized as canonical tags):

• Damian Wayne is Colorblind (I don't even know why I like it so much but I want it) • Duke Thomas Takes Care of the Narrows (Aside from the fact that neither Narrows (Duke's neighborhood) nor Bristol (Tim and Bruce's neighborhood) are tags but Crime Alley/Park Row is, I want this as a canon tag now.) • Duke Thomas Has The Narrows Accent (I've now made it my life mission to give Duke the tags he deserves) • Stephanie Brown Has a Crime Alley | Park Row Accent (Do it just to see Jay and Steph speaking with the same inflection) • Competent Bruce Wayne (WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT A CANONICAL TAG?) • No More Dead Robins (I'm so weak for this tag, you have no idea)

98 notes · View notes

daisymbin · 2 days ago

Note

Hi! I’ve been loving the drabbles they’re all so good!!! Can I request 17+33 suggestive with Vernon?

thank you!! & of course you can!! 🥰

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hansol's m.list

suggestive prompt #17: "come here and let me take care of you." +

suggestive prompt #33: "you're cute when you're flustered."

the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning, and you couldn’t help but notice how hansol’s gaze kept flickering toward you, his eyes soft but undeniably intense. you were sitting on the couch, a book resting in your lap, but you weren’t really reading anymore. your mind was too occupied with hansol, who was sitting across the room, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on his phone.

you caught him looking at you again, this time a little longer than before, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your heart skip. it wasn’t like him to be so obvious about his attention. the more you tried to pretend you didn’t notice, the more your cheeks flushed, and the more you tried to focus on your book, the harder it became to ignore him.

finally, after a few moments of tense silence, hansol put his phone down, leaning forward with a smile that was both playful and warm. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” he said, his voice low, like he was teasing but also genuinely admiring the way you were acting around him.

you felt your face heat up even more, and you immediately looked down at your book, hoping it would somehow hide your embarrassment. “i-i’m not flustered,” you stammered, though your flushed face probably gave you away.

hansol chuckled softly, standing up from his spot on the couch and walking toward you. “you don’t have to hide it, you know,” he said, his voice just a little more serious now, as he stood in front of you, looking down with an almost predatory intensity. “you’re cute when you’re shy too.”

you tried to look up at him, but the way he was standing so close to you made it hard to think straight. he reached out, gently lifting your chin with his finger so that your eyes met his. there was something about the way he was looking at you—something so gentle, yet filled with an undeniable warmth that made your chest tighten.

"come here, let me take care of you," hansol said softly, his tone just suggestive enough to make your heart race. his hand brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a small shiver down your spine.

you swallowed hard, unsure if you should give in to the urge to move closer to him or if you should resist. but there was something in his eyes that made it hard to pull away, something that made your heart beat faster, made your breath catch in your throat. the way he was looking at you, like you were the only person in the room, made you feel like you were floating.

without a word, you slowly scooted closer to him, and hansol’s smile deepened, his eyes softening with a mix of affection and something a little more heated. he knelt down in front of you, so that you were at eye level, and took both of your hands in his, his thumb stroking over your knuckles gently.

"i’m not gonna bite," he murmured, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "unless you want me to." his voice was teasing, but his eyes were filled with warmth, making it hard to resist the pull of his presence.

you opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a small, breathless laugh. your hands were shaking slightly, and you could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest.

"hansol," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady, "you’re making me nervous."

his gaze softened even further, and for a moment, he just looked at you, as though he was studying your every expression, every subtle shift in your body language. then, with a sigh, he leaned closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. his breath was warm against your face, and his scent—the soft, comforting mixture of something familiar and him—surrounded you, making it almost impossible to think straight.

"i’m sorry," he whispered, his voice gentle, "i didn’t mean to make you nervous. i just… i just want to be close to you."

the sincerity in his voice made your chest flutter, and for a moment, all your nerves seemed to melt away. it wasn’t like you didn’t want him close. you did. more than anything, you wanted to feel his touch, feel the warmth of his presence.

before you could respond, hansol closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips gently against yours. the kiss was soft, tender, like he was taking his time with you, savoring the moment. his hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he deepened the kiss just a little, making your heart race again.

you melted into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer as you kissed him back with the same softness and tenderness. there was no rush, no urgency—just the warmth of his lips against yours, the feeling of his hand resting gently against your neck as he kept you close.

when you finally pulled away, breathless, hansol’s eyes were filled with that same soft intensity, the playful spark still present, but now mixed with something a little more serious.

“i told you, i’d take care of you,” he said with a smile, his voice low and warm, almost as though the kiss had left him just as breathless as it had left you. “now, how about you let me take even more care of you?”

you couldn’t help but nod, your heart still racing in your chest, but a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “okay,” whispered, your voice shaky, “please.”

79 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 1 day ago

Text

Acacius/Geta/Caracalla - In a relationship

Acacius/Geta/Caracalla x fem!reader

warning : fluff, cuddling, kissing, the emperors are their own warning (but they are quite cute)

info : Thanks for all the support guys it really means so much to me and as always have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus Acacius

°Marcus Acacius was a famous army leader and above all a popular favourite, a man loved by the people and an important figure in Rome's elite, a person, a name bearer and above all a power like few other men-at-arms. Yet of all the sharp and strong sides, he had above all acquired a taste for love, not the purely physical act, as intense and stimulating as it was. The general was addicted to love through and through, he would give anything for her.

°A man who loved his wife with all his heart, from the moment he had seen her in the preparations for his victory procession to the moment he had entered her tent to seek out her company, ,,I wanted to thank my artist self for such a beautiful piece of work" he had greeted her, pointing to his coat. He had learnt that her creative hands could create such beautiful works and that this beauty was only surpassed by her own.

°His smile was sweet as honey, his beard a mixture of salt and pepper and his curly dark hair was reminiscent of a wild lion. A wild lion that became very gentle when it came to her heart. For every task the seamstress undertook he was with her to pick her up, from every meeting in the palace she brought him food and he gifted her with more kisses. Kisses of desire and love, his hand always on her side, taking her hand when she was nervous and kissing it goodbye.

°Her fear and the knowledge of the people's disgust whenever he was away he sent her parchments with words, words of love and reassurance that he would come back. The fabric of one of her dresses, the sweet smell of lavender every time he remembered her before a battle, imagining her and looking forward to seeing her again.

°Marcus had a side of curiosity when the couple sat together by the hearth eating the food they prepared together and she lay in his lap, his muscles holding her lightly and holding out a sweetened date to her with a ,,Nothing is sweeter than you" which she ate with relish. It was especially the nights when he rode out of Rome with his favourite, showing her places he had seen, explored and conquered, wrapping her in his cloak when the night got too cold.

°In the bedchamber, the warrior's hand wrapped around his wife's, holding her gently in the shawl himself as he stroked her skin and told her numerous legends before kissing her goodnight and leaving her to the dream god and falling asleep after her to make sure she was safe with him and no harm would come to her.

°Acacius is a man of loyalty who would stand up for his beloved and even compete in the Colosseum to defend her honour and if he had to he would even challenge the emperors if it meant protecting her. Even if Rome were to fall one day, he would turn his back on his homeland and be long gone with his beloved because the greatest treasure he had was her and no one else.

°He loved to call you heart and darling ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Geta

°Emperor Geta the emperor of Rome, one who was more refined than his brother a blond god in human form for the common people and a commander for the troops of the empire. Someone who had infinite power in politics and someone who loved to demonstrate his power over life and death. But above all, he demonstrated his love for his wife.

°He had chosen her from one of the fallen empires of the conquered enemies, even if she had little choice, there was something between them. He was an emperor, a god not a brutal monster, ,,You belong to me, you belong in Rome…at my side forever" he made clear to her as he placed the golden ring on her finger to the applause of the senate and his brother who giggled happily as the wedding was consummated.

°To the great surprise he was indeed no monster, he was a young emperor who ruled Rome, who would have the whole world and with such power came privileges, ,,Only the best for my goddess" he called her shortly after the wedding, whenever he came to her with one more beautiful piece of jewellery than the other. The goldsmiths outdid themselves with each new piece of jewellery for Geta's love. Skilful hands put the jewellery on her, a kiss on her lips rounded off the picture of her beauty for him

°A value, you were the most precious thing he had next to his brother, a goddess, a beauty for all the world to see and above all to respect. With one hand always holding yours as he walked through the palace to the senate, the old men all grasping for power were nothing without him…and above all they were nothing without her, ,,The words of my wife the Empress are heard and respected!" Geta shouted into the great room and raised her hand in acknowledgement it came to shouts of jubilation only a fraction later. They had no choice but to accept the empress because the vengeance and love of Geta was not something you wanted to mess with.

°But even if golden gifts were beautiful and expensive, it was above all this other side of him, the side of a man, a simple young man and no god, when he took off his lorber wreath and lay down in bed with her, ,,Your existence soothes the pain of all the political noise" she heard his murmur as he rested his head on her lap, his fingers, freed from rings, tracing small circles on her bed and symbols of writings as if he were still thinking about the conversations in the senate even now

°He appreciated all the more the gentle kisses that were so different from his own, where he was jealous for fear of losing you or his brother, it was the gentleness that moved him because it was a quality he was less good at. Kisses on his lips and cheeks the colourful single rings and the gentle removal of the golden lorber wreath and maybe just resting in bed together after a long day and tasting the benefits of wine and love before the day would dawn again.

°He loves to call you goddess and queen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Caracalla

°The emperor's brother, the more childlike, the more insane, the one with the thirst for war and blood, Emperor Caracalla. Dressed in gold with the monkey Dundus as a friend, he was the crazier half of his brother Geta, a young man and a young emperor whose love of war was surpassed only by the Colosseum and fighting or his beloved wife who was even better than amusement.

°Blue eyes with blond curly hair had been looking at her for a long time, one of the highborn noblewomen in his and his brother's circle, but never would he have thought that she had a hand for training wild bloodthirsty animals. From the moment she lashed out with the whip and the wild pavians were silent, the emperor was blown away by her.

°His thirst for blood for the first time was filled with love as he held her by his side, her laughter at his manner, the joy he radiated at almost all times and how happy he was when she showed him new animals. Her family traided with, animals like lions and tigers to monkeys and hippos, everything her sweet Caracalla wanted she could give him, ,,You are like the wonder of the gods, my sun" Caracalla always told her when she showed him new animals. His hand wrapped around hers before he pulled her into an embrace, a short intense kiss on her lips a reward and her giggle which made him happy.

°Happiness and amusement the most important thing for him and her he wanted amusement and not boredom and she wanted the happiness of love forever. Something in which the two complemented each other because Caracalla also had more to offer than just his fascination for blood, ,,I want to organise a fight entirely under the sign of our constellation!" he announced in the senate and Geta's approval made the others agree too, Caracalla and she had married under the sign of the archer and with bow and arrow he had given her a day of shooting practice together.

°The blood shed that day was matched only by his laughter as he clapped his hands like a delighted child when she hit one of the criminals and he always squeezed her hand, ,,Blood! Yes! You are divine my beautiful heart!" he shouted and the few spectators who had gathered in the Coloseum clapped and cheered to congratulate the emperor and his wife while Geta looked at the imperial family with a look of satisfaction. Before Caracalla rewarded her with another kiss and she kissed him back on the tip of his nose or forehead, he always tried to cover his pinken cheeks as he was almost shy about such things.

°A day of blood has to end sometime, a day when he enters the palace happily not addicted to blur intoxication, holding your hand. He insists that he feeds you his favourite sweet while Dundus the monkey gets his own little bowl of grapes. ,,So that no one can poison you, another piece of lemon cake dear," he said, taking a bite of the cake before holding out the other half to her. Childish as he was, she could never help but be happy in his company and even when they lay in bed together and he snuggled up to her, the sweet smile was worth all the effort.

°He loves to call you sun and heart ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @somepallings , @sigiismunda

#gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #geta x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #male x female #reader is female #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader

90 notes · View notes

goldfades · 2 days ago

Text

CHARACTERS !

masterlist

maisie christensen

maisie christensen was the kind of person who walked into a room and immediately commandeered the space—not with arrogance, but with the kind of charisma that made you wonder if you’d just met a hurricane disguised as a woman. she was fiercely intelligent, a biomedical engineer who could rattle off complex equations and then swear like a sailor when she stubbed her toe on the corner of her desk. maisie’s loyalty was unmatched, burning with a fire that could either warm or scorch, depending on which side of her you landed. a self-proclaimed dog enthusiast and certified man-hater (a title she wore with ironic pride), she had a sharp wit and a heart bigger than her bite, even if she tried to deny it.

you met maisie in middle school, the kind of meet-cute that belonged in a rom-com if rom-coms were about chaotic pre-teens. she’d yelled a boy for laughing at your braces and instead of apologizing when the teacher caught her, she’d just shrugged and said, “he deserved it.” something about her unapologetic audacity made you gravitate toward her, and she took you in as though you’d been friends forever. over the years, she became the constant in your life—your sounding board, your confidant, the kind of person who would show up uninvited but always at the right time. where you were soft, maisie was sharp, balancing you out in ways you didn’t know you needed.

maisie had a knack for standing at the intersection of chaos and control, and somehow, she always made it work. she was the sister you chose, the one who knew all your secrets and held them close, and no matter how messy life got, she was there—sarcastic, unwavering, and ready to throw hands if the need arose.

hayes burrow

born: april 9th, 2022

hayes burrow was a quiet storm, a little being who entered the world with the softest of cries and the kind of gaze that could melt the most stoic heart. he had his father's wide eyes—bluer than the summer sky and deeper than oceans—and his mother’s stubbornness, sharp and determined even in the gentlest of moments. his hair, though still sparse, was a wispy blonde that gleams like sunlight filtering through morning mist, soft and golden against his delicate skin.

he was a small thing, a gentle weight in your arms, with tiny fingers that curled around yours as if he'd been holding your hand for longer than mere months. the softest coos escaped him, especially when joe leaned in to whisper words that only a father could say, those private little messages meant only for their ears.

and yet, even in his stillness, there was an energy about him, the kind that made everything feel just a little bit brighter. his little kicks were the rhythm of a heartbeat you could count on, his smiles rare but so full of promise. hayes was the answer to so many unspoken questions, the love you had spent your life wondering about, waiting for. he was everything that made your world feel complete, and in the soft quiet of mornings when the sun barely peered over the horizon, you would watch him sleep, his tiny breaths matching the rhythm of your own, and you’d wonder how you had ever lived without him.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #sweet on you ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

59 notes · View notes

buddies-bitch · 1 day ago

Text

Dating Evan Buckley Headcannons💕

Mostly SFW but a couple of NSFW

SFW

He gets jump-scared easily so you love to scare him

Like those compilations of people constantly scaring their spouses is totally something you would do

Whether that be yelling when he comes around a corner or hiding underneath the bed to grab his ankle. And it never fails to make you laugh until you pee

He’s so dramatic it’s insane

Like flopping onto every available surface like a faintly Victorian woman with that cute little pout of his

Puppy dog eyes GALORE

He will try and guilt you into things (like wanting to do something for you without your involvement so you can relax) with those goddamn eyes and fuck if it doesn’t work every. single. time.

He loves having you in the kitchen while he’s cooking/baking-as long as you’re not in his way

Luckily for him you’re much more content to just sit on the counter and watch him cook. Inbetween tasks dragging him between your legs for a quick smooch

He gets you tattoo pens so you can straddle his waist while he lays down and draw him new tattoos, usually incorporating his lightning scars-kissing all the while

He loves looking up at your focussed face and loves the feeling of being beneath you. He also loves the feel of your hands on him no matter what you're doing. 3/4 of the time this leads to sex

Occasionally you’ll do his makeup (you’ll always do his skincare) and you always make sure to accentuate his birthmark

The first time you did, all you had was a glittery pink and when you showed him, he hugged you and cried-no one had ever seen him before the way you did

You love finding new nicknames to call him or ways to hit on him that make him blush and stutter

You greeted him one time with a small “hi gorgeous” and he stuttered so bad he just walked away

“Gorgeous”, “baby boy”, “sweet boy”, “stunning”, “sweetheart/ness”, “blue eyed wonder”, “firehose”, “pumpkin”, “honey” literally anything and everything, progressively getting more wild at times just to make him laugh and blush

Buck absolutely has some kind of slutty thigh tattoo (I have nothing else to add to this but I feel like I should share)

He finds it strangely endearing at the amount of time/effort you put into doing physical therapy for his leg, even years after the accident

Plus, always making sure to put sunscreen on him as well as ointment for his scars because you know he’ll forget

Doing hair masks and getting new products for him to protect/define his curls

He's such a cuddle bug it can get annoying on hotter nights but you love him too much to move him

He doesn't mind being big spoon or little spoon but most of the time he pretty much just lays on top of you, having thrown himself over you haphazardly as if to protect you in his sleep

He loves it when he reads to you because you'll play with his hair till you fall asleep, AND he gets to yap to his favorite person.

Because he has adhd, when he reads to you he’ll get distracted and go off topic at some point and just winds up becoming a personal podcast

NSFW

PRAISE KINK

He’s such a vocal bitch

Moaning and groaning constantly, he loves to let you hear him

When drawing on him turns into sex, he LOVES to mark your body with hickeys the way you marked his with ink

He is such a muncher

Like actually drowning himself in your cunt ‘cause he refuses to come up before you come til you physically can't anymore

He likes to tease you until you're begging him to fuck you

He LOVES when you scratch your nails through his hair, especially when you pull it harder the closer you get to coming

He takes SO much pride in the scratch marks up and down his back

^hickeys too, much to your embarrassment sometimes

Anytime you wear lingerie, it gets torn to shreds. But its ok because Buck will happily buy you a new pair so long as he gets to do it again

Buck is absolutely a power bottom. He loves to be in charge but he also loves you on top of him

#evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #buck buckley #911 x reader #911 fox #911 abc #911 show #118 firefam #buck x reader

59 notes · View notes

allgoodnamesrgoneee · 2 days ago

Note

can you do one where kylian can’t stop touching reader?

Clingy

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — The one where he can't let you go

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 5.2k

Warnings! FLUFF, Drunk!Kylian, he's super cute and sweet in this one, suggestive words but no smut, special Ashraf Hakimi appearance, I think that's it

It's 2:27 AM and you're getting tired.

You glance at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time, rereading Kylian’s last text from hours ago: "Don’t wait up, bébé. I’ll be home late. Love you."

You huff, your thumb hovering over the screen as you debate texting him again. You trust him completely, he’s out with Ashraf and some of the other guys on the team—but it's getting really late and he's usually home by now.

You sigh and toss the phone aside, deciding to just close your eyes and wait for him to get home.

The TV plays softly in the background, the sound filling the quiet living room as you lay curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Kylian’s oversized hoodies. The faint smell of his cologne lingered on the fabric, giving you the slightest comfort as you fight the pull of sleep.

Just as your eyelids start to droop, a sharp knock at the door jolts you awake.

Frowning, you sit up.

Kylian has his keys—he wouldn’t knock.

Your heart skips a beat as you approach the door cautiously, the soft glow of the hallway light spilling through the crack underneath.

The knocking grows louder, and you can hear a muffled voice saying something, but you can't hear what it said.

Then the person knocks again.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should answer it, and then you hear that voice again.

This time it's louder and clearer.

"Y/N! Come on, open up! He can’t walk!"

Ashraf Hakimi.

Confused, you pull the hoodie tighter around you, shuffling closer to the door and peering through the peephole. On the other side, you see Ashraf Hakimi holding a stumbling, clearly wasted, Kylian upright.

You quickly undo the lock and yank open the door.

“Thank fuck,” Hakimi exhales, voice heavy with relief and exasperation the second you pull the door open.

He looks as though he’s just run a marathon, his expression caught somewhere between amused and desperate, clearly eager to pass Kylian off to you. His hand tightens briefly on Kylian’s shoulder as if to keep him upright for just a few more seconds.

“Kylian?” you ask, your voice gentle but laced with confusion, eyes flicking between the two of them.

At the sound of your voice, Kylian’s head lolls forward like a puppet with its strings cut, only to jerk back up a moment later, his eyes brightening as he zeroes in on you.

“Bébé!” he cries out, his tone so boyishly elated it makes your heart clench, the way it always does when he looks at you like you hung the stars. Your name slurs off his tongue, a little wobbly, but it’s accompanied by the sweetest, most dazzling smile that spreads across his face like a sunrise, all teeth and crinkled eyes.

Your stomach dips in response, a warmth blooming in your chest that you can’t quite fight. For a moment, you forget the situation entirely, caught in the spell of how devastatingly soft he looks right now.

But before you can say another word, Kylian shrugs out of Hakimi’s grip with an unsteady lurch, his body tilting as though gravity itself is trying to take him down. He stumbles toward you in a half-drunk stagger, arms already reaching out like he’s afraid you might disappear.

You barely manage a surprised gasp as he throws himself at you, his weight nearly knocking you off balance. His arms wrap around your neck in a vice-like grip, his broad frame warm and solid against you despite the way he sways.

He smells like the club—of sweat, alcohol, and something fruity—and you don't even have to look at him to know that his skin is hot, flushed from the alcohol that’s coursing through his body like molten lava.

You can feel the heat of him, seeping into you through the thin layer of fabric between you.

Then he presses a kiss to your hairline—a messy, clumsy press of lips that lingers far too long to be neat but feels oddly reverent nonetheless.

“Je t'aime, bébé, tellement” he mumbles, the words thick with alcohol and affection as they spill against your temple, his breath warm on your skin. “I missed you so much. I’m home.”

His voice is soft, almost childlike, and it strikes something tender in you. Your heart melts all over again, the tension in your body slipping away as you sigh and hug him back.

“I love you too, baby,” you murmur, your tone light but edged with concern as you adjust your grip around his waist, steadying him against you.

You glance over his shoulder to where Hakimi stands, his arms crossed as he chuckles and shakes his head at you. "The man's in love,” he says with a snort, as though that explains everything.

You frown, slightly more concerned now than confused. “Did something happen?” you ask, brows furrowing as your eyes narrow at Hakimi. “How drunk is he?”

Hakimi shakes his head, an expression that’s caught somewhere between amusement and frustration crossing his face. "He's been asking for you all night," he tells you, a note of apology creeping into his tone. "And I’m pretty sure he’s more gone than he should be. We tried to get him to eat, but…” He trails off, hands lifting in a gesture of surrender that’s both helpless and fond.

You sigh, eyes flicking to where Kylian nuzzles against you, his grip as tight as ever despite the fact that his eyes are already drooping in the middle of a long exhale, his head lolling back into the curve of your shoulder. His arms tighten around you again in an uncoordinated jerk, his mouth finding your neck for another sloppy kiss.

“Alright. Thanks for briging him home” you reply, nodding, lips pressing into a thin line as you meet Hakimi’s gaze. “Are you okay to drive? Do you want me to call you an Uber?”

Hakimi’s smile is quick and bright, his mouth curling at the corners as he waves you off. “It’s fine,” he replies with a quick headshake. “My driver is waiting outside. But I’ll call you tomorrow to check in, yeah?” The question is directed at you but his eyes move to Kylian.

You nod, smiling softly, "Yeah, okay.”

“Alright, goodnight,” he calls out, tipping his chin at you both.

The front door shuts behind him seconds later, and you shift Kylian more fully into your arms as you turn to carry him inside.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you inside.”

Kylian doesn’t reply, just nuzzles his face further into the crook of your neck, his lips finding your skin and pressing a kiss there, the stubble on his cheek scratching you gently.

You make it to the couch without any mishaps, sinking onto the worn cushion with him still in your arms, his heavy weight solid against you. You hold him there for a few minutes, running a soothing hand up and down his back as he shudders, his whole body vibrating with the force of his emotions.

“Hey,” you try to reassure him, your tone soft and calm, “what happened?”

“Just…just so happy,” he mumbles after a minute, his tone utterly euphoric. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you tell him again, smiling as you tip your head to meet his eyes. They’re glassy and bright, swimming with emotion, and you feel a little tug in your chest.

“I know,” he breathes out, smile softening. “I just… I miss you when we’re apart, okay? That’s all. I'm sorry I'm-I'm always g-gone.” He slurs and hiccups as he says the last part.

Your heart tugs in your chest, and you nod, reaching up to smooth his hair. “I know, it's okay” you tell him. “I miss you too.”

He hums in response, the noise soft and low in his chest. For a moment he simply nuzzles his cheek against your palm, his eyes drifting shut as he relaxes back into your arms.

But then a few seconds later, his eyes flutter open again. He's still smiling at you, his mouth tipped up in a goofy grin. “Bébé,” he murmurs again, voice husky and affectionate, his eyes squinting adoringly at you.

“Yeah?” you prompt after a minute, because he just stares at you for long seconds like he can’t look away.

“T'es vraiment belle, tu sais? I'm so lucky.” His voice drops, grows quiet as he speaks.

You feel a flutter in your chest, but then you shake your head, your lips twitching into a smile. “Kylian, bébé, you’re drunk, let’s go to bed” you say instead, dodging the topic.

Kylian’s face scrunches up for a moment as though he doesn’t understand what you're saying. Then his eyebrows rise, and his mouth falls open.

He looks affronted, the picture of scandalized drunkenness. “Non!” he protests, voice loud and outraged as though you've suggested something truly heinous. “I don’t wanna sleep! I wanna…” His brows furrow. He frowns for a moment, as though he can't remember what he wants.

Then his eyes light up. “I wanna fuck you,” He rasps the words against your skin, nuzzling his face into your neck with another long exhale.

He tries to move his mouth up to yours, but misses by a good few centimeters, his lips pressing against the hollow of your throat instead.

Your breath catches at the feel of his mouth on you, his warm lips dragging against your skin.

But you shake yourself out of the daze that threatens to pull you under at his touch, reaching down to cup his chin and tip his head back until he's staring up at you once again. His eyes are glazed, his cheeks pink, and his lips look swollen.

He looks like he wants to devour you whole.

But instead of giving in, you try again, your smile soft but firm. “Baby, you're drunk,” you repeat.

He shakes his head. “Non! I'm not” He repeats his protest, his voice adamant and thick with a slur. "I just…” He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes drop from yours to stare at your mouth.

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips in an unconscious gesture that makes your stomach flip in your abdomen. Then his eyes move back up to yours and his face crumples, the look of pure distress on his features making you chuckle.

“Bébé, s’il vous plaît?” he begs. “J'ai besoin de toi. Je suis tellement…” His voice is anguished, like he's holding himself back. the strain in his tone making your breath catch. “I want you so bad, tresor,” he slurs. “so bad.”

He leans forward then, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, his eyes dark and intense as they find yours.

“Je t'aime tellement, it hurts, bébé,” he confesses, his words a messy slur of French and English that make your breath catch. He's not making any sense but you understand him.

You nod, but his arms tighten around you, and he nuzzles your neck, planting sloppy kisses along your jaw. "I love you, you know that? You’re my everything. Mon cœur."

"Yes, I know," you say, cupping his face to look him in the eye. His chocolate-brown gaze is glassy, but the sincerity in his words melts you. "I love you too, but you need water. And maybe food. Come on, let's get you something to eat. "

His brows draw together at first, a flicker of thought crossing his face, but then a wide, knowing smirk spreads across his lips, lighting up his features in a way that makes your heart stutter. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with heat. His gaze, dark and smoldering, locks onto you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “I am hungry,” he continues, leaning just a little closer, his tone laced with wicked intent. “For you.”

You let out a long-suffering sigh, though the way your lips twitch betrays your amusement. “Kylian…” you begin, your voice edged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“Oui?” he interjects smoothly, cutting you off before you can even finish. His eyes, impossibly large and impossibly dark, seem to glitter with mischief as he looks at you, completely unfazed by your scolding tone. For a moment, you falter, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his expression.

“Come on,” you manage at last, your voice softening despite yourself. You shake your head, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. “Let’s get you food first, then we’ll get you to bed.” You’re firm but your voice is more gentle than you intended, your gaze soft on him.

Kylian beams up at you like you’re the sun itself, and nods, his expression serious as he tries to pull back. But he ends up swaying a little, his legs tangled in yours and his arms around your neck. His eyebrows draw together, and he looks a bit dizzy for a minute.

But then he swallows hard and tries again, managing to untangle himself with a huff. This time, his smile is sheepish when he meets your eyes. “Whatever you say, bébé.”

“Okay,” you say with slight chuckle. You shift out of his arms, standing as you offer him your hand.

Kylian takes it with a warm smile, rising to his feet unsteadily. The action seems to take a lot out of him—he staggers a little on the way up, his knee bumping your thigh. And when he’s finally standing, his hand grips yours tight, as though he needs your support to keep himself upright.

You nod at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before leading him into the kitchen.

He trails behind you like a lost puppy, following you without question and looking vaguely disoriented whenever you glance back at him.

When you reach the kitchen, you slide onto one of the stools, gesturing for him to take the one across from you.

“Sit down and let me get you something,” you instruct. You nod at the stool opposite, watching as he lowers himself into it, his movements slow and clumsy.

“Merci, bébé,” he mumbles as his back hits the stool, a look of relief crossing his face.

You smile at him warmly as you turn toward the fridge. “You’re welcome,” you tell him, opening the door to peer inside.

He's silent for a minute, watching you with a sort of childlike fascination. Then, when you bend down to pull out the eggs, his voice calls out again.

"Nice ass,” he says, his tone full of appreciation. "You have the best ass." He slurs the words, sounding more than a little drunk and awed.

You let out a startled laugh at that, your hand stalling in its reach for the pan. Your head tips up to meet his gaze, your smile stretching wide across your lips.

"Thank you," you tell him with a chuckle, cheeks flushing lightly at his praise.

But he just laughs, his face alight with a radiant grin. His voice takes on an almost conversational quality, like you're not standing in your kitchen at 2:53 in the morning talking about your ass. “Do you know how many times I've jacked off to it?” he asks, sounding utterly sincere. His brow furrows. “Maybe hundreds?”

Your breath catches, and you let out another laugh, a little more helpless this time. Your body flushes, heat rising in your cheeks as you fumble a bit with the pan, your gaze darting to his to gauge his reaction. His eyes are wide and earnest, his grin still soft on his face as he watches you.

You shake your head, the motion a little helpless. “Kylian,” you say again, letting out another laugh as you try to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

But instead of relenting, he just grins harder, his expression one of pure adoration. “What? It's the truth, bébé!” He leans forward, his elbows hitting the counter as he braces his body with his arms, his gaze still fixed intently on you. “You're so beautiful, I just want to eat you up,” he mumbles then, his tone filled with a thick slur and a wealth of affection.

Your face burns, and you try to look away, but it's hard to ignore the way his voice makes you feel. Like you're the only person in the world.

“Baby…” you try to chide him, but he's having none of it.

“I’m serious,” he protests, his brow furrowing in a scowl as he slides off his stool. He sways a little as he makes his way over to you, but you barely have time to register his movement before he's sliding his arms back around your waist, his chest warm against your back. “You have no idea, do you?” he asks, his breath a gentle caress on your neck as his lips find the slope of your shoulder.

Your stomach tenses under his grip, but your hands pause in their reach for the eggs, your body leaning back into his. “No idea about what?” you murmur softly.

His arms tighten around your middle, squeezing you gently against him as his nose nudges your hair out of the way. You can feel his breath against your neck as he inhales, his lips skating across your skin with a featherlight touch.

“How gorgeous you are,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice warm and thick. He exhales again, the air drifting against your skin in a caress that makes your whole body shiver. “How much I love you.”

You turn in his arms then, reaching up to cup his cheeks with your palms. He looks down at you, his dark eyes soft and fond, his features more boyish than anything else right now.

You smile up at him, running your thumbs over his cheekbones in a soothing stroke. “I know,” you say, your voice soft, but firm. “I love you too. So much.”

A brilliant grin spreads across his face at your words, his gaze going soft with adoration as he gazes down at you. “Je t'aime,” he whispers, his tone full of conviction and emotion. “Plus que tout.” His eyes meet yours, and you can see the sincerity, his feelings plain on his face.

Then his arms are wrapping around your back, pulling you tight against him.

“Plus que tout,” you repeat, nodding as you lean up on your toes to kiss him.

He meets you halfway, his mouth moving over yours in a warm, wet kiss that makes your heart flutter in your chest. His lips are soft, and gentle, and they move against yours in a kiss that’s more affection than anything else.

Then you're pulling back, and he's letting out a long exhale, as though the act of breathing itself is exhausting.

You glance up to find his eyes still closed, a look of utter contentment on his face. He doesn’t look drunk anymore; he looks like he's floating.

But then his eyes blink open, glazed and in love making you smile at him, feeling your heart nearly explode at the love you have for this man. “Salut,” he murmurs softly. His hands cup your cheeks again, tilting your face up toward his as he leans down to press another kiss to your lips. “You're mine.”

You nod, smiling up at him again as you slip your arms around his waist. “Yes I am,” you repeat. “Now sit down so I can get you some food.”

Kylian nods, his smile still soft on his lips as he does as you ask, sliding back onto the stool he vacated earlier.

You turn to the stove then, pulling the eggs onto the counter and moving to the fridge for milk as he stares after you with wide, affectionate eyes.

You work quickly, but efficiently, moving through the motions of making him scrambled eggs without a hitch. It's not hard, and in a matter of minutes, you've got a plate of fluffy yellow eggs slid in front of him along with a glass of milk.

He grins at you, a bit more subdued this time as he digs in. His eyes still follow you around the kitchen as you move, but there’s a hungry gleam in them now that’s more interested in the food than anything else.

You smile at that, taking a seat on the stool next to him as you watch him eat. “How’s that?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles around his mouthful of eggs, nodding, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he swallows. “That’s really good. Merci, bébé.” He smiles, grateful.

You hum in response, smiling softly as you nod back at him.

His shoulders sag a little as he eats, but when he finishes, he still looks a little unsteady as he pushes the plate away. His mouth twists up into a sheepish grimace. “You're the best cook. Never leave me,” he mumbles, the last part coming out thick and slurred.

You laugh at that, leaning over to take his plate. “I won’t,” you reassure him. “Not unless you leave first.”

His eyes dart towards you with shock, as if offended you would even suggest such a thing. “Jamais,” he replies, his voice full of a fierce denial.

“Okay,” you murmur, your voice gentle, barely above a whisper. Your hand reaches out, fingertips brushing softly over his hair, gliding across his scalp with a touch so light it feels like a caress. “You ready to go to bed now?”

He nods immediately, his answer quick and eager, as though the very idea of rest, as long as it’s with you, is the best thing he’s heard all day. His lips curve into a bright, unrestrained smile, one that lights up his whole face. “Oui,” he agrees, his voice filled with quiet enthusiasm. “Only if you're coming too.”

Your heart warms at his words, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. “Of course,” you say simply, extending your hand to him.

Kylian doesn’t hesitate. His smile grows wider, impossibly so, as he reaches for you, his fingers slipping into yours with a natural ease. He holds your hand firmly, as he pushes himself to his feet.

This time, he manages to stand without much trouble, though his movements are still clumsy, a slight stumble here and there. But you’re there to steady him, your hand leading him gently out of the kitchen, guiding him down the hallway to your shared room.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost hesitant, like he’s laying his heart bare with those few words. They hit you squarely in the chest, a rush of emotion tightening your stomach and twisting your heart. He's been saying it all night but this time it’s almost too much to bear.

Your fingers tighten around his in response, a small squeeze that says everything words can’t. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, just as honest. “But let’s get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay, trésor,” he answers without hesitation, his head dipping slightly as he leans into your touch. There’s a tenderness to his movement, a reliance, as though your presence is the only thing keeping him steady.

You nod, saying nothing more, and continue guiding him, step by step, until you both reach the sanctuary of your bedroom.

As soon as you open the door, Kylian all but collapses onto the bed, his body sinking into the mattress like it’s a cloud ready to catch him.

He stretches out across the sheets, limbs sprawled in utter contentment, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. It’s a sound of pure relief, one that fills the room as you watch him settle, his smile still lingering even as his eyes flutter closed.

He looks so relaxed and peaceful it makes you feel bad for the words coming out of your mouth, but you say them anyway. “Babe, you have to change.”

“Non, bébé,” he groans, his head rolling to the side as he opens his eyes, a sliver of dark brown peeking out from under thick lashes. “I’m good,” he mutters. His tone is low, like even the act of speaking is a chore. “Sleep now.”

You smile softly at that, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “You can sleep, just let me help you get out of these first, okay? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in the morning.” You’ve seen him before when he passes out drunk in his clothes; it’s not pretty.

His eyes crack open a little wider at that, and his mouth drops open in a soft protest. But then a slow smile spreads across his features, a soft sound of agreement escaping his lips. “Okay.” His head tips back, eyelids falling shut again as he raises his arms above his head.

“Good,” you say quietly, your hands moving to strip him of his clothes.

He’s easy to undress, not putting up much resistance as you slide his shirt up and over his head. His undershirt follows soon after, and you pause, just for a moment, to appreciate the hard planes of his torso.

He really is gorgeous, you can’t help thinking, your gaze drinking him in. Tall and lean, with broad shoulders that taper down into toned hips, he’s perfect.

Looking at you like you're the answer to every prayer he’s ever whispered, his smile so dazzling and pure that it makes your chest ache. “You’re the best, bébé,” he declares, his voice thick with emotion as he leans forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. “The absolute best.”

You sigh again, biting back a smile as you maneuver him to sit upright on the bed. His long legs splay out in front of him, his posture utterly relaxed in the way only someone completely plastered can manage. He watches you with a sort of drunken adoration that makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks warm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Wait here,” you say, patting his knee gently as you straighten up. “I’ll grab you something to wear.”

But the second you step away, his hand darts out to grab yours, his fingers curling around your wrist with surprising strength. You turn back to him, startled, and his face is suddenly heartbreakingly serious.

“Don’t go,” he pleads softly, his eyes wide and imploring, his bottom lip jutting out just enough to make him look like a kicked puppy. “I need you here.”

“Kylian,” you murmur, your voice caught somewhere between affectionate and exasperated. You lean down slightly, brushing your free hand against his cheek, melting when he leans into the touch. “I’m just going to the closet. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He pouts, his brows furrowing like a sulky child. “But what if you don’t come back?” His voice is small, his grip tightening just slightly as if the thought alone terrifies him.

Your heart softens instantly. “I’ll always come back,” you tell him, the promise slipping from your lips without a second thought. You kneel down in front of him, cupping his face with both hands so that he has no choice but to meet your gaze. “Always.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his big brown eyes shimmering with emotion. Then, slowly, a small, sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Always?” he repeats, his voice so quiet it’s barely more than a whisper.

You nod. “Always.”

He seems satisfied with that, finally letting go of your wrist with a little sigh of contentment. “Okay,” he murmurs, leaning back against the pillows with his eyes already fluttering shut. “But hurry, okay? I don’t like being without you.”

Your chest aches with affection as you press a quick kiss to his forehead before making your way to his closet. As you rummage through the racks, grabbing him some sweatpants and a shirt, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

When you return, Kylian is half-asleep, his head lolling to one side and his mouth slightly open. But the moment he hears your footsteps, his eyes snap open, and he sits up straighter, his expression lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You came back!” he exclaims, his voice slurred but filled with unrestrained joy.

“Of course I did,” you reply with a soft laugh, setting the clothes down on the bed in front of him. “Now get dressed, mon amour, before you pass out entirely.”

He grins at you, picking up the shirt with a clumsy hand and pulling it over his head with an endearing lack of coordination.

By the time he’s struggling with the sweatpants, you’ve moved to help him, slipping them over his legs and sliding your hands up the soft cotton of his shirt as you do.

“Merci,” he mumbles softly, his voice filled with gratitude as you help him settle in under the covers.

You lean over to press a kiss to his temple, but instead of letting you go, his arms wrap around your neck, pulling you back for a deeper, more meaningful kiss.

He sighs against your lips, a soft exhalation of pure contentment that fills your chest with warmth. When he pulls away, it's just enough to speak, his voice breathy “Trésor,” he says suddenly, his voice soft and serious as his dart back and forth into yours. You raise a brow at him in question.

“I meant what I said,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours with surprising clarity for someone so inebriated. “You’re my everything. My whole world.”

Your throat tightens, and you can only nod, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you lean forward, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Je t'aime,” you murmur against them.

He hums back in response, his arms wrapping around your neck to pull you down closer, his lips moving over yours in a kiss so warm it sets your entire body aflame.

You’re breathless by the time you pull away. But instead of continuing to press the advantage, Kylian lets out another sigh, his eyelids drooping shut again as his head falls back on the pillow. He grins at you lazily, his voice slurring. “You’re so beautiful.”

You laugh. “So are you,” you reply, standing up with a smile. “Now sleep.”

His smile softens, his lashes drifting to half-mast as his body relaxes against the mattress. “Je t'aime, bébé,” he murmurs one last time, the words slipping out almost inaudibly.

“I love you too.” Your response is automatic, heartfelt.

But he’s already out, his breathing slow and even as you slip off your clothes, pulling on the tee shirt he tossed aside earlier to wear as pajamas.

When you slide into bed next to him, his arm curls immediately around your waist, drawing you into his chest with a sleepy sigh.

You settle in beside him, your back to his chest, your heart filling with affection as his chin rests against the slope of your neck. It’s not long before your eyelids droop, the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

Just as you drift off, you’re dimly aware of a mumbled voice, the softness of his words making your heart flutter even as it slows your breathing.

“I can't wait to marry you.”

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #kylian fanfic #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylianmbappé #kylian mbappe

86 notes · View notes