#and before i even had time to turn around

[rafesangelita]

♡ not only is rafe cameron your mortal enemy, but he’s also, unknowingly, your nsfw tumblr mutual??

warnings: mean!rafe, enemies to ???, sexting, dirty talk, sending and receiving of nudes, mentions of death, very light angst, mentions of social status, insults used as flirting loll, small time skip

a/n: this is sorta canon, only in the sense that ward is dead and rose is off somewhere with wheezie. i might just make this a mini series, let me know what you think <3

wc: 1.8k

rafe hated you.

maybe not all of you, because in his eyes, along with everyone else’s.. you were hot as shit. there was no denying that. your bitchy attitude not only amused rafe more than half the time, but it turned him on too. he’d watch you from a distance as you cleared the couch for you and your friends to sit on with a single glance, everyone making way for you like you were some kind of princess. which you clearly were, he just couldn’t understand why.

why did you turn him on so much? his best bet was because while everyone bent to his will, he knew that you’d never even spare him the time of day, and if you did it was because he had to work for every single ounce of your attention. no one else on this island would ever make him do that, no one on this island wouldn’t dare challenge him, but you? he’d take your bossiness and catty remarks any day.

the real question is; why did he hate you at the same time?

for starters; you had your family. your picture perfect mommy and daddy were plastered on every single newspaper in both the island and the mainland, the two of them getting praised for their line of successful businesses and work ambition. you were the only child, which was something rafe fantasized about being when his dad was still here. it irritated him that you had all of the attention and recognition that he never had. he felt even worse about it because unlike him, you didn’t even have to do anything in order to get praise and appreciation from your parents. you just got it for simply existing.

rafe on the other hand was nothing but a disappointment to ward when he went above and beyond just to get nothing, not even a single ‘i’m proud of you, son.’ before his dad up and died. rafe was already fueled by rage, but now? now that he had an entire island looking at down on him everywhere he went with false pity? he was out for blood. getting in meaningless fights, purposely doing stupid things that he knew he’d get hurt doing just to feel something.

he grew reckless and raised hell in every establishment and party he attended, figuring there was no use in keeping the family name squeaky clean with a good reputation when he technically didn’t have any family anymore. rose took wheezie and dipped as soon as rafe got tanneyhill and his hefty inheritance, and sarah decided to leave the island altogether and live her own life in god knows where.

everyone left him.

rafe was simply just a bystander now, an observer, and you had it all. the popularity, the socialite status, the family, the friends, the list could go on. it wasn’t long before he had to find some kind of outlet; something where he could express things and share thoughts to an audience that didn’t know him.. little did he know, you had also seeked out the same thing.

your distaste for rafe came about once you heard he was going around the island calling you a ‘spoiled little brat’ and a ‘prissy bitch’ whenever your name came up in conversations. obviously, what he said was true, but who was he to speak about you? he didn’t even know you. “call me a bitch to my face next time, ‘cameron. i hate pussies.” you had went up to him in the midst of him having a conversation with topper, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the way your hips swayed when you walked away, your mini dress paired with those heels of yours had him tonguing the inside of his cheek.

“did she just bitch you out, bro?” topper looked genuinely shocked as rafe laughed. “nah, she’s flirting.” from then on, you two would shamelessly stare at each other from across the room, keeping your eyes locked on one another even while you had people at your side who were more than interested in taking you home. rafe would pass by, muttering an insult just loud enough for you to hear and you’d laugh, dismissing him as if he was nothing but a fly on the wall.

you’d be lying if you said the so called ‘princess’ treatment didn’t get old after a while. rafe was the only person who seemingly didn’t care about your feelings. and you liked it. naturally, you craved something different, something that no one out here in the real world had the guts to do— degrade you and make you feel small. like you were nothing. turning to the only thing you could in order to keep your anonymity, you made a tumblr blog, easily racking up followers by posting your deepest and darkest desires and fantasies.

not even your best friends knew this side of you. you could be as depraved as you wanted to be on the app, and even if the whole point in you making your blog was to be anonymous, you still posted your own photos on there. of course your face wouldn’t be showing in any of them, but reading the comments as they flooded in filled the void you didn’t realize was there to begin with. a particular user, however, always left comments on your posts that had your thighs rubbing together.

it wasn’t long before you decided to check out his account, deciding to follow him back once you read through some of his posts. truthfully, you were the only girl he followed on the platform, he couldn’t help but feel like a lot of other accounts were ran by robots. you actually interacted with people on your blog, you had a personality. when he got the notification that you followed him back, he wasted no time in sending you a message.

[10:01 PM] countryclub: wsp

[10:15 PM] brattydiaries: ew.

[10:16 PM] countryclub: ???

[10:16 PM] countryclub: i just want to talk to you.

[10:25 PM] brattydiaries: yeah i can see that lol

[10:26 PM] brattydiaries: ‘wsp’ is so icky though. it kinda gives me high schooler vibes

‘high schooler vibes’ rafe snorted when he read your reply, internally cringing as he read back his previous message. you had a point.

[10:28 PM] countryclub: can i start over?

[10:30 PM] brattydiaries: can you?

[10:31 PM] countryclub: may i?

you smiled when he corrected himself.

[10:33 PM] brattydiaries: ugh i guess..

[10:38 PM] countryclub: 1 attachment

[10:38 PM] countryclub: hey i cum to your pictures all the time. here’s a picture of my cock and the mess you made me make.

usually you’d immediately block when an unsolicited dick pic found its way to your dm’s, but this one was unlike any others you’ve received.

your jaw was on the floor.

this wasn’t the ordinary ‘no-effort’ kind of picture. he wasn’t obnoxiously holding his length as if he was presenting it to you, instead he had his fist wrapped around the base, his aching tip standing on its own as his cum adorned his abs. his skin was also glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, your chest blooming with pride as you realized just how much your blog riled him up. he was very well groomed, the underside of his cock slick with the aftermath of your most recent photos.

this was just different. you felt your bitchy resolve crumbling down with every second you stared at the details, the sight of the veins in his arms and hands had you pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, your brain going blank as you tried to come up with a response.

[10:50 PM] countryclub: you done being a bitch and acting like i’m not good enough to talk to you? or do i have to send you more pictures of what you do to me?

yeah. you were totally fucked.

from that point forward, you two sexted day and night, your phone basically living in your hands as you went about your everyday life. soon, all of your posts became about him, both you and rafe seemingly dancing circles around each other. while you two lived for pissing each other off and did everything to be a nuisance to one another in real life, you were actually, literally getting each other off behind the screen.

you were surprising him with photos throughout the day, his dirty talk making you fall asleep with a sticky mess between your thighs. it was only a matter of time before he started wanting to hear your voice, even going as far as asking for your number so you could call and actually talk to one another. of course, you were hesitant, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish to hear those filthy things he says in your messages in your ears instead.

so you agreed. you gave him your number and waited for him to call.. and nothing. for the first time in your life, you waited for a phone call from a man, and he never delivered. your ego was in shambles. even after you came up with excuses as to why he didn’t call, none of them made sense. the next day you woke up to no new messages, your heart clenching in your chest when you went to his profile and saw that he deleted all of his posts.

what the fuck?

deciding to stay off of the app for the time being, you hated how a few months of sexting made you think about him every chance you got.

you didn’t even know his name for crying out loud!

if your friends noticed something off about your attitude, they didn’t point it out. even rafe was more irritable, both of you getting in full on arguments if you two spent too much time together in a social setting. your comebacks would have him on the verge of dragging you out of the room by your hair, wishing so bad that he could just put you in your place. it wasn’t until you got home from another one of topper’s parties that your phone lit up with a message.

from him.

[1:00 AM] countryclub: hey

you scoffed. ‘hey’ that was all that he could say? after all of the time that passed, he could only spare you one fucking word? you were about to block him before you got another notification.

[1:07 AM] countryclub: i’m really sorry for ghosting you, alright? i just freaked out.

[1:09 AM] brattydiaries: you sent me a picture of your dick when we first messaged each other and you’re barely freaking out now? don’t you think we’re far past that point already?

[1:12 AM] countryclub: we definitely are, it’s just when you sent me your number, my heart dropped to my ass.

[1:12 AM] brattydiaries: you asked for it and i gave it to you. i’m confused rn.

[1:14 AM] countryclub: no it isn’t that

[1:15 AM] brattydiaries: then what the fuck is it?

[1:19 AM] countryclub: we have the same area code.

[brittle-doughie]

Mercy (Shadow Milk Cookie)

“What do you want?”

You approached Shadow Milk Cookie, as his back was facing you. He turned his head over his shoulder to glare at you as he spoke.

“Haven’t you and your friends humiliated me enough? Have you come to gloat your victory over me? To see me like this?”

No, you were not here for that…

“Then what is it? You wouldn’t be here for no reason unless….”

You were here for him…

“….I thought…I thought after everything I had planned for us, that it could be ripped away from me. Poof! Just like that…”

“I really thought….”

He turned to look away from you, his voice cracking as he struggled to speak.

“I really thought that we would’ve been together…I finally had you after all this time….that I had finally found the one for me…”

“……until he ruined it.”

“So why are you here for me? I thought you’d be happy to have me out of your head at last! Isn’t that right? For our connection to turn to dust in the wind?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to bother you anymore…”

“And yet you still came to me…”

You walked to him, making him zip around and growl at you.

“Why? Why are you willing to look past everything I’ve done?”

“Do you not get it? Are you really that foolish?”

You keep walking to him, he tries to back away from you, but you outpace him in that regard.

“TAKE ONE MORE STEP AND I’LL…I’LL CRUMBLE YOU TO BITS!”

You kept walking.

“I’LL BE BACK…”

“I’LL CRUMBLE YOU…”

“I’LL CRUMBLE EVERYONE YOU LOVE…!”

….

….

….

You stop just before him…

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate what you had done to me in my head…”

“I knew it-“

“But…I’d also be a liar if I didn’t any care for you.”

“W-what?”

You shock him with a hug. A tight one. He freezes up immediately upon contact.

“You’ve always been saying how you couldn’t wait to have me in your arms, right..?”

“You….YOU….”

It looked like Shadow Milk was getting ready to attack you then and there….

“I…*hic*…love you…”

You allow him to quietly weep on your shoulder as he held you even tighter then you did with him…

You never could turn away from a lonely heart…

[outerhills]

buzzcuts 𐙚₊˚⊹♡

rafe cameron + insatiable!kook!reader

warnings: mdni 18+, smut, buzzcut rafe, p in v, making out, cumming inside, cocky rafe, slapping (it happens like twice), use of "daddy" (only once), choking, squirting, reader and rafe live together

word count: 1.3k

you had been suggesting he get a haircut for about a week now, and of course he avoided listening to you to piss you off. he knew you were a spoiled little princess who always got what she wanted, and always thought she was right about shit.

which is ironic because he spoiled you along with everyone else.

there you sat in a silky pink nightie that sat just at the top of your thighs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination as you watched television on the flatscreen of your bedroom. of course you sat around all day doing nothing, you could afford to when your boyfriend wanted to do everything in order to stroke his ego. paying the bills, buying all of your clothes, whatever he could to make sure you couldn't shit talk him for anything.

considering he was out this late, you knew he was with his friends; he wasn't stupid enough to cheat on someone like you, he knew better.

but he also had been gone all day.

there wasn't much he could have been doing, since the last time you saw him was early the morning of before he left the house.

so, where the fuck was he all day?

you weren't crazy, you had better things to do than to blow up his phone and track his every move; but he'd definitely hear an ear full once he got home.

and of course you were more than prepared to talk his ear off once you heard the slam of a truck door, mouth practically watering to complain.

you'd lay in the bed, arms crossed, letting him come to you.

though that wasn't the case anymore once rafe stepped into the dimly lit bedroom with a freshly buzzed haircut, arms almost too large for the sleeves of the polo he wore.

your demeanor had completely shifted, shifting from a thick irritation, to a dying thirst, the folds of your cunt practically pooling at the sight.

not only did he look delicious, but you loved being listened to.

no, you weren't gonna let him win so easily.

"you've been out late," you coughed, rolling your eyes as your arms remained crossed. he gave a scoff, a smirk on his face. "don't start your shit, you know I was with topper and kelce." you gave a short huff, looking away from him.

it was hard maintaining the attitude when all you wanted to do was give him the sloppiest sucks of his life.

he walked over to you, his large hand holding your chin with a tight grip, forcing you to look into his eyes, but of course that smug smirk tugged at his lips when he saw how your eyes dilated.

"you play pretend, but you can't resist me."

rolling your eyes, you spoke softly. "i see you listened to me."

"mhm. don't get too used to that."

he walked into the bathroom of the master bedroom, the door open as he turned on the light and slipped off his shirt, revealing his toned body underneath, his arms even more visible as you looked out of your peripheral. rafe ran the shower, not before he caught the little side glances you gave him, a self satisfied grin on his face.

- - - - -

as the water turned off and rafe wrapped himself in a towel, he stood in the bathroom shaving off any amount of stubble he could find on his face.

there you stood, a sultry look in your gaze as you leaned against the bathroom doorframe.

"fuck..." was all that passed through your thoughts as you looked at him and his haircut. it sharpened his features even more, giving him an intimidating, almost mean appearance. instinctively, your legs squeezed together, the wetness of your folds damping your legs as there no barrier to keep it from dripping slightly.

"you're staring princess," he spoke in a husky tone, cutting off your thoughts. you walked over unfazed, standing in front of him as his broad figure towered over you, his bottom half still wrapped in his towel as he pulled you close to him by your waist.

you didn't speak, but your gaze said everything as you ran your manicured nails through the prickly strands of his buzzcut, slightly biting down on your bottom lip.

"i take it you like the haircut," he smirked, his free hand lowering to grip onto your ass.

"shut up." you didn't want to boost his ego even more than it already was, the tension building as you stood close enough to feel his body heat, your eyes drifting to his toned chest as your hands remained in his hair, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

without a word, you pulled him by his hand to the bedroom, sitting him onto the edge of the bed as you straddled on top of him.

immediately, you captured his lips with your own into a heated, wet kiss. his tongue forced his way into your mouth as his hands found the curves of your waist, holding you in place.

"you look so fucking sexy rafe." the praise was breathy and brief as you grazed your wet lips over his before capturing him in another heated kiss.

"mhm, im knowin' it," he said lowly, smirking into the make out you were having. out of impulse, his fingers trailed between your legs as your straddled on his lap, his breathing heavy as he pulled back to see the sweet wetness you left all over his hand.

"look at this, all wet fa' me," he taunted, his other hand gripping your chin as he forced you to look at his drenched fingers.

"that's what happens when you listen to me you fucking idiot." it was in a flash that you felt a harsh sting to your cheek, rafe grabbing your chin once again forcing you to stare back into his darkening eyes, his jaw tightened.

"i don't think you have the right to be smart with me angel, when you're the one soaking up my lap."

"dont fucking sl-", and he did it again. "it's the only way to shut you up baby."

you definitely didn't want to egg him on, but the sheer force he used against you had your cunt dripping, the towel wrapped on his waist collecting the droplets.

and the feeling was mutual, as his swollen hard cock was constricted by the soft towel on his waist.

it was then that you removed the towel from his waist, almost moving to kneel before him until he restricted you by your thighs.

"don't bother." with a swift movement, he sinked your cunt fully onto his thick cock, giving you no time to adjust as he practically ripped you apart with his harsh thrusts. both of you let out breathy moans, rafe letting out a low groan as he gripped onto your neck.

"move princess, don't make me do all the work," he scoffed, his grip on your throat tightening.

you let out a small cough as he choked you, bouncing on his hot cock as the veins of his thick length scraped at your tight walls.

it was nothing unusual to go from such a soft intimacy to his cock now kissing your cervix as you rode him, your slick cunt gushing against him as he held you by your throat.

he pulled you close to him, capturing you into a passionate kiss as his hands rested on the jelly like curves of your pillowy ass cheeks.

you had pushed him back onto the bed, your manicured nails scraping his chest, causing him to let out a deep groan.

"fuck, im gonna-"

"do it baby, come all on me."

but it wasn't just cum as you threw your head back.

"ahhh, fuck~" you moaned, your body convulsing as you squirted all over him, his own cum mixing with your juices as your cunt clenched around him.

softly, you fell back onto the bed beside him as you pulled off his cock.

he let out a faint chuckle, his tongue licking his bottom lip as he looked at the juicy mess you made. "if i knew a haircut would have gotten me pussy, i woulda' done it sooner."

"that's what happens when you listen daddy."

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

~~~~~

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

~~~~~

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named DAIN, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

~~~~~

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[f1lovr]

SILLY SUPERSTITIONS | LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: the one where she doesn't believe in superstitions or otherwise known as he can't get into the car without his pre-race kiss

warnings: none!

Y/N didn't believe in superstitions, rather she thought they were stupid, lando on the other hand, he was a firm believer.

it had started as a joke between you both.

"kiss in exchange for a podium?" you had told him in a teasing manner, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before the race.

"guess we'll figure that out soon enough," he had said in response, a smirk dawning his face as you could feel the confidence coming from him.

he finished in second that race, he had insisted it was your kiss and from there he refused to get into the car until he got a kiss from you, saying he wouldn't do well or he couldn't drive without it, as if it would make him a better driver.

that led to here, minutes away from lando having to get into the car, you nowhere in sight.

the mechanics and engineers were rushing around him, last minute checks on the car, making sure everything was good before the race. the cheer of the fans from the stands as they wait for the impending race.

but lando couldn't focus, not on the race ahead of him, not even on the sounds around him, because you weren't there and he needed you to be because he hadn't gotten his kiss yet.

lando's leg was bouncing up and down nervously as his head scanned the surrounding area looking for any sign of you. his mind being consumed with thoughts about where you could be, about the fact that he might have to go into today's race without you, without his good luck kiss.

his mutters to himself broke his silence, "where is she?"

jon, his trainer, who was next to him turned and looked at him with furrowed brows as he heard the muttering coming from the driver, "who?"

lando's head turned to jon, a look being shot at his trainer as if his answer was obvious, "Y/N, i need her here but i don't know where she is."

jon smirked at lando's answer, "ah, so you mean you need your lucky charm?"

lando didn't deny jon's comment, his eyes only rolling in response, "she should be here by now, she's never this late," he mutters nervously.

jon's eyes fall to the watch at his wrist checking the time, "you've got three minutes mate."

he had three minutes. three minutes to somehow find you in the chaos that is the race or he'd have to go get in the car and race without the one thing that kept him from botching it turn one.

he was about to get up and leave when his ears perked up at a voice, not just a voice, but your voice.

"looking for me pretty boy?"

he could have gotten whiplash with how fast he had turned his head, watching as you walk up to, nothing but a casual nature in your step as if you didn't know the chaos you had caused with your absence.

"baby where the hell have you been?" he all but demanded.

"easy tiger, i got stuck, security guards and journalists kept harping on me. all of them acting like i was infiltrating the FIA instead of just trying to get to my boyfriend," you giggle with a grin, his reaction to your disappearance amusing.

lando didn't care, he could care less about why you weren't here actually, it was all just excuses to him. but you were here now and that was all that mattered to him as his hand grabbed your wrist pulling you close to him, the glances that were being thrown his way being ignored.

"i almost had to go into the race without you," he mutters, a tone so low that only you were able to pick it up.

"you wouldn't have let that happen," your hands coming to his shoulders as you smirk.

lando huffed as his lips twitched, the smile he was trying to hold back failing to stay hidden, "you have never been more right about something love."

next thing you know he was pulling you into a kiss, the kiss being soft and gentle but still firm. he didn't rush his kiss, taking the reassurance it provided as he let himself calm down from the storm of not having you.

he pulled away with a grin on his face, "now i won't crash turn one," he said with a chuckle.

your head shook as you laughed, "whatever makes you sleep at night pretty boy," you giggle out.

your moment was broken by the call of lando's engineer, letting lando know it was time to get in the car.

you watched as he let go of your hand with a sigh after giving it one last parting squeeze, reluctantly stepping back from you as he moved to climb into his car.

you were leaned against the garage watching as he settled. you could tell he was focused, he was ready, and you would never let him live it down if he got on the podium, reminding him over and over that it was your kiss that got him there.

did you actually believe that? no, definitely not, but if it meant more pre-race kisses and it helped him, then you'd remind him over and over.

[pochaccoups]

cw — nsfw content minors dni, pregnant sex, size/strength kink, daddy kink, cheol calls reader ‘mama’ once, breeding kink, choking, light degradation, creampie. sequel to put a baby in me.

There’s something different about Seungcheol since he got you pregnant.

It’s not the increased attentiveness to you, or the more frequent spoiling and doting on you, or how extra protective and touchy he’d become. These things you saw coming.

It’s something physical. His aura had changed. Something about him is more… virile. Even more than before.

It’s hard not to notice it as he steps out of your en-suite bathroom with a towel around his hips, hair damp as he pushes it back out of his face, stray droplets of water dripping down his gleaming skin here and there over rippling, veiny muscles and full pecs.

“When did you get so big?” you say to your husband, hoping he doesn’t notice the way you’re squeezing your thighs together.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into something smug. He brings his arms forward and flexes them so that the muscles in his biceps pop. “You finally noticed.”

Normally you would consider throwing something at him for acting so cocky, but frankly your second trimester hormones have turned you into a wild animal. Unfortunately, his stupid display makes your entire body swelter.

“I’m bulking up so that I can be big and strong for you and the baby,” he continues, and for a second your entire vision flashes white.

Between your legs you’re throbbing so hard it hurts, and in your brain there is only Seungcheol’s shoulders, his pecs, his arms, his cock. You need it in you. You’ll die if you don’t get it.

“Fuck me?”

Seungcheol laughs, but he can’t conceal the gleam of arousal in his eyes as he watches you crawl across the bed and tug at the towel that’s covering what you crave.

“I just showered, my love,” he says without a single ounce of actual sincerity. He doesn’t even flinch when you unwrap the towel, let it drop to the floor, and take his cock in your hand as you stroke him to full hardness.

“And you have a pregnant wife who needs to get fucked or she’ll die, so what are you gonna do about it, daddy?”

He bites his lip for a split second, then he’s scooping you up in his thick arms and laying you against the heap of pillows at the headboard, slotting himself between your legs. His mouth is hot on yours, his tongue licking into you, while his hand sneaks its way between your legs and presses at your crotch.

“Do you want my mouth or my fingers first? Or both?” he quips, gazing at you through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes.

“Neither. Just want your cock in me, daddy,” you whine, reaching for his dick again.

“You know the drill, my love, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Cheol, I’m soaking wet twenty-four-seven because of the hormones. I’ll be fine,” you say, tugging at his cock like a minx.

Your husband is torn. One part of him wants to treat you with care; against your own judgement, he wants to open you up slowly for him like he always does, like the routine you both know. The other part, the part that is the reason you are as spoiled and adored by him as you are, sees no joy, no point, in not giving you exactly what you want.

The latter part also happens to be more animalistic, clawing its way to the forefront of his mind.

“If you insist,” he grins, tugging your shorts down your legs, spreading you apart for him, but not before he swipes a pillow from beside your head and tucks it underneath your lower back like you’re weightless. The action alone sends arousal flooding out of you.

He wastes no time then, prodding at your dripping cunt with his tip before he lines himself up with your hole. You gasp when he pushes in, slides every last inch into your heat without any resistance until he’s balls deep, until you’re stuffed full of him. While you’re you moaning from the mind-numbing stretch of his cock, his hips fall into a steady rhythm of rutting in and out of you.

His hands find themselves at the hem of your t-shirt, pushing it up over your swollen belly and over your tits too, bunching it up just under your neck.

“So beautiful, god,” he muses, drinking in the sight of you, his pretty wife, full of his child, while his warm hands dance all over your skin. “And all mine.”

He thinks you want to be coddled and pampered and made love to.

“Fuck me hard, daddy,” you whine, clawing up his biceps with your nails. It’s not enough to have him inside you, fucking you lazily like this. You’re greedy, hungry, for more.

There’s reluctance in his eyes as he stares at you, as he gives a glance at your belly. Usually it makes you swoon, how considerate he is of you, but right now it’s pissing you off.

“Ah, but, honey-” he starts, only to be cut off by you.

“I’m not made of glass, Cheol, so use those big muscles of yours and fucking pound me.”

He hisses at the way you clench your pussy around him, taunting him, his hand flying to the base of your neck. “Fuck. You’re being awfully demanding.”

“I think it’s only fair considering you knocked me up,” you grin, watching as he reels his hips back just to slam back into you.

“And who was begging me to a put a baby in her?” he teases, punctuates it with another harsh thrust that makes your mouth drop in a pathetic whimper.

He watches how your eyes roll back finally, feels the way your cunt clamps down on him again, and realises you weren’t being dramatic at all. You were craving a good, hard dicking down from him, and he sees that now, and he knows your cunt can take anything he gives you, so he leaves behind any hesitation, any mercy, and he starts to fuck you hard.

The switch is almost immediate. The tenderness leaves his eyes, replaced with something much darker, and all of a sudden Seungcheol is grunting as he pounds into your sopping hole, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to keep you pinned to the bed. His hips move fast, meeting yours with wet claps of skin against skin, and hard—so hard that the bed frame starts to squeak.

“Ah, f-fuck, Cheol!” you cry, clawing at the sheets beneath you as he hooks your legs over his arms and grabs at your hips, fucking your entire body along his length. His arms bulge as he manoeuvres you as he pleases, his shoulders so broad. The sight makes you hot, makes you gush even more of your juices until the sheets are a mess.

“Huh? Too much, baby? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls. “Wanted to get fucked like a slut.”

“S-so big, daddy- ah!” you squeal, your nerves on fire with overstimulation as his cock carves open your walls, punches at your sweet spot again and again. The thing about pregnancy is it’s made you a hundred times more sensitive—everything he does, every touch, sends floods of hot, sparking pleasure through you and straight to your core.

You’re also warmer inside, and, like you said, wetter. Tighter, somehow, too. Seungcheol has to use twenty years of the mental discipline he’d learned from his training to not bust then and there from the way your pussy clings to him, tries to pull him inside and keep him locked there.

And he wants so badly to let you. Fuck, how he wishes he could stay inside your heat forever. He curses the Korean entertainment industry and he curses capitalism. He wasn’t born to be an idol, nor to work. He was born to stay buried in your sweet cunt, to keep you filled forever, to put baby after baby inside you.

Something compels him to bend over you, though he’s cognisant of your bump, and to catch your lips in a deep, heated kiss that makes your brain short-circuit. His cock is enough to make you go dumb, but his kisses are what kill every last thought in your brain, until all that’s left there is how good your husband’s dick is.

“My pretty mama,” he coos, hovering against your lips. His frame covers you entirely. “You take me so good, don’t you?”

“Yeah, f-fucking love your cock,” you sigh, grasping at his shoulders only for him to straighten up again a second later, back to letting you admire his figure.

He angles your hips up a little, hitting even deeper now with every stroke, his cock jumping as you reach for his abdomen so you can rake your nails along his soft tummy, behind which is a set of hard, toned muscles. You’ve always loved that he’s not just sharp, hard lines like stone, that when you cling to him, your fingertips sink into thick skin that’s only tough when he flexes.

Seungcheol nearly draws blood from how hard he bites his bottom lip, watching you writhe and whine and moan from the way he jostles you, as your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts. His handsome features are twisted into pure concentration and utter bliss as he pounds away at you, determined to make you come undone while simultaneously holding off his own release.

“Wanna cum, daddy,” you keen, tears brimming your eyes. “Want your cum, too. Wanna be full of you.”

“You’re already full of me,” he laughs, full of mischief. “What, my baby in you isn’t enough? Greedy little cumslut.”

“Cheollie, please! Right there.” You’re whining, your hand dipping between your legs to rub at your swollen clit, and you see stars starting to form.

“Cum on my cock for me, baby, and I’ll give you my cum,” he moans, gritting his teeth as your walls tighten around him and your soul starts to leave your body before he can even finish his sentence. His heart leaps and twists with adoration and love as your tears finally spill over, as you tremble and shake in his hold, rapt with unimaginable bliss.

Your orgasm makes him let go, too, and finally he gives in to the hot, velvety chokehold of your pussy. He cums with what’s almost a whimper, lurching forward so that he can burrow into you impossibly deep and empty every last drop of his seed into you.

Even though he knows he gave you exactly what you asked for, Seungcheol can’t help the post-nut guilt that creeps up on him about the way he’d handled you—so vulgar. It’s even worse now that you’re carrying his baby. He’d fucked you like a toy, not the mother of his child. He’s a disgrace of a man.

Then there’s you, blissed out, skin glowing from being well fucked. You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Twenty minutes is enough for you to recover, right? Because I’m riding you next.”

[daycourtofficial]

You two are dancing in a snow globe round and round

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 8.2k | warnings: needles/requiring stitches

Summary: four times a trope fails to bring you and Azriel together, one time it prevails. This is my submission for @sjmromanceweek day 5: favorite tropes (and yes these are all elite tropes, argue with the wall 😤)

Author’s note: this is for my You Are in Love by Taylor Swift girlies. Also on the fence about the ending but ya know it felt right and @ninthcircleofprythian loved it so her opinion is the correct one

Fake dating

The streets of Velaris are quiet. A sleepy morning after the holiday excitement of Starfall has died down. A week past it and the fae are still holed up in their homes, only going out when necessary. The cobblestone streets are mostly empty, you, Nyx, and Azriel passing the occasional fae as they move in the opposite direction. They would nod or wave at the three of you, but never linger to talk, eager to get on their way. 

A light tugging on your scarf brings you out of your daze. Looking down to find Nyx’s blue eyes looking up at you, his tiny hands pulling on your scarf. “Az, can you help undo my scarf?”

The two of you stop, moving over to the side of the street to avoid being in anyone’s way. Azriel’s scarred fingers reach out, unwrapping the scarf from your neck, and rewrapping it to include Nyx. The babe has been doing this all week to anyone wearing a scarf - tugging incessantly until he was also tucked into the scarf. If he was after the scent or the warmth, nobody knew. Cassian had even bought him a scarf, a little thin knitted piece of black wool, thinking the boy would be delighted. Nyx cried and pulled on the scarf when Cassian wrapped it around his neck before spitting up on it. 

The princeling is still holding a slight grudge against Cassian, in turn causing the general to try desperately to get Nyx’s affections back - holding him constantly, playing with him, trying to slip him some sweet treats. Cassian’s antics have led the three of you here, walking the streets of town instead of being in the River House. 

You usually watched Nyx in the afternoons and after a week of Cassian’s antics you had quickly grown tired of his need to get back in the heir’s good graces. As soon as Azriel returned from training and bathed, you had rushed the two of them out of the house with you before Cassian could come looking for Nyx.

Nyx settles in your arms, enjoying the comfort the scarf brings him. His head rests against your shoulder, the slightest bit of drool permeating your jacket. You sigh, cursing yourself for wearing your favorite coat when you know just how messy Nyx is.

“He’s quite fond of you,” Azriel’s deep voice is laced with affection. You look down at Nyx, finding it difficult not to coo over how cute he looks snuggled up to you.

“He better be - I spend more time with him than anyone save for Rhys and Feyre. Hopefully he remembers that when I begin my plans to take over the world.”

Nyx’s little giggle comes from underneath the scarf, immediately bringing a smile to your face. One of Azriel’s hands lingers around the small of your back, gently helping guide you down the near empty street. 

“When you take over, will you spare me? I hear a shadowsinger could be very useful in world domination.” He leans into your ear, his voice soft as to not disturb the silence of the road.

You start moving down the street again, Azriel just a half step behind you. His left wing was open around your back, offering protection to you and the princeling. You wanted to sink into it, let his wing envelop you fully.

“You'll have to submit an application, I already have quite a few offers.”

“I’d expect nothing less, but I am hoping some favoritism can move my application forward.”

“Mm, does favoritism come with perks?”

“I’ll buy your lunch and any pretty things you find on the way back to the house.”

“Oh, I like your methods of persuasion, shadowsinger.”

The two of you walk into the bakery, Azriel holding the door open for you and Nyx to walk through first.

“I’m just saying, but if Cassian really expects to keep disrupting my plans with Nyx, the least he could do is make me a smoothie.”

Nyx babbles in your arms, and you look into his violet eyes, the same color as Rhys’s, but they held the same twinkle to them as Feyre’s eyes, “yes, that’s right. I’m right.”

You all get in line, five fae in line ahead of you. Azriel unwraps the scarf from around Nyx, the warmth of the bakery causing him to want to be out of the confines of the fabric.

“But if you woke up a little earlier, you could make one yourself without Nyx there to watch over.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You ask, your finger tickling Nyx’s side to get him to giggle with you.

Azriel rolls his eyes at your obvious tactics to get the toddler to agree with you, but he can’t help the soft smile he has as Nyx giggles at your poking and flaps his tiny wings.

The older female in front of the two of you turns and gasps at Nyx, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Well, if this isn’t the cutest babe in all of Prythian.” Her face lights up as Nyx flaps his wings harder at the attention he’s getting, hiding his face in your shoulder, hiding his big grin.

“He’s just darling, you two must be thrilled to have such a sweet babe.”

“Oh we’re not-“ Before you can disagree with her, Nyx has made his own decision.

“Mama!” He calls to you, putting his chubby little hands on your face, squishing your cheeks together. You move one of your hands back towards Azriel’s stomach, stopping him from speaking further, deciding to just roll with it.

You crinkle your eyes, “He’s just darling, isn’t he?”

Nyx gives you a toothless grin, and you shoot him a look he mistakes for pure affection, preening under your withering gaze. It is nearly impossible to stay mad at him, his chubby cheeks the ultimate ‘I can do no wrong’.

“How old is he?” You pale, having a hard time keeping track of Nyx’s age. You dig through your mind, trying to remember when Nyx was born. Azriel answers much quicker than your brain could. “He’s fourteen months old.” The female squeals at Azriel’s words, the shadowsinger slightly wincing.

“Wow, what a great age! My boys were little monsters by then, each of them would love walking around at night, they’d always manage to escape their cribs somehow. I can’t imagine how I’d deal with one of them with wings!” She continues, her eyes lit up talking about her kids when they were young. You find it incredibly sweet, until she continues on and on until it’s her turn to order.

Her back to you both, you turn toward Azriel, widening your eyes slightly and looking at her. He shrugs, a soft “what can you do” coming from him. After she orders, the two of you step up, ordering your sandwiches and something sweet for Nyx. The woman gets her sandwich right after you pay, telling you, “it was nice to speak to you - you and your family are beautiful.”

Nodding and smiling, the two of you find a table and sit, Nyx still in your arms. You lightly kick Azriel’s foot underneath the table. “Thanks for paying.”

He sips his coffee, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t want her to think I was a poor father.”

You laugh, the sound causing Nyx to laugh too. The light hit the pair of you, giving the two of you a sort of glow. If Azriel squinted, he could feel the edges of fantasy grasp hold of the image - you holding a winged babe, laughing at something he had said. He wished he had some way to capture this moment, knowing he would return to it over and over in his mind when he couldn’t sleep. He smiled, unable to keep your joy from infecting him. 

One bed

“That’s not funny,” Cassian pouts, looking to you for support. You shrug, taking a sip of your wine to avoid speaking, opting to look towards the portraits on the wall rather than meet his gaze.

“You’re right - it’s hilarious,” Feyre responds, looking at her mate, seeing the comparison. “The last female you hooked up with looked just like Rhys.”

“She did not!” Cassian bellows, slamming his hand on the table. All of you howl in laughter, the revelation of Cassian’s recent hook up bearing quite the resemblance to his brother an endless source of amusement.

Cassian, Mor, Feyre, Rhys, Azriel, and yourself were all nestled into the dining room of the townhouse. The fae light in the room produces an incandescence that provides a stark contrast to the brutal snow storm outside.

You’re all trapped here, none of you brave enough to step far enough outside of the wards to winnow away. The six of you piled into the townhouse earlier in the evening, where you lovingly made a three course meal. It was a monthly tradition - you liked getting everyone together, you loved cooking for your friends, and they loved eating your food. It was a win all around. 

Dinner was just starting to be served when the snowfall took a turn for the worst, coming down in massive heaps of white. 

“Good thing we have a feast right here - I was starting to eye Azriel’s legs.”

Mor rolls her eyes at Cassian, “you were eyeing his legs because you can’t keep your eyes to yourself.”

Cassian smirks at her, a charming grin many females have fallen victim to. “You’re just upset it wasn’t your legs I was looking at.”

“Can we stop discussing my legs?” Azriel grumbles, passing the bowl of mixed vegetables to you. You nod in thanks, scooping a serving for yourself. “At least they’re being kind to you - last week Cassian was making fun of my arms.”

You pout your lip dramatically, but Azriel ignores it, his scowl still on his brother. “I wouldn’t call being the first to be eaten a kindness.”

“It’s not my fault you have short arms. How do you reach anything?” Cassian’s mouth was somehow already full of food, despite one of the platters just making its way to him.

“I believe she reaches things by scaling countertops and climbing shelves,” Rhys adds, plating himself some dumplings before serving some to Feyre’s plate.

“Hey! We were not talking about me, we were discussing Azriel’s delicious thighs!”

“He didn’t specify thigh.” Rhys points out, his fork pointing toward you.

“Oh, but I meant his thighs.” Cassian chimes in, his arm outstretched for another serving of potatoes.

“I’d start with his arms - he has a lot of meat on his bicep.” Mor doesn’t look up from her plate as she states it so casually.

“This conversation has taken a turn for the worse,” Azriel mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. You rub his arm soothingly, and he softens a bit at the feel of your touch.

Until you start squeezing the muscle beneath your hand. He immediately glances at you from the side of his eye, a stony and cold look.

“Flex for me, please.”

“I will not indulge this!” He starts trying to pull his arm away, but your fingers are surprisingly strong.

“Hmmm,” you hum, your hands still wrapped around his bicep, squeezing as you contemplate. “They’re a decent contender, but my vote is the thigh.”

“Not you too!”

You squeeze his arm lightly, “I’m sorry, this is a worst case scenario! I promise I’ll only eat you if you were already dead from like a freak accident.”

“What are our thoughts on someone being run through with my sword as a freak accident?” Cassian muses, licking his fingers dramatically. Azriel scowls at him as everyone around the table giggles.

Azriel turns back to you, “you only picked my legs because you wouldn’t be able to reach my arms.”

You drop your hands from his bicep, mock exasperation on your face. “How dare you! I was complimenting you. Being able to feed a family from your lifeless body is a compliment!”

“I can think of many families more deserving of my meat than you lot.”

He huffs, rotating his body to look at his brother before adding, “don’t you dare, Cassian.” 

Cassian scoffs at the finger pointed in his direction. “You’re the one who said you can feed a village with your cock.”

“That is not what I said! And it was a family, not a village.”

“Whatever.”

The two keep bickering until Cassian throws a green bean at Azriel, who quickly moves his head. A shadow comes and quickly pushes the leftover food on Cassian’s plate into his lap in retaliation.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Rhys looks equal parts amused and equal parts annoyed, likely at the mess that was made of his chair lining. He looks towards the window, the snow coming down even heavier than before. He sighs.

“I’m assuming we’ll all be staying here tonight?”

Everyone nods, no one wanting to brave the cold, wet snow. Not even Cassian or Azriel volunteer to leave, their bodies tailor made for this kind of weather.

“Right,” he nods, looking at Feyre. “Feyre and I will stay in the big room. You two,” he points to you and Azriel, “can stay in the room with the mirrors. You two,” now pointing to Cassian and Mor, “can stay in the room with some of Feyre’s paintings.”

Your heart picks up, its beat erratic and echoing through your ears. This would hardly be the first time you and Azriel shared a bed, but each time turned you into a bundle of nerves. You spent the entire night doubting each movement you made, uncertain if you were making Azriel uncomfortable until your brain eventually shut down, allowing for sleep to overtake you. 

Every time your worry was for nothing - each night full of nerves brought forth a morning of tangled limbs and warm cuddling. Waking up in his arms did nothing but cause your feelings for Azriel to soar, spending several extra minutes in bed pretending to be asleep, trying to imprint the feel of his arm around your waist to memory.

“No,” Cassian bellows, “she has that painting of Bryaxis in there. Creeps me out. I won’t be able to sleep.”

Rhys breathes through his nose, uncertain when becoming High Lord meant delegating his friend’s fears. “Put it in the closet.”

“I’ll know it’s there.”

“Fine, we’ll take the painting out of there.”

“Maybe Cassian will be who we eat if a simple painting puts him on edge this much.” You whisper conspiratorially, Azriel making a soft hum in acknowledgment. If he can hear the loud beating of your heart, he doesn’t let on. 

You look at him, his face not giving any apprehension away. It was hard not to fall further for Azriel with each look he gave you, each night you two shared a bed just sinking you deeper and deeper into your feelings.

He is beautiful, a detail impossible for anyone to ignore. You have heard countless fae mention it over the years. Most of them only see him from a distance - the cold, mysterious front Azriel wanted the world to see him as. But you have the privilege of seeing him up close, getting to take in every small detail about him.

The exact angle of his nose, how his jawline curves. How his shadows move languidly around his face, almost wanting you to pay attention to his eyes. You’re certain you could draw an exact replica of how his tattoos litter his chest, the design close to Cassian’s, but not quite the same. Azriel’s tattoos were looser, as if his shadows acted as stencils when the tattoos were made. 

You can even tell when his hair gets to the length he finds too long, the black curls getting into his face, his shadows sweeping the hair off his forehead when he trains.

You treat knowing him as if you’re a scholar writing an encyclopedia of Azriel, needing to know every little thing about him.

The weather doesn’t leave much lingering, everyone turning in quickly, seeking solace under a warm comforter. You follow behind Azriel, making your way to the room allocated to the two of you.

‘Room with the mirrors’ was an understatement. Mirrors of all sizes surround the both of you - more with ornate frames, intricately carved figures and plants decorating each one. One mirror even had detailed Illyrian wings on the bottom. You could see yourself and Azriel from every angle, every movement meant for observation.

“Why do they have so many mirrors in here?” 

Azriel’s eyes sweep across the room, counting at least two dozen mirrors. He knew exactly what Rhys used them for. It was impossible to know the High Lord for centuries and not know his bedroom preferences. “Do you really wish to know?”

Shivers go down your spine at his whispering voice. You have the whole room to yourselves, but his proximity is difficult to handle knowing exactly how Rhys and Feyre use this room. 

“It’s obviously because Rhys tries out mirrors until one shows him a flaw.” You watch Azriel grimace through a reflection.

“They’re a bit unnerving.” Several of his shadows dance around the mirrors, almost watching themselves as they slither and writhe. They are putting on quite the show, causing you to nearly miss Azriel’s statement.

“I guess.” You shrug, not really caring too much. In truth, you like the mirrors. It meant there was nowhere for Azriel to hide from you in here. 

A shiver ran up at the thought that you couldn’t hide either. 

A room of truths and being seen.

“I could just winnow back home.” You startle from your thoughts, Azriel’s tight lips and tense shoulders giving away just how uncomfortable he is. Is it your shared company? Or is it the thought of staying in his brother’s spare sex room that’s putting him on such edge?

“But that’s not fun. Besides, you can’t leave me here with Cassian. He’s already disaster planning. I need someone to protect me.” You sit down on a settee, unlacing your shoes. A small part of you doesn’t want Azriel to leave, hoping if you get comfortable, it’ll help him relax. 

An even smaller part doesn’t want to recognize how large that part actually is. You don’t want to be left alone tonight, and you certainly don’t want to have to explore exactly why his absence has such an effect on you.

“You were saying I’m dinner earlier and now I’m your protector. Which is it?” His wings are loosening their stiff hold and from the corner of your eye you see a few shadows nestle beneath the duvet.

“Whichever suits my needs. And tonight I need you to protect me from Cassian.”

Azriel shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face as he sits next to you, unlacing his own boots. He nearly takes up half the settee, but you don’t mind as his wing gently drapes around you. He places them neatly next to yours, the domesticity of it lingering in your mind. 

Shoes at the end of the bed, getting ready for bed.

Romance in its simplest form: routine.

He’s gone much too quickly for your liking, his hands quick as he searches drawers for some kind of nightwear. A few shadows help him in his search, pulling out various folds of silk and lace.

“Would you prefer a shirt or one of Feyre’s nightgowns?”

You’d prefer a nightgown, but knowing Feyre’s taste in clothes you know it’d likely leave little to the imagination. Azriel’s already a bit hesitant to stay, and you don’t want to push him further away. 

“Shirt, please.”

You thought he was offering you one of Rhys’s shirts from the drawers, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he unbuttons the front of his shirt, his shadows undoing the ties at the back, before the dark wisps carry the shirt over to you. He’s half turned away from you as he digs through the drawers, but you can still make out the contours of his body, the muscles in his arms moving with him.

You thank the shadows for their help, slipping away to the attached bathroom to change and get ready for bed. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it feels different. More serious somehow. You slip into Azriel’s shirt, the fabric practically melting onto your skin. 

It smells divine. You want to just drown in the fabric here and now.

Instead you go back into the room, finding Azriel in comfortable sleep pants. 

He turns his back to you, doing a sweep of the room to ensure every crevice is shut and locked. When he turns, you can’t help the squeal that leaves your lips at the sight of the words printed on the rear of the pants. 

Azriel looks back around at you, only to find you pointing and giggling where his ass had been a few seconds before.

“Your pants say juicy!” Sure enough, the purple plush pants had the word ‘juicy’ in rhinestones and all capital letters. “No wonder Cassian wants to eat you, you’re practically advertising it!”

Your laughs are practically bouncing off the mirrors, Azriel’s body surrounded by your joy. He wants to be annoyed at these ridiculous pants Rhys clearly wears, but as your laughs continue, his annoyance is all an act. He tries his best to keep a neutral expression, but he’s certain some forlorn look of longing is in its place.

“Ha ha, very funny. Can we go to bed?” You’re still a ball of giggles as you make your way to the bed, awkwardly shuffling, a bit unsure. This part is always confusing and awkward - the two of you shuffling, waiting to see what the other would do. 

Azriel is well-versed in loving from a distance. He was convinced for so long that if Mor only saw him, acknowledged him, it’d be enough. And then he met you. And Mor became nothing more than she had always been - his friend. 

Tonight. Tonight he would not love you from a distance. His legs carried him to the bed, taking the initiative as his wings spread out against the mattress. He pulls back your side of the duvet, his hand patting the bed. An invitation.

Your cheeks turn a shade of red he wanted to paint the walls with. He could see himself in the mirror behind you, one of his wings twitching in delight that he found himself attractive.

Maybe just being in your gaze did that to him - opened him up to see who he could be. Maybe your gaze made him preen like a male bird, putting his best self on display. Or maybe it was the tattoos of his chest on full display, his sweatpants hidden beneath the duvet already.

“Are you going to hog the blankets?” Your words come out a bit shaky, trying to shift your focus from his warm body as you get in next to him. His wing curls back up, tucking in close to his body to make room for you. You shimmy into bed, pulling the duvet back over your body. For several minutes you lay there, practically stock still trying to avoid moving or disturbing Azriel, until he twitches lightly. You turn and notice his pinched brows, trying to hide the discomfort from his furled wings.

“I could- sleep on top of you? So you can spread out your wings? I just want you to be comfortable.” You add hastily, turning on your side to see him better. The bed was large enough for Illyrian wings, but you’re lying right in the middle of the bed, making it impossible for his wings to stretch out.

He’s silent, clearly thinking you’re question over. He’s taking longer than you expected, hesitance in your words as you speak again.

“Or I could sleep on the floor.” Your last word comes out as a gasp, his fingers quickly wrapping around your hips, pulling you on top of him. One of his hands moves around your head, tucking you into his chest. The other moves to your back, his fingers rubbing soothing strokes down your spine as he adjusts to be laying right in the middle of the bed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His fingers keep moving, not stopping their soothing patterns. His wings drop dramatically onto the bed, practically yelling at you to accept the space you gave away to them.

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive.” You let out a breath, finally letting yourself relax and breathe normally again. You burrow your face in his chest, the piney scent of him making your eyes droop. His fingers are soothing against your skin, each movement gently guiding you closer and closer to sleep. 

“Now if Cassian comes looking for a midnight snack he’ll have to get through you first.” You pinch his side, a squeak hitting your ear as a shadow pulls your hand away.

Blind dates and nosey friends

Your hands tear the bread in half once again as you see the waitress heading straight toward you. An awkward smile is on her face as she approaches your table. 

“Miss, are you ready to order?” You sigh through your nose, shredding the roll in your hands. She is just doing her job, you don’t have to take your frustrations on this male out on your server. You start to ask for a menu, when out of the corner of your eye you see large wings you would know anywhere. The shadow that branches off from him, heading in a direct path to you, is the confirmation it was him. 

“One moment, please.” You don’t wait for her response before practically sprinting over, grabbing the shadowsinger’s arm before even thinking about it. He jerks his arm back, a scowl on his face before he realizes who it is. 

Azriel’s defensive stance slackens as he takes you in, his eyes lingering long enough on your dress that heat creeps up your chest. A few shadows start curling around your bare legs.

“What are you doing here, Az?” His eyes finally look back up at your face, something hidden deep in his gaze.

“I was supposed to meet someone, but they never showed.” Your stomach falls at his words, the hypocrisy impossible to ignore. He was supposed to be on a date? But they didn’t show up? 

You take the chance to look at him, his usual leathers exchanged for more formal wear. An all black tunic that shows a glimpse of his chest. It is a gorgeous fabric - a deep black with dark blue embroidery along the edges. His clothes are looser than his leathers, but they still show off his chiseled body.

You were a fool to not take in the back of the outfit when you had the chance earlier, certain he fills out the seat of his pants quite nicely.

Whoever didn’t show up for Azriel was a fool. Your jealousy at that fact is undeterred by remembering you are also supposed to be on a date right now.

“Same here.” Your date not showing up didn’t bother you too much. You were disappointed by how highly Feyre spoke of him, but you hadn’t been too thrilled to be going out anyway. 

“Are you hungry?” Azriel gives you a bewildered look, and you cross your arms feeling so exposed before him. You gesture to the table behind you, hoping Azriel will pick up the hint.

He just continues looking at you blankly.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? I have a table, and the waitress certainly thinks I made up having a guest to eat with.”

He looks down at your outfit once again, goosebumps trailing where his eyes land. Just because you hadn’t been thrilled to come didn’t mean you took picking out your outfit lightly.

“It would be an honor.” He follows you to your table, long legs making it to your chair before you do. He pulls your chair out, helping you sit before he takes his own seat.

“Who were you meeting tonight?” His voice is low, nearly a growl as he asks the question. Before you can answer, your waitress comes back, two menus in her arms. You thank her as she hands them to you both.

“A nice merlot, please.” Az holds up two gloved fingers to her, wanting the same. 

“Feyre wanted to set me up with some male from the Rainbow. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.” His eyebrows pinch together, a shadow curling his ear conspicuously before his face softens.

“And he didn’t show up?”

You shake your head, not wanting to voice the disappointment at being stood up. You weren’t giddy about the date, but it still stings of rejection.

“His loss.” Azriel is so sincere as he says it, his face opening in a way that only really happens when you’re alone with him. “Truly.”

You open your menu, unable to linger in his sincerity. “Maybe he was the great love of my life and now I’ll never have that.”

“I truly doubt that.”

The waitress comes back with two glasses of red wine and a fresh basket of breadsticks that she places between you two before heading off again.

“What are you doing here - who were you meeting?”

“Cassian’s been trying to get me to go out with him more. I got tired of waiting for him.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he probably got caught up with Nesta and I’d rather not smell them in a public restaurant.” Azriel grimaces, and you remember him telling you last week about finding them on the training grounds and immediately turning around.

“So, did Feyre tell you anything about this guy?” You look up from your menu, a bit confused at him circling the conversation back to a male you’ve never met.

“Not really. Just said he’s good looking and a nice male.” You shrugged, reaching for a breadstick to tear apart, giving your hands something to do.

“She didn’t give you a name?”

You think for a moment, replaying the odd memory over again. How Feyre had come into the room, a crazed look about her as she asked if you had any plans this evening. Details of the restaurant reservation flying from her lips, getting a promise that you'd be there before she ran off again.

“No.” You pop some bread into your mouth, finally able to enjoy the softness of it now that you have Azriel looking at you instead of the waitress.

“Do you always go out with nameless males?”

You stop chewing and throw your balled up straw wrapper at him. A shadow catches it before it can hit his face, a smirk taking root, brightening his face. He looks so boyish, so smug. 

It was one of your favorite faces he wore.

The shadow throws the wad at Azriel’s face anyway, leaving him speechless at the defiance. You try to stifle your giggles, your hand hardly stopping the sound as you watch the shadows around him also appear to be laughing.

“It’s not funny.” Azriel tries to slip his face back into the cool neutrality he wears so well, but it’s nearly impossible as your giggles grow. You have to look away, the absurdity of the evening making you want to laugh harder.

A few fae turn their heads to look at the pair of you, quickly averting their gaze once they see who you were seated with. Your laughter dies down, and you know Azriel won’t let the topic die until you give him all the answers he desires.

“No. I hardly ever go out with males.” Azriel stops his teasing, his whole body going still as if movement could impair his hearing. Even his shadows stay still, watching and waiting over his shoulder. 

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve only been out a handful of times the past few years, none of them were right.” It’s the truth. Each date felt like a chore, ill-fitting shoes that never quite gave you what you needed. Mor had he annual attempt at setting you up, but you were quite happy to have a quiet love life for the time being. You’re much happier spending your free time with your friends, on your work, or with Nyx than with random males to learn their favorite colors and what they did for a living.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you been seeing anyone?”

“No.” His reply is curt, clearly not wanting to further the discussion. His eyes are cold, the gold not shining how they usually do when he speaks to you.

“Okay.” You’re at a bit of a loss for what to say. Conversation between the two of you is usually so easy.

But the two of you never discuss your love lives with each other. How could you talk about some male to Azriel without saying well he’s not as kind or as attentive as you?

“Come on, Az. Take a breadstick. It won’t kill you.”

You shake the basket at him, trying to get him to splurge a little. His rigorous diet is well known amongst your friends, teasing comments accompanied most meals about Azriel’s strict dietary choices.

That’s all it is when you say it - a deflection, a joke to ease the slight awkwardness that accompanies your question. To your utter delight, he picks one up, taking small bites, savoring each taste. 

It’s nearly sinful how he eats it.

Once it’s gone, he pats around his chest, looking around the room.

“Look at that.”

“What?”

“I am still alive.”

“Oh shut up.”

“All these years, I thought bread would kill me.”

You roll your eyes at him, picking the menu up to finally look over what you want for dinner.

Who did this to you?

It’s easy to forget Mor is first and foremost a warrior. Her chosen wardrobe is curated to draw attention to her other assets, but her muscles still shine.

“Ow.” Mor’s hand is quick as she jostles your face, clutching your jaw tight. Her grip gives away her true strength - focusing all of it on your face. 

You pity anyone who comes in her way on a battlefield.

“Hold still.”

“I’m trying, you’re hurting me.”

“Shush. You’re fine.” 

A lone shadow creeps through the crack beneath the door, making its way over to you. It slinks through the shadows of the room, slithering from the shadow of the bed to the shadows beneath the dresser. 

You notice it halfway through its journey, but Mor remains ignorant. It moves up your leg, gently swirling your hand in comfort. It works almost instantly, the cool touch of it enough to distract you from Mor’s ministrations.

For a moment you almost forgot where you were.

“Ow!” It comes out louder than you intend, scaring off the shadow. The disappointment of losing your shadow friend took your mind off the pain momentarily before scowling at your friend again.

“Are you sure you don’t want Madja?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop complaining.”

You groan, unable to stop yourself despite Mor’s withering look. You suck in a breath through your teeth, nearly biting your tongue as she continues stitching your face.

“What are you doing?” You didn’t hear Azriel come in, didn’t hear a sound from him. But now he’s impossible to ignore. His shadows swarm you, their soft caresses welcome and wanted. They brush against any open skin they can, a few tickling against the open wound on your face. A few find the bruises littering your legs and hips, their cool caress not stinging like pressure would.

Mor merely rolls her eyes at him, annoyance flickering in her brown eyes as she looks to him. “I’m playing healer because I thought it would be fun, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Several of the shadows leave you, circling around Azriel’s ears conspiratorially. His wings flare out, almost casting a wall between you and the rest of the world. One of the shadows tries to swat Mor away, a huff of annoyance leaving her.

Azriel has been different ever since your dinner together. The two of you are spending more time together than ever - now you see him at most meals, he gives you his weekly schedule and warns you whenever he’ll be gone, and the two of you always slink off and spend the evenings together.

It’s been strange lately.

Despite the shadows whispers, his scowl only deepens. His eyes assess your face, scanning for every injury. Hazel eyes go straight to the bruise covered by your shirt, as if he can see beneath the fabric to the purple skin beneath. Azriel’s face tightens, disapproval clearly evident.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” His voice is deeper, some deep anger taking over his face.

Mor is quick to step in, to calm the shadows that are swirling around you, making it difficult for her to continue her stitching.

“Calm down, she fell down the stairs.” 

His breathing starts slowing again. Catching Mor’s eye, she tries not to laugh at the intense display. She even mouths his words back to you, an impish look on her face before she focuses again on your cheek, purposefully ignoring the Illyrian practically breathing down her neck.

You try to laugh but wince as she brings up the needle to your cheek, threading it through skin, slowly closing the wound. An intake of air gives away your true discomfort, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

“You’re being too harsh.” Mor groans at Azriel’s admonishment before reaching for his hand, gently handing over the needle to him before standing. She dusts off her dress before getting to her full height. Azriel bends down, trying to keep the needle from pulling too far, allowing Mor to slightly tower over him.

“If my stitching isn’t up to your standard, you may finish it.” She huffs, waiting for his response. Hands meet her hips waiting until he concedes, nodding silently. She’s quick to turn on her heel, muttering about overprotective males before shutting the door behind her.

“She should have taken you to Madja.” Azriel clicks his tongue as if Mor could hear his complaints through the wall. His shadows seem to nod in agreement poking out over his shoulder before making their way back to you. 

“I didn’t want to go to Madja.”

“Why not?” 

It took a moment to find the words, to vocalize it out loud. It was silly - your arms were full, trying to carry too much at once. Foolishly you thought the stairs were a few feet away, missing the top step and falling face down the stairs. 

You had hit the walls with each tumble, causing a loud enough raucous to startle Mor, who immediately helped you up and fussed over you.

“I was embarrassed.” Your arms cross over your chest, trying to hide into yourself. Azriel gently cups your face in his hand, bringing the threaded needle back up. You wince, shutting your eyes tight to avoid seeing it. 

Azriel was right - Mor had been a bit rough in her stitching, but not enough for you to say anything. 

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, the delicacy enough to have you slowly crack open an eye only to find him looking right back at you.

“Why were you embarrassed?” His voice is softer now, less amusement as he holds your gaze. His gaze is strong, impossible to turn or hide away from. 

Maybe that’s why you open up completely, the cowardly parts of you on full display.

“I didn’t want to bother Madja with something I got because I tripped over my own feet.” You watch his face, waiting for him to understand how silly this situation is and to drop it completely. To continue his stitching and leave you with a bruised ego.

That understanding never comes, his face nearly shriveling in confusion.

“I’ve watched Cassian go to Madja for paper cuts.” 

“Yes, but-“

“Do you think Cassian’s pain is more deserving of healing?” Azriel is quick to cut you off, his words fast to stop the shame spiral you were gearing up to begin. His gaze is hard and unflinching, pinning you in place. 

Truth-Teller isn’t a weapon, it’s a title you feel he deserves. One look from him unspooling all of your secrets.

“It’s different.” Your shoulders slump a bit, finding it hard to find the right words for how you feel. Embarrassing is the best one, but it still feels light. 

“How?”

“I’m not… fighting the good fight. I’m not a warrior.” A few shadows wrap around your shoulders in a comforting embrace, almost as if they are holding you up. “Cassian deserves to be babied a bit when he’s constantly throwing himself into danger.”

A more cross look overcomes his features, a hint of agitation lingering.

“I didn’t realize civilians didn’t have healers.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then tell me what you mean.”

“Madja has more important things than tending to my falling down the stairs.” 

“I think you’re right. She does have better things to do.” You blink. You’ve never heard Azriel concede in an argument so easily. You’ve watched him argue with Cassian until he was blue in the face just to win.

“But I don’t. So if you’re done…” he trails off, his hand that holds the needle going a bit higher to get into your eyeline. A reminder to both of you that he needs to finish the job Mor started.

You nod, accepting his kindness. The fight eases out of you, slowly leeching from your pores, unable to stand against the softness in his face. Your eyes close more gently this time, the weight of the shadows easing your nerves a bit.

“Just don’t tell me when you’re going to do it, please.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He rubs his thumb along the scar, not applying any pressure. You lean into his touch, unable to stop yourself. The stitch Mor made prickles a bit, but the two of you continue to sit there in a calming silence. Both of his hands now cradle your cheeks, his large palms so comforting you nearly muzzle into them. 

“Azriel, are you ever going to stitch up my face?”

“I’m already done.” 

Your eyes relax, blinking at him. You bring a hand up to your face, touching where the long gash was to find it stitched. 

“I guess that tonic Mor gave me did stop the feeling. Thanks, Az.”

One of his hands gently grabs yours, pulling it from your cheek. He holds it delicately in his own, his thumb swiping across the back of it.

“Stop messing with it. You’ll undo my hard work.” 

“It’s like picking at a scab.”

“Don’t do that either.”

Friends to lovers

A fire crackles in the library, casting a warm glow over the room. Of all the libraries in Night, none of them compare to the one nestled in the Townhouse. It’s smaller than the others, allowing for a more quaint and cozy feel.

The shelves are a bit haphazard, you and Azriel using it as a personal library most of the time. Most books continue notes in the margins from either or both of you - quick scrawl to dictate something for the other or something one of you enjoyed.

The Townhouse is where the two of you spend most of your time - the tighter quarters being enough space for the two of you.

The last few weeks were a blur of Azriel - spending most nights in each other’s beds, 

A blanket’s folded behind your head. You’re tempted to cover your legs with it, but you lean a bit closer into Azriel instead. You are practically draped against his lap, your torso half over his body, a book perched in your hands. He’s using your back as a rest for his book, one hand woven in your hair, the other one making circles in your lower back. 

His shadows flip his pages for him, allowing his hands to lazily wander on their own. It was so domestic and easy, each movement a thrill.

You’re trying to read your book, but if Azriel even asked what it was about you wouldn’t be able to answer. An earlier conversation with Cassian keeps replaying in your mind over and over again, each return to it an attempt to further your resolve.

“Going so soon?” Nesta had pouted, her gray eyes turning pitiful trying to get you to stay longer. “I’ve hardly seen you the past few weeks.”

You started to answer, telling her you hadn’t become that unavailable, when Cassian’s voice boomed through the living room.

“She has to get back to her boyfriend, Nes. He’ll be upset if she’s gone too long. He’ll get broody.”

You had scoffed, nearly jumping at his voice.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know who I’m talking about? I didn’t say a name.” Cassian came into the room now, amusement on his face as he wiped his hands with a dish rag. 

“Shut up, Cass.”

“He’s not her boyfriend.” Nesta spoke up from the couch. 

“Thank you!”

“You just spend every minute with him, you reek of his scent, and you’re always considering what to do next for him.”

Cassian rounded the couch, plopping down next to Nesta.

“You're his girlfriend without the title.”

“Am not.”

“You sleep in his bed.”

“Not every night.”

Nesta and Cassian looked at each other before turning back to you, almost in unison saying, “or he sleeps in your bed.”

Heat began creeping up your neck, your emotions feeling so violated. You knew the two of you had been close, but was it really so obvious to Cassian of all people?

 “Fine, if you two aren’t dating, I’m sure you won’t mind in two years when Azriel’s dating someone else.”

The words clank through your mind like a dropped bell, the same notes hitting over and over again. Someone else.

“Az?” His name comes out as a whisper, your fear only half wanting him to hear you, the other half begging to be heard.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up, his attention still mostly on his book as he tries to finish the paragraph he’s reading.

“Are we dating?”

Azriel looks away from his book, looking down at you in his lap. Even his shadows drop the book onto your back, their attention moving toward their master’s response. He takes a moment, clearly thinking over your question, giving you his full attention. You turn slightly, angling your body to fully see him.

“I suppose we are.” He answers you so nonchalantly, as if this was a well known fact. You sit up now, taking the spot next to him, your book falling off the couch but you don’t care enough to even look at it. His book falls as well, a soft thump onto the carpet. 

“Are you… happy about it?” A million questions race through your mind, but that’s what comes out first. His hands had followed you as you moved, one of them still resting on your hip, lazily dragging his thumb in languid strokes.

“Delighted.” You take the moment to really look at Azriel, his face mere inches from your own. You hadn’t noticed the gradual change over the weeks, but sitting here now, it is impossible to ignore. His face is brighter, eye bags having shrunk to a regular size. He’s been smiling more, a few laugh lines making their ways onto his cheeks. 

Even his clothes are different - looser, more casual attire covered his body, his leathers getting worn only for training and official duties.

Azriel looks like Azriel. Not the spymaster, not the shadowsinger. Not a thing of legend.

But the male you love.

Your hand reaches out, softly cupping his jaw. Your other hand pushes some of his hair off his forehead, the soft curls bouncing back into place after the attempt to tame them. The smile on his face matches your own: full of possibility, love, and hope. A shadow glides across your lips before moving across your whole face, as if imprinting this moment to their memory.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Your mouth is splitting your face in two, too large to contain your smile to just your lips, it reaches the corners of your eyes.

“Once your questions end, I would like to.”

“Do you love me?”

“So much.” You feel how much he does in his gaze, in his hands, in his words. Everything about him - every interaction, every touch, every moment, it all led you here. You’re grateful for every moment of it as his hands gently pull your face to his, his lips warm and gentle as they meld into yours.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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[carnalcrows]

MILK YOU DRY - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: This is why you never accept things from people you don't know.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, drug usage, riding, cockwarming, semi-public sex

word count: 0.4k (this is short as fuck lolol)

It all started with one little pill.

"Come on, man. It'll take the edge off," Thanos had said, pressing the tiny thing into your palm with that signature smug smirk. "Consider it a gift. Or an investment."

You had hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and dry-swallowing it. Bad decision? Maybe. But you were already knee-deep in the nightmare that was the death game you were currently stuck participating in, so what was one more risk? Plus, Thanos had this way of talking that made everything sound like a good idea, even the objectively stupid ones.

Fast forward fifteen minutes later, and you were absolutely wrecked.

"You're so—you're so soft," you slurred, hands gripping Thanos' waist as he straddled your lap inside a bathroom stall, your cock happily burrowed in his ass. The world was spinning in a fun way, your limbs felt light, and Thanos smelled like cigarette smoke and…vanilla?

"You’re so gone," he snickered, arms slung around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the back of your hair. "Damn, you really can't handle your stuff."

"I can handle you just fine," you shot back, half-lidded eyes locking onto his. That seemed to be the magic phrase because Thanos grinned, leaned in, and kissed you, as he slowly bounced on your cock– the overstimulation and the effects of the pill making your brain go mushy.

It was messy. It was uncoordinated. It was hands roaming where they shouldn’t and teeth clashing because neither of you had enough patience to slow down. Thanos was warm in your lap, your cock in his tight ass grounding you just enough to keep your head from floating off entirely.

"You're kinda hot when you're like this," he murmured against your lips before biting down—hard enough to make you hiss.

"You're kinda a menace," you shot back, fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back onto your length.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open barely registered at first. But then, a very familiar and exasperated voice filled the stall.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Both of you froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head. And there, standing in the doorway with an expression of pure disbelief, was Nam-gyu.

Thanos, the absolute menace that he was, didn't even look fazed. If anything, his grin widened as he leaned back, still comfortably perched on your lap. "Hey, Nam-gyu. We were just—"

"I can see what you were just." Nam-gyu pinched the bridge of his nose. "I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and this is what happens?"

You opened your mouth to come up with some kind of excuse, but all that came out was an unhelpful, "Uh."

Nam-gyu exhaled, shaking his head before stepping inside and shutting the stall door behind him. The last thing you saw before exhaustion came over you was the absolutely devilish smirk spreading across his face.

Well. This was gonna be interesting.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[hellfire--cult]

+18 thoughts of husband!steve x pregnant!reader because--

You thought that becoming pregnant, your belly swelling and becoming bigger would not be appealing to Steve anymore. You understood it, even if you wanted to, you would respect it.

You couldn't be more wrong.

It happened one day. One random day.

It was a saturday, you asked for an early maternity leave from work, knowing that the temperature was not going to be your best friend in this pregnancy. You were not even doubting it anymore, not caring for the stretch marks that could be seen. You were getting into the fucking pool. So you threw on your new bikini, because your breasts are almost double the size now, and then you had to sit down in order to pull the bottom part on you. And Steve--

He was out in the garden, under the summer heat and the sun kissing his skin just right. He was shirtless, helping you tend your flowers, knowing you cannot bend down as easily as before, and your back screams at you if you do so. You smiled as you looked at him through the kitchen window, preparing some lemonade for him. He had already cleaned the pool, and you knew that Steve loves summer and doesn’t mind it, but it was still hot out there.

You walked out, tray in hand, the sun hitting your skin as you stepped down the little stairs and your feet hit the grass below your feet. You hummed in relief, feeling the fresh cut grass, and the freshness from also being watered. You walked towards Steve, his back still turned to you, and you could already see the color of a tan on his skin. You made sure your husband was covered in sunscreen before heading out, and you were glad you did.

“Hey, I have some lemonade.” Your voice snapped him out from his intense work, smiling as he got up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned around, and you didn’t see how his eyes were scanning you all over, the sunglasses covering any evidence of it. His chest hairs were all damp in his sweat, and your hormones were screaming at you to have him, but you didn’t want to overstep with him that way.

It’s been two months since the last time you two had sex. You assumed it was because of your belly suddenly blowing up out of nowhere. You were bigger, and your baby moved inside your belly a lot. Right now, he was asleep, so you could happily get into the cold water for some relief. 

Steve reached one glass of lemonade, full of ice and little leaves of mint. You saw how he gulped the glass in one single gulp, surprising you. You moved towards the small garden table, putting the tray down. Your hands found the bottle of sunscreen that he left there, and you wanted to make sure your belly was fully covered, so you squirted a bit at the top of it and passed your hands all over.

You didn’t notice how Steve was looking at you. How your movements were making him lose his self control bit by bit. He held back the past two months, knowing the stretching of skin was not that comfortable, and the baby was being very active on you. He heard your complaints, your little whines of pain at night when the baby didn’t let you sleep. 

But fuck, you didn’t know what you did to Steve.

He knew he had a breeding kink. That is the exact reason you two were in this situation right now. When you gave him the go to start trying, he went feral. Every day or every two days, he was on you. He wanted a baby with you, yes or yes. He wanted to see you round with his baby, making you a proud mama with his own child. 

And you looked marvelous. Right now, with that bikini on you, your breasts, your belly, your entire body was just making him strain in his own swim shorts. He watched you slowly get inside the pool by the steps, your body contorting a little at the feel of the cold water on your skin, and the moment he heard you moan from relief was the point of no return from him.

He dropped the garden gloves to the floor, threw the sunglasses on the table, long strides heading your way to the pool. You smiled up at him as your hands held your belly from underneath, feeling relief that the water was helping you not feel the weight of your belly. He professionally dove in, his arms up and jumping in with a forward position. You giggled as you stood a little closer to the less shallow part of the pool, your shoulders just coming out of the surface.

You saw him finally coming up, shaking his head and wiping his face as he immediately started swimming your way. He stood in front of you, a smile on his face as he looked down at you.

“You came in to freshen up?” He asked and you nodded, his hands coming to rest on your waist, rubbing your skin softly. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot today and well, I feel it ten times more than normal.” His eyes found purchase on your breasts for a second and then back up to your eyes.

“Mhm, it is pretty hot… you know what else is hot?” You tilted your head slightly, his face coming to your neck, his lips kissing your skin softly, tasting a bit of chlorine from the water. “You look so good in this bikini…” 

You were surprised to hear that, your eyes widening slightly at the change of events. You didn’t think Steve would even try to make a move on you, at least not until you got your baby out of you. Your body lit up in flames once more, and the cold water was not taming them down at all. His lips kept kissing your skin, going down to your shoulder. 

In just two seconds, your arms were straightened over the edge of the pool, the lower part of your bikini pushed aside, as your husband railed into you, the water splashing behind your back and your sides. You were trying to hold your moans in, lips into your mouth as your head was thrown back. Pregnancy has made you more sensitive. Nipples, clit, your insides, just everywhere. Even your skin felt more sensitive.

He was groaning as he looked all over your body, and fuck it was doing it for him. It was doing so many things to him. You looked so beautiful as he moved in and out of you, the water not being his best friend right now. He wanted to go faster but obviously, it was not possible. He cursed at himself for not being able to hold himself back for a few more minutes and get out of the pool to have you on the grass at least.

You were whining, feeling the drag of his cock inside of you, the incoming climax warning you it was going to be a strong one. It’s been a while since you last had an orgasm, and this was going to kill you. 

“I can feel you baby, cum on me. Come on…” His lips found your neck again, kissing your pulse point, biting on it, sucking on it. The intense attention you were receiving also helped to have your senses heightened. Your walls fluttered around him, and your belly was tightening, which you didn’t think you would feel. Your body trembled underneath the water, and he wanted to rip that top off of you, but it was enough he was risking the neighbors seeing the two of you fucking in the pool.

Your eyes clenched tightly as you started seeing stars behind your eyelids, your legs gripping him tightly around his waist, your walls clenching completely around him, making him choke out a moan. He had also been pent up. Unlike you, Steve could jerk off, being able to reach, but if you couldn’t touch yourself, he wasn’t going to do it to himself either. 

Moans escaped you, trying to keep your mouth shut but failing as a little whimper came out, riding your orgasm out on him. His breaths grew frantic as he felt as if he was going to explode and then, he finally came inside of you. His hips jerked into you at each spurt he delivered in you. 

You two ended up breathing heavily and his lips found yours, desperately as he sat inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, kissing him back as you felt him twitch once again. 

After that, Steve fucked you whenever he could and whenever you felt comfortable to do so.

Which was whenever as well.

He fucked you into the bed, in the couch, in the shower, in the kitchen. Just everywhere. You were in cloud nine, your libido and his matching perfectly despite the predicament of your belly. It was a little tricky sometimes to get comfortable, but Steve made sure you did. He made sure you were the one enjoying this the most. Not that he didn’t, but he cared for you more than he did for himself. 

There were times that he was spent, but you were still horny. He would go down on you there, fuck you with his fingers, with his tongue, even with his thigh so you would cum for a second time, even a third. He was there to please you, and he got off of it.

“You look so fucking good like this.” His voice was in your ear as you two laid on your sides, one hand pulling your left leg up as he railed into you from behind, spooning you. “Such a good mom already…”

His dirty talk got heavier, surprising you, but you didn’t mind it. You actually felt pleasure from his words, which were encouraging even if dirty. You would whisper soft ‘thank yous’ and you would call his name if he said something that really got you going.

You learnt that when wearing a dress, you should not be wearing any underwear. The moment Steve walks through the door and sees you in the kitchen, either washing dishes or cooking, he was on you. Pulling that summer dress up your hips as he got on his knees. All fours was a position that hurt you, but it didn’t if he ate you out. 

Another position you found yourself comfortable in, which surprised you, was being on top. Just for a little while. Your feet planted on the bed, crouching on him as you bounced up and down, your thighs helping your belly to not bounce on you. He was in awe each time you were on top, moaning your name like crazy, his eyes scanning your entire body as if you were the embodiment of Venus herself. 

“Steve, baby–” You felt so good, today you were clenching more than usual, fluttering all over him, and you were so wet that it dripped down onto his pubes. 

“So fucking good. You were destined to become a mom… fuck, and with my children–” He moaned at a particular drag you did, his hands grabbing yours, fingers intertwined as you used him for leverage. He felt you clench around him at his words, making him smirk, “Oh, you like that?”

“Uh huh–” You moaned out, feeling your orgasm approaching more than ever and he started moving his hips, thrusting up into you, making you gasp in pleasure.

“Such a good wife… You’re gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you honey?” His words always are the little flame that made the fireworks in you explode, clenching around him like a vice, a loud moan escaping you as you trembled on top of him. He groaned loudly, his own orgasm crashing on him, your name tumbling out of his lips. “Fuck yes–”

Needless to say, your baby arrived much earlier than it was due.

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

[tojicide]

JEALOU$Y. ☆ CALEB.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. at the end of the day, you and caleb are just childhood friends—nothing more, nothing less. so, when you mention going on a date, it’s totally logical that he wouldn’t care, right? if only that were the truth.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem! reader, current! caleb, zayne mention, jealousy, pet names, praise, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v, creampie. 𝑤𝑐. 5.4k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. jealou$y — the neighbourhood.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Doomsday has finally dawned upon Linkon City, though Caleb seems to be the only person truly affected by this catastrophe.

It was all his fault in the grand scheme of things. He hadn’t been clear enough, hadn’t shown the full extent of his feelings for you. But above all, he should have never offered Zayne those measly words of advice.

He should have known that the doctor had ulterior motives. Why else would he have called Caleb up one week ago to ask about you of all people?

It was a mean ploy, truly. Anyone and everyone knows about Caleb’s inability to shut up about you, his sole weakness was being exploited right in front of his eyes and he was none the wiser. The questions seemed harmless then. Posed as genuine curiosity, Caleb would have never been able to decipher the hidden intent behind each word that Zayne spoke into the receiver.

What are her days off? What does she do in her free time? You said that the restaurant around the corner from Akso Hospital was her favorite, yes?

In retrospect, he should have absolutely seen this coming. But then again, nothing could have ever prepared Caleb to hear those four life-altering words slipping from your lips.

“I have a date.”

A record scratches in his brain, forcing him to halt his steps for an abnormally long time before he slowly turns to face you. “You… what?”

Hearing the words repeated in that saccharine tone of yours only added salt to the wound, oddly enough. It physically pained him to ask for more information about your date, though he managed to hide his disdain with that boyish grin of his and a bit of lighthearted teasing.

But inside? That little green monster was stirring, and there was very little he could do to quell it.

Begrudgingly, he managed to get the key details before forcing himself to stow away in his bedroom and… think. Next Thursday. 6 PM. Maltosio Restaurant. With Zayne.

The next week passed by in an agonizingly slow fashion. It was as though each X that marked a passing day was a physical blow to his already aching heart, and those adorable images of the kittens on his calendar (the calendar that you picked out) did very little to help him.

Subtlety was never his strong suit, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures. And believe Caleb when he says that he is very much desperate.

“Soo…” he’d drawl, leaning over the back of the couch to peer down at you. “I heard there’s a screening of that movie you’ve been wanting to see at the drive-in next Thursday. Wanna come with?”

You perked up like a ball of excitement, and for a moment, Caleb allowed himself to get his hopes up, but your frown quickly dissipated them. “Next Thursday? Oh, no, I can’t make it! I’m going out with Zayne, remember?”

Of course he remembered. That was exactly why he hadn’t let up—not even once—in his attempts to distract you just enough to make you forget all about your dinner plans. He could take you out for a nice dinner too. Say, that’s actually a good idea…

The next day, Caleb tried that one.

“Oh, pip-squeak,” he sang, his airy voice ringing through your apartment as he walked down the hallway. “I got us reservations at the restaurant in Skyhaven that you’ve been itchin’ to check out.”

You perked up, just like you did before. “Really?”

He nodded with a triumphant grin, internally patting himself on the back for his own good idea. “Mm-hmm. Next Thursday. Got us those window seats you wanted too—the ones that overlook the city.”

And once again, your gaze softened, and an all-too-adorable pout tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. I’m busy that day.”

You really are too sweet for your own good. He can’t even blame Zayne for taking an interest in you, he’d be downright shocked if any man with two seeing eyes had the audacity to not think that you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Caleb sure does. He always has. He always will.

It wasn’t long before the day of reckoning was upon him. Thursday evening. Sunlight cut through the blinds in the living room, casting golden hues across the vast space. Much to his dismay, the trashy reality television you’d left on the screen did very little to soothe his worries.

He fidgeted with the dog chains you’d gifted him, his thumb brushing along the gift that you had so kindly given him. It was a testament to your bond. A bond that something as trivial as a single evening apart couldn’t tamper with… right?

“Caleb!” Your antsy voice cut through the air, forcing his wandering mind to snap back to reality.

He was up and down the hallway before you could even say another word, pressing a flat hand to your door to nudge it open. It was then that he saw you, all dolled up in your robe with your favorite dresses laid out on your bed.

Your hands grasp onto two of the hangers, holding them up side-by-side to help him get a better look at them. Though, his eyes were noticeably distracted, contorted in an unfamiliar lovesick expression as they pierced into yours. “Quick! Which do you think is cuter?”

Caleb blinks—once, twice, three times—until he forces himself to finally look down at the dress options in your grasp. He’d seen you wear them plenty of times before, and the thought of someone else seeing you in such beautiful fabric nearly made his stomach lurch.

He raises his forearm, leaning against the doorframe as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, c’mon, that’s an impossible choice. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

It was a typical response, one that you were expecting, though his lack of advice made you hmph as you lost yourself in your thoughts. “Well… I hear polka dots symbolize happiness and stripes symbolize slipping between realms. Pretty interesting stuff, huh?”

“Very interesting,” he says, the corner of his mouth tugging up at the mere sound of your voice. “Is that why you buy so many things in those patterns?”

You quirk an eyebrow, confusion etching into your expression. “Huh? What else do I buy that’s…” It quickly dawns on you, and you can feel heat creep up your neck and reach your face. “You’re a jerk.”

Caleb can’t help but laugh, taking a few steps into the room so that he can properly look at each and every one of the dress options laid out on your bed. “What’s the matter? If I remember correctly, someone was beggin’ me to do her laundry. Somethin’ about the laundry machine being sooo far and your feet hurting sooo bad.”

Huffing and far too flustered for your own good, you shake your head. “Well… well I didn’t realize you were so observant.”

He clicks his tongue, absentmindedly pinching your side as he leans down to rest his chin in the dip of your shoulder. “Tsk. You know I’m always observant when it comes to you. Even if it’s remembering something as trivial as the patterns of your cute little undies.”

You swat him away. “You’re so annoying!”

To that, he can only chuckle, giving your sides a brief squeeze before taking a few steps back. “Alriiight, alright, I’ll leave you alone.” Before exiting the room entirely, he hangs onto the doorframe, giving you a soft smile. “I’m serious though. You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” His lips curve into a smirk. “But if you want my input—you know I’ve always been a sucker for seeing you in florals.”

And with that, he whisks away, silently hoping and praying that this date will fall through on its own. Plopping back down on the couch, his eyes are practically glued to his watch. 5:48 PM. It wouldn’t be long before Zayne would be knocking at the front door—punctual as ever. Oh, it made him sick.

How could he have done this? To you, to himself? Caleb should be ashamed. He should be the one sitting across from you later tonight, holding your hand and listening to you ramble about whatever your heart desires. It should be him. It would have been him if he wasn’t so damn afraid.

But the sound of approaching heels clicking along the hardwood floor quickly snapped him out of his pity party, prompting him to look over his shoulder. And there you were once again, now adorned in a floral sundress that had made him lose his mind more times than he’d like to admit.

Under his breath, he can’t help but mutter, “Yeah, you’re gonna kill me…”

It was his favorite dress of yours, too. You really were trying to kill him. A white dress that was littered with blue flowers, the fabric fit you perfectly, loose and fitted in all of the right places.

Zayne didn’t deserve to see you like this. Plain and simple.

Standing from the couch, he lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “There she is,” he says, taking your hand to spin you around a single time. His smile only widens as he sees yours. “You look gorgeous, just like I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes with a bashful smile, one that he has to physically fight the urge to kiss away. “Oh, you flatter me,” you say through a laugh.

He shakes his head, bringing a hand up to gently smooth down a pesky hair on the top of your head. “Can’t be flattery if I mean every word of it.”

A breeze wafted through the open window, blowing the fabric of your dress ever so slightly. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers infiltrates the living room, though the scent of your perfume and something that was uniquely you had his full attention.

“Y’know, you can be pretty nice when you want to be,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Chuckling, he simply nods, his large hands settling on your middle. “Yeah. When I want to be.”

You brush past him, padding over to the back door. Pushing it open, you step out onto the warm concrete patio, breathing in the fresh air that the backyard had to offer you. Spring in Linkon was always a delight, though the warmth that Caleb radiates behind you serves to be the most comforting thing about the entire scene.

His hand comes to rest on the curve of your shoulder, his fingers nimbly pulling at one of the straps of your dress. With his heart rate shooting through the roof, he forces himself to take a moment. He needs to get this right. This may be the last chance he’ll be able to do this.

“I… look, there’s something that I—”

But suddenly, the sound of rapping knuckles at the front door cuts through the tense silence. Both of your attention is drawn to the closed door, and having left the back door open, you both have a clear view of it.

You turn around to face Caleb, offering him a sheepish smile. “That’s probably Zayne.”

He only nods, forcing his hand to fall back to his side. “Yeah, probably.”

This was it. He was losing you. It stung to know that this was no one’s fault apart from his own. His inability to be honest about his feelings, his lack of forwardness with you… what was he expecting? That you’d never date? That he could keep you happy forever without offering you anything more?

It was a stupid fantasy, one that had earned him this spot. But when he saw you turn to leave, your eyes still locked on his, a surge of panic shot up his spine. His eyes flit around—the grass, the flowerbeds, the hose… that was currently filling up the pool…

“Be mad at me later,” he suddenly says.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wha— ah!”

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, you were suddenly pushed back into the chamber full of chlorine infested water. Caleb watches with a wry expression as you shoot up from beneath the water, splashing aimlessly as you swim towards the edge.

“What the fuck was that?” you bark, perching one elbow up onto the concrete as you reach the other one out to him. “What the hell are you looking at? Help me out!”

Caleb can’t even protest, not with the incredibly irrational stunt he’d just pulled. “I’m sorry, pip-squeak, I just…” And so, he reaches down, his hand clasping around yours… until you pull him forward with all of your strength and send him tumbling into the pool too.

And when he comes up for air, you splash him the moment he opens his eyes. Serves him right. The chlorine will sting his eyes almost as much as your mascara is stinging yours right now.

With that, you pull yourself out of the pool, a trail of water marking your path as you wring out the fabric of your dress. After that, you disappear inside of the house, leaving Caleb to rub his eyes in utter defeat.

He gives you both a long stretch of alone time before he retreats back into the house like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low as he runs a hand through his wet strands of hair.

Sucking in a short breath, he knocks twice at your shut bedroom door. “Honey? It… it’s me.”

“Go away,” you retort without missing a single beat.

Caleb pokes his tongue into his cheek as he leans forward, resting his forehead on the cool surface of your bedroom door. “C’mon. Just… talk to me.”

It doesn’t take long before the door is swung open, revealing an incredibly angry version of you with a freshly cleaned face. He opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to try and rectify the situation in any way he can, but you beat him to it. Quickly.

“How dare you?” you spit, jabbing your index finger into his chest. “What was that, Caleb? Are we ten years old again? Your method of communication is… is pushing me into the damn pool?”

He sighs, catching your hand to unfold your closed fingers. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” you cut him off, sticking your other index finger into his chest. “It’s your turn to listen. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, you’re all I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever wanted. Do you know how it feels to have everything you want dangled in front of you for so many years, and… and just torn away? Time and time again?”

Caleb is rendered speechless, his brows furrowed in both confusion and a sense of odd relief as you unleash all of the thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for so long. He doesn’t bother catching your other hand, instead, he allows you to repeatedly jab at his chest. It hurts, but he can handle it. Just like he can handle the words you’re saying.

“So, you know what? I decided that enough was enough!” you continue, your index finger pressing wildly into the hard planes of his chest. “I wasn’t going to wait around, I wasn’t going to pretend, I was going to move on! And… and I was going to!”

He tilts his head, his amethyst eyes growing fuzzy as he looks down at you. “Was going to?”

You huff, eyes narrowing as you jab your finger into his chest for a final time before turning away from him. “Well, I’m not exactly going on a date anymore, am I?”

Caleb nods, though you can’t see it. He leans against the doorframe, his gaze tracing your silhouette through the soaked fabric of your dress. Sighing, he straightens off the wall, but before he can turn away, you spin around to face him.

“And you know what else?” you huff. “You know the solution to this problem just as well as I do.”

He nods his head with a single jerk of his chin, beckoning you to continue. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You step closer, and for the final time, you stab your finger into his pec. “You need to grow a pair.”

Inhaling deeply, all he can do is smile. It infuriates you and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself. He takes both of your wrists and tugs you forward until your chest presses against his own, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek.

You’re slowly simmering down, the heat of your outburst dissipating as your skin cooled. With your eyebrows still furrowed, all you can do is look up at him, daring him to speak. To do anything.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “A little.”

He slowly nods his head, his fingers curving along your jaw before he cups your chin in between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there anything I can do to help with that?”

You can feel his breath fan along your lips, cool and minty and just about everything you could have ever fantasized about on your own. You part your lips to reply, but this time, Caleb is the one who beats you to it.

“We’re making puddles all over the floor, you know.”

Glancing down, you see the truth in his words. The pool water dripped from your respective clothing and gathered around the two of you, making a wry smile find your lips.

“Oh,” you breathe, “I didn’t even notice.”

“I like to think I’m pretty observant when it comes to you,” he murmurs, smoothing his free hand along your side until it grasps onto the fabric of your dress. “Need some help with this?”

You look up, meeting his gaze once more. “With… with what?”

“Well,” he drawls, his fingertips brushing along your outer thigh as he slowly drags the fabric upward. His movements are hesitant and cautious, his eyes flickering between each of yours. “You’re wet. I’m wet. Maybe we can… help each other dry off.”

Your eyelids falter as they flit between his, your gaze instinctively falling to the plush curve of his bottom lip. “Okay,” you murmur.

A smile tugs at his mouth. “Okay. Arms up.”

Slowly, you lift your arms above your head. His hands work together to slowly push the fabric of your dress up and over your head, letting it slip onto the floor with a wet plop.

His breath is nearly torn from his lungs the moment he sees your bare skin, so beautiful and soft and made to be his. Hesitantly, his fingertips trace the curve of your hips with a sense of reverence.

“Do you need help too?” you ask, your voice breathy from the restrained sense of need that has come over you.

Pausing his exploration of your bare skin, Caleb finds himself nodding, almost immediately lifting his arms over his head. “Please.”

And now, you take the opportunity to do the same. Slowly, you peel his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly into the laundry hamper near the door. Your gaze traces over the defining lines of his abdomen, your touch doing the same as it trails southward.

His lower stomach tenses up as your fingers brush against the hem of his jeans. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, the way a touch so simple can nearly bring him to his knees. Breathing shakily, he leans down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Careful,” he breathes in warning, his voice taking on a raspy tone.

You almost startle at the unfamiliarity of his voice, though you push your hesitation aside as your thumb brushes over the button of his pants. “But… these are wet too.”

A huff of air leaves his mouth, the sound something between a low laugh and a groan. He forces his eyes open, his stare meeting your own. “Trying to get me naked before our first kiss? I have to say, you’re full of surprises.”

Faltering, your hands fall away from his pants. “You’re right, I… I’m—”

Caleb can’t help but chuckle, taking a hold of your hands to bring them right back to where they were before. This time, he guides your fingers through the motion of unbuttoning his pants. “Kidding,” he whispers against your lips. “Besides… we’re good at multitasking, yeah?”

You’re nodding before you can truly process his words. “Yeah.”

His lips crash onto yours with a groan that omits from deep within, the button of his jeans finally popping open from your ministry. The zipper went next, tugged down along with the fabric entirety until he was left in only his boxers.

His hands roam your curves greedily, eating up every inch of skin that he has deprived himself of for far too long. Your waist, your hips, your thighs—he needs to feel you in any way possible.

And you return his eagerness so well, wrapping your arms around his neck as you draw him in even closer. His hands worked quickly, hoisting you up until your legs wrapped around his waist as he walked the both of you over to your bed.

Laying you down on the mattress, he takes the initiative to deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to gain access that you readily give him. He can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sweet taste of your tongue tangling with his own forcing his brain to short circuit in a way he’s never experienced before.

You kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and he was loving every second of it. Your hands fisted into his hair while your lips moved in tandem with his, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands gave your hips a firm squeeze.

His lips trail down your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck and the curve of your shoulder as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you flush against him. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of his erection pressing against your clothes sex, the friction so delicious that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach.

Caleb is so far gone, kissing his way along your arms, your neck, your sternum, all up until he reaches the valley of your breasts. He wastes very little time there, licking a trail to your nipple before sucking the peak into his mouth. His other hand palms at your other breast, kneading the soft flesh in his palm.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, his hips rocking forward as he switches sides, latching onto your neglected breast and giving it a hard suck. “So beautiful.”

His descent continues as he mouths at the soft skin of your belly, your hips, your inner thighs. His eyes depart from yours as they settle onto the fabric covering your cunt, and a grin stretches across his face. Polka dots.

You scoff, softly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t even say it.”

Chuckling, he leans in to press a kiss on the damp patch of fabric. “Wasn’t gonna say anything, baby.”

His fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aimlessly. His lips press feverish kisses to your ankles, your calves, your inner thighs, and eventually, the mound of your pussy.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers into your heat, hiking your legs up and over his shoulders and he pulls your sex closer to his mouth. “So damn worth it.”

A cry leaves you as his tongue delves in deep between your legs, his eyes slipping shut as he lets out an unabashed whimper into your sex. His grip on your thighs only tightens, keeping your legs spread apart as they threaten to press in on his head.

He wouldn’t have that. He couldn’t. He needed to have you in the way that he’s dreamt of for so long, in the way that he’s thought of time and time again as he fucked his own fist to the thought of you. It was filthy, it was lewd, but it was honest.

You tasted better than he could have ever imagined, his tongue eagerly lapping at your inner walls before his lips sealed around your puffy clit, sucking hard enough to make your back bow off the plush mattress.

The stimulation is leaving you feeling overwhelmed, your hands pushing into his hair as your trembling thighs test the strength of his grip. You whine, eyes slipping shut as your head tilts back against the pillows.

“It— it’s too much—”

“Be good,” he finds himself saying, pulling you right back to his mouth as he continues to feast on your pussy like a man starved. “You can take it, baby.” Caleb cracks open his eyes, sucking harshly onto your clit before releasing it with a wet pop. “Go on, pretty girl. Say it.”

You whine, though you hardly have the brain power to say anything else apart from what he’s asked of you. “I… I can take it,” you breathe.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your sensitive pearl before nipping at it. “There you go.”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble once more, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, a final resort for reprieve as he works you over the edge.

Caleb redoubled his efforts, spreading your thighs even wider. Soon, the warmth pooling in your lower stomach was far too much to bear, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“I’m… I’m coming,” you gasp out, hands gripping tightly onto his dark locks of hair.

And when you do, his flattened tongue laps at your honeyed release. He works you through your high, his movements eventually slowing down as the twitching of your hips gradually calms.

He pulls off of you with a wet pop, pressing soft kisses to your swollen clit. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, pressing another peck on your mound before he moves back up your body once more to slot his lips against yours.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it only spurs you on further. Your hands grasp onto his shoulders, and in one swift motion, you flip him onto his back. Caleb looks up at you with a starry-eyed expression, but when you straddle his hips and sit in his lap, he has no words of protest. None at all.

“You really are full of surprises,” he says, running his hands along the warm skin of your thighs.

Tugging him free from his boxers, he helps you remove them from his body, leaving you both entirely bare together. He sits up, his back pressing against the headboard as he tugs you closer to him.

“I need you,” he whispers, pressing a longing kiss on your stomach as you shift to straddle him once more. “Please, baby.”

You gaze down at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Please what?”

He leans into your touch, his hands settling onto your waist as he pulls you lower, the head of his cock pressing against your pussy. “Make yourself feel good. Please.”

Caleb’s own cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, both from the embarrassment that his own lack of experience brought upon him and the reality of finally having the love of his life in such an intimate way. His amethyst eyes search your face, as if searching for a permission that he didn’t know how to ask for.

Dipping your head, you press a soft kiss on his lips. Simultaneously, you swivel your hips until the tip of his length catches your entrance. You slowly lower yourself, feeling the way his cock stretches you out, filling you up in a way that only he can.

He smiles at you, cupping your cheek with his hand. Brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, he kisses you gently. “You feel so good,” he whimpers into your mouth, his other hand resting on your hip as you roll your hips in a way that has his breath hitching in his throat. “So fucking perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, consisting of a slow and meticulous rocking of your hips. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing the deepest points of your inner walls with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Caleb’s hands grasped tightly onto your hips, helping you set a pace that had the both of you losing your mind. He leans backward, his head tilting against the headboard as it slams against the wall with each intense grind of your hips.

“Good girl, give it to me how you like it,” he breathes, eyes cracking open to watch the way you look down at him as you work yourself on his length. “Use me however you need me, baby, there you go.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him in for a longing kiss. “I… you— you feel so…” you stammer, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder as you lose yourself on his cock.

He nods his head in agreement, turning his head to press a kiss on your damp cheek as he gently pets your hair. “I know, I know.”

You lose yourself all together, your legs shaking as you tighten your hold on him. “Caleb!” you moan.

His hips help you the rest of the way, his grip on your hips keeping you firmly planted as he meets your movements with thrusts of his own. “I know it, baby, I’ve got you,” he pants through a smile, guiding you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Atta girl, use those hips.”

His arms wrap around you entirely, crushing you against the hard planes of his chest as you slowly ride the both of you through your shared orgasm. In that moment, in your house, in this space that belonged to you and Caleb alone—the two of you became one.

Heavy breathing and hammering heartbeats is all that consumes the two of you for a long while, skin to skin with far too much bliss brewing in your chests for either of you to handle alone.

Huffing softly, Caleb runs a hand up your side. “You okay in there?” he asks, turning his head to pepper soft kisses along your cheek. “C’mon, I need some proof of life.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up, give me a second.”

He merely smiles, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he tucks your head beneath his chin. Thirty seconds after finishing and you’re already mean. “There’s my girl.”

Caleb’s hands smooth over the soft planes of your back, giving your hips a soft squeeze as he revels in the feeling of your heartbeat drumming against his own. He can’t help himself from pressing a few kisses on the top of your head, his arms opting to wrap even tighter around you.

“I love—” he cuts himself off, eyes widening dazedly. Would that be too much? A confession of his undying love not long after ruining your date and making love with you for the first time? After a stretch of awkward silence, he kisses your head once more. “I love… cuddling with you. You’re so soft.”

You smile, nuzzling even closer to his chest, your nose brushing against skin. “Mm, I love you too, Caleb.”

His eyes widened, though he knows that communicating his confusion is futile. You knew him so well, too well.

“You do?” he whispers, turning his head just enough to look down at you.

In response to that, you nod. “Mm-hmm. I’ll love you even more if you tell me that you didn’t cancel those dinner reservations.”

Caleb smiles, running a hand over your hair. As if he’d given up his last ditch effort to take you out. “You know I didn’t.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. rip zayne i still love you king!!! also i actually don’t really know how to write for caleb… so… i hope this didn’t suck! this is the only fic that managed to break my intense writer’s block that i’ve had for the past two months. reblog/comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate you reading so much <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[sttoru]

sukuna never understood humans. they always say and do things that annoy him in a way. though after meeting you—his favorite little concubine—that annoyance has slowly started to turn into fondness, something he isn’t ready to accept or even acknowledge.

“come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of curses groans, sighing for the nth time. his four arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. he’s exasperated by your silly antics once more.

it’s raining—pouring—yet you’re outside in the courtyard. you’re smiling from ear to ear as you hop from puddle to puddle, enjoying the cold droplets that continuously fall and wet your skin. “oh, come on! it’s fun,” you giggle, urging sukuna to join you.

the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.

sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.

if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.

but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.

“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown. he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.

sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.

however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear. his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.

you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.

you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly. you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.

those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.

sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”

you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.

his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.

sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.

the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.

you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.

sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.

but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.

sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside. “alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”

you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.

it makes you even giddier thinking about it.

you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”

“no.”

well, it was worth a try.

[manicmanuscription]

Selfishly Late

This is the the second part to unapologetically selfish!!

I have literally rewrote this piece like five fucking times no joke. It's still not perfect in my eyes and there's definitely going to be a part three but I needed to post this before I went insane.

Thank you all for your patience and support I love you <3

Word Count: 1554

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, suggestive, possessive Azriel.

Summary: Azriel has you running a little late to your introduction with his family. But he just can't seem to keep his hands off you.

divider by @strangergraphics-archive

You took one last look in the mirror before scoffing. 

Azriel had absolutely covered you in hickies. On any inch of skin he could reach, paying extra attention to your throat and collarbones. You gave him a pointed glare as he finished dressing behind you in the mirror but he was too busy fixing the cuff of his sleeves to notice. With a roll of your eyes you reached down for the scarf, draping it over your neck and brushing your hair back from underneath. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Azriel asked, slightly appalled as you adjusted your scarf and hair to cover some of the more egregious bruises.

He crossed the room in a few strides before standing directly behind you as you sat at your vanity. You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he pulled the scarf away from your neck gently and pinned your hair up with the jeweled metal hairpin he had gotten you last year as a birthday present, perfectly showing off the hickies.

“Azriel!” You exclaimed, turning in your seat to face him and his eyes gleamed at the yellowing dots decorating your bare skin. “I can not show up to your family’s house like this!” 

His brows furrowed slightly, the only sign of confusion you’d read off the usually stoic male. “But you look so pretty like this my love.” He murmured, reaching down and brushed his fingertips against the tender skin, his breath tickling your ear as he pressed another biting kiss to the juncture of your throat. 

Everyone told you once a mating bond snapped the males got unusually possessive, of course you believed them but Azriel was something on a whole different level. When you first met him he explained Illyrians were more territorial, all the instincts heightened. You couldn’t remember the exact sciences on it why but it made you feel so safe, loved and incredibly turned on. 

You gave him an exasperated look through the mirror, one he promptly ignored. His hands curling tighter around your shoulders. This had been going on for years. Every attempt at an introduction was thwarted by Azriel’s skilled persuasive abilities and intoxicating touch.

You did your best to stay strong this time, trying to ignore the way your entire being electrified at his close proximity, sparks running along every expanse of skin he touched. Your toes curled and you let out a soft breathy moan. One that Azriel had still heard and a victorious smile graced his lips. He hid his face in your neck so you didn’t see it. 

But you still did and it was enough to -barely- break you out of his spell. You stood up out of your chair and he rose to full height with you, towering over you slightly. “Azriel!” You reprimanded. “We are going to be late.”  

“We’re already late, what’s an extra five minutes?” He smirked, his shadows swirling around his shoulders as if in agreement. You scoffed, letting out a few curses under your breath. He had been pulling this all morning. 

You didn’t have to be a Spymaster to know Azriel was dragging his feet, first holding you tighter in bed so he could keep using your stomach as a pillow, spilling coffee on the outfit you’d picked out so you’d have to spend another 15 minutes trying to create a new one and now this hickey situation.  

You knew the High Lord or Lady was yelling at him too if any of the occasional winces and rubbing his temples were anything to go by. 

“I’m going to be making such a bad impression already!” You protested, holding your palm out for your clothing back. “Now give me my scarf so we can go please.” 

Azriel just looked at the light brown fabric still wrapped in his hands as if it committed a grievous act against him. “You’re so obsessed with this scarf.” 

You groaned, this time you were the one soothing your head with your fingertips. You knew he struggled when you were gone for long periods of time, both of your work schedules making it endlessly hard to actually have time to be husband and wife, mates, and life partners it drove you crazy too but you’d have to find a compromise because there was no way you were showing up to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court’s estate covered in hickies. 

You told him as much and he paused, finally noticing your nerves of the event. Years after missed dates and scheduling conflicts and getting distracted by Azriel’s sly touch was all coming to an end, you were finally meeting his family, it loomed over your head and nerves pumped violently through your bloodstream.

It was a bittersweet feeling and you just wanted everything to go well, Azriel wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing his family was. His love for them ran deep and if they somehow didn’t like you….

Azriel begrudgingly passed the scarf over, your comfortability and safety would always come first and he tamped down those raging instincts telling him to whisk you and mark you more thoroughly and reclaim you over and over again especially after your long time apart. He instead pressed a comforting kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t worry love, we are completely mild compared to the crazy shit I’ve seen or heard my brother’s get into with their mates.” He shuddered and you laughed a little bit, pressing yourself closer to him so you could give him a quick hug and a soft peck to his lips, hearing a mumbled “Gods you’re killing me.”  Before sitting back down at your vanity. He sent a wave of reassurance through the bond and you returned it. You've dined with High Lord’s before this would be fine, you were fine. It had to be fine. 

“He’s not coming.” Mor said with finality. Looking over at the golden watch on Amren’s wrist. “I mean they were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.” The ancient female pulled her hand away from the blonde sharply, giving her an even harsher look of disdain.

Cassian eyed the clock nervously and shot Mor a warning glare. It was incredibly important to him that this went well, you were a major part in his brother’s life and he wanted to not only make a good impression but also make sure you were good enough for Azriel, he recognized it as a silly thought you’d been mated for many years (unbeknownst to him) -and he’d definitely be having some words with Azriel about not being there for his mating ceremony later- but he wanted to make sure Azriel felt loved and cherished, taken care of with all the shit he’d already been through in his lifetime. 

Rhysand just let out a soft sigh, swirling the orange juice in his glass, desperately wishing it was something stronger. He’d assumed his dear brother would be late based on his previous patterns and the little reunion they’d witnessed last night but not this late and he was giving the Spymaster five more minutes before he winnowed the entire family, and their dining table to his living room torches all ablaze and pitchforks raised.

Although he couldn’t help but let out a soft smile at the thought of the usual strict and punctual Shadowsinger was willing to abandon his rigid routine for someone. 

“He’ll be here.” Feyre assured on her mate’s behalf, although her own confidence in him was waning, he did have a habit of simply not showing up when an introduction was planned. 

“You’re sure the female you saw wasn’t an illusion or a paid actress or-?” Mor started but suddenly the lighting in the room dimmed, shadows moving briefly across the edges of the floorboards before the sunlight streamed through the windows once again. An unfamiliar female’s voice rang throughout the large house as she laughed and Cassian’s heart flooded with relief at the sound, anxiety simultaneously  pumping in his chest, he wanted everything to go perfectly.

 “-are absolutely ridiculous.” “Yeah, yeah.” The shadowsinger muttered, the leftover pieces of conversation barely reaching the Inner Circle’s ears. 

Two sets of footsteps echoed across the floorboards, getting closer and closer to the dining room.

 Mor whispered a shocked. “No way.” Another step. “No way.” Another step. “No way.” 

She whispered it after every movement made until finally the couple came into view, standing in the open doorway and she couldn’t even make a sound, her mouth dropping at the sight of you. 

There was a few stunned moments of silence. 

The Inner Circle was staring at you as if you were a foreign creature and you shifted a little bit under their gaze, your mate had prepared you for an endless stream of questions but not the wide eyes and open mouths although you guess it was to be expected and Azriel tightened his hold on your shoulders protectively. 

“Surely you have better manners than this?” He bit out a little harsher than originally meant after a few more uncomfortable moments of stillness. 

You gave them a bright smile and a timid wave, breaking them out of their trance and all of a sudden they erupted with movement pulling you in for hugs and shaking your hands. Not so subtly inspecting you all the while bombarding you with questions.

This was going to be quite the breakfast. 

[thecoochiefairy]

juno. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.7K word count. blackfem!reader, pregnancy!kink, onyankopon, football player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f], just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ to the anon that wanted this idea, i was already on that before you said anything, baby. teehee! this is a continuation of baby phat.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: onyankopon wins the super bowl.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE SCENT OF STRAWBERRY MILK DAUB'S YOUR SKIN. Suds captured along your curved figure, the warmth from showering now turning your ochre complexion a tone of russet. You were at peace, even with the upcoming excitement of the day thrumming in your chest. 

Maybe your heart wasn’t beating fast. The vibration could’ve been coming from the song, BACKSTREETS, by DON TOLIVER, playing from the speakers instilled in your oversized marble bathroom—a place you complained was nonsensical to have so much square footage—but you couldn’t complain too much of your husbands desires, as he worked hard to achieve the exact lifestyle he wanted. 

Back to being in the bathroom, your peace was interrupted by a sound that made your plump lips release a sigh. Your baby boy crying in the arms of his grandmother as he searched for you. Typical. 

You try to finish getting ready anyways, annoyed with yourself as you feel tears welling within your eyes. Being six months postpartum hadn’t been easy—you loved your baby, attached at the hip like Velcro, as he was to you. You cried when he cried. But maybe it wasn’t all about you. Your baby was his father’s son, missing him just as much as you did. 

Everything happened in the blink of an eye the moment Onyankopon was signed to the New Orleans Saints. He was the team’s youngest quarterback in years. The title produced a leadership the team never had before, calling dominating plays, the ball always within his control—and now, he was leading them to the Super Bowl. 

With this big event coming up, you saw less of him. He only had a day or two to come home, and in that time he’d either sleep, spend as much time as he could with you, his mom, the baby, or sleep. 

Through those frustrating times, you didn’t complain. You always supported his dreams. The minute he knew his team was in the game of champions, he promised to take time off after, and marry you in the Maldives as you dreamed. So you were patient. 

The day had finally arrived—Super Bowl MMXXV. This was your first time being at one of his games in months, used to watching him from home. You were with him up until your pregnancy, Onyankopon not wanting to put you or the baby at risk as he traveled from city to city—in honesty, you were upset at first, and constantly expressed how much you missed him. He just wished you understood that all of this was for you, and your baby boy, Salem. 

You clasp the golden charm bracelet along your wrist, short French tips glossing under the bathroom light as you’d just gotten them done. Shading your lip line with your favorite mixture of dark brown and mauve over your heart shaped lips once more, you play around with burmese curls of your sew-in, letting the hair frame your round face, freckled complexion blush from rushing the finishing touches of your makeup. 

Adjusting your top, the alabaster material drapes effortlessly off your shoulder. The butterscotch crochet of your shorts mold along your round hips, a weight brought on since giving birth. Onyankopon glared at the glow you’d gotten from motherhood—your breasts were more full, your curves were curvier, and your skin was smooth, the scent of vanilla and baby products always wafting. If only you knew how much he craved you.

You wouldn’t call your mother in law dramatic. But you take a deep breath as you can hear her yelping from the kitchen of your condo, making your way downstairs to see her attempting to feed Onyankopon’s Dobermans. She holds the baby in one hand, dipping down and tossing the food into the bowls, the dogs actively watching her panic as they pant excitedly.

You sigh, “Momma—What are you doing?”

“These damn dogs—I can’t handle them!” she stutters, adjusting the baby in her arms as he begins to cry even louder from the disruption of sound. 

She coos, “Oh lawd—Grandma didn’t mean to scare you, baby,” she bounces on her foot, trying to calm him down. 

She then turns her irritation back to you, “Why the hell did Onyankopon get these dogs if he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to take care of them—They’re two big ass horses! They’re trying to attack me!”

“Sit,” you snap your fingers to the dogs, leaning down to clean the spilled chow from her panic, “I already fed them, momma. You ain’t have to let them inside. I know Zulu and Roux scare you.” 

The dogs hike up, sitting properly as they wait for another command. She continues to bounce the baby in her arms, sighing “—I was doing fine ‘til my grand baby started crying for his mama,” she smooches Salem’s face, still a bit frazzled, “I was just trying to help.“

“And I appreciate that, okay? I just wanted you to change Salem before we leave, I know the pre-game starts soon.”

You open the patio to let the dogs back into their play area, sliding it closed as you question, “Did he poop?”

“Just a little—but I changed him a second time. I don't know what's wrong. I’ve been trying all morning while you were getting ready. Boy’s just like his father, don’t know what he wants when he wants it.”

“He wants you, momma. I swear—He just wants some milk. I promise he’s fine,” you open your arms out to take him, “C’mere, pookah,” you playfully pout, “Why’ you doing all that?”

He coos, reaching for you as his grandmother gives him over. His crying immediately subsided as he rested against your chest, tiny fingers playing with the gold pendant around your neck. 

Still in a sour mood, your mother in law reminds, “I hope you bottled up all that milk he’s looking for. Can’t be giving a free show at the Super Bowl.” 

You’re a bit more patient with her since having Salem, but she still managed to annoy the hell out of you at times—she was so adamant on making you do things her way.

You answer, “I pumped some milk last night—three times, so I can make it easier to feed Salem later. Lawd, momma—you being more fussy than the baby! You’ not excited for the game? You know Usher ‘supposed to be performing—that’s your man. You gotta’ jump down from the box, roll on the stage and give it to him!” 

You place the tip of your tongue on your upper lip, playfully rolling your body as you bump your hip with hers, trying to lighten her mood.

She couldn’t resist chuckling, “Don’t be tryna’ show me how you got that baby in the first place. I’m excited—I just wanna make sure we don’t forget anything. Are you ready? Did you pack snacks for that baby? Some extra clothes if he spits up? You know there’s gonna be traffic in the business district.”

You reach over to the black diaper bag, golden fleur-de-lis symbol along the front as you place it over your shoulder, “All his milk is packed, extra diapers, clothes—he’s set for the next five days, momma. Can we go?”

“Alright, alright. I’m done fussing. I’m ready to see Ole Miss get they’  ass whooped, and see Usher! You think he’ll perform "There Goes My Baby?”” 

Your mother in law and baby were dressed similar—her wearing one of your fiancè’s jersey with his name and number, Salem wearing the tiniest jersey to match, miniature army cargos and Nike Dunks on his feet, dark hair already beginning to fro on his head, brown skin and freckled features pulling from both parents—although, Onyankopon’s genetics were much stronger. 

“He better perform that song,” you smack your lips, “That’s the one that got me pregnant! Blame Urshers ass.” 

You were essentially on black people time, planning to make it before the pre-game show, but arriving thirty minutes after it began. The entire street was blocked. Cameras, fans, extensive amounts of media coverage, everyone came together in pure excitement. Security motioned you towards the back of the stadium, having you all on a golf cart as they sped to the higher levels of the building. 

You mentally prepared yourself to run into the group of football wives and their children. It’s not that you had an issue with them, they were just a bit too—bougie for your liking. Most of this group consisted of blonde hair and blue eyed smiles, flipping their locks and popping their gum as they spoke to you.

However, you could appreciate their excitement to see your baby. You put on a smile as you lean Salem towards the group of gushing women, a unison of “Awe!” as he chewed on the small bracelet on his wrist, blubbering nothings as he slobbered on his fingers.

Onyankopon’s mother stood beside you, watching the women crowd your baby boy, some asking to hold him only to have your soft no as an answer. She’d always try to convince you to make friends—but it only made you want to avoid it even more.

Requested by your fiancè, he made sure that everyone was comfortable as you had a private box at the top of the arena. A large sofa, on the other side was a balcony to look out on the field, close enough to the Jumbotron, with an additional tv on the inside to watch the game from any angle. 

A table full of food from tenders, fries, sandwiches—to more southern orientated dishes like beignets, jambalaya, king cake, yakamein and even shrimp etouffee. When you stepped out to the balcony, you could see as people came flooding into their seats from below, watching as the players were on the field practicing, sports reporters talking through the intercom.

The chaos of the stadium was electric. People stood in their chairs, faces painted black and gold, the lights atop glowing purple, green and yellow, hype men throwing beads from the field, dancing along to the cultural music. 

The noise of stomping, booing and cheering ensued as players came upon the screen. It made you anxious, but excited as well. You weren’t one for crowds, but you loved Onyankopon so much, being in the stadium made you feel closer to him.

Player after player, they appeared along the screen with a reaction from the fans—and there he was.

His hair was freshly braided, lineup sharp along the tight style. She could imagine how he complained in the chair. Facial hair around his full lips, dark pink as he reflexively clenched his sharp jaw, pulling his helmet to hold in his palm. The crowd roared at the sight of him. 

He was constructed almost too perfectly. Tall, broad frame, tats swarming along his body in places that only you knew, even the ones that could be seen to everyone else. His lucky number, 74 along the countless other tats on his neck, religious cross on his cheek praising the man he constantly talked to throughout his career. 

The black and gold jersey clung to the gear on his oversized frame, making him bigger than he already was. When he realized that he was on screen, he looked up—and that damn smile appeared. His tongue stuck out towards the camera, raising a muscular arm to pose, hyping himself up as he howled, the crowd returning the noise even louder. It was his signature—they loved him. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, watching as ’ONYANKOPON’ appeared brightly with his stats.

The entire building was roaring so loud, you could barely hear your mother in law as she shook her head, “That damn boy.” 

You hated to admit it—That smile always made you swoon. He could turn you into a completely different person with one look. You watched as he walked towards his teammates who began to slap his helmet, hyping him up with the crowd's excitement. 

Not only were the fans of your fiancè excited, but his biggest fan seemed to give a blubbering screech— Salem recognizes the face of his father as he jumps in your arms,  the sound making you flinch.

“We’re looking through the crowd of familiar faces today—Oh, look at that! It seems the quarterback's fiancè is here with their adorable baby boy!” 

The Jumbotron shows you, leaning against the balcony  as you hold the baby in your arms. The cheers continue as you see yourself, a faint flush on your cheeks as you have no choice but to give a shy wave, heart shaped engagement ring glittering under the lights. You raise up your baby boy’s arm as you swing it back and forth, pointing to the screen for him to see himself.

The Jumbotron shifts from you to Onyankopon. He can’t get enough of you—jeweled smile, dark hair sprawling to your hips, almost able to inhale your scent when thinking about you. You hate how fine he is, running his tongue over his plump lips that turns into a boyish grin at the sight of his family.

That was the last camera on Onyankopon you’d see before it was all on business— he wasn’t just a quarterback with a family anymore. He was leading his team to a championship.

The coin toss was the lethal decision at the beginning of the game, determining who had control of the ball. You heard his voice choose heads, watching as the coin was thrown in the air, dropping down in the same second. 

Tails.

Onyankopon’s team was defensive at the start, giving you the opportunity to calm Salem’s light fussing, startled by all the noise. He laid with his head resting against your chest, looking up at you as he tried to stick his fist inside his mouth. 

Your mother in law sat beside you on the sofa, leaning over to ask, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer softly, brushing a curly strand of hair away from Salem’s face as he tugged at your shirt, “He just doesn’t like all the noise. Should’ve bought him some ear plugs.”

“He’s looking for that nipple—“ she interrupts herself,  gasping at the screen, “Look! There he goes!” 

Onyankopon forms a stance as both teams break, searching for where to pass the ball from the line. A wide receiver manages to sneak through a guard. Onyankopon sees this and chucks the ball towards the player, him catching it perfectly in stride as security attempts to tackle him—he’s moving, fast, the both of them on the same wavelength as he runs yards across the field.

“WE HAVE OUR FIRST TOUCHDOWN OF THE GAME!”

 Your mother in law was yelling his full name, jumping up and down in the air at his first point scored, going off with the crowd that rumbled the entire stadium with their cheers. She leans down to shake your shoulder, making you giggle at her excitement. 

Your anxiety had spiked from that coin toss, but you had no doubt in your fiancè—especially as you saw him have control of the ball for a second time, and now, he was running himself down the field. Your eyes went wide as he ducked and dodged players flying towards him, everyone rising to their feet in doubt that he’d make it all the way to the end. 

You hand your baby over to his grandmother, flying to the balcony with wide eyes, unable to help yourself watch with everyone else.

He was moving at full speed down the pitch, a ball tucked underneath his right arm as the offensive line covered him, blocking the way for opposing players as they attempted to tackle him down. He runs with ease, barely able to register his surroundings as he makes it to the end zone, the entire stadium screaming his name, shaking the floor beneath you. He’s able to dodge yet another tackle, diving down into the end zone— the crowd went insane.

“TOUCHDOWN!—And that’ll put the Saints in a two-point lead as he scores! Now if that’s not the sweetest thing I’ve seen!” 

He’s standing there, cocky in the best way as his teammates run towards him—celebrating as they slap his helmet, hug his large frame, slamming their palms together in repetitive applause. You’re jumping in your spot like a schoolgirl, clapping your hands with a shout, unable to contain your excitement.

The other team was pissed. 

It was a good game for the next couple of hours. It was up and down, both teams playing to their best ability, unfortunately being trumped by your home team. They were just too good, especially being led by such a quarterback. Salem’s fussing had also subsided, now more playful than anything, his grandmother unable to take her eyes off the field while her grandson attempted to stand in her lap. 

“Say-Say, baby. Stay down, you can try to stand up later,” She pushes gently on his shoulders as he throws his body up, babbling nothings, the noise almost blocking out the roar of the stadium. 

Nearing towards the end—things were beginning to change. Your fiancè was on the bench as they called a timeout, begrudgingly wiping his face. He could feel his body begin to burn from the physical activity. His chest heaved, but his eyes were still focused in the game. 

The opposing team was up by a single touchdown and the timer was coming to an end. Onyankopon was pissed. He wants the ball. He needs it as the defensive line goes on the field. His deep voice rumbles as he calls out his players, knocking sense into them, cussing in ways you heard when he was incredibly serious. Competitive was an understatement.

When the timer begins, he calls for a pass, a deep ball down the field to his wide receiver, who was covered by one of the best defenders in the entire league. The crowd yells, his teammates doing the same, Onyankopon being doubled by one of the defensive players. 

It doesn’t matter—he’s caught it. Down for one, at the three yard line. The stadium goes crazy for the pass. One more time—the play clock ticking down, he calls for the ball again. Another pass on the opposite side of the field to a wide receiver, caught perfectly. No one could move at this point—the clock running its final seconds, the crowd chanting the same three numbers. Onyankopon’s heart is pounding in his chest so harshly, he can hear his own blood pump behind his ears. 

Two seconds on the clock, he calls for the ball again.

The snap, Onyankopon drops back into the pocket, he scans the field before tossing the ball towards a receiver at the back corner of the end zone. You watch as the entire stadium erupts. His teammates are on the field, running towards him with screams of victory as they run for the end zone. You can hear his deep, joyous laughter over the roaring spectators as he stands there, arms raised in the air as he gives the biggest bellow he’d ever made. The stadium is trembling. 

They’d won.

The moments of world renowned joy—it was rare to feel something like that. Your mother in law is so busy screaming that you take notice at the last minute of the security wanting to guide you downstairs to the field, and you’re itching to get to your fiancè. Your hands practically shake as you scoop up your baby boy, rushing over to the golf cart to be taken where everyone celebrates.

They’re hollering like schoolboys, roughhousing with each other—tossing Gatorade onto their coach. Black and gold streamers drop down onto the field, emotions in every part of the arena.

As you’re taken outside, you hold your baby close to your chest as it’s like a mosh pit. The security has to lightly shove people out the way to get you towards the middle of the field where the team stands, your free hand holding your mother in laws. 

That’s when you see him. It’d felt like months, even if it was only three days. He’s being interviewed by multiple people, hand reflexively holding the top of his gear, leaning down to meet the height of the woman that politely talks to him. You can see the way he makes anyone nervous, the woman smiling and giggling as he answers her questions, a giddy smirk on his face like no other. It made you happy to see him in the spotlight. He belonged there. 

You were never afraid to let him have his shine. You were patient, watching as he was on his fourth interview. On the other hand, your mother in law wasn’t so graceful about waiting.

“You just carried your team to a Super Bowl win, Onyankopon. How do you feel?”

He’s sweating bullets and out of breath, but he keeps his composure. Pulling the bottom of his jersey up, exposing his toned stomach as he wipes his face.

He lets out a deep, breathless chuckle, “Shit is crazy, not gon’ lie. I can only thank my team, the people that support me. My family, god. He’s always gon’ keep me together. A nigga is grateful for everything in this life.” 

You can’t help but smile at his words, hating that you feel yourself becoming emotional. You loved this man so much. 

“And how will you be celebrating tonight?” 

You didn’t think he’d seen you standing there. But he looks directly at you, that hungry grin along his face as he grunts, “I’m gon’ start by seein’ my baby, lovin’ on my wife. That’s really all the shit I need.”

He leans closer to the camera, “Y’all be safe out there—and don’t be acting like niggas, tearing up the city—ion’ wanna see none of that shit!”

The interview gives one more congratulations, leaving him be. You allow your mother in law to trap him in a hug first, swinging him from side to side, “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart! Give thanks to god!”

“All praises to the highest—“ he lets out a chuckle, pulling her into his arms, her head only reaching his chest. In his mothers fashion, she begins rambling as she grabs his chin, “You gon’ keep all this hair on your face? Did you even get a haircut?—“

“See, I knew you was gon’ act like this. Imma’ give you one more hug, and you gotta let me see my girl, momma.”

She kisses him on the cheek as she pulls away, taking Salem into her own arms. You have no time to process before he lifts you off the ground, palms groping your ass with a grunt in your ear that you wrap your arms around his neck reflexively, squealing—“Onyankopon!”

He’s careless that there’s thousands of people around him, in your ear as he gruffly says, “I missed you bad as fuck. I missed this big ass,” he squeezes it in his hands, making you giggle even more, “Missed that beautiful face. You can’t be away from a nigga for that long. That ain’t gon’ happen again—you hear me?”

“I hear you,” you roll your eyes, “You won!” you shriek, wrapping yourself tighter around him, “Your first ring, baby!”

It felt surreal—he wasn’t sure what he felt, still stunned that they’d won an entire championship. His emotions were on a rollercoaster, his chest thumping like a drum as he pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours. His deep voice shakes a bit as he chuckles, leaning down into you to hide the emotions he feels.

It was extremely rare for Onyankopon to get like this. The last time you’d seen it, he held Salem for the first time. He was a man full of gratitude, and it was all hitting him at this moment. You quickly run your thumb under his eye, giggling as tears form in your own vision. 

“I love you,” you say softly, in the midst of chaos around you.

He presses his trembling lips against your own, the heat of his breath making you dizzy as the butterflies in your body flutter wildly. He’s hungry as he takes every part of your lips, finding a grip on your throat as he’s dropping his tongue in your mouth.

“Boy, come hold this baby and quit tryna’ make another one!”

Your mother in law's voice comes between the two of you. Another soft giggle comes from you as you pull back, running your fingers along the braids in his hair as Salem reaches out to his father.

“I hear you, Momma. Lawd.” 

He immediately pulls away, the most tender and gentle expression you’d ever seen on him as he scoops Salem out of his mother’s arms, cradling him close to his face as he snuggles him. This was something you wished you could put on pause. His big hand cups your son’s entire body, giving gentle kisses to his forehead, the baby cackling out giggles.

“You know he screeched when you came on the Jumbotron?” You tell him, attempting to pull Salem’s fist from his mouth.

He’s distracted, unable to tear his eyes from Salem as he pulls him in close, “Yeah? You see yo’ daddy, baby? What you’ think of this?” 

He’s bouncing him in his arms, holding his head as he moves Salem to see everyone in the stadium, “Awe, baby—he ain’t gon’ remember all this.”

You rub his shoulder, “That’s okay, he sees you, Ony. He’s gonna remember that.”

His hand finds the small of your back, tugging you close to his side as he continues to coo at Salem, “I need to get y’all home soon.”

“You’re not going out with the team?” You question, a small frown on your face, “I thought you’ was saying all that for the cameras.”

He looks at you, “You think I wanna be with grown ass men over spending time with my family? Where’s yo’ mind at?”

You roll your eyes. Taking Salem back into your arms, “Whatever, nigga. Go do yo’ last little interviews, imma’ go call a car for your mom, I know she wants to go home.”

“I ain’t gon’ be long—like ten-fifteen minutes,” he presses a kiss under your chin, kissing the forehead of his baby boy before taking off to where the team took photos.

You look over to your mother in law, who has the same look as you, knowing that ten to fifteen minutes was damn sure a lie. 

You raise an eyebrow, “You wanna wait?”

“Girl, call his driver and get me home. I’m not waiting on his big headed ass.”

You laugh, listening nonetheless.

When the chaos of the night comes to an end—you’re back where you imagined being for the past couple of days. You stare out the window from the top floor of your condo, seeing the city twinkling beneath the stars, colors flashing from business buildings to represent the city’s celebration. It could’ve been a completely different night—you and Onyankopon could’ve been with the city, partying, drinking until your organs collapsed.

But you were here. Within your shared bedroom, Onyankopon laid out on the bed, scrolling through twitter and watching the shit-show happening on Canal street.

“They go so crazy in the boot,” he chuckles, “You see this shit, baby? Niggas on street poles—they busted a window at a Chase bank!”

You continue brushing your teeth, staring out the window and watching the fireworks going off in the sky. 

“Boy, don’t be acting like if I ain’t give you the green light you wouldn’t be out there acting an ass too.”

“That’s a big if. You ain’t never gon’ give me the green light. You like to keep me all cooped up.” 

He gets up from his spot and walks over to you, taking a seat in the bay window as he pulls you in between his legs, “You think I’m lyin’?”

“So you wanna go out?” You raise an eyebrow, “I heard your players was finna’ go out to Visions to celebrate,” you refer to the gentlemen's club, “That’s what you was’ tryna do? Oh, aight. Go out with your lil’ funky ass friends then,” you roll your eyes, wanting to finish off your nightly routine.

“Come on, you gotta know I’m bullshittin’,” he tugs you back closer to him, “You ain’t gon’ be nice to me? I just won the damn Super Bowl.”

You briefly step into the bathroom to wash out your mouth, wiping the bottom of your now bare face. You sigh, “You could’ve gone out if you wanted to, Ony. I was just gonna come back and pass out with Salem.”

“I know you missin’ my touch. C’mere.”

Onyankopon had a bad habit of liking you more in this state. Freckles cover your nose and cheeks as you’d wiped all your makeup off, curls dangling around your face. The dark tresses hung from the claw clip you’d lazily stuck in there, trying to pull your hair out the way as you fed Salem earlier, wearing a white tee that hugs your upper half, midriff showcasing between your white panties. He couldn’t stop playing with the lace bow on the front of the cotton material. 

Fuzzy Saints socks pulled the look all together—you were perfect. 

He breathes low, fingers gently gripping your hips, “See, you got me feeling lonely. I need you with me, baby. Fuck allat’ club shit.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a hum as you lean close to his mouth, “You only want me, huh?”

“Don’t play. You know you’ my good luck charm.” 

You’re too pretty in the moonlight for him to resist. He holds you close, pulling your mouth to meet his as he kisses you slowly—But of course, the moment is interrupted as you hear the sound of fussing. 

You pull your mouth back, exhaling a bit. You sigh, “I didn’t pump tonight, so I gotta go finish feeding him.”

He groans, hands sliding down to cup at your ass as he holds you close, “Can’t you just let him cry a lil’ bit?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Would you like me to not feed you?”

His chuckle is slight, looking up into your serious stare, “That’s different, he ate not too long ago.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have given him the appetite you have, hm?” You give him a peck on the lips, “Don’t be talkin’ bout my baby!” You exclaim, disappearing out of the bedroom with that. 

It takes longer than you anticipate to feed your baby, burp him, and finally get him in his crib. After a little bit of fussing, his eyes drift as he lays along his stomach, pacifier in his mouth as he drifts off, warm in a soft blue onesie.

You groan a bit as you make your way back towards the bedroom. Your chest was aching. The lights were now off, a box fan blowing comfortingly in the corner—the only light casting within the room now was from the moon. You can see the reflection of Onyankopon’s phone on his face, knowing this was his routine before he passed out. You couldn’t blame him for it.

You say quietly as you close the door, “Salem’s asleep.” 

The comforting sound of the fan continues to blow. You then have a thought, slowly pressing your knees against the bed as you begin crawling towards him.

“Daddy…”

He immediately says, “Nuh-uh. You only do all that when you want sum.’ I just won the Super Bowl. Leave me alone.” 

You roll your eyes, groaning, “I only had a question.”

“You got a question, huh?” 

You’re already tugging at his arm until he caves in, tossing his phone to the side with a sigh, “Aight, aight. You got my undivided attention, all that bullshit.”

“Since you’re in such a good mood, can we talk about getting me a breast lift again? And before you say it—I don’t need all that self love bullshit,” you cover his eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Girl, don’t start with me.” 

His fingers tug at your hand until he removes it from his face, holding onto your arms, “I’m not tryna’ argue with you right now, forreal.“ 

“It shouldn’t have to be an argument,” you protest, “Salem is sucking me dry, all he wants is the nipple.”

“I told yo’ ass to take him off the titty, you ain’t wanna listen,” Onyankopon murmurs, placing his hands behind his head, looking up at you through the moonlight. 

You flick his nose, “It’s normal for a six month old to still be breastfeeding, Ony!”

“Yeah, you’ right,” He sighs, glancing at you with a lazy smile, “I’m not sayin’ no, you got a point. I just don’t wanna have this discussion right now, aight? You gon’ have to give me some time to think about it.”

You roll your eyes, “They’ll still be my real boobs, I’m just gonna have them sit up. Although, wouldn’t I look good with some implants? Like them’ big ass anime girl boobs? Imagine!” You place his hands on your chest, “You’ll have so much more to grab!”

“You do like to be on bullshit, huh?” He squeezes softly, “You playin’ dirty, that’s foul. You gon’ have to come to me with a serious argument.”

“This is my argument. You’ not feelin’ good enough. Don’t they feel like two raisins? Exactly!” You blow out a breath, “You know, I wouldn’t be this difficult if you asked to get your dick bigger or something.”

“That’s ‘cause my shit fat,” your body jerks as he gives a smack to your ass, “You makin’ my head hurt.”

You giggle evilly, “Good,” as you roll onto your side of the bed, pressing your back against his chest, scooting back to spoon yourself into his body. You sigh at the immediate warmth, feeling as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder.

He hums, eyes closed as he wraps his body around yours, holding you close, “Go to sleep. I know you’ tired.”

“I know you’ tired.” 

“Oh, aight. So we just gon’ argue all night.”

You roll your eyes at that. Silence goes between the both of you, and you think he might be asleep. You adjust yourself in his hold, turning yourself on your back to be able to face him, but still keeping yourself beneath his arms. 

“You know how much I love you?”

Your voice is soft, barely audible.

A lazy kiss to your cheek.

A hum.

“Let me guess.”

“Mm?"

A sleepy, deep chuckle. 

“As much as I love you?”

You smile a bit, “Maybe a lil’ more than that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“You love me the most-est,” you kiss his nose. 

“I love you the most-est. We’ cool?” 

You find that in the darkness, it’s possible to find every little line and fold in his face. His eyelashes, his nose, and his lips. They’re all beautiful.

You lean your face down, giving him the softest kiss in response. Your noses brush together a bit, your soft giggle huffing through your mouth.

He kisses you back. His chest rumbles in a quiet, deep chuckle, eyes remaining closed as you pull away. You find them opening slowly, staring with a gaze that makes you feel like you’re in a movie. 

“You tryna’ start sum?”

Your body goes warm at the question. Your lower half throbs, but you never knew how to…say that exactly. You adjust yourself, separating your thighs a bit as you shake your head, “No. Salem’s a light sleeper, you know that.”

You move an inch, but he’ll follow you with his eyes. 

“Right. That’s why you doing allat’ movin’.”

The moon is moving away from your window, making it even darker than before. You can’t see him, but you can feel his body. His presence, his aura. 

You exhale a bit, breath uneven as you say, “Go to sleep, Ony.”

His hand traces over your hip, up and down. You can feel his eyes on you, staring and searching the outlines of your body.

“You gon’ say what’s on your mind?”

It’s like he flashes in your mind all at once. His smile, his laugh, his arrogance on the field, the love he had for Salem, the glare he gave you when he—

“…Just a lil’ restless,” you say softly. 

No response, nothing for a short moment. That’s when you feel your head being nudged up a bit, his lips beneath your chin, gently dragging his mouth over your neck. The feeling makes you swallow, frowning as you gently adjust yourself again. 

You can feel his lips and tongue on your skin. He’s going agonizingly slow, not moving any lower than your neck, and it’s driving you crazy. 

You attempt to press your hand along his jaw to halt his movements, but as you do, he finds that spot. It’s the area right under your ear, in between your neck. It makes your eyes roll, your body trembling in response. You’re unethical as you whimper, “O—Ony, I don’t wanna wake up Salem…”

He’s now on the other side of your neck, still agonizingly slow in his affection. You can feel his patience thinning, as his lips drag onto your shoulder next. 

“You think you can keep quiet for me?”

That warmth in your body returns as Onyankopon lifts his face, meeting his tongue with yours, catching your lips under his mouth. You give a light gasp, pulling your face back a bit from the embarrassment of being that reactive—another unfortunate side effect that came after pregnancy.

”C’mon, Mama. Gimme’ yo’ mouth.” 

You listen—even as your body shudders, whining softly with a push back against his lips, his kiss consuming you. Your mind is fuzzy at this point. 

“There you fuckin’ go.” 

Your lips are met with a wet sound. He’s sloppy in his kiss. His tongue moves along your own, warm thumb brushing along your cheek, dragging over your throat, up until it’s at the bottom of your tee, tugging the fabric up to place along your collarbone. The top sits right above your breasts, Onyankopon already lowering himself, sucking your brown nipples in between his lips in repetitive pops, grunting each time the soft skin hardened below his mouth.

You attempt to slow him down as you arch yourself opposite of his mouth, which travels between the dip of your chest, tracing down to the ink scattered along your stomach. This position was a terrible idea—his mouth was all over you now, hands firm and demanding, your lower body tingling.

You can sense the pressure building within your stomach which makes your breathing grow more uneasy as your whole body tries to cope, but fails with each kiss he leaves—he’s going lower, lower…

It’s as if being in complete darkness somehow made things more intimate. You can’t see him, but you can imagine his eyes on you—lustful, coaxing—he’s scooting your lower body closer to his broad shoulders, your pedicured feet dipping in the sculpted muscles of his back as he spreads your thighs open, his warm mouth re-introducing itself as he’s dragging his tongue on your ankle, leading up to sucking your toes in his mouth. 

“Got a nigga needing you.”

At his admiration, you give him your whimper quietly—secretly. He knows it was there as he starts between sucking your toes, teasing, causing you almost to wince as you bite against your bottom lip—the warmth surrounds your ankle from him sucking at the arch of your foot.

You move uncomfortably in your pleasure as he pulls his tongue over the same area again—the throbbing between your legs becoming more harsh as he tugs at the curve of your foot, giving you goosebumps. 

He knew you loved his mouth. Couldn’t stand it, almost. His tongue could take you to heights only sex toys could've attempted, making his mouth a formidable competition. Yet, as amazing as he made you sound—his groans, his talking pushed you farther than anything else, leaving your ears constantly ringing. 

As his mouth was your guilty pleasure, your scent was his. A milky vanilla, it was like some type of aphrodisiac pheromone. He circles his tongue over your ankle before pulling it back to his shoulder, lowering himself down to meet with your inner thighs. 

He’s grunting, “Always smell so muhfuckin’ good, baby.”

Another baby gasp is taken as his beard tickles along the sensitive skin near the back of your knees, forcing shivers up your spine as his tongue explores further along, his grunt dragging a jolt up the soft flesh on your legs. 

Your soft sounds echoed throughout the darkness as your lower lip became a captive against your own teeth. Ony was tasting at the edge of your inner thigh now, his beard brushing against the same spot on your skin, almost predatory as he dragged his tongue across the seam.

This was dangerous territory—especially when he growled at the syllables to his name from your lips, you breathily panting, “B—baby…” 

The anticipation grew larger for you by each second, inch he moved, becoming too loud to be masked anymore within the silence that enveloped the pair of you. There would soon be tears coming, you knew that.

And here they were. They form lightly in your eyes, and you hate that. You sniffle through the darkness, clasping his braided hair as you spread your legs a bit, “Ony, please…”

The desperation within those words, mixed with your softness that clung onto his fingertips made him arrogant. His hand presses between the cradle of your thighs, pulling you up to a point where his warm breath huffs against the entirety of you. He can imagine your pussy—bubblegum pink, camouflaged by the brown of your outer lips—pretty.

“You gon’ be loud?”

You press your fingers into your mouth, shaking your head in the darkness. Your body jolts as his palm effortlessly pops your ass, the skin shaking as he grunts, “Use that fuckin’ mouth, girl. ‘Know you hear me talkin’.”

You shake your head as you whimper, “Can’t, Ony. Don’t wanna wake the baby.” 

It’s right as you finish that sentence. He gives your clit the softest kiss, letting his lips hold the nub in between them, savoring the tremble your body does in response. He spreads his tongue over you slowly, almost testing the ripeness, grunting, “Ooh, shit. Why this shit tastin’ like that?” 

His head tilted to consume more, Ony losing himself, his chin bobbing his mouth as he’s groaning, becoming lost in what he’s doing. The back of your palm meets with your mouth, turning your face into the pillow as your eyes screw shut. They roll all at the same time, feeling your hand tremble above your face as you whine, “O—oh my g…”

Each leveled sound causes his eyes to half-lid in satisfaction, making the pitch black around you almost rotate as he goes on. You were soft. Ony pushed against you to eat you better, lifting you off his shoulders at moments just to bring you down onto his face, chasing to smother himself in your taste.

Your folds are being spread open by his tongue, clit encapsulated by the raindrops of your saliva, hood pulled back as he sucks on it abrasively—your legs are shaking. 

You hold onto his hair as your chest heaves, back to panting, “S—slow baby…mmph…”

“Quit allat’. Keep it up, I’m finna’ have you cryin’ on my face.”

He never told you anything twice. Even with his words, he gives into your plea. Slightly. Ony lets off for a bit, letting you drown in his beard, before he drags his tongue back up to its peak, latching onto your clit like a pacifier.

Onyankopon takes you slow, as slow as you like now as his eyes watch yours in the pitch black. His lower face is wet, your pussy catching the mess of your arousal, coating a sheen against itself, reflecting back in Onyankopon’s facial hair.  

You hated how shy he made you, as if you weren’t going to marry this man soon. You’re bolder through the darkness as you beg, “Want your tongue in me, Ony…”

His tongue draws circles around your opening, your head coming up to watch, even if you can’t see. He’s pushing his tongue inside. He curses at the twitch in response—God. Your walls quiver, sucking around the thickness, molding in response to the texture of his tongue.

He could linger here all night—he’s moaning, overshadowing your whine of pleasure, his mouth plunging back down for yet another stroke into your pussy, arousal gushing around his lips, spurring fleshy sounds as your eyes roll back, “Fuck,” you almost sob, “Fuck…”

“Takin’ my mouth like some muhfuckin’ dick. Nasty ass bitch, just fuckin’ my face,” he can’t stop moaning to you, “Keep fuckin’ me.”

He continuously brings you onto the tip of his tongue, thrusting into your heat as if trying to get you to flood. He eats, slurping up your spillage like a dessert, a reward he could argue is better than his championship—he deserved you. 

It’s as if the both of you are addicts—feening for another fix. He lifts himself from between your legs as he crashes his mouth against yours, able to taste yourself off his tongue.

You’re sloppy as you kiss each other, Onyankopon’s large frame hovered over yours in an almost terrifying manner, locking your legs back along his shoulders. His tip smacks along your clit, the weight of his length always leaving a presence against your pussy, even when it was gone, even when he was away. 

This was always the most difficult part for you. But you were so wet, you hoped you wouldn’t do much complaining today. You pull your mouth back as you press your forehead against his, hand along the side of his face, breathing slightly into his mouth. He digs his forehead into yours as he takes one of your hands above your head, intertwining your fingers as his other is holding up your leg—Onyankopon dropping in, stretching your folds as he slowly sinks into your pussy. Your eyebrows furrow a bit, holding onto his face tighter. Your breathing is more labored than before, and the moment you feel him curving for your cervix, you gasp, pulling his face closer to yours, a sloppy moan rushing from your mouth, thighs trembling at the discomforting pleasure.

“Gimme’ my fuckin’ pussy,” he grunts, “This shit mine, actin’ like it’s not,” Another ravenous pull that caused him to grunt as he slowly bucked his hips—stretching your folds until he bottomed out, sinking in against your walls fully.

Your moans were chaotic. You found yourself reaching for his shoulder, digging your nails into the skin as he lowered himself more, growling, “Better gimme’ that shit,” tears within your eyes as you whined, eyes rolling back as you relaxed for him.

You had no choice but to let him get this deep into your stomach. You’re trying to tuck your face in your shoulder, his strokes long, the slowness making it all the more evil.

He had a hold of your hips, almost cradling you within his hold, slamming you down onto his dick. As much as you said he loomed above you, Onyankopon knew he encased you. He could smell his son off of you sometimes—just another reason to bring his hands underneath you—burying himself deeper, lips near yours, sucking against your chin in a feigned fashion. 

You gave a pathetic cry, pulling him even closer, “Onyyy…”

“You got my dick in yo’ fuckin’ stomach,” he teases breathily above your lips, his fingers crusading against the plump flesh on your thighs, coaxing you to open wider for his greed.

“You feelin’ it, huh?” 

He won’t stop talking. It’s because he knows he has you right where he wants you. You’re quieter than he’d want you to be, but it’s because you’re cumming, nearly pushing his dick out as you feel yourself coating his entire length. Your eyes haven’t resurfaced to the darkness as they’re still in the back of your head. 

You pout, “You’re so fucking deep, Ony…I love you,” you promise to him, sniffling as you listen to your skin slapping against his, “I love you…”

“I love you too, Mama. Keep talkin’ to me.”

He didn’t care if you were already this stupidly drunk because of him. He needed you lost. 

If you thought this was the hardest part of his offense, wait until he flipped you onto your side—your knees close to your chest, Onyankopon’s left arm holding your hip, beginning to tug you down onto his length, ass ricocheting off his abdomen. Your body feels exhausted, your curls masking over your face, unable to have the energy to move them as you could only take his strokes.

“You hear me?” He repeats, arrogance feigning, “A nigga love you. You’ gon’ give me another baby?”

Your eyes are rolled back for the umpteenth time, turning your head a bit to feel him from the darkness, frowning from how much pleasure fills your body. 

You can’t help but ramble back to him, “Gonna give you another baby, Ony. Promise.”

His hips are smacking into your ass—hard, hard enough to send ripples of pleasure that course down to your ankles.

“You gon’ marry me?” He questions, sliding his hand up to reach your throat, using that as leverage to drop you down onto him, the connecting skin wet, slapping together in a symphony, “Ain’t finna’ give my pussy away?”

“This your pussy, Daddy,” you whimper to him, cheeks flushed, knowing he had you talking crazy. You hold onto the pillow below your head, “Gonna’ marry you, baby…so proud of you…”

“You proud of me, baby?”

“Mhm,” you whine softly in response, to which he replies,”I’m proud of you, Mama. Takin’ dick like a fuckin’ pro. Gon’ be a pretty ass momma all over again. Gon’ give me a lil’ girl.”

His words, the love he carries—being a father, being a husband, being a man. You wanna give him as many babies he wants. You want to spend the rest of your life with him.

You sob, “Cum in me. Cum in me, Ony…”

"Quit beggin' for my cum. Take it.”  

He groans, speeding up, stretching you so wide with every hit against your cervix, even feeling that faint pain doesn't ruin the waves building as you cum again. He pushes himself forward, pulling your hair out your face as he nastily kisses you, moaning, an action filled with affection, lust, love.

The pleasure you give to each other is like no other this time around. It might’ve gotten so good—too good. He hovers atop of you, breathing heavily as you feel that familiar warmth fill your walls.

You pull his mouth closer as you repeat for the thousandth time, “I love you, Onyankopon.”

He’ll kiss you, a bit harder in response. His words are mumbled over your lips. 

“I love you so much fuckin’ more, girl.” 

When you go to return his kiss one more time—the baby monitor screeches—Salem’s cry interrupting you both. You press your forehead against his chest, giggling softly.

Onyankopon lets out a small sigh, chuckling in response to your amusement. 

“I got him, Mama. Gon’ head and go to sleep.” 

He finally turns on the lamp beside the bathroom, planting another kiss along your forehead before standing from the bed.

You lay your head along the pillow as you watch him search for his basketball shorts, unable to help but watch his bare body move around the room, back muscles flexing naturally. 

When he turns back as he feels your eyes, you drop them directly to his dick as you innocently question, “What?”

Onyankopon smirks, amused at your lingering gaze—pulling on his shorts, concealing his lower half.

“I thought you was’ tired? I ain’t do my job?”

You were exhausted, but your tired daze had you smiling at him, and maybe you were still a little horny. 

You give him those eyes, “I am. I’m just watching.”

“You gon’ keep getting pregnant with them’ eyes. You’ need another round? Cause we can really have a Super Bowl: Champions of Dick—“

“No, jesus. I’m going to sleep. Go feed my child.”

“I ain’t got no milk in my chest!” 

“Onyankopon.”

“Aight, aight. You love me?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Positive?”

“Onyankopon!”

“Aight, lawd. Bye.”

[vampzity]

1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I’ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill the detailed form here!

[yois2aki]

wc. 4.2k

cw. fluff, smut, worshipping, caleb is head over heels for you, he calls you pipsqueak during it, use of toys, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, fingering, caleb admits to being a perv at some point

the night was quiet, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted closer to caleb. the warmth of his body enveloped you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back a soothing rhythm. his arm was draped over your waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin, as if he needed to remind himself that you were real.

“you’re still awake,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper against your ear. it wasn’t a question—he knew you too well, could tell by the way your breathing hadn’t evened out yet.

you hummed in response, shifting so that you could turn and face him. in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you could just barely make out the softness in his expression, the way his gaze lingered on you as if you were the most precious thing in the universe.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of something tender, something reverent. “do you know that?”

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a slow and steady burn that settled deep in your chest. “you always say that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

“because it’s always true,” caleb countered, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “every time i look at you, it’s like i fall in love all over again.”

your breath hitched slightly at his words, at the way his voice dipped lower, softer, meant only for you. he had always been protective, always intense in the way he loved, but moments like these—where his entire world seemed to narrow down to just you—left you feeling weightless.

his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. “i love the way you fit against me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along your temple. “like you were made just for me.”

you shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his voice wrapped around you, warm and intimate. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled like home—like something safe, something constant.

caleb let out a quiet hum of contentment, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing along the bare skin of your spine. “i could stay like this forever,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “just holding you… feeling you against me.”

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed closer. “me too.”

he smiled against your hair, his breath warm as he whispered, “i love the way you say that.”

you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eyes. “say what?”

“me too,” he repeated, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your skin. “like you mean it.” his eyes softened, his expression turning impossibly tender. “like i’m your home, the way you are mine.”

your heart clenched at his words, at the sheer devotion in them. you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before guiding him closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. he sighed against you, his grip tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

when you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers threading through your hair. “i love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “more than anything. more than the planes in the sky, more than the air in my lungs.” he let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “god, i love you so much it terrifies me. every time i remember the things i would sacrifice for you, i get scared."

you felt a lump form in your throat at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he bared his soul to you without hesitation. “caleb…”

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i don’t think you understand what you do to me,” he murmured. “how you make everything feel right, even when the world is a mess. i don’t care where we are, what happens, as long as i have you.”

your fingers tightened around his shirt, your chest aching with how much love you felt for him in that moment. “you have me,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “always.”

his breath hitched, and for a second, he just held you there, his grip unrelenting, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “you promise?”

you reached up, cupping his face between your hands. “i swear it.”

caleb exhaled, something in him finally settling, and then he was kissing you again—slow and deep, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his hands traced your sides, his touch reverent, worshipful.

“i love every part of you,” he whispered against your lips. “the way you smile at me when you think i’m not looking. the way your nose scrunches up when you’re focused. the way you sigh my name when you’re falling asleep.” his voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “the way you let me love you.”

your eyes burned with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “caleb…"

he shook his head again, silencing you with another kiss. “you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “just let me hold you.”

you nodded, burying yourself against him, and he tightened his arms around you, pressing soft kisses along your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “i’ll never stop loving you,” he whispered. “never.”

the words settled deep in your heart, filling every space with warmth. and as you lay there, wrapped in caleb’s arms, his voice a constant murmur of love and devotion, you realized that no matter what happened, no matter where life took you, you would always be safe here—in the quiet of the night, in the strength of his embrace, in the love that bound you together.

caleb’s hands moved slowly, reverently, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his fingers traced the curve of your back, his touch featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine. the warmth of his palm pressed against your skin, grounding you, making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“you’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek, then lower, grazing the edge of your jaw. “so perfect.”

your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, his fingers tracing the line of your throat. his touch wasn’t hurried—it was deliberate, lingering, as if he wanted to savor every second.

you sighed as he pressed his lips to the spot just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “caleb…”

he hummed in response, his lips curving into a small smile. “i love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. “like it belongs to you.”

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it from your body. “it does,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

his eyes darkened, something tender and intense flickering in them as he gazed at your naked torso. “yeah,” he agreed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “it does.”

he suddenly made you lay on your back, his position shifting to stay on top of you. hands moving to your waist, his fingers splaying out against your skin as he pulled you even closer, your bodies perfectly aligned. his touch was gentle but firm, like he wanted to hold you there forever.

the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. he tasted like warmth, like safety, like home. every brush of his lips, every soft sigh that escaped between you, felt like a silent promise—one of love, devotion, and unwavering need.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your back, his touch both soothing and electric. “i never want to stop touching you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers threading through his hair, relishing the way he leaned into your touch. “then don’t.”

his breath hitched at your words, and in the next moment, he was kissing down your neck, his hands roaming your sides, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. but there was a hunger in the way he moved, a deep, aching need to be as close to you as possible and claim you as his.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “how much i need you."

you let out a breathless laugh, your heart racing. “then show me.”

a soft, reverent groan escaped him as he pulled you even closer, his lips trailing down your collarbone, pressing slow, lingering kisses to every inch of skin he could reach.

“i plan to,” he whispered, his voice full of love, devotion, and something deeper—something that made your heart stutter and your body melt into his.

the night stretched on, filled with soft whispers, gentle touches, and endless love, as caleb made good on his promise—to hold you, to cherish you, to love you in

"relax, pipsqueak," caleb's deep voice resonated, his sulky tone adding a touch of exotic charm. his breathing sent a shiver down you spine, and you found yourself nodding, eager to surrender to his expertise.

caleb sat up, his long legs brushing against your bare thighs. you felt the warmth of his skin, and a rush of excitement coursed through your veins. his strong hands rested on your knees, and he gently caressed your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure up your legs. "tell me, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze.

"yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "i trust you, caleb."

a slight smile played on caleb's lips, and you swore you could see the way his gaze changed. he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. "good. i'm going to make you feel like the luckiest woman alive, baby." with that, he stood up, his movements graceful yet commanding. he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, noticing the way you cringed at the sensitivity in your eyes.

you could just make out caleb's silhouette as he moved towards the dresser. he opened a drawer and retrieved a small black bag, the contents of which clinked softly as he placed it on the bed.

"you'll let me use this to make you feel good, right?" he questioned, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness. "first, i want you to relax and let go of any inhibitions." he guided you to lie back on the pillows, his hands gently urging you into a comfortable position.

obeying his instructions, you allowed you body to melt into the soft mattress. caleb's lips traced your collarbone once again, sending shivers down your neck. his touch was firm yet gentle, and you felt yourself surrendering to his will. "breathe deeply," he instructed, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "in and out, just like that..."

caleb's hands moved down your body, his fingers, stopping just where he stared at. he felt his entire body warm, and immediately pulled his shirt off to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, revealing his muscular build.

his hands moved to your breasts, and his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you. his fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching them gently, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan.

"that's it— fuck..., you sound so good," caleb whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "let the pleasure consume you." with that, he moved his hands lower, his fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your shorts and sliding down. you lifted your hips to aid his efforts, eager for his touch.

the cool air caressed your bare skin as caleb slowly slid your underwear down your legs, his hands brushing against your inner thighs. his breathing hitched. he'd seen you naked like this many times before, but every time it happens he genuinely thinks he's fainting. "my beautiful princess..."

you felt your wetness, a testament to your growing desire. caleb's fingers trailed along your sensitive skin, making you squirm with anticipation.

"you're so responsive," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "i can see you're ready for more." he positioned himself between your legs, his knees pressing against your outer thighs. you felt the heat of his body, and your core throbbed with need.

caleb's hands explored you intimately, his fingers stroking your wetness, spreading your essence along your folds. "you're so wet, so ready," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "are you that desperate for me? want me to show you all my love?" he teased your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure through your body.

as he continued to stimulate you, your breath became shallow, your moans filling the room. caleb's fingers worked their magic, bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. just as you were about to climax, he withdrew his touch, leaving you teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

"not yet, beautiful. i'm sorry," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm going to draw this out, make it last." he reached into his bag and retrieved a small, sleek vibrator. "this will help us... is that okay, princess?"

as soon as you nodded, caleb positioned the vibrator against your clit, and as he turned it on, a low hum filled the room. the vibrations sent shocks of pleasure through your body, and you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. caleb cursed as he held the toy firmly, controlling the intensity, ensuring you didn't find release too soon.

"she likes that, doesn't she?" he asked, talking about your squelching pussy, his voice a low growl. "everything about her... it's so perfect. she's so desperate like this. my girls." he adjusted the vibrator, moving it lower, pressing it against your entrance. slowly, he eased it inside you, filling you with a delightful sensation.

the vibrator pulsed within your insides, and caleb's fingers worked in tandem, massaging your clit as the toy stimulated you from within. your body trembled, and your moans grew louder, echoing off the bedroom walls. caleb's control was slipping, and his hand seemed to start shaking exactly when he was to push you to the brink without letting you fall.

"please... let me come," you whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes, your voice hoarse and desperate.

"pipsqueak, fuck... don't do that," he whispered, his own need aching between his legs as he sucked in a heavy breath against your ear. "i want you to beg for it. show me how much you want it."

caleb's words sent a surge of desire through you, and you arched you back, pleading for release. he increased the intensity of the vibrator, and your body shook with the effort of holding back your awaited orgasm. "please, caleb, please let me..."

"keep going, my love," he insisted, his voice firm yet laced with desire. "you're doing so great, pretty girl..."

"please, caleb, i beg you..." you whispered, your voice raw with need.

caleb's control seemed to falter at the sound of his name on your lips. still, he withdrew the vibrator, and you whimpered in protest. but he wasn't done yet. he reached into his bag once more, this time retrieving a pair of soft silk restraints.

"trust me," he whispered, securing your wrists gently to the bedposts. "i need to see you tied up for me, pipsqueak."

caleb's eyes gleamed with a mixture of protection and desire as he stood over you, his body a powerful presence in the dim light. he resumed his position between your legs, his fingers replacing the vibrator, stroking your wetness, and bringing you back to the brink of ecstasy.

"now, my love, let go," he commanded, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. "let her pleasure consume you."

his words were like a spell, and as he worked his magic, your body exploded in a cascade of sensations. you cried out, the orgasm ripping through you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over your cunt. caleb's fingers continued their relentless assault, drawing out your climax, making it last, ensuring you experienced every exquisite moment.

as your body trembled and your cries filled the room, caleb leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. he then tasted her release, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of her orgasm. you clung to him, your wrists straining against the restraints, as your body continued to convulse in aftershocks.

finally, as your orgasm subsided, caleb released your wrists, his hands moving to caress your face. "my baby, my love," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with a promise of more. "you did so good for me, my angel. you deserve a reward."

and you, breathless and sated, could only nod, your body still buzzing with the intensity of the experience.

he captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you completely. caleb’s hands continued their exploration, sliding lower and lower until he cupped your ass, squeezing the firm flesh roughly.

breaking the kiss, caleb spun you around and forced your head down into the pillows, pushing your ass up by grabbing your waist. “i've wanted to do this since the moment i came back home,” he rasped, running a hand over the smooth expanse of your backside. “got a boner just from staring at your back while you baked like a damn teenager."

you whimpered, your body aching with need. “please, caleb. i need you.”

caleb pulled down his sweatpants and stroked his hard, throbbing cock through the fabric of his undergarments.

"remember when i told you i went showering?" he sighed, throwing his head back as he got rid of his last piece of clothing. he made eye contact with you through his entire speech, as if confessing his sins. "lied through my teeth. had to bust one out real quick, otherwise i'd just take you there. insane."

"that's how much i love you, baby," he rubbed the tip against your slick entrance, teasing her mercilessly. “so beg for me, pips. beg me to fuck you. again.”

“please, caleb,” you pleaded, your voice breathy with desire. “fuck me. make me yours.”

with a growl of satisfaction, caleb opened the bag to remove the largest sized condom he could find. tearing it open with his teeth, he slid it down his shaft, something in his gaze changing.

he leaned forward and slammed into you, burying himself deep inside your tight heat. you cried out, walls contracting around him as he began to move, setting a hard, fast pace. the bed creaked beneath you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

“fuck, love,” caleb groaned, his fingers digging into the sheets as he pounded into your pussy. “you feel so fucking good. so tight and wet and perfect.”

you could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of caleb's cock filling you, stretching you, claiming her. you arched your back against the bed, meeting his thrusts with your own, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

caleb's long fingers went to rub your clit, his touch circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. “come for me, pipsqueak,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “come all over my cock.”

your body tightened, another orgasm building with each thrust, each touch “yes, caleb,” you gasped, your head falling backwards as you teetered on the edge. “i'm going to come. i'm going to come so hard.”

“fuck, yes,” caleb growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “come for me, baby. now.”

with a scream of ecstasy, you came, your body convulsing around caleb's cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. caleb followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside your hole as he spilled his hot seed.

you collapsed onto the bed, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. after a moment, caleb pulled out, his cock slipping free of your still-quivering pussy. he slowly lowered your thighs, massaging any area of your body that had been under too much pressure and kissing you deeply.

“that was incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “i love you, baby. love you so much.”

you smiled, eyes shining with satisfaction. “i had no idea you were such a passionate man.”

caleb chuckled, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “i try my best to keep my emotions away, but with you, i find that impossible. you bring out a side of me i never knew existed.”

you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “i like this side of you, love. the side that’s not afraid to take what he wants, to claim what’s his.”

caleb's eyes darkened with desire, his cock already hardening again at your words. “is that so? and what if i told you i want to claim you again, right here, right now?”

your breath hitched, body already responding to his words, to the promise in his eyes. “then i would say that i'm yours, caleb. yours to take, yours to claim, yours to fuck until neither of us can move.”

caleb growled as he took off the previous condom, tying it before throwing it somewhere. his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. “my good girl,” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide.

“because i'm going to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re screaming my name and begging me to stop.”

you moaned, your head falling back as caleb's fingers found your clit, stroking the sensitive nub with expert precision

“yes, caleb,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. “fuck me. make me yours again and again.”

caleb didn’t need to be told twice. he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with need. he didn't care about a condom this time, and straight up slammed into her, filling you completely. you cried out, walls tightening around him as he began to move, setting a punishing pace that had the bed shaking beneath them.

“fuck,” caleb groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “you're so fucking tight. so perfect. i could fuck you forever.”

“then do it,” you panted, nails digging into the pillows as you urged him on. “fuck me forever, love. make me yours for eternity.”

caleb growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. he could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. “i'm going to come, baby,” he warned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “i'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine.”

“please, caleb,” you begged, body trembling beneath him. “come inside me. give me everything you have.”

with a roar of pleasure, caleb came, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. you followed him over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you milked him for every last drop.

your collapsed together on the bed again, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch their breath. after a moment, caleb lifted his head, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“that was incredible,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you're incredible.”

you smiled, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “i could say the same about you, caleb. i never knew sex could be so intense, so all-consuming.”

caleb chuckled, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, sweet kiss. “it's not just the sex, pipsqueak. it's you. you bring out something in me that i never knew existed. something i never knew i needed.”

your heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “i feel the same way, caleb. i never thought i could feel this way about anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s special.”

caleb's eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “you're so beautiful, you're so mine. and this is real. you're real. and i'm not going to let you go.”

your heart soared, a laugh bubbling up from your throat. “i don’t want you to let me go, caleb. i want to be with you, always. no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us.”

caleb smiled, his eyes shining with love and happiness. “i love you, baby. love you so damn much.”

you kissed him then, pouring all of your love, all of your devotion into the kiss. caleb responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

you stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other, in the love and passion that had blossomed between you.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ THE DRESS CODE

Bakugou was in a bad mood.

It was stupid, really. Absolutely stupid. But he couldn’t help the scowl on his face as he approached your desk.

“Oi,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He had taken his time this morning, making sure the maroon shirt he picked out was one he actually liked. It wasn’t over the top or anything—just a plain shirt with a white skull on the back, paired with some casual black pants.

But it was the principle of the matter. You were supposed to match. That was the whole damn point.

The UA student council had this dress code specifically to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Maroon for those who’re in a relationship, blue for those in a situationship, green for those in the “friend zone,” black for those who are admirers from afar, and the plain school uniform for those who are more inclined in their studies to even bother with romantic relationships.

Was this your way of subtly denying him as your boyfriend? It wasn’t like you two were in hiding—and it’s not like he doesn’t mention that you two are seeing each other whenever someone pesters him about it.

You looked up, eyes wide and innocent. “Huh? My uniform?”

Bakugou’s brow twitched. “Yeah, I can see that. Why?”

You blinked, clearly not understanding what he was getting to. “Because… it’s Friday?”

“Did you forget what today is?”

You stared blankly at him, confusion written all over your face.

“...Friday?”

“Valentine’s Day!” he barked, causing a few of your classmates to glance over in amusement. He jerked his thumb at his own shirt—a simple red tee with a black skull printed on the back. “Maroon’s for people who are dating. Thought we were gonna match.”

You felt as though your soul just left your body.

“Oh... oh.” Your hands flew to your mouth. “I... I didn’t know! You never told me!”

“Didn’t think I had to. It’s common sense.”

“And you don’t even like Valentine’s Day! So... I thought we weren’t doing the dress code thing...”

That was true. But still! He was adamant on making you look like the one in the wrong here.

“Well, I am,” he pouted. So subtle it could be mistaken for his signature grimace. “And I heard from Ears that you were planning on wearing maroon, you idiot.”

“I told her—I was thinking about it, though.”

Bakugou’s shoulders sagged, the irritation draining a little. “Yeah, well... I went and did it. Thought it’d be obvious we’re together if we matched. You had a shirt with a golden dragon on the back, too, right?”

Your heart fluttered, your gaze finally meeting his. He remembered. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks—Bakugou Katsuki, the loud, brash, and unapologetically stubborn hero-in-training—your boyfriend, wanted to show off your relationship. Publicly. On Valentine’s Day.

A moment in history!

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead, you jumped to your feet. “Wait here!”

Before he could argue, you bolted out of the classroom, leaving Bakugou standing there, baffled. He turned to find his classmates blatantly eavesdropping.

Mina’s eyes were practically sparkling. “Awww, Bakugou, you wanted to match with [Name]?”

Kaminari snickered. “Dude, that’s so cute.”

Kirishima grinned, throwing an arm around Bakugou’s shoulders. “You really have gone soft, man.”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he shrugged Kirishima’s arm off roughly. “Shut it, Shitty Hair. I just didn’t wanna look like an idiot wearin’ maroon by myself,” he grumbled. “And Sero’s wearing green—‘nd I don’t see anyone picking on him!”

“Cool it, man,” Sero laughed, shaking his head. “The incident still stings.”

“We salute you, brave soldier,” Kaminari replied.

Mina sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hands. “Young love...”

His cheeks turned crimson. “Mind your own damn business!”

Before his embarrassment could escalate, you came running back, slightly out of breath, with something red clutched in your hands. You unfolded it and slipped it on—a maroon cardigan. It hugged your frame just right, with allowance to spare, the color bringing out the warm shimmer in your eyes.

You looked at him, your fingers fiddling with the buttons. “I had this in my locker. Does this work?”

Bakugou stared at you, his irritation disappearing like a factory reset process. You looked... cute. Really cute. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah... s’fine, I guess.”

Your face brightened, a smile breaking across your lips. “Really?”

He looked away, his voice gruff, though there was no heat in his reply. “Whatever.”

Their moment was interrupted by Mina’s dramatic squeal. “And they say romance is dead!”

Denki gave a thumbs up. “Didn’t think Bakugou could be such a romantic.”

Kirishima laughed. “Man, who knew you’d be such a softie?”

Bakugou’s eye twitched, and he spun around, his hands sparking. “One more word and I’ll kill all of you!”

His classmates laughed, not the least bit intimidated. They could see right through him—Bakugou Katsuki was completely, undeniably, head-over-heels for you.

Turning back to you, his voice softened, his anger dissipating. “C’mon, let’s go. Cafeteria had those stupid snacks you wanted.”

Your smile never wavered as you followed slightly behind him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah... Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bakugou hopes the next Valentine’s Day to come is when he can properly match with you. He won’t let you forget this time around.

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