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papayainsectorone · 21 days ago

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teach me aftercare

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summary: After the heat fades, you teach Oscar the part no one talks about, the quiet, the care, the space after. But what lingers between you might be more than either of you meant to share.

content: emotional intimacy, aftercare, angst, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, teacher-student dynamic, post-smut tenderness, light conflict, slow burn undercurrent

word count: 2,7 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: the shift in dynamic here surprised me as much as it might surprise you. i didn’t plan for it, but it found its way in. i still hope you enjoy it, and i have a feeling this series is heading somewhere special. thank you for being on the ride with me. ♡

teach me series

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Your bodies are still tangled when it ends — skin flushed, breath shallow, the air thick with sweat and something warmer beneath it. You’re both quiet, a silence that isn’t awkward, just full. Like the world is catching up to you.

Oscar is still under you, blinking slow, mouth parted. His fingers twitch once against your back, unsure if he should be holding on or letting go.

You shift slightly, just enough to ease some weight off him, your hand finding his chest, the rise and fall still rapid under your palm. His eyes are on the ceiling, unfocused. You trace one fingertip over his collarbone, slow and steady, until his gaze finds yours.

That’s when you see it: not sadness, not exactly. But something like… disappointment flickering behind the quiet.

You tilt your head. “Talk to me.”

Oscar hesitates. You see him sort through a dozen thoughts and toss most of them out before he finally says, “I thought maybe… I’d get to try something else. Something new. Another lesson.”

His voice is soft, but there’s a tension under it not bratty, not needy. Just… unsure. Like he’s worried he’s being ungrateful.

You let the silence stretch for a beat, just looking at him. His curls are flattened on one side, cheeks still pink, a little smudged from the pillow. His mouth is red. Kiss-swollen. Gorgeous, honestly.

And still, so unsure.

You lean down, slow and calm, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear.

“The lesson’s not over,” you murmur. “This part is the lesson.”

He turns his face to you, confused. “What part?”

You sit up slowly, legs still straddling his thighs. “This,” you say simply, motioning to your bodies — flushed and undone and a little tangled still. “What we do now. What happens after. That matters just as much as what you do with your hands or your mouth.”

You watch it sink in, the way he swallows, the flush that deepens on his chest.

“I didn’t know that counted,” he says.

“Most people don’t,” you answer, reaching for the warm cloth you left nearby. “But it does. Every bit of it.”

You clean him with deliberate care — not sexual, not clinical. Just present. His breath stutters once under your touch, but he doesn’t shy away. His eyes stay on you. Watching. Learning.

“You’ll find,” you say gently, “that different people like different kinds of aftercare. Some need a moment alone. Some like to be held. Some cry. Some don’t want a single word. It’s not one-size-fits-all.”

You glance up. His brows are furrowed. Focused. Drinking it in like gospel.

“And you?” he asks. “You like doing this?”

You raise an eyebrow, not smiling. “I do it because it’s part of the it. Part of the offering. I don’t like to leave someone half-finished. Or worse — used.”

Oscar doesn’t flinch, but something in him draws in a little. Tightens.

He’s quiet for a second, and you let him be.

Then, carefully: “What if I like… this? All of it. Not just the sex.”

You pause in your movement. Your eyes meet his, but you keep your voice level. “Then it’s something you’ll have to learn to balance. Wanting more, but not expecting it. Feeling deeply, but staying grounded. You can enjoy it. You should. But you don’t get to demand meaning from it.”

He swallows, hard. You can tell that landed somewhere deeper than he expected. But he nods.

You set the cloth aside, then reach for the blanket and drape it gently over both of you. You don’t cuddle him. But you lie down beside him, close, letting your legs touch, your shoulder brushing his arm.

“This part is about reassurance. Making sure your opposite feels seen. Safe. Heard. That what you did together ends cleanly, not like a door slammed shut.”

He turns his head to look at you, his voice quiet again. “Have you always done it like this?”

You shrug. “Not always. But I’ve never just… left.”

There’s a beat. Then, soft:

“Can I hold you for a bit?”

Your heart does something strange, like it skips, then comes back steadier. You don’t let it show.

You nod once. “You can.”

He shifts, and you let him wrap around you. Arms sliding under your back, one leg slipping between yours. His hold isn’t desperate. Just steady. Like he’s found something real in all the fog.

And you let him. You don’t hold back or lean in too much. You let him learn.

He nestles into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I want to remember this part,” he murmurs. “All of it.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — tucked close, barely speaking. Just his breath on your collarbone, the slow calm of two heartbeats returning to something steady.

There’s a shift in him. A subtle one. Less tentative now. Like the permission to hold you gave him permission to breathe, too.

But then, without a word, Oscar pulls back.

You blink as he eases himself away from your body, gently peeling out of your arms. “Wait,” he says softly, catching the edge of the blanket to cover you again. “Just… stay here, yeah?”

He’s flushed and messy and still a little dazed, curls sticking to his forehead. There’s no reason to trust whatever’s sparking behind those big brown eyes — but something in his tone makes you let him go without asking questions.

You hear the rustle of his sweatpants, the quiet pad of bare feet on tile, the creak of the door opening.

Then… the kitchen.

Faint light. The low hum of the fridge. The click of a cupboard opening. A drawer.

You frown slightly. Curious. Not concerned, not quite, but… unsure. The post-high haze is still thick in your limbs, and the absence of him is strange after how tightly he clung just minutes ago.

A soft clatter. Something ceramic. The fridge opens again.

He’s gone longer than expected — just long enough for the first hint of wonder to curl in your chest. What’s he doing?

When the door creaks again and he comes back in, it’s like a scene you weren’t expecting to be part of.

Oscar's arms are full. He’s carrying a large tray, careful and proud. There’s fruit on it — sliced strawberries, a peeled orange sectioned neatly. A couple pieces of chocolate. Two glasses of water. One of them has a lemon wedge on the rim. It’s so him you could laugh.

But you don’t laugh.

He sets it on the bedside table like it’s precious cargo. Then he looks at you — a little shy, a little proud, a little uncertain all over again.

“I… didn’t really know what the right thing was. For after,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I thought — comfort, right? Food. Water. Something sweet.”

You sit up slowly, the blanket falling a little off your shoulders. He looks away quickly, trying to be respectful, but you catch the flicker of heat that’s still not gone.

You take a piece of strawberry, bite into it, and nod once. “That’s thoughtful. Messy, but sweet.”

He grins at that. “Like me?”

You arch a brow. “Don’t push it.”

He laughs quietly and climbs back into bed. This time, he doesn’t ask. He wraps himself around you again, this time behind you, arms snug around your waist. Your back against his chest.

His voice is quieter now, more grounded. “I didn’t know this part mattered so much. But it kind of… changes things, doesn’t it?”

You nod into the dark. “It always does.”

The room is quiet again, but it hums differently now — like a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with everything unsaid.

Oscar’s thumb rubs a slow, absent arc against your side, and your breath stutters, just a little. It’s nothing. A subconscious gesture. But it makes something in your chest shift.

You could say something. Draw the boundary again. Remind him — remind yourself — what this is and isn’t. That you’ve done this before, that this kind of softness doesn’t mean what people think it means. That it’s just care, not commitment.

But you don’t.

Because it’s not just him who’s quiet now, full of questions he won’t ask.

It’s you, too.

You feel the ache of it behind your ribs — not romantic, not even clearly emotional. Just a presence. A pressure. Like something is waiting to unfold if you let it.

You stay still instead, measuring your breathing like it might keep you safe. Like if you keep it even, you can keep things even.

But Oscar’s body against yours is not even.

It’s too warm, too present, too willing. His trust is wrapped around your spine like a vine, slow and steady, and you realize with startling clarity that he’s stopped waiting for you to make him feel safe.

He already does.

And that is the danger.

Because when someone stops seeing themselves as temporary, they start looking for permanence. Even when they don’t mean to. Even when you’ve warned them.

He exhales against the back of your neck, a soft huff that brushes your skin, and you can feel the shape of it — how he’s settling into you like a question answered.

You keep your eyes closed, but your voice is awake now. Low. Careful.

“You should remember not everyone will do it like this.”

Oscar hums behind you, not letting go. “I know.”

“Some won’t stay,” you add. “Some will leave before your breathing’s even back to normal.”

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “But you stayed.”

You press your lips together.

For a long moment, the only sound is the slow turn of the ceiling fan and the occasional tick of cooling skin against the sheet. Then, softly:

“I don’t stay because of you,” you say. “I stay because it’s how I like it.”

You feel his breath catch slightly. Just for a second.

Then he nods against your shoulder. “Still means something.”

You don’t answer. You don’t want to answer.

Because if you did, you might have to tell him that he’s not wrong. That something is shifting inside you, too. That somewhere between his hands on your waist and the way he cut the orange into perfect segments like it mattered, you stopped thinking of this as just instruction.

You told yourself this was temporary. You’re the one who made the rules — boundaries, roles, names. Teacher. Student. A controlled environment.

And yet…

His hand squeezes gently at your hip, and you feel the whisper of a smile in his voice when he says, “You think too loud, you know that?”

You blink.

He’s not wrong. But it startles you, the way he’s started reading you back. Not like a script — not like he’s trying to mirror what you taught — but like he’s forming his own thoughts now. Feeling his way through this.

You sit with that a moment, then shift slightly, turning onto your back.

His arm remains at your waist, but looser now. Letting you go if you want.

You look up at him.

His hair is a wild halo against the pillow, and his eyes — soft, but steady — meet yours like he doesn’t need to pretend he isn’t attached anymore.

That’s the thing that knocks the breath out of you.

He’s not asking for more. But he’s acting like it’s more.

You sigh, just quietly. Not annoyed. Not sad. Just… full.

“This will be hard if you start thinking like that,” you murmur.

“Thinking like what?”

“That this means something more than it does.”

Oscar tilts his head. “And what does it mean?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it again.

You don’t have a clean answer.

Because the truth is, it meant one thing when you started. And it’s starting to mean something else now. And that change — that drift — is the scariest part.

You see it in him. You’ve seen it before in others, too — but this isn’t like the others. He’s not folding himself into what you want. He’s becoming in front of you. And you realize you don’t know if you can stop that. Or if you want to.

You sit up fully now, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling into your lap.

Oscar shifts but doesn’t touch. He watches you instead, eyes tracking every flicker of your expression.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say finally. “This was… good. You were present. You gave and received. You listened.”

“But?”

You smile faintly. “You always hear the but, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “You only pause like that when you’re editing something in your head.”

The ache deepens in your chest.

“You’re getting too good at reading me,” you murmur, and it’s not teasing. Not quite.

He says nothing.

You draw in a slow breath, choosing your words. “I meant it when I said the lesson’s not over. That includes this part, too — the confusion, the closeness, the wanting. But you can’t assume it will always feel like this. Not with everyone.”

“I’m not with everyone,” he says quietly.

“No,” you say, just as quiet. “You’re not.”

And that’s the problem.

You feel the rest of the words press against your teeth — things like I care more than I should or you’re starting to make me want things I told myself I didn’t want. But you swallow them.

You press a hand to his chest instead, right over his heart. His skin is warm, soft, still a little damp with the sweat of what you shared. His heartbeat flutters beneath your palm like he’s waiting to be named.

“You feel things fast,” you say gently. “That’s not wrong. But it’s dangerous if you don’t learn to slow it down. To hold space for what something is, instead of what you hope it might become.”

Oscar closes his eyes under your touch, his lips parted slightly — and when he speaks, it’s a breath, not a question.

“So what’s this?”

You pause. Not to pull back. Not to calculate. Just to feel.

You stare down at your hand on his chest and think about the strange, weightless ache in your throat — the one that started when he brought you water with a lemon wedge on the rim. The one that never really went away.

“I don’t know, Osc,” you murmur. “I just don’t want it to… go wrong.”

The words sit between you like a ghost — not heavy, not sharp, just sad. Just real.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment.

You stay like that, your hand on him, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs, until the silence stretches too tight.

Then you shift — slowly, carefully — pulling your hand back.

And before he can read too much into the way you hesitate, you speak again, quieter than before.

“Maybe it’s time for me to go.”

Oscar’s body tenses all at once. He lifts onto one elbow. “No—wait, please, I didn’t mean to—”

You hold up a hand. Not angry. Just steady.

“No, Osc,” you say. “Really. It’s okay. But I have to go.”

You sit up before he can argue, reaching for your clothes without looking at him. Not out of cruelty. Not because you’re ashamed. But because if you do look, you might not leave.

He stays quiet — crushed silence — while you pull on your shirt, tug your jeans over your hips. Your movements are practiced. Efficient. Detached in the way you need to be to get out the door.

He shifts slightly, like he’s about to sit up, maybe reach for you. Maybe say something else.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do you.

Your fingers pause at the doorknob.

Behind you, he’s sitting upright in bed now, the sheet pooling around his waist, his curls a soft, chaotic mess. He looks like he wants to say don’t go. He looks like he’s hoping you’ll turn around.

And for one second — one breathless second — you think maybe you will.

But you don’t.

You don’t because you meant it when you said you didn’t want this to go wrong.

You open the door.

He calls your name once — soft, almost reflexive — and it nearly breaks something in you.

But you don’t look back.

You just step out into the quiet of the hallway, the door clicking gently closed behind you.

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v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #𓊆papayainone𓊇 #op81 smut

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lieslab · 4 months ago

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Where's my love?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X afab reader

Summary: Unannounced and unplanned, you leave your boyfriend, but when he finds you again, things have changed drastically.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2.7K

~ Part 2 ~

_ _ _

The sky grew dark again and that meant another night of suffocation for Chan. Another night of looking at the moon and hoping somewhere in the city of Seoul, you were looking at it too. In theory, the moon is all he has left of you.

Every time he called your name, the quiet halls haunted him. Each time he dialed your number, the same automatic and robotic voice caused his heart to quiver; a threat to burst at the seams. The texts never fell through. You blocked his number weeks ago. No matter how hard he’d tried, he’d never get through.

The worst thing about loving someone is putting your heart on a line. Handing someone a loaded gun and trusting them not to pull the trigger. The evenings used to fill with shared laughter. Your smile that he thought could harness his own happiness forever.

As long as you stayed, his confidence grew. Those what-if thoughts turned into a reality. You provided a stable structure for the foundation of his heart. Any time he had doubts or the fears became too large, he found himself finding hope again between your hands. With his cheeks pressed against your hands, the reassuring sound of your voice, he never thought he’d have to live without it.

He knew he had his flaws. Everyone had their flaws, but he never thought those flaws drove a wedge between the two of you. Life turned into a balancing act. Everything went well and when it fell apart, he thought you trusted him enough to open up.

Whether that had been a lie or if he hurt you in a way that he couldn’t understand, he didn’t know. You didn’t give him a chance to explain. In the middle of a silent night, Chan stayed in the studio to finish up a beat.

At your shared home, tears laced your eyes. In a panic and disbelief, you threw your clothes into an open suitcase. The clothes, the toiletries, and your favorite photo of the two of you. You snatched the small black frame and threw it into your suitcase, hoping it wouldn’t bend.

Driving home from the studio, exhaustion laced Chan’s head. Purple bags smeared beneath his eyes. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a glimpse of your car. The first few numbers of the license plate matched yours, but exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

He didn’t realize your side of the closet turned empty. He didn’t take notice of your missing shoes. He went directly into your room, collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep assuming you were in the bathroom. It wouldn’t be anything new for you. With a small bladder, you always had to go.

The horrendous truth wouldn’t hit him until the next morning. _ _ _

In the morning, blue birds sang. The only woodpecker living in the backyard filed away at a tree with a sharp beak. A mirage of morning colors swept across the bustling city. Chan rolled over, expecting to get his hands on you, but you weren’t there.

In a sleepy haze, his eyes half-opened and he glanced around the room. A faint light filtered through the laced curtains. He squinted, looking around trying to figure out where you were, wondering if you were up making breakfast. Sometimes you woke up early, but other times, you stayed in bed past noon.

He never knew what the mornings would bring with you. Tender touches, quick kisses, and the rest unraveled into a mystery. Would the two of you argue over the simplicity of pancakes or waffles? The age old question that you always fought over.

Perhaps, the morning would end with him wrapping you in his arms and refusing to let you go. He’d hold you hostage and appreciate you more than you’d ever know. While you swear, he’d laugh and squeeze you tighter. Promising, vowing, and praying that none of this would ever change.

For a few more seconds, a few more minutes, another hour, the two of you would stay side-by-side. Two hearts beating for one another through thin, stretched skin. Two halves of a whole, being forced to separate for society’s standards, before the two of you could reunite again.

He shoved himself up, ran a hand through his messy curls, and started to search for you. He called your name, rubbed his eyes, and padded out into the living room. The TV remained silent. Your shoes weren’t parked on the usual rug beside the door. The hooks holding your house and car keys remained empty. Two golden hooks without their usual objects. A house without a beating heart. He assumed you went out to get breakfast, but the messages remained unread.

Having to go back to work, he sent you a final text. One final text that you didn’t gather the courage to read until hours later. Hours too late. You were already miles away. You whispered the words, pretended he was reading them off to you, but you never responded. Instead, you hit the block button.

A heavy heart, eyes swollen with tears, maybe one day he’d understand, but you had to do what was best for the both of you.

Even if it nearly killed you in the process.

_ _ _

Four years, seven months, and two days.

That’s how long it took before the two of you stumbled into each other again. The first months hurt and the wounds on each of your hearts grew raw. You bled endlessly, but what more could you do? Everything always fell apart before it could come back together again.

You still kept up to date with Chan’s band. You bought every album and listened to every song. Woven through the lyrics of his song, a man mourned. He bled guilt. He pleaded for his lover’s return, but it never led to anything.

Those first few weeks, he searched for you everywhere. With a photo of you, he went into your favorite places, desperately holding up your smiling face to employees, begging to know if they had seen you. Nobody ever did. You faded into the abyss, but his feelings for you never did.

You vanished like a ghost. You haunted him at all the wrong times. Your missing presence caused the band to go on hiatus for three months. Nobody could make music when their leader was mourning.

The guys tried to call you. They tried hunting you down. Chan even tried to contact your parents, but no matter what it did, it was a lost cause. The only thing that gave him hope was your best friend.

At a loss, he appeared on their front doorstep in tears. Begging and pleading to know if you were okay. They promised you were, swore to him that it’d make sense one day, and shut the door. It never made any sense until today.

The guys wanted his father’s lamb. His father was in Australia and he knew it’d never be as good as his father’s, but he tried to recreate it anyway. The guys had worked non-stop over the past six months. Their latest album sat at the top of the charts for seven weeks in a row and they were hoping it’d stay there for a while.

Your disappearance caused his heart to ache, but it grew less now. Time heals all wounds and this one was no different. Deep down, he always hoped he’d be able to see you again, but he accepted that your disappearance was final. He’d never get the closure and that stung, but what else could he do?

In a face mask and a baseball hat hiding his face, he heard your voice first. A pack of raw lamb sat in his hand. Debating how many packs to buy, he thought he might have finally lost it.

“No, no, no. What did I say? We can’t poke the raw meat’s plastic. If our fingers go through it, we can get sick. We don’t want that, do we?”

Your voice wasn’t harsh, but rather a gentle compassion. He spun around to find you grabbing the hand of a small toddler and coaxing them away from the raw meat. His heart fluttered against the side of his chest.

There you were. Your hair grew longer, but the bags beneath your eyes remained the same. Tucked in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, you chose your comfort over society’s peer pressure to look your best all the time. He thought he might drop to his knees.

“Do you want to sit in the cart? We’re almost done and then we can go back home. Grandma is waiting for us. It’s supposed to snow later. We need to get back to her house before the storm starts.”

Your hands reached out, but their head shook. Black hair bobbed and sat in waves around her small shoulders. Dressed in a pink fluffy coat and fur-lined winter boots, her little foot stomped. “No!”

“Come on, honey, let’s-”

The little girl spun around and took off running. Not realizing how close the stranger was, she dashed into Chan’s legs. He gasped and reached down to steady her.

Your eyes widen. “I’m so sorry! She can be a handful and-” Your cheeks went red as you hurried forward to grab her.

The girl’s head tipped back, trying to see who she ran into. Chan reached up and gently pulled his mask down. The girl gasped and grinned. Two dimples and a mouthful of baby teeth. “Daddy!”

“No, honey. This isn’t-” As your eyes met Chan’s, your world stopped. “Bang Chan?”

“Daddy!” The little girl squealed again. Her tiny arms wrapped around one of his legs.

He had so many questions for you, but they didn’t come out. Instead, his gaze fell onto the child at his feet. The same brown eyes as his. The same dimples. Looking at her reminded him of the childhood photos of himself.

She had your smile, but from what he could see, everything else was from him. She cooed and pressed her head into his leg. “I like your music. Makes me dance.”

“Honey,” you pleaded again quietly. “Come on, I’m sure he’s busy and-”

“Is this why you left me?” The words fell out before he could stop them. “Is she really my daughter?”

You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. Coming back to Seoul had been a terrible idea, but your mother lived here. You couldn’t just stay away from her forever. You knew there was a chance you’d run into Chan when you were back, so you went to the places you thought he never visited. Apparently, times had changed over the years.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“So you can leave me again?” He asked. Sadness laced his voice and your heart squeezed with pain. You hadn’t meant to cause him any harm, but you knew you had.

You glanced around, making sure the two of you weren’t being eavesdropped on. Realizing it, he tugged up his face mask again, so nobody could recognize him. Your eyes slipped shut and then they reopened.

“I left you because I was pregnant. It was a stupid thing to do, I know. Deep down, I was terrified you’d want to stop making music. I couldn’t ask you to pick between leaving your band and being a father.”

“So you just left without a good-bye?”

“It was cowardly, but I was afraid. I was afraid of everything. I didn’t know if I was going to go through with the pregnancy. I didn’t know if you wanted me to keep the baby. I didn’t know a lot of things. By leaving, it was easier than forcing you to choose.”

“I have a daughter?”

“Her name is Odette.” You stepped around the grocery cart, bent down, and picked her up. “I know that I’ll never be able to-”

“Odettie Berry!” Odette squealed. “That’s me!”

“Berry?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “You couldn’t be there when I named her. I felt awful when Berry died. I know how much you loved her, so I just…”

The hurt grew indescribable. Your actions had been those of a coward, but knowing that you named your daughter after the dog he loved the most, it was touching. Odette Berry was perfect.

He reached down and placed the grocery basket on the ground. “Can I hold her?” You nodded and gently handed her to him.

She smelled like a faint mixture of baby powder and lavender. Her rounded head dipped forward. Her chin pressed against his shoulder and caused him to smile. A loud yawn pulled at her lips. You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry again.

To her, her father was not a stranger. You let her watch every new Skzoo Code video. Every new song, the two of you listened to together. No matter the distance you put between you and Chan, you still made sure she knew who her father was.

“Come back home,” Chan whispered pleadingly. “She’s my daughter, too.”

“I don’t want to cause any issues.”

“I still have the apartment. The spare bedroom is empty. I still have all of your stuff that you left behind. You can’t just keep her hidden away from me now that I know she exists.”

“Wolf Chan,” Odette mumbled as her eyes drooped.

“She knows about Wolf Chan?”

“Daddy’s plushie.”

You cursed softly beneath your breath and scrambled through the items in the cart. “He’s in here somewhere.” You pushed aside the bread and eggs. Digging through the cold meat, you finally found him. “She can’t sleep without him.” You held it out to Chan.

He grabbed it and brought it towards your daughter. “Is this who you’re looking for? Wolf Chan?”

“Mmhm.”

He smiled at her sleepy voice and tucked it beneath her arm. “There you go. You can sleep tight now, little one. Wolf Chan is here to save the day. You’re safe in Daddy’s arms.”

You sniffled and wiped at the tears, trying to stop them. He paused when he said you. “Sorry,” you whispered. “I’ve been hoping you’d accept her, but I-I didn’t know. She loves you and the guys so much.”

“She knows about the guys?”

“Of course, I’ve told her about her uncles. Do you really think I’d never tell her? She has all of their plushies too. They line her bed and she can’t sleep without them. I think she loves Seungmin and Felix the most.”

“Seungmin?”

“She finds his bullying funny.”

“You’re raising our daughter to be a Seungmin junior?”

“No!” Your head shook rapidly. “I said she likes Felix too. She loves to help me bake. Just you wait, she tries to make beats like you too. Back home, she’s constantly tapping away at the kitchen table. I think she’s like you more than you’ll ever know.”

“Please come back home.”

He reached an arm out towards you. Without hesitation, you hurried over and wrapped your arms around him. Your shoulder lightly pressed against your daughter. For a few moments, the world stopped, and the missing pieces realigned.

Your cart of groceries sat abandoned behind you. Chan’s struggle for lamb seemed like a minor inconvenience more than anything. The guys wanting lamb brought him back together with you and his daughter.

Odette Berry curled into his shoulder and cuddled a Wolf Chan plushie. This morning, his biggest challenge of the day was finding enough lamb. Now it was figuring out how to adjust to life with a child.

No matter how upset your actions made him, no matter how much it hurt; he understood it now. No matter how much he wished you would have picked better choices, it was far too late. Things finally aligned in his favor and that was all that mattered now.

Four years, seven months, and two days. That’s how long it took him to find you again. Despite that, a lifetime of memories now awaited him. New memories with his daughter. He’d have to figure out how to tell the guys that he had a kid.

His ghost had finally been found and that was the best gift anyone could ever give him.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #christopher bang #bang chan angst

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ceeaann · 2 months ago

Text

Opposite Attract !? — Being the Total Opposite of Them

Characters - Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Content - 2k words, hcs, contrasting personality pairings, light angst, possessiveness & protectiveness, established & developing relationships, tender moments, playful banter, mutual (and one-sided) yearning, conflicting morals & values, opposites-attract themes, soft/domestic interactions, power struggles, emotional vulnerability, implied past trauma, affectionate teasing, mild language.

A/N - hi im back haha... this one is a rlly short one cuz im writing smth amazing right now huehue (its sooo good trust ill be posting it in a few days)

— Vi

-You met Vi by accident—wrong place, wrong time, and before you even realized what was happening, she had already handled it.

-"You wouldn’t last a damn second down here, sweetheart."

-At first, she thought you were just another fragile little thing that needed protecting. And at first, you thought she was dangerous.

-(You were right. But not to you.)

-Vi teases you constantly.

-"You’re just so soft, babe. It’s unreal."

-"You say that like it’s a bad thing."

-She grins. "Nah. I like it."

-You try to keep her out of trouble. It never works.

-"Vi, maybe we should think this through."

-"Uh-huh. Lemme know how that goes while I punch this guy."

-"VI—"

-Dating Vi is terrifying.

-"Hey, babe, funny story—I may have started a bar fight." "Vi." "Before you say anything, I won."

-She lives to fluster you.

-"You always get so shy when I call you babe. S’cute." "I—I do not!"

-Vi leans in. "Oh yeah? So if I called you sweetheart right now, you wouldn’t get all shy on me?"

-"...Shut up."

-"That’s what I thought."

-You’ve seen her throw herself into fights for you without a second thought.

-"Vi, stop, you’re bleeding!"

-"They started it."

-"That doesn’t mean you have to finish it!"

-She smirks, wiping blood from her lip. "Sweetheart, that’s exactly what it means."

-But then, one time, you actually hit someone.

-Vi had the guy handled—had him cornered, already mid-swing—until he lunged at you.

-And you punched him.

-The guy went down.

-You stood there, wide-eyed, clutching your fist like you couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

-Vi just stared.

-Then, slowly, she grinned.

-"Well, damn, babe."

-"I—"

-She grabbed your wrist, turning it over to check for damage.

-"You throw a punch like that again, and I might just marry you."

-You turned scarlet.

-Vi never let you live it down.

-"Hey, babe, remember that time you punched a guy?"

-"Vi, stop."

-"Nah, seriously, you were terrifying. I was quaking."

-"I am never doing that again."

-She grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Talk to me after your second punch."

-You keep her grounded. She keeps you wild.

-Balance.

— Caitlyn

-Caitlyn despises rule-breakers. So naturally, she fell in love with you.

-You flirted while she was cuffing you, calling her “Officer Cutie.” She pretended not to care, but her ears were so red.

-You broke out of jail just to see her again.

-"You're breaking the law."

-"You're breaking my heart."

-You treat laws like suggestions. Caitlyn treats them like the word of God.

-"No, you cannot bribe an officer, that’s illegal."

-"Then why do they take the money?"

-"YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT."

-Caitlyn has arrested you multiple times, but at this point, it’s just flirting.

-"Back again, officer?"

-"Maybe if you stopped committing crimes, I wouldn’t have to keep arresting you."

-She gets so flustered when you flirt with her.

-"I swear, you’ll be the death of me."

-"Aw, Cait, don’t be dramatic. You’d look so good in mourning black, though."

-You show up at crime scenes just to mess with her.

-"Fancy meeting you here, Sheriff."

-"WHY are you here?"

-"Moral support. Also, I may or may not have stolen some evidence. Oops."

-First kiss? During a heated argument about morality. You kissed her just to shut her up, and she froze.

-“You—you can’t just do that!”

-“Why not? Worked, didn’t it?”

-Caitlyn is constantly exasperated with you, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

-She scolds you like a mother but spoils you like a lover.

-“One day, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

-“Yeah? But at least I’ll look hot doing it.”

-She has never sighed so much in her life.

-You love making her break the rules. One time, you convinced her to steal a single piece of candy from a store.

-She acted like she personally had doomed Piltover.

-"I CAN NEVER SHOW MY FACE HERE AGAIN."

-"Cait, it was literally a mint."

-"A stolen mint."

-She once caught you doing something very illegal and instead of arresting you, she sighed and went, "Just… don’t do it again."

-That’s when you knew she was doomed.

— Jinx

-You the embodiment of "calm down."

-Jinx the embodiment of "I will not calm down."

-The moment Jinx met you, she immediately decided you were her favorite person.

-You did not agree.

-"So, you’re all serious and broody, huh? Like, all ‘I have a tragic backstory, don’t talk to me’?"

-"No, I just don’t enjoy explosions."

-"Pfft, sounds like a tragic backstory to me."

-Jinx tests your patience daily.

-She steals your things just so you’ll chase her.

-"Jinx, give me back my book."

-"Make me, serious-face."

-You tackle her.

-You are the ONLY person who can calm her down.

-You’re incredibly patient with her. No matter how chaotic she gets, you never push her away.

-That scares her. She’s used to people getting tired of her. But you never do.

-The first time she has a breakdown in front of you, she expects you to leave.

-Instead, you just wrap your arms around her and hold her. No words, no judgment.

-Jinx never admits it, but that’s the moment she realized she’s completely in love with you.

-You always pull her out of danger, even when she insists she doesn’t need help.

"Baaabe, I totally had it handled." "Jinx, you were literally on fire." "Okay, but—" "No."

-Jinx is determined to break through your stoic exterior.

-“C’mooon, just smile for me once, yeah? Bet you’d be real pretty when you do.”

-The first time you genuinely laughed at her joke, she melted.

-She was obsessed with making you laugh after that.

-First kiss? She literally caught you off guard mid-sentence and ran away laughing.

-“You should see your face, babe! Priceless.”

-You are the definition of opposites attract.

-You keep her sane, and she keeps you... un-boring.

— Sevika

-Sevika thought you were too soft for the world she lived in.

-“People like you? They don’t last long down here.”

-“Then I guess you’ll just have to protect me.”

-You weren’t scared of her. That pissed her off.

-But she couldn’t ignore the way you made her feel—like maybe, just maybe, not everything in the world was awful.

-You tended to her wounds without question, never expecting anything in return. That scared her more than anything.

-"I can do it myself."

-"Yeah, well, you weren’t, so sit still."

-Sevika would kill for you.

-You’re the only person she’s soft with, and everyone notices.

-“She’s different when she’s with you.”

-“Nah, she’s just scary in public.”

-You make her believe in something more than survival.

-And damn it, she loves you for that.

-If anyone even breathes wrong near you, Sevika is already cracking her knuckles.

-You're basically her emotional support human, and she has no idea how she ended up this soft.

— Viktor

-Viktor never thought he had time for love. He had science. That was all that mattered.

-And then you came along.

-At first, he brushes off your romantic nature as a distraction.

-But then he catches himself listening to you.

-You talk about dreams, about passion, about things beyond logic, and—damn it—he likes it.

"You’re ridiculous," he murmurs, watching you twirl around his lab with a dreamy expression. "And yet, you keep me around." "...Yes. A mistake, clearly."

-It’s not a mistake. He’s doomed.

-You force him to take breaks, dragging him away from his work despite his protests.

"Viktor, have you eaten today?" "I consumed knowledge." "That’s not food." "It is intellectually nourishing." "You’re ridiculous."

-You leave little notes on his desk when he’s too busy to talk. "Reminder: You’re brilliant and I love you." "Reminder: You need sleep, you absolute workaholic." "Reminder: I’m kissing you later, whether you like it or not."

-He pretends they’re a nuisance, but he keeps every single one.

-The first time you kiss him, he’s so flustered he forgets how to speak.

-"I—uh—hmm—well—" "Oh my god, Viktor, just kiss me back."

-He does. And once he starts? He doesn’t stop.

-Viktor is completely enchanted by you. He never knew love could feel this… effortless.

-"You’re a distraction," he mutters one night, watching you ramble about constellations.

-"A good one?"

-"The only one."

— Jayce

-Jayce is used to people either admiring him or challenging him outright. He’s not used to you.

-You don’t hang on his every word.

-You don’t take his charm at face value.

-You argue. You push back. You challenge him.

-And damn it, you’re good at it.

-"You know, most people find me charming."

-"Most people have low standards."

-"Wow. Remind me why I keep you around?"

-"Because you love the abuse."

-He swears you’ve made it your life’s mission to challenge every idea he has. And worse? You’re smart. He can’t even dismiss you because you actually make good points.

-"This is the best approach."

-"No, it’s the most convenient approach."

-"Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a breakthrough invention?"

-"No, but I have common sense."

-"...Touché."

-He swears he hates debating with you, but the way his eyes light up every time you challenge him? Yeah. He loves it.

-At some point, your arguments stop being about proving each other wrong and start being about understanding each other.

-You’re not impressed by his title, his status, or the way people look up to him. You’re only impressed when he actually earns it.

-That makes him work for it. Not because he has anything to prove, but because he likes knowing he can meet you at your level.

-Jayce flirts like it’s second nature. With most people, it’s effortless. With you? It’s a goddamn battlefield.

-"Come on, admit it. You like me."

-"I tolerate you."

-"You love me."

-"I love watching you struggle."

-"Same thing."

-He’s never had to work so hard for someone’s attention, and it kills him. But the first time you actually soften toward him? It’s over for him. Completely.

-He’s never wanted something so badly in his life. And it’s not just because of the chase. It’s because you make him better.

-You don’t just challenge his ego—you challenge his ideals. You make him think. You make him question things he’s taken for granted.

-And despite all the teasing, all the stubborn back-and-forth, all the arguments? He’s never felt more alive than when he’s with you.

-The first time he kisses you, it’s because you’ve finally pushed him past his breaking point.

-"You’re so—"

-"I swear, Jayce, if you—"

-And then he’s kissing you. Hard.

#arcane x reader #arcane #arcane x y/n #wlw #arcane headcanon #arcane imagines #arcane x you #vi x reader #caitlyn x reader #jayce x reader #viktor x reader #caitlyn kirraman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #jinx x reader #sevika x reader

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itertarot · 2 months ago

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TAROT | FUTURE SPOUSE

What will your future spouse find so sexy about you? +18

Pick an image:

Pile 1:

Your future husband’s heart will belong entirely to you. What you share will be more about love than carnal desire. He will adore you with a warmth that feels like home, he’ll want to take care of you, to cherish you as something precious. He’ll find your mind unbelievably sexy, your ideas, the way you express yourself. You’re different from everyone around you. There’s something uniquely captivating about you, and it will intrigue him endlessly. He’ll always wonder what goes on inside that brilliant head of yours. If you love shopping, it will make your future husband extremely happy. he might even join you at the mall just to watch you try on clothes. He’ll love spoiling you and seeing you enjoy his gifts. The way you take such good care of yourself is a huge turn on for him. He’ll adore spending on you and seeing you with the finest things. Your outfits, your jewelry, your perfume… he’ll love it all. Your confidence will drive him wild. he’ll find it irresistibly sexy.

When you take charge of a situation, the way you command with both grace and precision will amaze him. You don’t even have to try, you’re just naturally incredible. He’ll melt when you allow yourself to be vulnerable with him, when you show him your scars, share stories of your childhood, and let him into your innermost world. He’ll find your softness and strength equally intoxicating.

I don’t see him as overly kinky, he’ll prefer making love over just sex. His desires are deeply tied to emotion, making every moment intimate and tender. Your future husband will adore your spontaneity, the thrill of never knowing what you’ll do next. If you randomly spout an unexpected fact, he’ll love it. If you decide to go to the beach at 4:35 AM, he’s all in. Not knowing what your next move will be? That’s his favorite thing about you.

They adore your legs, especially if you’re tall or have that elegant, long-legged silhouette. Your skin drives them wild, so soft and radiant. Some might even have a thing for your feet, but most? Their real fetish is being your devoted servant. They’re mesmerized by your hair, the way it falls, the way it moves. Your back? A graceful curve they can’t resist tracing with their eyes (or hands). And lingerie? Absolutely lethal. When you spoil yourself, indulging in luxury, is pure seduction to them. Short dresses and heels? A combo they’ll never tire of. And when you play innocent just to tease them? Maddeningly sexy. If they’re an artist, prepare to be their eternal muse, they’ll sketch, make a big painting of you to put on their private museum.

Your breasts? Perfectly proportioned, not just to your body, but to your very essence. You’re a masterpiece, darling. But nothing turns them on more than your vulnerability. Even as they kneel at your feet, they know the truth, you hold all the power!! And that’s exactly how they love it.

Pile 2:

Your future spouse is deeply drawn to the way you move through the world with quiet strength and compassion. There's something incredibly attractive about how you offer kindness without expectation, the gentle way you listen, the safe space you create where people feel truly heard. They admire how you never minimize others' pain, but instead meet suffering with open arms and understanding. You're powerful, healing, and surprisingly sensual. What really captivates them is your strong moral character. You have this innate sense of justice that refuses to look away from unfairness, yet you're never quick to judge. They love watching you navigate conflicts, carefully considering all sides, seeking solutions that restore balance rather than escalate tension. That thoughtful approach, that commitment to doing what's right even when it's hard, makes them respect you deeply. Your patience is sexy. You look towards the future, planning, building, and creating stability. They find this long term vision incredibly sexy because it shows you're someone who stays, someone people can rely on. Also intellectually, you're endlessly fascinating to them. The way you constantly seek to learn and improve yourself, the curiosity you bring to conversations, the knowledge you've accumulated is very sexy from their pov.

They love your waist.

Your future spouse loves when you wear a bra or clothes that hint at what's underneath, that tease drives them crazy.

They're like your shoulders.

Some might have a thing for food fetish.

They love you complement them.

If they're taller, they adore how perfectly you fit against them.

Pile 3:

Your future spouse is deeply drawn to your traditional nature, not in an outdated sense, but in the way you honor commitment and create meaning in your relationship. They see you as the perfect partner, someone who embodies exactly what they’ve always longed for. You make a house a home, it’s not about chores or perfection, it’s the feeling you cultivate. Whether it’s the way you decorate, the warmth you bring, or the little rituals that make your space uniquely yours, they adore how you make your personality be seen through your home. Also if you both have dinner together with candles, they will love it. Your respect for partnership is everything to them. They feel complete with you, secure in knowing they chose someone who values loyalty as much as they do. The way you prioritize "us" over "me" makes them proud to call you theirs.

Your vulnerability is sexy.

They find it sexy when you let yourself feel pain in front of them

Trust them enough to cry in their arms

Share your deepest dreams and secret fears

That moment you come out of your shell? It’s amazing to them. They’re honored to be the only one you allow past your walls.

Your introversion is sexy.

Watching you get lost in hobbies.

How you are straightforward.

When you take the lead.

You lying down is sexy.

If you wear glasses they find it so sexy.

The way youre shy.

That tantalizing half covered look, sheet or towel artfully draped.

The way you trust them to let them fuck you

Your breast.

Some have a corruption kink.

They're big on giving you oral.

Pile 4:

Your future spouse is captivated by every part of who you are. your strength, your resilience, the way you’ve faced challenges and reinvented yourself time and time again. They admire how you never gave up, no matter how hard things got. Your sharp mind, your quick wit, your creativity, they find it all incredibly attractive. You have magic in your hands and an innovative spirit that sets you apart. You don’t just follow the crowd, you think for yourself, and that independence is something they deeply respect.

They’re in awe of how well you collaborate with others, the way you bring people together and make teamwork seem effortless. To them, you shine like the sun, you the center of their universe, someone they’d gladly spend a lifetime serving. In their eyes, you’re the main character, the one who commands attention without even trying.

They adore your fiery, bold, and self-assured nature, the way you carry yourself with confidence and grace. But they also love the softer side of you, the way you care for those you love, how you let your affection show when you feel safe enough to open up. To them, you’re their person, the perfect one, the ultimate girl in the world. Your mind fascinates them endlessly. They love when you suddenly switch topics mid conversation, how you effortlessly weave one thought into another. They find it charming when you say or do random things, when you’re completely and unapologetically yourself.

They like your breast. They like your belly. They love talking to you. They like your butt. They love your pussy, also heavy on oral. They love quando voce usa roupa de tecidos finos. They love your legs.

#tarot readings #cartomancy #divination #free tarot #tarot reader #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarot spread #18+ tarot #tarot #tarot future spouse #future spouse #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card

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sidemari · 1 month ago

Text

• Claimed •

NSFW headcanons of how having sex with them would be.

Characters included: John "Soap" MacTavish, Keegan P. Russ, König and Simon “Ghost” Riley [separately] x Fem!Reader

TW: Bondage; breeding kink; choking; creampie; edging; hate sex; jealousy sex; marking (hickeys, etc); masturbation; sub/dom dynamics; oral sex (F/M receiving); riding; slapping; praise kink, unprotected sex. Let me know if I missed anything.

A COD post you may like.

John "Soap" MacTavish

He's the perfect balance between dominant and submissive.

Usually when he comes home from a mission, exhausted and just wanting to spend time with you, he'll happily accept that you take the reins — sex will be calmer, more intimate and romantic in this case. But if he is well rested or even frustrated or riled up enough, he will be the one in control and will put aside his chill personality for a few moments. His main goal is to show he's the one in charge, the one exploiting your every weakness until you're broken.

Still on the subject of coming back home after missions, he gets clingy and horny when he's sleepy. There were many times when his hands roamed your hips and thighs as you cuddled, his fingertips slowly stimulating the right spots to make your desire awaken. Your hand, in turn, began to stimulate his already hard cock — restricted only by his sweatpants and nothing else — while you kissed his neck. A few seconds tended to pass before his hand guided yours inside his pants, allowing you to touch his cock: long, throbbing, dripping with pre-cum and crying out for attention.

He has a thing for positions where he can see your back and ass. His hands usually settle on your thighs as he pulls you against him, firm, rhythmic, and with each thrust, the sound of your bodies mingled with the muffled moans and the muffled sound of the bed beneath you. A soft smack would echo in the room — a tender slap, but full of desire, causing you to beg him to keep going. He would repeat it, more eagerly, watching your skin flush beneath his fingers. This isn’t about sex anymore — it is about dominance mixed with affection, intensity tinged with respect.

You were lying on your side, the sheets pulled up to your waist, and the curve of your body cast soft shadows in the low light of the lamp. He approached you from behind, his fingers slowly sliding over the skin of your back, tracing silent paths.

“I like seeing you like this.” He murmured, his voice husky against the back of your neck. “All mine...”

You sighed, closing your eyes as he wrapped his body around yours, fitting himself inside of you slowly, as if each movement had weight, intention. One of his hands held your waist firmly; the other moved down your arm, until his fingers intertwined with yours, sealing their intimacy in silence.

You squeezed his hand tighter, and he understood the message.

The thrusts became deeper, harder and faster — until you both were a moaning mess.

"Yeah, give it all to me, love..."

"J-Johnny— Fuck..." Your body obliged his words.

Keegan P. Russ

He likes to physically restrain you during sex so that he has complete control of you. If you get frustrated with his need for control, it only makes him even more satisfied.

If he chose to use ropes, he would start with your wrists. Bondage wasn't just about restraint; it was about trust. His fingers would slide firmly but gently, wrapping your arms behind your back. Each knot was tied with care and tested with delicacy. By the time he was finished, you’d be already panting, even without a more intimate touch.

Definitely uses his praise kink skills to his advantage. He would mumble compliments and sweet nothings while doing the most sinful things to you. Every time you obeyed his orders without blinking, every time you made an effort to make him feel good, you would be rewarded.

Jealousy is a common cause of intense sex scenes between you. Keegan is a healthy boyfriend, but jealousy can quickly develop within his heart, and often the most effective way to resolve these feelings is by fucking the frustration away. Many times he wouldn't see you as the sweet girl he asked out, but as someone who deserves to be punished, especially if someone looked at you with ulterior motives or touched you without him expecting it. He knows that it is not your fault, but the need to show the world that you belong to him speaks louder. This leads him to mark your body in many different ways, whether with hickeys — you've had situations like someone from the squad asking you where those marks came from more times than you'd like to admit — or even with his own cum — several times you had to pretend that everything was under control while talking to your superiors as you felt his cum dripping out of you.

You belong to each other, and no one can change that.

You had argued due to his stupid jealousy once again.

He approached slowly, stopping behind you. His hands rested firmly on your waist. You didn’t move away. The air between you was charged — with anger, with desire, with unspoken love. When he pressed his lips to your bare shoulder, you shivered. It was the kind of touch that said “listen to me” without words.

“You annoy me deeply.” He murmured, his voice hoarse, restrained.

You answered him still harshly, but your eyes already betrayed your surrender.

“Then show me.”

The kiss came like a snap — urgent, deep, desperate. He pulled you tightly by the waist, pressing your body against his. His hands slid down your thighs, lifting the fabric of your clothes carelessly. There was frustration there, yes. But more than that, there was a desire to resolve this in the most primal way you knew how.

He turned you against the wall with a sure movement, his body pressing against yours from behind, the penetration coming quickly, full of urgency as you surrendered yourself, pushing your hips back, seeking more, feeling alive under the dominion of his touch.

“You are mine… only mine.”

Your bodies were slamming against each other, your moans were being muffled by kisses, his hand, and the way his mouth claimed yours.

When you came, it was as if all the rage evaporated. Keegan came soon after, buried deep inside of you, still pressing you against the wall, your hearts beating as one.

“You better don't let anyone else touch you again.” He muttered seriously.

König

This man is a sucker for going down on you. He loves the way you shiver every time his tongue stimulates your clit while his fingertips keep brushing against the most sensitive spot within you. You arched your body as you felt his tongue teasing, firm and attentive, as if it knew exactly what you needed. He watched you break as he brought you over the edge again and again, savoring every sigh, every tremor. When you pulled him to you, there was no more distance, just the fusion of the two of you — skin against skin, desire against desire.

He definitely has a thing for cumming inside you. He finds it so intimate, so warm and so delicious that it's hard for him to hold back. You didn’t take long to start suspecting that maybe, just maybe, he may have a breeding kink, and you keep teasing him about it, not only by allowing him to fill you up completely with his cum every single time you two have sex, but also by preventing him from pulling out of you (the few times his self control wins) by wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as you whisper to him that you need to feel his seed inside of you.

Edging is common with him. He kisses your neck, your shoulders, the curve of your breasts, while his hands explore the contours of your body with care and firmness. His fingers touch you with a calculated rhythm, alternating softness and intensity, exploring limits. And every time you thought relief would come, he would stop — just for a few seconds — just to hear you beg for more as you became more sensitive, more surrendered, more vulnerable to pleasure. He wouldn't let you escape — his eyes fixed on yours, attentive to every reaction. When he finally penetrated you, you were already trembling. Each movement of his passed through you like a wave, and your body responded with broken moans and meaningless whispers. He smiled against your skin — he knew the power he had. And then, when the climax arrived, it was as if the world had dissolved. You came undone in his arms, your body writhing in spasms of pleasure, your mind blank, filled only with the sensation of his touch — present, absolute, necessary.

The night was advancing in silence, and the room was all darkness and slow breathing. The sheets were warm from the heat of your bodies, and there you were, intertwined, naked, cuddling each other, as if you didn't want time to pass. You felt his chest pressed against your back, his arms wrapped around you carefully, his legs tangled with yours.

Still half asleep, you smiled when you felt his lips brush the back of your neck — a light kiss, almost shy, but full of intention.

There were no words, just a gesture. He gasped, trying to stifle a moan that insisted on leaving his lips as you stimulated the tip of his cock with your index finger — slowly, steady and hot.

"Fuck, that's good—"

"Shh, let me make you feel good while you relax." Your hands stroked his cock as his moans were soft, lazy, mixed with low chuckles of disbelief and stray kisses on the shoulder.

"I... I don't deserve you…" His cock throbbed, you knew he was close.

"C-Can I cum inside you? Please, I-I..." He whimpered, a sincere plea written in his words. You smiled with a half smile, straddling his lap before burying him completely inside you.

“Fill me up completely… I want to feel you dripping out of me later.”

“F-Fuck, liebling—” He pulled you against his body as he came while your own orgasm slowly faded as your walls accepted his essence. “I love you, meine Liebe.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley

He is still relatively reserved even after months of relationship, but there is no lack of intensity and connection between you.

Having sex with him is not only a carnal experience, but an emotional one. Every sensation, stimulus, kiss, touch, and word makes you experience the best that life has to offer: pure satisfaction.

Among the habits he has during sex, the delicious way he squeezes your neck with his hand or even with his biceps is by far one of the best sensations he can give you. It is absurdly good to feel lightheaded while you see his blurred figure above you due to the tears of pleasure as he pounds his cock inside you just the way that makes you melt under him.

He changes the rhythm, depth, and strength of his thrusts without failing with his movements even once. Maybe he has become addicted to seeing how you whimper and shudder when the thrusts that were until then slow and deep become shallower, stronger, and faster.

Any position that allows him to see your face while you have sex is ideal for him. It’s not uncommon for Simon to pull you in for a slow, intimate kiss when he’s close to cumming, filled with silent adoration

He tends to be more dominant in bed; let’s face it, that’s his personality. But if you ever feel like taming him is a good option, he won’t hesitate to obey you: he welcomes every stimulus you give him with pleasure, making sure to be a good boy for the one he loves so much.

He hugged you from behind, murmuring something unintelligible in your ear before picking you up and placing you on the kitchen counter.

“S-Simon…” He took you by surprise. You were cooking breakfast for the two of you when he showed up, wearing only sweatpants, his hair disheveled, his eyes full of sleep, and his voice hoarse.

“You got out of bed...” He murmured again, and this time you understood it perfectly. “...and left me there, alone.” Your boyfriend pressed wet kisses against your neck, moving down to one of your breasts. The tip of his thumb caressed your nipple above the fabric of your shirt, making it hard and sensitive enough to make you whimper.

“The pancakes… they’re going to get cold.” You murmured, squirming in anticipation as your shorts were pulled down with absurd ease. You didn’t care about that food; you just wanted to have sex with him right there. It was bizarre how he could get you in the mood in a matter of seconds.

Kneeling down, he kissed the inside of your thigh before murmuring against your skin.

“I feel like eating something else before breakfast.” You blushed, avoiding eye contact with him. “Look at me,” He asked, his voice low and firm.

“I want to see your face while I eat you out.” You obeyed. And right there, on the kitchen counter, he began. His tongue was precise, careful and, at the same time, full of intention. He explored every part as if he had all the time in the world — as if he were memorizing your taste. You moaned, your fingers going to his hair, gripping it as if that anchored you to reality. But he only chuckled softly against your folds.

You tried to close your legs as the wave of pleasure began to take over, but he held you even tighter, his dark eyes fixed on you.

“Don't. I want to see everything. I want to feel you cum in my mouth.” The cold marble contrasted with the heat of the moment, and between sighs, contained moans and the firmness of his hands, you knew — you would never be able to touch that counter again without remembering how he made you cum there.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #soap x reader #soap smut #konig x reader #konig smut #keegan x reader #keegan smut #cod x reader #cod smut #cod x you #masktok #ghost x y/n #soap x y/n #konig x you #keegan x you #what am i doing with my life

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cosmiclily · 1 month ago

Note

idk if i wanted this before or someone did but can you write about vi and reader having a baby? i really want to see it and vi's thing about babies😭

ivy - part one

★vi x f!reader

part two

wc: 4k

notes: been getting many requests about vi and reader having kids so here it is !!! in the first part they are not having a baby baby but wait for part two !!! 😋 thank you @strawb4kdior and anons for the requests!

Vi had always dreamed of having a big family. She grew up surrounded by noise, laughter, and the constant chaos of siblings under one roof—there was always someone shouting, someone crying, someone laughing. That was home to her. That was comfort.

So, when you got married, there was a quiet—sometimes not so quiet—expectation from her side of the family about when you two would start "popping out babies," as Mylo so charmingly put it.

That first holiday season after your wedding, when you visited her family in Zaun, it felt like the pressure kicked into full gear. Vander, ever the affectionate father figure, gave the two of you a box filled with baby clothes—tiny shirts, knitted socks, and a ridiculous little hat shaped like a mushroom.

“Ay, I’m not saying you’re having children right away,” he said with a teasing grin, pointing a thick thumb toward Vi. “But I know this one. She’ll want a whole football team at home before long.”

You laughed along with him, mostly because it was easier than unpacking the tangle of emotions that followed. But later that night, the laughter faded, and your thoughts grew heavier.

Because the truth was… you weren’t like Vi.

You hadn’t grown up with siblings. There was no chaotic, loving noise. Just you, your mom, your dad, and the occasional visit from a cousin or two. Quiet dinners. Controlled spaces. Predictable routines. The idea of raising a child—let alone several—felt like stepping into a world you’d never been taught how to navigate.

It scared you.

You were afraid of losing the little sanctuary you and Vi had built together—your late-night talks, your slow mornings, your messy, peaceful life. Afraid that having a child would shift everything out of balance, and that maybe you wouldn’t know how to hold it all together.

After the Christmas dinner, once everyone had gone to bed and the house had finally quieted down, Vi turned to you. Maybe she sensed your unease, or maybe you hadn’t done as good a job hiding it as you thought.

The two of you were lying in bed, facing each other under thick quilts, her hand gently stroking your hair as your eyes began to flutter closed.

“You know we don’t have to have kids right away, right?” she said softly, voice low and warm. “Or ever, if that’s what you want.”

You blinked slowly, your chest tightening at the tenderness in her voice.

“I know how hesitant you are about this,” she continued. “It’s a big change. And I get that it’s not just about wanting them or not. It’s about the kind of life we’d have, the kind of people we’d need to become. And if it ever feels like too much... I’d rather just have you. No tiny feet, no bedtime stories, no chaos—just you.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion but brimming with love. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. “I know how much you want it.”

Vi smiled gently, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Family doesn’t have to look one way. It can just be us. And if someday you feel ready… then we talk about it again. Together.”

You didn’t reply right away. You just nestled closer to her, your forehead pressed gently to hers, comforted by the quiet honesty in her words.

And looking back now, that moment—her patience, her reassurance—was what changed everything for you. You hated being pressured into anything, especially something as life-altering as parenthood. But knowing Vi wasn’t expecting anything from you that you didn’t want to give… it lifted a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

And from that point on, you started to look at the world through a different lens.

──────────────────────

A year and a half into your married life, everything felt like it had finally settled into place. You were thriving in your career, pouring your time and energy into several outreach programs and charities—especially those supporting children in Zaun. You’d become a familiar face in the shelters and clinics, and from time to time, Vi would show up during your shifts, bringing you lunch or tagging along to visit the homes where the children were placed.

She always lit up around the kids—laughing, joking, lifting them up onto her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But one day, everything shifted.

You met Ivy.

She was five years old when she first arrived—thin, quiet, and sharp-eyed, with wild, bright blue hair and big brown eyes that held more weight than any child should ever carry. The first time Vi saw her, something changed in her expression. You caught the way her eyes softened, how her whole body leaned forward just a little, like she was seeing something familiar—something important.

At first, Ivy was timid. She barely spoke to the other children, and when you tried to approach her, she’d only nod or shrink away. But Vi didn’t give up. She spoke to her gently, cracked jokes, made silly faces, brought her little gifts and toy trinkets. And slowly, Ivy began to open up.

It became a pattern—every time you had to stop by the shelter, Vi insisted on coming with you. “Just to say hi,” she’d claim, but you knew better.

One day, you left them alone to deal with some paperwork—endless inventory lists and requisition forms. When you came back, you stopped in the doorway and froze.

Vi was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the playroom, wearing a bright pink tutu over her pants, a plastic princess crown balanced crookedly on her head, and a tiny toy teacup clutched in her hand. Across from her sat Ivy in a matching tutu, proudly holding a stuffed cow in her lap and beaming like the sun.

“Do you want more tea?” Ivy asked, her voice sweet and filled with excitement.

“Yes, please!” Vi said, holding out her cup with exaggerated elegance, pinky finger raised high in the air.

You stood there quietly, heart catching in your throat, watching as Ivy poured invisible tea into Vi’s cup. Their laughter echoed softly around the room, and in that moment, it hit you like a wave.

This wasn’t just another child. This wasn’t just another case or temporary bond.

She wasn’t just someone you were helping.

Ivy was your daughter.

──────────────────────

After you got home, the two of you sat down for dinner, the clinking of cutlery and the quiet hum of the city outside the only sounds filling the space. You pushed the food around on your plate, barely tasting it, your mind too full.

You knew it was time to talk to Vi.

“I…” The word hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. You didn’t know how to begin. Vi had formed such a natural, close bond with Ivy—it was effortless, like they’d been connected long before they’d even met. But for you, it felt different. You cared deeply, maybe even more than you could admit out loud yet, but Ivy still looked at you like you were a kind stranger passing through her life.

And you were terrified that she’d never see you as more than that.

Vi’s brow furrowed the moment you hesitated. She turned toward you, concern etched across her face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I mean—yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled slowly, steadying your voice. “I wanted to tell you that I… I submitted us to be Ivy’s foster family.”

Vi’s eyes widened in surprise, her fork falling to the plate with a soft clatter. “What? When did you—?”

“Just before we left the shelter,” you interrupted, rushing the words out before you could second-guess yourself. “I know we said we’d make that kind of decision together, but I saw you with her, Vi. I saw how she looks at you, how she laughs with you, and… I don’t know, I just—something clicked. It felt right in the moment, and I thought, ‘Why not us?’ But now I’m spiraling because maybe it was too impulsive, maybe we won’t even get approved, and maybe—”

“Hey. Hey. Baby,” Vi said gently, reaching across the table to take your hands in hers. “Breathe, alright? You’re not crazy. You’re not wrong. And I’m not mad. Far from it.”

You looked up at her, eyes stinging a little.

“I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “Ivy’s special. And I see it in you too—the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching. You care about her more than you realize.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Then that’s all that matters. If we get approved—amazing. If not, we keep visiting. We stay in her life. We try again. We don’t give up. Not on her.”

A small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed her hands.

Vi smiled back, then leaned forward and kissed your knuckles.

──────────────────────

You had to make a lot of changes to your home before you were even considered for foster parenting.

Vi’s office was the first to go. It transformed into a small, bright room with plain white walls—you’d both agreed Ivy should get to choose the color herself once she settled in. You child-proofed the entire house, securing cabinets, covering outlets, padding sharp corners. It was a whirlwind, too fast by most people’s standards, but you couldn’t slow down.

You knew it was too soon. You knew there were risks, that things could fall apart. But every time Vi’s eyes lit up at a stuffed animal, a little blanket, or a book she thought Ivy would love, it drowned out the anxious voice in your head that warned this might not work. That it might all be temporary.

Vi had even told Jinx—despite your insistence that it wasn’t an adoption yet, just fostering. Naturally, Jinx told everyone else. And soon after, Vander was at your front door with a toolbox, claiming he was there to “help Vi set up the kid’s room,” though you suspected he mostly just wanted to feel included.

──────────────────────

The letter came on a rainy Tuesday afternoon—thin, unassuming, almost like junk mail. You were about to toss it when Vi caught the official stamp in the corner and snatched it from your hand. She tore it open, fingers shaking, while you stood beside her, breath caught in your chest.

Her eyes scanned the page. Then she looked up at you, wide-eyed, breathless.

“We got her.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“We got her, baby,” she repeated, voice breaking into a disbelieving laugh. “We’re approved. Ivy’s coming home.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Vi wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close, her face buried in your shoulder. You held each other in the quiet, rain tapping against the windows like applause from the universe itself.

The day you went to pick her up, Ivy stood at the top of the shelter’s worn stone steps, her little backpack clutched tightly in her hands. Her blue hair was tied in uneven pigtails, and her big brown eyes blinked up at you, cautious, searching—hopeful.

Vi was the first to kneel down, soft and open. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to come home?”

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She looked from Vi to you, her voice small and cracking the silence: “Will I get to stay this time?”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. You knelt beside Vi and reached out to gently take Ivy’s hand.

“Yes, Ivy,” you said. “You get to stay. For as long as you want.”

Vi smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair. “We’ve got a room just for you. And guess what? You get to choose the wall color. We’ll put up fairy lights, and we’ve got a bookshelf waiting for all your princess stories.”

“And teacups,” you added with a wink. “Tiny ones.”

That got a smile from Ivy—shy but real—and she gave a small nod.

The car ride home was quiet. Ivy curled up in the backseat with the stuffed bunny Vi had given her weeks ago, occasionally peeking at the two of you in the front seat as if to make sure you were still there. Still real.

When you arrived, Vi scooped her up in one arm and twirled her once in the hallway, making her giggle for the first time that day.

That night, after Ivy had fallen asleep beneath a blanket of stars projected onto her ceiling, you and Vi stood quietly in her doorway, arms around each other, watching the rise and fall of her tiny breaths.

“We have a daughter,” you whispered.

Vi rested her chin on your head and nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… we really do.”

──────────────────────

The first few days at home were a mix of quiet observation and small, cautious steps. Ivy was polite and sweet, always whispering “thank you” and “sorry,” even when there was nothing to be sorry for. She kept to herself at first, mostly playing in her room—arranging and rearranging the books on her little shelf or curling up with her stuffed bunny in the cozy reading nook Vi and Vander had built by the window.

But slowly, the house began to come alive in new ways.

Vi showed her how to make pancakes in the morning, even letting her flip one—badly—which left batter splattered on the stove and Ivy in a fit of giggles. You turned laundry folding into a game, a sock-matching race that ended in shrieks of laughter more than clean piles. Every night, Ivy asked for the same bedtime story—the one about the brave knight and the dragon who became her friend.

Then one sunny Saturday, it was time for her to meet the family.

Vi had tried to prepare her. “They’re loud, and they’ll probably bring too many snacks and too many hugs—but they mean well. I promise.”

Ivy clung to your hand as Vander’s booming voice echoed through the house before he’d even stepped inside.

“Is the little one here? Where’s my new tea party partner?”

Vi opened the door, and there he was—massive as ever, with arms wide and a teddy bear the size of a small dog slung over one shoulder. He bent down, eyes gentle behind his tough exterior, and offered Ivy a warm smile. “Hi there, kiddo. I’m Vander.”

Ivy blinked up at him, wide-eyed, then slowly reached out and took the bear, hugging it tightly to her chest. “Hi.”

“I can’t believe I’m a granddad” he said with a laugh, giving Vi a playful pat on the back.

Jinx was next, practically vibrating with excitement as she crouched in front of Ivy. “Okay, so here’s the deal: I brought glitter, stickers, and I know how to make slime that explodes.”

“She’s joking,” Vi quickly interjected, shooting her sister a look.

“Mostly joking,” Jinx whispered with a wink, making Ivy giggle behind the bear.

Claggor, Mylo, and Ekko arrived not long after, each carrying something they claimed Ivy had to have—a toy, a book, a plushie, a puzzle. Claggor offered to help build a blanket fort out of the couch cushions. Mylo challenged her to a card game he swore he never loses. Ekko knelt beside her and offered a tiny wind-up bird he’d fixed himself, its delicate wings fluttering as it chirped.

But soon, you noticed Ivy starting to withdraw—her shoulders tensing, her voice shrinking to a whisper. You knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Too much?”

She gave a small nod.

You gently lifted her into your arms and carried her into the kitchen. “Alright, how about a little break? Just us. We’ll go back in when you’re ready.”

There, you let her help you with the cake batter while she told you a story about a dragon and a pink-haired knight with powerful gauntlets. Vi peeked in a few minutes later, leaning on the doorframe with a smile.

“Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?” she asked, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you poured the batter into the pan.

“Yes,” you said, glancing at Ivy, who was sitting on the counter with flour on her nose. “She was just telling me a story. Apparently there’s a brave pink-haired knight who slayed a dragon today.”

Vi grinned. “Oh? Sounds like she’s got good taste. That knight sounds very strong.”

Ivy giggled, hiding her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, your parents arrived—quieter than the rest, but just as full of love. Your mom handed Ivy a hand-knit blanket, soft yellow with tiny green daisies embroidered into the fabric. Your dad offered her a small photo album filled with baby pictures of you and Vi—chubby cheeks, missing teeth, wild hair. Ivy flipped through it slowly, like it was a rare treasure.

That evening, the house was full of warmth and laughter. Ivy was now sitting between Jinx and Ekko with her new blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Her plastic crown was a little crooked, and she sipped from a juice box with a smile tugging at her lips.

You watched her from across the room, tucked into Vi’s side.

“She’s getting comfortable,” you whispered.

Vi’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you close. “She’s starting to believe this is home.”

You glanced back at Ivy, watching her laugh at something Mylo said, watching her curl up again with her oversized bear and the photo album tucked at her side.

And in that moment, you felt something settle inside you.

You felt whole.

──────────────────────

You and Vi were certain—Ivy was your daughter. There was no hesitation in your hearts. So the very next morning, after your family’s visit, you rushed to your office, pulled a few strings, and quietly set the official adoption paperwork in motion. No more waiting. No more what-ifs. You were ready.

In the days that followed, Ivy blossomed in your home. She had started settling in, becoming more comfortable in the little routines you and Vi had built just for her. She raced Vi to the kitchen every morning, always insisting she had won—even when Vi clearly let her. She claimed the reading nook as her personal throne, often found there with a book in her lap and her bunny tucked under one arm. And twice now, she had asked you to braid her hair before bed. Small moments. Beautiful ones.

The routine you had once feared would be shattered by change had, instead, reshaped itself around Ivy like it had been waiting for her all along.

One quiet evening, the three of you were in the living room. Vi sat cross-legged on the rug, helping Ivy piece together the glittery unicorn puzzle Jinx had given her, while you curled up on the couch nearby, flipping absentmindedly through a book. The fireplace crackled softly, casting warm amber light across the room and filling it with the scent of burning pine.

“I think this one goes here,” Vi said, nudging a piece toward Ivy with a smile.

Ivy took it with a little frown of concentration, studying the image before carefully pressing it into place. “Got it!” she chirped, beaming at Vi.

Vi held up her hand for a high-five. “Told you—you’re a puzzle master.”

Ivy giggled and gave her a victorious high five, then glanced over her shoulder at you, her voice soft, almost offhanded but sure.

“Mommy, look. I did the sky part.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Mommy. The word floated through the room settling over your heart and wrapping around it.

Vi’s eyes shot to yours, wide with awe—but you weren’t crying. Not yet. Instead, you were smiling, your lips trembling just slightly, your eyes shining with emotion.

You slid off the couch and knelt beside Ivy, placing your hand over hers, grounding the moment. “You did such a good job, Ivy,” you whispered.

She leaned into your side immediately, tucking her small head under your chin. You held her close, feeling the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her little heart—and something shifted inside you. That trust. That love. It had all found its way home.

Vi moved behind you, resting a hand on your back, her thumb brushing in slow circles as the three of you sat together in the flickering light.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need to. The moment said enough.

Later that night, after Ivy had drifted to sleep—her bunny in one arm, your mother’s daisy-covered blanket draped over her—you and Vi stood quietly in the doorway, watching her breathe.

“She called you Mom,” Vi whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I told you… you had nothing to worry about.”

You smiled, eyes never leaving Ivy’s peaceful form. “Yeah. And you’re always right.”

Vi chuckled softly, then wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. You leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. The kind that said everything you couldn’t find the words for.

──────────────────────

It happened a week after Ivy started school, a week after you signed the official adoption papers.

She had been so excited at first—Jinx had come over and helped her decorate her tiny backpack with glittery patches, and you packed her lunchbox with all her favorites.

You and Vi had walked her to the school gates, knelt beside her, kissed her cheeks, and sent her off with whispered encouragements and bright smiles.

But the glow didn’t last.

By the third day, Ivy was quieter when she came home. She didn’t want to talk much. Said school was “fine,” but her eyes were distant. You and Vi didn’t push her. You gave her space, made her favorite dinner, read her favorite story at bedtime.

But something was wrong, she wanted to stay awake until she physically couldn’t keep her eyes open, you would lay next to her, trying to make her fall asleep, but she would battle until the last second.

Then, one night, she had a nightmare.

You both woke up to the sound of her cries—raw, terrified. Vi was out of bed in seconds, tearing down the hallway barefoot. You followed close behind, heart pounding.

When Vi opened Ivy’s bedroom door, she found her curled in a ball under the blanket, shaking, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Her little bunny had fallen to the floor, the daisy blanket tangled around her legs.

Vi dropped to her knees at the bedside. “Hey, hey, baby,” she whispered, voice gentle but steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Ivy looked up at her through tears, lips trembling. She launched forward into Vi’s arms, clutching her like the world was ending. “Don’t let them take me back,” she sobbed. “Please don’t let them take me away.”

Vi wrapped her arms around her tightly, protectively. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’re staying right here, with us. I promise.”

Ivy buried her face in Vi’s shoulder, and in a choked, broken voice, she whispered, “I had a dream they took me away… and I couldn’t find you. I kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Vi rocked her gently, her jaw clenched tight. “I’m always here, Ivy. I will always find you. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

And then, so soft it could’ve been a dream itself, Ivy said, “I knew you’d come, Mom. You’re my pink-haired knight. You always come when I’m scared.”

Vi’s heart broke and mended all at once. She kissed her forehead, holding her tighter than ever. “Damn right I do,” she said, voice cracking. “You’re mine, Ivy. Forever.”

You leaned quietly at the doorway, watching them from the shadows, hand pressed to your heart. Vi looked up at you, her eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say, and you simply nodded. You felt it too.

That night, you brought Ivy into your bed. She slept curled between you both, safe and warm, her little hand clasped in Vi’s the whole time.

And in the morning, she woke with a smile.

The fear wasn’t gone completely—but now, she knew that even in the dark, even in her worst dreams, her knight would come for her. Her Mom would always come for her.

──────────────────────

masterlist - part two

end notes: i don’t know how the system works in other countries so i went mostly with what i’ve seen on tv and what happens in my own country, so yeah!! if anything is wrong pretend it’s not 😛

#vi x reader #arcane #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you #lily writes #request ♡#🌿

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hxlxnaaa · 3 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me.

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by.

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, “What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook.

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back.

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes.

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built.

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win.

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said.

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later.

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived.

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body.

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas.

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves).

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor.

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers?

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?”

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes?

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it.

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did).

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring.

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place.

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom.

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now.

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise.

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I’m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own.

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.”

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch.

But it feels like everything.

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts.

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling.

Is this what dying feels like?

Is this death?

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole?

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly.

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes.

I want to say yes more than anything.

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

#hxlxnaaawrites #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #l&ds caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #lnds #lnds smut #lnds fluff #lnds angst #caleb love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb fluff #caleb x mc #love and deep space #caleb angst

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tbaluver · 10 months ago

Note

Hiii! Can you make general Sylus HCs?? Fluff ones though! YOURE LIKE A BREATH OF FRESH AIR OMG LIKEEEE THE FLUFF MAKES MY HEART SIMPLY M E L T !

Sylus Headcanons- Love And DeepSpace

a/n: omg anon you're so sweet thank you so much ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ i hope you'll like this and i hope this is okay!! <3

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy! <3

genre: fluff fluff

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

General Headcanons ˎˊ˗

This man is big everywhere. If you have or seen the memory of Within Reach you know what I'm talking about. Since he has quite a large build in height and muscle, he probably has trouble finding clothing in his size in store. Sleeves would be too short or pants would be too tight so often he would have to get them tailored but it's fine because he has all the money in the world.

This man is 6'2. Since he's tall, mirrors can cut off your head or usually shower heads are mounted too low so he would have to crouch down often. But later on he took down any small mirrors and adjusted the shower to his height for his liking.

Would try to eat a healthy balance meal 3 times a day unless work got in the way. He also probably has the best skincare routine ever. He would have cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, and different types of sunscreens for morning or even at night.

In Tender Curve, he mentions he's there to feed a cat. Whenever he has the time he'll leave cat food outside for any strays. He has no time to take care of any pets and also Mephisto would squawk at him nonstop with jealously.

He probably thought he would never sing in his life until Luke and Kieran 'pestered' him to try it out in the karaoke room. He thought why not he had nothing else to do. He would lose track of time due to Luke and Kieran cheering him on. So if being the Onychinus's Leader never works out he figures he can be an idol in the future.

The type to accept any business as long as it's near your location whether it work or you have things to do in that area. How would he know your location? You would have your location posted on your moments and sometimes Luke and Kieran talk about you a lot. He would use any business matter to talk to you and ask if you can help him with any errands.

Relationship Headcanons ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sometimes he'll let Mephisto spy on you and update him on what you like to eat so he can learn how to cook it for you when he doesn't have the personal chef around. He likes trying new recipes and you are always there to try them or help him make it. Would love it when you would hug him behind while he's in the kitchen cooking or the other way around.

Not super big on PDA especially in the N109 zone but will do gestures like his hand on your lower back or his arm around your waist. But in private he would be a lot more affectionate. In the car, he loves having one of his hands intertwined with yours as it rests on your lap while his other hand is on the wheel. Lots of forehead kisses. Sometimes would tease you because of your height difference and make you try to reach him to kiss him on his lips. Eventually he'll crouch down to kiss you after watching you struggle.

If anything were to upset you, he'll always be there to listen and to comfort you. He'll hold your hand or wrap and arm around your waist, rubbing soothing small circles reassuring you on whatever the issue is or helping you find a solution to whatever the problem is. If it was anyone that bothered you, they might want to sleep with one eye open.

He's also kinda silly. When you walk in his bathroom while he's shaving, he'll put some of the cream on your nose because he thinks your reaction would be funny.

Would always have an outfit to have for you to match with him in a business meeting. But if you wanted a different outfit he would find something to match with you that way everyone knows that you two are together.

He's extremely thoughtful. He remembers even the smallest details you have mentioned to him. He'll always find the perfect gift to give you on anniversaries or birthdays.

What's his becomes yours. You want his clothes even though they might be too big for you? Take the whole closet. He'll find his clothing in your fitting quite adorable actually. He'll even give you keys to his armory, he has many so choose whatever you want. He even let's you have Luke and Kieran as your henchmen too as long as he gets to have them back for work.

#sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lads x you #lads x reader #lads #lads scenarios #love and deepspace scenarios #lads fic

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rotagnus · 2 months ago

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good things coming, angel baby ---<3

what good things are coming your way? signs?

p1.

a lot of you have finished a cycle. i think a lot of things have happened in your life recently; it may have felt like the universe was bombarding you with signs LOL. for some of you you're on your period or it's happened recently, which may have added to your stresses. the things that are coming is a union, that's for sure. now don't immediately think i'm talking about a romantic one--this can be in whichever way that is significant to you. some of you may have had a person who's being a drama queen and leeching off of attention, and may be not a very good person to be around...this union will distract you from them. let them set their temper tantrums. you're better off not carrying the weight of someone who can carry their own share. a lot of you will be becoming more private, and this will make you feel like you just took a breath of fresh air. your view of the universe is shifting, and some negative ways you viewed your life will fall away and you'll see that it was anxiety speaking, the devil on your shoulder speaking. a lot of you will cut ties with things that are bad for you; maybe even people. these subjects may try to return to your life but it's in your best interest to beat them away with a stick. a lot of you will experience very sensitive and tender events, soon. the ones that soften you up but also give you more strength. i think that you can take a deep breath. this world won't give you anything you can't handle, my darling dove.

p2.

a lot of you have had a hard period this winter, and i can tell you very confidently that this spring will seep light into your weary bones. a lot of you felt watched and observed by unpleasant energies; you're a very sensitive soul, and you can feel when people are meddling with you and have bad intentions. you're protected and this won't last long. you didn't do anything wrong, is something i'm hearing, so i guess that might be significant. a lot of you are stepping into your energy; wearing your own skin proudly. some of your insecurities will fall apart. you're entering a very abundant energy and triumphing in life, particularly in the physical world; accomplishments are coming your way, and you can pat yourself on the back because your hard work has earned all of these things. your life is becoming balanced, and a lot of you will be able to relax and put the things you're obsessively pouring yourself into to rest along with yourself, because a lot of the time you invest yourself too much into things. rest, and value this thing; without being obsessive over it. while you're going to be very successful in the material world, you'll learn not to value it too deeply. you're going to resist some bad choices, so this is kind of the universe telling you that you MUST listen to your gut. it's right, always right, and honey, you've always been good at listening to your intuition, but this serves as a reminder to you. this is your time to reign and be yourself, and a good thing that's coming is you'll feel like it's easier to be yourself. this will reap you countless rewards, my love.

p3.

this pile has had a hard time being vulnerable and open for the past period of time, maybe months or weeks. you may be away from family or friends at this moment, and you've felt very depleted. i can tell you that it'll be easier to return to your people, your homes. your heart will bloom and for a lot of you you'll feel this weight becoming less physically, so i think a lot of you may have been feeling physical symptoms of your heartache. a lot of you are the kind of person who's like 'i wish i had my own person' who would like you and treasure you as much as you do them. i think you'll get this but not necessarily in the way you expect. some of you may get a person, yeah; the other half is going to get something else BEFORE they get the person. key word, before; you'll still get this, but only after you learn that you can find this peace and fulfillment in things other than another human. you guys have sooo much potential to be great and full of this powerful love, this humanity that carves itself so carefully into your warm nature, but you think that you'll find this in another person. WRONG!!! it lies within yourself, you idiot (lovingly). this is not the time to be humble; this is the time to recognize your achievements and love yourself for it so you don't attract people who convince you that your beautiful, gorgeous, smart, AMAZING ass deserves little. so yeah. a lot of you will benefit from doing hip-opening yoga to practice vulnerability. also journaling and taking walks. try to spend time in nature, you're very attuned in those kind of places and it'll give you the moments of sweetness you're seeking :). remember you're loved, sweetheart!

#love reading #pac reading #rotagnus #tarotblr #divine guidance #intuitive reading #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot reading

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wvyik · 3 months ago

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nsfw alphabet. d.w. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: my take on the infamous NSFW alphabet where each letter represents a different aspect of dean’s passionate, playful, and sometimes possessive side!

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, mature themes, adult language, graphic sexual content, explicit descriptions of intimacy, kinky stuff, possessiveness, lowkey fluffy, sub! dean at times, but mostly dom! dean.

⤿ notes: here’s the template i used!! (slightly tweaked it) tbh i love writing headcanons sm im thinking of posting them more often. let me know if you liked this format!! at SOME points i lost the plot and wrote a whole ass fic.. but hey. this is my first time.

A = AFTERCARE..

After a night of passion, Dean’s first instinct is always to make sure you’re okay. He’s gentle, tender, almost like he’s still in awe of you. He’ll pull you close, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, running his fingers through your hair as he mutters soft words of reassurance. Even in the aftermath of something intense, he needs you to know you’re safe, that you’re everything to him. He’s not about that “wham-bam” stuff. He’ll get you a glass of water, make sure you’re comfortable, and maybe even wrap you in a blanket while he quietly watches over you, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as you both catch your breath.

He’s the type to make it feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and even though he’s usually tough and rugged, with you, he’s all heart. It’s about comfort, care, and making sure you feel cherished. It’s his way of showing that the connection doesn’t end after the heat of the moment; it only deepens.

B = BODY PART..

Dean’s hands— they’re his favorite body part, and not just because they’re strong or capable. No, it’s the way they feel when they’re touching you, when they’re pulling you closer, slipping under the fabric of your clothes, and tracing the softest parts of your skin. When it’s just the two of you, alone in that quiet space, his hands will roam over your body with purpose. He’s all about the slow burn, his fingertips brushing across your neck, making your breath hitch as he dips lower to the curve of your waist. He’ll take his time, working you up, feeling every inch of you as if he’s memorizing you, ensuring you’re completely in his control.

As for his favorite part of you? Dean can’t stop thinking about your thighs. When you’re alone, he’ll have you straddling him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly moves against you, feeling the heat building between you two. Your thighs are soft, but firm, the perfect balance of strength and vulnerability, and when you press them together, it’s like a promise of something hotter. His hands will travel down, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer until he can feel every inch of you moving against him. He’s obsessed with the way your body reacts to him; your thighs pressing tightly against his sides as you rock against him, your breath shaky, your skin heated under his touch. He’s rough when he wants to be, but in those moments, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll make sure everything is slow, deliberate. Each kiss, each touch, each movement a way of savoring you.

C = CUM..

His favorite spot to cum is definitely inside of you.. Not just for the convenience of making less of a mess— it just feels way more personal. When Dean finally hits that point, it’s like everything just snaps. His hands are gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you down on him. He’s moving deep, hard, every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He can feel himself losing control as his body trembles, and when he finally releases, it’s rough and intense. You can feel it, that pulse deep inside you, as he’s coming undone, his grip tightening, his body jerking with each wave.

He’s not shy about it either.. he’ll tell you how good it feels, how he can’t stop because you’re just too good to let go of. And when he’s done, there’s no shame, he’s all over you, holding you close, whispering how amazing you are, not wanting to let you go even for a second. Dean’s the type to make sure you’re completely satisfied, whether that’s with kisses, gentle touches, or reminding you how much you mean to him, even after that intense release.

He’ll want to stay inside you for just a little longer, feeling that connection, letting everything settle between the two of you. But it’s not just about the act; it’s about the way he’s completely consumed by you, how every touch and every moan is for you, how your body makes him lose control in the best way.

Dean’s not just about taking; he’s all about giving too. When he’s got you underneath him, lips brushing along your neck, his hands guiding you as he kisses down your body, he knows exactly what he’s doing. His eyes are on you the whole time— he loves watching the way your body reacts to his touch, how your breath hitches as he moves lower.

When he finally gets to your thighs, he’ll take his time, teasing with his tongue, pressing soft kisses against your skin, before finally kissing that sensitive spot. He’ll take his time with you, making you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. His tongue moves with purpose, driving you crazy, circling and flicking just the right way, making sure you’re feeling every bit of pleasure.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he’ll growl, barely able to hold back as he keeps moving, pushing you closer to the edge. He won’t stop until you’re breathless, trembling underneath him. He’ll make sure you hit that release, his lips and tongue working together, guiding you to that explosive moment. And when you’re finally lost, when your body spasms from that climax, he’s right there, feeling it with you, never stopping, never pulling away.

When Dean’s on the receiving end, you better believe he’s not quiet about it. He’s all about that slow, intense pleasure, and when you start to make your way down his body, his breath catches in his chest, a low groan escaping him. His eyes are on you, heat in his gaze, as his hands rest in your hair, but he’s not pulling you— he’s letting you take your time. He loves the anticipation, the slow build-up as you tease him, running your hands along his thighs, giving him just enough to drive him wild.

“C’mon, baby, don’t make me wait,” he’ll tell you, voice hoarse, his patience wearing thin as you hover just above him. But he loves the feeling of you taking control, how your mouth makes him lose himself in you. When you finally take him into your mouth, he’s lost. His head falls back, a moan slipping from his lips as he tries to hold it together. You know how to move, how to make him feel like he’s in heaven, your tongue working its magic as you make him see stars.

Dean’s not the kind to just lay back, though. His hips start to move with the rhythm, not in a desperate way, but in sync with your movements. His hands will grip your hair, gently guiding you, wanting to feel all of it. When you take him deep, he can’t help but let out a low curse under his breath, his body shuddering with pleasure. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he’ll mutter, completely lost in the sensation of you giving him everything.

When he’s close, he’ll tell you, voice rough and strained, “I’m gonna—shit—I’m close.” But he won’t rush it. He wants to savor it. He wants to make sure you’re giving him your full attention until he’s at his breaking point. And when he finally reaches that edge, when he’s spilling into your mouth, it’s pure bliss for him. The way you take it all, the way you look up at him with those hungry eyes; it’s too much for him to handle, and he can’t stop the way his body trembles with the release.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

Dean’s dirty secret? It’s not something he just tells you about. It’s something he keeps tucked away, buried deep beneath the tough guy act. But you start to realize it when you’re alone, when it’s just the two of you in the quiet of a motel room, the world outside forgotten.

Dean’s secret is that he loves when you take control, when you push him to his limits and make him beg for it. Most people would never guess it. Hell, Dean barely acknowledges it himself, but you see the way he looks at you sometimes, like he’s waiting for you to take the reins. It’s the way his voice goes low and rough when he whispers your name, the way his body stiffens in anticipation when you shift on top of him, taking charge. It’s the way he fights it, but you know— he’s completely fucking powerless when you take control.

He’s not used to it. Dean’s the one who’s always in charge, the one with the power in every situation. But with you? He’s different. He loves being dominated by you, in that subtle, almost teasing way. He loves it when you pin him down, when you whisper dirty things in his ear that make his heart race. He loves when you don’t let him speak, when you kiss him so hard he can barely breathe, all while you keep him trapped beneath you.

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it, not to you, and especially not to anyone else. It’s his dirty little secret, the thing that’s so out of character for him. He’s too proud to openly admit that sometimes, he craves to be the one controlled, the one who’s helpless to your touch. But deep down, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it drives him wild that he can’t stop wanting it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

Dean’s very experienced. This man’s been around the block a few times. He’s been in all kinds of situations, with all types of people, and let’s just say, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But here’s the thing— his experience isn’t just about the physical stuff; it’s about reading people, knowing how to make them feel wanted and understood. He’s learned what works, what doesn’t, and how to please a partner in ways that make them melt.

He knows how to take his time, how to build that tension, and when to slow things down. He’s got that natural rhythm that’s just right, making sure you’re comfortable, but also giving you exactly what you need when it comes to your desires. And when it comes to giving or receiving, he’s all about the details; the gentle touches, the teasing, the deep, intense moments. There’s no awkwardness with him. He knows when to press, when to pull back, and when to take things to the next level.

But don’t get it twisted, he’s not cocky about it. His experience comes from years of both hunting and dealing with personal stuff, and there’s something about his confidence that makes him so good at pleasing. He’s been around enough to know how to handle things, but with you, it’s not just about getting off. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied— emotionally and physically. He’s all in when it comes to giving you a good time, even if he keeps it cool on the outside.

Of course, there’s a soft spot when it comes to you. Because with the way Dean feels for you, he’d want to make sure everything is perfect. All that experience? It’s used in service of you, babe, making you feel like you’re the only person who matters. And trust me, when he’s focused on you, he’s a damn expert at making you feel amazing.

In a nutshell: Yes, Dean knows what he’s doing. He’s got the experience to back it up, and he uses it to keep you hooked, wanting more every single time.

F = FAVORITE POSITION..

It’s definitely the one where he’s in full control, making sure you’re completely at his mercy, but let’s be real, he likes mixing it up depending on how the night’s going. His go-to? Probably doggy style, hands down.

When he’s got you in that position, he gets to see everything.. every little movement you make, every expression that crosses your face. It drives him wild knowing he’s the one causing it. He’ll grip your hips, pulling you back into him as he takes his time, slow and deep. The way your body reacts under him? It’s like pure music to his ears, and that view? It drives him insane. He loves feeling you clench around him, knowing that every thrust makes you feel it even more.

But that’s not all; Dean’s also big on missionary when he’s feeling extra connected. He likes to look you in the eye, making sure you’re completely focused on him, feeling every inch of the connection. That intimate, slow, and powerful rhythm where he can feel your heart racing beneath his, his hands tracing your curves as he moves inside you— that’s when things get real intense.

And when he wants to switch it up, he doesn’t mind getting a little rough with you, flipping you over, having you straddle him or him taking you from behind while you’re bent over a surface— whatever drives the mood. The chemistry between you two? It makes him want to explore every possible position, and he’s down to try new things, especially when it means making sure you’re both satisfied.

At the end of the day, Dean’s favorite position is the one that makes you feel like you’re his, but it’s not about being possessive. It’s about that perfect connection. It’s about that sweet balance of passion and control. And trust me, he’s got plenty of ways to show it.

G = GOOFY..

Dean can definitely get a little goofy in the moment, especially when he feels comfortable with you. It’s like he knows he can let his guard down and just be himself. While he’s definitely the type to take charge and keep things intense, he’s got that playful side that comes out in the heat of the moment.

Sometimes, when things get heated and you’re both in the middle of it, he’ll throw in a cheeky comment just to make you laugh. He might tease you with a quick “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” or a smug little smirk while you’re on top of him, making sure he’s enjoying every second. His confidence lets him crack those playful jokes because he knows he’s got you hooked; and he loves seeing you blush when he gets a little too cheeky.

But it’s not all about jokes. Dean can also get a little goofy in the way he teases you physically. Light, playful taps on your ass, or that sexy growl he uses when he’s trying to rile you up. He’s got that natural, smooth way of mixing humor and passion that keeps you on your toes. He might even act like he’s serious at first, but then that mischievous grin pops out, showing you he’s not taking things too seriously.

It’s in the little moments— the way he’ll whisper something ridiculously sweet in your ear, only to follow it up with something teasing, like “Who’s the lucky one now?” He can switch between being intense and ridiculously charming in a second, making you laugh one moment, then melt the next.

But when it’s time to get serious, Dean knows how to flip the switch. If things get more intimate or passionate, that goofy side fades into the background, and he’s all about the connection. But even then, you’ll catch those little glimpses of humor, the way he looks at you with that playful glint in his eye, showing he’s not completely lost in the moment, he’s just enjoying it with you.

So, yeah, while he’s definitely got that serious, dominant energy, Dean’s no stranger to being goofy when the mood strikes. And honestly? It’s part of the fun. It keeps the vibe light, playful, and even more intimate. That mix of humor and intensity? It makes the connection between you two even hotter.

H = HAIR..

Okay.. Let’s start with Dean’s head. His hair? As we know; always on point. He’s got that signature messy, just-out-of-bed look that somehow always looks perfect. He keeps it clean, but a little rugged— like he doesn’t care, but deep down, you know he’s putting in just enough effort to keep it looking good. That shaggy, chocolate brown mess of hair frames his face in the best way, and he’s definitely not afraid to run his fingers through it when he’s frustrated; or when he’s trying to look extra good for you.

Now, when it comes to down there, oh yeah, Dean keeps himself trimmed. He’s not the type to go completely bald, but he definitely takes care of business. He keeps things neat, a little shorter, so everything’s clean and ready to go when it’s time for action. It’s just the right amount of scruff, leaving enough to tease, but nothing over the top. Dean’s all about being practical, but he’s also aware of how much it adds to the vibe. He knows exactly what works for him and what makes his partner want more.

Well, we already know Dean’s got that signature rugged, manly look, and it shows down there too. He keeps the hair trimmed but not overly maintained, just enough to keep it real— natural, just like him. The way he takes care of himself shows that he’s confident in his own skin, but he’s not obsessing over perfection. So.. the carpet may not match the drapes exactly, but damn, it’s a close call— because Dean doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s got that perfect balance of masculine and a bit of a secret that only you get to see, something that makes you want to dive deeper, take your time, and just worship every inch of him.

As for you, being completely honest— He wants to feel the texture when his lips press against your skin, that slight pull of hair beneath his lips as he moves lower. The perfect amount; not too much, not too little. When he feels the light trim and the soft brush of it against his fingers or mouth, it drives him wild. He might tease you about it when he’s between your legs, maybe give a little chuckle before running his fingers through the soft, trimmed hair, and whispering “God, you know this is exactly how I like it” as he looks up at you, hungry eyes burning with desire.

If you’re the type who prefers to keep things smooth, that’s good too. Because when Dean’s down there, he’s all about pleasure, and he’ll take his time, loving every inch of you. But give him just a hint of natural with a little softness, and that’s his weakness. He’ll get lost in the feeling of your skin, fingers grazing over every curve, savoring the way the hair feels when it’s just enough to give him that little extra something. It drives him crazy when you arch your back, a slight gasp escaping your lips, all because he’s finding that sweet spot— the perfect mix of rough and smooth, like he’s savoring the experience of you more than just the action itself.

Dean’s preference isn’t about rules, it’s about what turns him on— and you’re turning him on anyway. Whether you like a clean, smooth look or a little natural fuzz, he’s just as obsessed with how you feel about it. But if you’re asking him, that little hint of trim? It’s just the right level of perfection to make him lose control.

I = INTIMACY..

Dean might have that tough, gruff exterior, but when it comes to intimacy? He’s got a side to him that will absolutely melt you. It’s not just about the physical, rough and wild moments (though those definitely exist)— it’s about how he makes you feel in those quiet, tender moments between. When you two are wrapped up in each other, it’s like the world disappears.

He’s the type who can’t help but stare at you with that softness in his eyes when he’s touching you; gently running his hands up your arms, tracing your jaw, just taking you in like he can’t believe you’re actually there with him. There’s this feeling he gives off, like he’s not just having sex, but connecting with you on a level that means so much more than just the physical release. He’s completely present.

When he’s inside you, it’s like he’s not in a rush, savoring every inch of the moment. There’s no slamming or pushing for a fast release. Dean’s all about drawing out the sensations, making sure you’re feeling every single second of him. Whether it’s kissing you deeply, whispering sweet things in your ear, or taking the time to gently stroke your body while he’s inside you, it’s all about showing you just how much you mean to him in that moment.

Dean doesn’t need to say a word to make you feel loved. His hands, the way he looks at you, the way he moves; it all speaks louder than anything he could say. His kisses are deep, passionate, but with that soft, tender edge that shows he cares. He’s not just trying to get off; he’s trying to make you feel everything in that moment. Every caress is deliberate, every movement intentional.

When he pulls you close after, he’ll hold you in his arms like you’re his world, his heartbeat steady against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. He’s always checking in with you, making sure you’re okay, both physically and emotionally. It’s that soft, romantic side of him that you rarely get to see, but when it’s just you and him? That’s when he shows you all the affection and love he’s been hiding under his tough exterior.

Intimacy with Dean is a beautiful mix of gentle passion and heart-stopping moments. He’ll bring you closer, make you feel desired in ways you didn’t even know you needed, and leave you breathless with every second of it. But it’s never just about the sex— it’s about him connecting with you, body and soul, and making you feel like you’re the most important thing in his world.

J = JACK OFF..

Dean’s a man of many talents, and when he’s alone? He’s not shy about taking care of his own needs. Let’s be real: the man’s got a lot of built-up tension, and he knows how to relieve it.

Dean’s not a guy who needs to jerk off all the time, but if he’s been going through a stretch where he’s missing you or hasn’t been able to see you in a while, he’s definitely going to be indulging a little more frequently. If he’s on the road, and he’s away from you for a few days, you can bet that he’s getting in at least a few sessions, or when things have been tense between the two of you— he’s not going to forget about how much he wants you.

But it’s not just about quick relief.. it’s about thinking of you. It’s those moments when he’s missing you, or when he’s worked up after seeing you earlier, maybe after a steamy, flirtatious interaction.

When he’s in the mood, Dean doesn’t rush it. He’s got that slow, deliberate rhythm as he strokes himself, thinking about you. He’s imagining your body beneath his, your moans in his ear, your hands gripping his back as he takes you deeper. He’ll bite his lip, letting his thoughts of you fuel the fire, and if he’s really worked up, he might even mumble your name, like it’s a prayer that makes him hit that spot just right.

Dean knows exactly how to handle himself. His hand moves with just the right pressure, and his breaths get quicker, heavier, as his thoughts go straight to you; how you feel, how you look when you’re under him. He might even get a little rougher with himself when he’s thinking of you taking control or teasing him.

But when he’s about to come? It’s like his mind flashes to those intimate moments with you— the way your body shudders beneath his touch, how you look when you’re lost in pleasure. He’ll let out a groan, quick and low, as he finally releases, knowing exactly how much he wants you, how needy he’s gotten for you. And afterward? You can bet he’s not ashamed. He’s used to getting his hands dirty, but he’ll always clean up and shake it off like it’s just part of the job.

So yeah, Dean gets off on his own, but it’s always with you in mind, a little fantasy to keep the fire burning when you’re not around.

K = KINK..

Dean’s a man who’s lived through a lot, and he’s had his fair share of experiences, both good and bad. So, when it comes to his kinks, he’s definitely someone who knows what he likes, and he’s open to a bit of variety. His kinks are rooted in power dynamics, control, and a deep desire to connect, but with that edge of raw, primal energy. Here’s a taste of what gets him going:

Power Play: Dean’s a man who likes to be in control, especially when things get heated. He loves the way you melt under his touch, how your body responds to him taking charge. Whether it’s gently pushing you down on the bed or pinning you against the wall, Dean gets a thrill out of seeing you submit to him. But don’t think he’s all about dominating the moment— it’s about mutual control. He’ll let you take the reins when it suits, but only when he’s good and ready for it.

Biting: Dean is into the idea of claiming you. He’s not afraid to bite, nip, or mark you with hickeys. It’s about showing everyone that you’re his. He wants to leave his mark on your body, something that says, ‘Yeah, you belong to me’, but it’s also a sign that you’re his desire. When he bites your neck, pulls you closer, or marks your inner thighs, it’s all about showing you that you belong to him in more ways than one.

Roleplay: Honestly? I think Dean’s got a thing for slipping into different characters. Sometimes it’s a hunter, sometimes it’s someone a little more dangerous. He loves the idea of playing a different version of himself, or making you act out a scenario where he’s your protector, your savior, your everything. The idea of pretending you’re strangers or something forbidden really gets him going, and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring that fantasy to life.

Spanking & Impact Play: Oh, he loves a little spanking. It’s not about punishing you; no, it’s about showing you just how much he can make you feel with a single slap. He’ll get rough, but in a way that keeps the pleasure high. He might not do it every time, but when he does, he knows exactly where to land his hand, just enough to make you gasp in surprise, followed by a whimper of need.

Tease & Denial: Dean’s great at this. He loves making you wait, teasing you with a kiss, a touch, and just enough attention to leave you desperate. He’ll get you so close to the edge, but then he pulls back, just to make you ache for more. It’s a power play, sure, but it’s also about making you feel like you’re at his mercy.

Dirty Talk: Dean’s mouth might be full of jokes and sarcasm, but when it’s just you two, his dirty talk can be downright filthy. He’ll whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, telling you exactly what he wants to do to you, making sure you know how much he needs you. It’s not just about what he says— it’s the way he says it. That low growl of his? The way his breath shudders in your ear? Yeah, you’re done for.

Bondage: Dean’s not afraid of a little bondage. He’s into tying you up in the heat of the moment, making you submit completely to him. Whether it’s just a simple tie or something more elaborate, he loves the visual and the control it gives him. The way you can’t move, the way he gets to explore every inch of you while you’re completely at his mercy; it’s a massive turn-on for him. Dean will tie you up just enough to keep you restrained, but not so tight you’re uncomfortable, making sure you’re both safe and, well, fully into it.

Morning Sex: Dean loves the feeling of waking up next to you. There’s something about the vulnerability of early mornings that makes him want to make love to you before the world even has a chance to wake up. He’s gentle at first, but it doesn’t take long before things heat up, and he’s got you pressed against him, his hands roaming over your body. There’s something so intimate and raw about the way he makes you feel in the morning, like you’re his whole world, and he can’t wait any longer to be inside you.

Praise kink: While Dean loves being the dominant force, he also enjoys giving you praise in the heat of the moment. There’s something about watching you lose control that fuels him. He’ll whisper sweet, dirty things in your ear, making you feel desired, telling you how good you’re being for him, how you’re his. It might be a little submissive kink on your end, but Dean’s all about making you feel like you’re pleasing him; especially when you’re desperate for his approval. And, let’s not forget. That man has been through some stuff— he loves when you give him little nods of appreciation in bed.

Public/Risky Sex: There’s a bit of a thrill in doing it in places where you shouldn’t. Whether it’s a quickie in the back of the Impala when you’re on the road, or sneaking around while Sam’s off doing his own thing, Dean loves the danger of possibly getting caught. The risk makes everything hotter. The adrenaline rush of having to keep quiet, of needing to be fast, but also wanting to drag it out as long as possible? It makes his blood pump harder, and he knows it’s just as much a turn-on for you as it is for him.

Dean’s kinks are all about power dynamics, teasing, and intense connection. He enjoys the balance between pleasure and pain, control and surrender. But no matter how much he pushes your limits, he’s always going to be there, making sure you’re feeling safe and cared for in the aftermath. Dean might be rough around the edges, but when he’s in the moment, he’s all about you.

L = LOCATION..

Let’s be honest— Dean’s not picky, but he definitely has his favorites. This man is always on the road, always moving, so he’s got to get creative when it comes to where he gets down to business:

The Impala: This one’s a classic. The backseat, the hood, hell—even the front seat if things get desperate. The Impala is Dean’s home, and there’s something about having you in his space that makes it all the more intimate. The windows fogging up, the leather creaking under your bodies, the absolute risk of getting caught—he lives for it. Plus, he loves having you ride him in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel behind your back, knowing damn well he’ll never be able to sit there again without thinking of you.

Motel Rooms: Dean’s been in hundreds of cheap, crappy motels, but when you’re there? They don’t feel so bad. The shitty wallpaper, the questionable beds— none of it matters when you’re beneath him, moaning his name. The fact that you two don’t stay in one place for too long? It makes every night feel urgent, needy, like he has to take full advantage of every second before you’re off hunting again. And let’s be real; he loves when you get loud, and in a motel, there’s no one to stop you.

Against the Wall: Not necessarily a location, but Dean loves pinning you against a wall. Whether it’s a motel wall, the side of the Impala, or even in the bunker when Sam’s not around (or when he is, if you’re being reckless), there’s something about having you trapped between his body and the hard surface that drives him insane. He loves the way you cling to him, the way you have to hold on, and the power he feels when he has you right where he wants you.

Showers: Dean’s a sucker for shower sex. He loves the intimacy of it; hot water, steam filling the air, the way your bodies slide against each other. He’ll stand behind you, hands roaming everywhere, whispering filthy things in your ear as he helps you brace yourself against the tile. It’s slow, deep, unrelenting—and after? He gets to wash you off, take his time kissing every inch of you, and maybe go for another round while you’re still warm and slippery.

Hood of Baby: Dean is a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t admit it. There’s something about pulling off on a deserted road in the middle of the night, laying you out on the hood of the Impala, and having his way with you under the stars. It’s not just about the sex; it’s more about the feeling of freedom, of being untouchable, of knowing that in that moment, it’s just you and him against the world. Plus, he loves the way the cool metal feels against your skin, the contrast between the chill of the night air and the heat of your bodies moving together.

Literally anywhere risky: Dean’s got a thing for danger. Maybe it’s after a hunt, when the adrenaline’s still pumping, and he needs to feel alive. Maybe it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be— an abandoned house, the back of an alley, somewhere public where the risk of getting caught makes it all the more thrilling. He’s careful, but he also loves the idea of you trying to keep quiet, of knowing that someone might hear, but being too lost in the moment to care.

M = MOTIVATION..

Dean might act all cool and in control, but the second you push the right buttons? He’s done for. Here’s what gets him going the most:

Confidence (or Shyness—Either Works on Him): There’s nothing sexier to Dean than watching you take charge. If you walk up to him, grab his collar, and whisper something dirty in his ear? Immediate problem in his jeans. He loves knowing you want him just as much as he wants you. If you tease him, pulling back from a kiss too soon, giving him that look that says ‘come and get me’.. he’s going to get you.

But on the flip side? If you’re a little shy, a little hesitant, biting your lip like you’re unsure if you should make the first move? Yeah. That also destroys him. He loves pulling that shyness out of you, making you let go of your inhibitions until you’re gasping his name. The idea of turning you into a whimpering mess under him? That’s all the motivation he needs.

Your Body, Specifically the Parts You Don’t Think About: Dean lives for the little things; the curve of your hips when you walk past him, the soft skin of your thighs when he rests his hand on them, the way your neck tilts when you throw your head back laughing. It’s never just the obvious things that get him going, it’s the casual, effortless sexiness you don’t even realize you have. And if you’re wearing something that hugs your figure just right? He’s barely holding himself together.

Your Voice— Especially When You’re Whimpering for Him: Dean’s a sucker for sounds. The way your breath hitches when he gets too close, that soft gasp when he drags his fingers down your spine, the way you moan when he finally gives you what you want. If you let out the smallest whimper? He’s done for. It strokes his ego and sets him on fire at the same time.

And if you talk dirty to him? Ohhh, babe, he loses it. Whisper something in his ear, tell him what you need from him, what you want him to do to you? He’s throwing you on the bed before you can finish your sentence.

Seeing You Get a Little Frustrated: Dean loves a good challenge. If you’re trying to stay in control but he keeps pushing you right to the edge, and you start getting desperate for him? That’s it— that’s the moment he snaps. He loves teasing you, making you beg, watching you squirm under his touch. The more you fight it, the harder it is for him to hold back.

The Way You Look After a Hunt or Workout: Dean is an absolute animal for the way you look after any kind of physical activity— your hair a little messy, your skin flushed, your body all warm from exertion? It just makes him think about what you’d look like beneath him, all breathless and needy. And if you’re wearing something a little tight, maybe some sweat dripping down your chest? He’s gripping the steering wheel way too tight trying to keep it together.

Final thoughts? You are his motivation. It doesn’t take much; one look, one touch, one word, and he’s already aching for you. And when he finally gets his hands on you? He’s making sure you feel every ounce of that tension he’s been holding back.

N = NO..

Dean might be down for a lot, but there are definitely things that cross the line for him. For one, he’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable— if you so much as hesitate or seem unsure, it’s over. He’s always paying attention, making sure you’re into it just as much as he is, and if he ever got the feeling you weren’t? He’d pull back immediately, no questions asked.

Pain that goes beyond a little roughness is a hell no for him. He’s all about grip marks on your hips, the occasional love bite, maybe even pinning your wrists if you’re feeling particularly desperate; but hurting you? That’s not even on the table. He might love making you squirm, teasing you until you’re begging, but it’s never about making you feel bad. He needs to know you’re enjoying every second of it, even when he’s driving you crazy.

Another hard no? Anything that makes things impersonal. Dean might be rough, dirty, and insatiable, but at the end of the day, there’s always feeling behind it. He’s not the type to treat sex like some casual transaction, when he’s with you, he’s with you. So anything that makes it feel detached— things like calling you degrading names in a way that isn’t playful, acting like you’re just some random hookup, or taking the emotion out of it— completely kills the mood for him. He needs that connection, that fire, that undeniable feeling that you’re his, and he’s yours.

And lastly? Anything that risks losing control too much. Dean can be dominant, sure, but he’s never going to push things to a point where it feels like he’s not himself. He’s got his demons (literally and figuratively) and he never wants to cross a line that makes either of you feel unsafe. The moment things stop being good for you, they stop being good for him, too. Because at the end of the day? He’s not just in it for the thrill— he’s in it for you.

O = ORAL..

Teased you guys a bit already in C, anyways! Dean lives for oral; giving, receiving, all of it. He’s ridiculously good at it, too, because let’s be real, the man is competitive in everything he does. If he’s going down on you, it’s not just to get you off— it’s to wreck you, to leave you so overstimulated and shaking that you can barely remember your own name.

When Dean’s between your thighs, he’s dedicated. He takes his time, really enjoying it, like it’s his favorite meal. He’s got this cocky little smirk when he first gets down there, like he already knows he’s about to ruin you, and he loves hearing how fast he can pull those desperate little sounds out of you. He doesn’t just focus on one thing— he’s teasing, using his fingers, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate movements, only to switch things up when you least expect it. And the eye contact? Devastating. He’ll look up at you with those green eyes, pupils blown wide, and if you’re gripping his hair, pulling him closer, moaning his name? That’s it. He thrives on that, moaning into you just to watch you fall apart. And he will not stop until he’s got you trembling, gasping, completely lost in it.

As for receiving? Dean loves it, obviously, but what really gets him isn’t just the feeling, it’s the way you do it. If you’re teasing him, dragging your nails down his stomach, taking your time just to watch him get frustrated? Immediate weakness. He’s a sucker for eye contact, for feeling your lips around him while you look up at him with that innocent little gaze that he knows is anything but. And if you go slow at first, making him beg, gripping his thighs or holding his hips down when he tries to thrust? He’s losing it. He loves when you make him work for it, when you edge him just a little, force him to ask for more. But the second you actually give in and let him have it? He’s loud, moaning your name, throwing his head back, gripping the sheets or your hair because it just feels too good. And when he finally can’t take it anymore? He’s dragging you up to kiss you, growling something filthy about how good you are for him, and immediately flipping you over to return the favor.

Dean loves oral in every way possible. But most of all? He loves making sure neither of you walk away unscathed.

P = PACE..

Dean’s pace is everything— fast and rough when he’s desperate for you, slow and deep when he wants to savor it, but always intense no matter what. When he’s needy, when he’s been thinking about you all damn day and finally has you underneath him? There’s no patience left. He’s pushing you up against the wall, knocking the breath out of you, gripping your hips hard as he pounds into you like he’s got something to prove. He loves hearing the way you gasp, the way your nails dig into his back, how you whimper his name like you can’t take it— but he knows you can. He wants to ruin you, wants you to feel him in every inch of your body the next morning, to know that no one—no one—could ever touch you the way he does. His thrusts are deep, relentless, his fingers gripping the back of your neck as he growls in your ear, “This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

But when he wants to take his time? That’s a whole different kind of torture. He starts slow, just to watch you squirm, rolling his hips into you deliberately, dragging out every stroke, making you feel every inch of him. His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your thighs, gripping your wrists above your head just to keep you from pulling him in faster. He knows exactly what he’s doing, watching your face, drinking in every little gasp and moan, smirking when you whine for him to move faster. But he won’t— not yet. He’ll tease you, whisper filthy promises in your ear, telling you exactly what he’s gonna do to you once you’re begging for it. And the moment you finally do? The moment you can’t take it anymore? That’s when he snaps. That slow, controlled rhythm disappears, and suddenly he’s pounding into you like he’s been holding back for hours, because he has.

It doesn’t matter if it’s fast or slow, rough or deep— when Dean’s inside you, it’s always toe-curling, mind-numbing, earth-shattering. He’s not just fucking you; he’s taking you, owning every single sound you make, making damn sure you know who you belong to. And when he finally pulls you close, hips slamming against yours, whispering your name like it’s the only thing he knows? You don’t stand a chance.

Q = QUICKIE..

Dean is all about quickies; he thrives on the thrill of them, the urgency, the way you barely have time to think before he’s got you pressed up against the nearest surface, unbuckling his belt with that cocky little smirk. He loves that rushed, desperate feeling, where there’s no time for slow teasing, no time to strip completely, just pure, raw need.

He’s the type to pull you into a supply closet at a dive bar, shove you up against the Impala, or drag you into the motel bathroom while Sam’s in the other room, covering your mouth with his hand as he growls, “Gotta keep quiet, sweetheart.” And even though it’s rushed, even though it’s all about getting off as fast as possible? He never half-asses it. His pace is still devastating, his hands still gripping you tight, making sure you feel every second of it. He gets off on the idea that you can’t wait— that you need him now, just as badly as he needs you.

Quickies happen a lot with him.. before hunts, after hunts, during hunts when the tension gets too high and he just has to do something about it. And he doesn’t care where— against the Impala with the doors barely shielding you from the outside world, in a bar bathroom, even in the backseat if you tease him too much on a long drive. Hell, if you so much as look at him the right way, he’ll pull you into the nearest empty space and take care of it right there.

But the best part? The way he acts completely normal afterward, like he wasn’t just wrecking you two minutes ago. He’ll walk out of the room, running a hand through his hair, giving you that smirk while he adjusts his belt, acting like he didn’t just ruin you in record time. And if Sam or anyone else notices you looking thoroughly wrecked? Dean just chuckles, winks at you, and mutters, “What? Can’t help it when my girl looks that good.”

R = RISK..

Dean is definitely down to take risks— he thrives on a little danger, and when it comes to you, he’s got a filthy, adventurous side that’s always looking for new ways to keep things interesting. He loves the thrill of getting caught, of doing something he shouldn’t be doing, of knowing that you’re both toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s downright reckless. He’s not gonna do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but if you’re game? He’s all in.

Like i mentioned— Public stuff? Big yes. He’s got a thing for taking you somewhere risky; against the Impala with nothing but the darkness to hide you, in a bar bathroom with music thumping outside, in the backseat while Sam’s off getting food. He lives for those moments where he has to slap a hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear, “Be good for me, sweetheart. Don’t wanna get caught, do we?” But you both know he’d get off on the idea of someone almost hearing.

As for trying new things? Dean is curious, and if you suggest something? He’ll at least consider it. Bondage? He’s into the idea of pinning your wrists, maybe tying them up if he’s feeling particularly possessive. He loves control, but the idea of you having the upper hand sometimes? That’s dangerous in a way that excites him. Teasing him, making him work for it, putting him in a position where he has to beg? He’d never admit how much he likes it— but the second you try it, he’s hooked.

But at the end of the day? The biggest risk for him is losing control. He likes things intense, rough, even reckless. But there’s a limit. He never wants to take things too far, never wants to cross a line where it stops being about both of you. So yeah, he’ll push boundaries, he’ll test limits, he’ll get filthy, but he’ll always pull back if you need him to. Because for all the risks he’s willing to take, the one thing he’ll never gamble with? You.

S = STAMINA..

Dean has insane stamina. Like, we’re talking borderline superhero levels of staying power. He’s not the type to just rush through it and call it a night; when he’s into you, he’s in it for the long haul. You’ll see him go for multiple rounds, no problem. He’s the kind of guy who’ll keep going until you’re absolutely spent, and even then, he might give you a second wind— because Dean? Dean knows how to make it last.

After the first round, he’s not slowing down. In fact, he might get even more fired up, his confidence only growing as he sees you fall apart for him. And the thing is, he doesn’t just go fast and hard and get off quick; he’s got control, so he can pace himself while still making sure you’re writhing under him. He’ll adjust his rhythm, slow things down when you need it, build you back up, only to throw you back into the fire with his relentless pace.

If it’s been a long day, a stressful hunt, or just a case of too much tension between you two, he can go for hours. He’ll go until you’re on the brink of exhaustion, making you beg for him to stop or giving you exactly what you want. But even after you’ve had your fill, he’ll still pull you in for more, teasing you about how perfect you are, how you look so fucked out beneath him. The way he looks at you, all sweaty and breathless, tells you he’s not done, not even close.

He loves the challenge, loves showing you just how much he can handle, and every round is another chance to make you shatter for him. He’s not the kind of guy who taps out early, he’s in it for as long as it takes to make sure you’re both satisfied. So yeah, stamina? He’s got it in spades.

T = TOYS..

Dean’s not opposed to using toys, but it’s not something he needs all the time. If he’s in the mood to experiment, he’s down, and he might surprise you by pulling something out of his bag. He doesn’t have a collection or anything flashy, but he’s got a few items stashed away for when the moment feels right. Maybe it’s a vibrating toy, something to use on you while he’s taking his time with your body, or maybe it’s a blindfold or a set of handcuffs; something to tease, to heighten the sensation, and get you begging for more.

When it comes to using them on you, Dean loves to take control. He’ll slip a toy inside you while he’s kissing you, watching your face as the pleasure builds and he takes his time with you. He might tell you to keep quiet, to stay still, while he moves the toy slowly, getting you worked up while he strokes your skin. He’s into it, watching how you react, getting off on the way you squirm, the way you beg him for more. It’s not about the toy itself, it’s about how it adds to the power he has over you.

If Dean’s ever using a toy on himself? It’s probably just a quick solo thing when he’s away for a long stretch of time, maybe after a particularly stressful hunt. But honestly? He much prefers the real thing. Toys are fun for when he’s feeling a little extra, but nothing compares to the way you feel wrapped around him. So, yeah, toys are in the picture occasionally, but they’re more of a spicy bonus rather than a regular go-to.

U = UNFAIR..

Dean is a master of teasing. It’s practically in his DNA. He loves to get you worked up, make you beg for him, and he absolutely thrives on the power he has over your body and your reactions. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you squirm, the way your breath catches when he drags his fingers over your skin just a little too slowly, the way your eyes roll back when he whispers something filthy in your ear. He’s got a wicked sense of humor, and teasing you? It’s his favorite game.

He knows exactly what drives you wild, what makes you ache for him— and he will absolutely milk that. He’s the type to pull away right when you’re getting close, watching you whimper and squirm in frustration, before he grins and says, “Not yet, baby.” He’s totally aware of how badly you want him, how desperate you are for that release, and he loves keeping you on the edge, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but never quite enough to make you snap. He knows it drives you crazy, and that’s exactly why he does it.

Sometimes, when he’s in the mood to be a little extra sadistic, he’ll barely touch you, just enough to make you itch for more, but never enough to actually give you what you need. He’ll tease you with his hands, with his lips, maybe even with his words; telling you how good you look, how he can’t wait to ruin you, only to pull back again, leaving you desperate for him.

It’s not that Dean is being mean.. he’s just having fun, enjoying how you fall apart in his hands. And the best part? The moment you finally get that release, it’s worth every second of the teasing. When he finally lets you have it, when he finally gives in— it’s explosive, mind-blowing. And he’s got no problem doing it all over again, because teasing? That’s just part of the fun for him.

V = VOLUME..

Dean is definitely loud in the heat of the moment. He’s not the type to stay quiet, especially when things are getting heated. His moans, grunts, and low growls fill the room, getting deeper the more intense things get. He’s not shy about expressing how much he’s enjoying himself, and the sounds he makes are like fuel to the fire, only making you want him more. His voice gets rougher as he gets closer, the way he groans your name sounding almost desperate, like he can’t get enough of you.

He’ll growl when you move just the right way, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper when he’s trying to keep himself under control but failing miserably. When he’s on top of you, he’ll grunt in time with his thrusts, his hands gripping the sheets or your skin, as if he needs something to ground him. When he’s kissing you, he can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sounds deep and needy, telling you just how much he wants you.

And when you really hit the right spot? You’ll hear him— loud and clear. He’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels, and it’s a total turn-on to hear those ragged breaths, the way his voice cracks when he says, “God, babe… you’re so tight.” He might even get more vocal as things go on, grumbling something filthy in your ear like, “You’re making me lose control.”

In the heat of it all, Dean’s volume is as much a part of the experience as everything else. His sounds only add to the intensity, making everything feel real, making every movement feel like it matters. And when it’s over? He’ll probably be panting, chuckling, or murmuring how perfect you are, still trying to catch his breath from all the noise he made.

W = WILD CARD..

Dean loves watching you. When it comes to it, Dean is absolutely mesmerized by every little thing you do. It starts off slow— he’ll catch you in moments when you’re unaware, when you’re just going about your day, and he can’t help but let his gaze linger. Maybe you’re getting dressed, stretching after a nap, or adjusting yourself on the couch, and he’ll just stare, his eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing every curve, every movement. There’s something about seeing you unaware, just being your natural, beautiful self, that drives him absolutely wild. He might not say anything, just look at you with this low, dark expression that makes you feel hot under his gaze.

But it’s not just the little moments— he loves watching you when you’re aware, when you know exactly what he’s doing, and the tension between you two gets electric. He might make you stand in front of him, just so he can admire you, his eyes moving over your body, drinking you in. When he’s getting you undressed, he’ll slow things down, taking his time to look at you, making sure you feel exposed and desired. Every inch of your body is a masterpiece to him, and he’s all about seeing it, touching it, taking it in.

When you’re in bed together, he’ll love when you’re on top, especially when you’re riding him or grinding down on him— because he can watch every movement you make, the way your body reacts to him. He’ll watch the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the way your eyes flutter shut when he’s hitting the right spot. He’ll groan under his breath, watching you move, maybe even whispering things like, “That’s it, baby, just like that,” or “God, you look so fucking good like this.”

But it goes beyond just the act; he loves watching you get worked up when you’re teasing him too. If he’s in the middle of it with you, like a slow, sensual buildup, he’ll make you strip for him or slowly touch yourself in front of him, just to see how desperate you’ll get for him. Watching you get lost in your own pleasure, seeing the way you react to his touches, his words, is like a drug for him. The more you get lost in him, the more he gets turned on, and he’ll keep pushing you, keeping that slow burn going until you can’t take it anymore.

For Dean, the act of watching is an extension of the control he has— he loves to see you fall apart under his gaze, to see you lose yourself in the moment. It’s a form of foreplay in itself, a way for him to build tension, to draw things out before he finally gives you the release you crave. The more he watches, the more addicted he gets to the sight of you, and it becomes this unspoken dance, a game where he’s always a step ahead, enjoying how you react, how you need him.

X = X-RAY..

Dean’s confidence in this department is off the charts, and he knows he’s got something to be proud of. He’s not the type to brag, but when you catch a glimpse, you definitely don’t miss it. He’s got a solid, nice size that makes you ache to touch him, with just the right amount of thickness and length to hit every right spot. He can make you shiver with anticipation just by pulling down his jeans, letting you see it all before he lets you touch, before he lets you do anything.

He’s big enough to make you take a deep breath, to make you want to prepare yourself, but he knows how to use it, how to give you just the right amount of pressure, just the right angle. And the best part? He’s more than willing to build you up, letting you take your time with him, watching you as you slowly trace your fingers down his length, his breath catching every time you get too close.

And alright, babe, let’s be real. Dean’s got a size that’s definitely above average. We’re talking about around 7 to 8 inches. He’s thick too, enough to stretch you just right and make you feel every inch of him, pushing all the right buttons. He’s got that perfect length and girth that makes every thrust feel deep, filling, and intense. When he’s inside you, you can feel it, and you can’t help but gasp when he hits that spot that drives you wild.

But it’s not just about size— he knows how to work with what he’s got. He’s slow, deliberate, using every inch of himself to maximize the pleasure, to make you beg for more. He’s got that perfect balance of everything, and when you feel him, when you take him in, there’s no mistaking that he knows exactly what to do with it.

Y = YEARNING..

Dean’s sex drive is through the roof. This man is always hungry for you; whether he’s been working on a case all day or just had some time to himself, his need for you is almost constant. He’s got that deep, insatiable yearning, like he can’t get enough of you. It’s not just physical— there’s something emotional tied to it too. He’s always looking for that connection, that intimacy, and he craves the release you give him. He doesn’t shy away from taking things to the next level whenever the moment feels right.

He’s the type to get touchy and needy, even in public. A lingering hand on your waist, a kiss on the back of your neck when no one’s looking. Dean will always find a way to sneak in his desire. But when it comes to the bedroom (or wherever you happen to be), he’s like a man possessed, eager to claim you and make sure you know just how much he wants you. He’ll go for round after round if you’re both up for it, each time a little more intense than the last.

If you’ve been apart for any amount of time, the moment you’re alone? It’s like a switch flips, and he’s all over you. He’ll get you worked up in seconds, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in forever, his hands roaming all over, eager to feel you again. You won’t have to wait long before he’s all in, fully driven by that yearning to have you, to feel you, to make you feel as good as he does when he’s with you.

Z = ZZZ..

After everything’s said and done, Dean’s not the type to just crash immediately— but it doesn’t take long. If you’ve had an intense round of sex, he’ll be exhausted, and it’s not uncommon for him to be a little out of breath, still feeling the high of it all. He might pull you close, his arm wrapped around you as you both try to catch your breath, and once the adrenaline fades, he’s pretty much out. Dean’s a heavy sleeper, so after he’s satisfied, he’ll be out like a light, snuggling you in his arms with a content, relaxed sigh.

He’s got a calming way about him after sex; almost like it’s his way of grounding himself. You can feel his body relax next to you, and it’s like he just melts into the bed, not really caring about the world outside. If you’re still awake, though, he’ll lazily pull you into him, wanting to keep you close, maybe whispering something sweet or teasing you about how perfect you were, before his eyes start to flutter. It’s that perfect balance between pleasure and peace— and soon enough, you’ll feel his breath even out as he drifts off into a deep sleep, his body completely satisfied and at rest.

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