#is he even sleeping now? or is it not part of his schedule?

[aramynx]

TO BE LOVED IS TO BE KNOWN

KATSUKI BAKUGO X READER

a/n: yes, this is inspired by that one episode of Barbie dreamhouse- if you know what i’m talking about, i love you! katsuki would always do the absolute most for you oh my goddd.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄

Katsuki was a good boyfriend. He knew that. But what he needed to be was the best boyfriend, so naturally, he needed to give you the best, most special and meaningful valentines day you'd ever had. Naturally, he had already devised a plan to give you everything you could ever want and more. Katsuki planned on showing you that he was the best, despite you telling him every single day. His vermillion eyes traced your sleeping figure in the bed beside him, the weight of your body creating a comfortingly familiar dip in the mattress that he had become accustomed to since you started dating. You were the most beautiful thing in the world, he thought to himself, so of course that meant he was going to spoil you to the ends of the earth.

For weeks now, he had been plotting, planning, scheduling, carefully plotting out the date of all dates for you, all while keeping it secret from you no matter how much you tried to pester him about it. Everything was perfect arranged, exactly the way he had planned, exactly the way you would have wanted. Despite knowing you better than anyone else, part of his stomach decided to twist itself into a knot as he stood by the door, anticipating your arrival. What if you didn't like what he had done for you at all? No, that's stupid, of course you'd like it, he definitely knew you better than anyone else, and this would certainly be a great valentines day. Katsuki had double, triple, quadruple checked every detail down to the slight creases in the tablecloth, everything was set perfectly in place.

For the first time, katsuki's heart sank for a moment when the sound of jingling keys filled his ears as you unlocked the door to your apartment. He could feel the stems of the flowers imprinting into his hand as he held the bouquet firmly behind his back. He held his breath as you stepped into your shared apartment, eyes still locked onto the keys in your hands as you called out for him, just like you always did.

“Katsuki, I’m h-“

Before you had the chance to finish your sentence, you realised that your boyfriend was already standing in front of you, all dressed up in a nice shirt for you- albeit half undone- his outstretched arm offering you the most beautiful bouquet you’d ever seen.

“Happy Valentines day.” He said quietly, “Dinner’s almost ready. I made your favourite.”

You stood still before him, completely in awe. It was your first valentines day living together, and he had somehow made it so incredibly perfect- everything you could ever ask for.

The bouquet in his hand- an assortment of your favourite flowers- some of which you swear you’d never even talked to him about, the smell amd warmth of your favourite home-cooked meal radiating from the kitchen into the doorway, the way Katsuki had dressed himself up for you, even though you weren’t going anywhere- what more could you possibly want?

“Oh Kats.. Thank you, so much.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your face into him.

His free hand moved around to your back, keeping you close to him when you pulled back from the hug, the bouquet still waiting in his outstretched hand.

Then came the words he had been waiting to hear…

“You’re the best.”

[deadhands69]

Tomura Shigaraki Proposing

soft!Shigaraki x Reader

1000% tooth rotting fluff Sorry for the boring name, I wasn't sure about posting this one but figured it's Valentine's day. Hope someone else enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Preface: Canonically, Shigaraki isn’t really the type to care much about getting married. He’s never really thought about it in relation to himself. Plus, you never showed any interest in that so he never had reason to. But. Things happen and for whatever legal reason, you find yourselves in need of a marriage certificate. 

So, it’s decided.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it at first, returning to his game quietly. He continues to think through the evening and something about it feels off. Tomura’s never been set on any particular tradition but he’s not stupid. He knows how people usually do things and he’s adaptable. Even if you are just doing it for a sheet of paper, one of you is supposed to actually ask. Right?

Abruptly, he drops the controller after a match and brings it up. He wants to propose, would you be okay with it? After some reassurance that he doesn’t have to, he tells you that, now that he’s thought through it, he wants to. When you ask what he’s planning on doing he scoffs and says that even he knows that part’s supposed to be a surprise. 

“Pick a game,” he says, tossing an N64 controller in your direction. You push the Pokemon Snap cartridge into the console, still not looking reassured by whatever Tomura would consider a surprise.

“It’ll be cute,” he comforts you, “don’t worry.”

“As cute as a pikachu?” you ask as one jumps across the screen.

“I'll try,” he says quietly while subtly smirking.

Over the next week, Tomura is quick to rush to the door whenever a package shows up, being sure to grab them before you have a chance to look. It’s a bit odd, but not completely abnormal. He did the same thing a few months ago when he was excited for a special edition action figure he ordered so you don’t think much of it.

Your sleeping schedule has been fucked since you started spending time with Tomura so you’re never entirely sure what time it is when you wake up. Based on the light peeking through the blinds, you’d guess early afternoon. Typically, he’ll sleep later than you so it comes as quite the surprise when you roll over and throw your arm around an empty blanket.

Almost empty. 

A pokeball shaped envelope filled to the brim lays on his pillow. When you open it, you find a stack of energy cards and a small note in Tomura’s messy handwriting:

they’re in order, you know where to find them.

❤︎ Tomura

ps: you can always see the next one from where you’re standing 

A fire card lays on the top of the deck. You sit up, trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes as you glance around the space trying to figure out what he means. Something glints from the corner, above the heater. Pressing out of bed, you walk across the room to find a charmander card. Cute.

The next energy card is water. You search your room again to no avail. Standing in the same spot you found the charmander, you realize can see the bathroom through the cracked door. There’s a gyarados card in the shower. 

This continues for a while as you pull cards from the envelope.

Rayquaza on top of a mountain painting.

Joltik by a lamp.

Bulbasaur in a houseplant.

Leafeon in another houseplant.

Articuno stuck to the freezer by a magnet.

Squirtle in the kitchen sink.

Finally, you find a cute pair of pikachu house slippers hidden in the cords behind the tv. You put them on, pulling out a dark card next.

In the kitchen, you see a post-it stuck to the cabinet. 

Night ❨

When you open the door, an umbreon plushie falls out. With the prizes getting bigger, you must be getting close to the end. Looking back in the envelope, there’s only one card left: you pull out a lone purple psychic energy.

“Hmmm,” you mumble to yourself while trying to think of where else you could find a pokemon in your one bedroom apartment. You look out the window to the park across from your building as you think. 

Then it hits you.

The next one isn't in the apartment.

You have to go to the (tall) grass outside. Swapping your cute new slippers for some sneakers, you throw on a jacket and make the trek to the park. It’s freezing but you barely notice the chill in the excitement as you rush across the street. 

Turning onto the path into the park, you begin looking for…you aren’t sure yet, but you’ll know it when you find it. 

After a short walk through the trees, the faux forested area opens up into a grassy patch still covered in frost. On a bench near the edge of the grass sits Tomura in a mimikyu onesie, strands of his white hair poking out from under the hood. It suits him. Even his red shoes with black laces match the outfit perfectly. Seeing you, he stands and walks over. You make a mental note that this is the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

“I know you wanted a pikachu, but this seemed more fitting.” 

“It is,” you giggle, running your hands over the soft fabric. “You look cute.”

He smiles bashfully. He’s practiced this at least a hundred times before today and he knows you’ll say yes, you already did. That doesn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach now that it’s actually happening.

“Uhm,” he drops to one knee. As he looks up at you, the oversized hood falls over his face. He moves it back slightly, along with his messy hair and his crimson eyes find yours. 

“[y/n].”

“Yes, Tomura?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Of course,” you exclaim, pulling him to his feet and smashing your lips into his. His cold nose presses into your cheek as he kisses you back. 

While the decision had already been made for practical purposes, you’re surprised at how excited you feel. Honestly, you didn’t expect him to make so much of an effort either. 

“Can we go home now,” he grumbles against your lips, “it’s cold out here.”

“Yeah, let’s go!” You grab his hand, tangling your pinkies together as the two of you make your way back to the path. 

As you walk the short distance back to your apartment, you think of how nice it will be to spend the rest of your life with him. Starting with this evening: cuddling your mimikyu on the couch with a hot cup of tea.

bnha masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter

[calebslittleapple]

feels like home: red lace

After finding a lacy surprise in his washing machine, Caleb checks the security footage from his apartment in Skyhaven, only to see that he’s missed out on much more than he realized. Rushing from his home to hers, Caleb quickly realizes that his Pip-squeak is more cunning than he thought, and as the night goes on and their desires are heightened, they’ll finally stop holding back. AKA: turbo virgins CalebMc finally get to doin’ it after some LIGHT panty-sniffy and frustration-inspired exhibitionism/voyeurism HAHA.

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings)

CW: Codependency; Pip-squeak as an endearment; Panty Sniffing; masturbation; light exhibitionism; Light Voyeurism; Cunnilingus; Penis In Vagina Sex; Loss of Virginity; inappropriate use of Caleb's Evol; MC is named Emme Sea; Caleb and MC POV

Also on AO3

Where are you? I thought you were supposed to be home by now

Caleb glances at his phone while half-listening to the meeting he’s sitting in on—his third of the day. He is supposed to be spending the evening with his girl, but one thing leads to another, and now she’s sitting in his apartment in Skyhaven all alone.

Meeting running late. Sorry, Pip-squeak. I’ll grab takeout on the way home? ☹️ Do you count as takeout? Come home, Caleb. I’m lonely, and I miss you

His heart twists at that, while other parts of his anatomy tighten… Caleb shakes his head and takes a deep, audible breath. All eyes turn to him.

“Colonel?”

Caleb clears his throat. “We need to wrap this up in the next ten minutes.”

Backs straighten as gazes lock onto the clearly unimpressed colonel. “Right, well. I was going to do an open question period, but that can be handled via e-mail…”

It takes him an hour to get home from work. He’s picked up ramen from a nearby restaurant, but when he steps into his home, all the lights in the living room are off.

She must have gone to bed.

Emme had one hell of a week at work and was fortunate to have a day off. Naturally, she wanted to spend it with him. Of course, Caleb’s time isn’t as free at the moment, but he’d walk on nails if it meant he could free up space in his schedule for her.

After sticking the ramen in the fridge, he pads through the hallways of his apartment, searching for the one person in the world he always wants to see. He checks her room—his old space—but she’s not there.

A soft light spills from within his bedroom, and he spies Emme laying there, half covered by the blankets, and wrapped up around the soft sleeping shirt he’d been wearing last night. Torn between his desire to let her sleep, and his need to see, hear, feel, taste her, Caleb stands there and stares down at her. His Pip-squeak. His first and only love.

Things have been changing between them, though he can’t quite abandon the role that he’d long since been cast in—caretaker, comforter, her Caleb. But sometimes, the walls come down, and she’ll end up in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around her as they tease and flirt and reminisce, sharing heat and space as the borders of their relationship expand.

Sometimes, it’s just like the old days, where they watch a movie, drive each other nuts, and end up falling asleep on his big sofa.

And sometimes… he’ll find himself on his knees in the shower, his Evol holding her tight against the wall, as he sucks and finger fucks her to completion as the sound of water smothers some of her cries while washing away the day, reservations, and everything else.

Being kept from her by work put him in a foul mood. She’d probably tease him for it if she was awake. Stepping close to his bed, Caleb ducks and reaches down, skimming his fingers through her hair as she softly snores on his pillow.

The love he has for her is so potent that it’s hard to think around. Tonight, his desire to keep her safe and comfortable wins out over his desire to hear her moan his name. After showering, Caleb dresses in some pajamas and crawls into bed beside her. His long arms curl around her and tug her close. She softly breathes out his name, presses back into his chest, and goes right back to quietly snoring.

Caleb leans in, breathes in deep, and lets her sweet, apple-tinged scent wash over him. Every moment spent with her is one he cherishes, and with her curled up in his arms, Caleb actually manages to sleep soundly and without nightmares. She’s his good luck charm and chases away the dark with only her presence.

The next morning, they get up together and he makes breakfast for her, while she makes the coffee. Same as always. And when she’s just about ready to head back to Linkon City, she gets up onto her tip toes and kisses him so thoroughly that he has a really hard time letting her go.

“Come visit me in a few days,” she says between breathless kisses.

“Mmm,” he replies, knowing that he has a shitton of work to do, but also knowing that he’ll blow off food, sleep, and anything else he needs to make time for her. A few days pass, and Caleb is spending the evening doing some laundry—his and hers because she always manages to leave something behind.

Which he doesn’t mind. He loves it when she invades his space. Hell, he wishes she’d move in with him, but half hates the idea because he doesn’t want her pulled into the mess of living in Skyhaven. But still… if he could have her all the time, Caleb knows he’d be able to keep her safe.

Keep her for him, and him alone.

It’s these dark, possessive thoughts that consume him when she’s been away from him for more than a few days. Having her clothes nearby is a nice reminder that he’ll see her soon and helps to keep him sane.

Taking a breath, he tries to calm down, and it almost works, at least, until he notices something strange in his washer. Something red is hanging on the inside. Caleb scoops out the fabric, thinking that maybe he forgot to switch a sock over into the dryer, but immediately freezes when he pulls it closer.

It’s not a sock.

They’re red lace panties.

Caleb swallows. When the hell had she worn this? His mind immediately flashes back to her text—he’d almost felt her pouting through the messages. Was this why? Had she dressed up for him?

Fuck.

Closing his eyes, he’s about to throw the panties back into the washer, but maybe they’re clean? He should probably check. And really, shouldn’t something this fragile be washed by hand, anyway? Caleb talks himself into circles before finally gritting his teeth and pulling the flimsy scrap of clothing close to his nose and… and…

Fuuuuck.

They’re uhh… not clean. And they smell… so fucking good, like a sweet blend of her apple-scented soap and her body’s natural fragrance. His cock is immediately and viciously hard in his pants. Like Pavlov’s fucking bell, but for perverts.

But if he’s the pervert for smelling her clothes, what does that make her, considering it seems they were left for him to find? He feels nearly fuckin’ feral with his need for her, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down, and curling his length out from inside his boxers.

With her panties still wrapped around his warm hand, he grips himself, tugging once, twice, thrice before coming on his hand. It’s quick, too quick, and not nearly enough. He looks down at his hand, still gently wrapped around his dick, and stares at the cum staining her panties.

He’s gonna have to wash them now. So, he takes them into the shower and uses the panties to lather himself up with his body wash. When he’s done, they’re gonna smell like him. And when he gives them back, he’s gonna make damn sure that she smells like him, too.

But he comes down from his high quickly enough, and rational thoughts start to creep in. What if it was a mistake, and his dick was tricking him? What if she didn’t mean for him to find the panties? He towel dries the panties, dresses in his pajamas and all but throws himself onto his sofa, wrestling with his desires and insecurities until he’s a wreck.

He flicks the red scrap of clothing around his finger for a moment before he opens the HUD on his phone and remembers that he can check his security footage. He scans the footage from the last few days and finally stops when he sees her standing in his place. She makes a call—to him, likely—and tosses her phone onto the sofa in a fit of pique before dumping herself onto the plush fabric.

A few moments more, and she’s grabbing her phone, scanning through it before she grows bored and tosses it again. He skips a little, and when it comes back up, he’s utterly unprepared for what he’s about to see.

All the air leaves his lungs in a rush as he sees his girl, sitting in the exact spot as he’s sitting, topless, legs spread as her hand slips beneath the band of her lacy panties.

Caleb swallows and turns up the volume, only to be greeted with the sweet sound of her panting his fucking name.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he quickly rolls back to the start and finds her staring up at the camera, only to deftly tug the shirt—his oversized shirt, actually—over and off her body. No bra. A few moments more, and she’s standing, bending, shimmying for the camera as she pulls down her shorts and reveals the tiny red panties he’d found.

She slips back to the sofa. Taking her fingers into her mouth, she sucks for long moments, eyes still glued on the security camera as if she’s imagining he’s watching. Her free hand comes up and cups her breast, fingers teasing her nipples as she plucks and whimpers.

Then, she pulls her hand from her mouth, wet fingers trailing across her abdomen before descending lower… lower…

She’s slow with herself, even though she can tell she’s impatient. No, it’s not that. She’s needy. For him. And here, he’d been in a fuckin’ work meeting about expenses, when she’d been here… with half-naked and wanting.

Goddamnit.

He watches her touch herself, and at a few more points, she looks up at the camera, and it feels like she’s looking right at him. The frustration and need in her expression are painfully evident.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you here with me?

I need you, Caleb.

She does whimper his name more than a few times, sweet supplication spilling from her lips as her fingers dip and slide. And when she comes, again his name tumbles forth, sounding so needy for him that he wants to punch himself for being late that night.

But now, he’s free. Caleb checks Emme’s socials and itinerary, and she’s at home too.

Good.

He’s out the door, panties still in hand, and halfway to her place before he realizes what he’s doing. Thank God the train is running on time tonight. When he finally gets to her door, he stands there for a moment, hand in his pocket, and tightly clenched around her underwear as he fights to control his rapidly beating heart.

He doesn’t want to scare her, but his need for her is so overwhelming it’s making him feel insanely reckless. He takes a breath, and then, another. Long moments pass. Finally, he presses the doorbell to her apartment and waits.

When the door opens, and her beautiful face comes into view, his name falls from her lips. “Caleb?”

And before he can stop himself, he’s got her wrapped up in his arms, quickly urging her legs around his middle as he lifts her. His power closes the door to her apartment, after which he presses her up against it tight.

She kisses him back, confused but gamely keeping up. She’s fearless, his girl. His hand comes up and threads into the length of her hair, and only then does she realize what’s prompted this encounter—her panties are dangling from his fingers.

“Oh,” she breathes against his mouth. “Did I forget something at your place?”

His eyes roll back, forehead resting against hers as he breathes, “You’re lucky I didn’t check the security feed while at work.”

She catches his gaze and holds it, dead serious as she admits, “I wanted you to. It would have gotten you home faster.”

“God, Pip-squeak.”

Her hands slowly caress his chest, as if soothing the beast inside of him, but her words make him ache. “Caleb…”

“Mmm?”

“I want more,” she says, shimmying against his middle. It’s only then that he realizes that she’s wrapped up in a bathrobe… and nothing else.

“What do you need, baby?”

She catches her lip between her teeth before softly admitting, “You. Me. In bed.”

“And then?”

His body feels as tightly coiled as a spring, and what she says next nearly has him launching off the wall.

“You. In. Me.”

And here, he’d thought he was the feral one. As her soft mound presses into his stomach, nails scraping along the line of his shirt only to dip beneath and tease his sternum, Caleb realizes that maybe he was the one who’d fallen into her trap.

His answering grin is fierce and supremely satisfied. “Happy to oblige.”

____

Emme is not entirely surprised when Caleb shows up at her apartment. She’s been waiting for this moment. Waiting and hoping.

Maybe he’s here to check in on me… she thinks, but the moment she opens the door, she knows he’s found her ‘gift’ for him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s trudging them both through her small home, furiously kicking off his shoes as he tries to make his way deeper into her living space.

A few times along the way, he pauses to press her into the wall and kiss her senseless.

Ahh… maybe I’ve pushed him too far this time…

Still, she can’t help but tease. “Did you like the video?”

“I loved it,” he drawls between hungry kisses. “I wish I’d checked it sooner.”

“I thought you always checked in on me while at work?”

“I do, and I did. But I checked earlier that day. Before you called.”

She pouts. “Too bad. Could have turned that meeting into something really interesting.”

His demeanor shifts a bit, and the expression on his face is anything but amused. “Would’a been real inconvenient for me.”

“Oh?”

“Hidin’ all those bodies after they saw you like that…”

“Caleb!”

He chuckles softly, but she gets it because she feels the same. Hell, she’s found herself wanting to claw the eyes out of any onlooker as they covetously stare at her Caleb. Now, there’ll be no going back. They’ll possess each other so completely that neither will even consider the thought that they aren’t meant to be together.

Forever.

And Emme thinks her plan is going swimmingly, at least, until Caleb softly curses and lets her slip from his waist.

“Shit.”

“What?”

He shakes his head and frowns. “Thought I had this all planned out, but I forgot something.”

“What?”

“Condoms.”

Emme lets out a short laugh. “Missing the forest for the trees, eh, flyboy?”

Caleb rubs a hand over his face and is halfway through apologizing for… everything and this, but Emme interrupts him.

“You might not be prepared,” she murmurs while sliding his hand over her forearm. “But I am.”

With his fingers beneath hers, she presses so he can feel the subdermal implant.

“Wha..?”

Rolling her eyes, she explains, “Look, I know things can be kind of weird between us because of… well. You know. Everything. But I thought it would be better to be prepared.”

“You’ve been planning on having sex with me?” he says, sounding shocked even though he’d come over to her place with the intention of having sex with her if she wanted to.

“God, Caleb. Are you telling me you just watched me finger myself on your security camera and then were wondering whether I’ve been thinking about having sex with you? Seriously? How is that even a question right now?”

Her cheeks are burning, but her annoyance blocks out any embarrassment. Of course, she’d been thinking about Caleb and sex. He’s eaten her out literally every single time they’ve been together, never mind all the other things he does—and he expects so little in return.

And she… well, she’s been wanting more. Wanting to experience what the thick length of him inside of her would feel like. She’s greedy and needy, wanting to see the way his eyes linger on her body, the flush in his cheeks, and the way his ears get red when he’s embarrassed… and aroused.

She’s wanted him for a long time, if she’s being honest, but wanting and acting are two separate things. Then, she’d gone to visit him in Skyhaven, and been extra amorous given the time of her cycle it happened to be, and now… he is here, desperate and horny. So, it might not have been the best plan in the world, but it did work.

Still, she’s incredulous as he says, “I kind of thought that maybe you were just pitying me.”

“Good God, Caleb. We’ve done nearly everything except have sex, willingly and quite enthusiastically on both our parts, and you thought… Look, you think I’m naïve and don’t understand the depth of your feelings for me, but it goes both ways. I’m not… I’m not good at expressing my emotions.” He snorts, and she glares. “Anger and annoyance don’t count. And that’s not… those aren’t the kind of feelings I’m talking about.”

“Tell me, Pip-squeak.”

Emme nibbles her lips and huffs softly. “Look, Caleb. You know I love you. I’ve always loved you, but when I lost you, I… It hurt me so bad that I wasn’t sure if I could go on… you know, living. It was a lot. And now… You’re my Caleb, and I want you in every way that I can have you.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?”

“You came all the way here to have sex with me, and now you’re questioning my resolve?”

“Emme,” he growls softly. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know that, Caleb! So stop being a dummy and listen to me because I’m telling you that I love you, and I want to spend the rest of… whatever with you. A hundred years, a thousand—forever and a day, if we can manage it.”

Caleb takes a breath, nose flaring a little. His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides, and for a moment, Emme thinks he looks confused.

I thought he’d be happy about this…

But then, his power reaches out, and in one breathless moment to the next, she’s being lifted, legs wrapping of their own accord around his middle. Dipping his head, Caleb presses his face into the length of her hair and breathes deep. She holds him back, just as tight, fingers gently soothing as he takes a moment to really come to understand what she’s saying, and what she needs.

“Pip-squeak,” he says, voice breaking some as his lips skim against her skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I just…”

“Mmm, I’ve always been yours,” she murmurs. “Yours, and only yours. So, give me what we both need.”

Caleb lets out a shaky breath before carrying her over to the bed. He uses his Evol to pull the sheets back, and he’s so careful with her as he sets her on the mattress. But she doesn’t want careful. She wants him. Badly.

“Caleb,” she softly calls his name while sliding back into the pillows as his eyes roam. “You don’t have to hold back anymore…”

“Ahh,” he groans, “that’s such a dangerous thing to say to a man like me.”

Her eyelids flutter, legs parting to give him better access as she murmurs, “I know you’d never hurt me. So… let’s go further.”

“How far?”

He wants her to be clear, so she indulges him. “I want all of you inside of me. Don’t stop… until we both feel it.”

He looks down, and for a moment, he almost looks sheepish. “What if I suck at this?”

“Oh, Caleb,” she says while reaching out to him. “You’re good at anything you put your mind to. You can be good for me, right?”

He pulls a shaky breath between parted, rough lips, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. She wants to follow that motion with her tongue, to thread her fingers into his thick hair and hold tight as he grinds his length against her, dig her nails into the muscles of his back to mark him as her own.

Caleb is so wrapped up in his own self-loathing that he has a hard time seeing the truth—that she is just as crazy in love with him as he is with her.

“Tell me… if you need me to stop.”

“What I need is for you to come here. Be with me. C’mon. We’ll do this together.”

Caleb edges closer to the bed, and though she’s already comfy in the pillows, Emme pushes herself up and out, and slides over to the edge so that she can peel the sweatpants from his hips.

“Did you wear these for me?” she teases.

Caleb shakes his head. “I was only half-sentient when I slipped my clothes on.”

“Because of the panties?”

“The panties, the surveillance footage. You.”

And maybe it’s a bit twisted, but it makes her heart beat faster in her chest, and her body tingle when he admits that he’s watched her. Of course, they always keep tabs on each other, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know he’d find out.

She’d wanted him to see her like that. Wanted to push him just a little further than they’d already gone, in hopes that she’d be able to get him to come to her. All she ever had to do was call and ask, and he’d answer—on the second ring—and be ready to do whatever she wanted.

But this was different from before. She wanted him to want her. Not because he felt obliged to do what she wanted, but because he wanted it, too.

He’s hard beneath the soft fabric of his pants. Her eyes trail over the bulge. She knows what he looks like, knows the feel of him against her palm and her body—but taking him inside of her? That’ll be new. Emme rolls her eyes up, eyelashes fluttering as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of his pants and works them over his hips.

His dick bobs as it slips free. She bites her lips. There are so many things she wants to do right now, but at the top of the list is ‘Sex with Caleb,’ so that comes first. Still, she can’t stop herself from reaching out and gently cupping his sac before trailing her fingers over his length. Caleb stutter-steps out of his pants, cheeks and ears flushing as she catches him off guard.

Leaning back, she lets the housecoat fall open and slide away. It was a good thing he caught her after a shower; she’s ready for him. His shirt comes off next, and even though it’s certainly not the first time she’s seen him like this, she can’t help but think how good he looks.

Hell, sometimes when he’s doing laundry, he’ll walk around in nothing but a towel, the necklace she gave him, and a smile. But the look of him nude combined with the sultry look on her face is making her body achy with need. Emme bites her lip and stares, eyes traveling from the top of his dark head to his neck, his chest, his abdomen… and lower…

Every part of him looks good enough to eat, and he stands there and lets her look her fill. Finally, she slides back on her arms and smiles up at him.

“Come here.”

He does, that big body of his inching up onto her bed and covering hers completely. For a moment, they just hold each other and just enjoy the soft comfort of being together. But then, her fingers start to twitch, and his lips start to trail, and soon enough, his dark head is between her thighs.

He’s gotten ohh sooo good at this. Between the sweet sucking of his lips and the luscious licks from his tongue, coupled with the gentle thrusting of his fingers, he’s got her rolling before she even knows what’s what. But she finds it’s easy to lose herself when she’s with him. Even his mere scent drives her crazy, and when that combines with touch and soft words and ohhh the sweet tingle of his power as he holds her exactly where he wants her, how can she resist?

Finally, when he’s got her to the point that she nearly has to push him off because she’s so sensitized, his head pops up and he looks at her, lips gleaming as he obviously waits to be told what to do next. As if she knows!

“We’re gonna have to figure this out together,” she murmurs.

Caleb rubs his cheek on the inside of her thigh, lips turning into the soft flesh there as he gently kisses the hickey he left behind.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“Are you?”

Caleb chokes. “God. I dunno. I think I’m gonna go insane.”

Good, she thinks. Then he is ready. Because she wants him so badly, she can hardly think straight. But still, this is new and a little scary, but it’s Caleb, so she knows it’ll be okay.

“Go slow?”

“Whatever you need,” he says while shifting his body between hers.

His dick juts up between them, and she understands why he’s feeling a bit crazy. He’s hard as hell, and the tip is leaking… Reaching down, she softly thumbs the top, which earns her a groan.

“Let’s… do this.” It’s kind of a ridiculous thing to say, but Caleb only chuckles and reaches up to cup her cheek.

“As fast or as slow as you need, got it?”

“Got it.”

And then, he’s lining himself up at her entrance, and the thick press of his crown against her opening is strange and Mmmm… good. He slides a little more in, and inch by inch, her warmth welcomes him in. He’s not… Ohhh… He’s not small, but he’s patient, and gentle, even though she can tell the effort to keep himself from thrusting is killing him.

Ahh… Ahh…

But somehow, she knows he even likes that part. For her, there’s no pain. He’s spent so much time building up to this moment that she’s ready for him. The memories of moments shared between them heighten her desires as well, never mind having Caleb—gloriously nude, straining, lip caught tight between teeth as he inches, inches, inches inside of her.

The moment almost doesn’t feel real. She’s imagined what it would be like to be with him like this for so long that she almost feels out of her mind now that it’s actually happening. And Caleb… God, Caleb… It’s almost like he’s stuck somewhere between heaven and hell.

She reaches up and holds his cheeks in her hands, forces him to stare into her eyes, and he looks so lost—helpless, out of control, needful—that it makes her clench. Caleb groans, body twisting and cheeks pressing into her palms.

“Baby…” he moans.

Maybe it’s because she’s a bit reckless, or maybe it’s because she’s a bit demanding, it’s definitely because she’s a bit of a brat, but Emme slowly resonates with Caleb to maintain a measure of control, powers mingling as their bodies rock together. Those combined feelings have them reeling. Her legs clamp down around his middle, his arms tuck in beneath her, around her, holding tight as he grinds and grinds and grinds.

When he finally bottoms out inside of her, his eyes roll back, his lip caught so tight between his teeth that she’s worried it might bleed. And still, she can’t help but laugh some as she stares at him, in this moment.

He’s her Caleb, and this is… sex. And it’s weird, and good, and scary, and hot, and just so much that it’s a little hard to believe it’s real. Caleb must notice her freaking out because he manages to reach up and gently cup her cheek.

“You okay, Em?” She nods, but he’s insistent. “Tell me.”

“I’m good, I’m just… it’s a little overwhelming. You ‘n me. This. All of it.”

“Does it feel bad?”

“Oh, no.”

His lip curls, eyebrow raising as he asks. “Does it feel… good?”

“Caleb!” she whines. “Don’t tease me.”

“Pip-squeak,” he sweetly croons. “You clenched so nicely when I asked that. If you’re not gonna be honest, your body is. So, tell me. Tell me everything. Or… I can find all the sensitive spots on your body and get your secrets anyway. Your choice.”

She pouts, but when he gives her a teasing thrust, she knows he’s not joking. Finally, she admits, “It just feels like I’ve been waiting forever for this.”

“And now that forever is now?”

“It’s so good, Caleb. You are so good, I just…”

“What?”

“I want more, and I’m afraid of getting it.”

“Why?”

“What if I ruin everything?”

“Not possible.”

“How?”

Caleb softly presses his nose into the line of her throat before dipping his head, lips tracing over skin, before he softly sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. That has Emme squirming, fingers digging into his hair as his hips restlessly stir below.

“I’ve made it my life’s work to give you everything that you want. So, this will be no different. You can’t ruin anything because you’re already perfect—we’re already perfect. We were made for this moment. It just… took us a while to get here. And now…”

“And now…?” she softly gasps as he thrusts, this time a little harder.

“Now, we get to see what we’ve been missing out on. And God, baby, there’s so much I wanna do with you… and to you.”

Just like that, Caleb’s got her out of her head and into the moment. It’s Caleb. Her Caleb. Always has been, always will be. She takes a breath, relaxes, and luxuriates in the strangely sweet feel of him inside of her, before curling her legs around his while angling her hips.

“More?”

“Please.”

He’s never been able to resist any one of her requests before, and it’s no different now. Except now, she gets to enjoy the hot-hard feel of him inside and atop her. He’s so responsive to her, moves so patiently, so purposefully, that soon enough, her head is lolling against the sheets as he increases the pace.

Caleb’s so broad and beautiful atop her, body so giving, lips against hers, tongue seeking, swirling, sucking, as he kisses her until she’s breathlessly moaning into his mouth. But he’s not done with her, not even close.

Slowly, his power crawls along the line of her back, curving her just so. Caleb’s always made her feel like she can fly, and right now is no exception. He’s slow and patient as he fucks her, eyes darting over her face, the curve of her neck, the sweet swell of her breasts, watching, watching, watching as if he’s afraid that at any moment she’ll disappear from this bed.

She’s just as possessive of him as he is of her, and at this moment, she wants all of him—the hurt, the pain, the pleasure, the release, the insanity of everything that they mean to each other—all of it and all of him.

Her hand threads into his shaggy hair, fingers pulling just a touch as she softly whines, “Caleb… Harder.”

He chokes, body stuttering. His lips part, and he breathes out with a sound that’s more like a whimper than a moan.The look on his face makes her worry she’s broken him.

His face rubs against her wrist, words halting as he says, “Is that an order…?”

“Do I have the authority to command you?”

“Mmm… absolutely.”

“Then yes, it’s an order.”

Caleb lets out a soft laugh. That is all the warning she gets before his power swells, and Emme quickly finds herself on top with Caleb spread out beneath her. He looks like an offering to a heathen god, arms stretched high above his head, skin flushed, muscles flexed, and chest heaving.

Now, it’s her turn to whimper, not only from the sight before her but because of the thick, tight feel of him inside of her. She can go as fast or as slow, as hard or as soft as she wants. And Caleb… he can take it. For her, he’d do it. He’d do anything.

“Take what you need…” he purrs. “And I’ll match you from below.”

After taking a breath for courage, she shifts her hips and quickly finds that not only is this insanely pleasurable, but being in control heightens her desire. Her fingers curl against the tight muscles of his abdomen, body canting as she rocks.

Eventually, Caleb’s hands guide her hips upward, so she’s well and truly bouncing on him now. And as she falls… Ohhhh… his hips thrust, and he rises to meet her, pressing so deep, tight, and perfect that it feels like she’s gonna come apart just like this.

But when his warm fingers slide over her hip and down the inside of her thigh, quickly teasing between her soaked folds to find that sensitive bud within, then she well and truly loses herself. As Caleb watches, as his fingers roll between her legs, as he thrusts—fast and hard—from below, she nears her peak, and it’s… Oh, God! It’s…

“Caleb,” his name falls from her lips, begging, pleading for him to help her, to give her what she needs. And he does. He always gives her exactly what she needs.

Finally, her orgasm hits, completely inelegant and overwhelming. Waves of pleasure radiate from her core outwards, seductive tendrils flowing through her body, making her clench, grind, and moan. Caleb grunts softly, brow furrowing some as if he’s holding himself back.

He wants to watch her as she comes with him inside her. She knows he doesn’t want to miss a second, but she needs the same from him, and even before her body’s completely finished its release, she’s moving, grinding slow and hard, as she pushes him higher.

Caleb groans, hands slipping to her hips as he rucks up into her, chest heaving as he pants. He looks frantic, eyes darting everywhere—her eyes, the flushed tips of her breasts, between her legs where they’re joined so intimately.

She runs her nails over his chest, faint lines marking his pale chest as he whimpers. She thinks he must be close. He looks… almost lost, but his body is fire-hot, and he’s so hard and thick inside of her that he’s almost too much to take.

Caleb lets out a shaky breath, cool fingers trailing over her skin before pressing low on her stomach. She pouts prettily as he teases her, body shimmying as he finally asks, “Can I… inside you?”

Her eyelids flutter, her body twisting in response to his sweet erotic entreat, and she can’t help but tease him. “Can you what, inside me?”

Caleb groans, fingers digging into her hips as he pants. “Come. I need to come.”

“Inside me?” she whimpers, breathless with her anticipation.

“God, yes. Please.”

Her head rolls back. It shouldn’t turn her on so much to hear him beg, but it does… God, does it ever. To tease them both, Emme shimmies atop Caleb, pressing him so tight and deep that they groan in unison.

He gasps her name, throat tight as his head rolls back. She loves that.

“Caleb… use me.”

“Wh-at? How?” he asks, breathless, needy, and edging closer and closer to his release. And she’ll give it to him, but only if he gives her what she wants first.

“Use your Evol.”

“My Evol?” he sputters.

She gives him a look. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never thought about what it would be like. I’ve thought about what it would be like.”

Caleb swallows thickly. “I won’t last.”

“I don’t want you to. All I want is for you to give me what I want and take what you need.”

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, and almost haunted as he stares up at her, as thunderstruck as if he’s beholding a goddess. And then… his power softly swirls against her skin, as light as a feather before it wraps around her tight.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

He guides her, looking so beside himself that she almost feels bad, at least, until his wrist flicks and he drags her up until only the thick tip of him is pressing against her opening. One breath, one impossibly long pause, one needful moment stretches between them, until he lets her drop.

She groans as his length is quickly sheathed inside of her, her body canting forward before she can completely catch herself.

“Caleb,” she gasps his name.

He’s got her close again. So close that she can feel the pleasure tingling at the small of her back, in the tips of her nipples, in the sweet space between her thighs that he’s pressing up against—so hot, so hard, so tight.

With his cool hand possessively gripping the back of her neck, and her fingers curled into the tight muscles of his abdomen, Emme throws her head back, rolls her hips, and bounces hard on his length. In and out. In and out. In and out. She loses herself in a rhythm that’s just for the two of them.

It’s exactly what they want, and as she presses down hard, he rolls his hips to meet her, and it’s so much more than enough.

“Ahh… Caleb!”

“Baby…!”

Caleb moans and his hands clutch desperately at her as he pulls, holding her tight as he rolls his hips, grinding into her and enhancing the moment for them both. And with their bodies connected, and their powers blended, everything narrows to a point… before breathlessly expanding. Nothing remains but the wet-hot feel of their pleasure.

Finally, soft moans escape them in unison as the pleasure slowly subsides. Emme dips close, forehead pressing against his as they pant hard. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed. A tear escapes from behind his lashes, dripping along his cheek as she watches, half-dazed and entirely entranced.

“God.” His voice sounds choked, and Emme’s heart clenches, fingers softly brushing away his tears, even though he’s still half-hard inside of her.

“Are… you okay?” Maybe she hurt him? She did kind of lose herself at the end there…

Caleb chokes out a laugh. “I just… am having a hard time believing this is real, Pip-squeak.”

“Oh.”

Decades of knowing each other better than anyone else. Years and years of heartache, of wanting, of almosts and not quites. Now, they’re as close as two people can be and she feels… she feels… so weightless. So free. So right.

So, she tells him that. Tells him that she never wants to lose this—to lose him. Tells him everything she’s ever been too afraid to say, and then tells him how much she loves him, how painfully.

“It hurts, you know. To love someone this much. I think… I’ve always been afraid that I could lose you. And then, I did lose you.”

“Mmm,” he softly breathes. “I’m here now.”

“Forever?”

“No matter what happens, I’ll always find my way back to you.”

“Good,” she comments softly while resting her head on his chest. The sound of his still-frantic heartbeat fills her heart, soothing her as she continues, “You’re mine. You can only leave me if you have my say so, and you never will.”

She can feel Caleb’s shaky breath against her cheek. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

Caleb urges her head up and back so she’s staring him straight in the eye. “Are you mine?”

“Caleb,” she replies, voice chiding. “You’re still inside me.”

“And?”

“And, what? If this isn’t a big deal to you, maybe I should wonder about how many times you’ve done this with other girls. I guess, you didn’t always call me to play the girlfriend, after all?”

He frowns, and quick as a flash, he’s got her on her back. He presses in, body hardening in response to the movement or maybe the way he’s got her splayed, arms above her head, hair spilled across the sheets, hips subtly shifting beneath him.

“There’s no one else in the world that I’ve ever wanted. No one I’d ever want to do this with other than you.”

“Then you need to hear me say it?” she asks while arcing her back, body shimmying back into his soft thrust.

“So badly.”

So needy… she thinks, but she doesn’t mind. She’s just the same, but part of her heart will always want to tease him, just a little. He’s her Caleb. She doesn’t want things to change completely, she just wants more and more and more. Her greedy heart asking for everything and still expecting more.

His eyes flutter, body rocking as his length hardens anew. It would be so easy to get distracted, but she’s not gonna chicken out now.

“I’ve loved you since the first moment we met when were kids. You’ve always been mine, and I’ve always been yours. For me, it’s always been you. Always and forever.”

His eyes close and he grins. Emme thinks she’s never seen him look quite so happy before, nor so free.

“Good. I think… I couldn’t handle it if it were any other way.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry because we belong to each other now and… ahh…”Her words trail off as Caleb’s body shifts, distracting her as he stirs within.

“I missed my evening workout,” he drawls.

Emme twists her hips, back arching as she purrs, “Well, get to it, then. Can’t have you slacking off now.”

“That a challenge, Pip-squeak?”

“Of course.”

His lip curls into a smug smile. “Well, let’s see who laughin’ by the end of this.”

And Emme, well, she’s not laughing. Screaming, crying out his name, begging for more? Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly it. By the time they’re finished with each other, limbs entangled, bodies hot, slick with sweat and desire, she’s well and truly tired.

“Feels like every single muscle in my body is sore.”

“You askin’ for a massage?”

“Mmm, a shower. Then sleep.”

“And then…?”

“You’re not slacking off, are you, Caleb?”

A soft laugh rolls up from his chest. “You’re so greedy,” he murmurs, hand tracing a path down her neck, over the soft curve of her breast before pressing low on her abdomen. “Especially here.”

She whimpers softly, and it’s almost as if she can still feel him inside of her, the phantom press of his thick length as he possesses her completely.

“Stop complaining.”

He shakes his head, damp tendrils sticking against his brow as he murmurs, “We both know, I’ll always give you everything that you want. So, shower first, Pip-squeak.”

“And then?”

“Once I’ve got you cleaned up,” he says, fingers skimming along the slick line of her sex. “I’ll get you messy all over again.”

If she wasn’t so damn tired, she’d have hoped right back on him and gotten him just as messy, but he’d loved her so completely, that Emme wasn’t certain she’d be able to walk, let alone ride him. But later… later… she’d have him. And he’d have her.

And he’d fill the needy spaces of her heart, just as she’d fill his, and together, they’d become whole—again and again, as many times as needed, for a hundred years, a thousand… forever and a day.

Author’s Notes:

HAHAHA I want to be clear that I got the idea before this BEFORE I saw Caleb’s new card, but now I’m smug about it because it’s actually IC for him to have security footage of her lmao. ANYWAY. This is loosely based son some great fan art I saw that has caleb mcfuckin loosing it at the laundry mat when he finds some sexy red panties. God bless fan artists, fr fr. Also, I am very certain I’m not the first nor I hope the last to write ‘Caleb is a panty sniffer’ fic but LMAO. I couldn’t stop myself. I MEAN THAT LITERALLY fingers just go go go of their own accord.

This is paraphrased from some in-game dialogue:

His face rubs against her wrist, words halting as he says, “Is that an order…?”

“Do I have the authority to command you?”

“Mmm… absolutely.”

“Then yes, it’s an order.”

This kind of skips around, not that I’m writing rationally here (literally just writing what I feel like I need to write to keep myself from going insane haha), but I still have some more planned for these two. Things are probably gonna get a lot busier, but I’ll see what I can fit in. Thanks so much for all of your support and for being so kind. Any mistakes are there because I need to keep humble lol.

Banner courtesy of cafekitsune!

[tellyouily]

again, i'm fallin' headfirst

dnf - pure fluff - 2.3k words

read on ao3

-

George thinks a lot about how love is a chemical in his brain.

More than anything, he thinks it’s kind of cool: here is this big feeling; this warm, fluttering truth that lives inside him and seems so impossible to describe – that, really, is no more than a mix of the right chemicals being released at the right time.

It’s cool. It’s knowledge that makes it a little less overwhelming to be right in the middle of it. 

George thinks, or rather, he has come to realise, that he is one of those people who feels things very strongly.

He remembers every sad movie he has ever watched, unable to forget them, and really good days have him wishing they will never end. He feels fully at home in Florida, at the same time as he sometimes misses London more than he will ever say out loud.

He’s not just in love with Dream – he’s so in love with him that he sometimes thinks it’ll seep into his lungs and make him choke.

Figuratively speaking, that is.

What he means is that he gets in his own way sometimes. In Dream’s way, too, really. Probably.

For George, loving Dream means wanting to shield him from all the bad stuff. Even the unpreventable bad stuff, which is an impossible task. He is practically bound to worry about Dream, which in return, is bound to make Dream worry about him back.

It’s less than ideal, to say the least.

But maybe it’s also just how loving someone works – caring so much that it hurts a little. George thinks so, anyway. It’s a part of the pact.

Ten a.m. finds him half-sitting up, half-lying down in Dream’s bed; wearing Dream’s clothes, scrolling through Reddit on Dream’s laptop.

The trip to Argentina had the unexpected effect of fixing his sleep schedule completely, a development which he has somehow managed to maintain in the last few days since he got home. In an unprecedented move, he fell asleep at a Normal time last night and woke up less than an hour ago, after a full, uninterrupted eight hours.

Dream, still fast asleep next to him, must be well into his tenth by now.

He’s lying on his stomach with one arm thrown across George’s waist under the covers. Somehow he is breathing just fine even though he has his face pressed into the bunched up sheets by George’s hip.

George knows it probably isn’t great to sleep much more than nine hours a night, but he is not about to wake Dream up. Sleep is kind of holy for them, it always has been.

Plus, there is a calmness to this particular morning, to them lying here together like this, that George doesn’t want to disturb. He’d like to stay here forever, actually.

Dream does wake up eventually, though, all on his own.

George is in the middle of reading a random post when Dream’s arm tightens around his middle, bringing him out of his focus. George turns and looks at him.

“Hey,” he says quietly, reaching out and running his fingers through Dream’s hair.

Dream shuffles closer, closing space between them that George didn't even realize was there. 

“Morning,” he mumbles.

Twisting one of Dream’s curls around his finger, George feels it was over him – that love he has for Dream – with a distinct warmth. He wishes there was a way to whisk Dream away to somewhere safe while simultaneously staying right here.

He supposes he just wishes right here was safer, its treatment of Dream more gentle.

Sleep is the medicine, though. And for Dream, distraction works well, too.

It was years ago that George first pledged to be there for Dream no matter what; to distract him from the bad stuff. To give him problems he can solve – something he can actually do something about.

Like George’s allergies, for example.

Although they have proven to be pretty unfixable, he has Dream to thank for the improvement since he first moved to Florida. As opposed to those initial few months, George is now no longer suffering in the mere presence of grass, or of Patches. Or of any of the million other things he is apparently allergic to.

Dream’s air purifier, the one that was bought specifically for George’s benefit and is currently humming softly from its place on top of the dresser making it so George can actually breathe, is proof of Dream’s efforts.

Along with every other purifier and humidifier placed strategically around the house.

George loves how much Dream cares. He loves that he is reminded of it every time he takes a nice, deep, uncongested breath.

Dream opens his eyes, pushing himself up enough to get a view of the laptop balanced on George’s stomach. Instinctively, George quickly closes the Reddit tab before Dream has settled down.

It’s dumb anyway, he doesn’t think he has seen a single good take all morning.

“Is that my laptop?” Dream asks, his morning voice zapping right down George’s spine.

“Yeah,” George hums. “Been reading all your secret emails.”

Dream huffs, probably too tired to laugh for real. It makes George smile, anyway. He settles his hand on the curve of Dream’s nape.

“From all your lovers,” he says.

Dream’s smile peeks out from the sheets.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

George sniffles, sinking deeper into the pillow behind him.

In an instant, Dream’s eyes are on him, something like concern written in them. George smiles at him, sniffling again.

“Allergies,” he says.

Then, before Dream can ask if the air purifier has stopped working, like George knows he’s about to do, he adds: “I think it’s from the trip. It left some residue in my system or something.”

His best guess is that dust from the flight home, or from the stuffy airport, is still clinging to his nose. Or wherever it is that dust gets stuck. Either that, or it’s not allergies at all, but a cold that’s making him sniffle. He has been feeling a little warm lately…

“ Residue ,” Dream parrots him, mirroring his smile as well. Then, reading George’s mind, he says, “I hope you’re not getting sick or anything.”

George runs his fingers through the hair curling at the back of Dream’s neck.

He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking, which is that a solution to the problem is for Dream to breathe into his mouth 24 hours a day. That way no allergens can enter George’s system at all. A one hundred percent reduction of residue.

Upon closer inspection, though, it’s a pretty terrible idea. They’d be sharing the air, yes, but that means one of them would probably die from carbon dioxide poisoning at some point.

George doesn’t need Dream to tell him that.

“I’m not getting sick,” he says instead. “But guess what.”

He raises his eyebrows down at Dream, whose expression softens into one of openness. Like he just wants to hear George talk, regardless of what he has to say.

It’s a common Dream-expression – George tries not to let it get to his head.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” George says, pressing his lips together proudly.

He’s been waiting for the right moment to say it, and for once, he got to it before Dream. Not that it’s a competition.

Dream is clearly surprised.

“Yeah, happy Valentine’s day,” he says, sounding bewildered.

George smiles. “I won.”

“Yeah,” Dream laughs. “I’m actually impressed.”

“Thanks.”

Come to think of it, it kind of is a competition.

Dream is always first with these kinds of things – birthdays and Christmas Days and anniversaries – so George can’t help but feel a little smug. He won .

Dream lays his arm across George’s middle and leaning his head in his hand. “I have something for you,” he says.

He effectively blocks George’s view of the snoozing laptop screen by moving, but really, George would consider this an upgrade. He brings his hands to Dream’s stubble, cupping his cheeks.

“You have something?”

Dream nods. “A gift. For Valentine’s day.”

George pauses, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t get me a gift.”

“I did,” Dream says, looking pleased with himself.

“You’re gonna kiss me or something and say that’s the gift.”

“I’m not!” Dream laughs. “I mean, I can do that too, if you want, but that’s not actually it”

Chances of him joking are high, George knows this. He narrows his eyes, trying to pierce through the innocent, honest look on Dream’s face to see if he’s just being an idiot.

It gets him nowhere, though. Dream doesn’t falter even a little bit under his gaze – his grin just gets bigger.

“I’m not lying, I promise,” he says. “Look, I’ll go get it right now. Stay here.”

“Wh–”

But before George can argue, Dream is out of bed, pulling a hoodie over his head on his way out of the room.

George stays, like he’s been told to do, his heart thumping in his chest for reasons he can’t quite place.

For one, he had no idea they were doing gifts this year. He doesn’t have anything for Dream, unless the stupid trinkets he bought for him in Argentina count. He’s pretty sure they don’t. He also has no idea what to expect from this so-called gift to be. Part of him still thinks Dream is making this all up, that there’s no gift – except for maybe that kiss they were talking about.

Surely Dream didn’t actually get him anything; between them, they are probably among the two people in the world who care the least about Valentine’s day. So surely not.

…unless he did.

Oh god , Dream totally does have a gift for him. An actual one. The realization has George sinking further into the pillows. He is determined to not be one of those idiots who smiles to themselves at the thought of their partner, but it’s taking some effort right now.

He can’t be seen like that. Especially not on Valentine’s day – that’s like a double offence.

Just then, Dream comes back through the door.

He still has that pleased look on his face, except now there is something in his hand, too. Something small and – George squints – white?

Dream crawls back into bed.

“I hid it in Patches’ room upstairs so you wouldn’t find it,” he says, a little out of breath.

George laughs. “Did you sprint there or something?”

Dream settles back into the same position as before, drawing a small ‘oof’ from George.

“Yeah,” Dream answers, smiling. “Here.”

He hands George what turns out to be a white jewelry box, sending George’s heart racing all over again.

“Oh no,” George says, staring down at it.

“Open it,” Dream counters, leaning his head in his hand again; watching him.

The box is light, the velvety paper smooth in his hands. George can feel Dream’s expectant gaze on him. He flickers his eyes up to meet it.

Dream’s expression is one of unabashed fondness. He laughs softly at whatever he sees in George’s face.

“Why’re you nervous?” He asks.

“I’m not nervous,” George lies.

“Well, good. You shouldn’t be.” Then, a moment later: “It’s not a ring, I promise.”

It makes George laugh, succeeding in dissolving some of his nerves. Emphasis on some .

“Okay,” he says, but the traces of hesitancy in his voice gives him away.

Under the covers, Dream’s hand slips under George’s (Dream’s) hoodie and settles warmly on the curve of George’s ribs.

“Open it,” Dream says again, more gently this time.

So finally, George does.

He grabs the lid and pries it open carefully – it’s one of those that comes off all the way – letting it slide down the sheets between them.

He expects a chain of some kind, but peering inside…

George almost doesn’t know what it is at first. He gives Dream a confused look and takes out the gold charm, small enough to hold between his thumb and pointer finger, and then–

Recognition dawns on him all at once.

He smiles. “No way.”

It’s gold instead of yellow, but the shape is unmistakable. It even has navy blue detail on its overalls and a mix of black and silver for its glasses. Or goggles – whatever they are. It’s perfect.

George looks up at Dream. “Where did you even find this?”

Dream laughs, shrugging. “At the jewelry place. It was like the first thing I saw when I came in, and I immediately thought of you.”

He went to the jewelry store . George raises his eyebrows. “So what, you went in there just to get me something for today?”

“I would never,” is Dream’s reply, paired with a smile that tells George all he needs to know.

That yes , he did go there just for this. Because of course he did.

“Thank you,” George says, putting the charm back in its box and letting his hands gravitate back to Dream’s face. Dream’s face with his idiot little smile.

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

He sort of sinks into George’s palms, making him look even more like an idiot. George barely resists the urge to lean in and kiss him.

He places his thumbs on the corners of Dream’s lips, instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he says.

“That’s okay. I would’ve bought it for you anyway, Valentine’s day or not.”

“Still.”

George does mean it. Had he known they were doing gifts he would have put the effort in. He would have gotten Dream those shoes he was talking about.

“I don’t want your money, though,” Dream says, smiling.

George huffs, pressing his thumbs into Dream’s lips. “Yeah, you have enough, already.”

“Exactly.”

George isn’t entirely convinced, but he knows Dream is being honest. Dream has never been one for gifts, only for giving them. He’d probably just end up feeling bad if George got him anything expensive. Even those shoes.

“I know what you can give me though,” Dream says.

George has some idea of what he’s getting at.

He leans in and presses a single kiss to Dream’s mouth, which is soft and warm; smooth from his vanilla chapstick.

“This?” George asks.

Dream smiles, chasing his lips. He nods, “This.”

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[kingkatsuki]

Specifically thinking about long distance relationships today.

So tell me how you and your f/o would first meet online?

[roughentumble]

combining the superman vacation idea with the superbat divorce. so its been years since they split up, and the world is just Hating Superman like lex luthor is totally winning the publicity war no matter how many cats he saves, and clark finds out that bruce doesnt actually regret any of his shittier actions during their relationship. like he hates himself for ruining everything and deeply regrets pushing clark away, but he's also validated all his choices as "logical, even if they went south" even though it was largely just hating aliens for being aliens. so superman is pretty pissed, and kind of bitterly happy that bruce is raking himself over the coals even if he hasnt actually grown. and the growing unrest in metropolis has the authorities saying "we are going to go to luthor for access to kryptonite and if an officer sees you at a scene we are going to straight up attack you, we Do Not want you here, superman is Banned", so superman decides you know what. all this needs to cool off and i dont want to look at bruce's face for a while, fuck this, im going to rann, they have a yellow sun so i'll be fine. good luck to everyone but i cant help like this and if you genuinely want me gone then like, i will respect your wishes and then come back later and see what the temperature is like.

everyone has to scramble to fill the superman-shaped hole in protecting metropolis, crime is skyrocketing, luthor is taking over unchecked, and other supers cant take too much time away from their own cities to reign it back in. bruce is going over clark's disdainful stare in his mind over and over and over its just making him spiral like crazy, which makes him retreat further into the cowl to hide from his own pain. he's still barely gotten better because justifying his own actions was how he kept himself from just losing it everytime he saw clark and now his defense mechanism has been totally obliterated by the man himself's withering glare and "im disappointed in you" frown.

superman is getting bodyshots off a blue alien in a space club that has alcohol that actually effects him somehow, which is very exciting to him. most of it is like earth alcohol and does nothing, but exactly One Brand is made for a specific alien species and has what is basically to everyone else Super Poison in it, and metabolizing it has intoxicating effects on his kryptonian biology. cant kill him, but can give him a hangover, which is novel. everyone wants to dance with him and no one is shouting for him to come rescue them, which is a huge weight off his shoulders. he has an alien threesome just to see what its like. it's one of the best months of his life.

[aria0fgold]

I SLEPT! SO EARLY! YAY YIPPEE!!! I also had a weird dream which I'm taking as a sign to get back to reading ORV manwha again. Basically, in my dream, there was the IP3 (Topaz, Ratio, and Aventurine) + two other characters that I think are NPCs somewhere and they were playing a VR type game at the highest difficulty. It's like a horror-ish game where they hide away from several floating eyeballs. The more time passes, the more advance their AI gets and the more they increase in number. At first there's only a few roaming around that doesn't check inside boxes and closets or under beds but after some time passes, there'd be more and they'd start checking hiding spots meticulously so the players need to both hide and constantly move around.

Near the end of the game, everyone but Aven got caught and then, a bonus round happened in which no one could log out and a huge monstrous eyeball creature emerged from where the mansion was and started shouting at everyone bout how no one can escape. Since it's still a game, everyone gets to respawn even after dying BUT! At the same time, the monster has a move where it can absorb a player and practically trap them in the game forever, as a part of itself. All while a dangerous battle is happening, Aven is still hiding under the table receiving his prize for winning accompanied with a PAINFUL headache and it also turns out, that since none of the eyeballs caught Aven, they don't know he's There.

So the others agreed on a plan to wait it for Aven while making sure he doesn't get seen. And then! After awhile, when the two NPCs took out their weapons (matching greatswords aww...) to use as a shield to one of the monster's attacks, Aven came outta his hiding spot! And he acts! COMPLETELY DIFFERENT! He's also holding a sword, that immediately angered the monster cuz turns out... That's Dokja's sword. And the monster was ACTUALLY Yoo Joonghyuk, and now Dokja is possessing Aven's body to finally put an end to it all. In which he succeeded! The monster body crumbled and then there appeared a really miserable looking Yoo Joonghyuk who decided to make his grief over Dokja's death be Everyone's problem by turning into a monster within a video game and trapping everyone else with him.

But happy ending! Cuz Dokja talked some sense into him and they live happily ever after! Aven woke up right after and was just: ??? He was kiiinda conscious during then but only in the beginning until Dokja fully took control and so Aven was just all round confused by the end while everyone else were celebrating cuz not only did they beat the game's hardest difficulty but also survived a possibly life altering moment of getting trapped within a video game as a part of an eyeball monster's body.

[blackwaxidol]

I do not know what my problem is.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

[valyvinny]

╰┈➤ ❝ Love and deepspace boys ⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ Love Languages ❞

PAIRING : Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader and Xavier x reader GENRE : Fluff WORD COUNT : 1745 TAGS : sfw, fluff, minor self deprecation (only in Xavier's) A/N : Very fluffy headcannons for the boys! Really enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it :). The next piece of writing is probably gonna take a while because exammmsss ugh. Pray for me everybody.

The different love langauges of the LADS boys

──●◎●── Caleb ┆彡 Physical touch

Caleb is an absolute FIEND for physical touch. This is largely because he spent the better part of his life having to make do with patting your head, ruffling your hair, and holding your hand to ‘measure hand sizes’. Always having to exercise an immense amount of restraint when all he wanted to do was kiss you senseless.

The line between platonic and romantic was blurred since the very beginning. But Caleb wouldn’t dare tread that line, especially if it meant losing you. That he wouldn’t be able to bear. 

But now you were his, and he’d take any excuse to have some part of himself touching you at all times. Whether that be a hand on the small of your back, little pecks throughout the day, cradling your face, massaging your sore muscles, he’d take it. 

However, his favorite form of physical touch other than sex ofcourse was just holding you. Sometimes it would be when the both of you had a rare day off together. It would be a lazy afternoon, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you, lazing around on the couch. 

Other times it would be late at night, after another grueling day of work. With him holding you close, your back to his chest. 

Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, another one of his treacherous nightmares plaguing his sleep. But the sight of you next to him would instantly put him at ease. He’d pull you closer to him, kiss your neck, and drift back to sleep. 

With you in his arms, Caleb felt truly at peace. 

──●◎●── Rafayel ┆彡 Quality time

Rafayel will do anything with you, as long as it meant that you were next to him. He wasn’t very picky with what the both of you were doing really. As long as he was doing it with you. 

You were his muse. Many times, he’d ask you to simply sit around him while he paints. You’d be doing your own thing. Typing up work emails, writing your reports or catching up on your favorite series. 

There wouldn’t be much conversation between the two of you. But somehow, your mere presence brought him inspiration to create. With you around, ideas came easy. 

You’d often be subjected to his texts throughout the week. 

“Hey cutie, wanna go on a walk with me” 

Other times it would be 

“I have an exhibition in Milan. Dun know if you wanted to come?”

(That’s a lie, he already has an extra ticket ready. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask right?) 

And who were you to deny the Lemurian? 

Sometimes however, your schedule didn’t allow you such luxuries. But that minor inconvenience didn’t stop him. He’d come over and help you do your laundry or even cook you a delicious meal if it meant just spending that extra bit of time with you. 

Every now and then your work required you to take missions away from him. Sometimes even away from Linkon. It was pure torture for the merman. Sure, you’d video call occasionally, but it just wasn’t enough. He wished you were beside him. 

And when you’d eventually came back to him, he’d pout. 

“Look who finally decided to stop by” 

But all that indignation would melt almost instantly as soon as you said “I missed you Raf”  

──●◎●── Sylus ┆彡 Gift Giving

Sylus is a very busy man. One would be heading an organization such as Onychinus. There’s always a deal to make, meetings to attend and people to intimidate. But that never stops him from always having you on his mind. He’s a thoughtful man. 

Sometimes you’d come home to find a package dropped outside the door to your flat. 

“I was passing by a store and I thought this dress would look beautiful on you kitten” the note attached to it would say. And it did. It was tailored to perfection to fit your form, hugging all your curves in all the right places. 

The dress would easily be several thousand dollars. Every time you’d admonish Sylus for spending so carelessly, he’d scoff in response. 

“Money is nothing to me sweetie” 

More often than not, you’d find a single rose on your window sill. When you questioned the silver haired man about it, he’d simply say “Well kitten, you shouldn’t leave your window open. It’s not safe. A little birdie may come in” 

(But maybe that’s exactly why you did it) 

But perhaps the most thoughtful gifts are the ones that Sylus gets you after you’d casually mentioned it in passing. 

One such present, and probably your most cherished one, was your limited edition plushie. They had it in stock only in one store in the whole of Linkon. To make matters even more bleak, they were selling it only for a day. 

“I really wish I could get it myself. But the Association just assigned a mission to me” you’d complained. 

The next time you met Sylus, he’d be holding that very plushie in his hand. 

“I have something for you sweetie” 

Truth be told, Sylus doesn’t understand the allure of such toys. It seemed to be quite popular considering he’d stood in a queue for a grand total of three hours. But it was worth it, the look of excitement and surprise on your face is something that he replays in his mind every now and then, whenever he’s away from you. It brings him warmth. 

Sylus would give you the world if he could, just to see you happy. 

──●◎●── Zayne ┆彡 Acts of service

Zayne is a very attentive man. He’s almost fine tuned to your needs and wants. Sometimes you’d tease that he never really frees himself from his ‘Doctor mode’. He spoils you, really. 

“I’ve ordered your favorite soup from the restaurant you like. It’s on its way to you. Please eat well” he’d text you when you were on your way home after another tiring day fighting wanderers. 

It’s almost like Zayne was a mind reader. Somehow, he’d know exactly what you needed, when you needed it. 

“I’m coming over to you right now. I have a tub of ice cream and chocolate in hand. Would you like anything else?” he’d ask you on the first day of your period. 

For Zayne, your happiness and well-being were his priority. He’d go to any lengths to ensure that. 

Once, after a particularly overwhelming week at work, you were dreading returning to your apartment. You’d left your place in a mess having had no time to clean up in between work days. You’d often find yourself coming home and collapsing into bed almost immediately. 

But now you had to face the mountain of a task that was cleaning up. Especially now, considering you had the next few days off. 

As you opened the door to your apartment, you were stunned. The entire place was neat and tidy. Not a hair out of place. From the kitchen, a delicious aroma wafted over to you, a pot of stew boiling away on the stove. 

You stood there both in awe and confusion, when Zayne emerged from your room. He looked soft, clad in a pair of pajamas and an apron, a duster in his hand. He hardly resembled the same intimidating Dr. Zayne that had everyone quaking in their boots.

“I hope you don’t mind. I had some free time and used the spare key you gave me” he said. 

“I thought you could use some help cleaning up. Once you freshen up, I can serve the rice and stew I made for dinner” 

Zayne preened under your appreciation. Warmth creeping up his neck, dusting his ears a soft shade of red, as you littered his face with kisses and endless appreciation. 

“It’s nothing” he’d say. 

To him, it really was nothing. If Zayne could do anything to lighten your burden or even make your day just a tad bit better, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

──●◎●── Xavier ┆彡 Words of affirmation

Xavier truly has a way with words. He always knows exactly what to say, no matter the circumstance. This innate ability of his had the power to single-handedly turn your day around. 

You wanted to be the best hunter there ever was. This ambition of yours would often push you to take up extreme and risky missions to prove your abilities. But sometimes, it made you reckless.

There was one such time, where you were battling a rather difficult Wanderer. You really tried your hardest. Used all the strength you could muster and everything you’ve learned from your years of training, but the Wanderer bested you. If it weren’t for Xavier fighting it off, you’re not sure you would’ve made it through. 

“I’m pathetic” you’d say after. “I can’t seem to do anything right” 

Xavier couldn’t stand it when you were like this. The self deprecation stung him a little. If only you could see yourself through his eyes. But in moments like these, he knew you needed an extra bit of support and affirmation. 

“You did good my light. You were brave. No one else volunteered to take this mission but you did” he’d say, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your forehead. 

“It was a difficult mission. The Wanderer was of an incredibly high level and you weakened it considerably. You’re stronger than you know. Sometimes, it’s okay to combine strengths and ask for help okay?” 

And it not just what he says. It’s how he says it. Xavier says things with such surety and conviction, that you can’t help but believe him. You can’t help but take his words as law. 

Your favorite part of the day is always the random text that Xavier would send you. It would always be at different times, owing to the fact that he would often fall asleep and wake up rather erratically. But the element of surprise made it that much better. 

Each day was different. Sometimes it would be “You can achieve anything you set your mind to my love” other times it would be “I believe in you my light” 

These messages meant more to you than Xavier would ever know. It comforted you, knowing that you had someone by your side to always root for you. It gave you the strength and the courage to face obstacles head on. 

And for Xavier, praising and encouraging you came easily. You’re the strongest woman he’s ever known and he’d spend his entire lifetime reminding you the same. 

© valyvinny. All right reserved. Do not steal, copy, translate, repost or reupload any of my works. Do not use my work for AI

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[gyaruhana]

hiiii can i please request a smutty (18+) fic of kang daeho x reader

so the idea is during the first few lights out (when the fights havent started yet) when it was daeho's turn to keep watch while the other slept, he overheard reader (who was in a nearby bed) twisting and turning in bed whilst moaning ang whimpering his name so blablabla things escelate (u can fill that part however u want) and it leads to daeho slowly fucking reader trying to keep quiet as to not wakeup any other players😣😣🙏🙏🙏

bye ive been thinking abt this idea for so long ive just been waiting for someone to write it😭😭😭

Kang Dae-ho/Player 388 - Keep it quiet

Synopsis: How could Dae-ho possibly stay focused when you were right there, moaning his name?

A/N: Finally dropping this Dae-ho fic too !! He's just a cutie really

Warning: smut content, just gently fucking tbh.. actually there's slight somno !!

In a death game like this, the idea of a relationship was the last thing on anyone's mind. Especially with tensions being so high between everyone due to the voting system put in place. You, yourself, were on edge and too focused on the lingering threat of death to divert your attention to other things like romance or friendships.

Most of the time, you stayed close to the little group you had joined with people you trusted now since they had saved you before and kept you safe. However, even with your little group that had a previous winner of these twisted games, you still felt on edge because Gi-hun had stated that an attack from the opposing side was not out of the question. The idea that someone might come and get you when you slept was unsettling but, if someone was going to keep watch with your newly-formed sleeping schedule, you suppose you'd feel much better. Especially if the person keeping watch tonight was Kang Dae-ho.

As much as you tried to avoid thinking about relationships because you could all die tomorrow, you couldn't stop thinking about Dae-ho. You couldn't explain why he made your heart race every time he'd talk to you. Hell, even a simple glance from him was enough to make your cheeks flush red. He just always treated you like a gentleman should treat a girl and you couldn't get him out of your head now. 

Apparently, he even came into your dreams now.

It was lights out and everyone but Dae-ho was asleep. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for anything or anyone suspicious. He wanted to make sure everyone was fine and that nothing was being plotted. It would be a disaster if an attack happened and more people had to lose their lives. He scanned the dark room for any movement that might just be barely noticeable. However, his focus was immediately broken when he heard a whimper.

He snapped his head toward the sound only to see you who was very much still sleeping soundly in bed with the blanket completely encasing you. His eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and worry before he looked away. Maybe he misheard you or you were just dreaming. He was sure you were fine so he didn't think about it again.

Well, at least he wasn't going to think about it until he heard the very clear sound of you moaning his name. His head looked over to you immediately in disbelief. He was in pure shock for a few moments and he sat there still, frozen, trying to process what was happening and whether this was just a dream. He really didn't believe that you were moaning his name so he stood up quietly and walked over to you.

Surely it was a mistake, right? You couldn't actually be moaning his name, right?? But then he heard it again and it made him flinch. He was in total shock once again as he watched you moan his name out and writhe. He had liked you for a while but he didn't think you would reciprocate his feelings. At least, he didn't think you liked him before this. Now it was clear that you did since you were having a less than appropriate dream about him which made you squirm and quietly cry out as you pleaded for more. He'd be lying if he said that your moans of his name didn't make him hard. He could feel his head start to spin at the idea of you needing him so badly - of you needing his cock. 

Fuck, maybe he should wake you up? But he really didn't want you to stop. Your moans were music to his ears and it’d be a shame to make it stop. He stayed still for a moment before coming to a not so smart decision. He slowly climbed onto the bed with you before whispering your name quietly in an attempt to coax you awake slowly. 

It was quiet for a moment and he suddenly got nervous that maybe you had actually woken up. He wasn’t even sure what to say if he did wake you up. He couldn’t just outright say he heard you moaning his name - that would be awkward. Thankfully, you suddenly let out another moan making him sigh quietly in relief. He gently placed one of his hands over your mouth to muffle your voice so as to not have anyone else hear you and wake up. 

He bit his bottom lip as he thought long and hard about what to do next. He knew he probably shouldn't do what his dick wanted him to but he also didn't want to wake you up because you were clearly enjoying the dream. It'd be rude to make it stop. He swallowed nervously before letting out a shaky breath and deciding to just go for it. He could deal with the consequences that may come later. 

Without another thought, he slowly slipped your pants down. He knew it was probably stupid to be doing this but he was so hard and he needed to feel you wrapped around his cock. He quickly pulled his own pants down along with his boxers and crawled on top of you slowly so as not to rouse you from your sleep. He didn't know what was possessing him to do this but he slowly leaned down and gently kissed your neck. The sweet sound that came out of your mouth when he did was muffled by his hand but, God, it still sounded amazing. 

He lowered a hand down to push your panties to the side and he could feel how wet you were, your slick connecting to his fingers. He had to hold back a groan because of it. He couldn't believe you were this wet and all because of him. You must be having a really good dream and Dae-ho convinced himself that it would be a good idea to make it a reality.

He lined himself up with your hole and slowly rubbed his tip up and down to gather your wetness on his cock. “Oh my god..” he said quietly as he felt your hole pulse against him. He wanted to feel you so badly now. The idea of making you moan out his name as he thrust into your tight hole had him going insane. When he pushed his tip in, he swore he almost released on the spot. You were so tight and he had never felt anything so amazing before.

“Baby, you're so tight..” he mumbled as he buried his face into your neck. He slowly inched himself deeper as he bit into your neck to muffle his whines. He was embarrassed by how sensitive he was and how he was getting so loud when he was only halfway inside you. He decided to get it out of the way and finally managed to push all the way in to your cunt. He shut his eyes tight and tried to get used to the overwhelming feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock. HIs hands went to your waist as he gripped it tightly.

He was just about to start moving when he heard you speak. 

“Dae-ho..?” You spoke and, when he looked at you, your eyes were open now. His breath hitched nervously as he looked at you with wide eyes. Fuck, he had been caught. “Shit, I'm sorry. I just heard you making those sounds and I couldn't help myself,” he says as he hides his face in your neck again.

“Please let me fuck you. Please,” he begged as he rolled his hips against yours slightly in order to try to coax you into giving him what he wanted. The sweet moan you let out made it impossible for him to hold back now and he decided that he was going to take what he wanted.

“Shh. We have to be- quiet,” he whispered as he started thrusting into you. Waking someone else up right now was not an option which is why you both needed to be quiet. He made sure to keep his thrusts gentle so you wouldn't be too loud but it honestly made it feel a million times better. You could feel every inch of his cock slowly push in before he pulled all the way out only to thrust back in again.

He let out small grunts into your ear as he kept his slow yet deep pace. You didn’t expect him to be so long but he was. Every time he pushed into your hole, you swore you could feel him fill you up entirely. He slowly slipped his hand underneath your shirt and brought his hand to your chest to squeeze at your tit. 

“You're doing so good for me, baby. Oh my god,” he whispered quietly as he thrust in with a little bit more force. He could feel himself getting closer to a sweet release so he grabbed your thigh and lifted your leg to put it over his shoulder. The new angle made him reach even deeper inside you as he continued to thrust and it was leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

His thrusts slowly became sloppy until he couldn't handle it and started leaving kisses all over your neck to try to mark you desperately. “Please let me cum inside. I wanna pump you full of my cum,” he begged as he started to thrust faster. You mindlessly nodded your head as you put your arms around his neck. In no world would you ever deny Dae-ho the chance of emptying his load into your womb. You’d gladly let him breed you anyday.

Your nod encouraged him to go faster and, before he knew it, he was releasing inside you with a growl. You released with him and he slowed his thrusts down to bring you back down from your high before stopping altogether and collapsing on top of you.

“God, you're so perfect,” he spoke before before bringing his lips to yours and kissing you for the first time that night. The kiss was gentle yet passionate and he poured all his feelings into it. When he finally pulled away after the both of you were breathless, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. After a few moments of silence, he smiled and let out a breathless laugh before opening his eyes again.

“I think I love you,”

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 3

in which spencer reid spends a rainy day teaching inexperienced fem!reader how to touch him. of course, her efforts don't go unrecognized, much less unrewarded

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings: inexperienced reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, oral m receiving, reader swallows lol, a truly sickening amount of praise, like really, you JOKINGLY refer to each other as dirty sluts, r has longish hair, spit mentioned once, thigh riding (moans loudly), its filthy idk what to tell you, i feel like i've crossed the desert on foot i don't even know what else is in here, your honor they're in love, i take you to dinner first, this part is stupidly long a/n: had a fucking field day the three separate times i had to rewrite this el oh el... but think i like how it turned out?! anyway, if u like this PLS lmk bc writing it took a small piece of my soul, and yes there will be a part four!! take care of yourselves!! i love you!!!

You give Spencer half a minute or so before knocking on his door for a second time. 

It’s miserable outside, and though the hallway you’re standing in now isn’t terribly cold, you’d much prefer to be in Spencer’s apartment, where it will be the same toasty 68.5 degrees as always. Not that the heating will magically dry you. And not that you’ll be there for long, if the date you’d scheduled last week goes on as planned. 

You’re getting worried, about to knock for a third time when the locks finally click and the door opens to reveal a disheveled Spencer Reid—not at all looking ready for a date. You take in his ensemble; blue checked pajama pants, FBI Academy crewneck, the usual questionably paired socks. He’s rubbing his droopy eyes, which slowly widen as he notices your attire. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, our date! I mean—you look really nice. I look… like this. Why don’t you come in while I get ready to go?”

He holds the door open a little wider and you step through, relishing in the familiar warmth as you pull your hood down and excess water droplets spatter on the ground. 

“When did you get in?” you ask, hanging your raincoat up on a hook. You know he’d wrapped up a case yesterday evening, but you’d gone to sleep before the team left Cincinnati. 

Spencer pauses in the middle of the room, staring at the antique flooring like he forgot what he was doing. 

“Uh… four hours ago.”

“Wh—four hours? Spencer, you must be exhausted.”

He laughs awkwardly, running a tired hand over his face. 

“I mean… I’ve definitely felt better.”

You kick your soaked shoes off and cross the room until you’re toe to toe with him. Immediately his hands settle on your waist and yours find his arms. His eyes are kind, and he’s clearly pleased by your presence despite his lack of energy. 

“The weather’s terrible, anyway. Let’s just go out another day.”

His features have softened and you can see how tired he truly is—not just in his bleary eyes, but the way his fingers grasp weakly to you, the way his head bows slightly. It seems bone-deep. 

“But I haven’t seen you in a week. I don’t want you to go home.”

Your lips twist. A clap of thunder rolls in the distance and the rain starts coming down even harder against the windowpanes. 

“We could hang out here. We can take a nap!”

Spencer sighs—half resignation, half disappointment. 

“But we made such good plans,” he laments. 

You kiss his cheek. 

“Plans that can be rescheduled. The bookstore will still be there next weekend.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the idea, but you watch the exhaustion win. 

“Okay. But no nap. I want to be awake for you. Coffee?”

You nod enthusiastically, beaming at the prospect of getting to spend the day doing nothing with him. Spencer mirrors your grin, before pressing a kiss to your head.

“You’re so cute.” Heat creeps into your cheeks and you can’t think of a satisfactory reply, but in the end you don’t need to, as he tugs gently on your hands. “C’mon. Tell me what mug you want.”

The kitchen counter bites into your palms as you lean with your back to it, watching Spencer putter all around the kitchen as he works on the coffee. It makes you tired just to watch. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap? Caffeine isn’t a substitute for sleep, you know.”

“I do know,” he agrees, measuring coffee grounds. “But other than last night, I actually slept fairly well this week.”

“You seem exhausted.”

“I… am tired in lots of ways. Not all of which can be resolved with more sleep.” he admits.

Your heart drops ever so slightly at the way his voice weakens as he looks through the fridge. Sometimes you remember there are still things you don’t know about him—sides you haven’t met. His work side is one of them, and it more than a little intimidates you.

“Bad case?” you ask, voice quiet and crackling with nervous energy. 

Spencer nods, approaching and setting a carton of milk on the counter behind you—caging you in with his arms in the process. It’s hard to find the words when he’s this close, but you manage to stumble through them. 

“Do… do you wanna talk about it?”

Spencer hums, tilting his head before gently saying, “not right now. But thank you for offering, lovely.”

“Okay, well—if you change your mind… if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better…”

Finally he stops with the teasing—the unabashed staring at your lips, the faux-attentive nods—and drops his head to your level to kiss you properly. It’s obviously an attempt to get you to shut up, you’re not dumb enough so as to miss that—but you don’t really care why he’s doing it so long as he does it at all. 

“I feel pretty great right now, actually,” he murmurs against your lips, a hint of a smile coloring his words. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Um…”

Your eyes dart helplessly between his as he pulls away and you struggle to un-fluster yourself enough to answer his simple question. Spencer seems to delight in this. The longer it takes you, the bigger his perfect smile gets. 

“You took too long. You’re getting sugar.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” you plead later on the couch, for the third or fourth time, setting your mostly-empty mug on the coffee table. 

His eyebrows raise. 

“I’m sure, honey.”

“But I want to help,” you pout, pulling your knees into your chest. Spencer regards you for a moment from the other end of the couch, before beckoning you closer wordlessly. 

“You are helping,” he assures you, gently grabbing your wrist as you crawl into his lap. He rubs soothing circles into the delicate skin with his thumb. “You being here and being you is plenty.”

It’s the closest you’ve been to him since before he left, and while you’ve all but given up on asking him to sleep with you, it doesn’t mean you don’t think about it multiple times per day. It’s especially difficult to keep your thoughts PG when you haven’t seen him in a week, and his hair is all messy, and he’s got his pajamas on, and you’re in his lap, and he’s looking at you like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer murmurs, likely concerned by your lack of response and the glazed-over look in your eyes. You reanimate, averting your gaze to the spot on your thigh he’s now rubbing absentmindedly. 

“Nothing. I just missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.” You don’t even have to look up to know that his brows have twisted into a pleasant sort of bemusement, like you are a particularly complex puzzle—you can hear it as he continues speaking. “I’m still not used to having something external take up so much of my attention while I’m trying to do my job. I’ve never had that before. Not something good, anyway. It’s like every time I leave, I’m thinking about you more than the time before. And I was already thinking about you a lot.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as he rambles. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he chuckles. “You prove to be incredibly distracting even when you’re hundreds of miles away. Do you know how many nights I almost called you before realizing it was one in the morning?”

A slow smile spreads over your face. 

“Oh? Whatever could you have been calling about at one in the morning?”

You’re teasing him, and it works. He blushes adorably. 

“Um… probably exactly what you’d expect. In hindsight I think it’s best that I refrained.”

“What?” You grin, incredulous, forgetting your shyness and leaning closer. “You totally should’ve. I’ve never had phone sex before. I would’ve done it.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” Spencer laughs. “It would have just been me talking to myself with you on the other line. I don’t think phone sex is really up your alley.”

“Shut up,” you laugh as your lips meet. He smiles into the kiss. Before you get too lost in it, you pull away, leaning back when he tries to follow you. “I think you’re over-complicating it. It’s just dirty talk, right? I can totally do that. It’s just, like… blah blah blah, dirty slut, something something…”

You trail off as he gives you a look. Poker faced—aside from the slightly narrowed eyes sparkling with humor. 

“You want me to refer to you as a dirty slut?”

Maintaining eye contact is an uphill battle—you crack in a matter of seconds, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes stubbornly. 

“No. For all you know I want to call you a dirty slut.”

It’s ridiculous, but he recognizes the bravado for what it is, still smiling slightly as he rubs your hips. 

“Right. I apologize for assuming. But just for future reference, I don’t want to be called that, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable calling you that, either.”

“But you can call me other stuff,” you remind your boyfriend, pulling back and still not looking at him. 

“Yeah? Like what?”

And just like that, you’re shy again. 

“I don’t know… nice things. I like when you’re nice.”

“I like being nice to you.” It’s so sincere-sounding that you meet his gaze, examining his face. His eyes are clear and soft on you, the only source of warm light on such a grey day, as his hands keep running slow lines over your sides. “Kiss?”

And how could you ever deny him anything? 

As has happened before, the kiss starts out innocent enough. And it’s not that it gets particularly heated, or anything—it’s just that it doesn’t end, and after a few moments your mouth slips open and so does his and that’swhat gets both of you worked up over a period of minutes. Pressure and heat that you’re becoming accustomed to build between your legs, and you don’t even notice that you’ve begun rocking back and forth in his lap until Spencer is attempting to still your hips with patient but assertive hands. 

“Honey, that’s—slow down, sweetheart.”

Finally he gets a grip on you and you realize as soon as you stop moving that there had been friction occurring—and you’re pretty damn sure you know what you were grinding against. 

Your whole body feels hot with arousal and embarrassment. 

“Oh my god—I’m sorry,” you mumble, moving your hands from his shoulders to cover your face. “That was an accident, I—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assures you, squeezing your waist gently. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing because I know we haven’t… gotten there, yet.”

A moment passes—your hands fall to the FBI stitching across his chest, studying the letters without really seeing them. You haven’t gotten there yet… but why not? Why haven’t you touched him, or even seen him? You think back to the few times he’s touched you and realize that you had been too busy with either your own insecurities or pleasure to genuinely consider how it might be affecting him. He says your name gently, drawing your attention. 

“You okay?”

You nod haltingly, brow furrowed as you think. 

“I—yeah. I was just realizing that I haven’t, like… touched you, yet.”

It’s silent for another long second, and you glance up, to where he’s studying you with a dissonant kind of relaxed scrutiny—a knowing confidence that probably comes with a lot more experience than you have. 

“Do you want to?”

Woah. 

Usually you have to beg on hands and knees and prepare a slideshow presentation before he agrees to doing anything sexual in nature. He’s never so overtly invited or initiated it before. Not that you’re complaining by any stretch of the imagination.  

You nod shyly, still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“If you want to, I can show you how. But it’s also absolutely okay if you don’t.”

Show you how? 

Your brain is melting into sludge at the idea. 

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze again. It’s kind, and you know he really wouldn’t be upset if you said no—but now that you’ve thought about it, you feel deeply compelled to try. 

“Okay. Come here, first.” You lean forward expectantly, eyes fluttering shut as his hand finds the back of your neck and he pulls you into another soft kiss. By the time your lips separate again, your head is spinning. “We’re just trying something, okay? You’re allowed to stop whenever you feel like it. Really low stakes. Got it?”

You nod, still close enough that your noses brush as you do. 

“Got it.”

He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away and leaning back into the couch. 

“Scoot back a little, angel.”

Wordlessly you do so, heart pounding with nervous excitement as he lifts his hips and slides his pajama pants down just enough to where he can comfortably pull himself out, and—

Your breath catches. 

Now, you may be about as virginal as they come, but you weren’t born yesterday. You’ve seen porn, you’ve received unsolicited nudes—it is the 21st century. Yet never before have you thought to yourself; wow, that dick is the pinnacle of beauty. Perfect. Breathtaking. But there’s just no other way to describe him. 

So that’s what hits you first—how unexpectedly pretty it is. 

The size sinks in a quick second later. 

You can’t tell with perfect accuracy how many inches he is, but you’re pretty damn sure he’s big. That’s meant to fit inside of you?

No, no—that’s a consideration for another day. Right now you need to stop staring like an idiot. You glance up at his face, and he’s sporting a cocky little half-smile which lets you know you’ve been caught. Motherfucker he’s so hot. It’s unnerving. 

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” he asks politely, quite obviously containing his amusement. But you can’t summon a sufficiently sarcastic response. 

Your voice comes so soft when you reply, “you’re pretty.”

Spencer melts, eyes impossibly softening. 

“Pretty?” His smile is earnest now. He strokes your cheek and you can’t not lean into his touch. 

“Mhm. I want to, um…” your lips twist to the side as you look back down, finding he’s not gotten less intimidating since you last checked. “But what if I’m bad at it?” you whisper. He chuckles, brushing hair over your shoulder.  

“It’s kind of a hard thing to be bad at. And I’m gonna help you, okay?”

It’s the honesty with which he speaks to you that makes you feel so safe. There are no hidden intentions or words that seem to mean one thing but really mean another. Spencer wants you as a person more than he wants you as a body and that’s been clear since the first time he touched you. You take a deep breath. 

“Okay. What do I do?”

“First, you’re gonna spit in your hand.”

You look up, alarmed. 

“You want me to intentionally get my spit on you? Is that not your worst nightmare?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not super worried about yours,” he teases. “But if you’d prefer, I can spit in your hand.”

“Actually, mine is fine,” you laugh nervously. 

Hesitantly, you do as instructed, even though it seems frankly bizarre. 

“Good. Now just wrap your hand around it, like this.” His voice is quiet, focused as he guides your hand downward. Your heart rate ticks up again as he encourages you to wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He feels much warmer than you’d expected—his skin is silken beneath your touch but he’s undeniably hard and that sort of eliminates any sense of him being fragile from the equation. 

“It’s gonna be less sensitive down here—and then, up here—” he slides your hand back up, covering your thumb with his own and swiping it just below the head of his cock on the underside. He hisses and you look up in fascination. “That’s the most sensitive part.”

Without further instruction, you do it again, keeping your touch light and watching his face for a reaction. His drawn brows twitch, furrowing deeper for a second, and his lips part. A heavy exhalation passes between them and quickly builds into a breathy laugh. 

“What?” you murmur, over-eager to please and very nervous to do something wrong. 

“Nothing. Just feels good, that’s all.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout. Of course that makes him laugh again, and he leans forward to kiss your head. 

“I’m laughing at myself, angel. I’m a grown man fighting for my life from a handjob that you’ve barely started. I knew it would be different with you but I didn’t realize it would be this different.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. 

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying,” he urges, grabbing your free hand and encouraging you to uncurl your fingers. His thumb traces circles in your open palm, before capturing your entire hand in his. “Do you feel how much softer your hand is than mine?”

You frown, attempting to feel whatever it is that he’s pointing out. Despite the fact that you think he has very nice hands, you realize he’s right. By no means would you say that they’re rough, but you can tell where his gun normally sits in his hands, where his fountain pen rubs against his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Anything you do is going to be perfect because it’s you.”

Spencer drops his hand to your leg, rubbing it soothingly. The other moves to cover yours—the one wrapped around him. 

“You’re gonna help me, right?” you ask quietly. Some adventurous part of you is very excited about this as an experiment—fascinated by the reactions you’ve already gotten from him and eager to push it. 

“I am. Little bit tighter, honey. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You do as you’re told, and he’s murmuring more praise—slowly encouraging you to begin moving your hand with his own. A shaky exhale catches your attention, drawing your gaze to his face. His eyes are, of course, cast downward, but his expression is hypnotizing. Those lips remain slightly parted, and suddenly you wonder if he makes noises like you do. In that moment it becomes your life’s mission to find out. 

For a while you continue letting his hand guide your movements, but he keeps things so slow for your sake that you’re getting impatient. You forgo his direction, picking up the pace but trying to keep the rhythm he’d instilled in the motion. His hand slackens around yours. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself. The hand on your thigh rubs achingly deeper into the flesh. “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I want it to feel good.” Suddenly shy again, you slow down. His hips stutter, which you think may be a sign that it was working. “Am I—was that bad?” Spencer looses a breath, looking almost… frustrated?

“No, I’m just—I’m weirdly close to coming.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well,” he mutters, “not usually. Mostly it’s embarrassing.”

You giggle, a release of some tension, and begin pumping your hand again. His breath hitches and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes with his own lust-glazed ones. Heat pools deep between your legs. 

“I want you to come,” you admit quietly as you twist your wrist, brushing that spot underneath the head of his cock again. His jaw literally drops, and a look that is part confusion, part pleasure, twists his features. You see the surprise sparkling in his eyes and it only spurs you to keep talking. “I’ve never seen how you look when you do, but I’ve imagined it. I bet you look so pretty when you come, Spencer. ‘Nd then I would know that I can make you feel good, too.”

“You… you are making me feel good,” he assures you. The way his brow furrows and his  lips are parted give you a feeling that’s entirely new. Normally, you’re the one falling apart under his touch—but when it’s the other way around there’s a whole new kind of pleasure in it for you. You feel kind of powerful. Maybe even close to confident. 

“Really? I’m not this quiet when you touch me.”

“I’ve ha—ah—had more practice not making noise.”

“But why?” you implore, ignoring the fact that he’s slept with other women and enjoyed the sounds they made, and opting to brush your thumb across that extra sensitive part he definitely shouldn’t have told you about. His hips buck up and he hisses, which is immensely gratifying to you. 

“Because I like to listen.”

“What if I do, too?”

In a moment of divine inspiration , you cover the tip of his cock with your hand, swirling beads of pre-come over your palm. Spencer moans and his hips jut up into your grip. It’s a beautiful sound, just as you’d hoped. 

“Jesus, fuck.”

You understand why he seems to enjoy touching you so much. It’s so rewarding to watch as his breathing picks up and pleasure contorts his face—to watch him get messier and messier and lose his composure a bit more with each stroke of your hand. It’s so simple but Spencer looks at you like you’re exercising some arcane deviant power over him and he’s not sure he should be enjoying it as much as he is. 

Distantly you think about how it felt when he had his hands on you—and then, in clearer focus, how it felt when he went down on you. Both were perfect, but something about his lips so gentle on the most intimate, vulnerable part of you had felt like ascension. Maybe it was the emotional component, or maybe it just felt fucking good. Regardless, it seems an irresistible thought. 

You keep stroking him until his head is lolling on the back of the couch as he groans.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah, baby?”

He sounds so destroyed it makes you clench around nothing. Without any indication that you’re going to do so, you stop touching him, and the speed with which he lifts his head again is almost comical. Immediately, while he’s utterly defenseless and desperate, you ask, “can I use my mouth?” 

His eyes widen, and then shut, as he processes your request with a tiny shake of his head—probably trying to clear the haze of pleasure from his mind before he answers. 

“Honey,” he rasps eventually, opening his eyes and smoothing a hand over your hair, “you don’t have to do that just because I do. That’s not why I do it.”

“But I want to,” you murmur, shy and mildly embarrassed by what feels almost like a soft rejection. “I don’t think I could do anything, like, mind-blowing, but… I want to try.”

Your face is hot by the end of the sentence, and you can’t meet Spencer’s eyes as his fingers twitch over your hip. A quiet moment passes—but it’s short-lived.

“Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

Wide eyes dart up to his. 

“Really?”

Spencer smiles fondly, brushing an invisible speck from your cheek. 

“I don’t think I’m capable of turning that offer down. Not when it’s you.”

“Okay—um, should I just—” Spencer watches on, finding your sudden enthusiasm completely adorable as you scoot off of his lap and gingerly kneel in front of him. Your eyes are big and glassy as you look up at him, hands set politely on his knees. You squint suspiciously, eyes darting between his face and his cock, now about as hard as it’s ever been due to your toying. He knows it’s probably intimidating for a girl who has never seen one in real life, and he feels kind of bad about it. You do terrible, wonderful things to him that he doesn’t understand. “Wow. So... it looks bigger from down here.”

“Please don’t try to choke yourself,” he instructs hurriedly, leaning forward slightly. “I really don’t need you to do that. It’s fine if you can’t fit it all, I just—” he exhales shakily. Spencer is most definitely strong-willed but he can’t pretend like the sight of you on your knees for him, inches from his aching cock for the first time isn’t impacting his cognition. Most importantly he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured. He’s trying to not let how badly he wants this show in case you change your mind. 

Spencer watches as you psych yourself out—wilting like a thirsty flower. 

“But what if I’m bad at this?” you mumble, hands curling into loose fists atop his legs. Spencer pushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears. 

“What’s your worst case scenario?” he asks. Your answer is immediate. 

“That I’m so bad you make me stop halfway through.”

Spencer can’t help but laugh again. 

“I’m sorry—I just… honey, you are really underestimating how profound your effect is on me. I just almost came from a minute long handjob. I can assure you that I won’t make you stop halfway through because I’d rather not have your mouth on me. That is… that’s just not going to happen.”

You lean your cheek against his thigh. He might actually pass away. 

“Will you tell me if I’m doing something wrong?”

“Honestly, as long as you don’t bite, you’re in the clear.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your lips pull into an embarrassed little smile. 

“Great. Thank you for that invaluable advice.”

“Of course,” he smiles. It fades slowly as you take a deep breath and look up at him, obviously steeling yourself, before leaning forward and taking him in your hand again. He watches with bated breath, repeating no sudden movements to himself over and over as your hand moves up and down a few more times and your head lowers. 

You delicately, so lightly trace your tongue from the base of his swollen cock to just underneath the leaking tip, mapping a vein, and his hips buck as you take him into your mouth experimentally. Only the first few inches fit but the sight of your lips wrapped around him, the way you’re looking at him is so unbelievably erotic Spencer knows he won’t last very long.

From a purely technical perspective—he knows he’s gotten objectively better head. Still, something about the way you’re so delicate with him, so soft and timid in the way you lick and kiss and take him into your mouth has him fighting not to come already. Maybe it’s wrong, but knowing that he’s watching you do this for the first time in your life is obscenely arousing. The idea that you’ve never trusted another person this much; that you’re letting him be the one to help you navigate something as new and as important as sexuality. The more he thinks about it, though, the more he realizes: it’s not your inexperience that turns him on. It’s just you. Everything you do is so undeniably you—he recognizes your mannerisms in every tiny motion, in every glance, and it’s killing him. You’re like a dream as you look up at him with big nervous eyes, (no, really, he has had this dream) and he remembers he wants to be reassuring you—not pondering life and human connection. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, groaning and hips twitching as your cheeks hollow, wrapping his achingly hard cock in soft gentle warmth so sweetly it feels taboo. “So good, baby. So gorgeous like this.”

You whine around him, receptive as always to his obsequious praise, and he notices the way your hips wiggle as you seek friction. God, you must like this a lot. Spencer gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, resting his hand on your head as you begin to bob it. That, he wasn’t prepared for. He’d have been satisfied with just kitten-licks and suckling but he won’t complain about this. It’s slow, and so intentional as you keep watching him for feedback cues. Ever his observant girl, you’re constantly paying attention. Aware of his reactions. He needs to keep telling you you’re good or else you’ll assume you’re terrible. 

“Over-achiever,” he whispers through a little smile as you down even more of him. 

Spencer is for the most part a kind and gentle person. For better or worse he is also a man, and he can’t help but fantasize about getting you all teary and drooly as he holds your mouth open and sees how much of his cock he can push down your throat. But again—kind. Gentle. So when you get a little over-zealous, attempting to sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure, he pulls your head back slightly. “That’s far enough, angel. That’s—fuck. God, you’re good at this.” The words are thoughtless, muttered to himself more than you as he watches through a haze while you look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, slipping him in and out of your warm mouth, a little faster now as you gain confidence. 

You whine desperately around him, like you’re the one nearing orgasm and not him. The sound of your pleasure as you suck his cock makes him dizzy. His hips buck, pressing him a little deeper into your mouth. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales. “Slow down, baby. I’m—” a louder moan from him like you’ve never heard as he thrusts shallowly turns you on profoundly. He’s so much more vocal than you’d have imagined—sonically and verbally. He breathes out a quick, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” pulling your hair slightly, and you’ve never wanted to touch yourself more but you know you can’t focus on both. Instead you work on making him come—you can worry about you later. He says your name, with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you throb. “Honey, if you don’t stop, I’m gonna come—”

You swirl your tongue around the top of him like candy and he’s done for. Spencer tries to pull out, which only results in cum both in your mouth and on your face. The orgasm is his strongest in recent memory, and he grunts, watching your lips part and a little squeak escape as he comes all over your face—but you keep stroking him all the while. Once he’s 90% sure it’s over, he falls against the back of the couch, breathing heavily and looking down at you through hazy eyes. Oh, he’s going to feel terrible about this in a few seconds—but right now you look fucking perfect. Your eyes are wide, nervous as his essence drips over your face and down your neck—he groans when you swallow cautiously, averting his eyes to the ceiling lest he do another thing he regrets. 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he mutters, forcibly clearing the haze of orgasm from his mind and sitting up, fixing his pants and looking around before locating the box of tissues on the side table. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You look up at him attentively as he wipes himself from your face as gently as he can. 

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t ask you first. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Spencer guides your head around by your chin, wiping your jaw and lips. 

“It’s okay, Spence, I—”

“No, it’s not,” he cuts you off, trying to at least turn his guilt into a learning experience for you. He’s not deluded enough to think someone like you will stay with someone like him forever, because sometimes he does things like that, and he’s reminded that there are certainly people out there more deserving of you. At the very least he can clarify that nobody should ever do what he just did to you. “It’s really not nice to do that to someone.”

“Do you care what I think at all?”

Spencer freezes, finally forcing himself to look you in the eye. Despite the fact that he’s mad at himself, he’s sure it’s coming across as being directed at you. And he knows you’re sensitive, especially about this kind of thing. 

“Of course, I do, baby. I’m sorry. Do you want to come back up here with me and tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs, cupping your jaw. Hesitantly you nod. The tissues end up on the table—which he will be thoroughlywiping down later—before you crawl back into his lap from the floor. Spencer helps you settle against him, hoping he hasn’t messed this up irreversibly. He keeps his voice quiet as he rubs your leg. “What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say,” you begin, “that it’s fine, because you’ll remember to ask next time. And because… I kind of liked it. I like when—when you do stuff like that.”

It’s a miracle he can hear you with the way your voice drops into an almost-whisper and you’re hiding against his shirt. 

“Like what?” he murmurs. Although he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle the answer. 

“Like… I don’t know. Like you can do whatever you want to me. Like I’m literally yours.” Each word makes you cringe further, but Spencer has to try hard to maintain a cool facade as he processes this. If he’s going to try and be chivalrous, you’ll have to move away from this topic—this revelation—immediately. Thankfully, you seem eager to move on. “So… how did I do?”

He almost laughs. It seems exceedingly obvious how you did, but as per usual, you require verbal reassurance. 

“That was really good, baby. You did well.”

You blossom. 

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

“Was I the best girl out of all of the other girls?” 

I wasn’t in love with any of the other girls. 

Just barely, he manages to stop himself from saying it, pinwheeling his arms on the edge of a very steep verbal cliff. The realization that he’s been in love with you for a while hits him like a truck. But he can’t tell you that right now. He should wait until you’re less vulnerable.

Fuck. 

He really wants to tell you right now. 

“Actually—don’t answer that,” you decide, while all of this happens in his head in less than a few seconds. “I want to go back to pretending I’m the only girl you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“You’re the only one that matters,” he offers, relieved to express at least some portion of the much bigger truth. Then he frowns. “Not that the other women I’ve met don’t lead important lives. I actually know a lot of incredibly influential and intelligent people who are women. I have deep respect for all of them. Am I helping or making it worse?” he rambles. You giggle. He has his answer. “What about you? How do you feel?” he asks after a moment, tenderly, lowly, stroking your hair as you lean against his chest. 

It takes you a moment to deliberate, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. 

“I feel good. I, um… liked it a lot more than I would have thought.”

“Well, that’s good. Much better than if you had hated every second of it.”

You hum in agreement, and he waits for you to say whatever you’re holding back. It comes sooner than he’d have anticipated. 

“I feel bad about the times before. How did you just… go to sleep after? Were you not, like—insanely turned on? Not that I’m, like, irresistibly sexy, or whatever—you know what I mean.”

Spencer smiles because he knows you can’t see him. 

“I wasn’t doing it to pressure you into feeling obligated to reciprocate, I guess. My line of reasoning was that it would be less intimidating if I didn’t even present it as an option until you wanted to try.”

“Oh.”

Spencer thinks he sees where this is going. 

“Why?” he asks, leaning back and encouraging you to look at him. “Are you insanely turned on?”

“Wh—that’s—I didn’t say that!”

Spencer can feel how warm your cheeks are as he presses his lips to the side of your face. 

“You can tell me if you are,” he murmurs, all smiley as he moves to kiss your lips. “If you want something, you need to ask for it. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Yes you are,” you grumble. “That’s literally what behavioral analysis is.”

Not quite true, but surprisingly, he doesn’t feel the need to explain to you the semantics of what he does for work right now. 

“What got you all excited?”

“You know what,” you mumble, trying to look away again. Spencer doesn’t allow it this time, gently grabbing your jaw. 

“Yes, I do. But I want you to tell me. If you want me to make you feel good, this is how you’re going to convince me that you deserve it.”

You whine wordlessly, looking at him with those big, lust-glazed eyes.

“You wanted me to teach you how to use your words, right? This is it. I’m giving you an opportunity. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Maybe we can take a nap, like you said earlier.”

“No! I liked—um, I liked all of it. I didn’t know if I would, because I was really nervous. But when I first—you know—and you got all quiet… it was like you couldn’t even talk for a minute. I was kind of proud of that. Because normally nobody can ever get you to stop talking.” Spencer narrows his eyes incredulously, a small smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t interrupt—not when it seems you’re finally starting to get more confident in your words. “And I really liked the noises you made. I think that was my favorite part. I liked when you pulled my hair back, and how you spoke to me. And when… when you got me messy and I had to swallow it. I really liked how it felt because I couldn’t think of anything else, just making you feel good. I really wanted to… make you proud, I guess. Is that weird?”

Spencer shakes his head no, a fond smile on his face when your eyes meet his again. 

“No. It’s a pretty normal thing to feel when you’re nervous and wanting to impress someone you care about. And I would have been proud no matter what, for the record. You were being very brave.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him expectantly. Spencer should have known you’re too needy to truly absorb anything he says to you right now. Which is actually pretty cute. Everything you do is endearing to him. 

“Stand up.”

You frown. 

“But—”

“Just stand up,” he demands calmly, preferring to think of himself as firm and not bossy. 

You do, looking rather annoyed and confused as you plant yourself in front of him. 

“Why?”

“You are so full of questions.” His hands slip up the side of your legs, under your skirt, and hook in the waistband of your underwear. Spencer looks up at you meaningfully and you nod, swallowing. 

As he pulls down, Spencer can literally feel the resistance of the fabric clinging to your soaked core. Under his touch the skin of your thighs is warm and soft. He wants to feel it on either side of his face, he wants to hear you whine as his stubble rubs against it, he wants to feel it clamp around his wrist, he wants it between his teeth and he definitely wants it pressing against his hips as he—

But no. 

There will be time for all of those things—especially the last one—later. For now, he’ll reach between your legs just to see—

“Oh, my god,” Spencer half-chuckles, half-groans, upon feeling how wet you truly are for him. He drags his knuckles from your dripping entrance up over your clit, pinching very lightly and earning a squeak from you which he ignores. “You really did like having your mouth full of me, huh?”

“I told you,” you breathe, visibly relaxing some as he continues to play with you for a moment. Then he pulls his hand away again, patting his thigh. 

“Sit.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” he says, simply. 

“But is it not going to… am I not going to mess up your pants?”

“You are even more neurotic about messiness than I am. I can wash them, honey. Come here.”

Spencer guides your hips over his thigh, watching your pretty face twist with uncertainty as you fully settle on him. Fuck, he can feel your warmth through the fabric instantly. Already he’s getting hard again. 

“What am I supposed to do?” you whisper, bunching his shirt in your fists. Spencer slides your skirt up higher, revealing the way you’re nestled against his thigh. He spreads you a little further apart, exposing more of your clit to the material underneath you. Immediately you press against him—he watches the delicate flesh rubbing gingerly against him and  his grip tightens ever so slightly. 

“All you have to do is rock back and forth. It’s easy.”

Already you’re starting to do it—but he guesses it’s like earlier where you don’t even realize it’s happening. 

“But… I wanted your mouth,” you admit, quietly, slinging your arms around his neck and burying your face there. 

“Do this for me first. Just get yourself off like this one time and then you can have my mouth. You said you wanted to help me feel better because I’m tired today, right?

“Yes,” you mumble, squirming over him. 

“Well, there are a lot of days when I get back home and I’m tired. I’m gonna need you to be able to get on top of me, just like this, and make me feel better. And I know you don’t know what it feels like to have something that deep inside of you yet, but it’s gonna be a lot. Even once you know how it feels to have me inside when you’re underneath me. I need you to practice for me right now so you’ll be ready, okay?”

You could come from the words alone. You nod, dazed with need as you roll your hips in a circle, pressing his thigh against your clit. 

“Back and forth, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hips forward with his hands locked around them. “Back and forth, just like this…”

You moan quietly, shamelessly, eyes fluttering as you look down and watch your clit dragging over the darkening fabric. It’s easier if you isolate your hips, grinding down without moving your legs or upper body at all. 

“It feels really good,” you whisper under your quickening breath. 

“Yeah? Does it?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, angel. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

It’s audible now, quiet and wet and dirty. 

“I don’t,” you breathe. He sucks in a breath of his own, stilling your hips with fingers pressed deep into your flesh. 

“Sit up, baby.” You really wish he would stop making you stop, but you don’t want to keep going in case he needs you to quit—so you rise slowly, thighs trembling as you kneel. Spencer groans at the strings of your arousal momentarily connecting your core to his pants before they snap, getting your inner thighs wet. There’s a dark, very wet patch over his thigh, shining like glass. He thumbs over your slick clit absentmindedly as he looks up at you like you’re a miracle. “You’re fucking soaked. I’ve never seen you like this. Is this all from making me come?”

You nod feverishly, hips grinding against nothing in search of friction. He sits you back down on his leg, allowing you to sloppily find your rhythm again. Spencer bounces his leg lightly and you cry out softly, buckling forward. His arms wrap around you, still pressing you down against his thigh as you rut against it. 

“You’re sweet. Maybe I should have known how much you’d like it when I came all over your pretty face. You really like hearing that you did a good job, huh? I bet you like it even more when I prove it to you.”

You moan a “yeah,” barely processing his words. 

“My good girl even swallowed on her first try. Took it so well. And now look at how you’re taking this. You’re gonna love riding, baby. Just going to be another thing you’re good at as soon as you try it.”

“Spencer,” you gasp, overwhelmed by the praise. He’s bouncing his leg at regular intervals and everything is so sensitive.

“I know it’s harder to finish this way, but just one time, remember? And then you can have my tongue for as long as you want. You are my only plan for the day. Just give me one like this.”

But it’s not really harder to finish this way. Then again, you’re so turned on you could probably finish if a breeze hit you just right. Regardless, the thought of him going down on you again pushes you even closer to the edge.

You don’t know how much time goes by like that, you rubbing against him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, him pressing up into you until the pressure is so taut it snaps. There’s no time to warn him, but you suppose you don’t really need to. You writhe against him, caught between wanting to keep going and not being able to take more stimulation. He lifts you up just slightly, trying to separate you from his leg. You exhale deeply as your body relaxes, already close to dozing off against his chest.

“We can’t have you tapping out just yet. I still have to fulfill my end of the deal.”

In the end, he fulfills it three times over, and you end up showing your appreciation in kind one more time—much slower and more comfortably in his bed. He gives you plenty of time to learn what he likes, taking your teasing and coquettish explorations like a champ and never so much as tightening his grip in your hair. Turns out, you don't exactly spend the day doing nothing.

And you do end up taking that nap after all. Just... much, much later. And with less clothing on.

-

part 3.5

[bunny-jpeg]

lust is a loaded hand gun

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, ferrari!reader, baby fever, seduction, cowgirl position, alcohol/drinking, breeding, the reader wants to have a baby and chooses to have it with max, max is not aware

this bunny runs on comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

part 2: love is a kick to the stomach

this sounded stupid. but you wanted a baby. and while that was an easy task for most women, you knew that there was something impersonal about picking from a catalogue. reading profiles felt weird, like you were looking for a used car rather than the biological other half of your child. even if you'd raise them without a father, you'd rather have a night of passion than an awkward doctor's visit.

charles leaned back in his seat and asked, "why don't you and i just make one." he shrugged his shoulders. he considered himself close to you. you had been teammates for a little over two seasons and prior to that you knew each other. he didn't mind being the one to help you bring a child into the world, "i can be his uncle and he'd never know."

but, as close as you were to your teammate. you had other drivers in mind.

you made a face, "no offense, charles. but it would feel like doing it with my brother." being teammates meant you two knew too much about one another. you worked well as teammates and rivals because you were more like siblings. while you appreciated the offer, you felt it was weird.

charles asked, relaxed in his seat, "why are you doing this anyway? isn't there a million ways for you to have a child."

you shrugged, "i want to be a mom, i don't know. leave my seat behind to another woman and let her make all the history. i'm honestly tired. i've reached the peak and now." you sighed, "i want something else. i've got enough money to retire and let my future child retire before they're born." you crossed your arms, "i don't want to be doing this shit until i'm forty and just degrade in the skills department. end on a high note." while it was not an insult to other driver's on the grid. you felt bad that they never got to really be parents due to the schedules.

"so you need to seduce a driver to make that happen."

you nodded, out of the corner of your eye you spotted the driver you had your eye on. while you eyed the man crossing your path, your voice got softer, "and i think i know just the driver."

charles looked over to the direction you were looking at. he noticed who was walking by and he looked back to you, shoulders dropped, "max. you're going to seduce and have a child with max?"

you looked back to charles and shrugged, "why not? what's not to like?" max wasn't a perfect man, sometimes you wondered about the mechanics of his brain. but, you knew your child with him would lay waste to the track in the future.

"i can name a few. do you want them alphabetically or severity of it?" charles asked.

you gave him a look, "it wouldn't be hard to get him to sleep with me. you, me and the rest of the garage has seen how he looks at me. i mean who else do i have to choose from? either they're too old, they're rookies, or they have girlfriends. and i'm not getting a heel in the eye because i'm trying to have a baby."

charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "i think you just like him."

you tensed up for a moment, "no. this is all just simple. scheming... nothing more. i don't expect to trap him with a child. he is free to live his life after i'm done with him."

charles found it hard to believe. not on your end, but max's. he had heard at sickeningly lengths about how max felt for you. it was probably the most eloquent the driver had ever been. if you got pregnant by him, he'd be getting a ring the next day. he sighed once more, "then have fun with the wold champion. i'd say to be safe, but i think being unsafe is the whole point of this."

you gave the once over of max in the near distance and smiled, "don't worry charles, you'll get all the details in the morning." which earned a groan from your teammate.

-

it started over a bottle of wine and ended in the motor home of red bull. you and max had gotten frisky over the evening. you wondered if anyone was selling the photos of you two in the back of the restaurant to tmz or some other trashy outlet. you had shared two bottles of wine over dinner. the benefit of being as wealthy as you were, you could throw the cash onto the table and giggle as you stumble out of your place.

you knew someone had a photo of max kissing you at the table to 'taste' the sauce that came with your meal. as if he couldn't take some from the plate.

but back in the motor home, you had dropped your purse by the door. in the dark of the place, you two were starting to get undressed. heels kicked to the wall, your bracelets set on the coffee table. your dress was on the floor by the bed, your bra over the lamp by the bed and your panties on the bed.

"i'm on top." you said as you kissed max's lips. he tasted like wine and fine dining. he tasted and smelled expensive. in all fairness he could be worth more than a micro nation. he was not an easy man to buy, but the currency of sex was in high demand. max wanted you, and you knew that because he got on his back without much argument.

you were both naked on the bed. the faint lights gleamed through the large windows as you rubbed up against max with no other lighting. you could see his face against the shadows of the night. his blue eyes were like gems and they pulled you in. whoever he ended up with would be very lucky.

but tonight you needed him. he was an important piece in your plan. you rubbed against him and with a little help, you sank down onto his cock. while cowgirl wasn't the best position to try and get pregnant, but it ensured that your plan would work. any position is a working one.

"you're beautiful."

"i know." you said as you rubbed yourself against him. you braced your hands on his strong chest. he was a handsome man, he was good at what he did and he was a winner. you knew anyone would be lucky to have him, but tonight was the perfect partner. you knew a child with him would be perfect.

you continued to rub up against him. the roll of your hips were methodical. this wasn't the first time you slept with a man. you moaned when max groped your breasts, massaged the flesh between those bear paws he called hands. soon you sank on his cock and shuddered, feeling the heat raise in your belly.

this was a mission, no time to get attached. you were both tipsy from the alcohol and the driver under you were more handsy than ever. you try not to feel the emotions that came with it. the feeling of being attached to someone you were having sex with. you batted charles' assumptions about your feelings for max out of your mind as you rode the dutch driver.

you were determined to get pregnant tonight. you measured it all down to a t, all you needed was for max not to get whiskey dick. you curved your back to get closer to him, your lips met his as you moved up and down. his cock was snug in your, but it went in almost perfect. the blunt head hit against the furthest parts of you. your heart hammered in your chest as you moved your hips.

you pushed hair out of your face before your braced your hands on his chest once more. he was very toned, you almost wanted to joke about what happened to his slightly kinder chocolate addiction. but that was neither here nor there.

"you feel so good." he grunted, "why haven't we done this before? fuck." he panted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as you rode him. he had been with others before but being under you was a pleasure no money could buy. you were really good at it, knowing exactly how to make him feel good.

"good things take time." you panted, part of you wondered what would happen if you covered his mouth. you didn't need the dirty talk, this was a mission. if you wanted a casual friends with benefits, you'd try something online or another in the paddock. fucking max was a certainly that you'd get pregnant. it didn't have to be intimate or soft. it was a means to an end, and you'd get there no matter what.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as you continued to move against him. you raked your nails down his chest, catching his nipples which made him moan. he was cute on his back, letting you take over. you wondered how deep his affection for you went.

you didn't want the emotional baggage of it all. tonight you were both drunk and having sex in the motor homes. it would be a one night stand before you two finished out the season. you could feel the heat across your back as you stared at him.

his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as he panted heavily. there was heat in his face and you felt something tug in your chest. he was beautiful, you hated to admit it. but max verstappen was a pretty boy.

he was already blissed out, his noises forced you by the movement of your hips. you licked your lips and without thinking, you left a mark on his collarbone. it was stupid, but it excited your further.

you continued to move against him. your breasts bounced with each move of your hips. you felt moans in the back of your throat and a hum in your soul. pleasure was close and it wasn't long before you really worked yourself onto his cock and finished.

the tightness around his cock made max's back arch a little bit. he could feel the heat in the back of his head. his heart pounded as he watched you continue to ride his cock. he panted heavily and soon climaxed as well. you made sure to get everything you could out. you kissed him once more before you stopped. when you pulled away you got off of his waist and laid down on the bed.

"wow." he said out of breath.

you didn't want to talk. instead you turned your head to kiss him on the lips to keep him quiet. there was no time for mushy romantic bedroom talk. you needed him to fall asleep before you could leave.

you tried to count down the seconds, placing kisses across his heated face. you reminded yourself that there would be some lucky enough to keep him for life.

when you pulled away from his lips after one last kiss, he curled up beside you and right then fell asleep. you stayed awake, when the heat cooled in your body. you hoped your mission was a success. the lust and the alcohol still made its rounds in your body. but you were lucid enough to find your clothes in the dark and slip out of the motor home before morning.

you'd never bring up the event to max, only briefly mentioning it to charles. you'd drive harder after that, in the end you'd secure a world championship. as you kissed the trophy and your country's national anthem played, you were already pregnant with your child.

-

your retirement was a shock to max. you could've easily decorated your home with many trophies over the next few years. but at the end of the 2024 season, you bowed out. you thanked fans and told them that it was a new chapter in your life. and then like that you fell off the face of the earth over the off-season.

max tried to find ways to contact you. where did you go? what happened? why leave at the height of it all? the more he thought about it, the more questions were raised in his head. he asked around the paddock, even going as far as to ask charles where you went. the other drive shrugged and told him that you moved back to your home country with a "little extra luggage". there were no social media posts. nothing. it nagged in the back of his brain for what felt like a lifetime. what happened to ferrari's princess?

it wasn't until almost three years later, max had claimed another world championship. it felt like these days he was riding high. he was still the best. but as he walked into the paddock to train for the upcoming season, he stopped in his tracks. he felt like he was splashed with cold water.

there you were, three years older with a glow to you. you were laughing with charles and lewis, you looked different but in a good way. you were in overalls and a ferrari shirt underneath. you were more curvy than you were when you were driving. and while you were still beautiful like the sun, pulling max in. what made his stomach drop was who was in your arms.

a young boy, with big curious eyes and round cheeks. he held onto you tightly, his small fists in the fabric of your shirt. he seemed curious about the track, but not scared of how big it all felt. while max would've assumed that you got married and had a child as a lot of people did. but that's not what had happened.

max knew right away at the first glance of your son. looking at him was like looking at max's childhood photos. even in features that matched your own, your son carried a lot of max in him. the itch in his brain after you fell off the earth all those years ago came back, this was where you went. the boy looked like him and if he was right about the boy's age then dates lined up. there was no question. max verstappen was your son's father. and when you noticed him staring. you simply smiled and gave him a wink, shifting the boy in your arms and pointing at the me. when your son smiled, max felt something in his gut. looking at you, holding your (his) son, made max feel like he was home. and all those feelings he had been carrying poured back into his head and heart. the same emotions that allowed you to bed him. <3

sequel: love is a kick to the stomach

[kitkatscabinet]

Nothing fucks with my baby

Simon Riley x wife reader

Summary: Simon is the Earth orbiting your sun and he'll do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if that means resorting to bloody means.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: attempted non-con (not by Simon)

@ghosts-cyphera for you pookie, hope you enjoy!

Eight months. It’s been eight long, tortuous months since Simon saw you in person. Eight months of living off brief Skype calls interrupted by work schedules and shitty internet cutting out mid-call, an age since he’s touched you. Since he’s breathed in your scent and cradled you against his muscular chest, since he’s tasted you. Pictures of you weren’t enough, even if you’d gifted him a set of delectable Polaroids showcasing your gorgeous body decorated with black and white lingerie.  

Long deployments had never bothered him, not until you’d become the central part of his life. Simon was the Earth, orbiting your sun reverently and fervently. He’d worship you on his knees for eternity if that’s what you desired.

His appetite for you has always been ravenous, but his need for you has been greatly nourished after months of no contact. The door to your shared home swings open with a bang, the anticipation coursing through his veins diminishing his control in a way he knows you’ll scold him for. His bag is dropped carelessly in the foyer as he stalks through the space, a man on a mission to find you. Not even the weary exhaustion after months of shit sleep and shared communal spaces would deter him from his mission. 

You’re not in your home office or the bedroom and Simon’s frustration simmers under his skin as he marches straight back out the door. It’s only the knowledge that you’ll be devastated to have missed his surprise homecoming that tempers his annoyance. 

Ghost is beyond irritated by the time he arrives at your work, not necessarily at you, he knows how seriously you take your career, it’s one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. Once some lowly private had made a snide remark about you being the breadwinner, scoffing at Simon for letting his wife ‘emasculate’ him like that. It was only Price playing damage control that kept him from a dishonourable discharge that day. He had no regrets, especially after the incident taught people to keep your name out of their mouths. 

It’s late, well past working business hours when he keys into the building using the code you’d given specially for him. So it shouldn’t surprise him how empty it is, most of the lights turned off as he made his way to your office, but Simon hadn’t survived over a decade in the military without learning to trust his gut. A distinct uneasiness settles in his body, narrowed eyes surveying the space for anything out of the ordinary as he increases his pace to get to you. 

The light in your office is on, the door is left open carelessly and gives Simon a clear view of the sight of you bent over your desk trying not to cry as a man holds a gun to your head and fumbles with your sleek dress pants. Simon thought he knew rage, but any anger he’s ever felt is drowned in comparison to the sheer righteous fury that alights his veins. 

He closes the gap in record time, red filtering out the corners of his vision and spraying over his knuckles as he rips the interloper away and viciously lays into him. Any slurred words pleading for mercy are ignored and shut down as Simon’s fist renders the man’s mouth an inoperable bloody mess. 

His arm aches furiously by the time he pulls back, chest heaving with breaths that have long since been silenced from the scumbag that now lay dead on the floor of your office. It’s the sound of your shaky sobs that pulls Simon back from the brink, immediately darting towards you, shaky hands stained with blood cradling you against his bulk gently. 

He’s vibrating with an explosive cocktail of fury, fear, outrage and relief. You press yourself tighter against his chest like you’re trying to burrow into the safety of his ribcage. Simon can’t bring himself to speak, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he buries his face into the top of your head. The silence is broken by the shaky inhales of your rattling breaths and sobs. 

All too soon you’re pulling away, even when he fights to keep you safe and sound against his chest. “Simon? What… what’s going to happen with-” You try and turn your gaze towards the corpse staining your carpet but Simon prevents you with a hand grasping your jaw, preventing you from getting a glimpse at the carnage. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head darling, I’ll take care of it. But first, let's get you home yeah?” He walks you from the building to your car with a supportive arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you against his side before sliding you into the passenger seat of your car. It’s a testament to how shaken you are that you don’t protest, remaining silent and clutching the hand that grasps your thigh like a lifeline. 

It doesn’t take long to tuck you into bed, wrapping you tightly in the blanket like it will protect you from the horrors of the outside world. The adrenaline had faded from your body making way for the exhaustion. Simon doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure the clutches of sleep have pulled you under, and even then, it's with extreme hesitation that he stands and leaves the bedroom, reaching for his phone to make a call. 

Luckily, you don’t wake even once in the hours that follow as he waits for news of the cleanup. He spends that time alternating between checking in on you, watching you breathe peacefully and pacing the linoleum floors that you’d insisted on. 

A single knock on the front door pulls him from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to pull him further and further into darkness. He opens the door to an unimpressed Price, who pushes his way in with Gaz and Soap trailing after. Expectantly he stares at them, watching as Price lights a cigar and takes a long drag. 

“It’s done. Did you have to make such a mess though son?” It’s an innocuous enough comment but one that raises Ghost’s hackles anyway and he shoots a venomous glare at his captain that would never have been acceptable in any other circumstances. His shoulders tense and it takes everything in him to keep his voice somewhat level. 

“That fucker laid his hands on my wife!” He inhaled shakily as he remembered what he’d almost been too slow to prevent, unable to prevent the rise of volume as he yelled at his captain, “My wife! He’s lucky I didn’t paint the room with his insides!” The baritone of his booming snarl is loud enough that even Soap flinches slightly with widened eyes. 

There’s a tense silence but his captain nods, something like approval in his gaze before his eyes slide towards the right and Simon turns just in time to witness you call his name, voice hoarse with sleep and eyes red from tears. 

He crosses the space and curls you against him in record time, nonchalantly throwing a dismissive wave towards his team who simply nod in understanding and file back outside. “Were those the boys? You didn’t have to kick them out” you murmured though Simon was already hushing you, leading you back to bed with a firm hand on the small of your back. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout them lovie, they were leavin’ anyway” he waved away your concerns, finally kicking off his shoes, trapping you in his arms and pulling you down onto the mattress. You squeak at his actions, giggling as his stubble tickles the skin of your neck. 

Despite how pent-up and desperate for your touch he is, Simon makes no move to escalate the situation, settling you in his arms and simply breathing you in. Neither of you speak about the earlier incident, not willing to shatter the peace. Though Simon lets out the occasional hum when your hands trace gentle circles over his heart, focusing on the steady beat of his pulse beneath your palm. 

Inevitably the lingering emotions of the day would have to be dealt with, but not yet, Simon would allow himself to relish in the peace just a little longer.