#it's just too much to keep up with for me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Just your average male living space.

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[aomiiine]

TUTORING GONE SOUTH

A TUTORING SESSION … college student!caleb x fem!reader warning(s) -> nsfw, MDNI (18+), pure filth ahead !! somewhat attraction to intelligence (vaguely STEM focused), established relationship (bf/gf), slightly perverted caleb, oral (f receiving), pussy drunk caleb, he makes you read smth while eating you out, not proofread wordcount. 1.6k (small rushed smth to get my creative juices flowing so this is just word-vomit//it was NOT supposed to be this long lol) taglist. @jellysix @tinycatharsis @wonuwuuuu @wonryllis @tsukkisukkii

A TUTORING SESSION WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND takes a turn for the better, or worse, when he finds your legs nudging his more than normal under the table. He finds your fascination with him just as interesting.

it was somewhere in the afternoon when you persuaded caleb to be your personal tutor. Well, not exactly ‘persuaded’, really, since he was more than willing to help you with anything. Including academics.

“You’re doing good so far.. Understanding it better after my explanation, pip-squeak?” Caleb asked, genuinely curious if you made any progress with his help. He knew some courses weren’t exactly for the weak, especially any mathematical or scientifical subjects. The one he was helping you with right now, physics. His specialty. It had to be considering his course.

“Yes, much better than my professor’s lectures. I should pay you for this, Caleb. How much for an hour?” You teased, peeling your attention from the book on the table to look at him with a playful smirk.

Caleb scoffed in response, turning his body to face you more than he already way. “Pay me? Yeah, why don’t you pay your beloved boyfriend with a kiss.” Caleb grinned mischievously at you, leaning in close to your face, clearly expectant for you to keep your word.

“As if,” you grumbled, head dipping back down to the thick book laid on the flat surface of the table, a familiar heat crawling to your cheeks. Your knee began to bounce traitorously beneath the table, unintentionally bumping his thigh beside you.

“Hm, you’re right.. A kiss isn’t enough,” he murmured, eyes observing every detail of you with a lazy smile all the while resting his temple on his knuckles. Caleb shifts, hand moving down to steady your thigh, slender fingers rubbing soothing circles over your knee as his palm caressed your skin through the skirt you wore. The contact made you freeze, brows furrowing in an attempt to ignore and concentrate.

“I always need more of your, princess.. doesn’t matter when, where or how.” Caleb’s hand travelled further up your inner thigh as he confessed his greed, squeezing the plump flesh he found beneath your skirt, the fabric lifting up high. The soft gasp you exhaled didn’t go unnoticed by his perceptive ears, your clear sign of pleasure responded with his fingers teasing the edges of your lacy panties.

“Caleb, I should be studying..” you muttered weakly, legs squirming at his invading fingers, playing with the seams of your panties with gentle tugs, letting it snap back onto your skin to leave a little sting. “Then keep on studying. Act like I’m not here, playing with your pretty pussy,” he murmured the last part hotly into your ear, being sure to lean in close enough that you’re acutely aware of his presence beside you.

“W-wait—too soon!” you yelped helplessly, grip on your pen tightening when his fingers reached beneath your panties, smearing your folds with slick arousal and impatiently delving two digits into your entrance the second he found it. Your head dipped once more, teeth biting on lip to stifle your pathetic moans.

Caleb didn’t say a word, admiring his effect on you as his fingers curled and thrusted in your wet heat, using the heel of his palm to grind against your sensitive clit. He smirked mischievously, violet eyes glinting with the same sentiment before he decided to tease you further, quickening the pace of his fingers long enough for you to feel yourself brought to edge.

He keeps on going even when your thighs quiver and part wide on your seat for him, hips rolling to meet his plummeting in desperation to chase your high—only to be denied of it.

“You son of a—aah, Caleb,” you whined, gaze hazy with lust now wide open and sharp to glare at your boyfriend sitting beside you undoubtedly amused. “Why’d you stop? I was so fucking close..”

“Because I wanted to,” he answered with a chuckle that grated on your nerves, making you more frustrated than you already were. He watched you struggle to recompose and grip your pen tighter, eyes searching for the exercise you were doing in attempt to continue. Yet, the moment you scribbled something down, his slender fingers slid out of you, digits glistening with your slick, making you hiss.

“Enough of this. Come up here.” Caleb withdrew his hand from your core, squeezing the flesh of your thigh before resting on your hip, fingers digging into your skin in a gentle pull.

you grumbled a curse beneath your breath before getting up from your seat, taking a few steps to stand in front of him after he pushed his chair back with a screech, making space for you without his hand leaving your body. He lifted the other arm, lifting you up with ease and setting you down on the edge of the table.

“What’re you planning?” Caleb’s hands moved to part your legs, letting you lean back on the table, a hand held behind you to support yourself up. “Nothing special.. Just a little playtime.” He said so with a smirk, voice filled with innuendo.

You huffed, eyes fixed on him as you felt his fingers hook over your panties, pulling it down and off swiftly. Just when you thought he’d dip his head down to your core, he stopped for a little something, reaching out for your textbook on the table and flipping the pages for a long yet familiar paragraph.

“Here. I want you to read this aloud, princess,” he instructed, a hint of authority in his tone. The side-long glance he made at you told you he wasn’t going to take no for an answer at all.

Caleb kept his eyes on you until you nodded, swallowing to dampen your suddenly dry throat. He hooked his arms under your thighs, fingers caressing your skin wherever he found it. His leaned down close to your bare pussy, blowing a hot breath against your folds to get a reaction—which he did—before his tongue darted out to lick a firm stripe up your entrance, delving into your folds with ease to find your slit. He buried his face deeper, nose grazing your throbbing clit the harder he ground himself into you.

You didn’t began reading straight away, moaning his name to adjust to his tongue invading your tight pussy with enthusiasm. “O-okay, so..” you exhaled heavily, head turned down to your shoulder to read the words of the text, stammering on your way with how skilfully his tongue curled deep inside your warm channel, pulling out to flick and suckle on your bundle of nerves.

“.. which leads to, ngh” you trailed off, eyes fluttering shut and mouth left agape in for a silent, breathless moan when Caleb’s hand trailed up from your thighs to your hips, fingers clinging onto your ass-cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Wrong line, princess.. You’re supposed to be on paragraph two, not three,” he groaned against your fluttering cunt, chin smeared with arousal as he lapped up your nectar with fervour, eager to swallow it all.

“Don’t think I don’t have that text memorised, baby,” he laughed lowly, desire filled eyes glancing up at your crumbling self, barely able to focus on the task he gave you. “So you better read it right if you wanna cum,” he warned with a sharp slap to your rear, revelling in the way you jolted at the impact, giving him the opportunity to ravish you further.

“Yes, please, Caleb, I wanna cum—holy fuck,” you moaned whorishly, head thrown back in pure, unadulterated pleasure when the slick muscle of his tongue fucked your insides rapidly, bringing you inches closer to your impending orgasm. The text was long forgotten by you for the moment, until he slowed agonisingly slow again, raising a silent demanding brow up at you. It seemed like your begging could only do so much.

You bit back a curse before turning down for the book beside you again, picking up where you left off. Caleb, ever the so-closeted-sadist, chucked shamelessly against your aching pussy, savouring the way your walls fluttered around his tongue while you struggled to read, words tripping as you went and sped up your little presentation so he could finally let you cum.

Reaching the last syllable, you shifted your attention back to the ruthless assault he made on your clit, finally able to close your eyes and let him lead you to sexual bliss. A hand of yours drifted from the edge of the table to tangle your fingers inside his dark locks, grabbing a fistful to push him further, deeper, in your depths, taking away his privilege to suck in some air.

“Fuck, that’s my girl.. my girl needs to cum, doesn’t she? ‘fcourse she does,” he growled softly between fleeting moans, mouth alternating between your clit and your slit, obsessed on the thought of making you climax. Your moans and cries reached a pitch, nails raking over his scalp gently as your pleasure reached a crescendo, toes curling and legs quivering like a knot ready to snap.

With one last nibble on your sensitive nub, your orgasm came in like a tidal wave, overwhelming your every nerve. Caleb stayed in place all the way, waiting for your twitches to stop and helping you bask in the afterglow. Panting with a heaving chest, you collapsed back onto the table, hair sprawled with beads of sweat falling down your temple, skin sheened with sweat.

“I’ll help you relax for a while, okay? Then, we’ll get back to our study session. I’m not done getting your mind in shape yet,” he grinned drunkenly, licking his lips for all the rest of your juices that he swallowed in thirsty gulps.

[sugucide]

two weeks.

it's been two weeks since kento has been inside of you. He's gone months, hell even years without sex before he met you and he was fine. he didn't even wish for it like most of his bachelor counterparts did.

but now that he's had a taste of you? two weeks may as well be a death sentence. which is ironic, giving the nature of this sex ban. everything you do is inviting: maybe it's just his underworked sex drive or maybe he's reverted back to his teenage years because he sure does feel like an impatient, entitled brat whenever you walk past him.

he can smell you. not the smell of your perfume you spritz on each morning. not the product in you hair. not the moisturiser you use. but you, the scent of your self, your body, the skin he's so often inhaled as he bit down between your thighs or up the column of your neck. he can smell the memories of sex, sweaty and tangled in pheromones and all things primal.

he can hear you. not your words or laughter or the way you hum absentmindedly when you're pottering around the house. he can hear that sharp little intake of breath when you accidentally, or not-so-accidentally, brush against him. he can hear that whining tinge to your voice when you tell him you won't sleep with him, that you're punishing him, as if its moreso a punishment for you than him. he can remember the way you'd moan for him, desperate and glassy eyed and oh so perfect for him as he ruins you from the inside out.

he can't take it anymore.

"two weeks is more than enough time for me to think about my actions," he tells you over dinner one night, eyes cast downwards at his plate. "...and to come up with a suitable apology."

you place your chopsticks down at his last words and look up at your husband. "oh? let's hear it then."

over the frames of his glasses, kento's eyes meet yours. "i apologise for worrying you and risking my life for my work."

you tap your fingers against the table. "and will you continue to do it?"

"yes," he admits. "it's my job, one that i do well. if i die doing it, i hope it's in place of someone who didn't sign up for it, like you."

kento reaches over the table and takes your hand. "i can't just stop being a sorcerer. that would be too selfish of me. but i do promise that i will make more of an effort to reduce my chances of getting hurt from now on: no more unnecessary risks. okay?"

though that was all you needed to hear from him, you start to wonder if lifting the sex ban was a good idea when your pent-up husband is swiping plates from the dinner table to make room for you to lay back on it. claiming he can't wait the few extra second to carry you to the bedroom, he has you stripped and laid bare on the dining room table in no time, and he's ready for his meal.

"missed her," he mumbles as he parts your legs with a strong hand and bends down to kiss once at your clit. that's about and gentlemanly as it gets, though, because soon after he's making out with your pussy like he's a virgin. no technique, no precision, nothing but unfiltered need and its so much hotter than you'd imagine it to be.

eyes locking onto yours from between your thighs, he adds two fingers and works you open. two weeks was a long time for the both of you, so he'll need to get you used to the stretch of him again. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curls them upwards to hit your g-spot and smirks like a saint when your back arches off the table in response.

"missed you ken," you ramble on as your climax nears. "missed you so much. hated doing this. love you. loveyouloveyou god i love you."

you cum hard, harder than you've cum in a long time and kento laps it up like he's never tasted anything so good. he savours your taste on his tongue like he would an aged wine, something expensive and delicious and worth keeping bottled. though he's harder than diamond and worried he'll cum in his pants if he doesn't sink inside of you soon. so he stands and undoes his belt in record time (with those lovely hands of his) and repositions you at the end of the table with his leaky cock already pressing against your wet entrance.

he leans over you and shares a kiss with you as he pushes in. he inhales the gasp you let out at the stretch and moans into your mouth as a gift in return. he pulls out almost entirely, so it's just his head nestled in your tight pussy, and then slams in again. hard.

"god kento—" you start, about to chide him for being so rough with you when you notice his face dip into your neck and the sudden warmth filling you from the inside. kento's hips stutter and he bites at the skin of your shoulder to muffle the heavy moans that ache to free themselves from his chest.

"did you just—"

"don't," he cuts you off, cock twitching inside of you with his release. he's plugging you up, keeping you full of him and his cum. "give me a minute and i'll fuck you so stupid that you forget that just happened."

"you just—"

"don't laugh."

"im not laughing! it's just, you know like our first time..."

"shut up." kento's hips pull away and then slam back into yours as he starts a brutal pace with you.

that shuts you up good.

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][fingering][passionate][ex!fwb][quiet reader][slight breeding kink][light choking][hair pulling][quiet sex][no nudity][nipple play][nipple sucking][promise of pregnancy][low-key right person; wrong time][not proofread because my beta reader's asleep]

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Dick's voice is low, frustration bleeding into his words and his fingertips dig into his palms, blunt nails leaving crescent indentations in the flesh as he stares down at you.

The worst part is, you look so fucking nonchalant about it too.

Sitting crossed legged on the couch, a mug of steaming hot chocolate cradled in your hands and a plate of cookies resting on the surface of the coffee table. The TV plays one of the older episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and God, the sight of you so relaxed while watching trashy TV makes Dick falter in his anger.

"How do you know he's yours or even mine?"

You speak, your voice soft and gentle, despite the way your eyes burn with annoyance at the fact that Dick's just.... Standing there, in your space, his suit clinging to him like a second skin in the way it always has.

Dick leans forward, his breath fanning across the surface of your face and he gives you the opportunity to see the stormy rage that swirls in brilliant blue irises, darkened by the sense of betrayal at the fact that you've kept his son from him for so long.

"Because he looks like me. He looks fucking just. Like. Me." Dick grits the words out like they're liquid sulphur, burning his throat on the way out.

Before he lets out a breath, dropping onto the seat beside you and he cards a gloved hand through his hair.

"And he told me I look.... Romani. And proceeded to call me a 'gypsy bastard'."

Your apartment looks different from when he was here last.

Warm, pale blue walls, a dark leather sofa and a bigger TV mounted on the wall. Fuzzy blue throw pillows and the bowl of fruity gummies on the coffee table is a fun new addition, just like the drawings that line the walls of the living room, and clutter on top of the fridge.

On each drawing, Dick can make out the scribbled out 'Mommy And Me', usually in a colour that has no match in the palette and he can't deny the heaviness in his heart when he reads that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dick speaks softly, hands moving to carefully remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the coffee table and he grabs one of the throw pillows, resting it on his face.

You can practically smell his emotions.

Confused, hurt, betrayed. Frustration's a big one though, and you purse your lips.

"I didn't wanna have the 'is it mine' conversation."

You speak so softly, so sweetly and it reminds Dick of how much motherhood's softened you. It reminds him of the way that you'd have pushed him out the window for showing up unannounced, but instead, you're letting him sit on your couch, and you talk.

Not argue.

You just... Talk.

"I'd know he was mine." Dick murmurs. "We were... Exclusive."

The way Dick says it makes you feel like it was more than just occasional hookups, more than the odd movie date that ended with your ankles touching your ears.

The silence between you is comfortable.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops dropping against your aluminium window, pot plants on the terrace watered so gently and the TV continues to play, although at a much softer pace.

Dick lowers the pillow, looking at you with big, almost teary blue eyes. Eyes framed by long, inky lashes, full brows and striking hues that make you feel like your breath is dying in your throat with every passing second.

"He's beautiful."

Dick's voice is soft.

"A little bit of an asshole, but he's beautiful."

Before you can answer, before you can even fathom properly what Dick's saying, you hear the crack of a door and the shuffle of tiny feet as Riot stumbles into the living room, fists balled and rubbing at his eyes.

"Mommy, my eye." He sniffles, continuing to scratch at his eye before you let out a quiet hum, your hands hooking underneath the little boy's armpits before you tug him onto your lap.

And you open his eye, the sclera just a bit red and you hum softly.

"Dickie, can you put on the light, please?"

Dick doesn't question the nickname, because it makes his heart swell in a way that has him internally screeching, even as he reaches for the overhead lamp and switches it on.

And your lips purse as you blow on Riot's eye, watching the way his lashes flutter and his eyelid twitches before a teary droplet plops down his cheek.

And you wipe it away, feeling the distinct strand of cat fur against the pad of your thumb.

"We don't even own a cat." You mumble, before using your index knuckle to wipe the watery eye.

"All better?" You muse softly and Riot nods his head, before glancing at Dick with sleepy eyes, lashes fluttering even as he clambers across your lap, and into Dick's.

And his tiny arms wrap around as much of Dick's midsection as he can, his chubby and rosy cheek pressed against Dick's chest.

And the man's expression crumples.

Brows twitch and eyes begin to sting as one of his long fingered hands move to rest on Riot's back, feeling the soft fabric of his pajamas through the glove. And Riot lets out a content sigh.

"Deadbeat gypsy." The words are muffled, but they're audible enough for Dick's lips to part in shock, brows raising before letting out a bark of laughter.

Before he glances at you.

"He's just like you." Dick murmurs, before watching as Riot climbs from his lap, and heading back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

There's a still silence in the air, only filled by the sound of Kim's voice and rain droplets crashing down outside before Dick clears his throat.

"My— uh...— my patrol ended early." He murmurs softly.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

The way you're slot under Dick's bicep, your head against his chest and your legs tossed across his lap makes him feel 4 seconds away from crashing out. Because God, you're so warm and so much softer.

Dick stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his side as you snuggle closer, before ultimately decided to pull the quilt over the both of you.

Your eyes remain glued to the TV, occasionally letting out snorts of laughter as you watch Grown Ups for what you could guess would be the 60th time on your lifetime.

But you can feel Dick's eyes.

Following the curve of your face, watching the way your lashes fan out and watching the way breaths leave your soft, glossy lips. And before Dick can even fathom it, his arm behind you is shifting, hand moving to wrap around your neck, long fingers stretching effortlessly and he brushes his thumb along your pulse, the action causing your head to tilt up and you meet his gaze.

And Dick's lips are pressed against yours, his fingers twitching against your neck before leaving the column of your throat, instead, shifting until you're resting back against the sofa.

You can't refuse. Well shit, you don't want to refuse.

Dick's kissing you like he's dying tomorrow. Lips pressed against yours, his hips nestled between your thighs and his arm moving to support his weight, elbow braced on the armrest above your head, and his other hand cradling your face.

His thumb strokes along the soft skin of your cheek, his hips pushed against yours and his tongue brushing along yours, but his movements stutter when your thighs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck and bringing him down to deepen the kiss.

Dick swears he sees heaven when your fingers card through his hair in that way.

Starting right at the nape of his neck, before dragging those manicured nails, up up up, before they disappear beneath silky raven strands and he sighs into the kiss, before pulling away.

Dilated pupils, and heavy breaths are exchanged between the two of you, and Dick swallows hard.

"Is he a heavy sleeper?" Dick whispers softly, gaze darting towards the bedroom he saw Riot disappear into and you nod your head.

"He is but you're pretty loud." You tease softly and Dick pushes his hips into yours, his bulge prominent beneath his suit and you can feel the way his tip brushes against your clit, even through the layers of fabric between you.

Dick always could find it in record time.

"Fair point." Dick whispers softly, a breathy laugh slipping past his lips, just a bit reddened from the intense kiss and he speaks again.

"But you never were loud."

Two digits bully their way into your cunt, your shorts and panties tugged to the side and Dick's lips are pressed against yours, muffling any sound you could even think of letting escape from your lips.

His tongue is buried in your mouth, thumb rubbing sloppy circles against your throbbing clit and your nails dig into Dick's biceps when he prods at a particularly sensitive spot. Your lashes flutter, and you take a shaky breath when Dick's fingers curl, his glove abandoned on the surface of the coffee table, and Dick pulls away from you, a thin, glossy string of saliva between the two of you before it ultimately breaks.

Landing across your chin and he giggles.

The man fucking giggles, as he uses his free hand to wipe away the mess, before ultimately moving your hair out of your face, staring down at you with pretty, big eyes that look at you so adoringly.

"You're so pretty." Dick murmurs softly, pressing a peck to your lips as he stares at you.

And fuck, you are.

Pretty eyes fanned by long lashes, perfect eyebrows and rosy cheeks, wet and parted lips (both pairs), and a few strands of hair clings to the thin sweat on your forehead and Dick sighs softly.

You're perfectly spread out too.

Hands gripping at him like you're scared he'll disappear, thighs spread messily and your panties and shorts tugged aside. Gummy walls thrum around his digits, pulsing at the intrusion and all he does is he continues to tease your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling the sensitive and swollen nub as he continues to look at you with those heart eyes.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?" Dick's question is unexpected but he can't lie and say he hasn't been thinking about it since he saw you.

Plush, squishy, and so soft.

And he'd do anything to see you pregnant.

To watch you move around in oversized shirts, a belly swollen and heavy breasts that he could tease because they're just so sensitive and pretty.

And God, he can't even imagine the way your perfect, plump pussy would look, nestled between even rounder thighs, clit completely hidden until he uses his thumbs to spread the lips.

Dick swallows.

Hard.

And he doesn't even notice that his fingers begin to move, curling and prodding, nudging at that little fleshy spot that has your toes curling in your mismatched socks and your nails dig into his forearms.

And Dick remembers just what a sight you are when you come.

Brows pinching into the cutest little frown, lips forming a little 'o' and that gasp that leaves you has him leaking in his suit and he's so glad it's dark.

"That's it, princess, come on my fingers." Dick coos softly. "Use my fingers to make your pretty pussy feel good."

Your eyes roll back, you hide your face in your shoulder and your body freezes, the only movement being the rhythmic spasm of your cunt around his fingers.

His stupidly long, incessant fingers that keep dragging out your orgasm even as you nod your head, a silent answer to his prior question.

And Dick gleams, dimples in his cheeks and brilliant blue eyes lighting up in a way that can only be described as cosmic.

Blue eyes flecked with silvery stars and the gleam of the moon, dilated pupils and pretty lashes and Dick nods.

"Okay." He breathes out. "We're gonna go to the museum, okay? He's a little artist so I think he'd like looking at the paintings?"

You nod meekly, chest still heaving even when you watch as Dick licks his fingers, cleaning them up like he's just licking syrup from his fingers. His long tongue swivels around his digits before he carefully tugs up the fabric of your T-shirt, exposing your torso to the cold air.

Perfect tits, dotted with pebbled nipples and Dick swallows.

He never thought he'd be someone to have a kid out of wedlock but fuck, is he happy to be your baby daddy.

"Come on, princess." Dick hums sweetly. "Let me worship those pretty fucking tits before I leave."

Dick leans down, breath fanning across your chest before his tongue drags along one of your sensitive nipples, and he watches the way your face screws up, biting your bottom lip to stifle any sounds.

And you look at Dick from beneath your lashes, bleary eyes and rosy lips and he groans low.

A rumble in his chest that has your needy pussy pushing out a trickle of slick.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll get you pregnant again." His lips latch onto the sensitive nub, his free hand moving to palm your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Fuck that, I'll get you pregnant anyway."

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[earthtooz]

x : HAPPY ACCIDENT :*+ﾟ

in which: you let phainon know the consequences of when he doesn't give you any attention.

warnings: 1.2k wc, fluff, phainon is very golden retriever coded in this and of course very down bad, gn!reader, mydei appears, i already said this but like i said, HE IS DOWN BAD.

a/n: the p in phainon stands for puppy or pathetic, or maybe both. btw i haven't played the story quest thumbs up.

You should feel bad about unintentionally conditioning Phainon like an obedient dog- you just didn’t expect him to take it so seriously!

The incident happened less than a week ago, when you walked into the courtyard in search of the Chrysos Heir, and he was exactly where you expected. The resounding, piercing sound of blades colliding was the first tell that the man you wanted to find was indeed there, and the second was when you rounded the corner to find him shirtless and shining with sweat under the gentle sunlight. He had been there for hours already, and as much as you admire his dedication and diligence, you also wonder if he’s been training a little too hard recently, dedicating substantial hours of the day into refining his skills. 

It’s been making you feel lonely. 

The last time you saw him was before noon, and it's been hours since then! You can only entertain yourself by working and reading and managing affairs for so long.

He spots you in his periphery and waves enthusiastically, a gesture you return with a calmer one before you find a marble bench under the shade to sit on. Even if it’s Phainon’s undivided attention you want, watching him spar is still far more exciting than whatever document that sits unread on your desk. 

Half an hour later, Phainon dismisses the soldier he was sparing with, the two of them chattering briefly before the snow-haired approaches you, his muscles flexing with every step he took. 

“Hey, you,” you greet with a smile before standing up, raising your arms over your head to stretch.

“I missed you,” he murmurs before intertwining his arms around your torso, allowing your arms to fall around his neck comfortably. 

“You should bathe,” you say before parting, his skin still hot and sticky with sweat. 

“Do I smell?” 

“Awfully.” 

He frowns at you. “That’s not very nice.” 

“I’m only kidding,” you giggle, “you smell like a bed of fresh roses, just extremely sweaty and… testosterone-filled.” 

“I shall go wash soon, then. Care to join me?” 

“Do you invite everyone to bathe with you, Phainon?” 

“Only the ones I really like, so, please?” He’s pleading at you with those eyes of his, so bright, so innocent, so hard to say no to. 

Well, normally you have a hard time saying no, especially to an offer as tempting as bathing with your lover, but you remember your petty feelings of how he paid more attention to his claymore today, rather than you, so you decide to give him a piece of your mind. It’s what he deserves. 

You hum in exaggerated consideration, even scrunching your nose to make it seem like you were thinking hard, keeping him on his toes. 

“Pretty please?” The hero insists, anticipation shining in those bright orbs. 

“Depends on how well you behave,” you negotiate. “Now, sit down and change your shoes, I’ll get your clothes.” 

He pouts at you, signalling his dissatisfaction. “Alright.” 

You leave to pick up his outerwear from where he discarded it in the courtyard, probably thrown aside when it got too stuffy. Returning to him, the pout is still as present, and he seems to refuse to make eye contact with you, trying to get you to crack.

So, you drop the pile of clothes beside him and counter with a game of your own.

Standing between his legs, both of your hands go to rest on his cheeks, the skin warm and flushed underneath yours. Gently tilting Phainon’s head up, you think you hear his breath hitch as he obeys, looking up at you with those glossy eyes. Gone was the petulance, back was the puppy-dog expression as he stares at you with wonder, and you’re 90% sure that if he had a tail, it’d be vigorously swishing behind him.

He just might be the most simple man you know. Telling him that would only displease him, though, primarily because he doesn’t like it when you talk about other men. 

You giggle softly at the thought as you gently brush stray strands of hair away from his face. 

“I only accompany men who are good to me to the bathhouse,” you muse.

“I’m amazing to you- the best,” he flaunts. “Right?” 

Instead of responding, you slowly lean closer towards him, minimising the gap between your faces. First, you close your eyes when your nose brushes against his, and you keep going until your lips are so painstakingly close that you can feel his graze yours, skin ghosting against skin as you lure him in. Then, just before you can give him what he wants, you draw back, leaving Phainon to chase after a piece of a paradise you won’t grant. 

When he realises that the anticipated kiss wasn’t coming, his eyes slowly blink open. 

“Good boys don’t let their partner feel neglected by training for hours and hours,” you mumble, brushing his hair back before deserting him completely, letting your hands fall back to your sides before cruelly walking away. “You need to learn your lesson, Phainon.”

Still in a daze, he only just registers what you were doing before shooting to his feet. “Hey!” 

Leaving his precious claymore and clothes behind, he chases after your retreating figure.

Effortlessly, the Chrysos Heir catches up and winds his arms around your waist like a tight coil. “Y/n, darling, my light, I’m sorry, you’re right, I have committed a great dishonour today, I will amend it with my life.” 

Humoured, you turn to face him, a melting pot of determination and desperation swirling in those aquamarine eyes. “Well, you do not need to go that far, Deliverer.” 

“So then… a kiss? Or two? Or three? Please?” 

“How about you kiss that claymore instead? Since you spend so much time with it.” 

He whines in your ear, refusing to let you go when you try to slip away by pushing against his very muscular, very sturdy, and very naked chest. 

You spend a good few minutes rejecting his every plea, utterly amused by his growing desperation and how he offered the most preposterous things on Amphoreus for you to forgive him. So you pushed your luck as far as you could before giving Phainon what he wanted, and he breathed you in like air, insisting on wanting more again and again as he pulled you so close you thought you would merge into him.

When you feel his hands roam down your body, tracing your curves and lingering on your hips, you break away before he could get any more carried away.

“Next time you see me while training, you should know what to do, right?” Was all you said that day before moving on, going back to the courtyard to collect his items for him because he was too dazed to do it himself.

Now, you’re left wondering how hard that sentence hit him as Phainon obediently sits down, staring at you with intense eyes that indicated he wanted something from you. He was sparing with Prince Mydei a mere second ago, how did he drop his weapon as soon as you walked in and just… plopped down on the bench like that was the most natural thing in the world? And the other Chrysos Heir just agreed? 

Was there something odd in the air today? Normally these two would spar until there were chips in their weapons.  

Mydei gave you a firm nod in greeting when he walked past and you returned it with a slight bow, still left wondering what on Amphoreus just occurred as you watch his retreating back. 

Until a certain hero clears his throat, causing you to tear your gaze away and at your main source of bewilderment. 

“Did you send Mydei away because… of me?” You ask. 

He nods. 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” 

Your mouth falls slightly agape before the realisation hits. “I… I guess? I was hoping to watch you two spar.” 

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink, only stares you. When you don’t give him what he wants, Phainon impatiently pats his spread thighs and you oblige, stopping before him and letting your hands rest on his face. 

“What am I going to do with you?” You whisper against his lips before sealing the words against his lips.

Well, this was your fault, after all, so you should just do your best to make him happy.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[miniscapes333]

Passionate confession from your FS (18+) (Possesive edition) (part - 1)

PICK A PILE READING LOVES ;)

👇 [PILE - 1] 👇[PILE - 2]

👆 [PILE - 3]

Disclaimer: The images featured are not mine. All credit and rights belong to their original creators.

PILE 1

"You have no idea what you do to me. Or maybe you do. Maybe you see it—the way my jaw clenches when you walk into the room, the way my fingers twitch like they ache to touch you, the way I have to exhale slowly when you get too close, just to keep myself from doing something reckless. Do you feel it, the charge in the air when we’re near each other? It’s unbearable sometimes, the tension, the pull. You’ll brush past me—just the faintest graze of your skin against mine—and I’ll have to force my hands into my pockets, grip the nearest surface, do something to stop myself from dragging you into the nearest secluded corner and making sure you know exactly how badly I’ve been craving you. I don’t think you understand how much I struggle with this. With wanting you and not being able to have you the way I need to.

"And when I think about finally having you—really having you—I imagine it slow, deliberate. None of this rushing, none of this fleeting, stolen touches nonsense. No, when I get my hands on you, I’m taking my time. I want to feel your breath hitch when I kiss that spot just below your ear, want to watch the way your fingers grip the fabric of my shirt when I press you against me. I want to memorize you. The weight of your body against mine, the sound of my name on your lips when you finally let yourself melt into me. Because, love, I’ve been suffering for you. Every time our eyes meet across a crowded room, every time your fingers brush against my wrist absentmindedly—it’s torture. Do you know how many times I’ve had to sit next to you, watch you, be close but not close enough? My fingers flex at my sides, my lips part like I’m about to say something, but I hold it back. Every. Damn. Time. But one day? Oh, one day, I won’t hold back anymore.

"And when that moment comes? When I finally let go of every restraint, every ounce of self-control? I hope you’re ready for what that will mean. Because I promise you, once I start, I won’t stop. Not until I’ve unraveled every little guarded piece of you, not until my touch is so deeply imprinted into your skin that even when I’m not there, you’ll still feel me. My hands on your hips, my fingers tracing slow, lazy circles up your spine, my lips ghosting over yours just to make you wait a little longer, just to hear that soft, impatient sound you make when you want more. And when I do finally give in? Oh, sweetheart… you will know—body, mind, and soul—just how deep my devotion runs."

PILE 2

"You drive me crazy, you know that? It’s not just the way you look—though, trust me, that alone is enough to make my thoughts dangerous. It’s the way you move, the way you carry yourself like you know exactly what you’re worth. That quiet confidence, that effortless allure—it’s infuriating. Because it makes me restless, makes me reckless. I catch myself watching you when I shouldn’t, leaning in closer just to catch the scent of your skin, clenching my fists to stop myself from reaching out and pulling you into me like it’s my right. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It should be. You should be mine. And yet, here I am, pacing the edge of my own self-control, caught somewhere between wanting to savor every moment and wanting to pin you against the nearest wall just to see how quickly I can make you unravel.

"You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it—the moment I stop fighting this, the moment I finally let myself have you. The tension between us is unbearable, crackling in the air like a live wire, waiting for the right spark to set it all ablaze. And when it happens? When I finally let go? It won’t be some careful, delicate thing. No, it will be electric. Desperate hands, impatient lips, bodies pressing so close that the world outside ceases to exist. I want to hear your breath hitch when I whisper against your skin, want to see that sharp flash of surprise in your eyes when I finally break past that composure you wear so well. I know you feel it too, that need, that ache that’s been building between us like a storm on the horizon. And when it hits? There will be no stopping it.

"And after? Oh, don’t think for a second I’ll be done with you. No, I’ll have you wrapped in my arms, your body still humming with the aftermath, my fingers tracing lazy patterns against your bare skin like I’m committing you to memory. I’ll watch the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part ever so slightly, like you’re still trying to catch your breath. And I’ll smirk—because I’ll know. I’ll know that I’ve ruined you in the best possible way. And when you finally close your eyes, thinking you’ll get a moment of rest? That’s when I’ll lean in, lips brushing against your ear, and whisper, ‘You didn’t actually think I was finished with you yet, did you?’"

PILE 3

"You test me. You push me. And I don’t even think you realize it. Do you know how hard it is to sit back and watch you move through the world like you don’t belong to me? To watch other people steal your time, your attention, while I have to sit there and pretend like it doesn’t drive me insane? I don’t do well with restraint—I never have. I’m a person who sees what they want and takes it, no hesitation, no second-guessing. But you… you make me hesitate. You make me wait. And I hate waiting. I hate the space between us, the distance I have to keep when all I want to do is pull you into me and remind you exactly who you belong to. Because you do belong to me, don’t you? Even if you don’t realize it yet, even if you keep playing this dangerous little game of making me work for it—you feel it too. I know you do."

"I’ve imagined it too many times—crossing that line, claiming what’s already mine. And trust me, when that moment comes, I won’t be gentle. I won’t be soft. Not at first. No, the first time I take you, I’ll make damn sure you feel it, that you know there is no one else who can touch you the way I can, who can own you the way I will. I can already picture it—my hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against me, the sharp little gasp you’ll make when I finally stop holding back. My fingers tilting your chin up just enough so you have no choice but to meet my eyes, so you can see the storm you’ve been stirring inside me all this time. And when I kiss you? It won’t be sweet. It won’t be careful. It will be a claim, a warning, a promise. Because once I have you, I’m never letting you go."

"And after? I’ll keep you close, one arm draped possessively around your waist, my fingers tracing idle patterns against your bare skin. I’ll watch you, the rise and fall of your breath, the way you still glow from what we just did. And just when you think I’ve finally calmed, finally had my fill? I’ll lean in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as I whisper, ‘You thought I was finished? No, sweetheart… we’ve only just begun.’"

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[natsaffection]

Yours to Taste | N.R

When your period starts, Natasha is forced to battle against her instincts, but the scent, the taste, the sheer temptation is too much. The moment she finally indulges, she loses herself completely.

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N= 100+ r= 23), Blood, period sex, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), multiple orgasm, possessive Natasha

Word count: 3,4k

A/N: The idea has been buzzing around in my head for a few days now..🩸

The quiet hum of your phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table pulled your attention away from the TV screen. You had been curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, clutching a heating pad against your stomach, when you felt it, the unmistakable ache and warmth spreading through your lower abdomen. Shit.

You blinked at your phone screen. Natasha’s name was already waiting in your chat, her last message sent hours ago when she left for work. You hesitated for a second before typing.

Hey love, just a heads-up…I just got my period. Don’t freak out when you get home, okay? 😕

You hit send and stared at the screen, watching the three little dots appear. A few moments later, her response popped up.

Understood, moya lyubov (my love). I’ll be home soon.

Her message was simple, but you could almost hear the undertone of tension beneath her words. You knew she’d keep herself in control..she always did. But still, your blood had an effect on her, more than she liked to admit. You sighed, stretching your legs over the couch and burrowing deeper into the warmth of your blanket. You trusted Natasha with everything in you, but you also knew what she was. And this? This was going to test her patience.

An Hour later, the sound of the front door unlocking made you glance up. Your stomach was still twisting in knots, and you were halfway through a cup of tea when you saw her stepping through the doorway, eyes dark with something unreadable. But then she saw you, and the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.

“Hey, darling.” she murmured, voice smooth but careful, like she was forcing herself to stay in control. “Hey.” you smiled softly, setting your cup down. “Rough day?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She stepped forward, but then she froze. You saw it the moment the scent hit her. Her pupils dilated, her body stiffening for the briefest second before she took a slow, controlled breath. Your stomach flipped with guilt. “I’m sorry..” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself like it could somehow hide your scent from her. “I know this is..well, hard for you.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and she exhaled through her nose. “Don’t apologize.” she said, but there was a tightness to her tone, like she was barely keeping herself in check. You watched her carefully, the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed. Her usual sharp composure was fraying at the edges, but she was holding herself together for you.

“I can sleep in the guest room tonight..” you offered, voice gentle. Natasha’s head snapped up, her green eyes narrowing. “No.” She took another slow step toward you, moving like a predator stalking forward, but her eyes..God, her eyes held something deeper.

“You are my love.” she murmured, her voice thick with something more than just hunger. “I have lived for centuries, and not once have I felt what I feel for you.” She reached forward, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. “You don’t have to hide from me.“

“But..” you hesitated, glancing away. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.” A small chuckle escaped her lips, low and dark. “Oh, Detka (baby), you have no idea how hard it already is.” She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her cold breath fanning over your skin. “Do you trust me?” she whispered. You nodded instantly. “Always.”

A smirk tugged at her lips before she pulled away slightly, her gaze flickering to your neck for the briefest moment before she looked back at you. “You should rest.” she said, her voice softer now, more controlled. “I’ll get you everything you need.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Your lips parted in surprise, but Natasha was already turning away, slipping out of the room with graceful ease. A few minutes later, she returned with another heating pad, painkillers, and your favorite chocolate bar. She placed everything beside you before kneeling down in front of the couch, her hands resting on your knees.

“Better?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Much better.” Wordlessly, she walked into the kitchen again, and a few moments later, she returned with a wine glass filled with a deep, rich red liquid- your blood. You had both prepared for days like this, ensuring Natasha had a collected supply from you when things got too difficult. It was something she had initially protested against, but eventually, she had accepted it as a compromise.

She sat down beside you, swirling the liquid in the glass before taking a slow, measured sip. A satisfied hum rumbled in her throat as the taste hit her tongue intoxicating, rich, unlike anything she had ever known. You watched her, resting your head against her shoulder. “Better?”

She turned her head slightly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Much.” But it was a lie. Natasha was a master of control, but even she had limits. But she wouldn’t break. She refused to. Instead, she focused on you, on the way your fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her arm, on the way you sighed as you settled deeper into the couch. “What are we watching?” she asked, shifting her attention to the screen.

“Some rom-com..” you replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I needed something light.” She chuckled, taking another slow sip from her glass. “You and your guilty pleasures.”

“You love them too!” you teased, nudging her side. A smirk played on her lips. “I tolerate them because you love them.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching the movie while Natasha slowly drained her glass.

But despite her best efforts, her mind kept betraying her. The blood she drank satisfied her, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the real thing was sitting right next to her, her scent wrapping around Natasha like a drug. The warmth of you, the sound of your pulse, steady and inviting made it so much worse.

Her fangs ached, her instincts screaming at her to sink them into your soft skin, to taste you directly, to indulge in the one thing she craved more than anything. She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the glass.

No. She would not lose control. Not with you.

You stirred beside her, breaking her from her thoughts. “I’ll be right back..” you murmured, standing up and stretching slightly. “Bathroom break.” Natasha nodded, watching you as you disappeared down the hallway. And then she exhaled, long and slow, her carefully built restraint momentarily slipping as she ran a hand through her hair.

God..

The moment you left the room, the scent of your blood intensified. Without you sitting beside her, your fragrance spread more freely, wrapping around her like an unshakable grip. She set the empty glass down on the coffee table, flexing her fingers as she let out another slow, measured breath. Her fangs ached more now, her throat burning with the effort it took to keep them from extending fully.

The worst part? She wanted more. Not out of hunger, but out of something else. Something deeper…She wanted to taste you from the source. To have you beneath her, warm and willing, trusting her completely as she sank her fangs into you not out of need, but out of devotion.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Control! She had mastered it for centuries. She could handle this. The bathroom door opened and the scent hit her all over again. Natasha stiffened, gripping the couch cushion as her fangs pressed against her lips.

And then you walked back into the room, completely oblivious to the battle raging inside her. “Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. She swallowed thickly, forcing a smirk onto her lips. “Of course, baby.”

Another lie.

And she prayed you wouldn’t see through it. But you weren't oblivious. You knew Natasha better than anyone-better than she sometimes knew herself. So when you stepped back into the living room and saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into the couch cushion, the way her jaw was clenched just a fraction too tightly-you knew. She was struggling.

But she wouldn’t ask. She would never push you, never make you feel like an obligation. No matter how much she needed you, no matter how much her body screamed for your blood, she would starve before taking something you didn’t freely offer. And that’s what made you decide. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick and charged, before you slowly stepped closer. Natasha's pupils dilated slightly, but she didn't move.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before speaking. "You can take from me, Nat.." you whispered, tilting your head slightly, exposing the soft skin of your neck. "I trust you." A sharp inhale. A slow exhale. Her grip on the couch tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. She wanted you-God, she wanted you-but not like this.

Not when she was barely keeping herself together. She exhaled through her nose, reaching forward, her cool fingers brushing against your wrist before she gently pulled you down beside her.

"You have no idea how much that means to me." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "but it won't be enough." You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?" Natasha's jaw tensed. Her eyes flicked downward-toward your abdomen. Your face flushed instantly as realization hit you. “Oh.."

A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face before she met your gaze again. "Your blood is strongest at the source, moya lyubov (My love)." Her fingers brushed against your thigh, light as a feather. "That's what I need." Your heart stuttered in your chest. Heat crawled up your neck. "But..it's...” Your voice faltered, and you glanced away. "It's dirty.."

Natasha was silent for a moment, and then a quiet chuckle. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just fond "Oh, Y/n.." she murmured, cupping your cheek, coaxing you to look at her. “It's not dirty. Not to me." You bit your lip, still hesitant. "But it's..it's different..!"

"It's you." she countered, her voice dipping lower, more intimate. "The most sacred part of you." Your breath hitched. Natasha leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "Do you trust me?" You exhaled slowly. You did. Always. So you nodded. She leaned in, her lips ghosting over your jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers tightening around her. You had never done this before. You had shared nights of pleasure, of intimacy, but never during your period. The thought of it made you hesitant, but the way Natasha was looking at you, like you were something sacred, something she worshiped…

Natasha’s eyes darkened with something primal, but she stayed in control, her movements slow, gentle. She kissed you deeply, her hands sliding down, undressing you inch by inch. She took her time. Even as her instincts screamed at her to just take, she resisted because this wasn’t just about her hunger.

It was about you. Making you feel comfortable. Making you enjoy it. By the time she reached her destination, her lips pressing reverent kisses down your stomach, her grip on her control was paper-thin. “Relax..” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “Let me worship you.”

The moment your blood hit her tongue, the moment the warm, intoxicating essence slid down her throat, something inside her snapped. A deep, primal groan rumbled from her chest, vibrating against your skin as her hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

She couldn’t stop- wouldn’t stop. Not now..Not when she finally had the one thing she had been denying herself for too long. The taste..it was richer than anything she had ever known. Sweet, dark, forbidden in the most delicious way. And the scent?

It was overpowering.

It clung to her senses, invading every part of her, making her wild with hunger, desperate to take more, to drink deeper, to claim you in a way that no one else ever could. And then..Your moans. The moment the first soft, broken sound slipped past your lips, Natasha shuddered.

Her grip on you tightened, her nails digging into your skin as she groaned against you, drinking deeper, her tongue flicking against you in slow, intentional strokes. “Fuck..” she murmured against your sensitive flesh, her voice thick, possessive. “You taste..so fucking..good.”

Your back arched off the couch, your fingers tangling in her red hair, your thighs trembling against her shoulders. “N-Natasha-“ She smirked against you. “That’s it..” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping you as she flicked her tongue in just the right way, sucking lightly before groaning again, completely lost in the taste of you. She could feel it. The way your body was responding to her. The way your thighs tensed, the way your breathing came shorter, the way your hips jerked slightly with every slow, torturous stroke of her tongue.

“So sensitive..” Natasha teased, her voice dark with amusement. “Is it because of me, or is it because you’re already so worked up from how much I’ve been craving you?” You let out a soft cry, your nails scraping against her scalp, pulling her closer.

She groaned again, the feeling of your desperation only fueling her own. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Natasha murmured against you, her voice like velvet, like sin. “You like knowing how fucking insatiable you make me?” Your head tipped back against the couch, your entire body on fire, the pleasure building, coiling tighter, stronger with every slow, indulgent flick of her tongue.

And then Natasha felt it. The shift. The way your body suddenly went tense, the way your thighs quivered, the way your fingers gripped onto her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world..and she could taste it.

The deepening of your arousal, the way your body was offering her the best of the best- “Oh..” Natasha moaned, her voice wrecked with pleasure, her own hips grinding down against the couch involuntarily. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you, Darling?”

A desperate, needy whimper escaped you. Natasha grinned, her fangs dragging lightly against your sensitive skin, her hands gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you right where she wanted you. “Give it to me.” she whispered, her tone commanding, possessive. “Come for me, Detka (baby)c Let me taste every. Fucking. Drop.”

That was all it took. You broke, your entire body arching, a loud, desperate moan ripping from your throat as your release crashed over you, waves of heat and pleasure flooding through your veins. Natasha groaned deep, guttural, wrecked as she drank through it, devouring every last bit of you, her fingers digging into your thighs as she held you still, taking everything you had to offer.

She was fucking gone. Your taste, your pleasure it was too much. And she never wanted it to end. She didn’t stop until you were trembling, until you were whimpering, until your body had given her everything and even then, she lingered, pressing slow, possessive kisses against your inner thigh, purring against your skin as she finally, finally pulled away.

She hovered over you, her green eyes dark, her lips glistening, her breath ragged. “My beautiful Treat.” she murmured, brushing her fingers over your cheek, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “You are everything to me.”

Your body was boneless, sprawled beneath Natasha, your chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. The aftermath of your release still pulsed through your veins, leaving you sensitive, your skin electric under her touch.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Natasha shifted, moving with effortless predatory grace. Before you could even process it, she was lifting you, flipping you, maneuvering your spent, shaking body into her lap, so your back was pressed against her chest, your head resting against the cool, safe haven of her shoulder.

You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for her arms, gripping her like a lifeline. “N-Nat-” A low, pleased hum vibrated against your ear as she settled behind you, her strong arms locking you in place. “Oh, how cute..” she purred, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her breath cool against your overheated skin. “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?”

You let out a soft whimper, your body already too sensitive, too worked up- But Natasha’s hands were already moving. Right back to the mess she had created between your thighs. You whimpered sharply, your hips jerking, trying to squirm away, but she didn’t let you.

A dark chuckle left her lips as she wrapped one strong arm around your waist, holding you firmly against her. “Oh no, Darling.” she murmured, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Your fingers tightened around her arm, a shaky moan slipping from your lips as her fingers teased over your still-sensitive core, sending shockwaves through you. “Natasha, please..” She tsk’d, nipping at your jaw. “Ah ah, no hiding from me.”

A sharp gasp left you as her fingers moved, slow, torturous, but still so deliberate, stroking exactly where you needed her, where she knew would make you fall apart again. Your body twitched, your thighs shaking, a broken moan spilling from your lips as she curled her fingers just right.

“Still so sensitive..” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck, whispering sinful promises against your overheated skin. “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” Her voice was thick, possessive, dripping with pure adoration.

“Whimpering in my arms, squirming, desperate for more, even when your body is already spent..” Her tongue flicked over your pulse, feeling it race beneath her lips. “I could stay here forever, my love. Tasting you. Feeling you. Owning you.”

A deep, broken moan slipped from your lips as your body arched, completely at her mercy. She could feel how close you were again. The way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers clawed at her arm, as if begging for something more.

And then..She whispered it..The words that sent fire straight through you. “Can I bite you?” You whimpered sharply, your head tipping back against her shoulder, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. You were too far gone, too wrecked, but she was waiting. She needed your permission. She could hear the hesitation in your breathing, so she waited..

Her pace didn’t slow, if anything, her fingers moved faster, building you up, bringing you right to the edge again, making your body tremble, making your mind flood with nothing but her. You needed it. You needed her. “Y-Yes..!” you gasped, whimpering, clutching her arm desperately. “Please, Nat-“

That was all it took. She struck. Her fangs sank deep, piercing your soft, flushed skin, sending white-hot pleasure exploding through you. A sharp, broken cry left your lips as your entire body arched, your release slamming into you, more intense than anything you had ever felt before.

Natasha groaned loudly against your neck, drinking you in, her fingers still moving, pulling you through it, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you were shaking, twitching, utterly spent in her arms.

And God..The taste..The way your blood flooded her mouth, mixed with the adrenaline, the ecstasy of your pleasure. It was divine. Natasha moaned deeply, drinking slowly, savoring the warmth, relishing in the way your body still twitched in aftershocks, your whimpers muffled against her arm as you came down from your high.

Finally, finally, she pulled away, her tongue lapping over the puncture marks, sealing them with gentle care. You were limp, your breathing slow, your skin still flushed, but you had never felt safer. Natasha nuzzled against you, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your jaw, to your shoulder, her arms tightening around you as if she never wanted to let go.

“My perfect girl..” she whispered, completely wrecked, her lips brushing over your ear. “I’ll never want anything but this.” You let out a soft, exhausted sigh, melting against her. And in that moment, wrapped in Natasha’s arms, claimed, cherished, utterly loved, you knew. She wasn’t just your vampire. She was yours. Forever.

-

-

-

-

[the-offside-rule]

Joe Burrow (Cinccinati Bengals) - Game Day and Grammys

Requested: no but someone asked about NFL imagines and the Pro Bowl and Grammys were on so how could I miss this opportunity?

Prompt: Joe Burrow x singer!girlfriend

Warnings: none other than it being long and full of fluff

Y/n sat in the plush chair of her hotel suite, a stylist curling sections of her hair while another dabbed powder on her already flawless face. The room buzzed with quiet excitement—her team murmuring about last-minute dress fittings, run-throughs, and camera angles. After all, tonight was the biggest night of her career. Five Grammy nominations. Five.

But her attention? Completely divided. On the sleek flatscreen across the room, the Pro Bowl was in full swing. Her boyfriend, Joe Burrow, was out there, tossing passes and leading drives while she got glammed up for music’s biggest stage. She’d wished she could be there, but the Grammys and the game fell on the same night, and there was no way to be in two places at once.

Her phone vibrated in her lap. Another text from Joe.

Joe: This is so much fun. Wish you were here

She grinned, typing back quickly.

Y/n: Wish I was too. But you better be focused, Burrow. No interceptions.

Another buzz.

Joe: No INTs. Just vibes. Also… scored a touchdown. No big deal.

Y/n let out a laugh, her lips quirking as she typed her reply.

Y/n: A touchdown?? Damn, you haven’t scored one of those in a while.

Her stylist stifled a giggle behind her. "Good news?" She smirked. "Joe just ran one in himself." Her phone buzzed again.

Joe: Wow. The slander.

Joe: But fair.

Joe: Good luck tonight, superstar.

Joe: Ja'Marr said if you win two tonight, that makes it 9 grammys you have ever won

Joe: And guess what my number is?

Y/n chuckled at the coincidence. No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, they were always supporting each other.

Y/n: Alright, QB1. Ill get the Grammy's you worry about not getting tagged.

With one last glance at the game, she turned back to the mirror, ready to take on her own championship night.

The flashbulbs were blinding as Y/n posed on the red carpet, her dress hugging her perfectly while she effortlessly smiled at the cameras. The energy was electric; reporters calling out her name, fans screaming behind the barricades. She was used to this, but tonight felt different. Bigger.

As she moved down the carpet, she began her interviews, each asking the same old question that she had rehearsed about a million times. How does it feel to be nominated 5 times? She had been nominated for Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Record of the Year, Pop Vocal Album and Music Video of the Year. She had been to the grammys before but she had only ever been nominated twice each year. Granted, she did win them, racking up an astonishing 7 grammys in just 4 years, but her once edgey music had shifted to softer love songs, all thanks to a certain quarter back.

She smiled as she moved on down the carpet to her last interviewer, a little kid who she had seen on tik tok time and time again. "Oh my gosh, hello!" She smiled as she did her best to get down onto the kid's level. Her calf were killing her from the heels standing, nevermind squatting down. "You look beautiful. I love the dress." She said. "Thank you! And you look so beautiful too." The child replied. "I have a few questions for you if thats okay?"

"Of course! I would love to hear them." Y/n said warmly as she held her own microphone. "So, obviously this is your record for the most amount of Gammys that you have been nominated for. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that this would be happening, what would you say?" Finally a way to answer the question of how she felt about being nominated that didn't involve her rehearsed answer. "I think I would tell my younger self to keep going, to believe in myself and don't put the guitar down because it's gotten me this far." Y/n replied. "Your album Nine Sunday Mornings was a very abrupt change in your music. It was more edgey and angsty the last time you were here-" Y/n laughed at the very blunt question. "Why do you think this change happened or is it because you just got bored of that genre?" Now that was a good question.

"I mean, as you said it was a big change. I mean any love song I wrote before was scrapped because I thought it was too sappy so I stuck to breakup songs or rage songs. I think the change came in meeting Joe. From the songs right down to the title it's all him. I remember the very night I met him I stayed up nearly all night writing about the like 5 minute encounter we had and now it's nominated tonight so. I have to give credit where credit is due." She answered. "Have you been keeping up with the Pro Bowl?" Y/n laughed, adjusting the Grammy-branded microphone in her hand. "Of course! I have it on in my hotel room. Joe keeps texting me updates, so I think I might have a better play-by-play than some of the commentators."

Her manager tapped her shoulder to tell her to make her way inside, so she bid the mini-reporter farewell and walked in to the packed venue.

Once inside, Y/n glanced around, trying to spot her team. The Grammys were always a production, but tonight, the room felt even bigger. Row after row of tables and glowing stage lights. She turned in circles, scanning the room. Where were they? Her manager, her producer, anyone?

"Y/n?"

She spun around to see Jack approaching, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. "Hey, are you okay?" She let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, I just… I can’t find my seat. I have no idea where my team is." Before Jack could respond, a familiar voice chimed in.

"She can sit with us!"

Y/n turned to see Taylor Swift standing a few feet away, a warm smile on her face. Taylor, dressed in an elegant yet edgy ensemble, motioned toward her table. "If you don’t mind sitting with us, of course." Y/n hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to intrude- Taylor was with her own crew, and this was a huge night for her, too. "Are you sure?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course! Come on." Taylor said, looping an arm around her gently as they started walking toward the table. "Besides, we have a lot to talk about. I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting." Y/n chuckled, relaxing a little as she took a seat beside her. "Are you going to the Super Bowl?" Taylor asked after a moment.

Y/n shook her head. "No, I’ve never actually been. I told myself I wouldn’t go until Joe is the one playing in it." Taylor’s brows lifted in amusement. "Oh that is goals."

"Plus, I’m heading to his family’s house to watch it with them." She added. "I think it’ll be more special that way." Taylor smiled knowingly. "There’s nothing like watching a game with the people who love him most. Honestly, I think you guys are gonna be there next year." Y/n nodded, already picturing herself in the Burrow family’s living room, wearing one of Joe’s sweatshirts, surrounded by his parents and siblings. It felt right. "Honestly, I don't wanna be too picky but I want a Bengals and 49ers Superbowl. That would cure the world, I think."

"That would be a good one."

Just then, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Y/n took a deep breath, ready to take on the night—Grammys, football updates, and all.

Joe stretched his arms over his head as he stepped into the hotel lobby, still buzzing from the Pro Bowl. The game had been fun, a rare chance to play a little looser, joke around with the guys, and even run in a touchdown himself—something Y/n was sure to remind him about later. His teammates followed behind him, still hyped up from the day. "Alright." Ja’Marr announced, clapping his hands. "Let’s turn on the Grammys. Gotta see Y/n win some trophies since Joe isn’t bringing any silverwear home."

Joe grinned as he nudged Ja'Marr for that dig, leading the way to the suite where they all piled onto the couches, flipping the TV on just in time to catch the ceremony in full swing. The room filled with snacks, drinks, and casual conversation, but anytime Y/n appeared on the screen, the guys would nudge Joe, who was watching intently, phone in hand, ready to text her.

Then came Best Pop-Vocal Album of the Year.

Joe sat forward, hands clasped as they listed the nominees. He knew how much work Y/n had put into this album—how many late nights, how many times she’d called him exhausted but excited, how much of her heart was poured into every track.

"And the Grammy goes to…"

Not her.

Joe exhaled, lips pressing together as he watched her smile and clap for the winner. She was graceful as ever, but he knew her well enough to see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "She said she was gonna be surprised if she got that one. She like, knew Sabrina was winning that hands down."

Then came Record of the Year.

Not her again.

"She got robbed." Russell Wilson muttered. "Bro, you're gonna be the first one singing Not Like Us at the halftime show next weekend." Lamar Jackson replied. "She's in like the toughest categories." James Cook added. Joe didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He hated seeing her not get what she deserved, but he knew Y/n. Knew she’d keep smiling, keep pushing forward. And damn it, he’d keep cheering her on, just like she always did for him.

It didn't matter. 2 down, 3 to go. Music Video of the Year.

Joe sat up straight. He knew this one mattered to her, too. Her video had been a passion project, something she’d fought to bring to life exactly the way she envisioned it. The competition was stacked—the other nominees had incredible visuals, and any of them could take it. Y/n sat at her table, her hands clasped in her lap, holding her breath. Joe could practically feel her nerves through the screen.

"She’s got this." He murmured. "She’s got this, she’s got this, she’s got this, come on, baby."

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n!"

Y/n gasped, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Taylor pulled her into a tight hug as the entire table erupted into cheers. Joe leapt off the couch, throwing his hands in the air. "Let's go! Yes! Wooh!" The suite exploded with excitement- Ja’Marr was shouting, some of the guys were recording Joe’s reaction, and others were laughing as Joe jumped up, singing along to the snippet of Y/n’s song that played as she made her way to the stage.

On the screen, Y/n’s smile was blinding, eyes slightly glossy as she accepted her award. Joe grinned, pride swelling in his chest. She’d done it. Just like she always did. "Oh my god, wow." She began. "I’ll be honest, I did not expect Music Video of the Year. There had been some amazing Music Videos so I just wanted to congratulate my fellow nominees and their directors." Joe clapped as he listened to her. "I want to thank my team, the fans, my family and all of you who voted for the video. My boyfriend Joe of course, who may or may not be still playing his game of tag football but I'm gonna thank him anyway." His face grew red. "I think that's all I have to say to be honest. Maybe I'll see you up here again pretty soon."

Joe lounged back on the couch, finally feeling like he could relax a little after all the emotional whiplash of the night ao far and he was still buzzing from it. "She’s performing next." Ja’Marr pointed out, nodding toward the TV. Joe sat up again, straightening his hoodie as the camera panned to the stage. The lights dimmed, and then—there she was.

His girl.

Y/n stood center stage, bathed in golden light, singing a balld version of her nominated song. She wore the most stunning outfit—a gold sparkling, elegant number that hugged her perfectly. She looked ethereal. "Jesus Christ." Joe muttered under his breath before saying a little louder, "Her outfit is so pretty." Some of the guys laughed. "Yeah, it is." Ja'Marr teased with a smirk. "You good over there, Burrow?" Russell asked, causing all the other guys to take notice of his blushing face and tease him further.

Joe just waved them off, eyes locked on the screen. Then, just as the song picked up, she reached down, grabbed the edges of her outfit, and-

Riiiipppp

The elegant gown was gone, revealing a bold, dazzling second outfit underneath—sleek, fun, and perfect for dancing. "Oh my God." Joe groaned, immediately hiding his face in his hands as the entire room exploded. The guys were shouting, laughing, some recording his reaction as they all clapped and cheered. "Ayyy! Okay, Y/n!" Ja'Marr called.

Joe shook his head, chuckling as his ears burned. He peeked through his fingers just in time to see her seamlessly transition into the next part of the performance, moving with ease, completely in her element. She was dancing, smiling, engaging the crowd like she was born for this moment. "I didn't know she could move like that! Damn!" Trey said.

Joe dropped his hands, watching as Y/n held the mic out, getting the entire crowd to sing along with her. She looked so happy, completely in control of the stage, like she was having the time of her life. Joe smiled. His teammates might have been teasing him, but he didn’t care. He was just so damn proud of her. As the song ended,she looked aroukd for the camera that would be zooming in on her. She spotted it and winked, before blowing a kiss right to it. Joe reached for the imaginaru kiss and put it to his heart as the guys teased him even further for it.

Joe sat back against the couch, his arm draped over the back as the next category came up—Song of the Year.

"Alright, this one’s huge." Ja’Marr said, leaning forward. Joe nodded, eyes locked on the screen. Y/n had poured everything into this song and she loved it the most for reason unknown to him, and even though she’d already won Music Video of the Year, he wanted this for her. Badly.

The nominees were stacked— some of the biggest songs of the year, including Y/n’s. The room quieted as the presenter opened the envelope.

"nd the Grammy goes to… Kendrick Lamar, Not Like Us!"

Joe exhaled, shaking his head, but before he could react, he spotted Y/n on screen, grinning and dancing along to the snippet of Not Like Us that played through the venue speakers. Joe burst out laughing. "She doesn’t seem too bothered." Trey snickered. "Bro, she looks kinda tipsy."

The whole room chuckled as they watched Y/n dancing up out of her seat singing along as Kendrick made his way to the stage. She was still clapping and smiling, showing nothing but love for the win, and Joe couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool she was about it. "She’s just vibin'." Joe said with a smirk, shaking his head.

And then finally came Album of the Year.

Her final nomination.

Joe sat up one last time, his heart pounding a little harder. He could see Y/n on screen, hands clasped together, her lips pressed tight as she waited. The tension in the room was thick, even through the television.

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n, Nine Sunday Mornings!"

She didn’t move.

She didn’t react at first—just sat there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Joe felt like the air had been sucked out of the room before he erupted. "Yes! Let's go baby!" He jumped up again, fists in the air as his teammates laughed, recording his reaction for the second time that night. "That’s my girl! That’s my girl!" He cheered, pacing the room as the suite filled with whoops and applause.

Back on the screen, Y/n finally stood, still in complete shock. As she made her way up to the stage, she kept shaking her head, her mouth open as if she still couldn’t believe it. She took the award in her hands, staring down at it, blinking before looking around. The crowd chuckled. She looked up at the mic, then back at the award. "What?" She squeaked.

Laughter rippled through the audience. Joe grinned, shaking his head. He could practically hear her thoughts—How? Against all those incredible albums? She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, still looking down at the trophy. "I—I don’t even know what to say, honestly I'm a little drunk so-" Joe smiled proudly, watching her collect herself and begin her speech. She had done it. Two Grammys in one night. And even though he wasn’t there in person, he cheered for her just as loudly as she did for him on Sundays.

"I want to thank the incredible Jack Antanoff for helping me produce this album first and foremost, my team also. But there is one person in particular who I will ramble on about because he was the inspiration for every single song I wrote since the 9th of December 2023, when we first met." Joe felt his eyes watering upon hearing it. He didn’t lile seeing her cry, it often meant he would cry too. "The album itself is a hommage to the fact that it took just nine sunday mornings for us to decide we wanted to become a couple and honestly, those 9 Sunday mornings were the best I could have ever lived through because I got to fall in love with the love of my life." Joe wiped his eyes, lookong down as Ja'Marr patted his back in support. "Joe, wherever you are, I wanted you to know that this award is for you, you can put it right next to the Heisman and my other 8 Grammy's."

Joe chuckled lightly as her little dig. "And just in case this wasnt a clincidence enough already- I'm going to shout out Ja'Marr Chase for this information- this is my ninth Grammy, and its for Cinccinati's number 9." The microphone cut out, singalling that her time for speaking was up. She mouthed a very animated 'I love you' to the camera before smiling and heading off the stage.

As soon as Y/n sat back down at her table, she reached for her phone. Her hands were slightly shaking—part adrenaline, part sheer excitement. The night had been a whirlwind, and there was only one person she needed to talk to right now. She hit Joe’s contact, pressing the phone to her ear as the Grammys continued around her. The line barely rang once before he picked up.

"Baby!" She let out a breathless laugh. "Joe!"

"Oh my God!" He said, and she could hear the pure excitement in his voice. "You were insane. I mean first of all, two Grammys? And then that performance? What was that outfit change? You’re trying to kill me?" Y/n giggled, running a hand through her hair. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Babe, I almost had a heart attack. These guys aren't gonna let me live it down." She laughed again, picturing Joe hiding his face in his hands while all his guys teased him. "I was just thinking about you the whole time." She admitted, voice a little softer now. "I figured you were watching."

"Of course I was watching." He said immediately. "Are you kidding? We had the Grammys on as soon as we got back. I was cheering for you all night." Y/n smiled, glancing down at her awards sitting in front of her. "It still doesn’t feel real. I mean…Album of the Year? What?"

"You earned that, Y/n. No one deserved it more." She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. "I mean, Billie should have won it." She replied. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cry again."

"No, don't cry." He said quickly. "Not unless it’s happy tears." She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "How was the Pro Bowl? I feel like I barely got to ask you." Joe chuckled. "It was fun. I mean we lost, but it was fun."

"What was the score?" She asked. "Like 76 to 63 or somethin' like that?" He looked around for nods of approval. "Did I mention I scored?" Y/n chuckled. "Yeah and as I said before I haven’t seen you do that in a while."

"Okay, woah." He deadpanned, and she could hear his teammates laughing in the background. "I’m kidding." She teased. "I’m proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, baby." Y/n exhaled, her whole body finally starting to relax after the chaos of the night. "I just wish you were here."

"Yeah, I know." Joe said softly. "But I’ll see you tomorrow. And then we can celebrate properly." She grinned. "Deal."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too, Shiesty "

As she hung up, she clutched her phone to her chest, still smiling. It had been a night to remember— and she couldn’t wait to get home to him.

[angelltheninth]

When Arcane Men Get Jealous

Pairing: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Finn, Marcus, Loris, Steb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, jealousy, possessive behavior, being protective, kissing in public, biting, holding hands, public display of affection, canon typical violence, suggestive

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would die if they were jealous over me. Melt into a puddle. Gone.

When Viktor gets jealous he gets a bit more withdrawn than he usually is. Not that he was ever a social butterfly, however he was always more open and happy to talk when it was with you. So his behavior is odd, he even seems to get quieter whenever you walk into the room. Like he's trying to remove himself from you with silence.

"I am not avoiding you. Look, there has been a lot to do for the past week, I'm sorry if you got a bad impression but I was simply busy. If you want more company, go ask Jayce, or Skye, I'm sure they will be more than happy to entertain you, darling."

Viktor is short with his answers, saying as little as possible to minimize the amount of time he spends talking to you. Not because he doesn't want to talk to you, he loves talking to you, but if he keeps talking there's a chance he might say something he's going to regret. And end up hurting you.

"There you go again with these ridiculous accusations. You won't leave it alone will you? So now it's my fault that your project is running late? I would have been happy to help but someone was too busy talking with... you know what, nevermind. You're right, we both have a lot to do, so let's just drop this conversation and focus on work."

If you keep getting in the way of his work, Viktor will eventually come to a breaking point. Him not being able to work is only adding to his emotions, and he's never been the best at dealing with them. While he doesn't exactly yell at you, it's very rare that he ever raises his voice there's a notable frustration in his words, and pain, fear that you'd leave.

"If I'm being so unreasonable then leave. Go. Have fun. I know it's not idea to be cooped up in the lab all the time. There are so many more things to do out there. if you... want to go with other people I suppose I can't stop you, nor can I stop my own jealousy. How am I being even more unreasonable? I know you wouldn't leave me without talking about it. Look... I do not... want you to leave, working is more fun with you. But am I truly all that you want? Me? This lab? Because you're all I want. All that I can think of."

When Jayce gets jealous he keeps invading your personal space when you're around the person or people he's jealous of. His behavior is nothing innapropriate or pushy. It's just his arm around your waist, just him bringing you that drink you wanted, just him bragging about you a bit too loud and saying how much he loves you.

"You really are great, babe. How in Runterra did I ever find a beauty like you huh? What's that bashfulness for now, I always praise you, and I'm never gonna stop. You're my girl right? I can be a proud boyfriend and talk you up every once in a while."

Physical affection a big deal to Jayce and a way he shows he cares but also a giveaway to his jealousy. He holds your hand longer, his eyes flicker between you and the one he's jealous off, his smile is a bit more nervous when he has to leave you alone. Then there are his kisses, not as gentle, not a little, quick peck on the edge of your lips but a real kiss, lips pressed against yours until you let him know you need air.

"Got a bit carried away there. Ah, sorry, I can't resist you sometimes. All the time. Do you expect me to when you wear lipstick like that? Makes your lips look like they're made to be kissed. By me specifically. I'd kiss you all night long, for the rest of our lives and never get tired of it."

Jayce keeps denying that he's jealous when you bring it up in a teasing way. Logically there's no reason to get jealous, everyone knows your relationship is doing great, in fact you're hardly ever fighting and even when you are it doesn't last too long. How does he turn that part of his brain off? How can he not get jealous when all those people look at you the way he looks at you?

"They're always looking at you. How can you not notice? It's so obvious. You don't notice because... you're only looking at me? That doesn't even make sense! Of course they're looking, you're breathtaking everywhere you go. I just hope that wherever you go, you'll always take me with you, because I want to be by your side forever."

Ekko often jokes about being jealous so you don't pick up on him actually being jealous. A little jealousy is fine but not when it's getting in the way of his missions and operations with his team. He'd been a bit distracted in the past, by one of the Firelights flying too close to you, so he pushed his way between you two.

"It was the formation! Which you would have remembered if you weren't too busy chatting. Come on, Firefly, get your head in this. Otherwise you're gonna make your leader jealous. Wouldn't want that right? What if... what if you get demoted for it? Hey! Ow! I wouldn't demote you, who would listen to all my plans?"

When you have free time together Ekko makes sure to spend as much time with you as possible. If you're together all the time there's less chance that someone else will swoop in and flirt with you. He would never describe his behavior as being clingy, all he wants is to spend free time with his girlfriend. That is perfectly normal behavior.

"What do you say we go out to get some food? We don't have to spend all our time here. Not like the tree is gonna burn down if we're away for a couple of hours right? Besides it's been a while since it was just you and me all alone. Miss being alone with you. Don't you miss it too?"

If the person he's jealous of ever puts you in danger in any way Ekko will go off on them. Harder than he scolded others in the past. He might let some of his jealousy show then, but he storms off, well flies off before you can talk to him. As much as he wants to be alone he also makes room for you on his hoverboard when you float down next to him.

"Shouldn't have went off on them like that. I know, you don't gotta say it, I'll say I'm sorry. Let cool off a bit. You'd think that if they were flirting with you that much they could have been looking out a bit better. I'm always looking out for you. Maybe a bit too much. Sorry if I've been weird about it lately. Would you forgive me if I took you on a romantic hoverboard ride?"

No one wants to piss off a big man like Vander by flirting with his wife. Everyone values their life and their bones too much. But... they stare at you. Quite openly actually. You see it, and you bet he sees it too. He sees everything that's happening at his bar and he won't stand for someone ogling his wife, even if he has to get aggressive about it.

"It's my damn bar, I've got the right to break the table with their heads when they're looking at ya like that. Tell ya what, a lot more people would avoid this place if I started beating up every asshole that looks at ya wrong. Only reason I don't is cause I don't want ya to be mad at me after."

He hasn't banned anyone from his bar in a very long time. Vander knows he tolerates a lot, this is Zaun, and some people don't have the best manners, that's not exactly their fault. But on the other hand if they start something with him then he will finish it. When he tells them to stop looking at you like you like you were one of Babette's workers and they get in his face he will pick them up and throw them out.

"Bastards had it coming. I tried to be nice, then they had to go and call ya names. Ain't no way in hell I'm gonna let anyone insult my wife. Not here, not on the streets, not anywhere. I went there and I wanted to talk to them, tell them to fuck the hell off, they were the ones who started getting violent. So I responded in kind."

Vander calls you over to the bar a bit more often if he sees a particular table is trying to monopolize you. He carries some of the drinks over, the food plates too, or he simply walks up behind you when one of the guys is getting flirty. Seeing his imposing, huge frame behind you, his muscles bulging, is enough to get most to back off you.

"See, darlin', I can talk things out just fine. When people are being smart about it that is. Might have to stop selling so much booze in this place, then they won't be so bold with ya. Ya are a pretty sight, I can't say otherwise. But ya are a pretty sight for me, not them, ain't that right? Mhm. I know, I'm all yer's too."

Silco never ever says he's jealous of anyone. He is the most powerful man in all of Zaun, everyone is scared of him and with good reason. As the Eye of Zaun he knows when people are looking, talking too, and might even try to touch you. Those people are often payed a not so nice visit by his men.

"I did hear about that gang, yes. It's very unfortunate that they don't know how to keep their noses where they don't belong. It's not that big of a loss on our end. There are a hundred people who can do their work, and better. All that matters is that they won't even have to think about not touching you again."

He rarely has to get his own hands dirty when he gets jealous. All it takes is him saying who the target or targets are and he makes them dissapear from Zaun. That doesn't always have to be deadly, but if they're really dumb it is. If Silco feels that you're in some kind of danger then he will keep you close by. He tries to distract you from seeing he's jealous.

"All I'm saying is that we could take a break from work. Sevika and Jinx can handle a week of it. And you and me can lock ourselves up in our home and not come out. The bedroom works perfectly fine too, if you'd rather spend our time in there. And what is it that I'm doing, darling? Jealous? You are an observant one. I wouldn't want you any other way."

The only time Silco will threaten someone in person is if that someone is bold enough to flirt with you in front of them. He can scare people within an inch of their life just by talking to them, he's not just a good businessman, and some people tend to forget that. He has Zaun in the palm of his hand, and everyone in it.

"He did not actually piss himself. Did he actually. Hm, I wasn't look at him anymore to be honest. He was spineless, surprising given he talked to you like he did. Guess he was thinking with his other head a bit too much for his own good. Why are you looking at me that way? Ah, I see. Looks like someone enjoyed watching me put a scumbag into his place a bit too much."

Since Finn isn't someone who would take anything lying down he will be damned before he sees someone coming onto his woman and not do anything about it. He might have a certain charm about him but that doesn't mean he's not ready to makes heads roll the moment when someone crosses any kind of line with you. Imaginary or otherwise.

"Hah, did you see that doll? As soon as I threw one punch he went down. All his buddies ran like rats. Left him all alone there. After all that tough talk and he couldn't even defend himself. Serves him right. He's lucky all I did was break his nose when he flirted with you. I wasn't even that far away."

Finn will make out with you in front of who ever he is jealous of just to prove a point to them. And while he has you moaning, has your head buried against his neck and your body running hot he will look at the other person and stick his tongue out at them, right before making a V with his fingers and putting his tongue between them. He's vulgar but it gets the point across very well.

"All these people looking at what's mine. Now, I can't have that right? I love that you're showing off your body, it's a great body, you know how much I love it. But sometimes I want to keep you away from prying eyes. And if I can't the least I can do is give them a show. Make them know I'm the only one who can touch you."

His jacket is a signature part of his outfit, but Finn will let you wear it. Hell, he will walk over and drape it over your shoulders while not even looking at whoever you're talking to. Sometimes they're not worth looking at when he can look at the pretty way you blush as you touch his hand that's lingering on your shoulder.

"Thought you looked a bit cold there. Keep this on all night. Later on I'll help you warm up my way, a much more fun way. Don't even worry about your perfume getting all into this, love having your scent all over me. And by tomorrow you're gonna be wearing all of my marks."

There are a lot of people in the Enforcers who tease Marcus about having such a pretty wife. He knows you're pretty, but he doesn't like that the department is noticing it so much as well. Not that there's any way for him to hide it, or that he wants you to hide it, that would be a real crime.

"I was not pouting. That is so childish. I was glaring at them. Well, they were the ones who stared first. You visit me at work, like that's such a big deal. We're married, honey, I pick you up from work too. Why is it such a big deal here? I think they're just trying to get a rise out of me."

Won't deny that he's feeling jealous or shy away from showing it. When Marcus notices any of his men flirting with you he makes them work extra hard that day, he gives them more paperwork, something that everyone hates there, or assigns them to the toughest jobs that he knows will take them days to complete. He can't help but chuckle when you visit again and they're too tired to flirt with you, they just say hello.

"What do you mean I'm picking on them? Of course not. You know how hard it is to deal with all these extra cases. Someone has to take on a few more. No, the fact that it's the same Enforcers who gave you flowers that one time has nothing to do with it. You think it does? And do you have evidence of this accusation?"

Marcus isn't shy about kissing you in front of the whole department. If that's what it takes to send them all a clear message to back off. It's always perfectly chaste kisses, but he does make sure that everyone hears him say he loves you when you leave. He smirks when eyes turn to him and he wishes them all a good rest of their day.

"Now you call me petty. All of these accusations and you still don't have any evidence. That's not a very good way to have a case. You've been keeping count have you? Oh. You... actually have been keeping count? I'm guilty? Fine, you got me, you got me. Maybe... that was a little petty of me, but I'm not sorry."

Every time Loris is jealous it's almost impossible for him to hide that fact. He's a big guy, nothing about him is easy to his, not even his emotions. And he's loud, so every time he huffs, mumbles something, or grunts you hear it. Your eyes meet and he looks away, his hand grasping yours and running his thumb over the back of your hand.

'They were staring at you a bit too much for my liking, pretty girl. If they were as tough as they pretend they were they should have held their ground more. Proves they were all bark and no bite. People like that really get on my nerves, and then they talk to my girl like she's single."

Loris invites you to have lunch with him quite often, even more often when he gets jealous of someone who works with him. Dealing with them in any other way would be unprofessional of him, and might get him in trouble. This way he gets to avoid that, avoid them, and spend a nice lunch date with you. No matter how you look at it he's the real winner here.

"Looks so good. But if you keep looking at me like that I might get hungry for something else besides the food. Just try shifting the blame on me when you know exactly how you're looking at me right now. I wouldn't risk it at work, but... if you showed up with a few hickeys on your neck it might get the rest of the department to stop flirting with you."

As much as he tries to make his jealousy go away it's not easy. Loris knows he should be an example for others, after all he had been an Enforcer for a long time, he can't just let his emotions get the better of him. Hard to keep those emotions down when they concern you. If nothing else works he will intimidate people. Easy enough for him. But he would rather that be a last resort.

"If he wasn't ready to throw fists and words at me then he shouldn't have thrown flirty words at you. He should be able to back himself up if he's gonna be saying stuff like that. All I did was pick him up and throw him outside. Hey, I might get in a bit of trouble for it, but at least he'll leave you alone from now on. I'd risk my badge for you if I have to, you know that."

Since he is the quiet type Steb shows his emotions and jealousy is one that he works hard to surpress. Every time he notices that someone is standing a little too close to you he walks over and looks at you, lovingly, then he looks at the other person with a glare, a deadly one. All the while he's standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Come now, angelfish, they weren't even worth your time. We both know they only had one thing in mind when they were talking to you. I could see it in their eyes. I don't appreciate that they looked at you like that. And I know you don't either. So I felt like I had to step in."

He is very physical with his jealousy. Steb lets his eyes and touches linger a few moments longer when he wants to make a point to someone. While he knows you don't hate it he also doesn't want to come off as too jealous or too possessive over you. You can take care of yourself and he loves that about you, he's watched you put people in their place often, but there are times where he can't hold himself back.

"I could feel your fingers interlocking with mine. You wanted me to stand close to you when they weren't leaving you alone. Would you have raised your voice if I hadn't walked over? It would be amusing to see it. But I think those kisses we shared also sent an equally powerful message. You didn't have to bit me though."

Steb nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck when he's feeling really, really jealous of someone. He makes it look less possessive than it is, pretending like he's overhearing something you have to say, and then pushing himself just a little bit closer. His cold lips make contact with your neck, sending shivers down your body before he brushes your lips with his thumb and leaves with a smirk.

"That ought to be enough. I could have done more but marking you in public might have been a step too far. We can enjoy things like that in private however. I enjoy being close to you in any context, and if it makes others realize you're not looking for anyone because you've already got a man then I enjoy it even more."

[cherryxbooo]

Yeah, I’m the lucky one

Summary: Hiding it when you're sick from your boyfriend is one thing, but hiding it from your clingy boyfriend is a whole other challenge.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff

The paddock is alive with energy, buzzing with anticipation, the sound of engines roaring in the distance, and the hum of the crowd outside.

Lando is in his element, calm yet radiating an excitement that’s palpable.

The focus in his eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and it’s clear that today matters more to him than most.

The weight of the race, the pressure of the expectations, and the fire in his heart are all simmering beneath the surface.

It's a mix of raw determination and adrenaline, and it brings out the best in him.

But me? Well, I feel the complete opposite.

I woke up feeling off, my head pounding and my body aching with a fever I couldn't shake.

I knew I should stay in bed, but I couldn’t. Not today.

Not with everything he’s worked for. I couldn’t let something as trivial as being sick get in the way of him having the best race of his career.

He’s been talking about this day for weeks, getting ready for it with an intensity that I’ve only seen in the world of motorsport.

But as I made my way through the paddock, trying my best to act normal, I felt the weight of my own discomfort pulling me down.

I’ve been silently counting the minutes until I can just crawl into a quiet corner and hide.

But the last thing I want is for him to see me like this. He’d immediately worry, go into panic mode, and lose focus.

Lando, with his big heart, would put everything aside just to take care of me, and I don’t want to do that to him.

Not today. Today is about him.

As I stand next to his family, making small talk with his friends, I feel dizzy.

The lights are a little too bright, and the sounds a little too loud.

I try to steady myself, offering a weak smile whenever someone glances my way, but the effort feels exhausting.

Lando’s mum catches my eye, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of concern in her expression.

But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me a warm, reassuring smile. I’m grateful, but I can tell she knows something’s off.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a familiar hand on my back. A small shiver runs down my spine as I turn to face Lando, and I instantly feel a warmth spread through me, despite the fever still creeping in.

“Hey baby, you okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, like he’s always aware of everything around him, especially me.

I don’t want to worry him. I can’t.

So I give him a smile that’s more practiced than I’d like to admit,

“Yeah, just a little tired. Big day, huh?”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

He studies me for a second, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, his hand gently squeezing my back.

The touch is warm, comforting. “You sure? You don’t look so great.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You focus on the race. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

Lando hesitates, his lips pressed into a thin line as if trying to gauge if I’m really okay.

But then he nods slowly, though his concern doesn’t quite vanish.

“Alright… but if you need anything, you let me know, okay?”

His voice is almost a whisper, like he’s trying not to give away just how much he cares.

“I will,” I promise, trying to keep my tone light and convincing.

But as he walks away to prepare for the race, a sense of loneliness settles over me.

The noise around me feels overwhelming, and the crowd only amplifies the ache in my head.

I find a quiet corner, away from the chaos, hoping to just breathe for a moment.

I didn't realize that I had been hiding away for a while already.

But before I know it, Lando’s voice cuts through the distance.

“You’ve been hiding from me.”

I turn to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His presence alone seems to calm the storm inside me.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I protest weakly, though my voice cracks just slightly.

“Just… taking a break.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Taking a break from what? From me?”

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

I close my eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, even though I feel like I might collapse at any moment.

“From the chaos of the paddock,” I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softens, the teasing in his eyes fading. He steps in closer, his body brushing against mine as he gently cups my face with both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Hey…” His voice is tender now, a deep, comforting lull.

“Are you really feeling okay love?"

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat suddenly unbearable.

“Yes, don't worry Lan. I'm fine.”

I whisper, my voice slightly breaking as I fight the urge to lean on him completely.

I stare up at him, feeling a mix of love and pain.

I don’t want to be the one who holds him back, but I can’t deny how much I crave the support and warmth he gives me without even thinking.

Lando lowers his hands, but not without giving me one last comforting touch, his fingers brushing my wrist.

“You need to rest,” he says firmly, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words now.

“I’m not going to let you make it through today without me taking care of you at least once.”

I laugh softly, despite the dizziness still swirling in my head.

“I’m fine, Lando. You go be amazing out there.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but filled with determination. “I will be. But only because you’re here.”

Before I can say anything else, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll make sure to get at least P3 for you.”

And with that, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of engineers and teammates.

But the moment he’s out of sight, I feel my energy drain completely.

Regardless of how I felt I still made my way to the rest so I could support Lando and be there for him.

Everywhere I look, there’s movement, excitement, and a sense of urgency.

Lando’s already suited up and surrounded by his team, getting ready to focus on the race that could mean everything for his career.

I’m supposed to be the one cheering him on, being his support, his calm, but instead, all I can do is try to survive the overwhelming wave of heat coursing through me.

Every few seconds, my head spins, my chest feels like it's on fire, and the nausea rolls in like a tide.

It’s getting harder to keep it together, but I’m trying. I can’t let anything distract him.

I can't make this his problem today, not when he’s been working so hard for this moment.

I take a seat next to Max and Pietra, hoping the three of us can keep the mood light and give Lando a little peace before he heads into the race.

I force myself to laugh at Max's joke about the weather, but it comes out more like a wheeze.

My throat feels like it’s coated in something dry and scratchy, and each breath feels like I’m not getting enough air.

Max doesn’t notice, but Pietra does.

She’s always been that way, observant, kind, and so very perceptive.

I’ve always admired how in tune she is with people.

She shifts in her seat beside me, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.

“You okay, Y/n?” she asks gently, her voice laced with concern.

“You look a little pale.”

I immediately try to put on a smile, but it feels like the most exhausting thing I’ve done all day.

“I’m fine, really,” I say, hoping I can convince her.

“Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Pietra doesn’t buy it, not even for a second.

She leans in closer, her gaze steady as she inspects my face, my trembling hands.

“You sure?” she presses, her brow furrowing.

“You don’t look fine. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me.

The dizziness that had been simmering beneath the surface is starting to take hold, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes focused on her.

I swallow hard, trying to push the wave of nausea down, but it’s impossible to ignore now.

I nod weakly, doing my best to stay composed.

“I’m okay, Pietra. Just... a little dizzy. I think I’ll sit down for a moment.”

Max, still glued to his phone, glances up briefly, probably sensing the shift in the air.

His eyes scan me quickly before he leans closer to Pietra, muttering something under his breath, probably about how pale I look.

I’m about to wave it off, to reassure them both that it’s nothing, when Pietra’s soft hand touches my shoulder.

It’s warm and grounding, her touch gentle but insistent.

“No, you’re not okay, Y/n,” she says firmly.

“You’re not fooling me. You need to go back to the hotel and rest. Max and I will handle everything here. Don’t worry about Lando. He’ll understand. He doesn’t need to know right now, and you’re not helping him by pretending you’re fine.”

My heart clenches at her words. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to make him worry.

He’s about to race, about to compete for something so important to him.

The last thing I want is to make this about me. But Pietra’s expression leaves no room for argument.

Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and I feel a wave of guilt hit me hard.

“I... I can’t just leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

“I don’t want him to—”

“Y/n,” Pietra interrupts, her voice soft but full of authority.

“Lando will be fine. He’ll be more upset if you stay here, pretending to be okay when you’re not. Let us take care of everything. He doesn’t need the distraction. He needs you to get better, not to keep pretending.”

I shake my head, still fighting it. “But he’s going to think I don’t care.”

“He knows you care. You don’t have to prove it by running yourself into the ground,” she says, her tone firm yet reassuring.

“You need to listen to your body. Max and I can make sure everything’s fine here.”

I hesitate for a moment, my vision swimming in and out of focus, and then I feel it, the dizziness getting worse.

My stomach turns violently, and I barely suppress a gasp. Before I can protest, Pietra’s up and at my side, helping me stand.

“Max,” she calls out to him, her voice tinged with urgency.

Max looks up from his phone, his attention now fully on us. He doesn’t need to ask questions.

Without a word, he stands, motions to security, and gestures for them to clear a path.

“We’re getting you back to the hotel,” Max says, his voice gentle but decisive.

“No arguments.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell them I’m fine, but the dizziness overtakes me again.

I feel my legs wobble, my knees threatening to give way beneath me. The nausea is so strong now that I can’t hold it back any longer.

My head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and my heart races as I fight to keep everything together.

“Okay,” I whisper, too weak to resist any longer. “Okay, let’s go.”

Max’s arm wraps around my shoulder, steadying me as Pietra follows closely behind.

I glance over my shoulder at the paddock, seeing the hustle and bustle of the team preparing for the race.

And even though I want nothing more than to stay and support Lando, I know Pietra’s right, he doesn’t need to see me like this.

As we make our way out of the paddock, past the busy crew and excited fans, the world seems to blur again.

All I can think about is Lando, how much he’s worked for this, and how much I wish I could be there cheering him on.

But right now, all I can do is focus on getting back to the hotel and trying to heal.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pietra murmurs, sensing my anxiety.

“Lando will understand. We’ll make sure he stays focused.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back, squeezing her hand.

Max looks over at me, offering a reassuring smile.

“No problem, Y/n. We’ve got you.”

And as they guide me toward the exit, the sound of the engines roaring to life in the distance feels far away, almost like a distant memory.

All I can focus on is putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that, by the time Lando crosses the finish line, I’ll be okay.

Meanwhile,

The race was intense, there was no other way to describe it.

Lando’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick bursts as he fought to stay focused on the track ahead.

Each corner, each straightaway felt like it mattered more than the last.

The roar of the engine under him, the vibration in his hands as he gripped the wheel,it was like the world was screaming at him to push harder, to get everything he had into every lap.

And he did.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the world outside of his car becoming a blur of colors and sounds.

But amidst the chaos, there was something else tugging at his mind, something he couldn’t quite shake.

Just before the race started, he had caught sight of Y/n sitting among their friends, looking beautiful as always, but something was... off.

Maybe it was the way she had looked at him, her tired eyes betraying a sense of exhaustion that didn’t quite match the energy of the day.

Or how quiet she seemed, like a flicker of something hidden behind her usual smile. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something wasn’t right.

But there was no time for that.

He pushed those thoughts away, focusing back on the race, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the track with everything he had.

He couldn’t afford to think about anything but the next corner, the next lap, the next move.

And when he crossed the finish line, the elation of victory should’ve been enough to make everything feel perfect.

After all, he had gotten P2.

The cheers, the confetti, the roar of the crowd, it was everything he’d been working for, everything he’d dreamed of.

But in the midst of it all, he couldn’t shake the nagging thought of Y/n.

His gaze searched the area, instinctively looking for her.

He was surrounded by teammates, sponsors, friends, but all he wanted in that moment was to see her smile, to know she was okay.

He scanned the area again, but she wasn’t there.

Not where he had left her. His stomach tightened, his mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

Lando quickly moved through the crowd, dodging everyone on his way, his eyes darting between faces, searching for any sign of her.

He was so focused on finding her, he almost didn’t see Max and Pietra standing off to the side.

When he finally noticed them, his heart skipped a beat. You weren't there.

Lando’s pace quickened as he approached them, his voice betraying the worry he couldn’t hide.

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, his words coming out sharper than he intended.

Pietra exchanged a glance with Max before she sighed, the look on her face telling Lando everything he needed to know.

"She wasn’t feeling well," she said softly, her eyes clouded with concern.

"We had to send her back to the hotel."

Lando’s chest tightened, a heavy weight settling over him.

His pulse quickened, the sudden rush of guilt and worry clouding his thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice rising slightly, not in anger, but in genuine confusion.

Max stepped forward, his expression calm but serious.

"Mate she didn’t want to distract you. She said it was important not to take your focus away from the race."

Lando’s mind was spinning now, the elation of his victory evaporating as quickly as it had come.

Guilt was flooding him, he couldn’t believe Y/n had been struggling, that she’d hidden it from him.

She’d always been there for him, supportive, understanding, even when he was caught up in his own world.

And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let her down.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of the situation was suffocating.

He didn’t know what to say.

All he could think about was how she had been sitting there, probably feeling miserable, and he hadn’t even noticed.

The race, his career, all of it felt so insignificant compared to the thought of Y/n being alone and sick.

“Why didn’t she just tell me? I would’ve understood. I could’ve—”

Pietra stepped forward, her hand gently resting on his arm, grounding him in the moment.

“Lando, she didn’t want you to worry. She knew how much today meant to you. She didn’t want to take that away from you.”

Max nodded in agreement.

“She’s always there for you. But she’s not the type to let herself be a distraction, not when you’re in the zone like that. You know how she is, she cares about you more than anything, but she didn’t want to pull you away from your focus.”

Lando let out a long breath, feeling like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I should’ve been paying more attention."

"You’re not a mind reader, Lando," Pietra said, her voice calm but firm.

Lando realized that she was right.

He quickly greeted the rest of his family and did some other duties before changing and heading back to the hotel.

Lando arrived at the hotel room, his body still buzzing from the race, but his mind consumed by a different kind of worry.

As soon as he entered, the first thing he did was quietly close the door behind him.

The soft hum of the air conditioning and the dim light from the lamps were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes immediately fell on your figure, still asleep, your peaceful face glowing softly under the sheets.

The sight of you, so vulnerable yet so beautiful, made his heart ache with both affection and guilt.

He quietly pulled a chair from the small desk and sat down beside the bed, never taking his eyes off you.

He wanted to be close to his girl, but he didn’t want to wake you.

He knew you needed rest, but the worry of the day, the worry about you, hadn’t let up.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

His fingers lingered there for a second before he let out a soft breath, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee.

He could almost hear the questions running through his mind, wondering why you hadn’t told him what you had been feeling.

He could feel the weight of your absence, the quiet ache in his chest from not knowing exactly what had been going on with you.

The minutes seemed to stretch on, each tick of the clock amplifying his thoughts.

He hated this uncertainty, this feeling that something had been left unsaid.

Then, after what felt like forever, a soft groan escaped from your lips, and Lando’s attention snapped to her immediately.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dim light in the room.

Your gaze slowly focused on him, confusion settling on her face as she took in her surroundings.

Lando watched her with a mix of relief and concern, his heart lightening at the sight of you waking up but still heavy with the questions that lingered in his mind.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Lando said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

My vision cleared, and I smiled sleepily at him.

Lando’s heart squeezed.

"You’re awake. I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for, like, ages now." He chuckled softly, though his eyes were still filled with concern.

"But seriously… why didn’t you tell me?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing on me.

My hand reached for his, finding his fingers weakly, and I squeezed them, my fingers trembling a bit.

"I didn’t want to be a burden," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn’t want to ruin your day or take away from the race. It was important to you. I just… I didn’t want to distract you."

Lando smiled at me softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"You’re never a burden, Y/n." He looked at me with such sincerity, it made my heart ache in the best way.

"You are always my priority, okay? Not the race, not the fans, not the win. You. Always."

I felt my heart flutter at his words, my eyes softening as I looked back at him.

The tears I’d been holding back threatened to spill, and I could feel them welling up.

Being sick just makes people extra emotional, give it a break yeah?

"I’m sorry," I murmured, my voice breaking slightly.

Lando shook his head, his heart aching.

He leaned closer, cupping my cheek gently, his thumb brushing over my skin.

"You don’t have to apologize," he whispered.

"You never have to hide anything from me, especially not when it comes to you."

I felt the weight of his words, the tenderness in his touch, and I wanted so badly to just melt into him.

I was so grateful for him, for the way he always made me feel safe, loved, and heard.

Lando sat beside me on the bed, leaning back just enough to grab the water and medicine he’d set out earlier.

"You need to drink this," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

"Get some rest, and I’ll be right here with you. Just take it easy."

I hesitated for a moment, but then reached for the glass of water he held out to me.

My fingers were still shaking slightly, but I took it from him gratefully.

There was a small, tired smile on my lips as I drank, and Lando’s eyes never left me.

He was watching me closely, making sure I was okay. It felt nice to be looked after this way.

After I finished the water, Lando sat back down next to me again, his hand finding mine once more.

"You don’t ever have to hide something like that from me, okay?" he said, his voice soft but serious.

"If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. Promise me you’ll tell me next time."

I looked up at him, my eyes full of emotion, and I nodded slowly.

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, and I felt a few of them slide down my cheeks.

Before I could say anything, Lando quickly wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, tender.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

He slightly laughed, "You're such a crybaby when you're sick babe."

Lando leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

"You don’t have to apologize," he said, his voice full of love and affection.

"I love you, baby. I love you, and that’s all that matters." His voice was quiet but strong, filled with reassurance.

I pulled him closer, resting my head against his chest, letting out a small, exaggerated sigh.

"Mmm, this is the best pillow ever," I mumbled, half-laughing, half-groaning in exhaustion.

Lando wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in tighter.

His chin rested on top of my head, and he chuckled softly.

"You come first," he said with a mock-serious tone, trying to sound all deep and dramatic.

"Always."

I snuggled in a little closer, feeling his warmth.

"Oh, I know now," I said, glancing up at him with a grin.

"You’re basically my personal butler, aren’t you? Always there when I need you."

He let out a dramatic gasp. "But of course! My whole existence is to serve you, my queen."

I rolled my eyes, fighting back a laugh.

"Thank you for being here," I said, the words half-sweet, half-teasing.

Lando smirked, pressing a kiss to my hair.

"Please don't cry again... and well yeah, where else would I be? I’m not going anywhere."

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added,

"Besides, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. You know that, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly, feeling him grin against the top of my head.

"Oh, I know," I said, playfully tapping his chest.

"You're my big soft marshmallow. I practically own you."

Lando chuckled, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely do. And you’re not even sorry about it."

I smirked, rolling my eyes. "Well, I am your number one priority, aren’t I?"

His eyes sparkled with affection, and he pulled me a little closer.

"You’re my number one everything, Y/n. No competition."

I snorted, unable to help the grin that spread across my face.

"Good. Glad we’re clear on that."

As we sat there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside felt miles away.

All that mattered was us, his heartbeat, my tired sighs, and the way we fit together like we’d always been meant to.

For a moment, everything else faded, and all I could think was: Yeah, I’m the lucky one.

The end

[carisc4pshaw]

Morning delays

In which Spencer and Fem!Reader are late for work yet again because Spencer can’t keep his hands off her. (Smut!)

word count: 1.3k

tags: porn without plot, Smut, co workers, late to work, love, boyfriend&girlfriend, long term couple, showering together, sex, intimacy, P in V, unprotected P in V, Minor breeding kink, raw sex, 18+, fingering (f receiving), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), nipple play.

warnings: 18+!! whole thing is smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them guys!)

notes: I don’t think I missed any tags anyway this is the most sexual thing ever written so I hope you horny people enjoy it.

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

Just before you and Spencer had fallen asleep last night you had set the alarm for 7 am, it probably wasn’t enough time to get ready in the morning but you had a late night watching a movie with your long-term boyfriend not that either you saw much of it because before you got to the halfway point Spencer was on his knees between your thighs sucking your clit and circling your entrance, sliding his tongue into you until you had reached multiple orgasms.

You were certain the alarm hadn’t gone off yet because usually that would wake you straight away but today you were awoken to your boyfriend’s hands up your shirt resting on your breasts and tweaking with your hard-ish nipples. 

“What time is it?” You asked Spencer with a soft moan. 

“Almost 7 am.” 

“Baby we don’t have time, the alarm is about to go off,” You moaned halfway through what you were saying. 

One of Spencer’s hands slid down your stomach, “You want me to stop?”

“Well no…”

“Is your pussy already wet for me darling?” Spencer whispered into your ear. He wasn’t one for dirty talk all the time but when he did it the throbbing between your legs was only ever worse. You needed him badly and by the feel of things, he needed you too. 

You nodded, “Yes Spence.”

“Can I feel?” His hand still moving lower. 

“Yes,” With your signal he slid his hand under the waistband of your panties avoiding your clit as he ran a finger through your folds to collect your wetness, “Mhm Spence.”

“Beautiful, you’re so wet,” He spoke just before the alarm went off. With one quick movement, he took his hand from your panties and switched the alarm off before positioning himself between your legs. 

His large hands landed on your waist gripping you firmly. He leaned down attaching his lips to a nipple swirling his tongue around it for a couple of minutes until moving on to the next. 

His mouth pulled away from your nipple with a loud pop. He rested his hands at the side of your hips playing with the lace of your underwear. 

“Can I take them off now?” He looked straight into your eyes. 

“Please,” You said with a breathy sigh. 

Spencer pulled them off leaving them somewhere in the room, you’d find them later.

“What do you want?” Spencer asked, one of his hands running from your waist to your hip back and forth. 

Your eyes trailed between the both of you where you could see his erection through his boxers. 

“I want that,” You smiled sweetly and innocently. 

“What?” Spencer smirked. 

“Your dick.”

Spencer nodded, “Let me warm you up first.”

With that, he pushed your legs further apart his hands resting on the apex of your thighs, his thumbs nudging your folds due to the size of his hands. 

He used one of his left thumb to run back and forth over your closed folds. 

“Stop teasing we don’t have much time.”

Without another word he plunged his index finger inside of you, quickly curling it inside of you knowing exactly where your most pleasurable spot was. 

“Oh my god. Spence another!” You moaned with a little shout. 

“Yes baby,” Spencer pushed his middle finger inside, pulling them out a small way to push them back in much harder hitting your g-spot as hard as he could.

You reached down between you pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing it in a quick motion. 

“Oh fuck, Spencer don’t stop,” You moaned loudly throwing your head back. 

Right as you felt your walls begin to tighten around his fingers and that familiar coil in your stomach he pulled his fingers out leaving your core pulsing around nothing. 

“What the fuck babe,” You groaned. You were frustrated, the tears began to well in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, it just happened when you were frustrated or in this case when you couldn’t reach your peak of pleasure apparently.

“Hey no baby don’t cry,” Spencer wiped the tears from your eyes, “I’m going to make you cum I promise.”

“Why did you stop?” You frowned.

“I wanted you to cum when I was inside of you,” He ran his hand down your hair.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Spencer asked giving you a kiss. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You reached for his boxers pulling them down just enough that his erection sprung out of them before he discarded the material completely. 

“How do you want me?” Spencer asked. 

You blushed biting your lip, “Like always.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

You hid your face in his neck, “Raw,” You muttered.

Spencer smirked, you usually did it like that now that you had been together for three years and knew you were both clean but he loved hearing you say it. 

He rested his dick against your folds rubbing the tip against your clit to relax you again after leaving you without an orgasm a few minutes ago. 

You loved how his veins felt against you when he did that but right now you just craved him filling the empty space inside of you.

“Please,” You stared into his hazel eyes that were clouded with lust.

You breathed in deeply as he pushed the head inside of you slowly, his fingers coming to your clit to help as he entered you. He wasn’t too girthy but he had length and his head always stretched you out the perfect amount that you experienced a slight tweak of pain before the rush of pleasure.

Spencer wasted no time in picking up the pace pounding in and out of you quickly since you really had to be leaving soon, mornings were always for rougher faster sex and the evenings were for when he wanted to spend hours worshipping every inch of your body.

His tip grazed the nerves inside of you with every thrust and that partnered with the firm circles on your clit you knew you weren’t going to last very long. 

“Close already honey?” Spencer moaned feeling your walls tightening around him. 

“Fuck! Mhm,” You couldn’t speak anymore without a sting of moans leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl, hold it, I’m almost there,” Spencer thrust harder, your skin slapping together and your hips colliding.

“Spence please,” You moaned. 

“Yes okay baby okay,” Spencer groaned, “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No inside please.” 

Two more thrusts and you came around his dick just before he spilled his seed deep inside of you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer kissed your forehead which had a few beads of sweat on it. 

“You felt so good,” You couldn’t help biting your lip and giving him a satisfied look. 

“So did you sweetheart. I’m going to pull out okay?” 

You nodded as he pressed his thumb against your clit only to make small circles as he removed himself from you. It was slightly overstimulating but you knew he was just caring for you and nothing more.

“We are so late, we still need to shower,” You said looking over at the clock. 

“I thought we could shower at work, you know training is first on the schedule you’re just going to get sweaty again,” Spencer shrugged getting up from the bed to find the pieces of discarded clothing. 

“Excuse me? I’m showering before we leave,” You said with your eyes widening. 

“Why?” He asked and you hoped he was reading. 

“Because we smell of sex, from last night and this morning and I have ropes of your cum inside of me.”

Spencer smirked, “Leave it there, that’s pretty hot.” 

“You’re insane,” You rolled your eyes and got up from the bed.

“I was kidding, take a shower but I do like the thought of me being inside of you like that.”

Again you rolled your eyes, walking toward the bathroom, “Are you joining? We will save time and water.” 

“If I ever say no to that question, know there’s something wrong with me,” Spencer said following you through to the bathroom. 

————————-❤️‍🔥—————————

[xinganhao]

miscommunication too much communication 🗣️ soonyoung x reader.

an expansion from svt x reverse tropes. dedicated to @totomoshi, my love! ♡

FROM THE ORIGINAL POST

it's a little too hard to keep up with the string of confessions bursting out of soonyoung. the whiplash is dizzying, how he's going from talking about the way he felt when he first saw you, the crush that's been festering for weeks, the dream he had of you last night— and, oh, now he's on his knees. "soonyoung, please get up," you urge, horrified, but he stays on the ground. "isn't honesty the best policy?" he asks, eyes blown wide with overwhelming sincerity as he looks up at you. "c'mon, give me a shot! please, please, please!"

soonyoung who spams you with texts throughout the day. doesn't matter if you're on 'do not disturb'. he will hit that 'notify anyway' option, regardless of whether the text is load-bearing or not. you're lucky to get less than 20 texts in a day. his personal best is somewhere around 159 in a single day, which he's rather proud about.

soonyoung who will keep you on facetime for a minimum of three hours. he'll have you on call the entire night if he can manage, up until he gets that notification that his percentage is below 20 percent. waking up to the snoozing blonde on the other end of your long-forgotten video call is no longer a new sight.

soonyoung who will talk, and talk, and talk to you, no matter where you are. in a cafe? his hands are flying around animatedly as he gives you a play-by-play of his day. on the couch of your apartment? even better— he'll be playing all cute, trying to cuddle up in your personal space as he literally chats your ear off.

soonyoung listens as much as he speaks. you might think he doesn't, but he has a mental catalogue of every little thing you throw his way. a passing comment about your favorite candy as a child. that long-winded rant about an acquaintance you can't stand. he knows your coffee order, which shade of nail polish is your favorite, the songs that always make you cry. he is a wikipedia page of all things you.

soonyoung who is honest, because that's part of 'too much communication', isn't it? it's not quite bluntness; it's transparency. he's always gentle when admitting that you've hurt his feelings, or that he's been feeling a little lonely, missing you a lot more lately. one look at his face and you can already tell what he's about to say before he says it.

but you never have to guess. there are no mind games with soonyoung. he will dull the edges if he has to. he will agonize about how to break it, but he will break it to you, because he values the truth just as much as he cares for you.

soonyoung who is struck dumb when you confess to him, when you give him that piece of your heart that he's been patiently waiting on. he had imagined this moment; practiced his reaction in the bathroom mirror, even. he thought he'd be cool. maybe a bit suave. thank you. tell you that he reciprocated. instead, he finds himself robbed of every single thought clanging in his brain.

soonyoung is a man of many words, and yet you make him speechless.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[animamii]

"Fushiguro, that's your girl?" One of Toji's block mates asks, eyeing one of the many pictures Toji had of you taped to the slate gray brick wall. It was a simple picture, your hair was wavy in this one, a cute dimply smile, lashes curled as you looked all natural. But god, were you still stunning. Toji looks up from the thing he was doing, sitting in the steel chair that was bolted down to the floor.

"Yup, that's my ol' lady," looking up at the picture he can't help but proudly smile. Toji's wall is covered in pictures. Of you, of Megumi. The whole family. Cute pictures you took with each other before he got locked up. It was his motivation to stay straight while being inside. To remind him of what's waiting for him when he gets out.

The block mate lets out a low whistle, nodding approvingly as he leans back against the cold wall. “Damn. She bad.” His celly's eyes roam over the pictures. Ones where you're dressed up all pretty, makeup done perfectly. Ones where you're wrapped around one of Toji's arms, looking up at him with all the adoration in the world. Even the ones that show just a little too much, which Toji keeps right next to where he lays his head.

Toji chuckles, shaking his head. “Watch it.” There’s no real threat in his voice, but there’s an edge of warning that makes the other guy hold his hands up in surrender.

“Ain’t mean no disrespect, Fushiguro,” he says, still looking at the pictures. “Just sayin’. You lucky.”

Toji doesn’t need to be told that. He already knows. It’s what gets him through the long nights, the endless hum of fluorescent lights, the hostility of the barbed wire that separates him from the outside. Knowing you're out there, waiting, is the only thing that keeps him from losing his damn mind.

He leans back against the desk he sits in front of, arms folding across his broad chest, eyes fixed on the pictures. His ol’ lady. His girl. His anchor in a life that never gave him much stability.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. He can still hear your voice, that soft, teasing lilt whenever you’d call him by his full name just to mess with him. “Toji Fushiguro,” you’d say, dragging it out, pretending to scold him, even though your eyes always gave you away. He lived for those moments.

“Bet she writin’ you, huh?” the block mate asks. “You get letters?”

Toji nods. “Every week.” And he does. Neatly folded pages that smell like you, inked with words that remind him that he’s still human. That he’s still yours. That he still has something waiting for him beyond these walls. But god, does he miss you.

“Damn,” the block mate mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Every week? That’s real love right there.”

Toji just smirks again, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, edges worn from being opened and closed too many times. He doesn’t even need to read it again—he’s already memorized every damn word—but still, he unfolds it, running a calloused thumb over the handwriting. Your handwriting.

Hey, baby. I know you hate when I get all mushy, but I don’t care. I miss you. I miss you so much it drives me crazy sometimes. But I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait. You better be eating, staying out of trouble, and keeping that smart-ass mouth in check. (Okay, maybe not too much. You know I love that about you.)

Toji chuckles to himself, shaking his head. Yeah, you knew him too damn well.

Megumi misses you too, even if he acts all tough about it. You should’ve seen his face when I told him your letter came. He’s just like you, y’know? Won’t say how he really feels, but it’s all there in his eyes.

Toji swallows hard, jaw clenching. Megumi. His kid. Another reason for pushing through this hellhole. He pictures him—too serious for his own good, but with those same sharp blue eyes. His boy.

“Yo, Fushiguro,” another voice calls out, snapping him from his thoughts. One of the guards. “Mail just came in.”

Toji is already up before the guy even finishes his sentence, heart pounding just a little faster. The guard hands the baby pink envelope with a lazy flick of the wrist, and Toji snatches it up quick, already recognizing the familiar scrawl of his name across the front.

His block mate lets out a laugh. “Man, look at you. Actin’ like a kid on Christmas.” Toji was always stoic, kept to himself and never showed much emotion. But hey, you always brought it out of him and he wasn't gonna front or hold a facade when it came to how he felt about you.

Toji doesn’t respond. He just sits back down, thumbs sliding under the flap of the envelope, tearing it open like it’s the only thing keeping him breathing in this godforsaken place. The first thing that falls out is a polaroid. His breath catches. It’s you.

You're sitting by a window, sunlight spilling over your skin, that soft, gentle smile on your lips. His girl. His sweetheart. Looking at him like she sees something in him that even he has trouble believing in sometimes. And just like that, the walls of the prison don’t feel so damn suffocating. He’s got something to hold onto.

Toji runs a thumb over the polaroid, like he could somehow feel you through it. The picture is warm, soft, a stark contrast to the cold steel and concrete around him. He exhales through his nose, staring at it for a long moment before finally unfolding the letter.

Your words hit him like they always do—gentle, teasing, but full of something deeper. Something that reminds him why he’s still holding on.

Hey, baby. I hope you’re not making the guards’ lives too hard. (Who am I kidding? I know you are.) It’s been getting colder here. I keep stealing your hoodie, the one you always say is yours but smells like me now. Tough luck, Fushiguro, it’s mine until you come back and take it from me.

Toji smirks, shaking his head. She’s gonna pay for that one.

Megumi’s been doing good in school, but I had to threaten to ground him just to get him to eat something other than instant ramen. He’s stubborn, just like his old man.

His smirk fades a little. He can picture it—Megumi sitting at the dinner table, arms crossed, trying to act like he doesn’t care. Just like Toji used to. The guilt settles in his chest, heavy and unshakable. He just wishes he could be there. For the both of you.

We miss you. I miss you.

He stops, lingering on that line. Simple, but enough to send a slow ache through his ribs.

I don’t care how long it takes. You come back to me, Toji. We’re waiting.

Toji exhales sharply, pressing the paper between his fingers, his grip a little too tight.

“Damn,” his block mate mutters, watching him. “She really ridin’ for you, huh?”

Toji just nods. He doesn’t need to say anything. He folds the letter carefully, tucking it away with the others. Getting up, he sticks some tape of the back of the polaroid, putting it up next to the rest of the pictures. Then he leans back in his chair, looking up at the mosaic of pictures you send him.

Yeah. She’s waiting. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna let her down.

[mariasont]

Art of Losing Control - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is uesd to following orders, but she's never questioned why, until now. when hotch turns an academic discussion into something personal. too personal

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf!hotch, pyschological tension perhaps??, discussion of power dyanmics, dom/sub undertones, age gap, suggestive themes 4 sure, hotch lowkey putting r through an accidental bdsm awakening

wc: 2.7k

The glass was arguably frigid beneath the pads of your fingers, but it was a biting type that worked its way into your skin before your brain could catch up. You recoiled instinctively, rubbing your hand against your sleeve in a futile attempt to chase away the lingering feeling. That was pointless. The cold had already burrowed itself in. 

You were sure that was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes. But from the way the woman sat inside the room, the way she barely seemed to notice, you weren't sure exactly how effective said method was.

If the cold affected her, she didn't so much as blink. She leaned forward, elbows sinking into the scuffed metal of the table, her fingers hovering just above, twitching, like they wanted to move but hadn't yet been given permission. Impulse warring with... restraint? Maybe.

At first, you chalked it up to nerves, a subconscious tick, the body's way of trying too hard to stay still. But the longer you watched, the more convinced you became that it was something else.

She looked far too at ease for someone who'd just been arrested. No tension in her shoulders, no fight in her posture, like this was casual small talk over a morning coffee instead of answering for a crime. Her head dipped slightly, her eyes lingering on Morgan as if his words were little more than passing curiosities.

You inched closer to the glass, shifting focus to Morgan. He kept his voice perfectly tuned, soft enough to seem non-threatening, firm enough to demand attention. He was letting the conversation unfold at its own pace, drawing her in without forcing it. It reminded you of a hunter scattering bait, waiting for the trap to spring shut.

You were trying to study it, the pick apart the mechanics of it all—the inflection in his voice, the way he leaned back at just the right moments, how he allowed the silence to work for him rather than rush to fill it.

You used to think it was instinct, just something they (the best, brightest and more experienced of the BAU) had, something that can't be learned. But the longer you were here, the more you saw it for what it really was—craft, skill, an art so finely tuned it just looked like instinct.

When you looked back to the woman, you noticed it, the way she lingered on her words, shaping them slowly, like she was tasting each one before decided if it was worth sharing. 

"She's enjoying this." The words slipped out quietly, almost like an afterthought, your eyes still fixed on the suspect.

The sound behind you—low, contemplative—made you turn before you could think about turning.

Too fast. Too reactive. And suddenly, you weren't just turning you were colliding, your shoulder pressing something solid. Firm. Hotch. His chest absorbed the impact.

It sent a strange disconnect between knowing this is your boss and whatever ridiculous reaction your body had decided to have about it.

If he noticed your flustered reaction, he gave no indication, just took control of it—turning you back to the glass, his palm settled between your shoulder blades.

"Tell me why you think that."

Your heart stuttered. Slamming against bone, thrumming under skin, knocking around like it didn't belong to you anymore. Heat licked up your neck, pressing at the back of your ears.

And Hotch, well, Hotch was just watching, waiting, looking at you like he expected something useful to come out of your mouth. 

Your tongue flicked across lips that felt too dry, but that didn't fix the problem.

"She's keeping the pauses in conversation long—," You exhaled, tried to make it sound normal. "Like she wants him to say more. Like she's giving him the space to take the lead."

Hotch barely tils his head. His version of a nudge. "And?"

You swallowed. He did this sometimes, gave you just enough room to think, to fumble, to find an answer on your own instead of handing it to you. It wasn't impatience, not exactly. It was how he worked, specifically how he worked you. Letting you step forward, letting you find the edge of your own thought before deciding whether or not to pull you back.

You leaned closer to the glass, tracking every detail, letting yourself see her the way he would.

"She keeps touching her lips. Not absentmindedly, but... like she wants to draw attention to them." Hotch said nothing, so you keep going. "She tilts her head, too, just a little—lets her neck show when she laughs."

"Good."

It was just one word. Barely even a murmur. Almost nothing. But it still gets in, slipping into that deep, secret part of you where validation and want blur together, where approval doesn't need to be loud to matter.

And it's not even praise exactly, but it's close enough. And that's all it takes, just that tiny, electric satisfaction sparking along your spine, pulling you upright, nudging your chin a fraction higher. Like something inside of your had been set right without you even realizing.

Then, his voice again. "What else?"

You hesitate, not because you don't know what you're looking for, but because you're trying to separate what you see from what it means.

Your eyes flick lower, and you see the way she presses her thighs together, holds, then releases. It was hardly there, like she was just getting comfortable in the chair. But she does it again, right after Morgan leans forward, his voice dropping, guiding the conversation exactly where he wants it.

You roll the scene over in your mind, trying to pin down exactly what you're seeing, trying to slot it into something else. Engagement. Focus. Attentiveness. It could be any of those things. It could be nothing.

But her lips part—not to speak, not to react, but to breathe. It’s so slight, just enough to let in more air, just enough to give away what she’s feeling. You might have missed it if you hadn't been looking for something, but now it's all you can see.

You swallow, and now not only are your lips dry, but your mouth is too, because you know what you're looking at now.

And you should say it, because that is what profiling is, isn't it? Identifying behavior, understanding it, giving it a name.

But you hesitate, because where you grew up, girls didn't talk about this.

They didn't acknowledge it, didn't name it, didn't let it exist in spaces where they were allowed to be seen. You were raised to be polished, poised, proper. To sit with your legs crossed, to smile without showing too much, and certainly to ignore the things that weren't mean to be spoked aloud.

"She's reacting to him," you say finally, fingers catching on the necklace at your collarbone, rolling it between your thumb and forefinger. You took the cowardly way out. "To the way he talks. She likes that he’s leading.”

You don't wait for Hotch to confirm your words, because the question is already pressing forward, unfiltered.

"But if she's not in control," you say, almost to yourself. "Wouldn't that make her less interested?"

"Not necessarily." Hotch shakes his head. "Interest is subjective. Sometimes it increases when control is taken out of their hands."

"She's aroused." Hotch continues, completely detached, "because she enjoys the feeling of someone else guiding the interaction. It changes the way she experiences the conversation. Instead of leading, she's reacting. Instead of deciding, she's anticipating. That shift can heighten emotional and physical response."

Your body freezes. It shouldn't, but it does. Because he says it so plainly, so unbothered. Aroused. Just another word, just another observation. He could be talking about stress responses, about interview techniques, about anything other than this. But it feels different. Sounds different, slipping from his mouth in that low, even tone of his. 

And maybe that's why your jacket feels too heavy now, why your face feels too warm, why his hand at the top of your spine feels less stable and more like something you can't bring yourself to move from.

She likes giving up control.

That's what he said. That's what makes this work for her. And you hear it, you process it, but you don't get. Not in the way you should. She enjoys it, but how? You've spent your whole life gripping control with both hands, holding it tight enough to leave imprints on your skin.

Growing up, your parents had been distant in different ways—your mother preoccupied with appearances, your father preoccupied with, well, everything else. So, you handled things yourself. Your grades. Your future. Your emotions. You made the decisions, because no one else would make them for you.

But Hotch. Hotch was different.

Your trust in him didn't require thought, didn't need justification. It just was. You listen when he speaks. You follow his orders before you've even processed them. You let him decide things for you, choices you hadn't even realized you wanted made. When he told you to slow down, you did. When he told you to push harder, you gave more. You want his approval, but it’s deeper than that.

You didn't just follow him, you let him lead you. And that should feel strange. It should make you second-guess yourself, make you want to push back. But you don't. You never have.

And that feels like something you should've noticed sooner, a part that you don't quite know what to do with.

You open your mouth. Then shut it.

It's a stupid question, it must be. Because he just explained it, because it's obvious, because she enjoys it, because that's just how some people are.

And still, Hotch, who hasn’t even looked at you, hasn’t moved an inch, somehow notices. Somehow knows. "You don't have to filter your thoughts."

You pause for just a second, lips pressing together, trying to gauge whether this is a question worth asking. It feels too big. Or maybe too personal. Like voicing it might crack something open that you haven’t even looked at yet. But you can’t stop it now.

"Why do people like that?"

"Because for some people, control is synonymous with stress," Hotch says. "It's a constant demand, predicting outcomes, making the right decisions, managing not just their own expectations, but those of everyone around them. Being able to defer that to someone else, to trust that another person will handle it, removes the weight of responsibility."

You shouldn’t be applying this to yourself. Shouldn’t be peeling apart his words and trying to fit them around something  familiar. But you are.

"So, if someone's always been in control, they start to..." You hesitate, grasping for something else, some other explanation. "What? Get tired of it?"

"It's not uncommon. If control has always been a requirement, not a choice, then relinquishing it—at least in certain aspects—can feel like a sort of freedom for them."

You press your teeth into the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to slow your thoughts.

"And this kind of thing, it doesn't just appear out of nowhere, right? It has to come from somewhere?"

Hotch nods. "Most behavioral patterns do. Sometimes it's environmental, sometimes it's developed naturally. Sometimes it's learned through relationships. And sometimes, it’s an adaptation. A response to an environment where they had no choice but to take care of themselves. Where emotional needs were ignored or never considered at all."

Your breathing quickens. Not in a bad way. Not exactly.

It's just strange, hearing something you've never put into words, something you've never even considered, be said so matter-of-factly. There was something unnerving about hearing your life, your past experiences boiled down into a single sentence.

It makes you feel exposed. Which is ridiculous, he wasn't talking to you. It's just behavior. It's just patterns. It's just psychology. It's not personal. It's not.

"But why would someone be... aroused by that?"

You barely recognize your own voice. The words came out too fast, too eager, and the second they hit the air, you regret them. You weren't supposed to ask that, weren't supposed to say that and certainly weren’t supposed to let it sound like something you needed an answer to.

But the word was out now and the world didn’t seem to collapse around you.

Hotch doesn't even blink. "The connection between submission and arousal is well-documented. Less control means less overthinking. Less overthinking means more sensation. More sensation leads to a heightened response.”

You shift slightly. His hand feels like it was burning through the layers of your jacket.

"And it's not something you should hesitate to discuss." He glances to you, his voice doesn't change, doesn't dip into anything resembling awkwardness, and somehow that only intensifies the heat pressing against your skin. "You can't be afraid of conversations like this. Understanding human behavior means understanding all of it. Power, desire, submission, these things drive people as much as fear or anger. If you hesitate to recognize them, you won't see them when it matters."

You hate that you reacted in the first place. Hate that he noticed. Hate that now, whether you like it or not, there’s something you feel the need to prove—to fix.

"I wasn't—," You exhale sharply, shaking your head as if that would rewind the last ten minutes. "I just—I didn't mean to sound like that. I know it's important. I—" Another sharp inhale. "Sorry. I don't know—,"

You turn, just barely, and it’s a mistake. Immediate. Total. Because now you’re looking at him—fully, completely—and something inside you tilts like gravity just shifted.

Your body brushes his, and somehow, somehow, he still feels bigger than he should be. Like he takes up too much space, like if you moved an inch closer, you'd disappear into him completely.

He hasn't moved. That's the worst part. He hasn't adjusted, hasn't shifted, hasn't done a thing except exist, and yet, he's there, encompassing and suffocating in a way you don't hate. Your breath catches and you know he hears it.

For a second, just a second (maybe even a millisecond), so brief it could be imagined, his lashes dipped before lifting again. You think his fingers twitch at his side. Maybe. But then, it's gone, erased before you could be sure.

"I'm not criticizing you," Hotch says, and you believe him. "You don't need to apologize or justify yourself to me. You're still learning, and I want you to be able to recognize things like this without hesitating. That's all."

You nod, but it's not fully a nod, more like the start of one before you think better of it. 

"I'm sorry," you say instantly, the words automatic, before you can think about them. "I don't want you to think I'm not taking this seriously."

Hotch doesn't sigh, doesn't scold, doesn't soften. He just looks at you, giving you a beat, like he's waiting to see if you'll realize what you just did—if you’ll take back the apology yourself.

When you don’t, he says simply, "That's not what I said. I know you take this seriously. I wouldn't be having this conversation with you if I thought otherwise."

You should move. You need to move.

Your brain fires off the warning like an emergency flare, but your body stays put. You know you should step back, break the tension, say something that makes this feel normal again.

But Hotch hasn't moved either. Hasn't stepped away, hasn't broken his gaze, hasn't done anything but watch you.

Your lips part, a breath catching on the back of your throat. You don't know what you're about to say, maybe something stupid, maybe something honest, maybe something you wouldn't even understand until it was too late.

Before you can, the door opens.

"Hotch?"

The moment snaps. Shatters. Like glass under pressure, breaking apart before you even get the chance to understand what you were standing in. Whatever was there—if there was anything—vanishes in an instant.

Emily stands at the door, her expression unreadable.

"Rossi's asking for you."

Hotch steps away, and the moment his hand leaves you, the cold rushes in like a shock to your system. You don't realize how warm you'd been until it's gone. Until you're left with this.

You don't move. Not right away. Because for a second, you feel off-balance, like stepping away will make something shift, something collapse, but that's ridiculous. Irrational, even. You shake it off, press your lips together, fingers moving before you shove them back to your sleeves. Back to the cold you should have never stopped noticing.

It was always freezing in here. That was the point. Uncomfortable people bred sloppy mistakes.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[saintobio]

☆ sorry for disappearing…

when i decided to put my blog on private, it was the only solution i could think of to end my dilemma. a dilemma that sprung from the anxiety i get whenever i log into tumblr, realizing i’m keeping people waiting over an update that hasn’t happened in almost a year. i wish there was a better way to describe how i felt, but there’s just so much pressure and anxiety that accompany a writer who has an on-going series of a popular jjk character.

if you’ve been with me since 2021, you probably know the struggles i faced before i ultimately left my blog archived. back then, i never imagined i would return to running this blog. but it was my love for writing that brought me back, hoping i could start fresh as long as i knew how to set boundaries between myself and the people consuming my fics. and i could say, all was going well, until…

until i get daily messages about how it’s taking me so long to update a certain series, how i’m writing too much for another fandom, how i’m never fulfilling my promises of posting an update. it must be the trauma, but the unease of existing on tumblr began to build up inside me, reminding me of the days when i was made to feel like i did something wrong for simply posting. with that, i had grown paranoid, thinking that every time i check my notes, there would always be one or two person sending me the most ridiculous messages/comments.

i never realized just how much my experience in 2021 scarred me ‘til this day.

and the only remedy i could think of was to escape. or hide. or be unseen. for my peace of mind, for the silence. all while thinking no one’s really going to notice.

but logging in again made me realize that there are people i’ve disappointed for my sudden disappearance, people who wished me nothing but good things, people who genuinely supported me in and out of this blog, people who appreciate my works even if i’m no longer as active. to those people, i want to say i’m sorry, and that i assure you that i’m doing better.

however, i also hope that i’m not just seen as the writer who only wrote sincerely not. i hope that i’m given the same amount of support and liberty to write for characters and stories that i’m equally passionate about. wherever my hyper-fixations take me, i hope i’m not treated as if i’ve abandoned what my blog was known for. i never wanted to feel caged by writing only sn/sy. i need the space to explore other characters, other genres, before i lose myself in the pressure of just producing.

if you’re still here, thank you. i can’t promise to be fully back, but i’ll take it one step at a time.

love, saint.