#jut a little experiment

[refinedstorage]

I know I did this before but I had a couple more to put in since then and wanted to see if I could make it smoother with just the line arts

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The red spot is a chili flake

The red spot is a chili flake... (context)

[sttm99]

Part 2 here!

'Fuck.'

It had been just two nights since you'd given him head in the dark of his dorm room, and Bakugo hadn't been able to rid his mind of the sensation ever since.

He knew it was stupid to even agree to it. You were the one girl in class he felt comfortable enough to talk about anything with. Be it grades, his fears and even more sexual topics. It also helped that he knew you wouldn't ever judge him for anything.

You were his closest friend; more so than Kirishima. And he liked that... he liked that he has someone he could trust with his life, someone he could relate with so effortlessly.

And you felt the same way with him. You told him everything; every little secret, every dirty detail, and he never laughed or judged.

Which was why you both were in his room, many hours past his bedtime, sitting opposite each other on his bed as you recounted your most recent almost-sexual endeavor.

"-and it was so awkward cause it was just hanging there in my face and I didn't know what to do." You groaned out, with your body hunched over, face covered with your palms as you recounted your experience in the school's storage room with a General Studies boy you'd been seeing casually.

Bakugo chuckled at your demeanor from where he was. "Yeah then maybe you should have stopped him when you saw him undoing his fucking belt."

You glared at him through the cracks between your fingers.

"Seriously," he laughed. "If you didn't wanna give him head, you should have told him the moment you entered the closet."

You groaned and fell back unto his bed. "The thing is I want to do it."

You turned your head to stare up at Bakugo.

"So why didn't you?"

You groaned again. "I don't know. I mean... look, I wanna be able to make the guy I like feel good, you understand. And I really thought I wanted to give him head, but then he was pulling his jeans down- and I was getting cold feet and then he pulled down his boxers and I wanted to run away right then....

"But I pushed through- and I got down... and it was just staring at my face and-"

"Maybe you just don't wanna do it." Bakugo raised his brow, cutting you off from your rambling.

You frowned. "Maybe. I mean, I think about giving head...and I wanna do it, and then I get an opportunity and I panic. You're probably right."

There was silence for a moment, before Bakugo shifted in his position, pulling his knees higher up, closer to his body, and leaning his forward.

"Or maybe... you don't wanna do it with him."

You furrowed your brows. "Meaning..? I don't really like him or what?"

Bakugo shrugged, "I mean, do you?"

You began sitting up. "Don't I?"

"Come on, Y/N." He raised a brow, giving you an unimpressed look, "You don't even text him unless he texts you."

"Yeah because he's always texting me."

"See! You even say it like you're frustrated." Bakugo jutted his arms out at you.

You paused, sitting up and pondering it.

Bakugo groaned. "Listen, I know you, okay? You- frankly, you're horny... more so than most people-"

You scowled at him.

"-and the fact that you don't even let him put his hands under your fucking skirt most times should tell you that you're probably not all that sexually attracted to him."

You stared at Bakugo, eyes narrowed as you began to see his point. "I guess you're on to something."

"Look," he began, "I honestly think you're just with him because of how aggressively he pursued you. And that's fucking dumb."

You pouted. "I guess... so now I have to find someone else to practice head with."

"Why do you wanna learn how to give head?" He laughed.

"Cause the girls were talking about giving head one time and I wanna be able to join in conversations." I groaned out, exasperated, and flopped back unto your back.

Bakugo took a moment to look you over, before adjusting his shorts and clearing his throat.

"I can give you pointers if you want."

Silence.

"What?" You mumbled, sitting back up, with your weight on your palms and narrowing your eyes at him.

He scowled at you. "I'm not repeating myself."

You rolled your eyes and hissed at his stubbornness. "You idiot."

"But..." You started slowly. "If you're offering to give me tips on sucking dick, I don't mind."

He shifted a bit. "Yeah... well- it'll only work if you're sexually attracted to me. If not, it'll just be like with that guy earlier- and shit would be awkward." He was looking away now.

"Wanna find out?"

And that was how he found himself heaving against his headboard with his shorts and boxers flung at the far end of his bed.

"Shitshit- fuck Y/N."

His hands were fisted into your hair, knees raised in the hair and thighs spread on either side of your head, as you laid on your stomach before him, nose pressed into his dark blonde pubic hair and lips wrapped tightly around his dick.

His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as grunts forced their way out his mouth.

It was just bordering on too much; the sensation of your mouth, and he'd suddenly realised how seriously you'd taken his analogy.

-"Consider it a bottle of smoothie or something, and there's that chunk that can't pass through the bottle mouth properly, so you're trying to suck it out." He'd said, holding his already hard dick against your cheek.

"That sounds stupid, Katsuki." You retorted, as you scowled up at him.

"That's the best I got, I ain't some sex therapist, okay!"-

"Oh shit- you're good," he groaned out, head thrown back and thighs quivering. "Fuck- fuck! Fuck, you're fucking good, baby. Just like that, yeah..!"

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing you down on his dick so he could feel the sliding of your tongue on his shaft as he dipped into your throat.

It didn't help that you were drooling all over him- and yourself-, your hand cupping his balls and squeezing softly.

He was going into overdrive, thrusting up unto your mouth, his eyes rolling back as he slipped down your throat over and over again, and he moaned as he felt you gag, your throat constricting against his tip.

He brought his head forward to peek over at you.

"Slut," he groaned out, eyeing your positioning; one hand infront of you, playing with his balls, and the other stretched underneath your body, fingers dipping into your sleepshorts. "You fucking slut- you like this shit, don't you?"

You moaned around his dick, vibrations coursing round his veins and your eyes looking up to meet his; lids hanging heavy and pupils blown out as you sucked on his cock.

He came heavy- hard. With spasming thighs and choked out groans as he spurted his seed down your throat.

It was a lot... too much. He kept spurting out his cum and his sight was blurry as he looked at you.

Now he couldn't look at you without remembering your stupid, fucked expression when you were between his legs. And it's weird, because all you're doing is grinning an Sato as you hover around him whilst he bakes.

It's stupid. He knows it is.

You don't even like him that way.

Part 2 has been posted here!

[itgetzweird08]

can i have this dance? k. bakugo x gn!reader

one two three

“Mmm I like the black jacket more”

Katsuki hums softly at your answer as he holds the suit jacket up to his chest. He scoffs, tossing it haphazardly on the bed before flopping down on top of it. He held his phone above his face at arm's length, staring at your face through the screen as you ate your cereal. “This is fucking stupid” he complains softly and you giggle as he moans and groans, chewing your breakfast.

“It’s not stupid Kats, it’s a dance! And technically, it's your first high school dance. If you ask me it’s long overdue.”

That part was true. It was the first formal UA has hosted in the past three years. Usually, there was a dance twice a year: one during the Christmas festival and the other during the spring semester. It was exclusive to students and staff as everyone dressed to the nines and had a good time celebrating the holiday season and the loveliness of spring. Katsuki grew up hearing about it, and sort of looked forward to them. But due to the League and AFO, class 3-A never got to experience one. Until now.

Japan was slowly returning to normal after the events of the war a year prior, and to celebrate the students after all of their hard work and sacrifices, Nezu had finally cleared the spring formal to take place just a few months before graduation. When the class got the news, they were thrilled and even Katsuki had to admit that he was the tiniest bit excited. That was until Mina mentioned that they were all gonna have to find dates- then his balloon popped. He only wanted one person to be his date at any event, and that was you. Unfortunately, you were halfway across the world. This is why as you sat at your breakfast nook munching on Frosted Flakes, Bakugo laid on his comforter in his pajamas in preparation for bed. You called each other almost every day and when one of the first things he told you was the news about the dance, you begged to see his suit options. That’s what led you here, keeping him up two hours past his bedtime as he gave you a little fashion show. But he didn’t mind. He would explode the planet to make you smile, and he valued your opinion. He just wished you were there to give it in person.

“Yeah I guess,” he huffed and sat up, putting his suit back in his closet, turning off his ceiling light, and getting beneath his comforter. “I just don’t see the fucking point in going.” You raised an eyebrow at him and frowned. You knew he was excited, you could tell because of how fast he told you the news when you called. But now he seemed disappointed. “Why not?” You pried softly, trying to get to the root of the problem as he pouted. His room was dark, so you couldn’t see his entire face, but you could hear in the way he spoke that his bottom lip was slightly jutted out in disappointment. “Raccoon eyes was talking about everyone getting dates and shit…and you aren’t here.”

Your heart broke a little and your eyes stung a bit. He wasn’t upset that he had to go to the dance..he was upset that you wouldn’t be there to accompany him. “Oh baby…I’m so sorry” you whispered. All he did was shrug and grumble to himself, which is what he did when he didn’t want to outright tell you he was sad. “You know I would love to be your date Katsuki…I wouldn’t want to be anything more. But I can’t..we both know that.”

While Japan was making leaps and bounds in its recovery, its reputation in the eyes of other countries was still extremely damaged. After the death of Star and Stripe, all travel to Japan was halted indefinitely in your country. Not to mention, due to the aftermath of America’s number one’s death, as a hero student, you had to fight against the villains that tried to take advantage of the gap she left behind. Between the travel ban and your responsibilities, not to mention general travel costs, there was no possible chance you would be able to accompany Katsuki.

“Yeah, I know…just wish I could dance with you, that’s all. Wanna see you all dressed up and shit.”

All you could do was smile sadly at the camera and muster as much hope as you could for the both of you. “Maybe one day…especially since we’re both graduating soon.”

It was silent for a moment, both of you sitting in your own disappointment. You glanced at the clock, seeing the time and knowing that it was way past the time Katsuki usually slept, so he must be exhausted. But before you let him go, you just had to ask.

"Kats...can you even dance?"

His face filled the screen, eyebrows pulled together in offense. "HUH? What the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help but smile at him, and the heaviness of the prior conversation lifted off both of your shoulders. "I'm just asking!" " Of course I can dance! The fuck do you take me for??" "Okay prove it!"

Before he could respond, Katsuki yawned and you took that as your cue. You gave him a warm smile, depsite the fact that he was still glaring at you. " You can show me your moves tommorrow-" " m'not showing you shit-' "Tomorrow! I want to see what you got! Now go to bed, I'll text you later. Love you!"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. But seeing how goofy and happy you were made him smile slightly. " Love you too. Talk later."

[purinfelix]

just for the weekend ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ - franco colapinto

summary: your teammate has an absolutely ridiculous plan to bring your team back from the dead - but it might be just crazy enough to work w/c: 5.5k + some smau style tweets warnings: a little angst, some uncomfortable touching/kissing since it's fake dating (not too bad but better safe than sorry), some miscommunication - just two idiots in love i fear

a/n: WOW it's finally here, fake dating is literally a guilty pleasure trope for me so i hope yall enjoy this HAHA - also sorry to Williams fans bc there's a lot of slander in this but trust its all for the plot <333 (also holy shit this is the longest fic I've ever written WOW)

"You're actually insane."

"Oh c'mon, at least think about it for a minute, it's perfect!"

You fold your arms over your chest and try your best to look uninterested in whatever it is your teammate has to say. The two of you had been racing together for a little over half a year now, and you had witnessed him make (at least in your opinion) a grand fool of himself. Flirting with interviewers, winking at cameras, having absolutely no filter during press conferences - but this, this was by far the craziest thing you had heard come out of his mouth.

"A fake relationship?"

"Ah ah ah," he tuts, jutting a finger in your face, "a media relationship, one that will draw the attention away from how crap we're doing and onto the personalities of the team. Think about it, McLaren has whatever Oscar and Lando have got going on and Ferrari basically has two models for drivers. We need something to put us on the map, to make people care about us!"

You pause, and for a minute you seriously consider his outrageous proposition - he isn't completely wrong. For the two of you, making it into the points range was a rare occurrence, and even though the team always made sure to celebrate it like a podium there was something that stung about constantly being at the bottom.

"Do you realise how much trouble we could get into?"

"Ah," he sighs, and it's starting to annoy you how lightly he's talking about this, "ever the pragmatist."

"Well one of us has to be if the other's going to keep saying stupid shit," you huff before turning around and beelining out of his driver's room.

Seriously, a fake relationship? Had he lost his mind? Maybe if he focused more on his racing you wouldn't be constantly outperforming him.

"At least think about it, okay?" You hear him call out from behind you, and consider yourself lucky to be facing the other way so that he doesn't catch your obnoxious eye roll. Surely he had to be kidding because there was no way you were going to devote any amount of time to this ridiculous thought.

God fucking damnit.

It was frustratingly confusing, the kind of power Franco had. You had witnessed it first hand with how smoothly he spoke to anyone and managed to get his way almost instantly - but this was your first time experiencing it first-hand. It was another weekend, another country, another race, but the only thing you could think of was his stupid consideration - which, with each passing moment, seemed increasingly genius.

You had almost a year of experience with the team over your teammate, and with that, your fair share of embarrassment and disappointment. Sure, his idea was a little out there but you were close to being at your wits end and if nothing else, you hoped this would at least be a little fun. Plus you were pretty sure at this point if you didn't act on this thought soon, it would start interfering with your performance.

"Fine," you said a little breathlessly as you burst into his driver's room ahead of a race.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, looking at you with a shocked look, "whatever happened to knocking? I could've been naked in here!"

You roll your eyes before continuing, "You still up to the ..." You pause, thinking of how best to word it, "Fake relationship thing?"

His eyes light up immediately, "Ah, I knew you'd come around eventually."

Letting out a soft huff, just to let him know that you still aren't fully convinced this will work, you sit down on his couch. "I think we should lay down some ground rules first."

"Yes ma'am." He nods, straightening up and forcing a serious expression you can only assume is mocking yours.

"Firstly, no kissing."

"Understood."

"Actually no public affection at all, holding hands, hugging, nothing."

"Oh sure and how exactly are we going to convince people then?"

You pause, thinking for a little, "Okay maybe hand-holding and hugs are fine, but you better not push it - that goes for the pet names as well." He nods with a satisfied smile.

"And no one other than us two can know this is fake, alright? Otherwise, it'll spoil the plan."

"Trust me, I don't need anyone knowing I'm going along with something as ridiculous as this. It'll be our little secret."

"Our little secret," he repeats with a hum, a sly sort of smile spreading across his face as he gets up from his spot. "See you after the race, my love."

You sighed in exasperation, tossing your phone to the side of the couch in your driver's room where it fell with a light thud. You had about a thousand other things to be worrying about - your pretty disappointing result in qualifying for one - but for some reason, the main thing on your mind was your 'relationship' with Franco. Somehow, it had proved even more intense than you had expected, which planted a seed of worry in your mind as you realised how hard this was actually going to be to pull off. Since his not-so-subtle announcement to a hoard of hungry press members at last week's race, the media had managed up a flurry about the two of you.

There were supportive fans who liked you both enough not to see any problem with two teammates dating, as well as others who were more sceptical about how it might impact your performance. However, what really seemed to get to you were those who doubted you more than the relationship.

Your social media had been bombarded with comments and theories about the reason behind your relationship, doubting your place on the grid, and calling you names that - after shedding the status of 'first girl rookie', you thought you had left behind. Regardless, you feel a little stupid for being so unprepared for all this - not just the tweets but the harsh articles, the questions during press interviews and even shouting fans. Maybe if you had done a little more thinking about it first, you would've realised this was a stupid idea that should've been left at just that.

Throwing your head back you let out an exasperated sigh, trying to clear your head so that you could move on and focus on the race that was happening tomorrow. The last thing you wanted was for this plan to start impacting your driving. But Franco always seemed to have the worst timing - or best, depending on who you asked.

"Hello?" A couple quick knocks alert you of his presence before he cracks the door just wide enough to peek in. "There's my beautiful girlfriend." The way the pet names and affection seem to come to him so easily makes you simultaneously impressed and concerned, unsure of whether it's an indication of his great acting or flirting skills.

"What do you want?" You try to make it as obvious as you can that you're not in the mood, and he realises this right away.

"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to ask if you were free after this."

"You know I'm not really a huge fan of the big team dinners, especially not when we have a race tomorrow."

"Oh it's not like that, I was just going to go check out a restaurant near our hotel and wondered if you wanted to join me."

When you finally speak it's just above a whisper, "Is this a part of the fake dating thing?"

He laughs softly, his ability to find everything entertaining has always amazed you. "If you want to, it can be. If that gives you a reason to come hang out with me, though if you don't it's totally fine."

"No, I'll come, not like I've got anything better to do." You hate how every word you've said so far has sounded so pathetic.

"Great, I'll meet you by the paddock entry in ten?"

"See you then."

The street lights were dim, just bright enough to illuminate the street the two of you were walking down. The night was cool and still, and there were barely any people out other than you. You weren't sure why, but you had ended up telling Franco a lot more than you had expected. Maybe it was the extremely fancy restaurant you had initially gone to or the local one the two of you agreed to ditch it for instead, or maybe it was just the freeing feeling of being in another country.

The two of you had talked before, of course - as teammates it was difficult to avoid. But beyond the casual small talk, discussions about strategies or banter during challenges your relationship never extended beyond casual co-existence. It was one of the reasons you were glad your higher-ups had never tried to force the two of you into a professional friendship. There was something about Franco, his ability to strike up a conversation and maintain it even when the topic clearly strayed far beyond his interests, that made him so likeable, so easy to get along with. And the support he got from fans and the media reflected this well. You just never felt like there was any room for you in that equation.

But here, away from the cameras and shedding the roles of drivers, the two of you became normal people. You spoke, you laughed, you vented to him everything that worried you about your 'relationship' and he listened throughout all of it - all the while the two of you shared the biggest, best, pizza you had ever had.

"I have to say, I don't know if our engineers will appreciate the extra weight I've just put on," he jokes, breaking the comfortable silence that had been lingering around you two as you walked.

"Me neither, they might have to roll me into the car at this rate."

"You know, I think this is the first time the two of us have hung out, just us two."

You think for a little before answering, "You're right."

"Do you think there's a reason for that?"

"You mean besides us both being extremely busy people and already seeing each other pretty often? Not really, no."

"Good point, though with our little plan, we're definitely going to be seeing each other a lot more."

There's a beat of silence. "This is nice though, right?" He asks, and his voice is so tentative you almost find it endearing.

"It is nice, this was fun." You try not to think too much about the fact the two of you could be mistaken by any passer-by as a couple of lovebirds on a first date - or that fact that even to those who knew you, you were.

"I appreciate you telling me all that stuff, you know, about what people are saying about you."

"Oh, if anything I should be thanking you for listening to me vent about it."

"It is serious though, I'm so stupid for not even thinking about what you'd have to deal with."

"Well I don't think either of us gave it enough thought but," you pause and look up at him, "we're too far in to back out now."

He shoots you a comforting smile, one that shows how reassured he feels that you seem to finally be coming around to his idea. That is, at least, before his face morphs into one of discomfort.

"God, I'm so full."

"We're almost back at the hotel now, let's just sleep and then we can wake up early tomorrow morning to-"

"Wait, is that ice cream?" Franco interrupts you to point out a street vendor who's about to pack up for the night, and before you know it he's running up to the man eagerly. You can only follow suit with a sigh, knowing full well you wouldn't mind some dessert either.

"You two are lucky, you'll be my last customers for the night," the moustachioed owner of the cart says with a warm smile.

"Thanks," you reply kindly, before turning to Franco, "what flavour do you think you'll get."

"Hm, not sure, maybe chocolate?"

"Wow, boring."

He scoffs, "Oh yeah? And what exotic flavour are you going to get then?"

"Mint choc," you smile, but your face drops once you see your teammate's disgusted expression.

"You've got to be kidding me, that's like the worst choice."

You feign offence, "How dare you insult the best ice cream flavour of all time?"

"Ah, you two are quite the couple," the man laughs and you watch as Franco's eyes widen in embarrassment.

"Oh we're not-"

"Thank you," it's your turn to interrupt him, turning to the man with a smile. "One chocolate and one mint choc chip please."

You go to reach for your wallet to pay but you feel a hand on yours, stopping you.

"No, it's okay, I got this."

"Wh- Franco c'mon you know full well both of us could afford about a thousand of these ice cream cones don't be ridiculous."

"I know," he smiles and even though he's trying to be serious you know he's also trying not to laugh, "but I just figured you know, I'm the one who dragged you out here and like, got you into this whole fake dating mess."

You furrow your brows, a little confused at what exactly he's getting at.

"I guess I just want to say thank you, you know?"

"Alright, alright," you laugh softly, watching as he pays and takes both of the cones, handing you yours. Once you grab yours, you instinctively loop your arm around his, pulling him close and resting your head against his shoulder. The ice cream man laughs endearingly at the two of you.

"You're the best boyfriend ever!" you say in as high and cute a voice you can manage, cringing a little but determined to keep up the bit - you don't even bother to think about how fast you can feel Franco's heart race when you do.

Last night was really nice. You're sitting next to your race engineer, nodding along as she points to various multi-coloured dots and lines on the screen. You hear yourself agreeing with a couple quick "mhms", "of course" and "yep"s even though you can barely hear what she's saying. You're mere minutes away from getting in your car for a race, getting briefed on your strategy, and the only thing you can think of is the 'date' you had with Franco last night - if you can even call it that.

You had thought that getting everything off your chest, the hate comments, the doubt you had, would help you feel better and relieve any worries you had. And it did, at least until you got back to your hotel room alone and caught yourself smiling at the thought of seeing your teammate again the next day. How, even as you washed up and got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking - pizza, ice cream, walking at night together, isn't that something a real couple would do?

"Are you listening to me?" your race engineer's voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, causing you to straighten up immediately.

"Yes! Sorry," you mumble, but just at that moment, you see him walk into the garage, greeting a couple of the mechanics warmly. Before you realise it, he's beelining straight for you, his arm coming around your waist as he leans in close to your ear.

"There's a ton of cameras, I just wanted to be believable," he whispers, and when he pulls back you can see the smile on his face. You nod curtly, fully aware of how red your face feels over such a small interaction as he waltzes away.

"Okay, so as I was saying," your race engineer pipes up again, though you couldn't be paying her less of your attention - watching as your 'boyfriend' walks off, his brown hair illuminating in the afternoon light. For a fake relationship, the quickening pace of your heart felt far too real.

"Well you two have been teammates since the beginning of this year, can you tell us a little about when you realised you might be more?"

Your struggle was never-ending - or at least, that's what it felt like, finding yourself at the centre of an impromptu interview with Franco. Around you, the other drivers were getting questions about their place in their teams, how they felt about their current strategy and about their racing futures. And there the two of you were, getting thrown question after question about your 'relationship'.

"Well," you begin, before being saved by your teammate. You had to give it to him - he was great at making stuff up on the spot.

"Well, I think it was somewhere around a month after I first joined the team, and met her. It was just something about her, she's sort of electric in this almost untouchable way, you know?"

You try not to look too awkward standing next to him as he talks, feigning your best-interested smile - though a part of you is extremely intrigued by this fake story he's creating.

"At first I thought I just wanted to be like her, her passion and talent were just so respectable, but the more time I spent with her the more I realised it was something completely different."

He turns to look at you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your expression falters a little as you're caught off guard by the sudden contact and as you turn away from the journalists and towards him, your eyes widen in shock at the sight of his pursed lips nearing yours. Before you realise it, his lips are against yours and you're pulling away as quickly as possible, face bright red. You're just barely aware of the thousands of flashing camera lights as you turn to quickly excuse yourself.

"Thank you all for coming, it was nice talking to you but, uhm, I have to go!" You hurriedly blurt out before slipping out of Franco's grip and darting off to your driver's room.

You hear his footsteps following closely behind you, as well as the sound of him calling out your name. When you near the door of your room, you turn around and grab his wrist to yank him in before you shut the door.

"What the hell was that?" is all you can muster out, "I thought we agreed no kissing?"

"Look, I can explain!"

You cross your arms with a huff, looking at him expectedly.

"I was just going to peck you quickly on the cheek, you know because we were getting all romantic and I wanted it to be believable! B-but then you turned, and then we," he's struggling not to ramble and his quickly moving hands do little to help. That's when you also realise his face is bright red as well, and he doesn't seem any less flustered by it than you do. "I'm really, really sorry I really shouldn't have done that."

You'd be lying if you said his explanation didn't make you feel any better. You're not actually upset about the kiss itself though, in fact, it's the opposite - actually, the grudge you're holding is doing little to help the internal struggle going on in your head. The kiss didn't make you angry, but the realisation that you wanted it to be real, did.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump down in the nearest chair. Franco does the same on the adjacent couch, though his gaze stays carefully on you, almost afraid of what you might say next.

"It's fine, I think we just need to coordinate our PDA a little better then."

"Yes, of course," he nods quickly.

There's a beat of silence. "You're really good at acting though."

"What?"

"That whole story you made up about how you fell in love with me, it was really believable." You laugh lightheartedly trying to lighten the situation and alleviate the awkwardness that's settled between you two.

"Well it's pretty easy, I didn't need to make up much of it," his eyes catch yours and his gaze is soft when he smiles at you.

"What?" you're confused.

"Never mind," he scoffs lightly, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. He looks almost disappointed at something, though you can't realise what. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. I really am sorry about what happened before." You watch as he pushes himself up from the couch, his head hanging guiltily - looking almost like a scolded puppy.

"It's fine Franco, really, please don't feel too bad about it." He nods thankfully before slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

Being a driver, hotel rooms had come to be a companion you knew far too familiarly. Their high ceilings, plush sterile white bedsheets, the empty bathroom - almost everything about them felt a sign of loneliness, of temporality, a house that never felt like home. Even though you knew how ridiculous it would be to complain about something that others would see as a privilege, it was hard to deny the isolation you felt whenever in a new country, away from most of your family or friends.

Maybe that's why you had been so eager to latch onto Franco's idea - it made sense, he had become the person you spent the most time with so why not give yourself some ridiculous reason to be around him even more? However somewhere along the way you stopped needing the reason of fake dating, somewhere in between hushed conversations, planned posts and candid photos - and instead found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. It was a little strange and sometimes acted as a sour reminder of how lonely you'd become but more than anything it felt like a blessing in disguise.

You were reminded of this fact as you lay, wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, across your messy bedsheets - laughing to yourself at the tweets your boyfriend had sent you. They were all about you, or the two of you, of course. Comments on the tiniest things, the way the two of you looked at each other, the way Franco held your hand, the way you worried about him.

"I feel a little bad, they're all so gullible," you typed quickly.

"Oh, so now you feel bad?" His response was almost instant.

"Don't you?"

"It's fun, isn't it? All this playing pretend."

Right, pretend. You rolled onto your back with a deep sigh, staring up at the tall hotel ceiling. All of this was just so confusing - as if figuring out how you felt about someone wasn't difficult enough, the two of you had complicated it by tricking the entire world into thinking you were in love. Whether you truly liked him or not, the idea was doomed for failure - and the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like the former.

"You're right," you typed back, watching intently as the three tiny dots appeared, disappeared then reappeared. What could he be saying that would need so much thinking?

"Can we talk tomorrow, after the race?"

You felt your stomach drop, had he finally caught on to how obvious you were being about how you truly felt, and decided that actually it might be better to just drop this whole act and go on as just teammates? With trembling hands, you typed back.

"Sure, what about?"

"I'll tell you then, for now, we should sleep."

"Goodnight Franco."

"Goodnight mi amor." You laughed softly to yourself at the nickname he had given you, though a small part of you took it as salt to the wound - almost as if he was dangling the possibility of something that could never happen right in front of your desperate little face.

However, not like you had a choice - all you could do now was get ready for bed and brace yourself for whatever tomorrow brought.

You couldn't believe it. The sounds of celebration erupted around you, but you sat completely still in your car, silent, attempting to process what had just happened. Your first win, and, your first double podium, with Franco. Your head was spinning as the never-ending stream of thoughts raced through your mind. Suddenly, you heard a voice coming from above your car's halo, muffled by your helmet. You flick the visor up, lifting your head as highly as you could - locking eyes with your teammate.

"We did it! Oh my god!" The excitement on his face is enough to send a slight surge of energy through you as he offers you his hand, helping you out of the car. When you do though, you stumble a little - the nerves are almost too much for you.

"Woah, you alright?" Even through the fog clouding your mind you can make out the concern in Franco's voice and feel his arms steadying you.

"Yeah, just-" you mumble, gesturing to your helmet and making weak attempts to undo the clasps underneath it. It's almost suffocating you, and the chaos going on around you isn't helping the pounding headache.

"Oh, let me," he reacts immediately, dropping his own helmet and bringing his hands below your chin to swiftly undo the clasps and pull the helmet off of you. You take a deep breath of air as you pull off your fireproof mask, though it sounds more like a desperate gasp.

Around you, the crowds roar with excitement, both your team and others as they make attempts to gesture at the two of you to join them. Your head spins though, and you wobble backwards into Franco.

"It's too loud," is all you can stutter out, though he understands you almost immediately, a strong hand gripping your wrist and pulling you away from the noise and somewhere quieter. You're not entirely sure where he's taking you but at that moment you feel as though you'd follow him just about anywhere.

Luckily though, when your eyes refocus you're in his driver's room, and even though outside you can hear the cheers continuing, you're offered some solace here, the walls muffling the sound. You sigh, sinking into his couch as you throw your head back, panting still.

You feel like it's all just too much - not just the physicality of the race, but the feeling of winning it, winning it with Franco, just Franco himself. When you finally manage to catch your breath you lift your head to see him standing over you, watching intently.

"Better?"

"Much better, thank you." You smile earnestly, "Though I don't think we'll be able to hide in here much longer, there is a cooldown room for this exact reason."

"Oh, I mentioned it to someone, not sure who but he looked important, and he said it would be okay."

You laugh softly, amazed at how he can seem so calm even at a moment like this.

"We did it," you say, still not being able to believe it.

"We did," he smiles, sitting on the couch next to you, "a couples podium."

You feel your heart skip a beat at the sudden reminder of your conversation last night, him mentioning he had something to tell you. Was this it? The two of you had achieved what you had been wanting this entire time, and there was no better time to let this ridiculous bit go than now.

You stare at the wall of his room, the gigantic flag of his home country, and let out a shaky breath, mustering up the courage to break the silence. "So..."

He turns to you, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" You're trying your best to keep your voice lighthearted, "it sounded serious."

"Oh, well about that," he seems to have forgotten it temporarily as well, but the fact that he turns to look at the flag as well, almost unable to maintain eye contact with you, isn't a good sign.

Maybe it's the adrenaline from the race, maybe it's the fact that both of you are going to be needed out on the podium in about ten minutes - or maybe it's the fact that you're so desperate to get out these feelings and make him understand how you feel, but you start talking before you even realise it.

"Look, Franco, I," you start, not entirely sure of where you're going to end up, "I know you asked me to do this whole fake dating thing with you and I completely understand if you want to end it now, I mean why wouldn't we? It's perfect!"

He looks at you confused, lips parted as if about to interrupt you but you continue anyway, stupidly.

"But, look, here's the thing," you turn to him now, and you're sure your face is bright red, "I don't want this to end!"

You let out a deep sigh, and clutch your hands together to stop them from shaking, though it doesn't help that Franco looks even more confused now.

"What?" he says, and your heart drops.

"I," you pause, struggling to find the right words, and struggling to get them out, "I think I like you, like, for real." Okay, not exactly the best choice of words but it'll do.

"Like, not for the whole fake relationship thing?" his tone is still concerned and he leans in a little for clarification.

"Yes! Okay, I know it's not exactly what we thought would happen and it'll probably jeopardise our relationship as teammates but there, I like you okay."

"When did you realise?"

"A couple days ago, I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, and you're left with the agonising feeling of your heart racing in your chest, waiting eagerly for his response - for him to laugh in your face, for him to get mad, for him to reject you.

But instead, you watch as Franco's confused expression melts into one of pure relief as he sinks back into the couch with a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

It's your turn to be confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling with the widest smile you've ever seen.

"Wait you mean you-"

"I win!"

You're absolutely speechless, not a single coherent thought on what is going on or how to respond. All you can get out is a confused sort of grunt.

"I win, I've liked you for longer!" he laughs, sitting up and grabbing your hands in his.

You feel as though your jaw is going to dislocate at how fast it drops, "I'm sorry?"

"Oh c'mon, we've been teammates for a year I know you're not that oblivious."

"Well, apparently I am because I'm really confused."

"I've liked you since the moment I met you, you idiot."

"Wh-" You're about to be offended at the name-calling until what he says finally hits you. He likes you. He has liked you. For ages. You idiot.

"Even when you proposed this to me?"

"Yep."

"Even when we went to get ice cream?"

"Yep."

"Even when you kissed me?"

"Y- well wait no that was completely unintentional," he holds his hands out in defence. You slump back, trying your best to process everything today has entailed, it's almost too much. That is until you feel Franco move a little closer to you, his arm stretching around your shoulders and gently moving your head to lay on his. At that moment, it all becomes clear, and you're suddenly unsure about why you ever felt confused about any of this.

"What now?" You say, barely above a whisper.

"We go and get our trophies," even though you're not looking you can hear the smile in his voice. "Though, before then."

You lift your head up off his shoulder to turn to him with raised brows. "Hm?"

"Now that we aren't fake dating, do the rules still apply?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd really like to kiss you right now," he whispers, and there's a hint of nerves as you watch his eyes dart in between yours and your lips.

"Really can't wait can you," you tease, though you still move to close the space in between you to. But just before your lips can touch his there's a knock at the door, causing you both to slump back with a sigh.

"Hey, are you two in there?" it's your race mechanic, "you're needed, you know, on the podium."

You roll your eyes to show your obvious disappointment at being interrupted, though Franco just watches you with an endeared smile.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, not being able to hide your own smile.

"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you're going to look up on that podium, and how I won't have to pretend not to be in love with you anymore."

Taglist : @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @cinderellawithashoe @vanicogh @taasgirl @claudiajacobs

@dripostsstuff @boiolay @earth-to-lottie @dejavuontrack @dudududu-fangirl

@kravitzwhore @gavisuntiedboot @reiofsuns2001 @musicmie @danielle12002x-blog

@alelo23 @corrodeddeadlydoll @aliwritex @nina-or-anna-or-nora

@5sospenguinqueen @araunahj @sbrn0905 @halleest @lottieliveslife

@lovestruck-sky @im-an-op81-fan @blubra @vienoiserieetc

(don't ask me why it's formatted so weird, tumblr hates me)

[konigsblog]

If you would be interested, could you write some older boyfriend Simon? The reader seems innocent and sweet but she's secretly just as horny as he is :)

older-boyfriend simon riley...

cw: age gap (reader's age is unspecified, but between their 20s-30s - simon's age is around his mid-40s), afab!f!reader, fingering, teasing. 18+

older-boyfriend simon riley is aware that he's too old for you, that the judgemental glares and disturbed looks he receives are justified and due to the fact he has a pretty, little thing clinging to his muscular, burly arm.

you're surprised at how nonchalant he is; not paying attention to the people who are judging and shaming him for hitting on a drunken, college girl. despite not being simon's age, you crave him; crave the validation and support, the experience he has as an older male. you fantasise about being fucked by a man like simon, one that's unforgiving and merciless with his pace as he fucks you for the first time.

older-boyfriend simon riley will not fuck you immediately, he'll wait – he'll wait ‘til he's cupping your jaw and looking into your wet, puffy eyes that are filled with tears, seeing your desperation, your greediness. although, even then, simon may drag out fucking you and instead stuff your pussy with his fingers, watching your pleas and cries to be fucked quickly die down, hushed as you fall against his chest, moaning pathetically as he curls his calloused fingers inside, hips jutting against nothing.

simon will tongue fuck your mouth, keeping a firm grip on the back of your head, sucking at your tongue and making out with you until you're pushing at his sturdy chest and huffing for breath, eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continuously slides them into your sleek cunny, watching your face contort with delectation and delirium.

[papaya-twinks]

Can we have pervert!lando with a younger reader in which he always insists on her following his rules because he's older and knows what's good for her? Thank you love 🩶

what’s best for you - l.n

Warnings: smut, 18+, no condom, manipulation, dark themes, non-con (not rlly non con tbh)

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

“Lando, are we gonna use a condom?” you whisper hissed, though you wouldn’t deny that the idea of taking him raw did appease more to you, as boyfriend as he rolled his eyes. “Without,” he said, “I’m older, I know what to do,”.

And you did want it, actually…

You were still a little nervous but when Lando pulled out the age card, you couldn’t argue. He was right. He was older than you, and he had a lot more experience having sex than you did. He slid in, a groan on his lips as he did so, mixed with your high pitched moan.

You soon pushed the thought of him not having protection out of your mind as he held you down onto the bed, your stomach pressed to the mattress. He rocked in and out of you, hips pivoting to hit your g-spot, your body going into small convulsions as he did so.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “all this f’me?” he smirked, swiping the pad of his thumb across your sensitive clit. You moaned as he did so, his hips jutting against your thighs, one strong arm round your abdomen.

“Lando, fuck!” you gasped as you felt your orgasm build, up, his thumb rolling small circles across your sensitive bud, body spasming as your orgasm hit, Lando’s thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his own orgasm.

“Pull out,” you gasped…you didn’t even mean it, it just felt more like protection saying it then actually doing it. “Actually?” he asked, a smirk on his face. “N-No,” you said truthfully, as he leaned down to kiss your lips.

He pumped himself into you again, his cum leaking from your core as he pushed it back in. “You wanted it anyways,” he pointed out. It was true. You did want it, but you were just worried for the side effects. “I’m older, Y/N, I have experience,”.

[lizzy019]

HELP ME I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS- 18+ (this could be read as GN!)

Nikto who is a bit masochistic when it comes to you during your time spent in bed.

Ramming himself into your pretty cunny that was just oozing for him and sucking him in with joyous energy. His icy blues rolling to the back of his skull while he pleaded you to run your manicured nails down his back, to bite him or flail about.

A man like him was built for pain.

But you, the sweet little thing who didn't wish to cause him any more pain than he's already endured, refused every time even if you knew your fingers wanted to just dig into his flesh for purchase. You fought yourself not to and instead dug your nails into your own palms.

"Please, you won't hurt me. Just a bit?" He begged, almost pleaded for you to do it. Nikto knew well enough that you'd comply sooner or later.

The force from his thrusts were jutting you around, making it a bit hard to stay stable on this uncomfortable position on the sofa you two were laying on. Its rough texture didn't help much, but you were simply focused on your cunt clamping onto him without your control and the way your fingers twitched helplessly in an attempt to gain some control over your situation.

"But... what if I hurt you? I– I wouldn't forgive myself! Fuck!" You mewled in between your words, arms thrown over his neck to pull him close as you peppered the sweetest kisses to his chapped and cracked lips. Those pretty, perfect lips of his that you wish could just stay put on your own.

Nikto shook his head violently at your claim, vigorously jackhammering you senseless in his greedy attempt at a climax. Tired eyes wandered down to yours, watching your expression contort to a pleasured look mixed with concern and hesitance. Were you really that nervous?

"нет, you won't hurt me, возлюбленная. Just– please." It was odd hearing him try to coax you into doing this, but his desperation left you a bit guilty for not fulfilling his so-called needs.

Your fingers unclenched from your palms, moving to grapple at his back and dig into the skin for something to hold onto. You even had a bit extra courage to sink your teeth into his shoulder, eliciting a groan from his chest as he trembled stagger-ishly.

So he liked a bit of pain?

You complied, proceeding to do everything within your powers to make his experience one of the best ones yet and to introduce more to come.

The burning of your nail scratches and the pain of your teeth was just enough to rattle him and cause his pace to stir. But once he got right back on track, it didn't take long until he was practically screaming out your name while his cock pulsated his seed out and into your puckered hole.

And even if you hadn't reached your climax, you were very content spending the next few minutes cleaning whatever cuts and wounds you made on his body, tending to him like a little nurse. How could you not? You were the cause of it!

But Nikto assured you, even if harshly, that it was fine and that he didn't care. He even called them his personal tattoos that serve to mark the day he made you both lose your control.

Those are the only scars he wears proudly.

@fishsinsareacknowledged @zoloftwithdrawalnausea @simp4konig @vxmpyree @randoqt

[bamfkeeper]

I heavily believe Kurt can ruin you. Tell me I'm wrong. 18+ below cut. MDNI.

There is no way he isn't capable. He has the full ability to completely ruin. Sometimes I like to think that yeah, Kurt has 'devilish' looks, does he have devilish habits/desires?? Sometimes, maybe he can't help but really fuck. To tears, but obviously good ones lol.

Warnings: Slight rough sex (in reality it's just intense not exactly rough), unprotected sex, teasing, good tears, cock warming, praise, afab reader. Not edited. Just a quick drabble. Kept it more tame than I wanted because I wrote a more dominant Kurt earlier.

WC: 1.1k

I imagine him slowly drawing out of your tight little hole before pushing back in, his tail working your body in other ways as his thick cock slowly moves in and out of you. You can feel every little detail in his dick, and it is so overwhelmingly incredible. You've never felt so good before, you didn't think it was possible.

"Kurt! Oh, o-oh my god..." you can barely speak, your lip trembled as much as your legs were, his hands holding them open while he tantalizingly moved his hips. You wanted more, to feel him thrust faster but he wouldn't listen. He wanted you to feel every single second of his cock stretching you around him. He loved to watch his dick disappear inside you.

"Shh, you're so impatient, liebe..." he chuckled softly, "Slow and sensual, right? You want to feel everything so you enjoy it....not all at once and then it's over~" he teases, still moving at a snail's pace.

He was so frustrating like this, his cheeky grin displaying his pointy canines as he pressed back into you, his cock gently pinning to your cervix each time. "Kurt, please...I-I need more from you..." Your whines were so blissful to his ears, making him shudder.

Kurt smirked at you, his tail teasingly coiled around your waist and rubbed your swollen bud, the slightest touch at this point almost made you scream. You felt so good, you just needed more. You felt tears prick your eyes, your arms shot up and wrapped around his neck as you cried out into his blue skin.

Your pussy clenched him like a vice, squeezing him like you were desperate to milk every last drop out of him. You came with him buried inside you, his cock dripping out sticky precum inside your velvet walls. You became much slicker with your orgasm, waves of pleasure washed over your body and you felt like you were floating.

He barely did anything, and he got you to that point.

On the opposite end, he grabs you tight and holds on as he pounds himself into you. He's completely driven and dedicated to pleasuring you and getting you to cum. He's pent up, so in love with you, all he wants is to make you cum around his dick. He watches your face contort with pleasure, your mouth hung open slightly as you moaned for him.

He sneaks his thumb in and presses the pad against your tongue, then tubs your lower lip. "So beautiful...you are so beautiful, liebling." he coos, his hips jutting into yours. "You make lovely sounds for me...you feel so warm." he rasped out, his tail widening your legs as his hips drive down more.

You cry and mewl for him, tears fall down your cheeks from the intensity of his thrusts and how much pleasure you feel. You can barely think, you are being loved and fucked all at once, and you never thought you'd experience something like this. "Alles gut?" he whispers, swiping your cheeks and burying his cock into you.

He kisses your damp skin, his lips brush your ear. "Das machst du gut..." his voice is deep and soothing, despite his thick cock stretching your swollen pussy, he felt incredible. "Ich bin für dich da..." he continues to soothe and praise you, even with himself being buried with each thrust he gives to you.

You can't do anything but babble at him, your body felt like it was on fire but in the best way possible. Your neck felt so sensitive, your nipples were tingling, you felt like you were floating off the bed even with him practically plowing you into it. "M-Mein Gott...you feel so, so wunderbar..." Kurt's eyes were half lidded as his thrusting became quicker and movements unsteady. He was close too, and you couldn't help but beg for him.

"Please, please, I want you inside, I want to feel you cum in me, Kurt!" you cried loudly, only able to focus on him. Your desperation was obvious, he continued thrusting into you and the slaps from your two bodies connecting filled the room. It was so slick between your legs, his pelvis was wet from your arousal and his own mixing together as he pumped himself in and out.

You were lost, in the past you had never had anyone come close to caring about your pleasure during intimate moments, and here Kurt was making you feel like you died and went to heaven. You clung on and sobbed into him, it was just so damn good.

"Ah, liebe...." he cooed, still moving into you, but cradling you a bit more. "I hope those are good tears soaking my fur," he nipped and kissed your neck and shoulder while he pressed further into you. His hips finally stuttered and he came deep into you, his cum covering your cervix and leaking into your womb. When he came, you did, and it felt like your body was exploding with endorphins.

He'd be so, so good to you after. "Oh, sweet, sweet dove...look at how well you did for me..." he cooed, lightly rocking you. He would make sure you feel loved, rubbing your back and kissing all over you. He loves on you, gently trailing all over your body and rubbing any sore spots. You were so blissed out, dizzy with pleasure, tears ran down your cheeks from the feeling. You never thought you'd feel so good. Ever.

Kurt moved his hips back, slowly going to pull out but your legs wrapped around his hips and caged him in. "No, no, don't pull out....please, stay..." you pleaded to him, desperate to hold him in you for as long as possible. He looked down at you and smiled a little, seeing just how needy you were. Not just for sex now, but for the comfort of connection.

"Of course, meine liebe..." he smiled and shifted closer, settling back in fully and holding you against him. "I've got you. I'm not letting go." he promised, peppering you with soft kisses. He'd curl around you and keep you feeling safe and cared for, and when he softened and slipped out of you, he'd clean you up and stay cuddled against you. He knows how much you need him after, and he gladly provides himself.

You're still recovering. Your bliss and high dying down and you would become incredibly needy. "What is it, dove? What do you need?" he coos, his thumb gently stroking across your cheekbone, his yellow eyes like two warm suns against his dark fur. So warm, so loving, you could get lost in them.

"Ah, I see liebling...you can't form words, that's okay. I will figure out what you need. But I assume it is me, ja? Don't worry...I am not going anywhere..." he reassures, holding you close and wrapping you in a blanket. He would remain by your side all night, never leaving for a second.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[multifandomme]

Is It Casual?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: You meet a mysterious stranger and decide to partake in a rather racy experiment.

Genre: Smut, (alcohol consumption, strap ons, praise, pet names, multiple orgasms, marking, thigh-riding, semi-public, biting, kind of anonymous), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 2.6k.

This piece is for day 10 of kinktober under the 'first time' prompt.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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A magical gravitational pull enclosed around the bar area as you lingered on the outskirts of the crowd. Every so often, a man would break off from his circle, his chest puffed out, intent on something, someone, only to return to his friends having been assumedly rebutted. Of course, the men remained unperturbed by the rejection, fuelled by faux confidence and growing intoxication, though each feeble attempt at catching the attention of this mystery patron would go unnoticed, unreciprocated. 

An ardent curiosity prickled at your skin, so viscerally that goosebumps rippled to cloak you, equal measures of excitement and nervousness quickly taking hold. The warm embrace of tipsiness did nothing to quell your intrigue, your feet soon traversing towards the chaos at their own accord. The air by the bar was noticeably thicker, blazing bodies melding together, the scent of residual alcohol, abandoned shot glasses stacked high. Loudened voices bellowed over the music, lips ghosting ears and in the centre spot upon a barstool, seemingly disjointed from the surrounding madness, the catalyst of all of the failed advances. Her.

Her sizzling gaze followed the bartender, a manicured finger tracing the lipstick stain that was stamped onto the rim of her wine glass. She nursed the scarlet dregs with a palpable patience, a careful composure, in stark contrast to the crazed antics that occurred just beyond her peripheral vision. And, if the elegance that oozed so abundantly from her had not proven enough to capture every iota of your attention, the plunging cleavage from the maroon shirt she donned had surely sealed the deal. 

“You seem to be causing quite the stir,” you ventured as you slotted in beside her, the new proximities limited, risky, “you don’t like the attention?”

A blatant coyness veiled her features as she gulped the remainder of her wine without a word, her tongue flecking over her lips to foil the threat of a wayward droplet. She blinked slowly, her cheeks hollowed as though she was inwardly considering her options, the first to engage, the second to send you running like all those that had dared to undertake the journey before you. 

“It’s the hair, I guess,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest, her thumbs toying idly with the stem of her now empty glass in the hopes that her nerves would subside and quickly. 

She wasn’t wrong, her silver strands celestial beneath the low lighting, her irises so dark and mesmerising that you were certain you could free-fall into their depths and get lost somehow. The alcohol had rendered you brazen, unchecked as you studied her intricately, taken by the blush-tinted skin of her chest, feasting on her cleavage with saliva accumulating in your mouth. 

“Perhaps, it is,” you considered, shaking your mind from the sin that clouded your thoughts, a smirk etched into your mouth, the images resurfacing and merely gaining clarity. “But I have a feeling it could have something to do with these.”

Your finger highlighted her cleavage in a flickering gesture, uncontrollable laughter rumbling from your throat as her eyes grew wide in embarrassment. 

“Oh, God,” she winced, a deepened pink hue materialising upon her face as she sought to yank the material upward to recover her exposure, her breasts having jutted out a little further than she had initially intended. 

A sudden confidence ricocheted, your hand swatting outwards to occlude her motion, her eyes flecking with confusion, with a trace of bubbling zeal that she appeared to be trying to cage. 

“Hey,” you purred, leaning in close until her grey strands tousled against the skin of your cheek, her perfume infecting your senses and almost ridding you of coherence. “I wasn’t complaining.”

“You’re devious,” she shot, an eyebrow quirked, the last semblances of humiliation ebbing away behind a lurking simper that kindled in the corner of her mouth. 

The magnetism fizzed in your stomach, electricity sparking as she met your gaze, basking silently in the confounded feelings that this simple interaction had evoked.

“Well, I must be doing something right,” you surmised, boldly, as you bit back a sprawling grin. “You haven’t rejected me yet.” You threw her a wink. “How about I buy you a refill?”

A flitting silence descended, her index finger prodding softly at her chin, a mask of rumination enveloping, though you knew of its prevarication. 

“Merlot,” she acquiesced, her words accompanied by a cautionary glare, “and make it a big one.”

A hum of appeasement expelled from her as she willed in a sip of the replenished beverage, the crimson colouring her lips. The urge to steal a taste of her ruptured your thought process, the motivation so forceful that you could not pry your mind away. And in your wandering reverie, you revelled in the feeling of her lips dancing with yours, her silver locks like velvet between your fingers, inhibitions deliquescing. 

“What’s your name?” You wondered, aloud, intent on dismantling some of the mystery that veiled her, needing to. 

She flicked her hair to the side, the abruptness of the manoeuvre inciting the accidental undoing of a button on her shirt, her nipples almost edging into visibility. Brilliant white peered out and formed a menacing smirk and in that moment, you were certain that the gesture had been somehow intentional. And as quickly as her smirk had appeared, it vanished behind an ironclad veneer of innocence, her eyelashes fluttering and subsequently transfixing you. 

“Emily,” she revealed, her mouth promptly occupied by the rim of the glass as she sucked in another large gulp of wine. "More importantly, who are you?"

And it was the subtlest of movements that possessed your attention, the way Emily’s pretty eyes wavered erratically between your lips and irises with a twinge of uncertainty. As if she was teasing herself with the possibility of what could be, and rescinding to the voices of doubt at the very last second, albeit reluctantly. Her question hung in the balance, lost in the haziness of the bar, a sudden epiphany gracing you. 

“You like women,” you blurted, thoughtlessly, observing as she faltered in an instant, her mouth wide and yet void of sound. “That’s why you turned away all of those men, isn’t it?”

Her larynx bobbed in a forceful swallow, her gaze momentarily averted and for a second, you had expected for her to forge a hasty escape.

“I… don’t know,” she admitted, raw honesty rasping in her tone, a conflicted expression contorting her features. “I’ve never been with a woman before. I want to, I just never…”

Tenderly, you coiled a finger below her chin, drawing her into you, into dangerous territories, and to your surprise, she did nothing to thwart the audacious advance. Instead, her striking brown eyes glazed over with discernible lust, sparkling as you grazed your lips against hers in a wraith-like touch. So gentle that it made Emily question if you had ever really made contact at all. 

“Let's find out, shall we?"

The answer never did find you, replaced instead by the emergence of fervent lips crashing upon yours. Every scintilla of tension disintegrated, a searing passion cascading and persisting until you had forgotten everything about your surroundings. Nothing mattered more than the feeling of her mouth moving against you, instinct quickly overtaking as her hands grasped at you, desperate for closer contact, for further access. 

Her tongue slid fervidly into your mouth, snaking and flickering, the vibrations of her contented hums reverberating with vigour. Your hands fell to her hips, manipulating her body until the proximities were smothering, until every curve of her body was absorbed into you, her heartbeat echoing into your chest. With a harshened grip, you removed her from the barstool and lodged your knee betwixt her thighs, heat pooling there as she lurched forward and fixed you in place.

Her lewd moans pierced the music, stirring your excitement into a roaring flame as you chased in pursuit of her sound, desperate to procure more of it. 

“I have a… uh… hotel room upstairs,” you mumbled, your words clashing and colliding against the vicious assault of saliva, parching air and teeth. "We could-"

“Yes,” she interjected, breathlessly, adamant in her decision as she nodded in reiteration, “now.”

Intertwined fingers kept you undivided as you meandered through the bar area and towards the spiralling staircase. And perhaps it was blind optimism that led you to believe that you would survive the short journey, but whatever it was fell by the wayside the moment Emily’s back met the corridor’s wall. Her silver-grey tresses mussed against the jagged stone, her sights secured on returning your knee to its prior position, nestled snugly in the nook of her thighs. 

“I thought you’d never done this before,” you mused, tauntingly, your lips attaching to her pulse point and delighting in her audible response.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she challenged, her fingernails raking your scalp as she willed your lips into hers once more, her libido gaining traction, flourishing below your exertions.

The only shred of concealment existed in the way the sound from the bar below bled through the thin walls, the music muffling the guttural moans that sprung from her on continuum. Out of sight of the patrons, Emily was unrestrained, forceful, rutting against your thigh with clear intention, her hands enclosed around the back of your neck for leverage. 

“Fuck,” she cursed, impatiently, agitated by the way the material of her trousers stifled the pleasure that plagued her, working overtime with her hips to squeeze anything she could out of the contact. “Not enough,” she panted, hopelessly, “I need more.”

Her state of torment had proven too much for you to bear, intent on gifting exactly what she was yearning for. In a swift movement, your fingers slipped beneath the clothing that separated you, torrid wetness soon lapping against your hand, her head knocking backwards against the stone.

And the second her clit had arrived below your fingertips, Emily’s orbs darkened to jet, possessed with a greed so bottomless that it bewildered you. Her hips bucked wildly with every careful caress, your cunning smirk searing against her mouth as she whimpered and whined, occasionally reciprocating your affections with a breathy kiss. 

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” you growled, positively bewitched by the expression that clouded her, the obscene noises that fled free, unbridled. “So pretty when you moan for me, baby.”

Emily’s consciousness seemed to surge back into existence, an adorable beam bursting out from behind the pleasure that kept her engrossed, as if the part of herself she had been hiding had finally been rid of its cage. Her grip tightened upon you and when she recaptured your lips she appeared to have recovered a semblance of the composure that she had lost. This time, the kiss was strangely sentimental, her ferocity curbed, her touch noticeably softer, intentional. 

“Please,” she whispered, her plea breathing renewed zeal into you. “I need this, I need you.”

The allure in her voice only heightened your enthralment, your pace quickening along with the pressure that you delivered. Her clit slid rapidly below your fingers, arousal laving over it repeatedly as she drove her hips forward to meet your reckless motions. Haphazardly, you groped at her breast, plucking roughly at her nipple in the hopes of forcing her to the verge.

“That’s it, baby,” you praised, earnestly, launching forward to press open-mouthed kisses to her neck, her body flexing into rigidity against you, a suffocating heat settling around you. "Cum for me, like that, so good for me."

“Fuck!”

Protected in the firmness of your embrace, Emily trembled madly, crumbling against the wall as her knees buckled. Your strong hold shielded her from the floor below, her lifeless weight entirely dependent upon you as you swept her up, your sights set on the private confinements of the hotel room. 

You had assumed that you had been steadfast in your pacification of her, though as soon as you swiped the key and the door swung wide, her lips unleashed a faithful attack upon you. In the pitch dark, your hands clumsily scaled the walls in search of the light switch, Emily’s fists bunched against your shirt as she marched you towards the bed. 

Emily ripped every garment from her body, presenting herself in all of her naked glory as she collapsed onto the bed, awaiting you. Her eyes wordlessly beckoned you, alight with undying passion, unhinged craving and you were unable to refute her, ecstatic at the prospect of having her writhing against you again. 

You rid yourself of the inhibiting material that cloaked you, her gaze settling on the strap on that had suddenly become visible. A flitting glimpse of bewilderment passed over her, soon developing into a growing excitement that could not be denied. 

“Now, I think I know what to do with that,” she boasted, playfully, her teeth peeking out to clamp her bottom lip, your stare lowering to steal a glance at her glistening pussy, the visceral need to have her slowly infiltrating. 

“And I can’t wait to watch you take it,” you admitted, eagerly, her skin smooth as it brushed over yours, impatient to angle yourself against her spilling arousal.

There was no time for pleasantries, no need to pretend that anything else mattered save from filthy gratification. With a ferocious slam, you had bottomed out inside of her, a loudened shriek expelling from her until it ebbed out into a throaty hum. Emily’s jaw hung wide, sporadic breaths slipping in and out, her orbs abyssal, unblinking. 

“You’re taking me so well, baby,” you cooed, stooping your head to sink your teeth into her neck, the sharp sting of the bite inducing a violent jolt within her. “Such a good girl.”

A pitiful whimper emitted, her hands clutching around your neck as she urged you closer, deeper, lifting her hips in a fruitless bid to expedite the speed. Though you were more than happy to oblige, transforming your motion into one that seemed to exceed her initial expectation, brutal and unrelenting. 

“Feels… so good,” she quaked, her breasts rocking with every forcible pounding, your mouth landing to suckle on her nipple, her chest heaving upward to bask in the sensation. “Harder,” she groaned, her voice faint, though resolute in her demand. “Don’t- mhm, don’t hold back.”

Perspiration trailed at your brow, Emily’s cheeks tinged in a rosy glow as you focused on adhering to her request, every ounce of effort thrust forth, your hips driving with a force unmatched. Her eyes rolled into her head, occasionally locking onto you, a senseless smile playing on her lips. 

“Are you close, baby?” You asked, knowingly, her eyebrows softly drawing inwards, her breath ragged. “You keep those pretty eyes on me when you cum for me.”

She nodded, mindlessly, her fingers abruptly weaving themselves into your hair and tugging excessively, the pain almost draining the air from your lungs. 

“Gonna cum for you,” she rasped, her mouth melting into yours as her screams bled into your mouth. “Yes, fuck.”

And she was elegant even as she unravelled, so beautiful as she twitched and whined in the wake of you. Her thumbs caressed delicate patterns across your cheeks, her eyes falling to a close for a few drawling seconds. The silence was thick, though you were surprised to find that it did not feel uncomfortable at all, despite the fact that you were in the presence of a stranger. 

“Did you find your answer?” You smiled, casting away the unruly strands of silver from her face, a fleeting spurt of laughter filling the space.

“Not quite,” she replied, an almost unnoticeable simper evolving. “I think you should fuck me again, just to be sure.”

––--– ♡ –––--

––--– ♡ –––--

@ionlylikemarvelforthewomen ♡ @agenderrat ♡ @i-write-sometimes-maybe ♡ @sugaryspiciness ♡ @chiefemilyprentiss ♡

[babyleostuff]

orange peel theory with seventeen

the orange peel theory states that if your partner peel oranges for you without asking, they are truly in love with you

the ones that would be confused because “well duh, of course i’ll peel an orange for my significant other:

ꨄ︎ seungcheol, wonwoo, mingyu, chan

when he hands you the orange and sees you all smiley and happy he’s confused to say the least. surely peeling you an orange didn’t make you that excited? it was just an orange after all. you want to laugh seeing his confused, yet adorable expression - lower lip jutted out in a pout, a frown adorning his face, and big eyes looking back at you, but at the same time you felt bad for your poor boyfriend. you’d explain the whole “orange peel theory” and his confusion would grow even more.

“why is this even a thing? of course i’ll peel an orange for you. i’d peel all oranges for you if i had to. isn’t this the bare minimum?” this would make you even more sure of the fact that your boyfriend was an angel sent from heaven.

the ones that wouldn’t understand the theory so you’d have to sit them down and explain:

ꨄ︎ jun, hoshi, DK, seungkwan, vernon

he’d be a bit weirded out about you being so giddy as he’d pass you the peeled orange you asked for five minutes ago. “why are you so happy? you’re scaring me.” you’d quickly explain the “orange peel theory” happily munching on the fruit your boyfriend peeled for you, not really noticing the confusion on his face - you were too happy that he passed the “test” to notice anything. “baby hold on. what the fuck are you talking about?” the only thing he’d understand would be “oranges” and “love”, but how can oranges equal love?

“are oranges your current monthly hyperfixation?” he’d ask scratching his head. you’d giggle and drag him to the sofa where you’d explain everything again, slower this time, so he’d understand why peeling an orange meant so much to you.

the ones that would roll their eyes and pet your head (lovingly):

ꨄ︎ jeonghan, joshua, woozi, minghao

would that be the first time you put him through a silly test? no. did he mind being experimented on from time to time? definitely not - if doing them made you happy, he’d never dare to say anything. with this one he knew something was up the second you asked for an orange, it was such a random fruit that neither of you really ate that it had to be a tik tok trend you were putting him through. he’d smile softly at you sitting at the kitchen island impatiently waiting for him to either peel or not peel the fruit.

he could be mean and not peel it, but that would mean you’d be sad. did he want that though? of course not. he’d rather indulge in your silly little antics and put his mean side aside for a second and make you happy, than seeing you upset. he’d pass you the orange and kiss your cheek, still smiling.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday

[jjkeremika]

perverted thoughts

pussy eaters (eren, levi, reiner, armin)

AoT men that desperately want to remember what you taste like.

eren jaeger

eren was an absolute whiner. he’s very vocal about how it’s practically a punishment, not letting him lick and taste you every day. it’s the first thing he asked for in the morning, running his long veiny fingers up and down the soft skin of your thighs as his pleading eyes settle just below your belly button, his lips parting and jaw locking as he intensely eyes the one spot of your body.

the pout lived on his face as his bottom lip jutted out and he rounded his eyes. the same begging expression he wore every other morning, when he pleaded for an energizing taste, when he argued that you just couldn’t look and smell the way you did and expect him not to want to lick you raw.

but that was the problem. eren always got too carried away. he’d wrap your thighs around his neck and dig his sharp fingernails into the skin to plant them solid, and he’d hastily lick and suckle and bite for as long as he wanted, until you were red and sore and the area was overstimulating and you were desperately scrambling away and eren’s large hands were dangerously pulling you back.

he was demanding, but more needy, practically getting on his knees and setting his nose just above your clit so he can smell you as he begs to have you, his hands starting to claw at your thighs as you push his face away. “fucking hell, baby,” he’d haughtily sigh, a high-pitched whine gurgling from the depths of his lungs, “s’not fucking fair, you know.”

eren would capture you between his chest and the walls, hold you still by your wrists over your head as his lips would ever so closely hover over your skin. “c’mon, baby, please, i never ask,” he’d lie through drooling teeth, his fingers caressing at the skin between your shirt and pants, “just one fucking taste, that’s all, i swear.”

levi ackerman

the light sweat and scorching heat felt like a spotlight directly on his back. felt like everyone watching as levi stared at the wet spot on the sheets, as he thought about the way liquid poured around his fingers and right out of you this morning like an aggressively leaky faucet.

each time levi stuffed his fingers inside you a little more forcefully, like if he tilted at the right angle and jutted in at the right speed the liquid would almost be forced back inside, encapsulated by his fingers and providing him the perfect, warm basin to lick from, not a single drop spared from his tongue.

but you were running out of time this morning and his fingers lingered too long, had enough energy to be finger and eye fucked before your alarm was blaring and levi’s morning fantasy was ripped away.

and now he stood shamefully staring at the wet spot you created, the one that hadn’t dried because the room hadn’t warmed beyond morning chill. he touched it, let the cool wetness spread at his fingertip as he remembered how hot you felt when your muscles enveloped his digits, as he considered if temperature really added to the flavor, or just the experience.

he rested on his knees as he crawled over the shadow of your body, pushed down on the spot with his knuckle and felt the liquid crawling to his skin. he licked his lips, felt the drool slide off his thin bottom lip and watched it join the stain. levi touched his cheek to the mattress, felt himself go cross-eyed just to keep fixated on the spot your eagerness left behind, closed his eyes to the image of your lower half rutting onto his hand, loudly moaning for more as the noises of your hips meeting his hand echoed and joined.

“mmf, fuck,” levi groaned to himself, his nose inching closer to the stain and his tongue starting to drip with an unprecedented neediness, his erection throbbing against his jeans as the thought of touching his tongue to your clit raced into his mind. he was rubbing against his hand, felt the grip on his mind crumble as the one in the sheets fisted. levi nosed closer, felt the hot wave of embarrassment as he touched his teeth to the sheets, let his mouth cover the stain.

the cold caused a recoil, but the achingly familiar taste had levi’s teeth digging into the fabric and squeezing for more sweet remnants of you, frantically sniffing the sheets for your scent. he sucked on the sheets, his saliva deepening the stain, and the heat flushed his neck as he thought of you walking in on him, catching him in the gross act and chastising him, calling him impatient and lamenting him for his inability to wait, but the thoughts of you walking in transitioned into thoughts of you changing, and levi hastily sat upright as he thought of checking your hamper.

reiner braun

reiner outright felt like a pervert when the thought of your wet pussy gliding on his tongue popped into his head. the thought of you sat on top of his mouth like you’re claiming a rightful throne, his nose providing the perfect tilt and leverage to grind back on his tongue, made his brain tingle, and he liked the visual of you rested back on his chin, letting the erotic fluid flow down his neck and throat and nourish a new beard.

the uncomfortable heat was easy to set aside when he was affronted with these thoughts in your home office, with the scent of you thickly hung in the air, with the knowledge that you sat on that chair.

with one quick glance to the door, reiner dropped to his knees, rested his arms along and shoved his face into the seat of the office chair, warm from the sun or from your cushion. he stifled a moan as he thought of how his face was now mere centimeters to where your ass was, and he could picture you walking in to sit down, not even realizing he’d placed his head there first.

his hand was already undoing the fastener on his jeans when the familiar heat washed over him and he thought of licking the chair, of tasting any and all remnant of you that could exist, of picking up on that imprint your curvy ass left behind.

the thought of staying there, leaving his face ready and presenting as your chair, got him hot and bothered, made his wrist flick twice as fast and he moaned from deep within his throat. reiner bit the seat and felt the awkward motion stagger up his jawline as he considered how pretty your thighs would look, collapsing on top of him, sitting so nicely on his cheeks, as the smell of you enveloped him, as the taste of you registered on his tongue, as all of you took over his senses.

armin arlet

his expansive imagination wasn’t always a virtue. when his mind drifted to the exposed skin near your clavicles, to the tasteful dip to your sternum and the ripples by your ribs, his shaded eyes and his smile became less than innocent.

armin was curious, an explorer by nature, and that curiosity extended to your body, understanding every dip and curve caused by a bone or a muscle, learning each landmark freckle and mole. you were an ever-changing story, with new scars and pores and spots that he imagined discovering and rediscovering.

he wanted to touch his tongue to each mark, like he were metaphorically planting a flag, claiming you as his own. he wanted to run his fingers along your skin, like his hands were sails and he was charting your ocean.

the saliva pooled in his mouth like a lake as armin thought of dipping between your legs, thought of letting his tongue skinny dip inside the natural reservoir. he stared at the grapefruit in front of him, thought of how you must taste sweetly similar, and picked it up hesitantly.

he brought it to his lips, let his curiosity get the better of him and poked his tongue out, licked daintily before repeating the stroke confidently the second time. he cautiously licked at the fruit, debated internally if he should squeeze some juice to simulate how he thought you’d respond, how he so eagerly hoped to find out.

armin could practically hear you calling his name as the juice stained his lips, the grin on his face almost overbearing and overwhelming him from the playful licking. he wrapped his other arm around his neck, played into the illusion of you pulling him in, let himself pretend you tasted so bitterly sweet.

[corroded-hellfire]

Okay this is random but I work at a daycare and this little boy who’s about two years old looks exactly like his dad and their eyes are just so blue and distinctive but he has his mom’s hair and I was just wondering if you could write something like that with Eddie x reader, I just think it would be so cute to see their little mini me ! I love your work so sos much no pressure if you don’t want to of course:) 

Eddie as a father? If only I had some experience writing that 😜 I hope you enjoy your and Eddie’s little mini me!

Words: 900

“Can you believe it?”

“No. I mean, it’s been two years and no.”

Max and Dustin sit on the floor of your living room, watching your son rummage through the toy box on the other side of the deep brown coffee table until he finds something suitable to play with his babysitters.

Bret settles on his Fisher Price Rescue Hero action figures and tries to collect as many of them in his tiny arms as he can. A few curly strands of hair fall into his eyes which he shakes out of the way as well as he can manage in this position. Satisfied with the haul he’s gathered, he lugs himself out of the toy box and toddles back over to his favorite aunt and uncle. At least that’s what Max and Dustin tell themselves. 

“He’s like their clone,” Max speaks softly as Bret sits down and spreads the toys around his small body to get a better look. “Dad’s hair curls. Mom’s hair color.”

“Dad’s eye color, Mom’s skin tone. Jesus, I’d swear Eddie grew him in a lab if he knew the first thing about science.”

“Technically, Bret is here because of biology,” Max teases as the two-year-old in question hands the redhead a construction worker action figure.

“The one aspect of science Eddie’s willing to experiment with time and time again,” Dustin says. 

“Hmm?” the little boy asks Max, having heard her say his name.

“Huh?” Max asks, looking down at the youngest Munson. “Oh. Um, what game are we playing?”

“We playin’ heroes!” Bret announces, having the firefighting action figure he’s holding fly in an arc over his head. 

“Are they superheroes?” Dustin asks. He lays flat on his stomach to be more on an equal level with the toddler. Action figures of every occupation are spread out in front of him on the plush navy blue carpet. 

“Not all,” Bret says with a shrug, which is the spitting image of one of your usual quirks. 

“Which one do you want to be?” Max asks. 

Bret’s eyes scan the variety of toys laid out around him, his small tongue peeking out from between his lips as he thinks about it. Max can’t help but chuckle at the familiar image in front of her, just on a smaller scale. 

“I don’t know!” Bret pouts, his lower lip jutting out. He slumps down on the carpet, his head coming to rest on his Uncle Dusty’s shoulder. 

“Aw, come on, Mini Munson.” Dustin rolls onto his back and lifts Bret over his head. The two-year-old giggles wildly and starts to kick his feet as if he’s trying to swim away. The laughter is so loud and piercing that none of the three hear the front door opening.

“Careful,” Eddie says as he walks into the room, you trailing just behind him. “He had a few waffles for breakfast, and I don’t want to see them come back up over Uncle Dusty’s face.”

Bret giggles—slightly evilly—as if this would be hilarious.

You set your purse down and slip your shoes off, throwing Max a smile.

“How was the troublemaker?”

“The usual amount of trouble,” she tells you.

“So, nowhere near as much as his father. Got it.” 

Your husband walks towards Dustin, ready to scoop your son up out of his grip, but the little boy squeals and dodges his hands.

“Hey,” Eddie pouts, which only makes Bret giggle. “Bret Michael Munson. Are you trying to escape your old man?”

“Yeah!” he replies cheerfully, making Dustin laugh. 

Eddie softly kicks his best friend’s shoulder with his socked foot. 

Across the room, Max accepts the glass of water you hand her.

“How was your afternoon date?” she asks.

“It was fun. The weather’s really nice and I beat Eddie by three points because he couldn’t hit his ball through the little windmill,” you say with a giggle.

“You’re definitely going to have to be the one to teach Bret to play mini golf,” Max says. 

The two of you look over to your son, where he seems to be the object of a game of keep away between Eddie and Dustin. Bret giggles wildly, his face scrunching up in a way that makes the tip of his nose wiggle.

“It’s so crazy how much he looks like you when he scrunches his face like that,” Max says, shaking her head in amazement. 

Bret must’ve caught his aunt’s words because he looks over at the two of you, a tiny furrow between his brows.

“But Mommy’s a girl!” he protests. 

You blow him a kiss and he’s quickly sucked back into whatever game he’s playing with the guys. 

Once Bret is tuckered out from the roughhousing, he plops down on Dustin’s chest and Eddie makes his way over to you. He catches wind of your and Max’s conversation of how your son looks just like the two of you. When Max slips away to grab her things, Eddie places his hands on your hips from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder. 

“Wanna make another one and see if they look more like you or me?”

Just the thought sends a pleasant tingle down your spine.

“You’re on, Munson. Meet me in our room. Nap time.”

“Bret’s or mine?”

A snort of laughter bursts out of you, causing Eddie to smile and only hold onto you tighter. 

[cameronspecial]

Really, Rafe?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Couple Arguments and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: What is supposed to be a romantic getaway starts to feel like something else when Y/N realizes the type of activities the resort has.

A/N: Inspired by this post (Totally not because Tom Holland liked the post).

Masterlist

One rule in their relationship is that Y/N and Rafe take turns planning dates. Everything from small picnic dates to large vacation dates. This time, it is his turn to plan a vacation. When it comes to holiday trips, it doesn’t have to be far or grand. It could be a small thing, as long as it is a getaway from their normal life for at least two days. The last one they went on was when they both went to a small beach house in Myrtle Beach. Y/N was lucky enough to have found a private rental away from most of the city’s commotion. It was just the ocean, cocktails and the two of them for a week. It was absolute Heaven. As she watches the scenery pass by, Y/N can’t help her excitement as to where they are going. “Can’t you tell me where we are going?” she pleads. Her eyes are as big as dinner plates. He gently squeezes her thigh and throws her a smile, “That’s a secret for me to know and for you to find out.” She giggles with a shake of her head. “That is such a cliche saying.” He shrugs, “So? It still doesn’t mean I am going to tell you.” She gives him a playful pout and continues to look out of the window. 

Ten minutes later, the dense forest turns to equally placed decorative trees and the paved road turns to decorative stones. He parks the car and steps out to open the door for her. She takes in the castle-like resort. The golden trimming and fascia remind the girl of Versailles. She imagines all sorts of things they can do together. Sit by the pool with a drink in hand. Relax thanks to the hands of a masseuse. Dine in fairytale-like restaurants. It takes her breath away, but only for a second because she finally spots the real reason why they are here. To the right of the building are expansive green plains with people of various ages swinging back a club to send the ball flying through the air. Y/N notices Rafe isn’t by her side and turns to find him unloading his golf clubs from the trunk. He packed the trunk, so she didn’t notice it. Disappointment falls over her as it all clicks into place. 

“Really, Rafe?” she disgruntled. Her arms cross over each other and her right hip juts out. He looks at her with a tight-lipped smile, “What? This place has a great high tea evening, which I know you’ve been dying to try. And they have an indoor and outdoor pool that you could take advantage of. Plus, a great spa package for you to try.” This man is really digging his own grave. She lets out a bitter laugh. “You do realize through your whole little spiel, you always said you. Never we, like you expect me to do all those things by myself while you go off and spend all your time with your golf clubs,” she argues. Rafe’s eyes widen, “No, Sugar, you got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I planned on doing all those things with you. I promise I just brought my clubs in case you got sick of me and I need to give you some space.” She didn’t believe him. Not when a previous experience told her otherwise. It may have been four years ago when they started dating, yet a girl never forgets. Rafe had planned a date at a football bar. It would’ve been fine if his sole reasoning wasn’t to be surrounded by TVs to watch the game. Halfway through the date, other football fans joined their table to watch the event with him. She felt so ignored and unimportant during that hour. She left the date without so much as a goodbye.

She wouldn’t have seen him again if it wasn’t for how apologetic he was. He expressed remorse through his words and then flowers. She eventually forgave him, agreeing to another date. However, she never forgot the way that she felt in that bar. The humiliation of walking away from a man who paid her no attention. Up until today, she never regretted the decision to give him a second chance. Now, she feels the same way. She worries he didn’t listen to her concern about them not being able to spend a lot of quality time with each other because of how busy they have been with work. It’s the reason why they decided to go on this two-week getaway. To reconnect with each other and they couldn’t do that if he planned to spend all his time on the course. “Sure, that’s totally why you did it. If you didn’t want to spend time with me, Rafe, you could’ve told me. I would’ve given you the space and you wouldn’t have had to drag me with you here,” she criticizes, storming into the hotel to calm down.

———

For the past five minutes, she has been cooling herself down in the resort lobby. Rafe has been at the front desk, probably checking into their room. She doesn’t know if she should stay or just call a cab to take her to the nearest train station. She watches as he points in her direction and the receptionist gives him a nod. The woman removes herself from behind the counter, walking over to Y/N with a smile. “Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N? Could you please follow me to the front desk?” the receptionist, named Kate according to her name tag, asks. Y/N hesitates to nod, yet still obeys the request. Once at the front desk, Y/N keeps her distance from Rafe. Kate types into her computer and turns it toward the female guest, “Mr. Cameron requested I show you all the bookings he made for stay here.” Rafe’s girlfriend stares at him with narrow eyes and he leans in to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t tell her what happened. I just asked her to show you what I booked.” She gives him a small nod, turning her attention toward the screen.  

The list is long, but it is easy to recognize a pattern. Everything is reserved for a couple and not a single one is a tee-time reservation. She couldn’t argue that he had Kate remove his tee times because literally every single minute between nine in the morning and seven in the evening had something planned. She made a horrible mistake and accused Rafe of not caring about her. She turns to him with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, Rafe,” she apologizes, wrapping her arms around him. He lets her snuggle into his neck and wraps his arms around her waist. His lips rest on her forehead, “It’s okay, Sugar, I know I was really an ass on that date so long ago. I mean I can’t say I’m not hurt that you still think I could still be that idiot, but I am grateful every day that you chose to forgive me. Which means that I have it in my heart to forgive you too. I love you.” She presses her lips against his. “Thank you for forgiving me. I love you too.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[irndad]

just read your runner!hotch x sunshine!reader and omigosh that was soooooooooooooooo cute! I'm so happy you're happy to continue with those two in an au!

can I request one of them where hotch manages to get reader to go on a run with him? <3

“You hate me. You hate me and want me to die.”

Aaron can tell she wants to be deadpan but the gasps give it away. He’s hopelessly endeared but he sight of her, her little vest zip up that he’d gotten for her for their three mont-anniversary. He tries to be courteous like that, remembering the months. It’s not like he forgets. 

She looks adorable, her bottom lip jutting out into an involuntary pout, her expressive brows pinched into frustration. Her hair is in a claw clip, and she’s still worn the lipstick she loves in flagrant disregard of good sense. That’s my girl, he thinks to himself. 

“I’d like to think you know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that,” he replies, smiling. 

“There’s nothing else this could be!” she says, finally touching the bench. They’d done one lap. “You’re a sadist, Agent Hotchner. Someone should investigate you.”

It’s actually quite comical, how she leans down and holds the arm of her bench,  and catches her breath. He feels light in a way he hasn’t in a long time. There’s now ay she could know this- he hasn’t told her, likes to meet her in her lightness and sweetness when he can- but this past week has been punishing. She’s been the highlight of it, greeting him at his home with a bright smile and a book for Jack. He’d felt an immense gratefulness, for her attention and her affection. How rare is it, for someone like Aaron to be cherished like this?

“Sweetheart,” he says, warmth dripping from his tone, “I swear to you I only am looking for your health.”

She turns around to be facing him, and despite the fact he’s sure it’s not the most sensory pleasant experience, she wraps her arms around his neck. He returns in kind, wrapping her in his strong arms. It’s nice, the feeling of enveloping her. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Hotchner.” 

He’s very, very lucky indeed. 

[moonstruckme]

i recently started following you and i absolutely love your writing! you have such great talent!

no pressure at all and feel free to scream at me if this is out of your boundaries (i read ur guidelines so it shouldn’t be but you never know). I’m curious if you could write reader with literally anyone, just in denial that they like them. like she used to go out with really shifty guys and is just appalled that this person actually likes them

(this definitely isn’t self-indulgent at all….)

Thanks for requesting baby! (I would never scream at you lmao) I did this with dealer Eddie, hope that's alright :)

cw: weed, mention of transactional sex

dealer!Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Eddie’s grinning big when he opens the door to his trailer. He takes off his headphones, hanging them around his neck. You can hear Black Sabbath still playing from the speakers. 

“Hey.” His voice has a slightly raspy quality to it, and you wonder if he’s been singing or smoking. “You lookin’ for a fix, pretty?” 

You grasp the strap of your bag self-consciously, forcing a bouncy “yep” past your lips. Eddie’s got a way of saying things that makes you feel awkward and flighty, like your heart might lurch right out of your ribcage at any moment. It should be routine by now, but you’ll probably never get over it. 

Eddie only nods and opens the door further, inviting you in. He sets a hand on your back as you go by, and you try not to look as shy as the touch makes you feel. 

“Same as usual?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You lean against the counter while he crosses the room to the drawer where he keeps his stash. 

You’ve been coming to Eddie for years now. You weren’t exactly friends in high school but you were always friendly, and every time you leave his place you’re freshly shocked by the realization that you actually really like him. You appreciate that he keeps it business. Well, as business as anything can be with Eddie. Flirting is just part of the package, but he doesn’t try to smoke your stuff after he sells it to you and doesn’t seem to expect anything other than money in return. Shitty as it sounds, a dealer like that can be hard to come by in your experience.

“I’ve been missing you, sweet thing,” he says, taking out a big zip lock bag of bud and a smaller one to portion yours into. “Thought you might’ve found someone else to keep you happy.” 

You don’t respond for a second, and Eddie’s head tilts up from where he’s picking through the bag, eyebrows going up in intrigue.

“I was seeing this guy for awhile,” you say, looking sideways out the window. “He got pre-rolls from someone else, and he’d let me have them sometimes.” 

“Well shit, I can roll for you if it’ll keep you coming over.” 

You look at Eddie in surprise. He grins at you, jutting his chin towards the couch. 

“Sit down, I’ll get you set up.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you say. 

“Gotta keep my favorite customer happy, don’t I?” You don’t move, and his smile softens into something more genuine. “It’s no problem, just sit down. Tell me about this guy. Does he treat you right?” 

You follow directions, going to sit on the less saggy and dingy-looking of the couch cushions while Eddie bends over the counter across from you. “Not really,” you say indifferently. As if thinking about it doesn’t send a dull ache blooming through your middle. “We aren’t together anymore.” 

Eddie glances up at you, something odd flitting across his expression. “That sucks,” he says bluntly. “I’m sorry. I mean, it sounds like he sucked, so I guess I’m not sorry that it’s over even if I’m sorry that you’re sad. Are you sad?” 

A little laugh startles out of you. “Not really,” you say, and it’s halfway to honest. You’d been sad to break up with him, but Eddie is right; he sucked. You’re not really sad it’s over either. 

“Good.” He nods, appeased. “Thought I’d have to go beat someone up or something.” 

You snort, and Eddie’s mouth drops open in offense. He looks back down at the roll, sticking his tongue in his cheek as he shakes his head.

“Feels like you’re not taking my threat of vengeance super seriously.” 

“No, I am,” you laugh. “I am, it’s just—you don’t seem like someone who wins a ton of fights.” 

“Ah!” He clutches a fist over his heart, looking at you in absolute betrayal. “So little faith! I’ve fought worse monsters than your jilted beaux, okay?” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m guessing it’s a little different in real life than in your game.” 

Eddie pauses for a half a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far in your teasing, but then he bends back over the table, bringing the paper to his mouth. “Right.” He runs his tongue quickly across the roll. “Well, anyway, I have a spear in my garage if you want me to give it a try.” 

You smile at the thought of Eddie jabbing his (in your imagination, plastic and nerdy) spear at your most recent ex. 

“Thanks, but I think I’m good,” you say. 

He shrugs. “Your loss. I’d have taken off my shirt for the battle, but I guess you’ll have to get that show another time.” 

You laugh, crossing your legs as he starts on another roll. “Hey, you don’t actually have to roll all this,” you say. “I won’t stop coming to you.” 

“I don’t mind it,” he replies, packing the next with easy, practiced movements. “Unless you’re in a rush or something. Do you have to go?” 

“No, I’m…I’m good.” You’ve never spent this long at Eddie’s place before. It’s usually that you show up, he gives you a bag, you pay, and you leave. You’ve never taken much time to survey the trailer, the way Eddie moves around the cramped furniture with such ease or the way the windows let in just enough light to make his skin look softer and his eyes browner. “You can leave half of it, though, if that’s okay. I’ve still got a bowl at home.” 

“Whatever you want.” He keeps his focus downward, ringed fingers moving carefully. “You know, I’ve actually kind of missed having you come around.” 

“You said that already.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling even though he’s not looking. “I told you I’ll keep coming back, Eddie, you don’t have to butter me up.” 

His gaze flicks to you, eyebrows rising on his forehead. “I’m not,” he says.

Something about his tone has the hairs raising on the back of your neck. You keep intentionally still as a slight chill goes through you. 

“I like hanging out with you.” He shrugs, looking back at his roll. “Would you want to hang out again soon?” 

You hesitate. “I…don’t think I’ll be needing any more for a bit.” 

“Well, ideally you wouldn’t be here to buy.” 

For a second, you’re confused, and then realization and dread collide in your gut with enough force to make you nauseous. The disappointment is more potent than either of them. 

“Oh.” Maybe Eddie isn’t so different from the other dealers you’ve had after all. “Um, I just feel like I’ve always paid in cash…” 

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and then his entire face contorts. “Christ—no.” He drops the finished roll, holding up his palms as if to ward you off. “Not that! Ew—I mean—” His hands go to his head. “—not ew, like you’re not ew, I just—gah.” He drops his head back, and his fingers disappear into his hair, making fists. He looks almost pained. “I like you. Like, I’m not trying to have sex with you right now. Not that sex wouldn’t be cool—we could if you wanted to—but that’s not what I’m getting at.” 

He blows out a big breath, hands dropping to his knees, and looks you in the eye. 

“Can we just forget about the weed for a second?” he asks, sounding nearly desperate. “I’m trying to ask you on a date. Not to get you to fuck me for drugs.” Your mouth drops open, but Eddie keeps going. “And if you don’t want to go out, that’s totally cool. Very respectable, honestly. It doesn’t have to affect anything.” He presses his lips together. “I didn’t mean to say you were ew. I’m sorry.” 

You’re too shell-shocked to even laugh. You have whiplash. But now he’s looking at you with his big eyes all expectant, and you feel like you have to say something. 

“A date?” you ask. 

“Uh, yeah.” He leans against the counter, looking a bit awkward but somehow all the more endearing for it. “Like, to the arcade or maybe dairy queen or something—I don’t know, you can pick.” 

“And you…don’t want to have sex.” 

“I don’t not want to have sex,” he clarifies. “But, uh, we don’t have to at all. Like, only if you want to, and definitely not if you think it’s some sort of…” Eddie winces “...transaction.” 

You nod slowly, and now there’s a smile tugging persistently at your lips. “That sounds good,” you say. “The date part.” 

“Yeah?” His head picks up. “Really?”

You smile. “Yeah. Are you sure?” 

“Am I sure?” Eddie guffaws. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure. I’m getting a much better deal here. But no take-backs,” he says quickly, and his grin widens when you laugh. “Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Um, yeah.” You think for a second, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing tomorrow.” 

“Great.” Eddie presses his lips together like he’s trying to contain the full scope of his smile. He pushes his fingers into the countertop. “Okay, forget everything from today. I’m gonna be such a fucking gentleman when I pick you up tomorrow, you probably won’t even recognize me.”