#like the tenderness of it all.......... i love it

[lalunanymph]

✧.* IN BLOOM

✧.* summary summer rains bring about the faint scent of asiatic apple blossoms wafting through the house from an open window in the kitchen. time stands still, fragments of moments leading you right to this very second. you take his hand and a deep breath. “anywhere you go, that’s where I want to be, caleb.” 

it’s all the permission he needs. 

✧.* warnings first time, mutual virginity loss, slightttt psuedo-cest if you squint, soft and smutty, size kink, spanking, oral sex, mating press, dirty talk, breeding, slight aftercare at the end, pillowtalk

✧.* dawn says something different from the dark content i usually write and tried my best to balance fluff and the feelings of losing your v-card for the first time (cue rose from titanic's voice: "it's been 84 yearsssss…")

It’s the middle of the night somewhere in Skyhaven. 

The street lights reflect puddles of rain left from a thunderstorm, and the air smells faintly of petrichor, reassuring weary strays and rain-soaked passersby alike that the worst is already over. 

While the world dries off from another raging tempest, inside Caleb’s home, you’re in his arms, warm and tipsy from the intimacy of shallow breaths gracing your parted lips. 

Smack. Huff. A caress. 

Slick and hot, the soft sounds of his kisses make you flush deeper, and you tighten your fingers in his hair. 

Caleb moans, unrestrained, as he feels you shift on his lap. Like a drug, he can’t get enough of you. The smell of wildflowers in your hair, how you taste like the strawberry balm he bought for you days ago when you complained of chapped lips. Slick fruitiness glides over his parched mouth, making his kisses glide effortlessly. 

He tangles his tongue with yours, sending a jolt of desire running up your spine. 

“Mhmph,” you moan against his mouth. “Oh… Caleb .” 

His name, sticky sweet with cadences of love, slips past your bruised lips, and he swears his heart chokes on a stutter.

Cool fingers push a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and he hums, those purple eyes vortexes of yearning. The maelstrom of emotion in them makes your chest squeeze, and you lean into his touch, breath coming out in a soft huff.

The unspoken tenuous line looms before the two of you, and you wonder if tonight is the night you’ll dare cross it. 

Flames from the digital fireplace flicker, synchronous with the temperature on the thermostat bumping up a notch, the one Caleb got installed because you grumbled that Skyhaven was colder than you remembered. Beads of sweat drip down his temples, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. 

You gently run the back of your hand against the muggy skin, wiping his perspiration away. 

This close, your breaths mingle and blend into one, the tips of your nose rubbing against each other. 

Inevitably, Caleb would pull back, sigh, and tell you to go to sleep while he takes a ridiculously long cold shower. You’d be left alone in your room, an ache blooming between your thighs, and frustration keeping you up all night.

That bastard. 

At your core, you understand your ex-older brother figure didn’t mean to edge you to the precipice of oblivion. His protective tendencies, while great in keeping danger away from you, are a hindrance to taking the next, natural step forward together.

As you feather another kiss to his jaw, you feel him pull back. 

Caleb’s cheeks are ruddy, not from the heat of the room, but from the one building between the two of you. 

He licks his lips, inadvertently drawing your attention to the puffy flesh which is still sticky from your errant smears of lip oil. With a huge sigh, he drags himself back from your orbit, as if he can’t bear to be within crashing distance of your surface. 

“Pipsqueak, it’s late,” Caleb whispers, the tenderness of his words brushing against your earlobe. 

You shiver when his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. 

“You need to sleep—”

Stubbornly, or perhaps, foolishly, you tighten your grip around his neck and drag him closer to you till his forehead bumps yours.

Your lips seek him with a newfound determination, and he almost stumbles back into the stuffed cushion, a moan of desperation slipping past his carefully crafted self-control. 

“Pip—”

“No,” you mumble heatedly, and drag your tongue across his lower lip, begging him for access into his mouth. 

Caleb reluctantly parts his lips and you tangle your tongue with his, tasting the sweetness of the apple soda he just drank half an hour ago. 

“Mhm,” he moans, and gives in to your momentary distraction, knotting his fingers into your already disheveled hair.

Something hard pokes your lower belly, and you whine into the heat of his kisses, running your tongue over the hard palate of his teeth. 

Caleb tightens his grip on your hips, and relents into the force of your yearning, feeling the contours of your body melting against the hard planes of his own muscular build. You shiver when he dips his fingers past the hemline of the tank top you’re wearing, your breasts pressed up to his chiseled pecs. He’s bare except for a low-slung pair of sweatpants, temptation right in the palm of your hand.

Your nipples pebble from the friction of his body slowly rubbing against yours, and the need he’s been stoking throbs warmly between your thighs, an aching thirst demanding to be quenched.

“ Caleb… ” 

The whispered moan feathers across his cheeks, grazing him with the warm softness that is entirely you.

In his arms, you’re sin waiting to be devoured—those doe-innocent eyes and warm, wet mouth that get him harder than steel. 

He whimpers when your lower body drags against his bulge, and winces when you giggle and gently nip his lower lip.

“Pipsqueak—”

Hoarse and ragged, the sound of your childhood nickname brings you up short.

“Caleb, why do you always insist on calling me that when I’m trying to… you know…” you trail off, equally as shy as him. 

It’s clear he doesn’t expect you to directly address the elephant in the room. But, after almost losing him once to the explosion and another time to his spiraling secrets, you desperately want to hold on to the man who had taught you what love was.

Caleb’s thumbs stroke the fleshy part of your hips, drawing tender circles on your skin. Those purple eyes flash like a doleful puppy’s and you resist the urge to pinch his cheek. He looks like he’s in pain—as if one touch from you could break him. 

“Are you sure?” 

His voice is hoarse. Uncertain.

“Once we do this, it’s…” he trails off. Years of knowing his ins and outs make you privy to the true meaning of his hesitation: 

Are you sure you want to cross this line with me? 

Your fingers tremble when they caress his jaw. Summer rains bring about the faint scent of Asiatic apple blossoms wafting through the house from an open window in the kitchen. 

Time stands still, fragments of moments leading you upright to this very second. 

You take his hand and a deep breath. Caleb sees your crystal clear eyes, free from the shadows of the doubt creeping into his mind. He tastes the first stirrings of hope, right in the center of his rib cage where his heart pounds valiantly, and tightens his grip on your hand.

You look at him like he’s something precious —gold and gems in the palm of your hand. Tenderly, you press a kiss to his forehead, tasting the salt of his skin, and murmur: 

“Anywhere you go, that’s where I want to be, Caleb. ” 

It’s all the permission he needs. 

Caleb snaps you up into his arms effortlessly, using his unbeatable strength to carry you back to his bedroom, his lips never leaving yours.

The heat of the moment is only broken when he sets you down on the bed, his lips detaching from yours for a moment to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking his marks all over the pristine canvas of your skin. You gasp, arching into his touch, when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your shoulder; biting down on the stretch of skin just begging to be marked by him.

He slides the strap of your tank top to the side, stamping more heated kisses down onto your shoulder, the jut of your arm. Every loving graze is punctuated by his devotion, those violet eyes brewing with the storm of his affection about to snap and break. 

Caleb… you whine, and he answers with a low grunt, his entire weight bearing down on you.

As kids, he’s always had the unfair advantage of his build and age to win at wrestling. Gran would often find the two of you entangled on the rug, you flushed and seething and him glowing with triumph when he’s won—yet again. 

But, the press of his body on yours is different this time. 

It carries a more intimate intention, all of which is far from the innocence of playfully fighting each other for the last hawthorn-flavored candy in the fridge, or the privilege of choosing what Saturday morning cartoons to watch. 

He sweeps your hair back, letting it drape over your other shoulder as he moves his lips to the delicate stretch of skin still untouched by the heat of his mouth. Caleb’s teeth graze your pulse point, and you jerk, as if electrocuted. 

“Nghm,” you moan, and he huffs a chuckle, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt across your arms. “ Fuc—”

“Uh-uh,” he chastises, the heat of his mouth swelling over your pulse point, gently sucking on your skin. Leaving another errant mark. “Don’t swear—good princesses never swear.”

Teeth sink into your lower lip. You feel dizzy and elated at the same time like you’re standing on the highest point of the earth, looking down at the swirling colors below.

“Ngh—C-Caleb. ” 

Oh, you sound so weak. Already driven to your knees, metaphorically, for this man who had as much power over you as you did over him. 

“Yeah, princess?” 

He moves his lips down to your sternum, hot puffs making your nipples perk up from her dormant slumber. They tent underneath the ratty, old t-shirt you’re wearing, the one that used to belong to him, demanding to be sucked and teased.

Caleb is careful to not push your boundaries, but you don’t want any of that.

Grabbing his head, you press it none-too-gently in between the valley of your tits, wordlessly signaling what you need.

His dog tag shines in the low light of his bedroom, the apple charm a glint of red that complements the fog of lust taking over you. Everywhere you look, you feel, is nothing but Caleb.

He presses you flat into the bed, the sheets bunching up under you and in your tight fists. 

“Don’t touch… not yet. Can you follow my orders, baby?” 

There’s no choice for you, but to nod. 

Slowly, like molasses dripping from the lip of a bottle, he wraps his mouth around your turgid, right nipple. The dampness of his saliva seeps past the thin fabric, and you cry out when he bites down on your bud, the brief flash of pain lighting up your nerves from head to toe.

 Slick need saturates the seat of your old sleep pants. You whimper when the head of his cock drives between the cleft of your pussy, digging against your clit. 

Sparks of pleasure ricochet from the tips of your fingers up to your hairline and you groan, mouth falling lax.

He takes his time, swirling his tongue over your tender peak, broad strokes of his tongue spreading more spit and heat, wetting the front of your shirt. It’s methodical, how every stroke of attention stacks up to a building heat throbbing at your core.

A supernova of desire, bulging and waiting to explode.

(And, he hasn’t even fucked you yet).

Caleb moves his attention to your other peak, and you cry out when he nibbles on it, your hands breaking formation from the bed where he’s ordered them to be stationed, and tangling disobediently in his dark hair.

But, he doesn’t chastise you. 

Caleb continues to purl swathes of his tongue over your tender nipple, flickering his darkened gaze up to the line of your jaw as the pleasure unfurls across your heated face.

You choke on another cry when he pries your thighs further apart, settling his bigger build between them. 

“Look at you.” Heated derision drips from his venomous lips, and you lap them up, tilting his head up to taste his lips. You’re not sure how you ended up in this position when it was you who wanted this. The last bit of control you have dissipates, and your body falls open for him like the spine of a well-read book. 

It scares you how much Caleb knows about your body. The small scar above your knee when you crashed your bike into the wide trunk of an oak tree. The grooves of your neck now bear his kisses and marks.

Despite staying true to his word about never getting a girlfriend, Caleb is mysteriously nimble and sure for a virgin. 

“Did you have another girl before me?”

You don’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words fly from your puffy lips and you can’t take them back.

Not when he glances up at you as if you had insulted thirteen generations of his family.

“Uh—no,” he mutters defensively, caustically pushing back his sweat-soaked bangs from his flushed face. “ Excuseeee me, princess. What’s with that tone? You know you’re the only woman I’d ever touch.”

You purse your lips and level him another glare, though it’s tempered by a glowing warmth in your chest. 

“R-really?” 

You hate how whiny you sound, like a psychotic girlfriend. But, Caleb does have a penchant for bringing out the crazy in you when you least expect it.

He brings your knuckles to his lips, feathering a soft kiss on them. “Yeah. Why do you think I took so many cold showers growing up? This little pipsqueak is far too tempting for me.” He punctuates his point with another kiss on the nape of your neck. 

His Adam's apple bobs from the admission, and your eyes widen. 

“Huh. I seeee .” 

You drag your words like him, playfully pinching his cheek. “That’s… kinda sweet.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his gruffness reminds you of a ruffled puppy, and you laugh, tugging his silver chain with two fingers. 

The scene flickers. The man on top of you cracks, and a fragment of the boy you grew up with glimmers; the past merges with the present, and the essence of who Caleb is grins mischievously right in front of you. 

Like so many times before, he tackles you onto the bed, hands flying underneath your shirt to tickle your sides.

“No! Caleb! I yield! I yield—! ” 

Your infectious laughter bounces across the monochromatic walls of his room and fills his lungs with bubbles of joy. 

“Yeah, you better,” he threatens jokingly. While you’re still giggling, he grabs the hem of your shirt and gives it an experimental tug. When you don’t resist, Caleb pushes the envelope of your consent and lifts the shirt past the smooth terrain of your tummy, inching it up slowly… so slow… 

His fingers are trembling, and you take over, helping him with the last stretch, leaning up to tug your shirt completely off your body. 

Your chest squeezes with a mix of dread and anticipation when he eyes your bare breasts, a myriad of emotions flitting across those deep-set purple eyes.

Need, desire, shame, anger—tenderness.

His eyes speak the truth, even when he remains silent, and no matter how much he changes into the stoic Colonel you now have to coincide with your gentle older brother figure, those irises will always betray his true emotions for you. 

Now, they’re gooey with a feeling neither of you can name, as he peppers more kisses around the plush fat of your breast. Taking his time, he teases you with puffs of hot breath and grazes of his teeth.

Working you up to a crescendo of need before he gives you what you want. 

And god, do you want it.

Your body is arching tighter than a bow ready to strike, so keyed up from his few touches and the previous makeout session. 

“Caleb—”

“Yeah, gotcha.” 

He samples the flavor of your skin, closer now to your nipple. Your thoughts flat lines into a white-hot buzzing hum when he finally— finally —wraps his lips around your tender bud. 

Fuuucckkk. Your keening sigh sends a chill straight to his bones. 

Suckling tenderly, he pulls the taut flesh into the enticing vacuum of his mouth and releases it, forming a small ‘O’ with his puffy lips and moving on to your next breast. 

The twinge of unending sucking and nibbling rubs your tender flesh raw. 

Caleb… Caleb… 

You’re panting like you’re racing a marathon. He leaves a bunch of hickies down the pillowy fat of your tits, making his mark loud and clear on your body for the world to see.

A possessive hint curls on the edges of his smile and he braces himself on his forearms, juicy biceps glistening in the interplay of shadow and light in this muggy room. 

Peeling your glassy eyes at him, you huff, grumbling.

“Tease.”

He laughs heartily at your adorable accusation.

“Never said I wasn’t a right bastard, love,” he coos, cocky and sure. You want to wipe the smirk off his infuriatingly handsome face.

Leaning up, your spit-soaked nipples rub the hard planes of his broad chest, and you tangle your hand in his hair, drawing him down into the plush sin of your eager kisses.

“S-low down,” he huffs, smothered by your smacking little puckers. 

You giggle, a vixen on the loose, needing to rein her mate in. “Nuh-uh. Not until you finally fuck me senseless.”

Caleb cocks a brow. “S’that an invitation, darlin’?” 

Stuttering, you realize your mistake a second too late when he prowls over you, pressing you into the mattress, fluid like a panther locking sights on its prey.

“ Wait— ”

Caleb wastes no time hooking his thumbs under the frayed band of your shorts, tugging it down in staccato drags to mess with you. 

“ Caleb—! ” 

You whine, more turned on than annoyed by his teasing. It’s not until the sight of your mound appears, clinging to the edge of the band like the horizon of a new world beckoning to be explored does he stops, gaping at the sight with reddening ears.

It’s your turn to mess with him. “Cat got your tongue… gege?” 

He stares at the sliver of skin like a blind man feeling the sun on his face for the first time. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re beautiful .” 

Tentatively, he drags the last remaining piece of clothing off your body, his breath lodging in the back of his throat. 

God… he groans. Pretty, little princess… gonna taste you so good.

Two worlds crash, sky to earth, and Caleb’s mouth meets the terrain of your pelvis. Traveling downward, he connects a path from hip to mound, and you feel his tongue sampling this uncharted territory. 

His broad back almost blocks out the light above and god—you’re already panting when the sharp jut of his shoulder blades creates an attractive silhouette sliding down the last few inches of your body, finding his haven in the juncture of your thighs. 

Caleb spreads' em’ nice and wide, making sure to run the tip of his tongue over the cushiony bounce of his lower lip. Shit, you murmur under your breath, before he dips his head and enjoys his meal. 

The tapered edge of his tongue touches your clit, and you lose the last semblance of control. 

You know Caleb’s always been a foodie, and the way he practically feasts on your pussy is no different.

Slick juices smear across his pretty mauve lips, and he slurps you up obscenely. The gloss of his spit lubes you up hotly from the inside, filling you with a pressing slick. 

Oh—mhmph… you groan, panting heavily. 

How was he so goddamn good with his tongue?

“Nghmm,” he moans, looking up at you with drunken purple eyes, lost in the sweetness of this sin he can’t stop devouring. “You taste heavenly.” 

Caleb presses into your pussy, treating her like an old lover he wants to French kiss till dawn. 

The high bridge of his nose bumps against your tender clitty, and he takes this chance to smear his lips all over your folds, rubbing your bundle of nerves raw. 

Your back lifts off from the bed and you can’t make sense of where you start and he ends.

“H-ahhh,” you moan, and twine your fingers in his hair, tugging.

“Easy,” he groans, lifting his wet, plump lips from where your core is inhaling him in. “Y’gonna make me bald in no time, princess…”

A senseless dribble of drool trickles past your lips, and you feel the thick toughness of his finger swiping it up, popping it into his mouth. Caleb grins, spreading your legs wider, and lifts your lower body off the bed. The sight of a dark spot seeping the front of his pants makes your breathing stutter, and you can’t keep your eyes away from such a lewd show. 

“See what’cha do to me, sweetness?” He moans and gingerly takes your hand with his right one to press it right on his crotch.

Holy shit. Your eyes bulge wide. 

He’s fucking huge.

You lick your lips in nerves, unable to tear your eyes away from the undulating mass of his rock-hard abs moving with every ragged breath he takes. 

“Is that…?” 

Caleb smirks, a dark look flitting in his eyes. “All for you?” he finishes. “Yeah, sweetness.” 

As if goading you to take the next step, he tips his head to the side, looking at you from under his thick lashes, his magnetic eyes pinning you to the bed.

“Wanna see it?” 

He guides your hand to rock against the hard bulge, and you swallow when you feel him twitch under your palm.

The reality of your position under him hits you, and you feel as if every breath you take might make you float up to the ceiling. Your mind is racing, a cacophony of thoughts that swirl and blend into one pulsing thrum of more, more, more. 

“Y-yeah.” 

He grunts at your admittance and steers your fingers to the edge of his band. “There you go—tug it down, princess…” 

You do as he says, and gasp when the crown of his cock comes into view. 

Girthy, thick. Veiny. 

A dark, almost violet-inky trail of hair leads down to the rise of his pubic bone, and you stare as the curve of his cock becomes more pronounced. Flaccid at 6 inches, he would rise to greater heights once released into the open air, and you panic, closing your fist around his still-clothed head as you beg him with your eyes to pause.

“Hold on…” you gasp. “Jus’ wait a minute.”

Caleb pauses, his eyes flashing. 

“You… don’t want this?” 

The implicit question hangs heavy in the air. 

You don't want me?

It pains you how quick he is to incriminate himself as undesirable when it's the furthest thing from the truth. 

“No!” you mumble and gently hook your fingers under his chin to get him to look at you. “I just… need a second to recalibrate cause… holy shit… you’re massive—”

He guffaws, shaking his head, boyish face lit up in joy. “S’that all? Aw, princess…” he coos and flicks your nose with his index finger. “Swear, you can be so adorable sometimes…” he teases, and you huff.

You take a deep breath and center yourself, before finding the courage to proceed with tugging down his boxers and sweatpants. 

“Okay…” you murmur, and un-fist the soft material, dragging it down with bated breath. 

There he is, in all his glory. 

He’s warm and alive in your hands, and you give the girthy base a generous pump. His smell hits you—musk, man, briny… 

Is this how a real man feels? You think your obvious lack of experience makes you faint with worry. 

Would Caleb notice? 

Would he hate how you don’t even know what to do with a cock? 

What if he doesn’t want you to touch him—deciding you’re too inexperienced for his tastes…? 

“Shit—” Caleb hisses, taken off guard by your sudden movement. “You’re killing me here, princess…” 

In such simple praise, you find your footing once more against the tidal wave of insecurity. 

Pushing aside your worries, you hum, taking your time to explore his body. 

The divots of his abs, the crinkles of his girth as it sits so pretty on his lower body like a pair of crown jewels. 

You run your thumb over the pulsing globes of his balls, feeling the soft, almost velvety skin dimpling under your touch. 

Caleb grunts, and you flicker your gaze to him. His brows are furrowed, and he looks a second away from busting a vein, his face a light shade of puce.

“Caleb?” You softly call out to him in worry. “Are you—?”

“Yeah,” he gasps, and shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Jus’... didn’t expect you to feel this good…”

Good? 

You feel… good? 

Licking your lips, you focus your concentration on the fleshy plump head of his cock. If he has sensitive balls, Caleb is practically a timebomb of nerves on the tip of his arousal. 

Flushed and sticky with pre, you swipe your thumb through the crease of his slit, gathering the milky white deposit and slowly bringing it to your mouth.

Salty. With a hint of bitterness.

Surprisingly, he tastes amazing—

Large hands yank your away from his cock. 

He doesn’t give you the luxury of time to enjoy him. 

Your world suddenly tilts and Caleb’s growl is loud in your ear. He has you pressed into the sheets, your face in the soft cotton, and his large palms kneading the doughy rise of your bare ass. 

Smack!

You gasp and jerk back, indignation at the tip of your tongue. But, it dissipates when he drivels a finger right into your core, sinking fully into the heat of your pussy. 

Your scream is muffled into the pillowy sheets, and he wastes no time in hooking his meaty digit up, hitting a spongy spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

With his other hand, he continues to spank you, little pert taps that grow in intensity as his frustration builds.

“Look - at - how - wet - you’re - getting,” he snarls, and withdraws his fingers to show you the trails webbing in between them, proof of your not-so-innocent reciprocation. Caleb taps his slick fingers to your lips, and you part them obediently, half-thrills of fear and lust curling up your spine.

The taste of you perforates your tongue. Sweet and musky, you've sampled your arousal before, but never from his hand. Gagging lightly on his digits, your eyes roll back into your head and you feel his fingers tickling your uvula.

Shit, he curses under his breath. You're too cute, Pipsqueak… too precious.

He moans as you gurgle his name. Cwaleb…

Throaty and sweet, you're the perfect symphony and he could listen to you all night. 

Caleb withdraws his sticky fingers from the back of your throat with a damp, little ‘pop’ as his spit-slicked digits tap your cheek.

“Fuck, you're too perfect .”

He sets you back on your back, your pouty, glossy lips twisting in a smirk. Caleb hooks your ankles around his shoulders, and—showing he's about as virginal as a town bicycle—smooths his thumb through the mess of your folds.

His pointer catches on the lip of your gaping, swollen pussy, and he hums when he smears your love juices all around, making sure to get it as messy and creamy as possible.

Inching his thumb past the loosened ring of muscle, he grins. 

The gooey, silky mess coats him to the knuckle. You're already pretty free and easy for him to slip his cock in.

“Just a little more, sweetness,” he coos, twisting his thumb, slipping it out only to replace it with his index finger. His now free thumb smears the cream of your arousal around, catching on the pearly mound of your clit as he deepens the pressure.

Nghh ahhh, Caleb! You cry out. 

Your cheeks are warm, eyes glossy with heat and Caleb can't get enough of the way you're panting and twisting on the sheets, writhing like a prey caught in his trap.

It's too much. Too fucking much.

Desire turns your thoughts hazy. There’s a swollen spot inside of you that he manipulates with ease, pressing down on it— “S’good girl,” he murmurs into your neck. “Taking my fingers so well. You make me so damn proud, darlin’.” 

You’re panting, lapping at the sweat beading on your upper lip.

It’s too hot. 

He feels like a fucking furnace above you.

Bigger than any man you ever imagined to take, Caleb is a beast trapped in the body of the boy you love. His scent drenches you—cedar wood body soap bleeding into your pores, marking you as his. The scent of his aftershave grazes your cheek as he leans in to give you a sloppy, full-tongued kiss. 

Mhmmph—you mewl, clinging onto him like ivy.

Your thighs wrap around his waist instinctively, and everything is primal when you finally give yourself up to him. 

His plump, weepy tip catches on your pulsing opening, and he groans at the briefest contact of slick mingling together. You’re so wet, your pussy juices web with his pre, silvery strands clinging to the lip of that little hole he wants so badly to sink into.

Like the deepest tunnel in space, Caleb wants to venture where no man will ever go. He grasps the head of his cock and guides it right to where the blackhole of all his desires resides, rimming the opening where he swears nirvana throbs out his name.

Caleb… she calls out to him. Claim me. Come in me. 

He answers her signal, forehead smushed with yours, his sweat dripping into your slack mouth.

It’s a strange sensation.

Fingers. Tampons. The occasional vibrator. 

None of it can compare to the sheer volume and intensity of a real cock pushing past the envelope of your flesh. The ridges and bumps feel magnified as if there’s a forcefield of pleasure accompanying such penetration. Like it’s sucking you into a different dimension. 

Your head spins and your gasps sound far away, like someone has plunged you right into a swimming pool. 

The only anchor you have is Caleb’s broad shoulders.

You hold onto him as he rocks his hips forward, pleasure unfurling down your spine like a current. 

Fuck… Caleb… 

There’s nothing else in your mind but him.

The sound of his groans. The pinched furrow of ecstasy on his brow. His swollen lips hovering over yours. 

Even the dim lighting of the room makes you feel cocooned in his embrace, safe from the horrors of the world. 

It’s effortless, really, how he grasps your hips and opens you up to him like you’re a centerpiece dish all bared out and vulnerable. 

Nimble hands arrange you into the meanest mating press as your legs dangle above you uselessly, swaying with every hard roll of his thrusts. 

Caleb fucks like he wants to put you through the mattress. 

There’s nothing romantic about this—a man hellbent on making you his. His cockhead smushes with your cervix in a romantic dance of fleeting French kisses. Marking you for days. God, you whine. God, you’re—

So good.

So good.

Oh, Caleb. 

More. More. 

You don’t even notice the light schmear of blood coating his length. Or, how the pinch of pain is overridden by the messy plap plap plap of your bodies meeting together.

You’ve just given up your virginity to the boy you love—the man who’s been with you through hell and back. 

Caleb grabs your ankles and presses it down onto the pillows above your head, plunging his cock in and out, in and out. It’s sloppy and you’re making a mess everywhere.

Foamy white creams at the base of his cock, dribbling onto the dark sheets of his duvet.

Your body rocks with him, the bed creak creak creaking under the brunt of his thrusts. 

He dwarfs you, a mountain of a man bruising the same golden spot that makes your toes curl in your periphery.

“Fuck,” he drawls, purple eyes gouging on your every reaction. “You— mhm —’re squeezin’ down so good, princess.” He huffs, dew drops of sin splattering from his lips and lapped up by your tongue on his jaw. Caleb groans, his hips stuttering. “Can’t get enough of you,” he starts to babble, face flush and eyes heavy with intoxication. Your pussy is the perfect drug for him. 

He starts to whine, dog tags slicked with sweat and heavy with his body heat thudding against your jaw. You part your lips and bite down on the metal, tasting salt and tang. “You—ngmmm—feel too good… so good—ah, shit, sweetness—” Caleb curses, thick fingers dimpling into the flesh of your hips and tipping you up to be fuller of him. 

C-can’t hold back, darlin’, he almost whimpers. I-I can’t… you gotta come with me. Come on, sweetness, give it to me… give me your cum, baby. That’s it, baby. Ooohhh, yes. Yes. There she is. Atta girl. Goooddd girl. Stay with me, baby. Don’t—lift your hips, fuck. Lemme rub that pretty pearl, darlin’. You look so good cummin’ all over me—

Your screams pierce the night air, echoing with a clap of thunder outside the windows. But, you can’t pay attention to storms, not when the biggest one is wrecking you apart.

Caleb moves like a man possessed, greasin’ his thumb around your pebbled clit, changing the angle so he’s pushing even deeper—

“Caleb!” 

Your back arches off the bed, till only the crown of your head remains on the pillows. Caleb pushes back, drowning you back into the sheets, his whole body pressing down— “Shit, nghmmm! —” he grounds out in a low voice. 

Almost a growl. 

It makes your insides shiver around his cock. He doesn’t jackhammer you like those oiled-up studs do in pornos. 

He takes it intensely, grinding his hips, injecting his rhythm with a few punctuating thrusts. 

“Good —” you choke out. “—fuck me so good— ”

Yeah? He teases, dark bangs falling in his face, covering one of his magnetic violet irises. 

Your body tenses, abs clenching, and he groans.

Tipping you further down the precipice, Caleb ducks his head and engorges his wet, hot mouth around your swollen nipples. He pinches the other one with his free hand, the spare still frigging your clit with the intensity of a madman. 

Your eyes roll back into your head.

You clench—hard.

White hot paint splatters behind your closed eyes, imprinting on your lids and the world fades into hypersound as you scream:

Caaaleeeebbbb!

Oh, shit. 

Your walls massage him better than any fleshlight could. Definitely a thousand times better than his hand. 

He’s a goner right there and then. 

Thick, fat spurts of hot, sticky cum fill you up. Neither he nor you care about what this means, pumping you to the brim until wet, gummy dribbles splotch down onto the bed. Caleb shudders like a great beast, and with one last, heaving push, he breeds you. 

.

.

.

There’s nothing else in the ringing quiet but your ragged breath. 

The world slowly comes back—a flickering flash of thunder. Caleb’s soft groan. 

He pulls himself out, and the effect is a reverse weirdness of when he fucked himself in. 

It leaves you gaping. Empty. You whine and he chuckles tiredly, gathering you into his arms.

All's silent for a few moments until you hear the bed creak and his weight off the mattress. Your blurry eyes open to find his massive, muscular frame in all its naked glory ambling to the bathroom. In a few moments, a warm softness glides between your puffy, well-abused folds, and you moan, twitching away.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “But, I gotta get you cleaned up. Stay still, sweets.”

He wipes you down until you’re clean again, and tosses the soiled rag to the floor. Your arms open on autopilot for him, and Caleb chuckles, sinking back into the ring of warmth your body gives him. 

Sighing into your hair, he tightens his grip around you. Outside, the eddies of raindrops swirl down the window panes, and another flash of thunderclaps. He slowly presses a kiss to your head, holding you tighter as a new storm rages unceasingly. 

Caleb yanks the blankets up to your waist, and uses himself as a weighted one, pressing you into the soft mattress, much to your bubbling giggles. He smiles, loving the sound, and gently flicks your chin with his index finger.

“I didn’t hurt you, didn’t I?” 

He moves to your side and you turn around, propping your head under your arm to gaze at him, a lovesick expression etched on your face.

Caleb mirrors your movement, also sliding his arm under his head, his other slung casually on your hip.

“Nah,” you admit after a beat of silence. “Didn’t even feel it.”

He pretends to pout. “Y’know, if you say that in a different context, I would get really, really hurt, Pipsqueak.”

You groan, and smack his chest. “Just like you to ruin the mood.”

He catches your hand, pressing your palm to his cheek with a boyish laugh. 

“I’m kiddin'! Kidding, darlin’. C’mere—” 

Yoinking you closer, he smears a kiss onto the nape of your neck. 

As you trace his arm, he hums.

“You… really blew my mind,” he admits sheepishly. 

“Huh. I did?” It’s your turn to tease him now. “Well… I guess so did you.”

You yelp when he pinches your ass playfully. 

“‘Oh, Calebbbb ’.” He mocks your earlier moans. “‘Ahhhh moreee moreee— ’” 

“Hey—!” 

He lets you smack his chest, snickering in glee like a stupid boy. 

“Juussstt kiddin’, sweets.” He kisses you right on your pouty lips. “Knew you’d be perfect. You’re always perfect.”

And, your heart melts.

“Really?” You whisper as a subtle flash of lightning illuminates one side of his grin. Warmth fills you up when he nods.

“Is it sad to say I’ve been dreamin’ about you like this for eons?” 

You shake your head, a smile playing on the corners of your lips. Slightly breathless, you respond: 

“I’ve been… thinking about you that way, too, baby.”

You expect him to make a stupid joke, or to diffuse the tender moment with his snark. 

But, Caleb doesn’t do that. He loves being in this delicate bubble with you—and only you. 

“Good,” he hums. “Because I’m not done with you yet, sweets—not by a lonnggg shot.”

a/n: comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ! thank you for reading ;D

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my content to AI learning tools.

[hotchnersangel]

BUT SHE’S LOOKING AT YOU.

Aaron Hotchner.

cw: It girl!reader x aaron, you’re just so hot everyone wants u tbh, alcohol, men.

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

You are aware that you were attractive, you never had any struggle getting attention from the public, not growing up, not in college and certainly not now. It was rare, apparently, to have both intelligence and beauty but you didn't believe it defined you and your capabilities. Though, it shocked people when you told them your job. They assumed you modelled or were a social media influencer or something of sorts, some guy even told you that your beauty was being wasted on working for the FBI. Yeah, saving people's lives is realllyyy unattractive.

The team was out in a celebratory drink for finishing a rough case, even Aaron had joined the team this time. He didn't often come out but he liked it when he did, he liked spending time with the team, with you, outside of working hours. Though, he disliked having to watch men goggle their eyes at you.

Rossi ordered drinks and a bar tender brought an extra one over.

"Sorry, I didn't order that." Rossi exclaimed and gestured to the drink in the bartenders hand.

"Oh, it was sent by the man at the bar for you." She eclaimed looking at you, you widened your eye and looked to the bar, seeing a man wink at you.

"Lovely..." you said sheepishly and pushed it away, back to her. "Am I okay to send it back?"

The bartender smiles and nods at you, as you watch her walk away and you look back to the team embarasssed.

"Hey pretty lady's on the radar." Morgan exclaimed and you shoot him a look, shifting in your seat and looking at Aaron who was already watching you.

"You act like it's not always like this," Emily shrugs and sips her drink as you protest, "honey, I don't blame them, I'd buy you a drink if you so much as breathed in my direction."

You laugh at her dramatic comment and shook your head. "I appreciate the praise but really I'm not interested."

"By him or by anyone because in the time we've known you, you've been hit on by all of us combined and tripled." JJ laughs and sips her drink, genuinely curious.

"You're dramatic," you say softly, "but, it doesn't mean that I don't want a relationship just... I don't like the men that hit on me I guess." You shrug, looking at Aaron.

"Some of the men are absolutely delicious sweetie, you can't deny that." Garcia argues excitedly.

Morgan seems to catch on. "Oh, oh."

"What?" you ask him curiously.

"Pretty lady over here has a crush." He smirks and the others gasp with excitement at the gossip.

"I'm getting another drink." You stand up and go to the bar, Aaron getting out to follow you. You both head to the bar and order your drinks, Aaron paying.

"You didn't have to pay," you smile at him, ignoring the glances being thrown in your direction from well... everywhere.

"No but I wanted to." He shrugs and looks at you as your drinks are getting prepared. "You look beautiful by the way."

You blush and look down them back up at him, grinning widely. "Thank you. So do you."

You thank the bartender but make no move to leave the bar to return to the table just yet, looking back at Aaron. "You're different with me, why?"

"What do you mean?" You smile as you look at him, you knew what he meant.

"You know what I mean. You don’t seem to be sending the drink I bought you back.” He smirks slightly and you laugh, looking into his eyes.

“I feel safe with you.” You shrug and sip your drink. “Plus, you’re double the man these are.”

He raises a brow at you. “How so?”

You sigh and look at him. “A girl wants to be considered more than ‘hot’, to be called more than ‘sexy’ in her lifetime.” You shrug and look up at him.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, you make me feel beautiful.” You say softly looking at him, tilting your head as you admire his face.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile as he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you back to the table. Sitting opposite you once more. You join in a conversation with Emily, Garcia, Spencer and JJ.

Aaron on the other hand id being smirked at by Morgan and Rossi. “Don’t.”

“Oh- we don’t have to say anything.” Rossi smirks, with a knowing look as he raises his glass to Aaron.

“You’re in the big L Hotch,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head.

“Everybody watches her… she is probably the most wanted woman here tonight. I have no chance.” Hotch shakes his head.

“Everybody may be watching her, but she’s looking at you.”

——————

[ventique18]

Dragon Malleus headcanons

You're used to how he looks in his two-legged fae form. Everyone is, honestly. But the thing is, that's not really how he truly, originally looks like. And though he knows his form of flesh is just as much of who he is as his origin, there are times when he undergoes some sort of withdrawal; a primal need to be back in the skin he was molded in. So he would occasionally spend a few days living his life as a gigantic dragon.

He doesn't particularly like being in his dragon form. He knows he's glorious and takes pride in that, of course, but it's just that it's so inconvenient. He can't fit in places. He can't grab things. He can't make gargoyles. He has to eat an entire town's worth of food just to not be hungry. But most of all, he can't really feel.

He's extremely durable. He's already impervious to damage in his humanoid form, but even more so as a dragon with walls and walls of the hardest material on Twisted Wonderland permanently attached to his body. Which is great, of course-- it's essential to his survival, but it comes with the caveat that no matter how much you touch him, no matter how much you try to show physical affection towards him, he simply cannot feel.

But there is one part of him that's soft. Something that isn't covered inch to inch in scales. His tongue.

So what best to take advantage of this little weakness than to cover you head to toe in slobber, of course?

Take note that him doing so doesn't imply anything malicious (unless you want to, of course). It's just that it's so easy to feel your presence by licking you. He can touch you without accidentally hurting you. And, as much as he refuses to admit it to avoid sounding like a pervert, being able to smell your familiar scent gives him a tender comfort. A sense of welcoming even in this world that refuses to welcome him in his rawest form.

But being covered in slobber isn't exactly the best feeling in the world. When you tell him that, the... fins on his jaw draw back, and he plants himself on the ground; snout partially buried behind his curled claws. Dragons aren't particularly expressive, but you can safely guess that he's feeling guilty of bothering you.

So you offer to help him find somewhere else to touch. He's a bit hesitant-- it seems dragons don't like the idea of exploring their weaknesses, but he agrees because it's you.

And would you look at that. He can feel you when you vigorously rub his belly. The feeling isn't really as detailed as his tongue's, but he can feel something. And it feels rather... Rather... Relaxing. He's huge though, so from your perspective it's like washing a car, but with exaggerated movements as a stroke from your height's head to toe is like scratching a spot for him.

It's tiring, but you persist with the power of love.

So this becomes a habit for you. When he transforms into a dragon, he would ask you to rub his belly, or ask for your permission to be licked if you don't look like you're in a bad mood that day. All of this is done somewhere private, of course.

So when someone would walk in by accident... And witness their prince rolled over like a dog, getting petted on his tummy... It goes to say that the dragon would be gone in a flash; replaced by a very angry, very threatening unit of a man very politely asking the intruder if he saw something. Of course the answer is always "not a single thing, sir!".

You laugh, and ask if he wants to continue with what you were doing. He sighs, refuses, and says he's not in the mood for childish amusement anymore.

"But... I can think of other, more enjoyable things we can do together."

And so the dragon, now in his villainous, irresistibly devilish form, whisks his prisoner away to a place no one knows.

[burymagdalene]

A Closed Mouth Doesn't get Fed - S. Reid x Reader

When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (nobody's shocked) 18+ pls pls, always fluffy when they're in love! tags: softdom!spencer ("soft", I need to invent subdom!spencer), he's a bit sassy, established relationship, wet dream, sleepy sex, pining, fingering, praise, teasing, piv sex, creampie, Spencer at your beck and call! wc: 4.3k a/n: Kind of stream of conscious & self serving smut. I always see Spencer's pov of a wet dream & wanted to write about the other side of it! Enjoy!

The plastic straw currently placed between your lips has been chewed into a nearly completely flat state as you sit across from Spencer at dinner. Looking into his more-tired-than-usual eyes, you listen to him drowsily recount some memorable moments from the case he just got back from. 

There’s a single dangling light above you two that's pouring out a muted yellow that combined with the ugly grass mat wall beside you is making the dinner after Spencer’s case finishes rushed and antsy. You want to go home, give him a proper welcoming back, but he just looks so tired. 

You try to pull your sprite through the straw, but it seems you popped a hole into its side with your incessant nibbling, causing the pull to be drawn out and emit a sound close to sucking in air, you sigh and pull away from it.

“You really did a number on that straw,” Spencer chuckles, “you know, I’m surprised you’re seeking sensory feedback in that manner, usually when you’re anxious you fiddle with the wrapper.” He smiles at you warmly.

You’re actually not anxious at all. Spencer’s voice has this way of subtly getting more used and spent after he’s been gone and awake for a while. A meditative hum in the bottom of this throat he gets with exhaustion that sounds eerily similar to the voice he uses in your ear when he’s praising the way you can take all of him or when he’s realised he has to ask you where he can finish too close to when he’s almost tipping over the edge.

“Hm?” He poses again, squinting at your glossed over eyes. 

“Oh! Sorry, no. No, I'm not feeling anxious. It just feels nice. I… can’t finish my drink now though.” 

Spencer reaches over and pulls out your ravaged straw, plopping it in his empty water cup and moving his straw to your cup, continuing his story like his minute display of tender attentiveness didn’t curl your toes slightly in your shoes.

You sip your drink until the cups' empty noises are too loud to continue trying to get anything out of it and your oral satisfaction for the night finally comes to a close as you fidget looking at your boyfriend with zero alleviation.

The rest of your night progresses painfully slowly as the inner turmoil of arousal swirling in your belly gets increasingly hard to navigate ignoring.  

When you look at how Spencer holds his steering wheel (loosely while the wheel slides itself through his palms on a turn) driving you back while rain thuds steadily at the windshield you want to lean your head out of the window for a wake up call. 

When you walk into his apartment that you haven’t seen since he’s left right beside him like it's both of yours you consider, in-depth, the grisly intimate details of domesticity. More specifically, a future shared bed between you two where he’s slowly sliding his dripping cum back into you with his fingers after he pulls out. Baby (making) fever.

It’s a plague of the most impure of heart ideas. You think, if he gave you a penny for your thoughts he would stare at you in eerie silence until you begged for mercy.

You could beg for mercy.

You want to roll your eyes at yourself, you have to wash this day off.

In bed you prop your chin on Spencer’s shoulder and gaze over the case file he’s been studying relentlessly. You feel a bit guilty when you consider closing the file for him to move into a straddle, better yet, when you consider gently rubbing his bulge from overtop his linen pajama pants until he’s whimpering and can't focus on the details anymore.

You’ve never felt so tongue-tied around Spencer than how you do right now. Realistically, you know that if you initiated anything he would either happily agree or kindly decline, not an end of the world situation. Your eyes linger over to his hands and you pull away and lay down sighing.

Internally you suppose that you don’t want to make him feel bad for potentially being too tired or paint yourself as a partner who doesn’t notice and understand your boyfriends cues for looking sleepy and engrossed in his work. You don’t want to be a burden, ultimately.

So you keep your mouth shut and stare silently at the ceiling and toss from side to side while Spencer continues his work by the lamplight.

“What’s up, wiggle worm?” Spencer smiles while keeping his eyes locked on his case. 

You can’t help but grin at the bit of attention he’s still giving you. Knowing that even after his long day today Spencer cannot resist his magnetism towards you, noticing your every move.

“Too bored to be tired,” you mumble out with your eyes closed “I feel like I have one more activity in me today…” You’re almost too subtle and cryptic with it that Spencer’s social cues skip over your bait. 

Turning his head to you he pets the top of your head and smiles a dopey smile at you, a sight for sore eyes after scanning over his case for too long.

 “Do you want me to make you some tea? I might have green, oh, I guess that’s caffeinated–” 

“Mm-mm.” you non-reply “I’m just going to try to sleep, keep working.” 

Spencer hums and places the hand he was petting you with to your cheek as you lay on your side facing him, his palm working as another layer to the pillow you’re resting on, his thumb (though pinned between your cheek and the pillow) softly caresses you as he shifts the file to his non-dominant hand. 

With his touch acting as a personalized bottle of melatonin, you drift off into a light and lucid slumber, strange waves and blotches of color bursting behind your eyelids in place of your typical dreams. 

This feels way better than a typical dream.

Whatever pink apparition that’s keeping your brain in a sludged malleable state feels exceptionally good. Despite the cold sweat that's pricking up on the back of your neck making you feel akin to a slab of meat in a pressure cooker, this state is leaving your heart racing.

Even the blanket you have wrapped around you feels better, smells better. Hey, you think to yourself, this smells like Spencer. You press your face into it further, the burning intrusion of Spencer’s detergent, the stale cologne left on his collarbones filling your senses almost overwhelmingly.

Too scared to actually tell Spencer how you wanted him earlier must’ve had your brain illustrate its own ghostly representative of what you wanted from him before bed. 

You wrap your legs around the blanket a bit more now. There’s an instinctual roll of your hips that is haywired into your anatomy whenever you feel a similar Spencer-induced haze when you’re awake so you naturally feel implied to go with your muscle memory.

Slow rolls of pleasure throb up your spine like someone is massaging measured passes into your back. Your hips take on a circular motion now, the up and down grinding you had set in place earlier taking too much energy. 

You’re not a stranger to sex dreams. You find yourself painstakingly alone from time to time with the line of work Spencer is engaged in. You dream about him every day of the week regardless, so from time to time you get rewarded with a nearly satisfying dream that takes his spot.

However, Spencer is not gone right now. What you’re experiencing currently is a production of your pent up sexual frustration because you were too shy to let out a reserved beg for your boyfriend to fuck you. 

The pleasure you’re face to face with at this moment has a larger and more embodied sensation than what you’ve experienced prior. Your hands tremble slightly around the blanket you have been rocking yourself against, and you feel whips of pleasure stemming from your gut that is abnormal to these sex dreams.

You just feel so fucking good.

You feel this good when the brutal summer heat overtakes the capabilities of your AC at your apartment and you lazily grind over Spencer on your couch, both riddled with heat exhaustion. You feel this good when you take a midday nap after work with Spencer and wake up humping your mattress with a breathless laugh. You feel this good when Spencers delicate hands lines up his dick with you and teases your clit with it before fucking you slowly.

This particular lucid sex dream is unlike the rest because funnily enough the blanket you’ve subjected your unhurried grinding on sort of feels like it’s pressing back at you, like it's gained sentience in order to get you off. 

The generous veil of sleepy delirium takes up all your senses in such a robust way that the air you’re sucking into your lungs isn’t satisfying you. You gasp in a breath and your eyes crack open a sliver.

You try to blink away the reality you’ve woken up to, trying to savor any last semblance of your raving sticky pleasure before the unmeasurable embarrassment catches up to you.

What you thought was your soft blanket that was supplying you unwavering delirious pleasure, was actually the thigh of your boyfriend, whom you had made a concerted effort to leave alone when you were awake. 

One hand is tightly fisting his pajama shirt (a black shirt with FBI written on the pocket) with so much fervor that his midriff is exposed and the slight hairs leading from his happy trail are exposed to where you look down between your bodies. 

Frozen in fear and embarrassment you keep your body posed in the same position it was in motion as a mere minute ago, the position so delightful that you let out a whine when halting your movements. 

You glance at the undeniable tent in his pants before you brave yourself by looking up at Spencer’s face for the first time since using his left thigh as relief for your pent up sexual urges. 

Spencer has his case file closed with one of his thumbs holding his spot and is staring directly down at your face, eyes almost black with the lack of light reaching the front of his face.

The lamp is still on and he hasn’t really moved much since you fell asleep. In fact, his hand that was softly against your cheek is still there, albeit a bit more damp with drool than it was when you fell asleep. It probably hasn’t even been an hour since you said goodnight. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to spiral into anxiety over how to apologize to him when Spencer speaks first.

“I-I didn’t know if I should’ve woken you up… I assumed you would have woken up when you-” His words sound faint and trail off as if your sleepy grinding and grabbing did a number on him and wasn’t an annoyance. 

“I’m so sorry.” You rasp out, peeling your hips away from his leg, feeling a sticky resistance between where your cunt and sleep shorts meet. 

“Why?” He pinches his eyebrows slightly at you in genuine confusion and the dialogue between you pauses for a moment. You’re scanning his face for any discomfort and just find his regular big beggy doe eyes. Oh.

“You would’ve let me come?” You ask blearily back at his first words to you. 

“Wh-...why would I not let you come?” The corner of his mouth lifts in a tired and flustered smile at the way you’re acting like wanting to fuck your boyfriend is a crime charged on multiple separate counts. “What were you dreaming about?” 

Spencer is still wearing his doe eyes but his tone switches to a probing tune similar to the greasy way guys have asked you to play 21 questions in the past, but in this case it’s making you pull away the bottom of your shorts stuck to you as you push your thighs together. 

“Nothing even,” your voice gets meek with confusion. “Bunch of shapes and colors moving around.” You meet his gentle gaze. 

You’ve seemed to have stunned him a bit. Spencer has spent many nights dreaming of your naked figure in less than appropriate ways, the way his skin is prickling at the thought of you returning that experience fizzles his brain.

Surely the case can be looked over intently tomorrow with fresh eyes?

“Uhh,” he clears his throat, “do you want me to touch you?”

Normally this would be his first response but he’s exhausted and his brain is mush from the long day he had. He’s back to his old factory settings from when you first started dating.

“Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it nonstop today, actually.”

Now this does not make sense to Spencer. 

“You didn’t mention anything?” He looks down to try to retrace your conversations from the day, scanning to see any missed memos or innuendos he might’ve missed. Nothing?

“No… I mean, you’re so tired! You’re working so hard! I didn’t want to… I dunno.”

Spencer briefly considers looking around the corners of his rooms for prank cameras. 

“You were worried about bothering me? Bothering… me? With… you?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

You laugh slightly at his perturbed words and cover your face with your hands. “Didn’t wanna say something and make you feel obligated or anything.”

“You didn’t–” he pauses briefly, his sassy irritability coming up in place of chiding laughter. 

Spencer looks down once more at your face, his own hard on, the image of you moments prior grasping onto him, drooling on him while getting off because you’re pent up from being too polite to mount him. His perfect angel, suffering in silence. A closed mouth really doesn’t get fed.

He leans down and starts kissing you sloppily immediately, the only way he knows how really. Can barely harness his desire when he feels his open mouth against yours. You breathe out your nose like you can’t believe you got here finally.

Hands gripping the back of your neck and side of your face, you were not prepared to go from your “I have to keep my hands to myself” mindset to “I can’t even tell where his hands are on me” so quickly. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s whimpering into your mouth before you, fully laying all of his weight on you like a big dog that still thinks it's a lap puppy. With his precedent put in place, you follow willingly, a trail of small “ah’s” are moaned back at him.

You haven’t shaken off your sleep fully, the room is so dim and Spencer is so warm that the only real difference between right now and your dream is that Spencers rolling his hard dick against the hem of your pajama shorts.

Trailing the tip of your tongue lightly against the roof of Spencer's mouth he huffs out a shocked whine like you did something unfair and pulls back to look at you with tunnel vision.

“How do you want it?” He pants hard.

“Mmf. However.” You’re a bit sick of mulling over the logistics and just want to skip to feeling the expanse of his back under your fingers.

“You’ve had all this time thinking about it and you can’t tell me how you imagined me taking you?”

He’s pulled back fully now, pushing his linen pants down just enough so that his cock pops above it and he wastes no time taking it into his palm. He’s being needy enough that you’d think he was the one tormented with sex dreams, but you’d never complain about his attachment to you. 

It makes your throat dry. The lamp illuminates him in such a picturesque way you’d consider directing a movie scene just like it. Your clit throbs again as a painful reminder of where you are.

“I want it slow.” You sigh out as you watch him palm the very thing you’ve been fantasizing about for the six hours you’ve been together today.

“You want it slow… what?”

“Stop it.” You’re too frazzled by him right now, he knows. Deep down you know you’re going to have to ask properly after dancing around it all day.

Spencer smiles and his jaw drops an inch in pleasure as he starts twisting his fist around the head of his dick now. 

Okay! Maybe you can give into his teasing a bit.

“I want it slow, please.” 

You feel hot with embarrassment immediately but as soon as it comes it dissipates when Spencer gasps and pulls his hand off himself with a displeased grunt. He takes your jaw into his hands as he lays on top of you to kiss you again, the angle of your jaw is being smeared with whatever precum he got on his palm.

Moving your hand between both of your bodies to get to the top of your shorts was slow and crushing as neither of you wanted to part from the other long enough to expedite its trip down.

Nevertheless, Spencer can hear every tiny noise and breath of pleasure you let out in situations like these and props himself to the side on one of his hands as the other brazenly pulls your shorts quickly down from the middle of them where the hem was pressing against your clit.

The ferocity of the cold air that meets your folds is your first indicator of how wet you’re going to be for this. How much Spencer is going to be cooing in awe of you in 3...2…

“Jesus Christ.” 

Your eyes follow to where he’s looking but it's too dark from where you’re lying to truly take in how wet you look, you just know how you feel. And you feel achingly ready.

“Baby, I just can’t believe how wet you get. For me.”

He’s turning himself on with his own words as you plop your head back down to the pillow to squeeze your eyes shut as if to bat away how good his praise feels. Come to think of it, you don’t really think it’s been mentioned in the many conversations you’ve had about likes and dislikes, yet Spencer wields his words like a heavy axe every time.

You jolt when the pads of his pointer and ring finger rub slightly at your opening, gauging with touch how much wetness he’s going to be inside momentarily. Soon later he trails up to circle your clit and when you moan in response he gives the sight of his fingers against you a toothy grin.

The stretch those same fingers give you have your thighs opening up lazily, up to your sides when they usually strain to shut at the too-pleasureable sensation. Even the cells in your legs and the neurons in your brain are begging for Spencer.

Soft squelching is coming from between your legs and you can’t even be bothered to shy away from it, you know how wet he makes you and he sure as hell does, so playing coy is just not in your capabilities right now. You moan out another loud “mmm” as your eyebrows screw together.

“You sound so pretty.” 

You’re not sure if Spencer is referring to the wetness between your legs or your moaning but you drink in his approval of your noises anyway.

“Spence– I really need it.”

“Hm, right. Slow please.”

You oughta slap him. Right now you could be threatening celibacy at his toying, but you can’t even conjure up such a frightening concept. You let out a “hhng” instead.

For the final time, Spencer lays down against you and presses a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, as he rubs his agitated dick against the new wetness you’ve produced at his playing. Satisfyingly coated, he shutters a sigh and sinks into you.

He is looking down between your bodies while he enters you, his cheek moved and pressed against your forehead as you whimper against his neck. You haven’t checked the clock in forever, a liminal space created in the blue of the deep night that engulfs the both of you.

Spencer is surprised that his skin is blushing now when he’s already fully sheathed inside of you (when he’s been fully inside you countless times). He can never truly believe the pleasure the human body can experience, that he can experience with you.

Once his hips have settled neatly against yours, when you’re mumbling out a “God-” Spencer begins to kiss back down your face again to where his mouth makes a home in your neck.

Not wanting to risk any muffled noises that he could be letting out against your skin, you move one of your hands to pull back his head by his hair, rewarding yourself with a more clear articulation of the pretty moans he was enveloping against your skin.

Fist still gripping his head back, Spencer begins to make slow and deep thrusts into you, the exact ones you’ve been craving in the pit of your stomach, you feel dizzy with arousal. Fluttering around him you gasp as you feel more of your slick tremble out of you, making his intrusion continuously slippery.

Spencer’s eyelids are shutting and opening repeatedly, wanting to fully close his eyes to the mind numbing pleasure, but equally wanting to stare at your face while he gives you what your biological need was trembling for in your light sleep.

He gets re-offended.

“Nuh-never hide- oh shit… always tell me when you want this. I will always, hm, give you this. Ne-ver spare my exhaustion, oh please-”

Your hips start meeting his consuming thrusts as you whine at his begs. What were you thinking? How could you ever stand in your own way of this?

Frantically nodding at his request, not trusting your voice, you move your fingers out of his hair to trace your nails against his back like signing your name in approval at his order.

Spencer moves slightly to cover your body with his completely, crowning in your head with his forearms. Little strands of his hair, slightly damp with sweat, tickle your forehead. You move to wrap your legs around his waist, locking in the position by putting one of your feet over the other.

With your legs on his lower back you begin to push him with your legs, guiding his rhythm, as you deepen his thrusts more. You two gasp in tandem. 

“Touch me please.” You grit out with a raspy voice. Needing to feel yourself come around Spencer is becoming frighteningly high on the list of your necessities currently. You wiggle your hips against his as an invitation.

“M’ course. Pretty.” 

Somehow the most intelligible praises are what get your gut swirling the most. Something about Spencer so lost in pleasure that he can barely talk but still making the effort to compliment you makes you want to make breakfast for him in the morning. Sweet boy. 

“Sweet boy.” You’ve learned your lesson on biting your tongue. 

He leans down to kiss you just as he starts rubbing your clit in fast movements. You could fall into this limbo of almost-there thrusts and soft caresses for the rest of time. You feel overjoyed with gratitude towards your wet dream, for the cock spreading you open.

Spencer inevitably picks up the pace of his thrusts, the slow rhythm driving him crazy. At the increase of speed you and Spencer find yourself whining out “I love you” at the same time. You’d giggle, maybe, if you were in a normal state. But the state Spencer has fucked you into has made this transaction feel like an omnipotent sign from the universe that you are tethered for life. 

His fingers slip around in sloppy circles for a few moments more and you whimper out “coming” in such a strangled way it barely even sounds like it anymore. He gets it instantly though when he feels your walls contract and expand against him, how you whimper and shake your head back and forth like you still can’t believe how good coming feels.

Slowly breathing and speeding up his thrusts even more, he fucks you through your orgasm as he begins his, his cum spreads over himself as he moves it in and out of you. The whines he’s letting out are unrestrained and high pitched while he smooths your cheek with a thumb.

Bordering onto stinging overstimulation now, your thighs wrap around him tightly enough to indicate his slowing down till he’s resting idly in you.

The urge Spencer gets after you two finish to place as many kisses on your exposed skin as possible festers again when he’s trying to distract you from the empty feeling of him pulling out.

“Spence,” you gulp back little saliva, “hah, thank you.”

He shakes his head at you again, goofy smile on his face as he’s already forming the highlight reel of the night in his head, reliving it. 

“I’m never going to be too tired for that. I’m in love with you, I’m not too tired for that.”

“Mmkay,” you start petting the wild strands of hair down from his head that you were tugging earlier “consider that lesson learned.” You chirp in finality, eyes closing with a similar exhaustion to Spencers.

“Mm, let me clean you up.”

Even with eyes closed you know his whereabouts, you can hear Spencer’s feet padding against his floors and you can map where he’s going in his apartment depending on how the hardwood dips underneath him. 

In such a tired state, the cool cloth against you barely jolts you as it usually does, the slightly rough fabric against your sensitive skin doesn’t work to jar you, completely in bliss with nothing that can shake you.

You can’t sleep fully without feeling the dip of the mattress and Spencer’s body settled between sheets. With his addition to the bed again, case file extremely discarded, you can lay cradled to his side where the sleep you fall into is so deep you don’t dream at all.

[hhughes]

Quinn Hughes would love making out in his car after a big win.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ this man could literally ruin my life and i’d say thank you 😫

quinn practically sprints to the car after the game. eager to get home. one hand holding his phone and car keys and the other holding your hand, gently leading you along.

“have a good night mr. hughes. ma’am” a parking lot security guard greets you and you send him a friendly smile

quinn opens the passenger door, making sure you’re settled before he presses a kiss to your cheek and closes the door.

you begin to get a little restless when a few minutes pass and he still hasn’t gotten into the car. “what took you so long?” you ask when he finally gets behind the wheel.

“had to slip phil a few bucks to look the other way while I kiss my girl” quinn says with a grin, referring to the security guard as he slips a hand onto your hip and pulls you towards him

he carefully maneuvers you over the console and onto his lap, one hand cupping your jaw and the other pulling your body close to his with a firm grip on your waist

“you’re beautiful” he says casually, admiring you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

your cheeks heat at the compliment, lowering your head to press your lips to his, his hands sneak beneath the ‘hughes’ jersey you were wearing, running up your spine

“it never gets old” he mumbles against your lips, casually gathering all your hair in one hand as he twists it around his fist and adjusts your head like he wants it

“what?” you question breathlessly, craning your neck back more as he trails his kisses down to your collarbone

“seeing you in my jersey. my last name on your back. fuck, it does things to me” he groans, pressing more kisses to your neck

you let out a breathy laugh, the sound quickly turning into a soft sigh as quinn's lips find that one spot on your neck that always makes you melt. his grip on your waist tightens, holding you against him like he's afraid you'll slip away.

"quinn," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair as he hums against your skin, clearly in no rush to stop.

"yeah baby?" his voice is low, rough with want, but there's something tender in it too-like he's savoring this moment just as much as you are.

"you gonna take me home, or are we staying in the parking lot all night?" you tease, brushing your nose against his.

quinn grins, his hands slipping from beneath your jersey to settle firmly on your hips. "tempting," he admits, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips. "but if we don't leave now, phil's gonna start charging me every time l touch you."

you laugh, giving his chest a playful shove as you move back to your seat. "would serve you right."

quinn shakes his head with a smirk, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt for you before finally starting the car.

as he pulls out of the parking lot, his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together effortlessly. he lifts your joined hands to his lips issing a soft kiss to vour knuckles.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Wedding Night | LN4

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N shared their first night as husband and wife, their love unfolding in soft, unhurried touches.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.6k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, soft sex

Based on this request.

Moonlight spilled through the windows of the centuries-old Italian villa, painting soft silver streaks across the plush cream carpet. The air was still thick with the lingering scent of gardenias and white roses, a delicate reminder of the wedding that had just taken place. Y/N stepped inside first, still wearing her gorgeous wedding gown, though she walked more slowly now than she had all day. The bustle of the reception had ended, the guests had gone to their nearby accommodations, and there, in the quiet hush of night, she and Lando were finally alone.

He closed the door behind them with a soft click, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You realize,” he said in a hushed tone, “that this is the first time we’ve been truly alone all day.”

She laughed gently, leaning back against one of the carved wooden bed posts. “I know. I feel like every time I turned around, someone was trying to talk to us, take a photo, or push another glass of champagne into my hand.”

Lando advanced toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. The day had been long—joyful, intense, and thrilling—but now the air seemed charged with a different kind of anticipation. His dark suit jacket was still on, the fabric slightly rumpled from the evening’s events. 

Lando gently brushed his knuckles along her cheek, an affectionate gesture he had come to do so often in the past three years. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice warm with concern and tenderness.

She opened her eyes, meeting the sea-green gaze of her new husband. A timid, excited smile curved her lips. “I’m perfect,” she whispered, stepping forward so she could rest her forehead against his. “But I’m also exhausted… in a good way. I still can’t believe this is real.”

Lando chuckled under his breath, the teasing spark that always danced in his eyes visible once again. “You better believe it, Mrs. Norris,” he said, letting the last two words hang in the air. He grinned when he noticed the faint flush on her cheeks. Even after everything, she still got shy whenever he said her new name.

She tried to look away, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle a bigger smile. “I’m still not used to hearing that,” she admitted.

“Well, you have a lifetime to get used to it.” His voice was warm, edged with quiet amusement. Instead of kissing her, he tilted his head slightly, letting the moment linger between them. Her gaze drifted downward, landing on his tie, which hung loosely around his neck—a familiar sight, one that carried memories of whispered goodbyes and hurried, stolen moments.

He followed her gaze and gave a small laugh. “Want to do the honors?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Y/N flushed but nodded, motioning for him to step closer. Carefully, she began to loosen the tie from around his neck. Her knuckles brushed his throat, and she felt his pulse thrum under her fingertips.

“You know,” she teased, glancing up into his eyes, “I’ve done this so many times, but never as Mrs. Norris.”

A shiver of delight lit up his gaze. “Has a nice ring to it, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “It really does.”

His hands came up to gently rest on her waist, and a faint sigh escaped her lips. Outside, a nightingale trilled somewhere in the villa’s gardens. The music that had swirled throughout the day was gone, replaced by their own quiet breaths and the soft rustle of her gown as she shifted.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmured, stepping back an inch to take her in. The white lace and satin of her wedding dress still hugged her figure perfectly, though the train was slightly wrinkled from hours of dancing and walking around. “I can’t believe I got to see you walking down that aisle.”

She smiled shyly, remembering how his eyes had glistened with emotion during the ceremony. “I was so nervous,” she admitted. “Not because I was unsure of you, but just… the whole day felt so surreal. And now it’s over, and we’re actually here.”

Lando reached up, his fingers slipping into her hair with deliberate slowness, threading through the intricate twists and waves. He didn’t rush, just let his touch linger, savoring the feel of her beneath his hands. “Well, now we have tonight,” he murmured, his voice warm and low, “and every other night after that. But let’s start with tonight, yeah?”

She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed through her hair, reveling in the warmth that swept over her. “Mmm,” she murmured, “I’d like that.” She opened her eyes and gave him a soft smile, filled with love.

Y/N closed her eyes again as his finger tips slid gently into her hair. Pin by pin, he removed each hidden bobby pin and decorated comb. Occasionally, he would pause, carefully pulling out a pearl-tipped hairpin that made her wince slightly when it snagged on a few strands. Lando would whisper a soft apology, pressing a kiss to her temple and carrying on. It was slow, sweet work, and it made her shoulders loosen with every piece he freed.

Eventually, her hair tumbled down in soft waves around her shoulders. He ran his hands gently through it, smiling as he massaged her scalp. “There,” he breathed, admiring the sight of her with her hair out and her wedding dress still glowing in the moonlight. “You look so gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, cheeks aflame, unable to handle just how fully and unabashedly he adored her. “You say that like you didn’t see me in my dress all day.”

“Call me greedy, but I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it,” he teased, leaning in for another slow, tender kiss. “But as much as I love this dress on you…” He paused, letting his fingers trace the intricate lace at her shoulders. “I’m also incredibly eager to get you out of it.”

A bubble of laughter slipped past her lips. “Oh, Mr. Norris,” she teased back, doing her best to summon confidence. Even after all their time together, sometimes it still felt surreal that this charming, successful, impossibly handsome man was hers. “Think you can figure out how to get me out of it?”

Lando glanced at the hidden zipper. He gently turned her around so he could examine the elaborate array of tiny buttons that ran down the back. “Well… it might take a while,” he said, a slow grin spreading over his face. “I’m up for the challenge.”

She laughed, remembering the many times they had navigated zippers and tiny buttons over the years of their relationship. “I trust you haven’t forgotten your technique,” she teased, turning around so he could work on the hidden row of buttons trailing down her spine. “But do be careful—I don’t want you ripping the dress. My poor mother might have a heart attack if she heard.”

He pressed a playful kiss to the back of her neck, setting her skin alight. “Don’t worry, I’m still the same man who’s mastered the art of carefully getting you out of complicated outfits.”

Carefully, Lando’s fingers began working on the delicate row of buttons. It was fiddly and complicated, but his patience never wavered. He trailed tiny, adoring kisses down the back of her neck, across her shoulders, and along her spine whenever he managed to open another inch of the dress. Each time, she shivered. The warmth of his breath, combined with the electric sensation of his lips, shot tingles of anticipation through her body.

It took him a few moments of concentration. Every so often, one stubborn button would make her giggle as he struggled, and he’d lightly bite his lip in mock frustration. But eventually, her dress loosened around her torso. She shrugged her shoulders and let it slip down to her hips.

Lando stepped to her side, letting his hand graze from her bare shoulder down her arm in a comforting stroke. He’d seen her body countless times before; they were anything but strangers to one another in that aspect. Yet, the tenderness in his eyes made it feel like the first time all over again.

He noticed the slight stiffness in her posture. Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, an old habit she’d never quite shaken. Gently, he placed his hands on top of hers, uncurling her arms. “Hey,” he said softly, sliding his palm against her cheek to angle her face toward him, “look at me.”

She blinked, looking up, her eyes laced with a hint of vulnerability.

He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you,” he said, voice serious despite the smile playing on his lips. “All of you. Every inch of you—always have.”

Y/N’s throat constricted with emotion. She remembered the days she thought she’d end up alone, the times she firmly believed no man—especially one like Lando—would genuinely want her. And yet here he was, the man she once viewed as a charming playboy, revealing his true heart day after day.

She nodded slightly, letting him slip her dress the rest of the way down. He caught it before it hit the floor, placing it carefully across a chair so it wouldn’t crumple. When he turned back around, she stood there in her simple white lingerie, light shining on her warm skin. His gaze was filled with adoration.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said, reaching out to trace a slow circle along her waist. “I can’t believe I get to call you my wife now.” He exhaled softly, his gaze roaming over her. “Every part of you… I’m honestly a little overwhelmed just looking at you.”

“Overwhelmed?” she echoed, a quiet laugh blending with her disbelief.

He smiled back, smoothing his palms over her waist and up along her ribs, stopping just under her breasts. “Yes, overwhelmed,” he repeated, leaning in so his lips brushed against hers. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her heart squeezed at his confession. Remembering the times she doubted his intentions, or believed that he’d never truly settle down, it all felt distant now. “I love you,” she murmured. She was still shy; the difference was, now that they were married, she felt a deeper sense of belonging and trust.

He pulled her closer, pressing his chest to hers. The contact was a slow burn, warmth radiating from his body into hers, as though they were made to fit perfectly together. Y/N let her hands roam over his well-fitted suit jacket, fiddling with the single button he still had fastened at the waist.

“I think it’s my turn,” she teased, leaning in to brush a kiss on his collarbone, right at the base of his neck. She slid her hands up to push his suit jacket off. He let her do it, an amused glint shining in his eyes. She lingered, removing his cufflinks and sliding them onto the bedside table, then carefully unfastening the first few buttons of his shirt.

Her cheeks grew warm as she revealed inch after inch of his chest. Lando’s breath caught a little when her fingers grazed his skin. His voice, husky with desire, found its way back to her ears. “All these years and you still make me nervous,” he said quietly.

He let out a self-conscious chuckle, remembering the time he’d told her exactly how he felt on a quiet evening in London. How the mere thought of her had made him lightheaded. How he couldn’t get her out of his head, no matter how many races he won or how many practice laps he took. She was always there, the one person who truly saw him for who he was beyond fame. And, ironically, she was the one who had tried to push him away at first.

“Because…” He swallowed, pressing his forehead to hers once again. “I just want to make this night unforgettable. You… you deserve everything. Not just tonight, but for the rest of our lives.”

Y/N smiled against his lips, her fingers finally managing to peel his shirt away. She let her hand glide up his bare torso, feeling the soft planes and gentle ridges of muscle beneath her palm. “You’re here,” she reminded him. “That’s all I need.”

His warm laughter vibrated against her, and he lowered his head to kiss the tender spot at the base of her throat. “I’m so in love with you, it’s ridiculous,” he said, a grin brightening his features. “Now, wife… shall we make it official in every sense of the word?”

A wave of heat passed through her, and she nodded shyly. It was one thing to do this after three years of dating—intimate moments had come before, though they always seemed laced with a sense of wonder. But there was something profoundly different about sharing the first night as husband and wife, a sense of newness glowing between them. It felt both thrilling and comforting, like stepping into a future they had carved for themselves despite every obstacle.

They navigated their way toward the large four-poster bed draped in sheer white curtains. Candles flickered on the nightstand, their golden light giving the entire space a dreamlike aura. Lando helped Y/N onto the mattress as if she were the most precious thing in the world, pressing a kiss to her hand before stretching out beside her.

She let her eyes linger on him—the signature smile, his messy curls, the strong line of his jaw. “Can you believe we’re married?” she whispered, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “Like… actually married.”

He pressed a kiss into her palm. “It’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” he responded, voice thick with emotion. “I can’t wait for tomorrow, and the next day… and the rest of our lives.”

She exhaled a laugh of relief, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “I used to think you’d never want to settle down. I used to think… that you didn’t even like me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Me? I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into that party and refused to laugh at my jokes,” he teased. “I’ve always teased you, but only because you’re so darn cute when you get riled up.” Then his tone softened. “If only I knew sooner how you felt… how insecure you were about us. I would have spent every second assuring you.”

She blinked back tears. “You’ve done a great job of reassuring me. I just… I guess I never thought you’d want something so permanent.”

He cupped her jaw, guiding her gaze to his. “I want permanent,” he whispered, a little breathless. “I want you.”

She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes and brushed them away with the back of her hand. It was ridiculous how deeply in love she was with him, but after all the heartbreak and all the doubts, she had never been so certain of someone.

They kissed slowly, at first just a tender press of lips that slowly deepened. His hand ran down her back, tracing small circles. She let her body melt into his, feeling the tension of the day slip away. Her bare skin was flushed and tingling, but there was no panic this time when he ran his palm over the curve of her waist to the arch of her hips. She felt safe, cherished.

Their kisses became more fervent but still measured, each move a deliberate exploration of the warmth and closeness they now got to call theirs forever. She brushed her fingers through his curls, pulling him closer, her heart beating wildly as she let herself sink further into the mattress.

He paused only to hover above her, pressing his forehead to hers once more. “Any second thoughts?” he teased gently, though there was a hint of earnestness in his tone.

“Not one,” she replied, pulling him in for another kiss. She loved the weight of him, the way his breath hitched as she curled her leg around his hip. The soft hum of approval in his throat sent a delicious thrill through her body.

Lando’s lips brushed down her neck, feather-light and deliberate, sending shivers cascading through her body. God, he knew exactly how to make her melt. His breath was warm against her skin, and she felt his teeth graze her pulse point—just enough to make her gasp. His hands slid down her sides, his fingers tracing the curves of her hips as if he were memorizing her all over again. She arched into him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Her breath hitched as his lips trailed lower, skimming the delicate expanse of her collarbone before finally reaching her chest. He paused there, his warm breath brushing against her skin, and she could feel the weight of his gaze as he took her in. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His lips captured one nipple, and she let out a shaky moan, her fingers tangling in his curls.

Y/N couldn’t wait anymore. The tension had been building all day—hell, all year—and now it was too much. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please… fuck me already.”

He chuckled softly—that same playful, teasing laugh that always drove her wild. “So impatient,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her chest as he spoke. “We’ve got all night, Mrs. Norris.” But even as he teased her, he was already moving, his hands sliding up her thighs as he shifted back to kneel between her legs.

He stood up briefly, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down his legs, followed by his boxers. His cock sprang free, painfully hard, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip as she watched him. He was so beautiful, so perfectly hers, and the thought made her chest ache with emotion.

Lando leaned down again, his hands sliding under the waistband of her thong. “Let’s get these off,” he said softly, his voice thick with need. He slipped the delicate fabric down her legs, tossing it aside before letting his gaze roam over her. His eyes darkened as he took her in, and she felt a flush creep up her chest at the intensity of his stare.

“Why did you stop?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He smiled, reaching out to brush his fingers along her inner thigh. “Just… let me look at you,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe you’re really mine.”

She squirmed under his gaze, her thighs pressing together as she fought the urge to close her legs. “Lando,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please…”

He didn’t make her wait any longer. He hovered over her again, his body pressing into hers as he kissed her deeply. His hands cradled her face, his touch so tender it made her chest tighten. She felt the tip of his cock brush against her entrance, and she let out a soft whimper, her hips arching toward him.

“Is that good, baby?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders. “Please, Lando…”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. “I need to make love to you tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. Slowly, he pushed into her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. She gasped, her nails digging into his back as she felt him stretch her, fill her completely.

He started slow, his thrusts deep and steady, each one drawing a shaky moan from her lips. His eyes never left hers, and the intensity of his gaze made her feel like she was the only person in the world. God, he was so gentle with her, so careful, and it made her chest ache with how much she loved him.

“You are so good to me… so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and warm against hers. “And you’re perfect,” he murmured, his breath mingling with hers. His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel the way he was holding back—how careful he was being—and it only made her love him more.

She was a moaning mess, her nails dragging down his back as she clung to him. His name fell from her lips in a breathless whisper, over and over, and he seemed to savor every sound she made. “Lando,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the tension building inside her.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He was so tender, so loving, and she couldn’t believe that this man—her husband—was finally hers. Forever.

She started to tear up, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the moment. “I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He kissed her again, slow and deep, his hips never faltering. “It’s real,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re my wife now. And I’m never letting you go.”

She felt the tears spill over, but she didn’t care. She just held onto him, her body moving with his as he made love to her with a tenderness that left her breathless. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I love you.”

He smiled, his eyes soft as he looked down at her. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “More than anything.” His thrusts grew a little faster, a little harder, and she gasped, her hips arching toward him. “Is that good, baby?” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” she breathed, her nails digging into his back. “Yes, Lando…”

He kissed her again, his lips soft and warm against hers. “Good,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “Because I’m never going to stop loving you.”

Lando returned to slow, measured movements, letting the moment stretch between them like something sacred. He moved inside her with a rhythm that was unhurried, deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her body all over again. His thrusts were deep, each one slow and steady, pushing her closer to the edge while still holding her there, suspended in the warmth of him. She could feel the way he savored every moment—pressing into her with tender care, pulling back just enough to make her ache for him. His hands slid up her sides, his fingers brushing over her ribs, his touch so soft it made her shiver.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “you feel so... soft. So perfect.” His breath was hot against her neck, his lips grazing her skin as he spoke. He tipped his head back for a moment, his eyes closing as he sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t believe you’re mine. All of you... like this... mine.”

She whimpered, her nails digging into the muscles of his back as she arched into him. The way he moved inside her was almost unbearable, his pace so slow, so deliberate, like he was trying to stretch every second into an eternity. She could feel every inch of him, every breath, every heartbeat, and it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I can’t...” She trailed off, her words dissolving into a broken moan as he pressed deeper, his hips rolling against hers in a way that made her body sing. “God, you’re... you’re so good to me... so good.”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against her collarbone. “And you’re... fucking amazing,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto hers, and she could see the way he was holding himself back—how careful, how deliberate he was being. His hands slid down to her hips, his fingers gripping her tightly as he pulled her closer, his thrusts still slow, still deep.

Her breath hitched, her chest tightening with how much she loved him. She could feel the tears building again, her eyes stinging as she looked up at him. “I can’t believe this is real,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t believe we’re... here... like this...”

He smiled, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. “It’s real,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His thumb brushed along her hip bone, his touch so gentle it made her heart ache. “You’re my wife, Y/N. And I’m... God, I’m so in love with you.”

She choked on a sob, her hands reaching up to cup his face. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her palms were warm against his skin, and she could feel the way his breath hitched when he leaned into her touch. She pulled him down for a kiss, her lips soft against his, her heart pounding in her chest.

He kissed her back with a tenderness that made her chest ache, his thrusts never faltering. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the way his body trembled against hers, the way his breath came in shaky gasps. But he was still so careful, so slow, as if he was scared of breaking her.

“You feel... incredible,” he whispered, his voice trembling. His hips moved faster, his thrusts deeper, and she could feel the tension building inside her. She was so close, so close, and she could see it in his eyes too—the way he was struggling to hold on.

“Lando,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his curls as she pulled him closer. “I’m so close... please...”

He moaned low in his throat, his thrusts quickening just enough to send her over the edge. “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Please, Y/N... come with me.”

And she did. Her body shattered as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her nails digging into his skin, her lips parting in a silent scream. She could feel him tense above her, hear his sharp intake of breath as he climaxed too, his body shuddering against hers. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as they rode out the waves together.

When it was over, when the world had righted itself again, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She could feel the way his heart raced against her chest, hear the way his breath came in shaky gasps. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment before he finally spoke.

“You’re my wife,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. “My wife.” She could hear the smile in his voice, the way the weight of it seemed to settle over him. “I love you so much, Y/N. More than anything.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed her face into his chest. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the way his body relaxed against hers. She sighed contentedly, her heart still racing as he pressed another soft kiss to her hair.

His hand brushed over her back, his fingertips grazing her skin as he tangled his legs with hers. “Sleep,” he said softly, his voice warm and filled with tenderness. “We’ve got forever, you and me.” She nodded, her eyes closing as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. His arms tightened around her, and within moments, everything melted away in the quiet comfort of the night.

[bunny-jpeg]

firecracker

carlos sainz jr.

request: no. 52 “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” + cs55 🥰 no. 52 "you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

tags: smut/pwp, cowgirl position, established relationship, hair pulling, dom!reader, sub!carlos

eros (the valentine's day collection)

carlos knew he wasn't stupid. he prided himself in being intelligent both on and off the track. but maybe this wasn't his brightest moment.

you stood there in the living room with two items in your hands. carlos' red ferrari t-shirt and your noticeably pink blouse. it took a moment before his expression dropped in realization.

"i'm so sorr-"

you dropped your hands and held onto the garment tighter, "this is the second time this has happened. i told you not to mix my whites with your ferrari reds." you huffed.

carlos got up from the couch and walked over you. his pace was slow, despite his pure intentions to make you feel better as he approached you. he had to admit, you looked good when you were angry.

he got close into your space and looked at you with a soft glance, "my love, i'm so sorry."

"please use your head, carlos. i need these for work, i can't show up looking like an after dressed cotton candy." you frowned, "and i don't hear about how you'll just buy me a new shirt. money can't solve all of your problems.it's not fair tome." you knew you were rambling, but you didn't care. you wanted to get your point across!

carlos took the clothing from you and leaned in to kiss you on the lips so delicately. you wanted to get made some more, but when carlos threw an arm around your middle, you only sank into the kiss.

you held onto the front of his t-shirt and moaned gently against him. he smiled into it and you knew you've give him a piece of your mind later. but for now, you'd just accept his kisses.

"there." he said, "i promise i will be more mindful. i'm sorry, i love you." he said gently as he cupped your face, "i won't let it happen again."

you smiled a little at his tenderness, "next time you do this, i'll make sure all of your white t-shirts get stained too." your words were a warning and carlos simply smiled.

"i would not accept anything less, my love." then kissed your cheek, "i have to admit my love." he leaned in a little closer, "you're so fucking hot when you're mad."

you chuckled softly and said, "oh i bet i am." then pressed a hand against his firm chest, "i bet you love when i tear you a new one." then looked into his dark eyes.

carlos smiled broadly, "don't get me too excited." his eyes cast to your hand on his chest and he licked his lips. you were simply too beautiful.

"sainz."

"i can't help myself. I love when you put me in my place." he looked a little excited at the prospect of you getting angry with him. you playfully rolled your eyes and went in for another heated kiss.

"you are something else, honey." you said, "but don't ruin my laundry again, or i'll be making something else of yours pink." then patted his behind while made him more excited. you led him to the bedroom, with the clothes left behind. carlos' gaze lingered on your behind as you led him to your shared bedroom. before you went through the open door, you asked him, "going to be good for me, carlos?"

carlos felt his sweatpants tighten and he nodded dumbly, "yes, of course." and felt a spike in his pulse, "you really are the most beautiful woman alive."

he got his clothes off and you did your own. carlos reached for you and you batted his hands away. he looked at you with mild confusion before you placed your hand on his chest once more, only to push him down onto the bed.

you climbed on top of your nude lover, taking in the sight of tanned skin and strong muscles. you ran your hands down him with a certain affection. you mused over him for a moment before you let out a small laugh. he looked good under you, "how does this look? still like me when i'm angry?"

carlos ran his tongue across his top teeth before he chuckled, "i love it. you look beautiful on top, it is like your rightful place." he reached for you once more but you batted his hands away.

"look, don't touch." you said and pinned carlos' hands above his head. his wrists captured in your one hand. it was a slight stretch of your palm, but it was worth it, "this is punishment for ruining my shirt."

"of course, of course." he tensed up when you soon sank down on his cock. with a little maneuvering of your hips. he cursed under his breath and thought that if heaven were a place, it was between your soft legs.

"fuck carlos. i hate that your cock makes my brain feel like mush."you groaned, you started to move your hips. they were short lovely thrusts that made carlos feel pleasure race through him.

the hammering of his hear while you worked yourself against him, you felt perfect around him. he swallowed back the lust to say to you, "you look beautiful."

your free hand was in his dark hair, you gave it a yank and his eyes rolled back a little. you said lowly, "i know, and you look like a total slut, sainz. you get off to this. to me." there was heat in your tone as the pleasure pounded through both of you.

you moved quickly and kept him under you with a momentum that made him groan. you shakily exhaled as you kept up your pace, it was a lot and it made your heart pound. there was a small fire of lust in your gut as the two of you moved, or rather he tried to move. but it was hard with how he was pinned under you.

you pulled his hair once more and he moaned. he sounded cute when he moaned against you. next time you'd squeeze your thighs around his head, make him really squirm. carlos was good. a good man, and under you, a good boy. you'd forgive what he had tone, especially with those doe eyes heavy with lust.

"promise not to do that again?" you asked as you held onto him tightly, you moved against him. the force of your movements was heavy and you licked your lips. you could see the pleasure across his features.

carlos tensed up and you chuckled lightly. this was your boyfriend. the pain in your side, the love of your life.

there was a leap in your chest as you let go of his wrists and pinned both hands to his chest for better leverage. your hips moved to a rhythm of your own making. it felt beautiful, you could feel his heartbeat. it was like a symphony in your soul as your bodies moved together. you loved him, and he loved you.

you gasped loudly as the pleasure raced through your body. you squeezed your eyes shut as he feeling went down to your very soul. it was hot and left you flustered all over.

"i like when you're mad at me." he chuckled, "you get so fiery and it can't help myself. more beautiful than a bonfire."

you felt a tinge of warmth in your cheeks from his words. you wanted to refute them, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. you leaned in to him and then kissed him on the lips.

he tasted warm, like comfort and of home. you felt a curl of lovein your core, it was a beautiful feeling. all of him was perfect, even when he got under your skin.

you pressed further into him as you made love. the anger repalced with something else. you kissed him once more and felt the thrill og pleasure through you. the kisses grew hungry and needy.

carlos loved the feeling, how you drove him wild. you moved against him like you knew exactly how to make him yearn with sexual want. you were the woman of his dream. you shared another tender kiss and he groaned with his lips against yours.

"fuck, carlos." you said with a heated moan. you sounded beautiful as carlos was tempted to grab you by the hips and fuck you with an intense pleasure. an attempt to take control, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. he watched you fall apart on his cock, you held him by the shoulders tightly as you rode yourself through your pleasure.

it was heated and arousing in a way that made carlos close behind you with pleasure grasping you tightly. you basked in his warmth, the flutter of post orgasmic bliss left you feeling beyond amazing. and soon carlos joined you in the bliss as he finished as well.

"fuck." you exhaled as you slowed your movements to a stop. you enjoyed the feeling of him under you, it felt comfortable as you spread your hands across his chest.

he then wrapped a strong arm around you to pull you next to him in bed then kissed the top of your head with affection. he asked, "am i forgiven?"

you looked at him and chuckled lightly, "for now. you may find me hot when i'm angry. but you look hot when you're all fucked out." then curled up close to him. you shared one more tender kiss.

carlos would be forgiven this time, but he knew not to try anything like that again <3

[caffieneaddictt18]

okay but like… 141 with a partner who has chronic lower back pain.

I feel like Price would notice when you cant bend down mostly cause he likes sneaking peeks at your ass and notice the way your hand reaches around to press into the muscle. “You alright, luvie?” “Yeah. Fine.” He can just tell from the strain in your voice that it hurts, so he gets up and grabs a bottle of lotion. You’ve told him before that you have chronic lower back pain, and sometimes it flares up. Not too bad, but other times you can’t get out of bed. So he takes the lotion and gently guided you to the couch and has you lay down on your tummy as he pushes your shirt up just enough to massage the tender skin, muscles, and aggravated nerves. He might give it a kiss after and then he’ll flip you over and ask for his reward 😉

I headcanon that Simon also has chronic back pain, so he knows all about it. He has all the stuff for it already. Ice packs, heating pads, massage lotion, all the goods. So when you tell him that you have chronic lower back pain, he doesn’t even blink. However, whenever you have a flare up, he is always right there to help. He’s also one to remind you to not do too much just because it feels good today, when you inevitably ignore him and have a flare up so bad you can’t get out bed, he is also the one to take care of your bedridden self. "I told you, luv." "Yeah, yeah..."

Johnny would be the one that you have to sit down with and explain to him your situation, and then he would be like "Oh, yeah! I get that sometimes!" and you have to be the one to break the news that what he feels sometimes, you feel all the time, and you can see it break his heart. Now he doesn't let you do anything the moment he sees your hand on your back. You are ushered to your comfortable bed that he bought after you explained your pain to him, with a heating pad/ice pack for your back, a full water bottle, and the remote for the tv, as well as your phone, in case you need him as he finishes whatever you had to do for the rest of the day. He also does it in half the time... jerk (not really, just a man who is deeply in love with his soon-to-be wife)

Gaz, you see that he gets it. He kind of immediately understands. He does ask for you to trace where the pain is on him, so he can get a better understanding of it. As you spread your fingers to cover the entire area of where your pain would sit on him, or at least a similar equivalent, tracing up and down to where it spreads, he asks what it feels like right now. And you tell him that it's at baseline right now: that you can move fine, it's just with that added pain that you feel every day. From then on, he is aware of whenever flare-ups start. It's fucking weird too, like, sixth sense weird. You could have a normal day, and when you head to bed, you see Kyle laying out your heating pad and placing a water bottle on your nightstand. "What are you doing?" "Just got a feeling, darling." And the next morning, a random flare up, like he fucking thought. "How did you know?" "Cause I know you, darling." Then he'll kiss your forehead and be at your beck and call all day.

If it was a poly!141, I have a feeling that Simon would take point when he could. But if you both are down for the count, Price would take point on making sure that you both have everything you need, stationed in the living room, one on the couch and one on the old recliner that Price tends to populate. And then, at the end of the day, its a huge cuddle pile and movie night.

[mameillieureennemie]

Vi being gentle is so agskdbspsnsks BUT my girl deserves some gentleness as well 😭 After all her fights, her traumas, everything, she deserves to lean into the reader, to be caught instead of being the one catching

PLEASE I BEG YOU

i just love her so much, i really do. 🥹 she does deserve to be caught, always!

you've noticed the weight on vi's shoulders—how heavy it is and how it drags her down. almost sinking her right into the ground, sinking and sinking until she's burned by the earth's hot core.

you've always noticed; it's nothing new, and you've tried to shoulder some, if not all, of it.

but vi's reluctant to give it away, especially to you who knows a little too much about pain. you're both tortured souls, torn apart and left to bleed by a life far too unkind. it's taken years of healing and will still take more, but that doesn't mean that weight should be carried alone.

it's late into the night when vi gets home, and the weight seems heavier than ever. she's exhausted, visibly so, and struggling to remove her work boots as she leans against the hallway wall for balance.

you watch her silently for a moment, knowing that she hasn't realised your presence yet. you wait until it's too much, seeing her struggle at something so simple a pain to your soul. so you walk over, go to your knees and begin to take off her boots with gentle hands.

vi doesn't react at first, her exhaustion so deep it halts her usual sharpness. it isn't until you've removed one boot and moved on to the next that stone-cold clarity hits her. she's suddenly fast, falling to her knees and taking your hands between hers.

"wha—?" she tries, confusion written all over her tired face. "what are you doing?"

"helping you," you say easily. your hands are already moving from hers, lifting up to cup her cheeks. "you're so tired, sweetheart. you look like you're about to fall asleep right here."

"even so, you don't have to remove my boots for me," vi replies—scolds, even. "i'd never ever expect that from you. please don't ever think that you'd have to do that and—"

you shush her softly, smoothing your thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. "baby, i know you'd never expect that from me," you assure her, wanting to soothe the anxious flames within her. "i'm doing it because i want to." you huff a small laugh. "since when have you known me to do anything i didn't want to do?"

vi's lips twitch in slight amusement, tension beginning to leave her body in small waves. "i know," she murmurs, leaning into your hands. "it's just...hard to let go, sometimes."

"i know, baby, i know," you say, just as soft. "but you can let go with me, okay?" you lean forward, pressing a tender kiss against her forehead. "you're safe with me."

vi goes tense for a second, as if arguing within herself. but then she goes loose, all her muscles softening, before she's falling into you.

you catch her willingly; forever willing.

[acmeangel]

♡ You're a member of Levi's Squad, and he asks you to marry him, when disaster strikes.

♡ SFW ♡ Canon!Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, a bit angsty, mentions of blood, injury, near-death experience ♡ Word count: 3019 ♡ Summary: After finally accepting that you're there to stay, Levi asks you to marry him. You're a member of his Squad, and being with him has always felt right. Not too long after, a dangerous scouting mission leaves you with a grave injury, and Levi is faced with the fear that you might not make it.

When Levi asked you to marry him, it wasn’t with some extravagant proposal or planned-out, grand romantic evening.

You both were lying in your bed in the barracks, your body half-draped on top of his, your fingers lazily playing with strands of his hair. His hands grazed up and down your back with a steady, soothing tempo.

You’d both returned from a scouting mission earlier that day — one with too many casualties, as there always seemed to be. Levi had recruited you to be on his Special Operations Squad years ago, based purely on your stats from previous missions with other squads. At first, he had respected you, much like he’d respected all of the members of Squad Levi; a group of people willing to join the riskiest regiment and put their lives on the line in the futile hope to save humanity.

Respect had eventually turned into friendship, which had then grown into something more. You two loved each other long before your romantic relationship had begun; so when it finally did, it felt natural, like it was always supposed to be that way.

In your bed, that night, he looked at you with a tender softness that bordered on melancholic. It was a look that he didn’t show often. His eyes revealed how deeply he cared for you, how much he wanted to shield you — who he saw as one of the last few truly good things left in this world — from the cruelty, violence, and destruction that ran rampant around you. It was a look that no one else ever got to see.

“I want to run something by you,” he stated, his voice level and smooth as ever.

“Oh, do tell, Captain.” You laughed, faintly, your eyes sparkling with a glint of amusement.

His hand traced up your back and slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gentle, affectionate circles onto your skin.

“How would you feel about the two of us being together, like this, forever?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours, an unusual stiffness in his expression. You couldn’t believe it, but he was actually nervous.

You blinked once, twice and tilted your head. “Levi, are you asking… me to marry you?”

You weren’t entirely surprised that this was how he’d phrased it — he’d never been one for verbosity or overly sentimental language. He’d showed his love for you more in his actions; in the way he always checked you for injuries at least three times after a mission, in the way he’d stroke the back of your hand with his thumb when he held it as you fell asleep, in the way he’d insist on giving you half of his own breakfast every morning so you’d have enough energy for the day.

“Yes, Y/N,” he’d said, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, his soft gray eyes settling into yours. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

You felt all of the blood rush to your head, your entire body overwhelmed with excitement, joy, and love for Levi.

“Yes,” you managed to say — and repeated the single word at least twenty times, as you leaned in to press your lips to his, peppering him over and over with kisses.

“Alright, alright,” he’d mumbled after the twentieth kiss, his cheeks then flushed with a soft pink blush.

You beamed with joy as you pulled your face back from his, your eyes glimmering with adoration.

“So,” you began, a hint of playfulness in your voice, raising your eyebrow, “do I get a ring then, or what?”

His lips pressed together, his gaze narrowing just a bit as he considered the question, a puff of air escaping his nose.

“Fine.” His voice was a low, dry mumble, but his lips bent into a small smile, the tension in his forehead releasing. He couldn’t help but give into every one of your requests, no matter what.

His eyes scanned around the room, looking for something suitable, before he reached out to the bedside table, the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing as he took a paperclip from a stack of papers. Turning back to you, his fingers worked with precision to unravel the paper clip, the wire of which he used to form a nearly perfect circle. He took your hand, his touch gentle, and slid the makeshift paper clip ring onto your ring finger in one swift, delicate motion.

“How’s that?” His eyes studied your face, intently waiting for any sign of reaction. “Temporarily, anyway.”

Your cheeks blushed uncontrollably and you gleamed with a smile so wide it made the muscles in your face turn sore. Seeing you this way made him smile — a real smile.

“It’s perfect,” you’d whispered, practically choking the words out. “Much better than any stupid diamond I’ve ever seen.”

“Think we need to do the whole ceremony thing? Or can I just start calling you my wife now?” His brows scrunched together slightly as he waited for your answer, and you could tell how badly he wanted to skip the frills and formalities and simply be yours, eternally.

At the sound of the word ‘wife’ your chest swelled with affection, and your eyes became misty, blurring your vision of him.

“Screw the ceremony,” you whispered, your voice shaking with overflowing emotion. “We’re married, now.”

“Good,” he whispered back, his own voice fraught with feeling, as his thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. You know that.”

His eyes bore into yours, seeking confirmation. He didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, only when it really counted.

“I know,” you whispered. “I love you, too, Levi.”

******

It was only weeks after that — after the moment Levi decided, finally, that you would be by his side forever, that he knew you’d never leave him — that your squad was faced with a particularly dangerous mission.

It was another reconnaissance mission, much like all of the other Scouts’ missions had been, but no one could have anticipated the amount of Abnormals. The Scouts hadn’t reached a single objective before entire groups of Erwin’s formation had been wiped out by the Abnormals, which were making their way closer and closer to the center groups. Erwin had officially called for a retreat — something he rarely ever did, only when the situation was dire.

Levi Squad raced forward on horseback, galloping past the blurred, unidentifiable carnage of comrades; the once green fields had turned red and rotten.

Your gaze was fixated intently on Levi, catching glimpses of his profile as he led the squad forward — to anyone else, he looked entirely collected. But you knew him too well and had memorized all of his micro-expressions, and based on the tension in his jaw and the chilled intensity of his gaze, you knew he was worried, too. He’d often admitted that he never knew what the outcome of these missions would be, that no one did, and you could see his mind racing with that exact thought.

The pounding of impossibly large footsteps caused the ground to shake just slightly, enough to make your head whip around and see a group of Abnormals charging forward with unprecedented speed and force.

“Captain!” You’d called out, drawing Levi’s attention. He’d simply glanced over his shoulder and ordered to keep moving forward per Erwin’s command; based on the looks the rest of the squad exchanged, you knew they were unsure about this decision.

Before anyone could think or say another word, one of the Abnormals had surged forward and began to reach for Eld, whose blades were inexplicably jammed in his ODM gear. The panic in his eyes was enough to strike fear into anyone.

You sprung into action immediately — this was simply how you were. You never wasted time thinking, you only acted. It was reckless, perhaps, but you’d gotten results time and time again, and the thought of losing a friend without trying to save him was unacceptable to you.

This was one of the things Levi loved most about you, and it was also one of the things he wished so badly to change about you. He admired your selflessness, your fearlessness, the way you never seemed to be paralyzed by indecision. But, sometimes, it felt to him like only a matter of time before something terrible would happen to you.

You’d managed to sink a grappling hook into the Titan and propel yourself off of your horse, in the direction of Eld, knocking him out of the Titan’s path. You’d planned on being able to then reach the nape of the neck and put an end to this, but you were too rash, too impulsive to anticipate that the Titan’s next movement would whack your ODM wire to the side, bringing your body flinging through the air with it.

The rest, in your recollection, was more or less a blur. You knew that the Titan curled its fingers around your body, its grip bruising your skin and rendering you too immobile to fight back. You knew that you’d heard Levi yelling — actually yelling. You knew that the Titan had brought you to its mouth and managed to sink its teeth into the side of your body enough to make you lose consciousness, but not enough to kill you. You knew that Levi was the one who had intervened, who had saved your life. The last piece of memory you had was the sight of Levi’s face as he grabbed you from the Titan, a look that was so intense, fear-stricken, and furious, it bordered on crazed.

After getting you back onto the ground, Hange had ridden over on horseback and hoisted your limp body onto the horse, carrying you out of harm’s way.

Levi took care of that Titan himself — he made sure of it. Blinded by rage and agony, he slaughtered the Titan with a brutality he typically withheld. Normally, Levi did only as much has he had to in order to kill a Titan. This wasn’t fun for him, it wasn’t a game; he didn’t like fighting, he didn’t like being violent.

But this was different — he sliced the Titan apart, his movements a fevered, merciless haze, his vision red with bloodthirstiness. By the time he was done with the Titan, it was a mere pile of limbs, and he was drenched in its blood.

He’d finally reached the wagon that you’d been placed in, climbing into it with urgent movements, trailing Titan blood behind him. His pupils were constricted; his eyes were glowing with panic.

Your body was lying flat in the wagon, Hange and some of the other squad members hovering over you, attempting to tend to your wounds, their efforts proving futile. They’d managed to wrap a bandage over where the Titan had bit you, but you were bleeding through it with no sign of stopping. There wasn’t anything left to do until you all returned inside the walls.

“Get the fuck away from her! Don’t fucking touch her!” He shouted, his voice coarse and sharp, his arms effortlessly shoving everyone else away from your limp body. He stood over you, his eyes wild with emotion, his chest rising and falling with breaths so heavy it looked almost painful.

When he dropped to his knees beside you, his eyes caught sight of your hand, on the makeshift paperclip ring he had made you, that you’d refused to ever take off. An ice-cold chill rushed down his spine, so sharp it felt like it was actually ripping him apart from the inside out.

“Why is this wagon moving so damn slowly?!” He snarled to the rest of the squad, his eyes desperately glued to your face, while the others scrambled to try and speed the journey up as much as they could.

He grasped onto your hand with both of his as if the sheer force of his grip could heal you and bring you back to him. His eyes didn’t waver from your face once, his gaze burning into your skin, searching for even the slightest sign of life; all he was met with was your pale, sweat-glistened skin. You looked peaceful and it snapped his last thread of self-control — he wanted you to fight.

An uncontrollable, livid, primal growl escaped his mouth, unable to form any coherent words. Spit flung off his lips and into the wind, his expression was frenzied with helpless rage and despair.

The rest of the squad’s expressions froze. They’d never seen Levi be anything but stoic, apart from when he was actively slicing the nape of a Titan’s neck. Goosebumps dotted their skin as they simply watched, eyes wide, unsure of what to do. Levi had forgotten anyone else was even there; he cared about nothing in that moment but you.

He watched as your face turned paler, as your breathing became so shallow that it was hardly perceptible. You were slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it — for once, his strength meant nothing.

“No,” he barked, his voice gruff and strained, his grip on your hand tightening until his knuckles turned blazing white. “You won’t be taken from me. This shitty, goddamned world is not going to take you from me. You gave your word, Y/N. You said forever. Don’t back out on me now.”

His cries didn’t make a sound, but the sight of his back heaving raggedly and his hot tears dropping down onto your face was unmistakable. His face was twisted with anguish; his teeth were visibly clenched together so forcefully that they could’ve cracked. His hands began to involuntarily shake as they held onto your hand, the paperclip ring digging into his skin.

******

The next time you’d opened your eyes, you were confused. Your vision was blurry for a few moments, until you were met with the sight of the medical unit and you realized you were lying in one of the beds.

The next thing you saw was Levi’s face, the veins in neck tense with distress, the circles under his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them before. You took a deep breath, which hurt, and you felt the bandages around your waist expand and contract against your skin.

Upon seeing your eyes begin to faintly blink open, Levi moved to the edge of his chair, his hand urgently reaching out for yours, his eyes wildly moving across your face.

“Y/N?” His voice was raspy with disuse and lack of sleep, his tone pleading and tinged with hope.

“Levi…?” you whispered, groggily, your voice low and coarse.

His eyes fluttered closed with relief, his shoulders slumping as his head dropped down to your hand, holding it to his forehead with reverence. “Oh, thank god…” He whispered, his voice stilted with emotion.

Once Levi composed himself, and you began asking him questions, he explained to you, briefly, what had happened — he didn’t want to alarm or worry you with the more gruesome details until he was sure you were okay. All he told you was that a Titan had attacked you on the last scouting mission and that you’d been in the medical unit for weeks.

You’d learned later that the entire time, Levi had barely left your side. He’d sat in a chair next to you, watching you, talking to you, holding your hand, and urging you to wake up and come back to him. At night, he’d slept even less than usual, nodding off in his chair for only an hour or so here and there. Some of the other squad members could have sworn they’d even caught glimpses of Levi crying when he thought no one else was around.

The only time he ever left your side was if he had to go to briefings and meetings. When he did, he’d threaten medics into sitting by your side, outlining grave consequences for if anything happened to you while he was gone. He’d skipped meals, trainings, and anything else that wasn’t absolutely mandatory for him to attend.

After he’d finished helping you sip some water and become less groggy, he just looked at you, his eyes scanning over every centimeter of your face, as if making sure that you were really awake and stable and it wasn’t some insomnia-induced hallucination.

“You’re done with the Scouts,” he’d said, finally, his voice firm, unyielding — it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Huh?” Your brows pressed together with confusion. “Who decided that? Erwin? What, does he think I’m useless now?”

“No, Y/N.” He shook his head, taking a soft breath before continuing. “I’m deciding it.”

“Levi-“

“No,” he cut you off before you can even think to object. His jaw clenched, his expression was fraught with concern. “Y/N. I thought you were… gone. It nearly killed me. This- nothing can ever happen to you again. You’re my wife. I need you to be here, with me. I need to know you’re safe, Y/N. I can’t- if you’d actually… Please, Y/N.”

For a moment, this surprised you. Outside of missions, Levi had never told you what to do or asked anything of you — he was protective, but not possessive. You being with him, caring for him, and loving him was more than he’d ever dared to hope for in his life. To him, you’d settle for him despite his most hidden scars, and it felt wrong to ever ask for more.

But he was asking you to do this. Begging you. For him.

“Okay,” your voice dipped to a gentle softness, your hand reaching out for his again, somewhat weakly. “Okay, Levi. I’ll leave the Scouts. Nothing will ever happen to me again. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A slow, uneven breath escaped his lips, as if expelling all of the fear and tension in his body. He collapsed into you, softly, his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he breathed, the words barely making a sound. “I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

He didn’t say it often, only when it really counted.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

Requested by anonymous!

Taglist (message me to be added!): @leviykwim

[chxnsgirl]

방찬 ─── because i love you

♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, hurt/comfort ៸៸ cw ៸៸ mention of body issues and insecurities ♡ synopsis ៸៸ channie comforts you after you've been having bad thoughts about your body all day :( [ 1k words ] a/n ๑ i had a bad day yesterday, someone said mean things and i wrote this to cope. this is your reminder to be nice to people, you don't know what someone is going through. ♡ ♡ masterlist

you curled up on the bed you shared with chan, cocooned in the safety of your comforter, your body curled tightly as if making yourself smaller could somehow quiet the thoughts swirling in your mind. the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, but even in the warmth of your own space, you felt unbearably exposed. you sniffled quietly, your face damp with fresh tears, your chest aching from the weight of emotions that had been pressing down on you all day.

it had started out like any other—waking up to an empty bed, chan already gone for the day, lost in his endless cycle of work, music, and practice. that was nothing new. but the moment your eyes landed on the mirror across the room, everything shifted.

the self-loathing crept in before you could stop it, sinking its claws into your thoughts. you had always struggled with your body image, always fought against the voice in your head that whispered cruel things when you least expected it. lately, though, it had been louder than usual, every glance in the mirror a fresh wound, every passing thought a reminder of how far you felt from the kind of beauty society seemed to praise.

and then there was chan.

chan, who was effortlessly beautiful, who spent his days around stunning, slender women—women who looked like they had stepped right out of a dream, with their delicate features and effortless grace. women who seemed to belong at his side in ways you never felt you could.

he always told you it didn’t matter. that he didn’t care about any of that. that you were enough—more than enough. but your mind was cruel, twisting his reassurances into empty words, making it impossible to truly believe them.

the front door clicked open, breaking the silence, and your heart clenched. he was home.

you barely had time to wipe at your face before instinct took over, yanking the comforter up and over your head. you didn’t want him to see you like this—didn’t want him to see the evidence of your tears, the way your face was blotchy and swollen from crying. maybe if you stayed still enough, he’d think you were asleep.

you listened as his quiet footsteps padded through the apartment, moving with the ease of someone who belonged there, who belonged with you. the bedroom door creaked open, and you tensed, bracing yourself.

the bed dipped under his weight, and a familiar warmth spread through the mattress as he settled beside you. a moment passed before you felt his hand, gentle and careful, smoothing over the comforter that covered you. his touch was soft, tracing absentminded circles over the fabric as if he were comforting you without even needing to see you.

“baby?”

his voice was low and warm, laced with that effortless tenderness he always carried when speaking to you. that single word was enough to make your throat tighten, and before you could stop it, another sniffle escaped.

chan heard it.

he tugged the comforter down just enough to reveal your face, his brows immediately furrowing in concern when he saw your trembling lip and tear-streaked cheeks. his fingers brushed gently over your skin, tucking stray strands of hair away from your damp cheeks as he searched your eyes for an answer.

“oh, baby…” his voice softened even more, dripping with concern. “what’s wrong?”

you sat up slowly, your arms wrapping around your knees as if you could shield yourself from his gaze. you wiped at your eyes, but it was no use—he had already seen everything. his hand found your arm, rubbing soothing circles as he waited, giving you space to speak when you were ready.

but you weren’t ready. you were embarrassed.

embarrassed that you were feeling like this again, embarrassed that he had to come home from a long day only to deal with your mess of emotions. guilt crept in, whispering that you were burdening him, that you were exhausting him.

still, when you finally spoke, the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“why are you with me?”

chan stilled, his brows drawing together in confusion. “y/n…” his voice was careful, as if he were afraid of breaking you with the wrong response. he moved closer, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. you let yourself sink into his warmth, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his hoodie.

“what do you mean?” he smoothed his hand down your back, tucking you even closer, his chin resting against the top of your head.

you hesitated, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “you could have anyone. someone prettier. someone… better.”

chan inhaled sharply, as if your words physically hurt him. he pulled back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. his thumbs brushed away the lingering tears on your cheeks, his expression unbearably soft yet filled with quiet intensity.

“don’t say that,” he murmured, shaking his head. “not about yourself. not to me.”

you tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. his hands remained steady, grounding.

“i’m with you because i love you,” he said firmly, as if that alone should be enough to erase every doubt in your mind. “not because of how you look, not because of anything you think you’re lacking—because you are you. and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his voice was steady, unwavering, but there was something pleading in his eyes, like he wished he could take away the pain, like he wished he could make you see yourself the way he did.

“i know it’s hard,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “i know your mind tells you things that aren’t true. but i’ll keep reminding you every day if i have to—until you believe me. until you understand just how much you mean to me.”

a shaky breath left your lips, and for the first time all day, the weight in your chest felt a little lighter. you weren’t sure if you could believe his words just yet, not fully. but as you let yourself melt into his embrace, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you thought—maybe, just maybe—you could try.

and for now, that was enough.

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @nickgurl4life

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[multific]

A Day of Love in the Gardens

Emperor Caracalla x Reader

Summary: A quiet day with your husband was rare. 

The grand halls of the palace usually stood in quiet, but now were alive with echoes of laughter. 

You stood at the edge of the chamber, your gaze fixed on Emperor Caracalla as he crouched on the polished marble floor. 

It was one of the better days when his illness seemed to disappear as his eyes were clear.

Sitting on his shoulder was Dondus, his mischievous pet monkey, conversing triumphantly while tugging at the golden clasp on Caracalla’s cloak.

“Dondus, you little tyrant,” Caracalla said with mock severity, though the amused smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Do you find joy in making me look ridiculous?”

Dondus tilted his tiny head, his intelligent eyes gleaming before he leapt from Caracalla’s shoulder toward you. 

With practised ease, you caught him midair, cradling him gently as he snuggled against your neck, his tiny hands grasping at the fabric of your gown.

“Always so dramatic,” you teased Caracalla, stroking Dondus' soft fur. “He’s only after that brooch because it’s shiny.”

“Or because he’s plotting with you to test my patience,” Caracalla said before standing up and brushing off his robes. “Though I must admit, you’ve managed to charm him in a way even I can’t.”

You chuckled, adjusting Dondus in your arms. 

“We both enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

Caracalla stepped closer, his intense gaze softening as he reached out to run a hand gently down Dondus' back. 

“You have a way of enchanting everyone in this palace, even a monkey with an appetite for mischief.” His tone dropped, becoming more tender. “Including me.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed yours briefly before he withdrew his hand. 

“You’re flattering me, Emperor Caracalla,” you murmured, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed how much his words meant to you.

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” he asked, his voice low.

Before you could answer, Dondus chirped excitedly, climbing out of your arms and onto Caracalla’s shoulder. Caracalla sighed but didn’t move to stop him, instead tilting his head to rest against his monkey.

“We should take him to the gardens,” you suggested. “He needs to burn off some energy, and the fresh air would do us good too.”

Caracalla nodded.

“Lead the way, My Love.”

The gardens were bright under the golden afternoon sun. 

Dondus darted between trees and bushes, occasionally returning with a leaf or twig, proudly presenting his “treasures” to you.

Of course, you took everything he gave to you so graciously. 

You sat on a stone bench beneath an oak tree, and Caracalla joined you, his arm brushing against yours. 

“I never imagined a day like this,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“A day like what?” you asked, turning to him.

“A day where the world feels... light,” he said, his gaze distant for a moment before focusing on you. “When I’m with you, the weight of the empire and my illness doesn’t seem so crushing.”

Your heart swelled at his confession. 

“You deserve moments like this, Calla. Moments to just be yourself, not the Emperor.”

“And you give me those moments,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve brought peace to a heart that has known little of it.”

Before you could respond, Dondus reappeared, clutching a small flower in his tiny hands. With a delighted chatter, he climbed onto your lap, holding the bloom up to you.

“For me?” you asked, accepting the flower with a smile. “You’re too kind, Dondus.”

Caracalla laughed, reaching over to ruffle the monkey’s fur. “It seems I have competition for your affections.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased, leaning closer to Caracalla. “You’ll always have the upper hand. Dondus can’t kiss me, after all.”

Caracalla’s eyes gleamed with amusement and love. 

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice dropping as he closed the distance between you.

His lips brushed yours softly, the kiss warm and tender. 

When you finally pulled away, Dondus chirped, hopping onto Caracalla’s shoulder as if to demand attention.

“Jealous, are we?” Caracalla said with a chuckle, lifting the monkey off his shoulder and placing him gently on the ground.

You laughed, resting your head against Caracalla’s shoulder as Dondus scampered off to climb a nearby tree. 

The three of you stayed in the garden until the sun dipped low.

And as the first stars appeared, Caracalla turned to you, his gaze soft but steady. 

“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have," he whispered.

You smiled, your hand intertwining with his. “And I’ll keep giving it to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

“Forever, then,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms into a tight hug.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[gpcwsl]

Alessia Russo x Reader

- Extra Clingy -

MasterList

Warnings: kissing?

WC: 1.5k

Last one for the day. More tomorrow.

You wake up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains, but it isn’t the warmth of the sun that stirs you from your sleep—it’s her. Alessia.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around you, legs tangled with yours as if she’s trying to keep you from escaping. Her breath is warm against your neck, and you feel the featherlight press of her lips against your shoulder.

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky and thick with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply softly, turning your head to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes are drowsy yet sparkling, a lazy grin spreading across her face.

Without warning, Alessia shifts closer, burying her face in the crook of your neck. Her lips press a series of kisses to your skin—your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, the soft spot just below your ear.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your skin.

“You’re extra clingy today,” you tease, though you’re far from complaining.

“I don’t want to move,” she admits, her arms tightening around you. “I just want to stay here with you forever.”

Her lips find their way to your jaw, placing slow, deliberate kisses as if memorizing every inch of you. Then she pulls back slightly, her hand cupping your cheek. “Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes locked on yours.

You don’t hesitate. You lean in, pressing your lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss. Alessia sighs against your mouth, her fingers slipping into your hair as she deepens the kiss.

When you pull away, she pouts, her lips soft and slightly swollen. “More,” she pleads, her voice barely above a whisper.

You can’t help but smile. “How many kisses do you need this morning?”

“As many as you’ll give me,” she replies, her grin turning playful.

You spend the next several minutes indulging her, her lips brushing against yours again and again. She’s insatiable, her kisses growing more fervent, her hands wandering to hold your face, your waist, anywhere she can touch.

Eventually, she pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. “You know I love you, right?” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, your heart swelling. “I love you too.”

She smiles at that, her eyes shining as she presses one last kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now let’s stay here all day.”You chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Alessia’s face. “Stay here all day? What about breakfast? Or, you know, getting dressed?”

She grins mischievously, her arms still locked firmly around you. “Breakfast can wait. Clothes are overrated. All I want right now is you.”

Her words send a pleasant warmth spreading through your chest, and her gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes it hard to argue. She tucks her head back against your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“I like mornings like this,” she says quietly, her voice almost dreamy. “When it’s just us, no training, no schedules, no rushing around. Just you and me.”

You tilt her chin up gently so you can look at her properly. “You’re such a softie, you know that?”

“Only for you,” she replies with a wink, leaning up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels safe and full rather than awkward. Alessia shifts slightly, resting her chin on your chest, her fingers drumming lightly against your arm. You can tell she’s thinking about something, and you give her the space to sort through it.

Eventually, she speaks. “You make me feel… grounded,” she admits softly. “Like, no matter what’s happening out there—good or bad—I always have this. You. Us.”

Her vulnerability takes you by surprise, and you feel your heart ache in the best possible way. You reach down, intertwining your fingers with hers. “You’ll always have me, Lessi. No matter what.”

She smiles, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—relief, gratitude, love. She squeezes your hand gently and sits up just enough to kiss your temple.

“Alright, you win,” she says suddenly, her tone lightening as a cheeky smile spreads across her face. “Breakfast sounds good. But only if you promise not to leave my side for too long.”

You laugh, nudging her playfully. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” she counters, flashing you a grin as she finally untangles herself from you, albeit reluctantly. She stretches, her golden hair catching the morning light, before turning to you with an outstretched hand.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “Let’s make pancakes. Together.”

You take her hand, letting her pull you up. As you head to the kitchen, Alessia doesn’t let go of your hand, and every so often, she steals another kiss—on your cheek, your temple, even your shoulder as you work side by side.

The morning stretches on, and it’s everything she said it would be: no rushing, no distractions, just the two of you. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like the rest of the world can wait.

The kitchen is filled with the comforting sounds of morning: the sizzle of batter hitting the pan, Alessia’s soft hums as she flips a pancake with surprising grace, and your shared laughter over her attempt to make a perfectly round one—which somehow ends up looking like a heart.

“Look at that,” she says, holding up the heart-shaped pancake proudly. “It’s a sign. Meant to be.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “It’s a coincidence, Lessi.”

“Uh-uh,” she protests, placing the pancake on a plate and turning to you with a teasing smile. “Don’t ruin the romance, babe. It’s love, right here. Breakfast love.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you start cutting up some fruit to add to the stack. Alessia leans against the counter next to you, watching you with a soft expression. When you glance at her, she doesn’t look away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she says, but her voice carries that gentle, adoring tone she always gets when she’s completely lost in her feelings for you. “I just like watching you. You’re… you’re perfect.”

You pause, your cheeks warming. Alessia is never shy about voicing how she feels, but every time she says something like that, it catches you off guard.

“Perfect?” you echo, smirking slightly. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Not even close,” she replies, stepping closer to wrap her arms around your waist. “It’s the truth. And I think you’re just going to have to accept that I’m obsessed with you.”

Her lips brush against your temple, lingering there as she whispers, “Obsessed.”

You lean back into her embrace, tilting your head slightly to meet her gaze. “Fine. But only if I get to be obsessed with you, too.”

Her grin is immediate, wide and boyish, the kind that makes her look completely and utterly in love. “Deal.”

The pancakes and fruit are quickly forgotten as she turns you around in her arms, pulling you into a kiss that’s far too passionate for the middle of breakfast preparations. Her hands settle at your waist, her lips moving against yours with a tenderness that melts you from the inside out.

When you finally pull away, breathless and giggling, Alessia presses her forehead to yours, her hands still holding you close. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

“Better be,” you tease, poking her side gently. “Otherwise, all this clinginess would be suspicious.”

She laughs, her nose scrunching adorably, before stealing another quick kiss. “Alright, let’s eat before I forget food exists and just keep kissing you all day.”

The two of you settle at the small dining table, plates piled high with pancakes and fruit, syrup drizzled generously over everything. It’s simple, but it feels perfect. You spend the meal laughing, teasing, and stealing bites from each other’s plates, completely wrapped up in your little bubble of love and comfort.

After breakfast, Alessia insists on cleaning up, though her version of tidying involves dancing around the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, dramatically lip-syncing to the music playing softly in the background. You can’t help but laugh as you watch her spin and twirl, her energy infectious.

“Come on,” she urges, holding out her hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“I think I’ll pass,” you say, though you’re already smiling.

“Nope,” she says, grabbing your hand and pulling you into her orbit. “No passing. Mandatory fun.”

You let her guide you into an impromptu slow dance, her hands finding your waist as yours settle on her shoulders. She sways with you, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile soft and sweet.

“You make everything better,” she murmurs after a moment, her voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “Even doing the dishes.”

You lean in, brushing your lips against hers in a kiss that feels like a promise. “I’m not going anywhere, Lessi.”

She smiles against your lips, her hold on you tightening slightly. “Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not done being obsessed with you yet.”

And for the rest of the day, that’s exactly how it feels—like the world outside doesn’t exist, like the only thing that matters is the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s love and laughter.

[heechwe]

i'll be waiting | 𝐥𝐡𝐬

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader || ୨୧ word count: 0.4k || ୨୧ genre: smut || ୨୧ tags: dilf!heeseung, babysitter!reader, body worship, dirty talk, imagined smut but not actual smut happening ifykwim || ୨୧ synopsis: "I can't wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin." requested by anon!

↪ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ

You float on your back as Jaemin kicks his little feet from one end of the shallow side of the pool to the other. “Look! I can actually do a back-stroke now!” Jaemin calls for you to watch, and you clap your hands together when he shows off.

He’s just like his father, you think. Headstrong, funny, adorable.

Until you spot the older man near the steps of the pool, and you retract your last thought. Your boss is anything but adorable, driving you crazy with his tightly fitted dress shirt and navy slacks.

“Showing off your new pool tricks, kiddo?” Heeseung smiles at his son, kneeling down to meet the little boy's eye level in the water. Heeseung's clearly on his way out to put in some overtime for the weekend, hence your presence at his mansion, but he always makes sure to check in with Jaemin before he leaves. He may be the CEO, but he values being Jaemin's father more, and you love him for that.

“Yeah! Then we’re gonna watch some shows, maybe color. The day just started, so...” Jaemin lists off the itinerary for the day, and you blush at his impeccable memory.

You call out that you’re going to grab the two of you some towels, and Heeseung takes you gently by the arm before you walk into the house. “This swimsuit is very…” He looks over your body slowly, pausing deliberately over the apex of your thighs and cleavage. Both sights clearly please him, and that pleases you tenfold.

You blush. “Thank you, sir.” The name makes Heeseung’s jaw tick, and you love the effect that spreads past his face and to the center of his pants.

He pulls you close to whisper into the shell of your ear. “I can’t wait to put bruises all over that pretty skin.”

You bite hard on your bottom lip and run into the house, the center of your bikini bottoms damp from more than just the chlorine-infused water. The images of what the night will bring come in a flash. Heeseung's kisses and marks followed by the devout attention to the center of your thighs, the mating press position that he always starts and ends the night of lovemaking with, the domineering but tender commands he embeds into your skin.

Yeah, the day will be long without him, but he’ll make up for it when he comes home later.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @yvnempire @addictedtohobi

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

[mononijikayu]

good old–fashioned lover boy — fushiguro megumi.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious. He sighed, bracing himself. “What?” “I like you.” His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, use of feminine pronouns, post-shinjuku showdown, post-hidden inventory arc, aged up fushiguro megumi, fluff, friends to lovers, romance, romantic relationship, pet names (babe, megs, kiddo, cactus, etc), humor, teasing, light-hearted, healthy relationship, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, living together, friendship, family, anxiety, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of self-doubt, sorcerer! megumi, gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: this went through so much adding, removing and editing cause i kept adding so much and i didn't want this to be something that was too long, considering i want people to not be impatient with me too,,,,,in any case, megumi beat his dad in the last poll season for valentines special which is funny but no worries, toji will appear in the 2.5k follower special!!! in any case, i hope you enjoy this, even a little bit. i love you all so much!!! <3

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buono san valentino, 2025;

══════════════════

HE NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD EVER GET TO THIS POINT. Even when he was young, he wondered what love really looked like. At least of what he could remember of it, he knows. He wasn’t an expert on love, per se.

But he had seen and experienced so many versions of it, each one different from the last, all passing through his rather short life one after the other. 

Some of it was truly a memory that would be worth forgetting, too messy and too complicated, tangled up in unspoken words and distance, yet still undeniably present. Others felt like they belonged to live forever, with its genuine warmth and its eager simplicity, yet always just out of reach. 

When he thinks about both of them, it feels like sunlight slipping through his fingers, like a home he could see but never fully step into. It was hard to express these feelings sometimes, because at times he doesn’t know if any words can encapsulate such overabundance and its extremes. He thinks about it often, how love can take on so many forms. 

How it can be obnoxiously proud and boisterously loud,like Gojo Satoru’s laughter echoing through any room when they’re together, or dazzlingly silent and resiliently tender, like the way his sister Tsumiki used to squeeze his hand just to let him know she was there when his father left.

Love can look a lot like sacrifice, like choosing someone else over yourself. It was just that way to him when you love someone. It can be fleeting, burning bright and disappearing before you ever get the chance to hold onto it.

And just as much, love has many colors, many words, many textures. It can be the rough scrape of bandages being wrapped around bruised knuckles, or the soft hush of a whispered be careful. 

It can be the weight of someone's winter coat draped over his shoulders when he didn’t even realize he was cold. It can be the exhaustion in someone’s voice when they say I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me—even when they clearly aren’t, even when they want to say it out loud.

For a long time, Fushiguro Megumi thought love was something you had to earn. He always thought that it was something you had to be worthy of in order to gain. That if you weren’t good enough, strong enough, or needed enough, it would slip away, leaving nothing but empty space where it once existed.

For as long as he could remember, Megumi carried a gnawing doubt within him. He couldn’t help it. There was a certainty in his soul that love was something distant, always out of reach.

No matter how much he was reminded he mattered, that doubt lingered like a shadow at the edges of his heart. He didn’t know where it came from exactly, only that it had burrowed deep inside, whispering that he was undeserving.

At times, he wondered if love was something some people were simply never born to have. Maybe it was a gift reserved for those with a past worth cherishing or a future worth hoping for.

He had neither. He didn’t even know how he had come into this world or who he was meant to be. How could someone who didn’t know themselves be worthy of love?

But then in his doubt, came the truth and that was named you.

You who was like the meteorite that crashed on his Earth.

You who was the universe he found himself alive for the first time.

And suddenly, the thought of love, the very word, feels like something else entirely. The word somehow finally made sense. Something he doesn’t have to chase or fight for.

Something that stays. Something that holds his hand and meets him where he is, rather than waiting for him to catch up. And more than ever, his heart felt full of warmth in the spring of love.

Fushiguro Megumi never expected to find love’s truth, not like this. And certainly not with someone like you. The two of you were just too different, especially when you were children. He didn’t understand why Gojo Satoru thought that it would be a good idea for you both to meet. 

He was all quiet brooding and thoughtful stares, while you were a storm of energy and laughter, moving through life like gravity itself. Megumi could easily remember the first time Gojo Satoru introduced you both when you were children.

You were Gojo’s little niece, his only one and since he and Tsumiki were the only kids around your age, he thought it would be wise for you to meet them, especially Megumi.

But what was premonition on Gojo Satoru’s part was that the two were destined to be best friends. Though back then, he looked at him with a weird look that could only be akin to a cat’s soured frown.

What was Gojo about? Megumi couldn’t help thinking. And why does he keep talking about it with a grin on his face? I don’t even know the kid.

"You'll love her, Megumi!" Gojo grinned, ruffling his dark hair with an obnoxiously affectionate hand. "She's just like me—minus the blindingly handsome part."

Megumi scowled, swatting Gojo's hand away. "That sounds like a nightmare."

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "A nightmare? Me? You wound me, kid."

"Good." Megumi muttered.

Gojo chuckled, unfazed. "Seriously though, she's great. Full of energy, adventurous, charming—"

"Loud." Megumi deadpanned.

"You're not wrong, kid." Gojo admitted with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But that just means she’ll bring some excitement into your broody little life. Trust me, it'll be fun!"

"Your definition of fun is questionable." Megumi muttered.

Before he could come up with a decent excuse to escape this impending chaos, Gojo Satoru stops at one of the massive wooden buildings around the gardens. Fushiguro Megumi could not mentally prepare as you came barreling around the corner, waving enthusiastically towards the,.

"Uncle Satoru!" you shouted gleefully, sprinting toward them.

"There's my favorite niece!" Gojo grinned, catching you in a playful spin before setting you down. 

You giggled. “But I’m your only niece!”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, sweets.” He ruffles your hair too, eliciting another giggle from you. "Hey, sweets, I came with a visitor. This is Megumi. He's about your age, and I'm officially declaring you two best friends starting now."

"Best friends?" you tilted your head, scrutinizing Megumi like he was some science experiment. "He looks grumpy, uncle Satoru."

Megumi crossed his arms, his expression flat. "And you look annoying."

Your face scrunched into an exaggerated pout. "And you look like a cactus."

Gojo, who had been sipping from a juice box like some oversized child, promptly choked and burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I love this already. Besties immediately!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You two are gonna be perfect together."

Megumi's brows furrowed. "What does that even mean?"

"Cactus vibes." you said confidently, tapping your chin. "Tall, spiky, and grumpy."

"I am not grumpy." he protested, though his tone only made your point stronger.

"And yet here we are, cactus!" you quipped with a cheeky grin.

Gojo cackled, slinging an arm around Megumi's shoulders. "You are kinda cactus-y, kid. But hey, she’s got the sunshine to balance you out. You might even grow a flower or something."

Megumi sighed in defeat. "I don’t need metaphors from you of all people."

"Don’t worry, cactus boy." you grinned, poking his arm. "I like a challenge."

"Great." Megumi muttered under his breath. "Now I’m stuck with a loud weirdo and a lunatic white haired old guy."

Gojo clapped his hands together triumphantly. "See? This is friendship in the making."

Megumi glared at both of you, but Gojo’s laughter and your bright smile made it hard to hold on to the scowl. Maybe Gojo wasn’t entirely wrong—though he wasn’t about to admit that anytime soon. Not just yet. He wasn’t one to give in just because there was space for it. 

Megumi sighed, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Disaster?" you grinned wickedly. "Sounds fun!"

Gojo clapped his hands together, beaming. "See? Told ya you'd love her."

Megumi grimaced. "I'm already doubting that."

From the start of you two starting to play together, you easily grated his nerves. He hated how loud you were, hated how you always seemed to find trouble at every turn, and somehow, at every sudden thought you had, you easily managed to drag him into it too.

And that was perhaps the most infuriating part: he hated how effortlessly you pulled him into your orbit. But the truth was, he never really hated you at all. He liked you, genuinely and deeply, in a way that bewildered him. He just didn’t understand it back then.

"Come on, Megumi! Don’t be boring!" you'd whine, tugging insistently on his arm as a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. "Help me put these fart pillows on their chairs!"

Megumi stared at you, deadpan. "You're going to get us both in trouble."

You waved off his concern like it was a pesky fly. "Trouble? Nah. It'll be hilarious. Just picture it with a very vivid imagination. The Gojo elders, all serious and proper, sitting down to a pfft! symphony. Priceless!"

"I like being boring." he grumbled, firmly rooted in place even as his feet betrayed him by inching forward.

"No, you pretend to like being boring, Megs." you shot back confidently, dragging him along despite his weak protests. "Deep down, you’re just waiting for me to show you how fun life can be."

Megumi sighed heavily. "You have an overactive imagination."

"And you have underdeveloped prank skills." you retorted with a grin, tossing him one of the cushions. "Come on, you're already in this. May as well go all in."

He stared at the cushion in his hand, weighing the likelihood of Gojo elders delivering a stern lecture versus the small, treacherous part of him that was curious about their reactions.

"Fine." he muttered, resigning himself to chaos. "But if we get caught, this was your idea."

"Deal!" you grinned triumphantly. "Now, put that under the grumpiest elder's seat. It'll be poetic."

Megumi couldn't suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he followed your lead. Chaos was inevitable, but with you, it was never boring—and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much.

“You’re always scowling, do you notice?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t actually hate me, y'know.”

Megumi rolled his green-blue eyes. “That’s debatable.”

“Oh please, you’re basically glued to me at this point.”

“You glue yourself to me.” he countered, lips twitching despite himself.

“Admit it, Megs!" you grinned. "You like me.”

He sighed, long and exaggerated, like he was being asked to move a mountain rather than admit his feelings. "Maybe." he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible.

But it was enough for you. Your entire face lit up, your grin brighter than Gojo's sunglasses on a summer day. "Is that a maybe from Megumi? I'll take it!"

He groaned inwardly, already regretting his choice of words. 

But the warmth spreading through his chest betrayed him. 

Perhaps, the truth is that there was no maybe about it.

And over time, as the days blurred into years and you remained firmly by his side, continuing to drag him into your schemes when he came around the Gojo manor, making him laugh when he least expected it, and somehow softening his rough edges. He would have figured it out. There were more words for you than just like.

It hit him one afternoon during a clan gathering. The elders were droning on about something he wasn't paying attention to, but his green-blue orbs were somehow trained on you, standing across the garden path, animated as always. 

Then he showed up.

That stupid clan boy with a perfectly styled ponytail and a smug look that Megumi immediately decided he hated.

Megumi's eyes harshly narrowed as the boy leaned in, all charming confidence, and reached for your delicate hand. He watched as your fingers slid easily into the boy's, and something inside him snapped. Something he never expected to be inside him whatsoever.

"Nope." Megumi muttered under his breath, already stalking across the garden before he could think better of it.

You blinked in surprise as Fushiguro Megumi suddenly appeared beside you, his strong hand suddenly and possessively wrapping around your own hand, pulling it free from his new enemy, the Ponytail Boy's grip. 

"Hey, I was talking to her, you punk." Ponytail Boy protested.

"She's busy." Megumi said flatly, not even sparing the guy a glance.

"I am?" you blinked up at him, amused.

"Yeah. With me."

You bit back a laugh, warmth blooming in your chest as you squeezed his hand. "Well, when you put it like that..."

As Ponytail Boy slunk away, clearly outmatched by Megumi's sheer intensity, you grinned up at him. "Jealous much?"

"No." he said far too quickly, his ears turning an undeniable shade of pink.

You beamed. "Adorable."

"You're imagining things." he grumbled, but his grip on your hand remained firm.

And in that moment, without needing to say a word, you both knew: there was never a maybe. Not for him, not when it came to you.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day, 2017.

This was a day that was already testing Fushiguro Megumi’s patience with all the pink balloons, heart-shaped everything, and couples everywhere. It was hard enough that he felt these possibly one–sided feelings for you. But now he had to be confronted with the idea of love once again. And he hated it. He hated it too much.

The only reason he’s bearing with all of it was that you had urged him to meet up because you wanted ice–cream. And for the first time in a long time, you were allowed to leave the confines of Gojo Manor, to visit your uncle in Tokyo. And by extension, hang out with him.

The two of you sat on a park bench, quietly enjoying your cones under the peak of the beam of the persistent sun. Well, he was trying to enjoy his, but you kept sneaking bites from him despite having your own. And he could not for the life of him stop taking glances at you with these eyes of his.

“Hey, Megumi?” you asked suddenly, your tone unusually serious.

He sighed, bracing himself. “What?”

“I like you.”

His brain short-circuited. His hand jerked, and his ice cream wobbled dangerously on its cone. "Huh?"

“I said.” you grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction, “I like you. Like like-like you.”

Megumi blinked, as though processing your words required advanced calculus. “Is this... is this because it’s Valentine’s Day? Like some weird theme confession? Is this some stupid prank from you?”

You laughed. “No, dummy. I just thought today was as good a day as any to tell you."

He stared at you, his heart doing some chaotic drum solo against his ribs. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you teased, leaning closer. “That’s it? Just oh?”

Megumi huffed, looking away as if the pigeons nearby were suddenly fascinating. “I... I guess I like you too.”

You gasped dramatically. “Oh my gosh, was that a confession? Did Megumi Fushiguro just confess his feelings, romantically?”

“Stop making it weird, you dummy.” he grumbled, ears turning bright red.

“Too late!” you beamed, nudging his arm. “We’re totally counting that as your confession. Mark it in the history books: Valentine’s Day, 2017, Megumi Fushiguro admitted he likes me!”

He groaned. “I should’ve dropped my ice cream and run when I had the chance.”

“But you didn’t.” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

“No." he muttered, hiding a small, reluctant smile. "I didn’t."

And so began Fushiguro Megumi’s unexpected, often confusing, and undeniably heartfelt adventure to understand love.

Love, as it turned out, wasn’t some abstract ideal or distant fairy tale — it was you, standing right in front of him, messy and beautiful in all your chaotic brilliance. Love was shaped by you, and to him, that made it the most perfect thing he could ever hope for.

But he had to be honest: it wasn’t easy. And it will never be easy.

He struggled with it more than he cared to admit. Love wasn’t just about keeping you safe, though his protective instincts always flared when you tripped into trouble. It wasn’t just quiet affection either, where he'd stand in the background making sure you had space to shine. Love wasn’t just comfort found in familiar silences, though he cherished those too.

No, love was new.

Love was terrifying.

Love demanded vulnerability and bravery in ways that battles never did. Because of this love, his heart would stutter when you smiled at him, catching him off guard like a punch he never saw coming.

It made his chest ache in a strange, bittersweet way when you were upset — as though he carried your burdens alongside his own. It made him want to try, even when his instincts told him to retreat into silence.It made him want to be someone worthy of that love, someone who would stay, despite the part of him that feared he never could.

It’s in the little things, the moments that are easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention. But when you do, when you really see him, it’s impossible to miss the depth of his love. And you tell him each time, you adore it. Everything about it was perfect.

It’s the way he loves you in the quietest and yet loudest way all at once so beautifully. It’s in the way he waits for you after class, leaning casually against a wall, trying to look indifferent, but you know—you always know—he’s been there for much longer than he lets on. 

It’s the way he keeps track of your favorite snacks, the ones you forget to buy when you’re too busy with school, work, or whatever else life throws at you. And when you’re rushing out the door, he slips them into your bag with a quiet, almost invisible smile. No words, just a simple gesture of care that makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s in the way he insists on walking on the side of the road closest to the street, always positioning himself between you and the traffic like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours, ever so lightly, but there’s a promise there—a silent vow of protection, of never letting anything bad happen to you if he can help it.

It’s in the way he takes off his uniform coat on a chilly evening when he visits you and presses it against your own body, his eternal warmth enveloping you like a shield against the winter cold. The way his hands linger just a little longer than necessary, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that speaks volumes about how much he cares.

And it’s not just in the little things. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet way he listens when you talk about everything that’s on your mind, even the things you think are too insignificant to mention.

You could ramble on for minutes, spilling out thoughts, worries, and stories, and he’ll just stand there, eyes blossoming with affection, his attention never wavering. 

He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. He just listens to you. Just truly listens to you, as though he truly wants to understand you, to carry your thoughts for you if he can. To make sure that he holds your thoughts as closely as you do his.

It’s in the rare moments when he’s vulnerable, those quiet admissions that sneak out when he thinks you’re not paying attention. The way his gaze softens when he talks about his past, about how he’s learned to trust you.

It’s in the way his hand finds yours when you least expect it. Sometimes just a brush of fingers, other times a firm grip that says I’m here, no questions asked.

And there’s the way he tries to make you smile when he knows you’ve had a bad day. He doesn’t have to try hard, because you know the secret behind his subtle humor, his dry wit. Just a look from him can turn the world back to normal, like the simple fact that you’re together is enough to make everything right again.

And in those little moments, your heart beats faster—over and over again.

Somehow, each moment, each time was louder with love than the last.

It was easy to see how much he loved you and only you.

Of course, Fushiguro Megumi isn’t great with words, you know that much. He’s told you from the very beginning. But he’s never needed to say much, because he always shows you. Actions meant more to you.

So, he makes sure, without fail, to let you feel his devotion, every single time. Even when his words falter or he stumbles on his feelings, that doesn’t matter much to you. 

The way he loves you is almost a quiet rebellion against everything he's known about himself, about what he knows love, that was enough to turn the world upside down. Fushiguro Megumi’s never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and even with you, it causes him a lot of grief. 

Fushiguro Megumi adores you, much more than he could ever hope. And just as much, he feels like he fails at it. At least that’s how he feels about it. He thinks he just can’t help it.

He can’t help but feel like his actions are not enough, that his sleeve isn’t wearing your heart close to him. It’s like he’s falling short of being someone worthy of you, when you do so much for him.

Sometimes, it feels like no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. It frustrates him, gnaws at him late at night when he stares at the ceiling, wondering if he loves you enough, if he shows it enough.

Because you make it look so easy. You laugh when you’re happy, you say I love you so freely, and you never hesitate to pull him into a hug, or press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He wants to be more proactive, just like you. He wants to be as good as you when it comes to love. But he’s stiff. Awkward. Someone who is a little too rough around the edges, perhaps even more than that.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you, he does, so much it terrifies him. Yet he struggles with what words to use or would those words be enough.It had been years. 

"You know…." he grumbled, leaning against a wall and watching you laugh at something Maki said. "I wish I could just... I don’t know, tell her I love her. Like a normal person."

Nobara raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. "Normal? Megumi, you are literally the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something."

"Hey!" Yuuji protested, nudging her. "You can’t say that about our bro. He’s a classic kind of weird."

Nobara ignored him. "So what’s the problem? You’ve been dating her for years now. I’m pretty sure you’re closer to marriage now. How have you not told her you love her yet?"

Megumi squirmed, tapping his foot awkwardly. "I don’t know. It’s just... I can’t make it sound right. I’m not... loud enough, you know?"

Yuuji snorted. "Bro, are you telling me you can't even shout ‘I love you’ in her face like a normal person?"

"Yuuji!" Nobara scolded, glaring at him. "This is Megumi we’re talking about. He’s more of a ‘grumble in the corner’ kind of guy. Or you know, ‘act it out like a mime if I can’t say it out loud’ sort of guy."

Megumi just groaned. "Exactly! I can’t just scream it! That’s...weird, right?"

Nobara crossed her arms. "You’re seriously telling me you can’t even try? I mean, look at her!" She pointed at you as you walked over, still in your own world. "She’s practically begging for you to shout it out loud!"

Megumi shot her a side-eye. "She is not begging for anything."

"I mean, I’m just saying, Megumi." Yuuji shrugged. "The guy who practically glows around his girlfriend could definitely manage a 'Hey, I love you!' without coming off as weird."

"I don’t glow." Megumi muttered, but he was starting to feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Nobara clapped him on the back. "Okay, look, here’s what you do: You. Take a deep breath. And then—" She paused, putting her hands together in a mock prayer. "You say it loud and proud: 'I love you! You're my sunshine! You’re the ketchup to my fries! The soy sauce to my sushi!' You get it?"

"That’s not what I’m trying to say at all." Megumi protested, now totally flustered.

"Come on, just let it out!" Yuuji grinned, his energy bouncing off the walls. "You love her, right? Then scream it from the top of your lungs!" He pulled out a random megaphone from his bag. "I’ll even provide the sound effects!"

"Yuuji, I swear to—"

"Just... just say it however you feel comfortable." Nobara interrupted with a knowing look. "But maybe—maybe—try something that doesn’t sound like you're reading from a self-help book, yeah?"

Megumi took a deep breath, hands still sweaty. "I don't even know if I can—"

"You totally can, I know you can!" Yuuji encouraged, giving him a thumbs-up. "Just say it, man! Use songs, do whatever. Just tell her out loud! Think about it like it's a movie moment! Gotta go big!”

Megumi had their words in his head all day and now it was simmering too long. He couldn’t help but look at you for a moment. You’re sitting beside him on the couch, leaning into his side as you scroll through your phone, checking what to buy for your mom’s birthday.

The sound of the television hums in the background, playing a show neither of you are really watching. The warmth of your presence should be comforting, but it only makes his heart heavier with the weight of everything he wants to say.

He steals a glance at you. The way your lips are slightly parted in concentration, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your features. And god, he loves you. He just does, too much, too overwhelmingly. But the words get stuck in his throat, trapped behind the walls he hasn’t quite learned how to break down.

Still, he tries.

You know he does.

That’s why you love him.

Your good–old fashioned lover boy.

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I—uh, you know I—”

You blink up at him, amused. “Are you having a stroke, babe?”

“No.” he grumbles, ears already turning red. “I’m trying to say something.”

“Oh?” You set your phone down, tilting your head. “Then say it.”

Megumi swallows, his body somehow tense. He can feel the words clogging his throat, his mind screaming at him to just get it over with. Megumi looks at you, nervously, his face red from it all. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You can see the way he shifts his weight like he’s debating whether this was a terrible idea. (It probably is, he thinks. Overwhelmingly, to be sure).

But still, for some reason—maybe insanity, maybe the way you’re looking at him so expectantly. Yet, he decides to go through with it anyway. If he bombs, you’ll laugh and that would be worth it too.

Clearing his throat, he mutters. “I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.”

You blink at him, your head tilting slightly. “Huh?”

He’s already regretting it, but at this point, he can’t just stop. His voice is a little lower now, more hesitant, but he continues, “We can do the tango just for two.”

Now you’re really confused. Your brows furrow, and he can see the gears turning in your head, trying to piece together what exactly he’s saying. But he keeps going, voice a little stiffer, a little more awkward than before. Almost instantly, he can feel the heat crawling up his neck.

“I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings.”

And then finally—it clicks for you.

Your lips part slightly before curling into a slow, amused smile.

“Ah.” you hum, crossing your arms. “So Queen’s lyrics are your idea of romance poetry, babe?”

Megumi tenses like he’s been caught doing something unspeakably embarrassing, his entire face burning. “It’s not—” he starts, before cutting himself off with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, never mind.” 

He shakes his head, looking utterly done with himself, already gearing up to escape this moment entirely. But before he can retreat into his usual brooding silence, you reach out and take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. He freezes at the warmth of your touch, and when he looks back at you, you’re grinning, eyes twinkling with delight.

“No, no. I love it, babe.” you say, squeezing his hand. And then, with that playful glint in your eye, like when you were kids. It was the one that made his heart do something stupid. You continue. “I mean, I can also be your Valentino just for you.”

Megumi stares at you, utterly dumbfounded. For a second, he looks like he’s buffering, as if his brain is refusing to process what just happened. And then, finally, he groans, dragging a hand down his scarlet colored face. “I hate you.”

You burst into laughter, tugging him a little closer. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part? You’re right. 

Because despite the sheer, soul-crushing embarrassment consuming him, despite everything in his being telling him he should never have attempted this in the first place, he doesn’t let go of your hand. No matter what, he had to hold your hand, even if he was using his other one to hide his red face.

Fushiguro Megumi exhales sharply, his fingers twitching in your grasp as if debating whether to pull away or hold on tighter. He settles for something in between—keeping his hand in yours but looking anywhere but at you, like that might save him from further humiliation. 

Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” he mutters, his voice flat but laced with unmistakable exasperation.

You grin, squeezing his hand. “Oh, absolutely.”

Megumi groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically, like he’s hoping the universe will take pity on him and make this all go away. But the universe, as it often does when it comes to you, seems to have other plans.

Not only are you still holding onto him, your fingers intertwined so snugly. But you’re also swaying your linked hands gently, like you’re encouraging him to dance. He sighs deeply, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his voice.

“You’re seriously not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, never.” you answer, grinning, your voice light and teasing. “Was the idea from Yuuji? Or was it Nobara?”

“How did you—”

You giggled. “Who else is going to make you do something like this and thinks it would work?”

He groans at you, shaking his head. “Look, I was desperate. And it just….”

“It did work, you know.” You say to him, flicking his hand with your fingers. A big smile on your face. “Your message was well received.”

“......Was it really?” He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest.

You nodded happily. “It did. Though, I have to say…..I thought we were doing the tango just for two. Are you backing out now, Mr. Lover Boy?”

Megumi’s eyes snap open at your words, and he immediately narrows them at you, clearly ready to refuse. “We are not—”

But it’s too late.

In a swift motion, you’re already standing, tugging him up with you, not giving him a chance to protest. You can’t help but laugh at the way he stumbles slightly, thrown off balance for just a second before he catches himself, his eyes wide in a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters, a scowl pulling at his lips as he steadies himself, trying to hold onto what little pride he has left. His shoulders are tense, like he’s trying to act annoyed, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching as if he’s fighting back a reluctant smile.

You tilt your head, still grinning. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta drag you out of your shell every now and then, right?”

Megumi huffs, looking at you like he’s been cornered, but there’s no real anger in his eyes. He’s already giving in, whether he likes it or not. His hands hover at his sides for a moment before one of them moves to hold yours more firmly, as if to say he’s not completely defeated yet.

“Fine, fine.” he grumbles, finally giving in, his voice soft but with a hint of warmth creeping through. “But don’t expect me to make this look good.”

You give him an exaggerated pout. “Aww, I have high hopes for you, babe. I think you’ll be a natural.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s an undeniable softness in his gaze now. The usually guarded Fushiguro Megumi is slipping away, replaced by the version of him that’s willing to indulge you, even if it means he’ll probably trip over his own feet a few times.

“Yeah, right.” he mutters, but his hand tightens around yours, and just for a second, he lets go of his usual serious demeanor.

“And you’re blushing.” you point out smugly.

He immediately looks away, ears burning. “No, I’m not.”

You chuckle, stepping a little closer, resting your free hand lightly against his shoulder. “You are. But that’s okay.” you say, voice softening just enough to make his heart stutter. “It’s cute.”

Megumi grumbles something incoherent under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip on your hand tightens. For a moment, there’s just the two of you, just eager to be standing close to one another.

Your bodies sway slightly, wrapped up in something that feels light and easy and warm. It’s embarrassing, but somehow, it’s also nice. All too nice.

After a beat of silence, you tilt your head, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. “So… does this mean you’re more of a Somebody to Love kind of guy? Or just a Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy?” You pause for effect, smirking. “Are you gonna take me to a club, or to the Ritz?”

Megumi freezes for a second, caught off guard by your incessant teasing. The edges of his prominent cheeks quickly go a little pink to cherry red, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out how to answer without sounding completely ridiculous.

“I—I’m not, uh…” He stammers, waving his hand dismissively, clearly flustered. “I’m not a Queen fan, okay? I just—” He trails off, suddenly aware that he’s over-explaining. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

You snicker, leaning in just a little closer, your voice teasing but warm. “You sure about that, Megumi?”

“My name is babe.” His eyes dart around, like he’s hoping for an escape, but then his gaze flicks to you, and he slumps in defeat. “Also…. I don’t really know. You’re a Queen fan. But I’m not a Queen fan, alright?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You cross your arms, squinting at him, pretending to analyze him like he’s some kind of puzzle. “Okay, then. So tell me, what about Weezer?”

He blinks, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “What? What does Weezer have to do with this?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you tease. “Except the fact that you’re practically obsessed with their music. You do listen to Buddy Holly and Say It Ain’t So on repeat, right? I mean just Island in the Sun alone, babe…..”

Megumi’s face flushes an even deeper shade of red, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I—I like their music. That doesn’t mean…”

You’re grinning now, enjoying his discomfort. “That doesn’t mean what? That you don’t like romantic stuff?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but the words don’t come out. Instead, he just huffs, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of his cool demeanor. “Weezer’s not romantic.”

You raise your hand in mock surrender, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, sure, just a bunch of songs about heartbreak, longing, and that old-school, angsty vibe. Totally not romantic.”

“Shut up.” he mutters, looking away and crossing his arms in his typical brooding fashion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, I do, Mr. Fushiguro Megumi.”

He looks at you again, frowning. “Why are you calling me by my name? Aren’t I babe?”

You can’t help but laugh, a light sound that makes him glance back at you, half-exasperated and half-amused. “I’m just saying, babe.” you continue, poking his chest with a finger. “If you love Weezer, you’re basically guaranteed to love romantic stuff too. You might not admit it, but it’s in there, just waiting to come out.”

He groans, dropping his face into his hands, embarrassed and defeated. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re cute when you get all defensive.” you tease, giving him a gentle nudge. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna force you to do some big romantic gesture… yet. But I can see it, babe. Deep down, I know you’ve got it in you.”

He sighs, not bothering to fight it anymore. “Whatever.”

You can’t help but grin, your heart light and warm from the back-and-forth. The teasing, the playfulness. This was just on brand. It feels like an easy rhythm between you two, like a dance he didn’t expect to enjoy but now can’t help but follow. You’ve gotten under his skin in the best way possible, and the connection is undeniable.

“No, seriously.” you say, your voice softening, letting the playfulness slip away just enough to let something deeper surface. “It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it. You’re just what you are. And I love that. You don’t have to hide that from me.”

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything. For a moment, the world around you seems to still. The playful air between you two quiets for just a beat, and in that space, Megumi shifts slightly, as if he’s considering something deeper than just the teasing.

His gaze softens, and for the first time, there’s no defensiveness in it. It’s genuine. It’s a look that tells you he’s letting his guard down, just a little.

And then, for once, he doesn’t try to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. It’s subtle, almost shy, but it’s there. The kind of smile that says he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. And that, in itself, makes your heart swell. Your grin can’t help but grow wider. You’re winning.

“Besides, babe….” you add, your voice teasing but affectionate. “You’re romantic. You’re my lover boy, aren’t you?”

Megumi freezes, and the light in his blue-green orbs slowly shifts. There was a mix of disbelief and amusement, like he’s trying to process the words you just threw at him. His face flushes, and he rubs the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard.

“Fine.” He sighs, the word heavy with resignation. “Maybe… maybe I’m not totally immune to it. Being…being your lover boy.”

You raise your eyebrows, giving him a teasing glance. “Oh? So it’s true?”

“Only…” His voice drops slightly, like he’s about to admit something that feels too vulnerable for him. He shifts again, looking away from you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Hm?” You nudge him, your voice light, but there’s a warmth in it now, something that makes his heart stumble a little.

“Only because I really like—”

You raise a hand quickly, cutting him off with a playful wag of your finger. “Uh, uh. It’s the other word.”

Megumi’s eyes widen as the weight of what you mean hits him. He swallows hard, visibly embarrassed now. “Yeah, yeah. I… I love you.”

The words hang between you two for a moment, and your grin spreads wider, your heart fluttering with an almost childlike joy. “Much better, lover boy.” you say, your voice soft but full of satisfaction, like you’ve finally heard the thing you’ve been waiting to hear for so long. 

Megumi huffs, his face still pink, but his posture loosens just a bit. You can feel the tension in him fading, the part of him that has always held back just a little, a part that he didn’t know how to let go of, finally giving in to what he truly feels.

You chuckle, stepping closer and giving his hand a playful squeeze. “I knew it. Deep down, I knew you were a softie all along. A softie I love.”

Megumi grumbles, rolling his eyes dramatically, but there’s no real heat behind it. His cheeks are still a little flushed, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. His voice drops to something quieter, almost tender, as he mutters. “Shut up.”

You grin even wider, brushing your shoulder lightly against his. “Aww, look at that. I made you all shy.”

He groans, but there’s no force in it. He gives your hand a little squeeze back, his touch almost gentle, like he’s trying to hide just how much he’s enjoying this. You can see the corner of his mouth twitch upward, even if he’s pretending not to care.

“You’re impossible.” he mutters, but it sounds more like an affectionate confession than anything else.

You lean up, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice teasing. “Impossible, huh? I think you just like having me around.”

Megumi’s eyes widen for a second, and he quickly looks away, though you can see the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Shut up.”

But the way his hand stays in yours says everything you need to know. You laugh, a soft, melodic sound that seems to melt the last of his resistance. There’s something about him, in this moment, that feels right. Like everything he’s been trying to hide is coming to the surface, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

His bright eyes flicker to yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you two. No more barriers, no more hesitation. Just you and him. And you realize, as you watch him trying so hard not to smile, that despite his grumbling, despite the layers of defensiveness he wraps himself in, maybe Megumi really is a romantic at heart. He loves you, after all.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The evening had settled in, soft golden light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen. Fushiguro Megumi was standing over the stove.

There was a half-smile tugging at his lips as he stirred something in a pan, pretending to be nonchalant. You’d been chatting and laughing with him, but now you were distracted by the phone buzzing on the counter next to you.

“Hey, check my phone, will you? I think I missed a call while I was cooking dinner. Might be Maki–senpai.” he called, not even looking over his shoulder. His tone was casual, but you could sense a hint of something beneath the surface. Something that made you curious.

You reached for his phone, raising an eyebrow at the way he’d phrased it. Missed a call, huh? When you opened it, you found that the call had already disappeared, as if it was never even there. Strange, you thought, but didn’t give it too much thought—until a new notification popped up on his screen.

A notification from Spotify.

You clicked it without thinking, the app opening automatically. You froze, blinking at the screen in surprise. The very first thing that caught your eye was a playlist titled My GF’s Favorite Tunes.

Your heart skipped a beat as you scrolled through, realizing the entire playlist was a mix of Queen songs, Weezer hits, Taylor Swift, and a whole lot of other random songs that somehow seemed to perfectly fit your taste. You blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh.

“What is this…?” You murmured, flipping through more of the tracks, utterly charmed by the odd yet thoughtful combination of songs. Some of the tracks were ones you had casually mentioned liking, others you never thought he'd remember.

You could feel Megumi standing behind you now, his footsteps quiet on the floor. “What’s up?” His voice had an almost imperceptible shift in it, but you didn’t look back at him right away.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” you said, your grin spreading wider as you glanced over the playlist one more time, now thoroughly amused. “Just, you know… a little surprise.”

You gently set his phone down on the counter and turned toward him, your grin widening as you closed the distance. Megumi looked at you, confusion and a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes. “What? What’s so funny?”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him in a sudden, tight embrace. Megumi froze, his body stiff in surprise. He stood there for a second, the silence between you two stretching, before he gently placed his hands on your back, his voice a little rough with a quiet, unexpected warmth. 

“What’s this for, hm?”

You pulled back just enough to smile up at him, your heart still beating with fondness. “For being the cutest, loving, prettiest, person I’ve ever met. And for making me a playlist that proves you’re secretly the most romantic person alive.”

Megumi blinked, his usual cool exterior cracking for a second as he flushed a little under the weight of your words. He looked away, muttering under his breath. “It’s… it’s just some songs. Nothing big at all—”

You laughed softly, pulling him closer again. “Well, you sure know how to make me smile, don’t you?”

His beautiful lips pressed into a tender smile reserved just for you. And for once, there was no argument. Just the quiet, comfortable warmth of being together, in each other’s arms. Nothing was more perfect than this moment right here, you were sure.

[excusemyobsessions]

Touch starved

It’s always the boys are touch starved this, touch starved that… what about MC? What about you? Are you touch starved? I know I am. (itty bitty scenario for each one of the boys) Warnings: Smut, fingering, dry humping, breast play, pet names (kitten, cutie, pipsqueak, my star, my love), gender neutral MC

Sylus

The mark of your teeth was imprinted on the palm of Sylus’ hand, on the juncture between his thumb and index finger. You held onto his wrist like a lifeline, like you were scared the second you let go, he’d fade away, like a dream. His skin was warm against your cheek, his calloused fingers gentle. He let you hold his hand, nuzzle against the lines of life and fortune and prosperity, trace the line of love with your lips, kiss his digits, one by one.

His other hand was relentless between your legs, three digits plunging in and out of your gaping hole at the most delicious pace. He was kneeling on the floor, between your spread out legs, crimson eyes locked on you, burning and heavy. The sweet sounds he dragged out of you were muzzled against the palm of his hand as you desperately rubbed your cheek into it.

Until Sylus made motion to pull away, stealing the most embarrassed whimper out of you.

“N-no!” you begged.

Sylus seemed caught off guard for a moment, which really didn’t last long, by how his fingers were quickly cradling your jaw, and he was leaning up, nose inches away from yours.

“Shh, relax, kitten. I'm not going anywhere,” he told you in a low, mellow voice.

He kissed your nose and then your temple, your cheek next. And then he slotted his lips right up against your ear lobe.

“I just really need to be inside you,” he purred into your ear.

His fingers curled inside you and suddenly you were moaning out his name, back arching to press your chest right up to his.

Caleb

Caleb was playing that push and pull game again, his hands ghosting your waist. You needed him so desperately you couldn’t help but grasp onto his wrists, pulling him in.

“Caleb, touch me. Please touch me,” you whimpered.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips, violet eyes widened, staring at you for a few heartbeats which you could feel against your chest. And then the violet darkened, to shades of purple desire and his hands were on you, firm but tender, holding you, touching everywhere he could.

With the weight of his body against yours, you fell back onto the sofa cushions, his mouth on yours, stealing away your breath.

“God, pipsqueak, let-let me-” he mumbled, clearly unsure of what he wanted. He just knew he needed you as much as you wanted him.

“Caleb, please-... please, I just need you to touch me… everywhere,” you begged him.

Caleb’s hands curled into the fabric of your shirt and pushed it up, exposing your whole chest as his lips trailed your jaw line and your neck with breathy kisses.

He made his way down your chest, kissed over your heart and then captured one of your nipples between his teeth. His large hands came to cradle your chest, holding you against his mouth as he kissed and suckled and nibbled on your nipples, hot breath grazing your skin, wet with his drool. Your hands found their way into his soft hair, holding his face to your chest and he seemed quite happy to stay right there, abusing your tits, covering them in red, purple desire marks.

Rafael

Rafael’s breath was delightful against your neck, hot, wet, let out in the middle of shuddering little groans. His hands roamed the extent of your back, touching, squeezing, sometimes they traveled down to your hips to position you just like he wanted. Arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers tangled in his once perfectly styled hair, holding him against you, tight.

“Don’t let go, please,” you begged.

You angled your hips and ground down again, earning the sweetest moan from him, the friction against your wet, clothed core just perfect.

“I won’t let you go, cutie,” he breathed out against your neck.

His tongue traced your jugular, all the way down and then back up, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking and sucking. You moaned, shuddering against him.

His arms circled you, locking you up in his embrace, just like you wanted, so tight you could feel every muscle, every curve, the wild beating of his heart against yours. And he kept leading you just like that, to keep grinding against his hard cock, still trapped inside his pants.

“I’ll never let you go,” he whispered.

Xavier

The way Xavier’s arms held you loosely against him had you pressing further back into his chest, sleep clouding your mind. Your arms circled around his, fingers slipping into the empty spaces between his, holding his hands in yours and pulling his arms tighter around you.

You heard him sigh, a long, deep sigh, before you felt his nose against the nape of your neck, his warm breath against your skin.

You needed this, needed him to hold you tight, so tight you molded into his body. You pulled his arms further and pressed back, hearing him groan against your skin.

He seemed to understand what you needed by the way he adjusted his arms, dragging you in, fully pressed against him, tightly trapped within his hold. Your back against his chest, thighs on his thighs, ass pressed back against his hardening dick. You whimpered weakly against the pillow, letting him turn his hands within your grasp to finally hold yours properly.

“I’m here, my star, I’m here…” he whispered sweetly.

He nuzzled the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent and the scent of the sheets and sleep. When he opened his mouth it was to capture your skin, dropping open mouthed kisses from the back of your neck to your shoulder, slow and tenderly.

One of his hands untangled from yours to lay flat against your stomach and as long as it didn’t leave your body, you were just fine with it. His long fingers began a slow travel down the front of your body as he kept attacking your shoulder with hot kisses. He slid his hand into the waistband of your undergarments.

“Move your leg for me,” he asked in a mumble.

And you did.

Zayne

“What's wrong?” Zayne asked, eyes full of concern as he gazed at you.

His hand was within your grasp, his fingers intertwined with yours, yet your hold kept tightening more and more. You realized you'd moved closer and closer to him on the couch, to the extent you were inches away from being draped over him.

“Are you cold?” he asked, so very attentive. 

His free hand moved under the blanket you were sharing to rest on your thigh, trying to measure the temperature and you had to bite your lip in order not to whimper.

“Zayne, I need you to hold me… please,” you begged.

You thought he'd be surprised yet that same calm expression remained on his features, concern fading into tenderness. His fingers slipped further down, circling your inner thigh and your eyelids fluttered with the little shiver that ran down your spine. This time you did whimper.

“Shhh, it's okay,” he whispered soothingly, turning towards you.

He slipped his fingers out of your grasp to place his hand on the back of the couch, using it as leverage to place one knee onto the cushions. His other hand parted your leg, enough for him to slip his hips between your thighs when he slotted himself against you, right into your opened arms. His crotch was pressed up to your core, the weight of his body perfect right up against yours. 

A little shuddering breath escaped you when he applied all his weight on you.

You could feel his length hardening further between your legs, the way he adjusted himself for just a little bit of friction. The little groans that escaped him.

“Hmm, rest in my arms, just like this, my love,” he whispered into your ear, arms coiling around you.