#love making things glow its so satisfying

[dreamerlynx]

merry christmas @chlopieno! you requested something cozy, so I hope this fits the bill- c!dream drinking some cocoa out at technos place :)

thank you very much @dreblrsecretsanta for organizing this, it was tons of fun <3

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

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"𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤" "𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?"

✩ : a real life christmas miracle at the hamiltons

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : lewis hamilton

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : comfort, fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1k

✍︎ : give these babies a little love please, we need to spread the christmas cheer

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Snow fell gently outside, the world muffled under its icy embrace. Inside, the twinkling Christmas lights brought a soft glow to your living room, though their warmth still wasn’t enough to melt the cold sensation that had sunken into your chest. You sat on the couch, staring blankly at the three stockings carefully hung on the wall in front of you. Yours, your daughter’s… and Lewis’, dangling limp like a silent reminder of the promise he couldn’t keep.

“Mummy, look!” Your little one spun in her red-and-white pajamas, Roscoe right behind her as he wagged his short tail, matching her excitement in his own special way. Her dark curls bounced as she twirled to the melody of All I Want for Christmas Is You, her joyful giggles a painful contrast to the bitter aching of your heart.

You’d tried your best to be cheerful for her, keeping the holiday spirit alive and pretending like nothing was wrong. Except everything was. This Christmas was supposed to be different: Lewis had given you his word, he’d make it back in time, but when he’d called earlier in the week, his voice apologetic, you’d known the truth before he even said it. A delayed flight, last-minute obligations—it was something you understood, having to constantly balance your everyday life with his tight schedule, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Do you think Daddy remembers it’s Christmas tomorrow?” she asked, her wide eyes so much like his as she snapped you out of your thoughts once again, her hopeful tone tugging at your heart.

She’d been counting down the days with the anticipation only a five-year-old could muster, while you couldn’t even find the courage to tell her Lewis wouldn’t be at home with you in the morning. You didn’t want her to see your disappointment, so you quickly masked it with a strained smile as you picked her up from the floor and put her on your knees.

“Of course, baby,” you reassured her, softly caressing her cheek. “Daddy always remembers the important things.”

The girl beamed, satisfied with your answer, before running off to her room and basically leaping into the bed, her eyes already clenched shut when you reached her to tuck her in—“If I fall asleep now, Christmas comes early and Daddy will be here,” she’d mumbled as she started to drift off.

The lump in your throat was hard to swallow as you leaned down to give her a trembling kiss on the forehead. “Daddy’s always with you,” you whispered, the weight in your chest heavier than before when you settled yourself beside her.

The first thing you heard in the morning was the sound of hurried footsteps rushing over to your daughter’s bed—where you’d ended up sleeping the entire night—followed by a series of excited squeals.

“Mummy, he’s here!” The girl’s high-pitched voice definitively woke you up from your slumber, her words making no sense to you.

You blinked a few times, eyelids fighting to stay open as your more than confused gaze questioned the little one, who was now trying to roll you out of her bed, having already yanked the cover off your slowly freezing body.

“Who’s here, sweetheart?” you managed to ask, slurring your speech.

“Daddy! He’s in the living room!” She was getting more and more impatient, her disheveled hair bouncing around her tiny shoulders as she kept hopping on her toes.

Her words finally clicked in your mind, and you flashed her a bittersweet smile. “Oh, is he now? Did Santa bring him on the sleigh?”

“Yes, come and see!” she insisted, giving you a firm tug on the hand to pull you up.

It was only when Roscoe joined her too, his paws planted on your chest as he started licking you all over your face, that you finally decided to play along.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, wiping off the dog’s drool from your cheeks as you let your daughter drag you toward the living room. “Let’s see what that little head of yours has come up with this time.”

The words died on your lips as you rounded the corner, your voice trailing off.

There he was.

Lewis stood by the Christmas tree, snow dusting his heavy coat and scarf, the delicate flakes tangled in his locks like a hundred pretty bows. His arms were loaded with presents, which he let fall to the ground as soon as you stepped into the room, his sweet brown eyes immediately finding yours as a heart melting smile spread across his face—and the world around you suddenly felt warm again.

“Surprise,” he said softly, though his tone had a hesitant edge to it.

“I told you he was here!” your little girl kept shrieking, running straight into her dad’s open arms when he kneeled down.

He scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around as her delighted giggles ringed through the air, the sound better than any Christmas song you’d ever heard.

“Hey, princess. Did you miss me?” Lewis asked her, tenderness lacing his voice as she clung closer to his chest.

“Yes, but I knew you were coming back because I asked Santa to bring you home in my Christmas letter.”

You exchanged a glance over her curly head, his sheepish one meeting yours in an unspoken apology. “You said you couldn’t make it,” you then broke the silence, your almost accusing tone filled with emotion.

“I know,” he stepped closer, before reaching out and pulling you into his embrace as well, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “But I wouldn’t have missed Christmas with my girls for anything in the world.”

You couldn’t stop the tear that rolled down your cheek as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, while your daughter, totally clueless, climbed down Lewis’ side and dashed to where he’d left the presents, carefully inspecting the brightly wrapped boxes.

“So,” he whispered in your ear, his breath grazing your skin as he spoke, “am I forgiven now?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him and gently brushed your fingertips over his dark braids, taking out a little snowflake that still hadn’t melted. “More than forgiven,” you murmured back, yanking him by the hem of his scarf until your lips crashed together.

And, for the first time in a while, everything felt complete again.

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[trollrider1111]

Making ocs is an art that i think was lost on me, to do that i think you need to be able to figure out a life and in order to do THAT i need experience in making ocs. Dammit i gotta do this badly, scared and for the first time

[hitoshitoshi]

Hair Washing [Husband!Zayne x GenderNeutral!Reader]

Summary: You take care of Zayne and he allows it for once in his life.

Tags: Established Relationship, Married life, Hair Washing, Self Degradation, Hurt/Comfort, Self Indulgent, Workaholic and Stubborn Zayne, Domestic fluff, Non-sexual Intimacy, Romance.

Zayne drove his Audi into the garage, the purr of the engine fading to silence as he cut the ignition. As the garage door descended, shutting out the world where it was just him in his car — his forehead resting against the steering wheel, eyes closed, the weight of a 16-hour shift was hitting him like a fire being snuffed out by a lid. 

'Pull yourself together,' Zayne chided internally, straightening up with a soft inaudible groan. 

Flipping down the sun visor mirror, Zayne assessed his reflection. Dark circles lurked beneath his hazel eyes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his skin lost a bit of its glow. Zayne grabbed a comb and meticulously smoothed out his hair into place. 

'You have no right to burden others with your childish grievances,' Zayne reminded himself, a mantra born of years of self-imposed stoicism. Zayne would not allow himself to ever burden you with such a pitiful thing such as tiredness or to ever make you worry as long as he lived. 

Satisfied with his appearance, Zayne exited the car, his movements deliberately measured to hide his bone-deep fatigue that threatened to consume him. As he approached the house, he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. The mask, Dr. Zayne — the Cardiac Surgeon, slid off as he was now Zayne, your husband. He opened the door, stepping into the warmth of your shared home. 

Zayne called out to you, "I'm home," his voice was steady and neutral, betraying none of the relief he felt at finally being home to where you were, in the house you two had lived in and cherished.

The sounds of rapid footsteps echoed through the house, and Zayne felt a flutter of warmth in his chest. You appeared, eyes bright with joy and relief that your beloved husband came home from work. For a moment, Zayne allowed a soft smile to tug at the corner of his lips as he drank in the sight of his partner. 

Your heart raced at the sight of Zayne, a mix of excitement and concern washed over you. You rushed forward, arms outreached for a hug, but you stopped mid-motion as you took in Zayne's appearance. Despite Zayne's immaculate exterior, you knew Zayne more than anyone else to know that he was tired —  the slight degree of a slump in Zayne's shoulders, the barely perceptible tightness around Zayne's eyes, the shadows under Zayne's eyes being a shade too dark. Your heart clenched, seeing the man you loved with your entire soul, pushing himself so hard. 

"Zayne, you look tired," You said softly as you reached out to touch Zayne's arm. Your fingers trembled slightly, torn between the desire to pull him close and the fear of overstepping even if you two were already married. "Let me take care of you tonight."

Zayne felt a surge of conflicting emotions at your words —  gratitude warring with his ingrained need for self-reliance. It was always Zayne treating and spoiling you, and not the other way around. Even the times when you tried to spoil him back, Zayne would always find a way to turn it around so that it was back to him spoiling you. His eyebrow arched slightly, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement to hide the vulnerability he felt.

"I'm fine," Zayne replied, his tone leaving  no room for argument, even as an iota of him longed to give in, "It was just another day at the hospital." Zayne knew that he couldn't convince you since you were as stubborn as him, but it couldn't hurt to try.

 Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. You could see the weariness Zayne was trying so hard to hide, and it made your chest tighten with worry. You insisted, "You've been gone for over 16 hours and this was the 3rd time this week back to back that you've had these long shifts. You need to rest. Let me help you rest." 

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've had longer shifts that were more troubling throughout the years," Zayne countered, a hint of stubbornness creeping into his voice. Even as he spoke, he felt his resolve wavering under your gaze —  he hated concerning you. He hated making you feel this way —  he hated himself for making you feel this way. 

You stepped closer, your hand was gentle but insistent on Zayne's arm. You could feel the tension in his muscles and the slight tremor of exhaustion. "Please, Zayne," you pleaded, "Let me do this for you once. You always take care of me, let me take care of you sometimes. Even if it's on a blue moon, let me take care of you once."��

Zayne's eyes shifted away as he let out a sigh, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed a bit. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingled with gratitude as he reluctantly gave in. "Fine," Zayne conceded, his tone was of his usual deadpan but it was tinged with affection. "If it will put your mind at ease." 

Your face broke into a warm smile, relief and love shining in your eyes. You grabbed Zayne’s hand as you led Zayne towards the bathroom. Zayne allowed himself to lean slightly into your touch. For once, Zayne allowed himself to accept the care he so often denied himself. 

You filled the bathtub with hot water, the sound of rushing liquid filling the quiet room. You added a generous amount of bubble bath, watching as frothy suds formed on the surface. The scent of rose oil wafted through the air as you added a few drops of it to the water. Your heart raced in anticipation and nervousness, hoping that you’d be able to take away Zayne’s stress. 

Soft light from carefully placed candles flickered across the walls as you dimmed the overhead lights. You turned to Zayne who stood in the doorway — a hint of vulnerability in his usually stoic expression. 

“Come,” You said softly, extending your hand out towards him. Zayne took your hand, allowing himself to be led to the bathtub. He raised your hand up to his lips as he gave your knuckles a soft kiss as a thank you. Zayne didn’t know the last time someone had put effort into him that wasn’t you — at least, someone who didn’t have any outside intentions of being nice to him. Zayne was forever thankful that he had such a kind spouse in his life, that out of all the lives he had lived, that he was able to be with you in this one.

As Zayne settled into the warm water, a soft sigh escaped his lips. The tension he’d been carrying began to melt away, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Your heart swelled with affection at the sight of Zayne finally relaxing.

With gentle movements, you began to soak Zayne’s hair with warm water. Your fingers combed through the dark strands, careful not to tug or cause discomfort. Zayne’s breathing deepened slightly, the rhythmic motion lulled him into a state of calm he only experienced with and around you. 

You reached for the shampoo, squeezing a small amount into your palm. The fresh, clean scent filled the air as you began to work it into Zayne’s scalp. Starting at the temples, you used your fingertips to massage in small, circular motions, applying gentle pressure to stimulate blood flow and to clean all of Zayne’s hair and his head. As your fingers worked their way to the base of Zayne’s skull, you could feel the tension that Zayne’s been holding start to loosen. Zayne let out a low hum of appreciation —  the sound sending a small flutter though your chest. God, you loved your husband so much. You worked the shampoo through the rest of Zayne’s hair.

Once Zayne’s hair was thoroughly lathered, you began to rinse it clean. You used a small cup to pour warm water over his head —  your other hand acted as a shield to prevent shampoo from running into his eyes. Zayne’s thoughts drifted, the simple act of being cared for stirred emotions that he usually kept tightly controlled.

Next, You reached for the conditioner, applying a generous amount through Zayne’s hair —  focusing on the ends which tended to be drier. You began to massage Zayne’s scalp once more.You used your thumbs as you applied pressure to the occipital ridge at the base of Zayne’s skull. You then moved to the crown, using your fingertips to make small circular motions. You paid special attention to Zayne’s temples as you used gentle sweeping motions with your thumbs to ease away the day’s stress.

As your fingers worked their magic, Zayne felt himself surrendering to the care being lavished upon him as his eyes fluttered closed once more, his entire body relaxing in the hot water. A surge of protectiveness and tenderness surged through you as you noticed the change in Zayne’s demeanor. You bent your head down as you placed a soft kiss on your husband’s lips who reciprocated the kiss with even more gentleness in his movements.

“Thank you,” Zayne murmured against your lips— his voice was low and thick with emotion. The simple phrase carried the weight of all the gratitude and affection he struggled to express aloud.

You continued massaging Zayne’s scalp as you replied to him softly, “Always.”

The rhythmic pitter-patter of water being poured filled the air as you rinsed out Zayne’s hair; steam curled lazily around them, carrying the fading scent of the conditioner. Zayne’s breathing slowed as the last of the conditioner washed away. Your hand found Zayne’s elbow, steadying him as he rose. The sudden change in position sent a momentary rush to Zayne’s head, his usual grace faltering. Your eyes met Zayne’s briefly in the foggy mirror as you reached for the robe hanging nearby; the dark purple fabric rich against the bathroom’s pale tiles. As you helped Zayne slip on the robe, the soft material settled against his skin, still warm and slightly damp. The sound of footsteps resonated through the house as you both made your way to the bedroom. The air was cooler, raising goosebumps on Zayne’s exposed skin. He sank down onto the bed’s edge; the mattress dipped slightly under his weight. You moved behind him with a towel in hand. The first touch of terrycloth against Zayne’s nape sent a shiver down his spine — bare perceptible but there. You towel dried Zayne’s hair as his eyelids grew heavy; his usual sharp focus softened around the edges.  You reached over to the nightstand where you grabbed the comb, its teeth scraped gently against Zayne’s scalp, with each pass detangling your husband’s hair — detangling all of the stress in Zayne’s mind who only focused on you and your touch. A clock ticked softly somewhere as the lamp on the other side of the bedroom casted a warm glow that softened the lines of their faces, illuminating your faces and your love. As you worked, Zayne found his gaze drawn to your reflection in the dresser mirror. He watched the play of emotions across your face: concentration in the slight furrow of your brows with care in the gentle set of your mouth. Something stirred in Zayne’s chest — an emotion he had sought after for so long that he would fight with his entire soul to keep.

“I love you.”

“I love you most”.

It was more than just a hair wash to both you and Zayne; it was an act of love, trust, and vulnerability that would deepen your bond in ways words could never express. 

A/N: I love Zayne. I really really really love Zayne as you can tell. Have I mentioned that I love Zayne? Because I love Zayne. I have Zayne smut in drafts thats halfway written :3

Masterlist

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.

Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.

Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.

It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.

The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.

You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.

“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”

And it was.

The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.

Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.

You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.

Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.

You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.

It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.

“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.

There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.

The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.

You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.

“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.

For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.

But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.

The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.

So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.

A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.

But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.

You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.

This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.

Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.

Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.

But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.

It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.

It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.

The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.

Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.

Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.

But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.

No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.

Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.

She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.

At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.

You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.

It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.

The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.

The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.

That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.

When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.

You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.

When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.

The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.

You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.

The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.

Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.

It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.

It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.

So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.

When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.

You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.

With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.

Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.

You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.

Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.

The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.

But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?

It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.

You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.

Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.

You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.

The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

[mariasont]

Spoiled - A.H

a/n: felt feral writing this hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did

think im ovulating or something YALL IDK

anyhow happy reading let me know what yall think 🤭

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which hotch overhears your conversation with penelope and decides to do something about it

warnings: 18+ MDNI, phone sex!, sex toy!, fem solo masturbation, penelope being a little instigator lmao, dirty talk, soft dom!hotch, established relationship, honestly a little bit of angst whoops, reader is slightly dramatic like hotch has been gone for prob 5 hours STAND UP!

wc: 3.3k

"Penelope Grace Garcia!"

Her comment earned her the full government name, igniting a burst of laughter that you attempt to smother behind your hand. Sinking deeper into the couch, you dismiss the absurdity with a shake of your head. You even find yourself glancing over your shoulder even though you know no one is home.

"You know, I really shouldn't be telling you this, but trust me, that's the least of our worries in this relationship."

"Look, whatever floats your love boat or rocks your bed frame is strictly your business," she comments as if that were the most casual thing to say.

You giggle, a warmth spreading through you as you tread across the kitchen tiles, the phone pressed against your ear. 

"Oh my god, Pen," you let out a laugh, feeling a soft crimson spread across your cheeks, while your thighs swell with the thoughts of your doting boyfriend. "No, no, like I said we're more than okay in that department. It just gets, well, lonely when he's away."

Your hand curls around the neck of your favorite bottle of red, easing the cork free with a satisfying pop. The liquid swirls into the glass, a little more than probably necessary, as the gentle hiss of water beginning to simmer breaks through the kitchen. 

"You, my dear, are a saint among mortals."

"Well, he makes it easy," you shrug, pouring the rice into the bubbling pot, a cloud of steam rising to paint the windows.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage. I'd be itching for it, especially if it's as good as you say," Penelope admits with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, propping the phone against the backsplash, its speaker projecting the conversation into the room. Aaron stands just out of sight, unnoticed, taking in your every syllable.

"When he gets back, trust me, every second apart seems like a small price to pay."

"Ever thought about getting yourself a toy? You know, for those long nights?" Penelope hints not (at all) so slyly. 

The wine almost sprays from your mouth as you stifle a surprised splutter. Aaron, still unseen, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, um, no, I haven't really considered... a toy," you murmur, cheeks burning. You clear your throat, pretending to be engrossed in the simmering pot. "Aaron might have an opinion on that, I guess."

Your attempt at nonchalance was failing, you definitely knew that.

Aaron rested casually against the door frame, a soft smile touching his lips at the sound of your bashful laughter. He'd always had a soft spot for the way your cheeks bloom with color--a sight he wasn't afraid to go great lengths to witness. The idea of a toy seemed to pique his curiosity, drawing a pensive frown as his attention stayed fixed on you for a moment longer.

He slips away silently, his steps carrying him to the front door as you continue your conversation with Penelope.

The call disconnects with a soft click, and you're left in the quiet of the kitchen, unwittingly promising to keep Penelope updated. Turning back to the stove, you stir the sauce with a distracted hand, your lips downturned. Aaron should have been home by now.

The dining table is set, candles flickering, their glow falling on the chair he's yet to fill. You let out a sigh, stealing another look at the ticking clock. The food is ready, but with each passing minute, it grows cooler, just the unfamiliar feeling of disappointment settling in your chest. 

The audible twist of the key catches your attention, and you can't help but glance over your shoulder. Aaron walks in, his lips curving into a smile upon seeing you.

"Hi, my gorgeous girl," he greets, his voice a familiar sound that kindles a familiar flutter into your heart.

He places his briefcase down, the sound muted, and as he approaches, his lips brush a tender kiss against your temple. The annoyance that had been bubbling inside you melts away with his touch. Damn him.

You turn to him, a sheepish "Hi" fluttering out, your cheeks tinged with heat. It's a feeling that's always fresh, the way he still makes you feel like you're back in high school, hearts doodled in the margins of your notebook.

Aaron settles into his chair, the soft scrape of wood against the tile following his movements.

"Sorry 'M late," he offers, his tone warm, appreciative. "Everything looks and smells wonderful, honey. Thank you."

His fingers gently sweep a loose strand of hair from your face, his smile softening you, disarming you. He's so beautiful.

"You're welcome," you reply, your cheeks growing warmer with each word. "And, um, I hope it's okay. It might be a bit cold. I thought...I guess I assumed you'd be home sooner."

You voice trails off, leaving behind a trail of embarrassed concern, wondering if perhaps you'd somehow overstepped. 

Aaron looks at you, his eyes turning kind as he discerns the unease on your face.

"I'm sorry, baby, got held up with a little errand." He bites into the food, and a gratified hum indicates his approval. "This is delicious."

You find yourself beaming at the praise. He had a talent for that--praising you, almost as if he'd made it his life mission. This was a first for you in a relationship, and it's exactly why the late nights and time spent alone didn't weigh so heavily. 

After dinner, you're rinsing off the plates when Aaron's hands draw you close, his hands claiming your waist, the heat of his palms radiating through the fabric of your shirt. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Let me help with that. You're spoiling me," he insists, his words spoken into your damp skin.

You lean back into his embrace, his chest flush against your back.

"I like taking care of you," you admit, heart skipping a beat under the weight of his gaze, the softness in his eyes dissolving your concentration on the task at hand. 

A deep, affectionate groan escapes Aaron as he pulls you even closer. But all good things come to an end, and the ringing of his phone seems like an icy intrusion, like a sudden draft into the kitchen.

"Hotchner," he answers, and even though the word leaves his lips, his fingers gently sketch patterns across your hip. 

You feel your heart sink. When he hangs up, his eyes lock with yours, brimming with an apology he doesn't voice. It's unnecessary, you already know.

"A case?" You hate how small your voice sounds, dipped in an understanding you wish you didn't have.

He nods, a simple stupid gesture that sends a lump of disappointment soaring up your throat, which you desperately try to swallow down. 

"Okay... just, be careful, okay? I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you, angel. Be good for me."

There's a hollowness in the house that follows you through each room. You were well aware of Aaron's demanding job when you started dating--the unpredictable schedule, the sudden departures, the cases that required his immediate attention. Still, this awareness did nothing to soften to sting of his absence. At all. 

You found yourself wandering aimlessly, picking up a book only to set it down unread, starting a movie but not really watching. Eventually, you ended up in the bedroom, his bedroom, where the subtle scent of his cologne lingers. It's both comforting and heart-wrenching. God, you felt like you were being so dramatic.

You climb into the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, too big and empty without him. Your eyes darts to the phone resting on the nightstand. You've always been careful not to disturb him while he's working, but tonight felt different.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the phone, your thumb hovering indecisively over the screen. Reluctantly, you returned it to its place. There was no point in bothering him.

A sudden draft sent a shiver up your spine, reminding you of the blanket Hotch had bought for you a couple months ago. You sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the closet.

But your eyes skipped over the blanket, instead fixating on a shiny pink bag tucked away in a secluded corner. Compelled by a spike of curiosity, you grabbed the bag and pulled it open. Your eyes widened, cheeks burning with a sudden flush as you placed it on the bed. How long had this been hiding here? And the timing--just after your conversation with Penelope--felt almost too uncanny. 

You went back to your phone.

Hi

The message was simple. You hit send before you can second-guess yourself.

Almost immediately, your phone vibrated--Aaron's name illuminated the screen. You answer, and his voice was there, infused with immediate concern.

"Hi honey. You okay?" His question was straightforward, cutting through the noise.

You nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see you. Shifting on the bed, you said softly, "Um, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to bother you. Is it a bad time?"

His response is quick. "You could never bother me."

A blush flares on your cheeks, and a smile instinctively forms. You fidget on the bed, the sheets sighing with your movements, sounds that don't escape Aaron's attentive detection.

"Can't seem to find the right spot without me there, huh?"

"I can't seem to do a lot of things without you here," you grumble under your breath, intended more for yourself than for him. The bed emits a soft creak as you turn again, your breath hitching in a pout that he can almost see through the phone. "Aaron, I found something in the closet..."

You lost your words, fingertips tracing the toy's edge, as you fumbled with the strings of your shorts.

"Hmm? Care to enlighten me."

"You know."

You weren't in the mood for his teasing, because you knew he knew. You could sense his smugness, his voice dripping into that familiar, velvety register that prompted your lips to purse.

"I don't know, sweetheart."

Once again, you found yourself stirring against the linen, nibbling on your lip as a wave of exasperation washed over you, your eyes rolling into their sockets.

"Where are you?"

"Just got to my hotel room." You could hear the subtle movements in the background, accompanied by the soft groans of the mattress under his weight. "What did you find in the closet that was so urgent you needed to text me in the middle of my case?"

Your face was warm. "You said it wasn't a bother."

"And I meant it, now spell it out for me."

Your hands cautiously pushed over the toy, examining its buttons and sides. Subconsciously, your tongue swept over your top teeth. You lowered your voice as though someone else might overhear.

"The toy...is it for me? I mean, I would hope so. If not, well, we'd have a rather awkward issue."

"Yes, it's for you, baby."

You stifled a grin. How could he have known? That profiling business was really no joke.

"Why?"

His muffled chuckle filtered through, and you could almost see the flash of his pearly whites. You really missed him, so much so that you were conjuring vision of his mouth of his on places that should not be said aloud. 

"I just want to make sure my best girl is taken care of when I'm not home." You could practically hear the smirk on his lips.

You were deep in your fantasy now, your free hand sliding down your shorts as you envisioned him propped against the headboard of his hotel bed, tie hanging loosely, hair tousled just so.

"I'm always taken care of by you, Aaron," you said quietly.

You didn't know how to go about this, whatever this even was. You were treading into unknown territory; never having had phone sex with Aaron--or anyone for that matter.  It was a far cry from the occasional suggestive text.

"That's right." His voice flowed like honey in your ear, causing a shiver as your finger skimmed over your underwear, your breathing momentarily faltering. "You're going to be well taken care of for the rest of your life, yeah?"

"Yeah."

You could hardly breathe, squirming against your own touch, glancing over at the toy that sat beside your hip.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate your patience. You're a good girl, honey. Far too good for me." You weren't. It was the other way around; you didn't deserve him. You told yourself that every day. "I know you get lonely, and I know it's something you'd never admit to."

"Aaron..."

He didn't let you finish. "Why don't you tell me what you're doing right now?"

Your actions came to an abrupt standstill, thumb suspended above your clothed clit. You entertained the thought that this FBI gig might have been a front for a psychic, maybe one of those fortune teller types.

You were mumbling into your sleeve, a private conversation with the threads. "Just...um, well it's hardly worth mentioning, honestly."

Wow you're sure you fooled him.

"I'm not fond of dishonesty." The low rumble of his voice sent a tremor through your core. "I'm giving you a final chance. Tell me what you're doing, sweetheart."

A hard swallow passed your throat, your thumb rubbing idle circles into the band of flesh on your hip. 

"Well, I, uh, was touching myself." The words felt as awkward as they sounded, an internal wince accompanying each syllable at how unsexy you were speaking.

"Where, sweetheart?"

You exhaled sharply at the question, heavy with exasperation at his insistence on drawing this out. But the slickness between your legs was undeniable. Your hand slid back to the delicate skin between your thighs.

"Aaron, please," you breathed out so faintly it was almost inaudible.

He was playing a cruel game, and he knew it. You hardly cussed let alone talk about your lady parts so openly.

"I hope I've never given you a reason to feel judged, honey." There was a sweetness in his voice that masked his darker intentions. "Just tell me where. I want to help."

Your tongue flicked nervously across your lip, your finger dipping into the valley of your folds as you mulled over his offer. You were wet, far more than you had anticipated, practically coating your thighs in the process.

"No, 'course not," you said softly, biting back a sigh as your thumb worked slowly against your inflamed clit. "It's just, you're so far, Aaron."

"Why do you think I got you that toy?" Your gaze darted to the pink thing, resting against your hip. "I want you to use it. I'll walk you through it, just like I would in person."

You could melt. You could liquefy into nothingness on the spot. Your fingers pressed more urgently against yourself, a deep-seated wish for him to be here surfacing, knowing all the while it was a baseless hope.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"There you go, that's my girl."

You couldn't hold back the whimper that fell from your lips as you arched against the bed, fingers diving into your cunt.

"My needy girl," he repeated, his laughter resonating with a patronizing tone that oddly egged you on. "Alright, can you pick up the toy for me?"

You wedged the phone snugly between your shoulder and ear, your hand closing around the pink, curved object, scrutinizing its every detail with careful eyes.

"Okay."

It was big, not as big as Aaron, but its dimensions were nonetheless imposing. You felt your chest heave in anticipation, waiting for his instructions.

His silence was stretching your patience thin. You turned it on, and it came to life, watching as it vibrated, the soft buzz permeating the space. You let it trail over your stomach, fabric gathering as your shirt rode up. Nearing your clit, you braced, taking in a quick breath.

But that breath was released in a strangled moan as you pushed the toy firmly into your sopping hole, legs spreading expansively as a taut sensation gripped your center.

"Did I say you could use it already?" he questioned, his tongue clicking in disapproval as you strained against the device, the second prong vibrations coursing against your nub, your whole-body jerking in response.

"N-No, 'M sorry," you panted, your focus narrowing as you pushed to toy in and out, your lips rounding into an 'o'. "It feels really good, Aar."

"I'm sure it does, baby," he teased, his voice carrying a certainty that your own lacked. "Let me hear you fuck yourself with it.

You loved hearing him curse, it was rare, and usually reserved for intimate moments like this. It fueled your actions, your wrist quickening, driving the device deeper, your stomach twisting in tight knots, a loud moan escaping unrestrained, suddenly you were thankful for the distance between Aaron's house and the next.

It felt so good, and yet somehow still not comparable to how it was with Aaron. Weren't you spoiled?

"Miss you so much," you slurred, your movements stuttering as the device worked your body in ways you didn't know were possible.

"Miss you too, angel. You're doing so good."

"Can you, ah, come home, p-please?"

You weren't even sure of what you were saying, all your thoughts on chasing your high and pretending the toy was Aaron's cock. Thinking about how he'd fill you up right now, how he'd press you to the mattress, how his body would cover yours.

"Your present isn't enough?" His tone was taunting, your eyes welling with tears, clouding your vision as your hips bucked against the toy. "That's a shame, sweetheart, think maybe you've been a little spoiled. You can't have my cock all the time."

You were completely dazed, his sentences barely making their way through the fog as you'd like them to. You were crying, you think, hot and relentless tears carving a path down your face as you fucked yourself harder against the toy.

The noises coming from your pussy were obscene, soaked and squishing as you tried to respond to Aaron, but nothing but small hiccups were escaping your mouth.

"It's okay, baby, I know. You're doing so good for me. I can hear it."

Your cheeks and ears flared with a heat that spelled out your shame, but it was the least of your concerns. Your walls tightened against the device, the pressure on your clit suddenly all too much and not enough at the same time. Gasping for air, your breaths came out in uneven bursts. When you tried to call out Aaron's name, it emerged as nothing more than a choked sob.

"C-Can I? Please, need to so bad." You weren't entirely convinced you were speaking English, but Aaron understood. 

"Go ahead, sweetheart."

That was all you needed. Your cunt contracted again before vaulting over the edge, nearly losing consciousness in the process, a string of moans and half-said words pouring out of your lips.

You could hear the sound of his voice, but the words were just out of reach, not fully making sense. You felt your body twitch, and you blinked deliberately, once, twice, three times, in an effort to reconnect your body to your mind.

"You're so good, baby. So good. Miss you so much."

You pulled the toy, now soaked, from yourself, cringing at the lewd sound as you laid it beside you, making a mental note to wash the sheets later. Although if Aaron had his way that wouldn't happen.

"I miss you." You hated the way your voice betrayed ever emotion you had.

"Need you to go pee for me, sweetheart."

He sounded so soft and tired, but somehow still present. You let out a soft snicker as you curled onto your side. 

"Can't move my legs," you mumbled, the sound muffled by the way your cheek was squished into the pillow. "Need you to come carry me."

His laugh was something you wished you could bottle up. "Spoiled."

"And who's to blame for that?" You were ready for his witty retort, but it was cut short by the sudden flash of your phone. You squinted at the caller ID. "Sorry, Penelope is calling me, can I call you back in a second?"

"Course, honey. Thank her for the idea, yeah?" Your mouth fell open as you scrambled for the right words. Of course he had heard. "Also, I plan on spending a few solid hours fucking you when I get home, so I suggest you get some rest."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[creamflix]

nanami kento x female reader; 18+ content, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. established relationship, housewife reader. heavy heavy (!!) corruption kink, gaslighting, guiltripping. squirting, oral (f. receiving), dumbification, bimbofication, overstimulation. dirty-talk, degradation, humilation, praise. alluded dubcon. — masterlist here ☆ part one here

"darling, have you ever thought about taking things to the next step?" 

kento’s deep voice breaks the comfortable silence of your shared bed, the late-night glow barely illuminating the room. you feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his strong arms wrapped around you as he pulls you closer, seeking the comfort that only your presence can give him after a long, exhausting day. the question, however, lingers in the air, catching you completely off-guard.

"n-next step?" your voice squeaks out, betraying you with its nervousness. your face heats up, and your heart races as your mind races, trying to make sense of what your husband means. you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind those words, something deeper. is he suggesting something... intimate? your body reacts, a wave of warmth spreading through you, making your skin tingle.

kento chuckles softly at your flustered response, his large hand brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. "yes," he murmurs, his voice low and careful, as though he’s testing the waters. "in the sense that… we can try something different during our time together."

his tone is gentle, but there’s a weight behind it, something unspoken that makes you tense. your mind swirls, imagining what ‘different’ might mean. "d-different?" you stammer, feeling ridiculous at how shy you sound, but the thought of what he might be implying has your nerves on edge. you chew on your lower lip, trying to figure out how to respond without sounding insecure. "is… our current way of doing things not satisfying you enough?" your voice is barely above a whisper as you turn your face to glance at him, a hint of insecurity creeping into your words.

kento groans quietly at your question, his grip tightening around you just slightly. the truth couldn’t be further from what you feared. he loves every second with you, every tender touch, every slow, loving moment. but lately, there’s been this hunger inside him, something darker and primal, that wants to see you in a different light — wants to feel you give in completely to him, your sweet and obedient self, pliant under his control.

“you’re perfect, darling,” he whispers, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek tenderly. but there’s a tension in the way he holds you, an edge to his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. "it’s not about satisfaction," he adds, his lips brushing the top of your head. "i just want to explore more with you. i think we could… enjoy ourselves in new ways."

his words are sweet, but the way he’s holding you now — his hand on your face just a little too firm, his grip on your waist a little too tight — sends a different message. his usually soft, reassuring gaze holds something darker tonight, something intense, almost predatory. it’s like he’s restraining himself, keeping that side of him locked away, waiting for you to give him permission to unleash it.

your breath catches as his hand slides down to your chin, tilting your face toward his. you can feel the heat of his body, his pulse steady yet intense. "you trust me, don’t you?" he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. his voice, deep and low, sends shivers down your spine.

“o-of course,” you stammer, your heart hammering in your chest as you look into his eyes. but the way he’s staring at you now, there’s something… more. something possessive. you can feel it in the way his thumb presses into your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your pulse quicken. you’ve never seen this side of him before — at least, not so overtly.

kento leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that starts soft but quickly becomes more insistent. his tongue slides against yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, making your body melt into his. you can feel the intensity of his need in the way he’s kissing you, his desire to take control bubbling just beneath the surface.

"i want to take care of you in every way," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rougher now, more demanding. "but sometimes… i just want to take you, darling. make you mine in a way that’s… rougher." his words send a thrill through your body, and despite your nerves, you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at the thought.

his lips brush over your cheek, down to your neck, and you shudder as his breath warms your skin. “you’d let me, wouldn’t you? let me ravage my sweet little wife, hmm?” his voice is a low growl now, his hand moving to the small of your back, pressing you closer against him. “i know you’d take it so well, wouldn’t you?”

you can feel his restraint slipping, the tension in his muscles as he holds back from doing exactly what he wants. his fingers dig into your skin, just enough to make you gasp. “don’t be shy,” he coos, his breath hot against your ear. “i know you’re curious. let me show you, darling. i’ll take such good care of you… even when i’m being rough.”

his words stir something inside you, a heat that spreads through your chest, and you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "okay…"

and that’s all the permission he needs.

"i’m gonna need you to turn around for me, sweet thing. you can do that for me, won’t you?” nanami's voice is thick, dripping with anticipation as he watches you, his eyes burning with desire. the sight of you, all flushed and innocent, makes his heart race, and he can barely hold himself back as he waits for you to move.

"like this?" your voice is a little shaky as you shift onto your stomach, pressing your chest against the bed, your silk nightgown riding up just enough to expose the soft curve of your hips. his anniversary gift to you clings to your body, doing nothing to hide the way your folds glisten with that sweet, sticky slick he knows so well. nanami groans, the sound deep and guttural, as his hand runs over your lower back, feeling the way you tremble under his touch.

"yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he kneels behind you. his gaze is locked onto the way your body moves, the way your thighs clench together in nervous anticipation. "god, you look perfect, darling," he adds, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging in just a little as he guides you into position.

your legs shake as you settle, your knees pressing into the bed, your ass lifted up in the air just the way he likes it. nanami licks his lips, his mouth practically watering as he gets a full view of your dripping folds, slick with arousal. he leans forward, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, and you let out a soft whimper, your body twitching as he inches closer.

"feels w-weird," you murmur, your voice shaky as you glance back at him, your eyes wide and unsure. your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you can’t help the way your body tenses, the unfamiliar position making you feel exposed.

but nanami just hums, barely paying attention to your words. "it's not weird, sweetheart," he says, his tone soft, almost condescending, as his large hand gently wraps around the back of your neck, guiding your head down to the pillow. "you're just not used to being taken like this… but i promise, you’ll love it." his fingers tighten ever so slightly, grounding you in place as he lowers himself between your thighs.

his hot breath against your folds makes you shiver, and the heat of his mouth soon follows, pressing against your cunt. your breath hitches, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as he takes his first taste of you, his tongue dragging slowly through your slick. "god, you taste so good," he groans, his voice muffled by the way his mouth is buried between your legs.

your little whimpers fill the room as his tongue works against you, his lips sealing around your clit as he sucks gently, drawing out a soft cry from your throat. his grip on your neck tightens, keeping you in place as your hips squirm, trying to move away from the overwhelming sensation.

"stay still," nanami growls, his voice rougher now, a warning laced in his words. "i’m just getting started." his mouth works faster, his tongue flicking over your swollen nub as he devours you, ignoring your shaky protests as the pleasure builds, your slick coating his chin. every time you try to pull away, his hold on you tightens, forcing you to stay put, to take what he’s giving you.

"but… it feels too much," you whimper, your voice cracking as you try to lift yourself up, only for nanami to press you down harder, his hand firm around your neck.

"shhh, darling," he murmurs, his voice softening just a little, though it’s laced with something darker, something almost cruel. "you're doing so well for me. just let go… let me take care of you. you trust me, don’t you?" his tongue presses harder against you, drawing tight circles over your clit that make you tremble beneath him.

your body betrays you, hips grinding against his face as you moan into the pillow. "y-yes, kento," you stutter, your head spinning as you try to hold onto some semblance of control, but his words sink into your mind, making you doubt your own discomfort. maybe he’s right. maybe you’re just not used to this.

"good girl," he murmurs approvingly, his voice vibrating against your cunt as he goes back to his task, his tongue pushing deeper, sliding through your folds, tasting every inch of you. "you can take it, can’t you?" he coos, his hand moving from your neck to your hip, pulling you closer against his face as if he can’t get enough.

and you do, you try so hard to take it, your body shaking with the intensity of it all. but it’s so much, too much, and your mind feels hazy, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. "please," you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as you squirm beneath him, trying to catch your breath. "i don’t… i don’t know if i can —"

"you can," nanami interrupts, his voice firm, brooking no argument. "you’ll take it, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?" he asks, his tone sweet yet manipulative, pulling you deeper into his control. "you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?"

his words send a thrill down your spine, a strange mix of pleasure and guilt twisting in your gut as you nod weakly. "n-no, kento…" you whisper, feeling the weight of his expectations press down on you, making you want to please him, to do exactly what he wants.

"that's right," he murmurs against your soaked folds, his lips curving into a smirk as he watches your body give in. "just relax… and let me make you feel good." his tongue dips inside you once more, pushing you closer to the edge, and all you can do is moan and whimper, lost in the haze of pleasure and his sweet, twisted words.

your thoughts are sluggish, a blissful haze clouding your mind, but that sharp smack! to your ass snaps you back to reality. your body jerks at the unexpected hit, a startled sob escaping your lips as the sting spreads across your skin. "k-kento!" you stammer, your voice shaking as tears well up in your eyes, the sudden roughness leaving you confused. you try to push yourself up, to pull away from him, but he holds you firmly in place, his grip on your hips tightening. your silk nightgown clings to your damp skin, sticking to you as if mocking how easily you've come undone under his touch.

“mm, what’s wrong, darling?” nanami’s voice is dark, condescending, laced with something that sends a shiver down your spine. he barely pauses as his mouth continues to suckle on your swollen clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub, making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “thought you liked when i touched you like this. am i wrong, sweetheart? or are you just pretending?” his tone is so sweet, but the words sting, making your heart race as you frantically try to shake your head, even though your body betrays you, hips still twitching against his face.

you sob again, your body trembling, tears staining the pillow beneath you as you desperately try to shift away from his relentless hold. surely, surely he’ll understand, right? this is too much, too fast — he’s never been this rough with you before, never slapped your ass like you were nothing more than a common whore. your soft whimpers fill the room as you squirm under him, but he just chuckles against your cunt, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"oh no, baby… you're not running away from me," nanami coos, his voice dripping with faux concern as his hand comes down hard on your ass again, the sharp smack! echoing in the room. the sting leaves you gasping, your legs trembling as he gropes your tender skin, kneading it roughly between his fingers. “not when i’m having so much fun with you.” his lips curl into a smirk as he watches you struggle, his eyes dark and hungry, and god, it’s almost like he’s enjoying this — the way you’re fighting against your own pleasure, against the way your body reacts to his every touch.

you try to protest, your voice breaking with every sob, but the words don’t come out right. they’re messy, slurred, and barely intelligible as you choke out, “i-it’s t-too much…” your voice trails off as another sob bubbles up, but nanami just clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, pulling away from your cunt only to slap your ass again, his hand leaving a hot, stinging mark.

"shh, shh," he hushes you, his voice so gentle it almost makes your heart ache. "you're doing so well, sweetheart. don't be dramatic." he nuzzles his face back between your thighs, licking a slow, torturous stripe up your folds. “besides, good housewives don’t run away from their husbands, do they?” his words are soft, coaxing, and you can feel the weight of guilt settling in your chest as he speaks.

you don’t want to disappoint him, not after all the love and care he’s shown you. you’re his good little wife, the one who’s supposed to please him, to make him happy. you can’t let him down now, can you? not when he’s telling you how good you are, how perfect you are for him.

"i’m only doing this because i know you can take it," he says, his voice dripping with sickening sweetness as his hand gropes your ass again, squeezing the tender flesh while his mouth returns to your needy cunt, tongue flicking over your clit. "don’t you want to make me happy, darling? you’re such a good girl for me…"his words twist in your mind, making you second-guess yourself, filling you with that familiar sense of guilt. he’s right, isn’t he? you should be able to take this, you should want to make him happy. "i-i do," you stutter, your voice shaky and broken as you try to steady yourself, to focus on pleasing him like a good wife should.

“i knew you would,” nanami praises, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as his fingers dig deeper into your skin, holding you firmly in place. “you’d never disappoint me, right, sweetheart?” he asks, his tongue flicking faster, his teeth grazing your sensitive nub again. “because that’s what good housewives do, after all. they make their husbands happy.”

your mind spins, overwhelmed by the mix of pleasure and guilt. you don’t want to let him down, even though your body screams for release from the intensity. he wants this from you, and you — his sweet, pliant little wife — will give it to him.

your sobs turn into soft, helpless whimpers as nanami continues his relentless assault on your cunt, his hands groping your ass, his mouth working you over until your mind goes blank. all you can think about is making him proud, pleasing him, being the good girl he needs you to be.

nanami pulls away for just a moment, his mouth glistening with your essence, and the sudden absence of his tongue leaves you reeling. your mind is a hazy jumble of conflicting desires — you want him to continue, to ravage you until you can’t think straight, but at the same time, there’s a strange heat curling in your lower belly that feels almost painful. it’s confusing, and you can’t quite articulate what you need, but your whimpers fill the room.

“k-kento,” you stammer, trying to catch your breath. “it... it feels weird.” your voice is soft, shaky, and you glance over your shoulder at him, hoping he’ll understand. the look on his face is amused, but there’s something darker behind his eyes, something that sends another thrill of excitement through you.

“oh, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head as he runs his fingers over the bruises he’s left on your ass, tracing the tender skin. each gentle touch sends a shiver down your spine, the sting pulling you momentarily out of the throbbing heat that’s building within you. “you’re just not used to it yet, are you?” he says, feigning concern as his fingers dip lower, teasingly close to where you want him most. “but don’t worry. i’m here to help you with that.”

you whimper again, the heat in your belly intensifying, and you can feel the slickness pooling between your thighs, almost dripping onto the bedsheets. it’s enough to drive him wild, the sight of you like this — so desperate, so needy, and all because of him. “look at that,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with satisfaction. “you’re already making a mess, baby. and you didn’t even know you wanted it this bad.”

the humiliation washes over you in waves, but there’s also something intoxicating about it. the way he looks at you, the way he’s so sure of your desires, makes your heart race. “i didn’t mean to…” you try to protest, but your words fall flat, the need pooling in your belly making it hard to think.

“didn’t mean to what?” he asks, his tone teasing as he pushes your legs apart, exposing you fully to his gaze. “didn’t mean to be such a good girl? or didn’t mean to make such a pretty little mess?” his fingers brush against your folds, teasingly slow, and you can’t help the way your body responds, hips instinctively pushing toward him, seeking more.

“both,” you whimper, your voice trembling. but deep down, you know you’re lying. you want to be good for him, want to feel every bit of his attention on you. and as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your slickness, you know you’re trapped in this web he’s spun — caught between pleasure and pain, between wanting to submit and the desperation to be more than what you are.

“you know,” he continues, his voice a smooth purr, “it’s okay to want this, my love. to want me to take you like this.” his fingers tease your slick folds, and you can feel yourself starting to melt under his touch. “you don’t have to pretend anymore. just let go and be a good little housewife.”

the way he says it makes your heart flutter, the words igniting something within you that makes you want to surrender completely. you nod, though the heat in your belly feels overwhelming. “i-i want to be good for you, kento…” your voice is barely above a whisper, and his smirk widens at your admission.

“that’s my girl,” he praises, his fingers slipping lower, circling your entrance with a teasing slowness that makes you whine. “now, let’s see how well you can take it.” he pushes a finger inside you, and the sensation sends shockwaves through your body. “and remember, sweetheart, it’s all about trust. you trust me, don’t you?”

“y-yes,” you breathlessly reply, knowing you should feel ashamed, but all you can think about is how good it feels to submit to him, how right it feels to give in to the heat building inside you. with every movement, he’s taking you further down the path he’s set, and somehow, you can’t help but follow him.

the pressure in your lower belly intensifies, morphing into that familiar, overwhelming urge to pee. panic sets in as you feel the heat pooling dangerously close to the point of no return. “k-kento, please stop,” you whimper, trying to catch your breath, but the desperate tone in your voice only seems to encourage him.

“stop?” he echoes, a teasing lilt to his voice as he dives deeper into your slick folds. “but sweet thing, you’re just getting started. you can’t be telling me you’re ready to quit now.” he flicks your nub with his tongue, each movement driving you further into a haze of pleasure mixed with panic.

“n-no, really, i need to —” you cry out, but the words fall away as he resumes his relentless assault, fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony against you. the way he handles you feels almost cruel, pushing you closer to the edge while you’re begging him to pull back. “i can’t — please, i don’t want to —”

“you don’t want to what?” he taunts, the pressure in your belly mounting. “pee? is that what my little housewife is afraid of? come on, don’t be shy.” he grips your ass tighter, fingers digging in almost painfully, forcing you to feel every bit of the humiliation coursing through you. “you’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you? all that sweet slick just begging for attention. who knew you’d turn out to be such a filthy girl?”

his words only heightens your arousal, the conflicting sensations spinning you into a frenzy. you’re crying now, tears staining the pillow beneath you as you squirm, desperately trying to hold it all together. “kento, please… i don’t want to do that to you,” you sob, your voice cracking under the strain.

“what kind of husband would i be if i let you hold back?” he replies, his voice a mix of mockery and lust. “just let it go, sweet thing. i’ll take care of you. you know i will.”

his words are like a trigger, and you can’t help but feel your body betraying you. the pressure finally builds to an unbearable level, and in one split second, everything blurs. your body arches against his, and as if on cue, you squirt, the warm release spilling over him as your mind goes blank.

“there you go,” he murmurs, watching the way you lose yourself in that moment, pleasure and humiliation crashing over you in waves. “such a good girl, letting it all out for me.”

you can’t process anything; it’s as if time stands still. all you know is the intense heat of your orgasm and the way your body shakes as you surrender to the pleasure, feeling utterly lost in a world where you’re just his — completely at his mercy.

you blink slowly, your body slowly stirring as the soft glow of the morning light filters through the curtains. your mind feels heavy, like it's clawing its way back to reality, and the familiar scent of kento grounds you. his strong arms are wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and his voice — so calm, so sweet — cuts through the lingering haze.

"ah, you're awake," he chuckles, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you tighter. "you fell asleep mid-conversation, love."

your heart skips a beat, the fog in your mind parting slightly. mid-conversation? you think, but something feels off. it takes a moment for your brain to catch up. everything that happened before — the slaps, the biting, the way he degraded you... it felt so real. but now, looking at him, holding you so tenderly, his face filled with nothing but love and adoration, the confusion creeps in.

was it just a dream?

you bite your lip, feeling a sense of guilt creep up your spine. you can't ask him that. what kind of wife would accuse her loving husband of something so horrible? of course it was a dream. why else would he be so sweet right now? you can’t help but feel ashamed for even thinking that something so disturbing could have happened. you’ve known kento for years. he's gentle, loving, patient. he would never treat you like that.

yet, there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach. as much as you want to brush it off, your body remembers too vividly. your skin tingles where his hands had been rough, and your thighs ache as if they’d been held down too long. but that’s impossible… right?

"you okay?" kento’s voice brings you back to the present, his brow furrowed slightly as he looks down at you with concern. "you seem a bit off."

"n-no, i’m fine," you quickly stammer, forcing a smile. "just a weird dream, i guess…" your words trail off, your voice barely steady. a weird dream? you’re not even sure if that’s true anymore, but you can’t ask him. you can't upset him with something that’s likely your own mind playing tricks on you.

kento's expression softens, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “must’ve been some dream. but don’t worry about it. i’m here now, okay?”

you nod, feeling your heart twist in your chest. why am i doubting him? he’s being so loving, so perfect. god, you’re a terrible wife for even thinking something was wrong, for questioning his intentions. your mind whirls, and you chastise yourself for being paranoid. what kind of wife doesn’t trust her own husband?

you glance down, and your eyes catch the damp spot on the hem of your nightgown, sending a ripple of unease through you. wait, why is it wet? you swallow, your throat tightening as you try to think of an explanation. maybe you knocked over a glass of water in your sleep. that’s it, it has to be. no need to overthink it.

"you sure you’re okay?" kento asks again, pulling you closer, his hand resting on your lower back. too close. "you’re quiet this morning."

you force another smile, pushing the gnawing doubts deep down where they can't surface. "yeah, just… tired. i probably didn’t sleep well."

he hums softly in response, tracing gentle circles on your back. “you work too hard. you’ve always been so anxious about little things, haven’t you?” he says, his voice so caring, so understanding. but it stings. his words hit a sensitive nerve, making you feel like you’re overreacting. “it’s probably nothing, love. you always get worked up over these things, remember?”

god, he’s right. you’ve always been the anxious one, the overthinker. what if it’s all in your head? kento’s never hurt you before, so why would he start now? maybe you did dream it. you’ve been so stressed lately — you’re just imagining things.

"yeah… you're right," you whisper, though the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. why can’t you just let it go? you can’t keep doubting him, doubting yourself. he’s been nothing but loving, and yet here you are, second-guessing every little thing.

"good girl," kento says, pulling you in closer as if rewarding you for coming to the ‘right’ conclusion. "see? everything’s fine." his hand slips lower, gently caressing the fabric of your nightgown. “you’ll feel better once you relax.”

he’s right, you think, the guilt of your earlier doubts settling like a heavy weight in your chest. why do I always have to overthink things? you don’t want to upset him, you don’t want to be difficult. good wives don’t question their husbands like this.

but as you close your eyes, trying to settle into his embrace, the uneasy feeling refuses to fade entirely. you ignore the lingering wetness at the edge of your gown, forcing yourself to believe it’s just water—because it has to be.

right?

!! aa this was a lot darker than what i usually right (i think?), but i hope you all enjoy. give it a lil' reblog and a comment if ya did＞﹏＜

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[love44lew]

what turns them on/off

彡drivers lewis hamilton, max verstappen, charles leclerc, sebastian vettel, jenson button

彡genre hcs/scenarios

彡summary what gets their wheels spinning and what makes ‘em dnf ★

彡notes i apologize for the wait my loves i didn’t want any of these to feel rushed </3 thank you for 100 followers ❤️❤️

彡warnings sexual content

————-꧁🪼🦈🐋🐬🦭꧂-————

lewis

pleasuring you lewis loves to satisfy the people he loves. getting them gifts, compliments, paying the bill for any meal, you name it. as long as his special ones are happy, hes happy. so in bed you can expect those same things to apply. he gets pleasure from pleasuring you, he loves it. he enjoys seeing you trembling, blushing and fucked out more than his own pleasure. thats why his favorite thing to do is eat you out. and by life itself, this man can EAT!! its almost like your pussy put a spell on him he gets so lost in the sauce. you physically have to push him off to make him stop and by that time your legs are already shaking. he really touches the ocean floor if you know what i mean!! and the d is fire!! and it will put you to sleep. lewis loves being your personal melatonin.

meaningless sex when lewis was single and needed some pleasure every once in a while, he would just go on raya or hit up one of the six trillion girls who wanted him. he wasn’t satisfied with living that way. lewis is a lover not a player. he’s been through a lot of stuff to make him this way and he learned this the hard way through his late twenties and early thirties. born to be a lover, forced to be a hoe !! fortunately though, he met you and looking back on it, he’s realized how much he hated the shallowness of it all. lewis craves for deep meaningful connections and just having sex with random women didn’t fill that hole in his heart. he had to relearn the true meaning of sex and how magical and special such an experience can be. you helped him rediscover this important aspect of his life and it feels great. being with you has definitely taught him quality over quantity.

max

loss of senses max needs to see you, so darkness is a no no. plus, more unnecessary risk of hurting yourselves. he loves the sound of your voice, weather its your moaning and whining as he works your body in every way you enjoy or its just you rambling about your day while running your soft fingers through his thin silky hair. max needs the stimulation of sight and sound to get himself going. “let me hear you” he’ll whisper into your ear

this may be why he loves his mirrors !! the only solution to this issue is to just fuck u in front of a mirror. most men love to do that for their own pleasure but the only thing max is looking at while fucking you in front of a mirror is the way your face twitches, contorts, and relaxes with every thrust. the way your doe eyes roll back and cross, further showing to him how good he fucks you. he picks you up by your neck forcing you to straighten your back as he whispers sweet praise into your ear. “you look so pretty like this baby” “you want me to keep doing that gorgeous?” “uhuh im fucking you good baby” your legs twitch every time his sweet voice sings into your ear telling you everything you need to hear.

charles

charles loves to see you in lace, latex, and silk. the way the latex hugs your figure so beautifully makes you almost look naked. weather its black, beige, white, or print he loves when you look all sexy just for him. silk is almost like maternal for him. as much as he loves to see your curves he also loves the look of ‘sheets after sex’ the open back with the jewelry and the flowy trim, he loves it. it simply just makes him want to imagine you bloated with your shared creation but still keeping your elegance and beauty along with it. the look of silk makes your skin glow like the sun and you simply look like a greek goddess in his eyes. the beautiful custom embroidery that revolves around your every curve when you wear lace is unmatched. he loves that it shows just enough that he can imagine what hes already seen but also covers enough that others cant. the sexy elegant vibe of lace changes your aura enough to make him want to eat you out through your thin panties. your beautiful skin covered by a thin soft custom embroidery made just for him makes his mind go wild.

waiting charles is very impatient when it comes to his pleasure. weather its the pleasure of winning or reaching tip of his climax so good that he’ll just want to fall asleep after, he’ll work hard to make sure he gets there, for you too. sure, he can do foreplay but only for a certain amount of time until he begins to bore. ‘lets get to the good stuff already’ ((sass)) charles is a gentleman, so he will make sure you finish before him. plus, he has amazing stamina, so don’t feel rushed to reach your climax, he can wait for that. sometimes he’ll slow down just to watch you overstimulate for a little bit longer, just until you start fussing before going rough and slow, just how u like it. “whats wrong mon cœr? don’t you like it slow?” “ahh you want it harder.. yeah, just like that.”

sebastian

cuddling (smirk) the bed creaks as seb adjusts himself to face your back swinging an arm over your waist and the other snaked around your neck. “good morning, der liebling” he greeted in his raspy low morning tone, planting soft kisses on your cheek and shoulder. you turned your head to catch his lips. “good morning sunshine” you teased his nickname. he rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging his lips. he kissed your nose before diving back onto your lips, his hand now squeezing and caressing your waist and hip. you scooted back, carefully grinding your rear on his front. his hand stuck on your hip while his other now holding your neck. you continued grinding your ass back on him. little moans and purrs escaping between kisses.

full attention its important that you fully engage with seb while having relations. if you seem at all uninterested in what you’re doing he simply wont have the means to do anything anymore. its important to always make sure you’re not holding back when it comes to him. he loves when your hands are anywhere they can find groping or caressing his skin as hes burried deep in your core. he needs to feel extra wanted every time. “touch me” he whispers into your ear as he slowly inserts himself. the extra sensory makes him go wild as he resists cumming after just a couple strokes. your nails lightly scratching circles into his scalp as he’s pressing your knees into the cushion below. even when hes fucking you from behind you always reach a hand over to run down his chest and abs and make eye contact as you match his thrust rhythm.

(i might add jenson in the future but im trying to get this out for you guys asap!!)

—-

dm for tags!! plz request more ideas ❤️

[littlelamy]

toxic!rafe x reader

a/n: this reminds me of s1 rafe so much :) enjoy!!

you step out of the fitting room, with the dim lighting casting a warm glow over your skin. the lingerie clings to your curves, the delicate lace hugging you in all the right places. rafe is seated on a plush armchair, his posture relaxed, but the intensity of his gaze gives him away. he’s been waiting for this moment, and you can feel the weight of his stare as you approach him.

rafe’s blue eyes are dark, stormy, as they travel over your body, lingering on every exposed inch of skin. there’s a tension in the air, thick and heavy, as if the entire room is holding its breath, waiting for him to speak. you know rafe well enough to know that silence isn’t a good sign—it means he’s thinking, calculating, deciding how far he can push you this time.

as he gets up, you feel his hands on your waist as he spins you, his touch both possessive and rough. it’s a stark contrast to the softness of the lace, a reminder that no matter how delicate you may look right now, you’re his, and he won’t let you forget it.

“mhm, I like this one,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something darker, something that makes your heart pound in your chest. “but you know what, babe? i think you like it because you know it drives me crazy.”

you glance over your shoulder at him, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. there’s a dangerous edge to his gaze, a mix of desire and something more intense, more possessive. It’s the way he’s always been with you—intense, overwhelming, like a storm you can’t escape. but beneath it all, you know he loves you, even if his love is twisted, tangled up with his need to control.

“do you like driving me crazy?” he asks, his voice soft, but you can hear the teasing beneath it. he’s testing you, waiting to see if you’ll play along or push back. and the truth is, you’re not sure which one he wants.

“i like wearing things that make me feel good,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can see the way his eyes narrow, his jaw tightening.

his grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back against his chest, his breath hot against your ear. “you feel good because you know I’m looking, because you know I want you,” he growls, his lips brushing against your neck. “don’t pretend like it’s just for you. you and I both know better.”

his words send a jolt of electricity and desire through you, the raw intensity of his hunger both thrilling and terrifying. rafe has always been like this, walking the fine line between love and obsession, and sometimes you wonder if he even knows the difference.

“rafe, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, turning you around to face him. his hands grip your hips in a rough but gentle way, making your knees weak.

“no,” he says, his voice cold, but his eyes burn with heat. “you don’t get to play games with me, not when you look like that. you know what you’re doing, and i won’t let you act like you don’t.”

you swallow hard, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear. there’s a part of you that wants to push back, to remind him that you’re your own person, but there’s another part—a darker part—that craves and yearns his possessiveness, that feels satisfied when he claims you so completely.

“i didn’t mean to—” you begin, but again, he cuts you off, his grip tightening just enough to make you feel it, to remind you who’s in control here.

“don’t,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. “you know exactly what you’re doing, and so do I. you’re mine, and don’t you ever forget it.”

the words hang in the air between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel the tension crackling like a live wire. rafe’s eyes soften slightly, and he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both possessive and tender, as if he’s trying to convey all the things he can’t say out loud.

when he pulls back, there’s a softness in his gaze that’s almost startling. “i just… i can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice a low rumble. “you’re too beautiful, too perfect, too sexy. i can’t lose you, do you understand?”

you nod, your heart pounding in your chest. you know that beneath the harsh exterior, rafe’s love for you is real, even if it’s wrapped up in his need to control. and in moments like this, when his walls come down just enough for you to see the vulnerability underneath, you can’t help but forgive him, even though you know you probably shouldn’t.

“i understand,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “im not going anywhere, rafe.”

he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, and you can feel the tension slowly going away. when he opens his eyes again, they’re filled with a softness, and you know that no matter how toxic his love might be, it’s still love—and in his own way, he’s trying to protect you, even if it’s from himself.

“good,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “because you’re mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”

and as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, you realize that as twisted as it might be, there’s something intoxicating about being loved by someone like rafe—someone who’s willing to fight for you, even if the battle is against his own demons.

[hypnagogics]

omg I know I’m a bit of a yapper with all these ideas don’t mind me, but what d’you think Ellie would be like during aftercare?

sorry about me yapping, my brain is rotted with so many ideas smh

no pls i always need more ideas!! i love these little bite-sized things where i can just yap for a bit instead of being insanely extra like with reqs and other things...VERY CHEESY, TOOTH-ACHINGLY FLUFFY RAMBLE AHEAD:

she'd be real sweet with it, of course. making sure you're okay, cuddling until the sun comes up, she'd run you two a sweet-smelling bath and make your favorite meal, she's just an angel!

right after the heat of the moment was over, the two of you would tangle up in the sheets, warm, still-trembling limbs strewn to all sides, cuddled up as close as humanly possible. chests up against each other, it was like your hearts were holding hands, the way they were beating in synch. she would just melt into you, hold you close to her, your face buried in her neck or chest so tightly, she'd stroke your head and make drawings on your back lightly with her nails. not enough to hurt but gentle as a feather, to calm and establish even more closeness, she loved tracing your smooth skin with her fingers.

after more cuddling, some conversations, checking in with one another and mumbling "i love you"s , she would get up very gingerly, and get both of you a drink of water, then return to bed to sit next to you. ensue more deep talks, pouring your hearts out to each other, telling each other everything. and we can't forget the jokes she cracks, as if its her life's mission to make you sick of her. during all of this though, she wouldn't be able to tear her eyes off of you, she would look at you with such adoration, the visible sparkle in her eyes almost made you shy. "stop looking at me..." you whisper, your face heating up under her stare. she grins from ear to ear and reassures you, "you're just so beautiful, i can't help it!" and you did look beautiful, she was right. it was her favorite thing in the world to care for and admire you. the satisfied post-sex glow looked good on everyone, her as well. pink blush on her features, auburn strands disheveled in just the right way.

then she'd run a bath and get in with you, still holding you close to her. she would wash your hair for you too, and you two would split a face mask for some extra pampering. you felt so loved, and questioned daily if your heart could handle this, because she proved to you endlessly what love really is and how much you deserved.

she would also make your favorite meal, whatever in the world you requested, you could request even something like unicorn steak, and she would immediately be up on her feet in the kitchen, delicious simmering sounds and aromas floating around her. humming take on me under her breath, naturally. bonus points if she wears an apron with nothing under it, lol.

you watch her while you sit at the table, mesmerized by her skillful movements and clear enthusiasm she had for caring for her love. when it was all done, she'd serve it to you with a flourish, "tadaaa, only the best for my everything." she was so smooth with it, always seeking to impress you, and when you tasted it, she watched your reaction with a toothy grin on her face, eager to know what you think. then later on you two would return to the cozy bed, tangling up together once more, but this time to finally fall into a restful and healing sleep, where you would meet in your dreams too. frolicking around hand in hand, you never imagined a better life with her, and were grateful for every day you got to spend by her side. <3

[kenyummy]

DREAM ꒰⚘݄꒱ ISAGI ,, CHIGIRI

SYNOPSIS : what do the blue lock boys dream about when they're away from you, training to be the greatest striker?

note: hi! its been a minute since i posted anything and erm. hi. hi.... i might post obey me stuff soon lollllseerrsss. anyways. this is just isagi and chigiri dreaming about you awwww cuteee. nagi and shidou ver coming soon and uhhh yep. shidou will be having a slightly moist dream. what can i say.

isagi yoichi

Snow flutters all around Isagi, landing on his clothes and leaving fluffy white on his hair. He's standing under a streetlight, dim in the night sky that is lit by the crescent moon, and stars dot the sky like sparkling tears.

Isagi looks around, caught in the chilly winter air. The frost nips at his cheeks and turns his nose a cherry red, but it doesn't bother him. What does bother him, is his confusion. Where is he? Where's Blue Lock? And most of all...

Why is he holding a bouquet of flowers? He usually bought some for his mom on his way home from school on special occasions, but as far as his memory recalls, today is just a regular old day, and this place looks nothing like his path home.

He pulls his scarf up further his face so that his whole chin and lower facial area are covered. He turns his head around, and without a sense of direction to go—he stays still, standing on the concrete pathway. The grey of the path is covered in a large sheet of snow, that Isagi's leather shoes thankfully don't let sink in. These are his nice shoes... what sort of day is this?

He's never been more confused.

But he doesn't have time to dwell on this mystery, because a bright figure is suddenly bounding over-calling out his name with grunts and stumbles and such in such a loving voice—it could only be one person.

"[name]?" Isagi calls out, looking to where you're running—or trying to, anyway—over, heels clashing into the snow with satisfying crunches. Isagi suddenly finds himself and rushes over to you before you fall over your feet.

He grabs ahold of your upper arms instinctively to stabilise you, and there, you look up at him from your hunched, slightly bent down position, and he doesn't think you've ever looked so pretty. You're wearing bold, obvious makeup compared to your usual natural style, but it compliments your facial features well and makes you glow even more than usual.

Even under the dark night sky, Isagi thought you shined brighter than anything else here.

You smile, a toothy grin that makes his heart bump in his chest, "Hi."

He swallows, cheeks stretching out and eyes squinted into crescent moon shapes, in a breathy voice, he says "Hi."

Your eyes suddenly dart downwards, to the item he's holding under his elbow. Your eyes widen, and for a second, he thinks he's done something wrong—until you smile even wider.

He doesn't think about the bouquet he's holding under your arm before you point it out, a bright grin etched over your previous one of discomfort, "Did you get these for me? You remembered that these were my favourites!"

Isagi pauses, following your eyes towards the thing you're staring at—the bouquet he holds next to him. He blinks at you before the realisation suddenly hits him, and his ears feel burning hot. "Oh. Right, yeah..." He has no idea why he even has these, but if you want them, then you could certainly have them. "These are for you."

His voice falls smoother than he expected, and dimples dot his cheeks. He holds them out, and you don't waste any time in taking them from his grasp and holding them close to your chest. You look like you can barely contain your grin—and the way you look down at them makes the bouquet feel like the most special thing in the world.

You suddenly lurch forward, flowers still clutched tightly in your palm when you wrap your arms around his torso, digging your face into his (chest/shoulder, depending on your height), and he can feel how fast your heart is beating in your chest.

"Thank you, Yoichi... this date only started, and I was even late... but it's already the most amazing one I've ever been on."

Your lashes flutter against your cheek when you close your eyes, and all Isagi can focus on right now is the feeling of you clutched tightly in his arms, wearing cute winter clothing, and feeling your heart drum next to his.

This feeling... is perfect.

He doesn't even have time to dwell on the fact that he is here, on a date with you, before your lips come into contact with the smooth, fair skin of his cheek, in a short, sweet kiss. His cheeks bloom into a fiery colour, and Isagi wonders if he can still blame it on the cold at this point.

He can feel the residue of the lipstick you left behind, but he almost doesn't want to wipe it away. A symbol of you left on him... doesn't seem too bad. You giggle, fingers trailing his face and the way you look into his eyes so deeply, so dizzyingly hot, makes his stomach twist.

You're smiling. He's breathing heavily. Isagi can feel each light puff of air escape your lips onto his, and at this moment, he's never felt more alive—not with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, and his mind flourishing with bright sparks. You lean closer, lips pouted out slightly...

"ISAGI!"

Isagi lurches forward, off his pillow and he breathes heavily, chest rising and falling in a panicked motion. There, instead of you with cute winter clothes, stands Bachira, clad in... nothing.

Isagi groans, lowering his vision so that he doesn't have the chance to see Bachira while he's naked as the day he was born, "Agh... Dude, put some clothes on..."

"Okie dokie! But don't fall asleep again, okay? Ego nearly shocked you awake!" Bachira giggles before he bounds out of the room on his heels, skipping towards another room. Isagi doesn't care to watch, rubbing his forehead with his palm.

That dream... I can't help but feel a little disappointed...

His cheeks feel hot when he thinks about it, and he looks up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. I wonder... if she likes those flowers?

chigiri hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma is currently laid down in a comfy bed, with soft white sheets fallen over his body and a book in his hand. Reading glasses slide down his nose, but he doesn't pay it any mind, not with the dim light that enchants your face in a warm glow.

You're lying right next to him, peacefully sleeping with light, inaudible breaths. Chigiri has a book in his hand and is sitting in the pale candlelight, but he's not reading at all—if so, at a ridiculously slow pace. He can't stop staring at you. You somehow look more ethereal than before, with such a calm expression.

He wonders what you're dreaming about.

Maybe it's... about him.

He shakes his head, and it almost feels weird when his bangs don't fall over his eyes—then, he feels for them and finds they're clipped back with a My Melody hairclip. No. He shouldn't feel...

A strangled groan catches his attention, and he looks down at you once again, you're stretching your arms out, groaning as you awake from your slumber. Chigiri smiles, snapping his book shut after he inserts his mark, and places it on the bedside table. He adjusts himself so that he's sitting comfortably, and when his shuffling catches your attention, he says, "Morning, sleeping beauty."

You whine when his lithe finger is against your nose, pressing down, and you look up at him with a pout, "I think you're the beauty here."

That makes Chigiri laugh, a lovely sound echoing from his lips. He reaches backwards and fiddles with the claw clip holding his hair backwards for a second, "Well, I can't say you're wrong." He successfully manages to un-do his clipped hairstyle, and his bright red locks fall over his shoulders in a graceful manner-something that makes you stare.

"Yeah, I'm not." You snort, shuffling closer to him. "Cuddle me," you demand.

He playfully rolls his eyes—after spending so long with Chigiri, he was sure you could read him like an open book—but still follows through with your order, slipping down from where he lying against the bedrest. "So demanding."

He snuggles into the warm sheets, and the light that shines through the crack of the blinds into your eye is covered by his head. You smile in contentment as he wraps his arms around you and brings you even closer—you didn't think it was possible.

"Yeah, but you always listen to me." You coo, shoving your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against his fair skin. Chigiri doesn't let you catch him smiling, a hand resting atop your hair and stroking lightly.

"Guess so." He leans his face down and presses his cheek against your head—you can feel the light kiss of his lips against your scalp. "Maybe I should stop."

You remove your face away from his collarbones to give him a shocked, mildly offended look, which makes him snicker, "What?! No way! If you stop listening, then we'll never cuddle again."

Chigiri sighs, hand moving downwards to wrap lightly around your upper thigh, "That's a tough threat, babe."

The pet name feels so natural, spilling out of his lips like he's said a hundred times before. You push back on his shoulder lightly. "And that means nothing like this anymore. You gotta listen to me, Hyoma, otherwise... our whole dynamic gets thrown off."

This time—he can't help the smile that spreads across his lips so sweetly, his other hand touching your jaw lightly, cupping it in his grasp, "Yeah. I'll always listen to you. Can't not listen. You're too pretty when you demand what you want." He leans down and presses a featherlight kiss on the bridge of your nose.

The giggle that escapes your lips is nothing short of heavenly.

You smile, "Whatever, you sap." You move your head back so it is buried in its original spot, and the warmth that spreads across your cheeks feels like burning hot lava on his skin—but strangely, Chigiri doesn't really mind.

This feeling, this love has never come so easy to Chigiri—but he assumes you've always come easy to him.

Even as his eyes flutter open, and no longer is he in a warm, candlelit room, but rather the cold dorms of Blue Lock—his heart still flutters in his chest, his cheeks still burn bright, and his smile does not drop.

© KENYUMMY 2024

[vanteguccir]

I NEED a fluff of bookworm! reader and gamer! matt 🙏🏾

── ୨୧ !　a small blurb with gamer!matt

　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x bookworm!reader

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the cozy room. Y/N was nestled comfortably on her bed, her back against a mountain of pillows, lost in the pages of a thick novel. She had her favorite blanket draped over her legs, its softness a comforting presence as she delved deeper into the fictional world. Beside her, the soft hum of Matt’s gaming setup and the distinct ones that came from his headphones created a soothing background noise, blending perfectly with the rustle of turning pages.

Matt sat at his desk, eyes focused on the screen as his fingers moved deftly over the keyboard. He was in the middle of an intense game in Fortnite, yet every few minutes, his gaze would drift towards Y/N. He loved seeing her like this, completely engrossed in her book, her eyes widening or her lips curling into a smile at particularly gripping moments. It was one of those small things that made him adore her even more.

"Everything okay, babe?" Matt asked during a brief pause in his game.

Y/N looked up, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah, everything’s perfect! Just getting to a really good part." She replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Matt grinned, satisfied that she was enjoying herself. He resumed his game but kept a part of his attention on her, glancing over every so often. After a particularly thrilling chapter, Y/N let out an audible gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. Matt chuckled to himself, knowing exactly what had caused her reaction. He paused his game and stood up, stretching his arms above his head before walking over to the door, leaving their room quietly, leaving it half open behind.

He took a few steps before entering the kitchen, his hands rummaged through the pantry, and found her favorite snacks. He poured some coffee she had made earlier that day, knowing she loved a warm drink while reading and grabbed a root beer for himself. Balancing everything on a tray, he carefully made his way back to the bedroom.

"Hey, bookworm." He called softly, making Y/N look up from her book, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Snack delivery!"

"You’re the best, Matty." She said, setting her book aside for a moment.

Matt set the tray on the bedside table and handed her the coffee.

"I know." He replied with a wink. He then settled back at his desk, sipping his soda and resuming his game.

As the afternoon wore on, the room filled with the gentle sounds of Y/N’s occasional gasps and giggles as she reacted to her book. Matt’s game was going well, but he found himself more and more distracted by her. He loved seeing her so animated, her emotions so raw and genuine.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Matt put down his headphones and walked over to the bed. He gently moved the book from her hands and lay down between her legs, resting his head on her stomach. Y/N looked down at him, surprised but delighted.

"Hey, you." She said softly, her fingers automatically threading through his hair.

"Hey." He replied, looking up at her with a mischievous grin. "What’s happening in your book?"

"Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. Jack just found out who killed the 8 burned girls." Y/N said, her voice filled with the drama of the story.

Matt chuckled. He couldn't understand how his calm and serene looking girl had so much appreciation for death books.

"Sounds intense."

"It is." Y/N agreed, her fingers still playing with his hair. "But it’s so good."

Matt watched her for a few more seconds, his heart swelling with affection. Then, he leaned up and peppered her face with kisses, making her laugh.

"You’re adorable." He said between kisses.

Y/N giggled, trying to dodge his affectionate assault.

"Matt, stop! That tickles!"

"I can’t help it. You’re too pretty." He said, finally stopping and resting his head back on her stomach.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the simple closeness. Then, with a sigh, Matt got up.

"I should get back to my game." He said reluctantly.

Y/N nodded, her smile still lingering.

"Go win that game for me."

"Will do." He promised, giving her one last kiss before returning to his desk.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blissful haze of books and games. Every now and then, Matt would look over at Y/N, and every time, he found her more enchanting than before. They didn’t need words to communicate their feelings; the shared silence was enough, punctuated by the occasional look, touch, or smile.

As the sun began to set, casting a soft, pinkish hue over the room, Y/N put down her book and stretched. Matt noticed and paused his game, turning to her with a smile.

"Done for the day?" He asked, noticing how she was almost at the end of the book.

"Yeah, I think so. I wanted to read more, but I'm tired." She replied, rubbing her eyes. "How about you?"

"I can be." He said, getting up and walking over to her. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. "Why don't you tell me all about that book of yours while I order us something to eat?"

Y/N’s eyes lit up.

"That sounds perfect."

Matt leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"Then it's a plan."

[strangelittlestories]

There’s a larp (live action roleplaying) game that I play, where there exists a creature we have dubbed a ‘Chronovore’.

This planet-sized sci-fi beastie eats time via a cool-ass external digestive system that ranges out from its main corpus (what are effectively its digestive enzymes look like glowing blue-winged angels, which are creepy as sin).

My character in this game fell victim to said chronovoric digestion and was aged 30 years by the experience. They lost what they expected to be the most valuable years of their life - the time when they expected to most make a difference to the universe.

I have a lot of emotions about this. Especially because when I look at my life aged 39 and consider the shape I am trying to hammer it into, one thought keeps recurring: I wish I had started this work sooner.

And then I consider my ADHD (a condition I am really certain I have, but am still seeking diagnosis for) and damn if I do not feel like it straight up ate decades of my life.

That’s how it feels, gang. There’s this bubbling resentful rage and grief for years spent with an invisible wall between me and what I wanted. For the nights where I spent (and still spend) revenge procrastinating and wrecking my days. For all the hours chasing short-term dopamine that was often destructive for me.

Hours. Days. Years. Eaten by a part of me that often feels like a monster squatting in my brain, hiding in my bones.

It reminds me, too, of that scene from a Hammer Horror movie where a monster expert is talking about vampires and says something like “Oh, you still think vamps are just things with big teeth that gotta bite your neck and drink your blood? Sweet baby, there’s all kinds of these creatures; some of them just fully suck your life straight out of your soul.”

This is why I don’t think I’ll ever think of my ADHD as a superpower. Or, at least, if it is: it’s from one of those gritty think piece superhero stories where your power is also a hecking curse.

I am preoccupied by what my own brain has taken from me.

And the thing is: it’s not really true. At least, not all the way true.

Those years I think of as lost were filled with good times. I made meaningful connections. I wrote poems and stories that I love. I performed art that meant something to me in front of people who enjoyed it. I consumed a lot of good media. I learned and dreamed and tried really hard to be a person I could be happy being.

But I also let a lot of the things fall into the background. I started a lot, but didn’t finish a lot. I missed the chance to work on skills that are now harder to learn because I’m older.

So I find myself cursing the Chronovore.

I nearly wrote this as a piece of fiction. If I had, I would probably have ended with the protagonist finding a way to subvert or redeem or work with the Chronovore.

Maybe the satisfying ending just this: none of us get as much time as we want. We all give time away - whether it be taxed by things we resent or gifted to what is important.

The Chronovore is not special.

And if it is not special, then it is mutable.

Maybe that is enough.

[eldritch-spouse]

Can we get Santi making his match ~Properly~ apologize after they gave in and resummoned him after banishing him?

[Ohhh I'm gonna hurt you good. Fem reader.]

TW: Manipulation; Brief but descriptive past gore; Struggling with trauma; Angst and abuse.

Ironic, isn't it?

You did it. You successfully banished a high-ranking demon from your life. Not just any high-ranker, one that claimed to be your "match". You had assumed that was just another appeal to emotions back then, a trick to wrap your around his pinkie further, but you've done a lot of research in order to successfully pull off what you did, and there's no lie to be found in those words.

Few humans can drive their matches away for good, very few. You have the scars to show for it, certainly. The ragged rifts on your limbs from when Santi had sunk his claws so very deep into your flesh, raking them down and tearing your muscles apart in the process. You have a bad eye. It's not blind, but it's definitely not as good as its twin. Lastly, of course, there's the dead and withered mark on your mons... Faded, but still there, still visible, still mocking you every single time you look at yourself in the mirror.

It's been years.

Yet you still scrub at it ruthlessly, hoping that it'll disappear little by little, like a grease stain. The nightmares remain, feeling it throb through your entire organism, glowing that hellish magenta, signaling the nearness of your personal castigator. Your unrequited pest that, much like a cockroach, refuses to die.

It's been years...

And he's still haunting you.

He's in Hell, probably in Lust if you had to guess, where he belongs- And he's still fucking up your life. Poetic, a true demon.

The exhaustion you felt the moment Santi successfully got phased back into the fires has stayed since. It dug roots into your soul, hugging it possessively, his parting gift to you- Numbness.

You reinvented your life.

New hairstyle, new fashion, new place to live, new interests, new friends. It felt like the only way to be free of the incubus was to become anyone but the person he claimed to have fallen in love with.

No matter what you did, what new hobby you took on or what personal goal you achieved, you never felt accomplished, never felt good. Psychologists treated your supposed chronic depression with every tactic they had, only succeeding in making you feel even more pathetic when every single one of them failed.

It was clear you were not in the mindset to begin any type of relationship, but... Your libido demanded it of you. It's unclear what changed your appetite. Was it the mark? Was it the constant sexual contact you had before? Or is it just that you can't satisfy yourself anymore? Maybe all.

You tried sex again once.

It was... A monumental disappointment.

Enough to make you swear it off, and live in a gross state of constant frustration, unsolvable no matter how much you pushed yourself into new spaces to attain new sensual experiences. Maybe, maybe you just had to try something different, right? Try a few kinks.

No, not even the almost shameful collection of toys you've amassed since Santi's been gone have done a single thing to relieve you properly. Every orgasm feels dull and requires too much effort.

You started hating yourself when the only thing that seemed to make you cum faster was thinking of him.

The image of your very own abuser above you, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear and moaning as he sunk his cock into you. The thought of his skin on yours was enough, it was effective- And the wave of pure self-hatred that rolled over you when you orgasmed crying his name was strong enough to make you break down into screaming tears, naked and soaked and humiliated.

You'd wake up in fetal position, throat hoarse, the crust of your own pleasure sticking to your thighs, numb as per usual.

It's been years, of this.

And today, you've given up.

It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, of course not. It was more of a slow spiral into hopelessness.

Is this misery going to be the rest of your life? This insupportable existence.

You'd rather never live another day than allow it to continue. And if, to fix it, you need Santi again... Then you need him again.

Is it weak of you, to do this? Maybe a stronger, more dignified person would choose death. But you've been worn down, you've never recovered, you're still on his fucking palm!

Were you ever truly free of Santi?

What does it matter, right? If you're still going back to him after all this.

Making a summoning circle is easier, certainly more so than cleverly hiding a banishment circle. Droplets of shame drip down your cheeks as you arrange it, as you come to terms with your defeat.

In spite of his rank, there's no need for a big offering. Santi will know it is you who's calling him, because of your blood. You're letting him know preemptively. An orgasm should suffice.

There's no need to think about his sigil, the very shape of it is embedded on your frontal lobe, a pesky cattle tag clipped onto your body. It's on your fucking cunt, the blasted thing.

There's a long moment of contemplation where you stare at the spacious circle in your living room. A brief streak of resilience has you wanting to put everything away, except your legs don't budge, stone-like.

Once more, your mind says no, but your body says yes.

Bile rises in your throat, yet if there's anything you've learned to do by now, it's swallowing.

There's an exhausted grimace in your complexion as you sink to your knees before the circle, pushing panties aside, and fall into your guiltiest pleasure. People use the term very loosely these days, you've noticed.

It should disgust you how easy it is, how quick you approached a peak, how the anticipation of feeling his hellishly delightful touch brought you that much closer, that much faster, that much wetter- You're a loser.

And maybe you deserve this. Whatever comes of this.

As soon as you orgasm, the circle pulses, your blood seems to sink into the demonic sigil, and a stillness follows, lulled by the hum of a portal waiting to manifest.

Torpid hues study it. Seconds pass. A minute maybe.

A hysteric little giggle escapes as you wonder if he'll deny you now. Reject you.

No. No, he wouldn't- That filthy piece of scum would suck the grime off your shoes sooner than reject you. Because that's all he is, a worthless fucking worm who should be grateful you're letting him see your face again.

Eventually, a rift cracks through the floor, widening, the symphony of Hell echoing out in a scream of triumph. A hand pushes through, as dark and large as you remember it, sinking into the first anchor it finds. Soon, a great body is pushed through.

Santi.

... Santi?

Your breath catches in your throat.

He looks... Off. Turned away from you, crouched in the circle, it's hard to put your finger on what's changed, but he feels different. His horns have grown bigger, sharper.

Motionless, you watch a thick tail twitch. He rises to a stand carefully, joints cracking when he rolls his neck. God, that's not his usual posture at all. And then, you get to see his face. Gaunt cheeks, a larger, darker mouth with unnatural teeth. Santi's charm had been, in large part, his ability to toe the line between handsome and monstrous, taking advantage of his inhuman abilities to impose and using his sightly features to cause a "scared but horny" effect. That line has been long eroded, if you had to guess.

What strikes you the most are the eyes.

His stare has changed completely. The demon looks... Horrifying. Where once there had been something sharp and seductively warm to hide the evil beneath, there's now a corrosive transparency oozing off him, an animal carelessness. The left eye is particularly dulled, having lost pigment, the pupil won't move, lodged in an upwards position as if midway through rolling back into his skull. The whisker on that eye is also damaged, it looks to have been cut.

Certainly, it wasn't just you that changed.

You both look like complete shit. Well, he looks like shit as much as a concubus can...

Still, once he's fully turned towards his summoner, Santi attempts to put on a familiar mask.

The result is a far cry from the past.

" Minx. "

The incubus nods, his gaze blazing into you, unreadable.

Your mind wars between fear and irritation. The nerve of this motherfucker, to immediately address you the same way he did when you were but his mindless cur! When he did unspeakable things to you in the name of love. This anger is tempered by the shock of his rougher tenor, by the simple fact that you hadn't heard Santi's voice in so long- It feels too real, it feels like he can hurt you just with it.

Returning the favor, you call him by something that'll make him feel vulnerable.

" Noph'ae. "

A slight wrinkle.

Success.

His chest inflates. You think Santi's about to start shouting at you, but he just exhales afterwards. This happens a few times before you realize he's smelling something.

" It's been a while since I've been to the surface. The smells are so different, the lights, you take it for granted until it's stolen from you. "

He stole a lot of things from you that you took for granted too.

When Santi's tongue snakes out, it becomes clear he's now just trying to catch whiff of your recent arousal. Whatever trace of it still wanders.

Surprisingly, all the incubus does afterwards is just... Sit down, in the middle of the circle, continuing to look you up and down, as placid as can be.

You hadn't expect this, needless to say. You assumed there would be anger, indignation, a vicious desire to maul you or demands to let him free. Mockery even. Not this. Not nothing.

Your attempts to stare him down and coax some kind of response -Not that you even know what you want to hear from him. An apology? A justification?- Are fruitless. He just stares back, and speaks when he pleases.

" I see life has treated you harshly. Pity. "

" Shut- " The anger lodged in your throat like a knot makes you choke. " Shut the fuck up. "

He does, waiting. A few seconds pass before you can gather enough calm to say anything.

" I hate you. "

Santi blinks slowly, the words having no effect on him. God knows you've screamed them a hundred times and they never amounted to anything. Why would they now?

Still, the fact that he seemingly won't react to them drives you mad enough to pull at your own hair in a small tantrum.

He smiles faintly at the show.

" Would it please you to hear me say the same? " Santi interrupts the pain, making you all but glare venomously at him.

" It would make you happier if I said I hate you too, right? After you banished me. That I only exist to make you hurt. That I answered your call just so I could wait for a moment to kill you. " He sighs. " That's what you want. "

" But that's not the truth. "

When Santi's expression softens, and he spends several moments openly observing you in an almost nostalgic manner, a pit of dread forms in your stomach.

You start shaking your head. " No. No, don't you fucking dare- "

" I love you. "

A shriek bursts out of you. " You piece of shit! You don't know what love is, you know fuck all about love, all you know is how to break someone down to nothing! "

New tears follow tracks already left behind. " You can't even apologize to me. You're just soulless, aren't you? "

" If ever there was someone I loved, it was you. " He taps the floor with his clawtips as he speaks. " I only wanted us to be. You felt it too, but you kept fighting it. I would never willingly let you take away the best feeling I had ever felt. It was my paradise. "

" It was my Hell. "

He frowns.

" Don't lie to yourself. "

Before you can bark anything else at the demon, he continues.

" It was 'your Hell', but here you are, calling for me again. " Silence. " Doesn't add up. "

There's so much you want to say. So much you want to shout at him. Too many ways to contest his arrogance, his shamelessness, too many ways you'd like to torture him. The rage fueling you, generating those fantasies, dies when you realize it's all pointless.

Santi won't ever believe he's wrong. He won't ever say what he did to you wasn't justified. You could probably kill him, he'd still think he was right all along.

It rips the small, sick joy you could attain from picturing him groveling for all his mistakes. Talking to Santi about this is like debating a brick wall. It's time to move on.

He reads the defeat on your face plainly, wisely deciding not to poke further.

" What happened to your eye? "

The incubus tilts his head. " Concerned for me, love? " Again, he hardly allows you to inhale. " I felt that we should match. "

Confusion and anger is a very bad mix. " Is that your idea of a joke?! "

" No I... " Santi has the decency to look away, if even for a second. " I wanted to punish myself. It was never my intent to blind you. "

You huff, then make a broad gesture over your face. " And the rest? "

He lets the question hang for a while, then shrugs. " I've changed. Didn't you? "

As much as you want to deny it, squish it like a bug, reality is that he's been miserable too. It shows. This should make you happy, but all you can feel is a mysterious frustration.

Only in the ensuing silence do you begin to hear the gentle pitter patters of raindrops on the windows. A soothing sound, hushing the turmoil in your racing mind for a fraction of a heavenly beat.

" Will you break the circle, love? " Santi eventually concedes, leaning the least bit forward.

The fact that he's the first to address the matter of his summoning is a small victory for you, one that doesn't please you that much, though you still eat it up. It must be hard for him, seeing you after so long, yet not being able to touch. Must be torture. Good.

There's an avenue of power you'll always have over Santi, a double-edged sword actually, but he's more affected by this than you are. As his match, you are the incubus' most favored meal, and just being in front of him in nothing but your panties is likely chipping at his composure in fast swings.

Not that you are faring that much better, your current arousal may be buried under the scent of your orgasm, but it will fade soon, there'll be nothing to mask the want then. Even if he's endured some changes, the demon before you is still the one that made you reach platforms of pleasure previously unfathomable to you. Even when you didn't want it, even when... The mark...

How can you still want him, even after all this time?

" No. "

The answer comes easily.

" How am I to offer my services then? "

" You're not touching me! " Of course he will, who are you even lying to anymore?

Santi rolls his neck, tail thumping idly while confusion writes itself on his complexion.

Wordlessly, you reach for the waistband of your underwear, removing it slowly. The cloth is aimlessly twirled around your index, then thrown half-heartedly into the circle.

Predictably, pathetically, Santi swipes it before the thing can even make contact with the ground, bringing it to his face instantly. The sound he emits is like a sobbed groan, he rubs himself on it like a house cat, breathing it in, drooling on the fucking thing as he appears to damn near drug himself on the scent of your pussy.

It's satisfying.

It feels powerful, in a depraved and unhealthy way.

Which is why you never expected him to turn to you with a look that gushed utter vitriol.

" Break this circle. " He demands, finally using a voice befitting of his rank and infernal authority.

It's always a shock when Santi does this. The demon so deliberately maintains his tone to a seductive lulling purr, that when his patience chips just enough to let the real beast slip, it thunders through your composure.

" N- No! Be silent! "

Even to yourself, you sound like a frightened bleating animal.

" Pathetic! " The incubus laughs, straightening, leaning those great horns forward just to have you watch when he hooks your panties in the left one. Like a prize. " You summon me out of desperation, then play footsie and cocktease like a coward- "

" Desperation?! " Your own anger rises like burning bile. " Typical of a fucking demon to think so highly of yourself! "

Santi pauses to look at you quietly, wordlessly and petulantly asking you if you're sure that's your answer. A challenge.

" I don't need you for anything! "

" Are you hearing yourself, Minx? Why am I here, then? " A dark finger wags. " Better yet, why did you summon me and not another concubus, hm? "

Wracking your brain for answers that are anything but the truth takes time, time Santi won't offer you.

" I'll tell you why. Because you made a hotheaded decision and you've been living with the consequences of it for all this time. And you can't take it anymore. "

White knuckled fists begin to quake.

" So you banished a high-ranker, ooh la la, quite the feat! " Sardonic clapping rings across the room. " But you don't know how to get that out, do you? "

When Santi points at the mark previously hidden by your panties, goosebumps cover you from head to toe.

" You don't know how to make your mind forget me, much less your needy, luscious little body. " That pointed index moves from your pelvis to your chest. " I rocked you to the very core! The same way you took me by the neck, woman. "

All you can do is gulp, and all he can do is watch the motion of your throat.

" And it's not so easy, shattering our bond, love. We have a beautiful thing, that you've tried to ruin. I still don't know why... But what I do know, is that you've put us both through torture, isn't that right? Or do you think you were the only one miserable all this time? "

For some reason, no matter how angry you are and how much you want to say, the words won't leave your mouth.

" Was it fun? Tell me, did you have a good time? " He's already laughing. " Was it nice to never feel relief, to crave pleasure you could never achieve on your own again? This isn't like smoker's withdrawal, it doesn't go away. Did any body you ever sampled after mine offer even a tenth of what you had? "

It feels like your airway is tightening.

" No. Of course not. You never got it through your skull that neither of us had a choice in this. There are some things in life we don't get to choose, right Minx? We're each other's matches, and we have real chemistry together. That scares the living soul out of you, doesn't it? That you'll always want me. "

A choked cough makes it past your lips. He's as close to you as he can get from within the carved, advanced circle. No salt here, Santi would bulldoze through it immediately.

" As much as I love you, my sweetest delight, you are selfish. More than me. Because you never stopped to put yourself in my shoes. I am just as much of a slave to you as you are to me, there's no denying that. "

The next words he throws at you lash welts into the very fabric of your being.

" Even worlds apart, with all the wards and circles and magical aid, you will still be mine. And I will still be yours. "

Hearing him say what you had recently come to realize makes you deflate in a way you can't even describe. It's the final nail on the coffin you had no idea you were inside of. The last embers of a flame before wind blows it away. He's silent while the waves of defeat wash over your figure.

Several seconds later, Santi resumes with a somewhat calmer lilt.

" We'll never be free of each other, not without the type of pain that would make you rather die than keep breathing. That's what I've been trying to tell you from the very start... So, why don't we start over? "

You hadn't realized that you had begun glaring at the floorboards in the middle of his speech, only now cautiously rising your gaze to the agitated demon trying to gather his own calm.

" After you apologize to me, naturally. "

Finally, your mouth opens. " A- Apologize? "

Santi huffs. " Well yes, love. None of this would have transpired if you had just listened to me all those years back. I rather think I deserve this much, don't you? "

You hate him. You hate him so much. But, most of all, you hate that he's right.

Your fate had already been decided long before you could begin to make a choice. You won't get rid of him, because just like Santi says, even when he's away, your body will torture you to find him again. And it doesn't stop, because you don't have the means to make it stop. He said it perfectly, which might mean he's been mulling over this conversation as many times as you have mentally imagined it.

You're just so tired. Even if every ounce of rage in your heart demands that you send him back into the fire and tough it out, even if it kills you- Another part of you craves rest, comfort, calm. It wants the normalcy and modicum of well-being you'd sometimes feel before.

It wants this to end, at any cost.

Maybe you do have to learn to live with him.

Because it's not a choice for you. For your health or mental stability.

Maybe if things are done just right, you can mold him into a more tolerable person, you can teach him to be more than he once was. It's disgusting that you have to fix Santi, but it's the only way, isn't it? That's the only way to make it work and spare yourself unnecessary torment.

And, to fix him, you first need to make amends.

" I'm... " It's as if your tongue won't move to form the rest of the sentence. It has to be forced. " I'm sorry, Santi. "

Perhaps the only thing that makes it sound sincere is the fact that you're already emotionally exhausted.

The demon hums. " Very nice, that's a start. " You quirk a brow. " But for a proper apology, you should break this circle. "

A denial almost slips off your tongue without thinking, making the demon's gaze harden. Realistically, there's no escaping this. You're going to have to let him out one way or another, might as well have it be a gesture of cooperation. For a better future.

Sighing, you reach behind the slightly shifted couch, knocking three glowing crystals out of the specific order they were previously in. These same crystals were the ones you used to create a circle not even a high-ranker like Santi can break through- They were incredibly expensive, and acquiring them without raising his suspicion proved to be one of the most anxious episodes of your entire life.

Instantly, the glow that once contained Santi and limited the summoning rift's width fades away, leaving only hasty chicken scratch markings on the ground. He looks mildly bewildered that you actually followed through, but the expression wipes itself away quickly.

There's barely enough time for you to turn before Santi's all but prowling after you, a massive body colliding with yours while restless hands instantly dart everywhere.

He seems to want to do everything at once. In his desperate longing, the incubus crushes you against him, palms grabbing the globes of your ass then squishing the fat of your sides as he buries his face into your neck and snarls hard enough to make you quiver like a leaf in the wind. One second he's rubbing your legs luridly, the next he's rolling your tits and trying to lock his teeth around your neck. It's too much too fast, but exactly what your body had been craving for endless time. It wanted his attention, wanted his soothing- Your whines fall somewhere between frustrated and inconsolable, largely drowned out by his vaguely intimidating calls of delight.

Beastly in his want, Santi licks your jaw to a humid, tingling mess before forcibly crashing his lips unto yours, easily weaseling his tongue inside. Traces of your own arousal linger, but are otherwise negligible compared to the euphoria of his kiss. It's just as powerfully addictive as it was the very first time he selfishly stole the gesture.

And, if there's one good thing about Santi's irresistible nature, it's that his pheromones and fluids won't allow you to feel guilt for enjoying this. What a wonderful excuse, to let yourself sink into the experience bereft of all shame.

You can't hope to halt the noise of animal pleasure that rips itself out your throat, something he moans for, happily receiving and encouraging it. Santi's fevered hand eventually snakes downward and palms the faded mark still clinging to you, before reaching further and offering you just the briefest feathered brush against your clitoris. He soaks his digits in your generous wetness to make the motions even more fluid, the teasing very quickly has you shifting your hips in between heated kisses and breathless panting.

No matter how much you wordlessly beg him to indulge what you'd both been deprived of for far too long, Santi doesn't cave. In fact, he growls warningly whenever you try to buck, claws digging into your meat so you can't rock yourself on him.

" None will ever compare. " He finally parts, mouth as coated in your drool as yours is in his. There's a dreamy look in those tired eyes. " I wracked the Rings looking for someone that could satisfy me, and I went mad along the way Minx, but it was okay. "

A force on your shoulders takes you by surprise, the ensuing impact of bare knees on wooden tiles sobers you up gradually. Quiet clicks follow when Santi takes a few steps back.

" Because I knew you'd call for me again. "

What a nice way to say he knew you'd come crawling right back like a bitch in heat...

As you kneel there in disheveled confusion, Santi merely beckons you forward with a deceitfully warm smile.

It's obvious he wants you to crawl, but you still try to play dumb and raise a leg.

" Stand and I will be much meaner to that pretty face, love. "

A threat that instantly stills you.

" I'm not discouraging you, by all means, I miss those times where I could feel you try to breathe through your nose but you were so flush to me you couldn't... "

His words alone evoke a myriad of images, flashes of his teeth twisting into pleased grimaces and the oxygen-deprived skip of your heartbeat while spots danced around the edges of your sight. Memories that feel all too vivid now.

Crawling towards Santi is far from the most embarrassing thing you've done, so it's hardly worth antagonizing him about it.

The monster's own anticipation betrays him and he steps forward to close the last bit of distance between you, expression somewhere between manic and endlessly adoring when he whispers.

" Now, show me you're sorry. "

You know what to do to get the incubus revved up, not that he needs much assistance, seeing as he's practically bursting out his slit.

Keeping eye contact, a reverent kiss to that overheated sheath and a tongue flirting with the edge is all it takes for him to groan, holding your head to the side so you can watch his cock slide out, already throbbing from repressed arousal. Fortunately, nothing's changed on this end. He's still just as mouth-watering as you remember him from all those years ago.

Before you can wrap your lips around him, Santi grabs a soft hold of your hair.

" Tell me about the people you've bedded after me. "

You frown. " I only... Only had sex once. "

The demon tilts his head, mind seemingly shattered by that. " Once? "

After your nod, he nudges you slightly. You get the pleasure of seeing him inhale sharply at the first feel of your warmth around him, a shaky sigh following while he waits for you to worship him properly.

" You poor thing, was it truly that bad? "

There's no answer to be had aside from your slight gag when you attempt to take a little too much of him too soon. Santi pauses just to buck and make you gag again, the gross sound turning him on. He triggers the reflex until your face is flushed and there's strings of drool hitting the floor.

" Ssh sh, that's perfect, just the way I love it. " He murmurs praises when you pull away to cough hard.

" What did you do then, to make it bearable? " Santi appears to forge his own answer. " Did you spend your days fucking yourself to the thought of me? "

Instead of thinking about his words, you just focus on pleasuring the monster, bobbing on him effectively enough to disrupt his train of thought a few times. He makes a guttural sound when you audibly pop your lips and pulses madly.

" Hhn- Did you ever regret it then? In those moments where you were just so close but nothing would get you there... And you knew you banished the only one that could help. "

When you fail to pick up the pace accordingly, Santi rolls his own hips into your now stationary face, occasionally choking you deliberately, but also pausing to simply let himself rest on on your tongue. He intends to languish every moment of this.

" Because I thought of you when nothing and no one could make me cum. I thought of every sound you made and every inch of your stupidly gorgeous skin. " His tone intensifies with his speed, words chopped into tight breaths. " I hope. You crawled. The walls. "

Almost.

" I hope- You screamed. My name. "

You did.

" And I hope. " He pants. " In the end. You cried. "

You... did.

Santi's getting close, you already know all his tells, down to what muscles he twitches when he's nearing an orgasm. Part of being his match is knowing his body well, though not as well as a demon of carnality can read yours.

Instead of wanting to sink as far into your throat as he can, Santi offers mercy to your creaking jaw when he merely has you suck him hard around the most sensitive spot, curling forward slightly in his mounting pleasure.

" That means you learned something from this. So you won't have to cry anymore. "

When his jaw becomes slack, the first rush of sizzling ecstasy hits your tongue, a taste imprinted deep into your brain, like sweet liquor enabling a spiral into total debauchery. You know, somewhere in what's left of your rational mind, that ingesting his fluids will only make you more restless- But this is exactly what you wanted.

You want that hit. The high. The relief. Is it really a spiral when it feels so good?

The incubus refuses to indulge your greedy wish, pulling you off his length so he can make a mess of your already less than composed visage. You hardly have the mind to care about the flashes of warmth as he paints you all pretty, simply smiling contentedly. Santi finds it endearing enough to coo.

" There, my lovely little Minx, aren't things better already? " His claws swipe gently over your cheeks and chin, entering your mouth with another offer of poisonous sweetness you can't decline. He lets you clean him at your own sluggish pace, spare hand pumping a slick but by no means spent cock to the sight.

The rest of it is rubbed across your lips like some perverse gloss.

" I love you so much. " He swoons. " Say it back to me. "

You barely heard his request, too busy hypnotized by his eyes. Even damaged, they're still the eyes of the most captivating creature to ever exist, for your cum-drunk brain.

" I... Mm... " You swallow, every inch of your throat feels sticky. There's something dripping down your neck.

He leans down to mouth the words for guidance, but all you do is try to reach his lips for another kiss, causing the incubus to laugh and shake his head.

" Come one, darling. Three words, I want to hear them from my one and only. "

Although his tone is so sickly sweet it borders on sardonic, you're able to focus enough to at least heed the request.

" ... I love you. "

" I love you, Santi. " He corrects quietly, yet sternly.

" I- " The lustful fog only ever allows you seconds to think clearly. " I love you, Santi? " "

He makes a face that reads something among the lines of 'good enough', grinning in an all too familiar way.

" Then hold on. "

It's a while before you realize he's not telling you to wait. Santi has curved his head just enough that you have access to his horns, and though you give him a slightly puzzled look, all he does is chuff impatiently. Your panties still hang off his horn, you imagine he'd like to keep them on for as long as he can get away with it.

As soon as you have decent purchase on those thick handles, large hands swipe you up by the ass, making you clap onto his thighs. Santi bounces you a bit more until he can stand a little straighter, with you effectively anchored onto him by the horns. Instinct has you quickly crossing your legs around his midsection. He's holding you up as if you weigh less than feathers.

The demon rumbles from the depths of his chest, a feral and drooling Cheshire beam.

" First order of business, my love, is fixing the gift I so kindly offered. "

He uses one hand to smooth over the residual mark and tuts, the distaste written all over his face. Said hand helps him adjust and, in what felt like a blink, he's hilted inside you.

Both of you quiver and call out in tandem.

Your own orgasm is triggered immediately, the cry of an addict reaching delirious heights, your vision darkens for the briefest second as you can only groan senselessly and milk Santi with a grip that might have made him burst if he hadn't only moments ago. Instead, he merely huffs and rasps curses in a tongue you don't grasp.

He drags you off his length deliciously, every ridge bumping its way out, then shoves you back down with intentional force, cockhead kissing spots that have you nearly dizzy. Each disorienting thrust has you struggling to get enough air in your lungs, toes curling hard enough to tease a cramp while your arms fight to keep holding on and your legs don't know where to shift- Not that Santi allows you to squirm much.

" Lords- " He has to loll his tongue out for a second, teeth glistening and chest heaving. " I could die buried in you. Did you miss this, Minx? "

As if you had the wits to answer him right now, grinding your teeth from overstimulation. He laughs when your body freezes every now and then, unable to accompany so much mounted pleasure.

" Save your voice, and save your tears, because when I fuck you full of cum, you're going to feel every inch of that mark blaze to life again. "

And he's right, the sparks are already burning you...

After tonight, there's no going back.

[cailinsblog]

hey could you do “to be dad Quinn Hughes “just him during the 9 months of pregnancy. The ups, downs, cravings, belly talk, cuddle’s and fluff whils reader feels like a balloon.☺️

Yes girl thank you so much for the request 💕💕

I hope you like it

To Be Dad Quinn Hughes | Quinn

Quinn hughes x reader

Masterlist

It was a crisp autumn evening in Vancouver, and Quinn Hughes sat at the kitchen counter of his and Y/N’s cozy apartment, swirling a mug of hot cocoa between his hands. The season had started, but tonight, there was no practice, no game. Just him, his wife, and the soft glow of the lights that hung overhead, casting a warm ambiance across the room. He wasn’t thinking about hockey—at least not at the moment. His thoughts were entirely consumed by the tiny life growing inside Y/N.

Nine months. It felt like time had both dragged and flown by all at once. Quinn hadn’t known what to expect when Y/N first told him they were pregnant. They were both still so young, only just starting their lives together, but the idea of becoming a father filled him with a nervous excitement.

His hand instinctively rested on her swollen belly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Y/N was sitting across from him on the couch, a thick, soft blanket draped over her lap. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table, swollen and sore from the pressure of carrying their baby. She had told him, with a playful smirk, that she felt like a balloon, about to float away at any moment.

"I’m definitely going to pop," she teased, rubbing her stomach, watching his eyes soften.

"No way," Quinn chuckled, setting his cocoa down on the counter. "You’re more like… a really cute balloon, if that's possible."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and melodic, and Quinn couldn’t help but grin. He walked over and sat down beside her, reaching for her hand.

"I can’t believe we’re almost there," Quinn said, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. "Like… this time next month, we could be parents."

Y/N’s eyes glistened as she nodded. "I know. I’m nervous, but… also so excited. I feel like I’m going to burst any second, but in the best way."

Quinn leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the toll nine months of pregnancy had taken on her body, but he also saw the love and anticipation that filled her every word and action. The pregnancy had been tough on her in ways he hadn’t imagined—it wasn’t just the cravings or the endless bathroom trips in the middle of the night, or the aching back that made her wince every time she got up. It was the little things too, like how sometimes she’d burst into tears over nothing at all, or how she’d suddenly need him to hold her, just to feel close.

The hormonal shifts had brought some intense moments, but Quinn had learned to roll with the punches. He had also discovered the magic of comfort food.

“Do you want me to make you something?” he asked, his brow furrowing. He had become an expert in midnight snack runs, raiding the pantry for whatever odd combination Y/N had craved that night. From pickles and peanut butter to an entire jar of olives—nothing was off the table.

Y/N shook her head, though, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I think… I think I want more cuddles tonight. You know… I’m kind of getting sick of feeling like I’m this big, puffy balloon, but when you hold me, I feel like I’m safe and… not as big?”

Quinn’s heart melted. He leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on her lips before wrapping his arms around her. She nestled against his chest, letting out a satisfied sigh as her head found its familiar resting place beneath his chin.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Quinn murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He gently traced the curve of her belly with his fingers, the baby’s soft movements barely noticeable but enough to make Quinn’s heart skip a beat.

“I love you too, Quinn,” she replied, her voice low and soft, a gentle warmth spreading through her chest.

For the past few months, Quinn had done his best to anticipate her needs. From setting up her favorite pillows on the couch so she could lounge comfortably, to joining her for walks around the neighborhood to help with the swelling in her legs. He was there through every small milestone, from the first ultrasound to the baby’s first kicks, to the night Y/N had cried because she couldn’t find her favorite sweater. Every moment, he was learning more about himself and about the family they were building together.

Tonight, however, was one of those quiet, peaceful moments that made all the hustle and chaos of the season feel secondary. The two of them, together, in their small corner of the world.

“I was thinking,” Quinn said after a long silence, his voice playful again. “Maybe I should start talking to the baby. You know, like… get them used to my voice?”

Y/N laughed, her belly vibrating lightly against his chest. “You mean like ‘Hey, little one, you better not be pulling any goalie moves in there’?” She smiled, but there was a soft, wistful look in her eyes.

Quinn nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. I’ll teach them everything they need to know about hockey. No pressure, just a little goalie lesson here and there.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Quinn could see the hint of adoration in her gaze. “You’re ridiculous. You’re going to be such a good dad.”

Quinn’s heart swelled at her words. He hadn’t fully believed it, not yet, but hearing her say it filled him with a sense of pride. He wanted to be the best father he could be, to guide their child through life with the same love and care that he’d felt from his own family.

"Maybe we should start a playlist for the baby?" Quinn suggested, his voice suddenly filled with excitement. "Something to help them get used to hearing your voice, too. I think our kid will be a fan of classic rock."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Classic rock? We’ll have to see about that,” she teased. “Maybe some soft lullabies first.”

Quinn grinned and pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the playlist right now. You and the baby will be rocking out by next week.”

He started scrolling through his music library, humming along to the song choices. Y/N watched him, her eyes softening as she admired the man she had married. Even in the midst of all the exhaustion, the constant adjustments, and the unknowns, he had become everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner. The thought of him becoming a dad—it made her heart skip a beat.

“I really can’t wait to see you with our baby,” Y/N said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

Quinn paused mid-scroll, his fingers hovering over the phone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she continued, reaching up to cup his face, “you’re going to be an amazing dad. I know it. The way you take care of me now—when the baby gets here? You’re going to be incredible. I can’t wait to see you holding them, teaching them, just… being their dad.”

Quinn blinked a few times, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He could feel the depth of her words settling in, stirring something deep within him. He’d always thought of himself as a hockey player, but now he was thinking of himself as a father. And that? That felt like something so much bigger than anything else.

"I’m going to try my best," Quinn whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I promise you that."

Y/N smiled, the weight of her pregnancy momentarily forgotten as she snuggled closer to him. “I know you will. You already are.”

---

As the weeks passed and the season continued, Quinn made it a point to spend every free moment with Y/N, keeping her calm, making sure she was comfortable, and filling their home with laughter and love. He was constantly amazed by how strong she was, how patient she remained despite the aches and exhaustion, and how she still managed to crack jokes and make him laugh.

And then, one night—when Y/N was nearing the end of her pregnancy and Quinn was gearing up for a tough road trip—he found himself lying beside her, holding her as she dozed off.

“Almost there, huh?” he whispered softly to her sleeping form.

Y/N mumbled something in her sleep, a half-smile forming on her face. It was moments like these—quiet, simple, and filled with love—that Quinn knew, beyond any doubt, that he was ready. Ready to be the dad he never knew he could be. And with Y/N by his side? He was ready for anything.

Please request and reblog

[revelboo]

revel i really love how everything you wrote is connected to eachother in some way its actually so satisfying to read from the very first post and read from there! feels like seeing the bigger picture!

I try to connect the IDW fics or TFP fics to each other when possible, because it makes it more fun for me. This one is a bit earlier than intended, but the reblog tags for the last Jazz bit were killing me 😭

Over It Now Pt 9

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Tracking your passage through the house, his optics follow as lights come on, go out until you reach your bedroom and then the house is dark and silent, leaving him with his thoughts. With his oldest and truest companion, self loathing. Your anger spreading like poison through him as he walks to sit under that ancient pin oak in your yard near your window, head tipped back to look at the hints of stars through the leaves and trying to remember before the war. Back when his smile hadn’t been just a convenient mask to hide behind, he’d been a musician. A singer. He’d been happy then, but it’s been a long time since he was that bot. Sometimes it feels like the memory of a ghost, a life that couldn’t possibly be his. Optics shuttering behind his visor, he tries to picture the street, busy with Cybertronians going about their day. The weight of an instrument in his hands, servos dancing over chords.

• Furious with Jazz and yourself, you lay there in the dark and stare at the ceiling. Wondering why you let him get under your skin when you know the likely outcome. If everything is a game to him, then getting close or allowing him close is only going to hurt you in the end. You know that. So why does that crooked little smile keep slipping into your head? You’re angriest because of how you’d felt when he’d held you like that, safe, precious, like you mattered and it hadn’t been real. Because you’re dumb enough to play right into his little game. At first, the sound is so low you almost miss it. Something aside from the hum of the ceiling fan. Singing, the sound so achingly lonely even as the words mean nothing to you. Sliding out of bed, you limp to the window and peek out through the blinds, spotting the glow of Jazz’s visor beneath the tree, his biolights faintly limning his frame. He’s making that bittersweet sound and even if you don’t understand the language, it’s so full of yearning that it hurts.

• It’s not the sort of songs he’d sang on the streets of Iacon or Praxus, something new. Pouring all the poison in him out into the quiet night, all the things he can’t say out loud. The hurt, the loneliness, and the need for someone to see him, to see past the shiny, smiling veneer and realize that no, he’s not okay. Hasn’t been for a long time. The song sinks its claws into him, a stream of longing and grief, every word a new chain pulling him down with their weight. Because no one really sees him. They never have. Their needs forging him into this so he can do what needs to be done. No matter the cost. A good little spy smiling instead of screaming. The touch of a little hand on his ped breaks him from the song, voice faltering. And you’re right there, head down. Crying as you lean on your crutches, crying for him because he can’t and no one else will.

• You can’t stop crying, because that song is a living thing twisting inside you, all sweetness and barbed wire. This is something real, not a lie and it hurts more than a song should. Then he’s leaning forward, a servo tipping your chin up and then sliding over your cheek. “Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says voice low, big hand outstretched like he wants to pick you up, pull you into him again. But hesitating. And you grab onto his servos, letting your crutches fall as he catches you, lifts you to cradle against him, big hands tucking your little frame against the warm mesh of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to do this anymore.” Pressing your face against him, you’re not sure what he means by that. Maybe not lying. Maybe being real. But maybe you can help him figure it out.

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