#seasons almost over… christ

[madamaude]

i could (not) prevent it

[3416]

ppl genuinely mad theyre breaking up 88 and 34 are so funny as if every game i don't have to hear "another missed pass" fkljdslf or as if auston isn't self-fueled rn. like. 599188 was better than 233488 has been in this stretch of the last whole month they've got and if you don't want the second line to get eaten alive, you gotta change something man. first line's not even been that good either on the whole, it just looks insane w auston willing the whole team back into games. willy's point yesterday and a couple over this ten game stretch haven't even had much to do with his own line like lmfao.

ppl only support the whole "we have two talented right wingers so switching them when things go stale is reasonable" when its auston and mitch being split up and that's it. like it's a fairly low stakes move when everyone's played together now, so it's insane i have to read takes about mitch marner and his ~family~ pulling strings in the leafs org like that's a reasonable thing to think or that people constantly complain abt this not making ~logical~ sense when it does ? and they never complain when it's the other way... we just lost 9-3,, like that's not an accident and the leafs are rightly not happy about that. the leafs think auston can drive his own line and if you all really thought willy could, you'd be wanting that second lining firing again bc then that's TWO usable lines and not just one like we had with the lines yesterday.

[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

Guys its December :<<<<

Guys it’s my birthday month :DDDD

[harrysfolklore]

christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

[goorgeousz]

Bed chem | aaron hotchner

after hours au

bed chem | aaron hotchner

after hours au

18+

summary: you just moved into a new city, finally getting a job promotion. when you visit the bar near your new place to celebrate, you didn’t expect to walk out with company.

pairing: aaron hotchner x female reader

content/tw: smut, female reader, p in v sex, protected sex, oral (f and m receiving), (very VERY self-indulgent, honestly), dirty talking, filthy words, hotch eating reader out from the back (!!!!!), reader riding hotch, mentions of morning sex,

word count: 4.6k

a/n: this is the first time I write on tumblr (hopefully not last) and the first time I write about criminal minds! English is not my first language so keep that in mind… i’m on season 11 and ugh I have so many ideas all the time, I just had to let it out! I planned this to be a series, I’m super excited!! hope you enjoy :)

after hous au masterlist

main masterlist

You regretted going out as soon as you stepped into the bar. It was a sunday night, for christ’s sake, you should be doing your skincare, maybe watching a crappy reality show, getting ready for your first day at work.

But the moving in really caught up to you, and you didn’t have any time to celebrate your promotion until now. And if there is one thing about you is that you can’t not celebrate big or small accomplishments. 

This is why you found yourself in an unknown bar near your new apartment, in your new city, ready to get a drink and celebrate your promotion. Alone.

When you opened the bar's glass doors, the place being as crowded as you’d expect a bar on a sunday night to be, a loud and dramatic bell rang, making everyone look at you. Most of them didn’t keep they’re glance for more than a second, but it was enough time for your face to heat in embarrassment.

The bar was dark, most of the illumination coming from the led decorations on the walls and ceiling. Some booths on the corners, a few tables splayed across the place and the bar in the center, with some barstools displayed in front of it.

Not wanting to seem lost, you directed yourself to one of the barstools without hesitation. Sitting alone at one of the tables would seem much more lonely. Placing yourself in one of the furthest barstools, you fixed your black leather jacket on your shoulders, still feeling cold from outside.

“What can I get you, sugar?” the badman asked immediately, throwing a cloth over his shoulder and resting his hands on the counter “Can you get me a scotch, please?” you asked “Yes ma’am.” he nodded, leaning down to grab two whiskey glasses “Look, seems like you are matching.” he smiled, handing you one of the drinks and the other to the man one seat away from you.

Only then you paid attention to said man. He was older than you, his dark hair reflecting the colorful leds on the wall. His face showed tiredness, contracting with his tailored suit perfectly lined up, not one single wrinkle. His brown eyes shone, you realized when you exchanged a glance, analysing each other.

You measured each other for a while, until he surprisingly raised his glass, in a silent toast. You smiled at that, mimicking his gesture. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in an almost smile while he brought the drink into his mouth and took a long sip, without taking his eyes off you. 

You weren’t ready to admit that his gaze warmed you up more than the strong liquid you had going down your throat.

“It’s my first time here” you said, feeling the subtle need to start a conversation. He arched an eyebrow in a mix of surprise and encouragement for you to keep talking. You decided to keep going before the liquor courage slipped away “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not much.” he answered, finishing his drink. His voice thick and low made your eyes lower to his lips still wet from the drink, like you were intimidating it to keep talking. You gulped down your drink, trying to distract yourself from the staring, not wanting to look like a creep. Realizing he had to be a little less stoic if he wanted the conversation to keep flowing, he continued “I’d usually be at home, but work…” he took a deep breath “It was a stressful week.” you nodded in sympathy “You too?”

“Not really. I’m celebrating. Just got promoted.” you explained, smiling. He gave another of his almost-smiles, but a little less unexpressive.

“Good job.” he said, and you couldn’t pretend his praise didn’t get to you “Can I buy you a drink? To celebrate.” he suggested, his serious expression just slightly suggestive. You agreed before he could finish asking. “Only if you drink with me. Doesn’t seem like a celebration if I'm by myself.” you flirted bluntly.

Then he really smiled. Although it was a rather discreet smile, it was enough for you to spend the rest of the night finding reasons to get him to smile again, making you have to fight the urge to just jump in his bones right there when he did.

While he ordered you another round of drink, you moved from the seat next to him, his side pressed directly to yours, the heat suddenly so high you had to take off your jacket.

His gaze wandered to each inch of your now displayed arms and shoulders, slow, hungry and warm, stopping at your face. Deciding to distract yourself with the first thing that came to mind, before you devoured him, you introduced yourself with nothing but your first name – yes, that intimate – offering your hand for him to shake.

Which turned out to be a terrible idea, because when he did, his hand, large, warm and calloused, wrapped almost completely yours, turning you on even more.

“Aaron.” he said, mimicking you and going for first name basis “Aaron” you repeated instinctively, needing to taste the sound of his name from your mouth “Mhm” he murmured, his gaze fixed on your lips almost predatory. Before he could say anything, the barman came back with your drinks, sliding them to you with a knowing look “To your promotion.” he offered, raising his glass towards you. “And to the next week. May it be less stressing” you added, making him chuckle.

The rest of the night was a blurry. Neither of you discussed anything personal, with you being new in the city and him being a stranger – a very hot, sexy, strong stranger, but still – it was best to avoid. You, more than anyone, knew how far man could go.

Despite all this wisdom, nothing stopped you from letting him caress your thigh softly between one topic and another.

A couple hours passed by, the alcohol and his smooth talk already vanishing any hesitation about that being a  good idea. The bar was starting to seem too hot, the group of people sitting in one of the booths talking loud enough to be a bother, and, truthfully, what you wanted to do to Aaron could never happen at that bar in front of that many people. Unless you wanted to end up handcuffed beside him.

Which didn’t seem like that bad of an idea, you thought.

“You're staring” he stated, looking at you with a barely-there-smirk. You were already outside, after he – very discreetly, mind you – covered the bill with a tip so high that made the bartender howl.

“Am I?” you asked, a predatory smile spreading on your lips “Does that bother you?” he narrowed his eyes “Some people may find it disturbing” “Do you?” you blinked lingeringly. He approached you, his lips almost connected to your ear, his breath warming you from the cold outside “Looking at me like that, I can’t imagine something you can do that bothers me.”

“Aaron” you practically moaned, begging for something you still didn’t know what it was. But apparently he did. His name on your lips, your voice hoarse from desire, was almost like a curse, a spell. He was a goner as soon as he heard it. With a steady but gentle hand, he grabbed your chin, angling your face towards his.

As soon as his lips connected to yours, it was over.

Ignoring the annoying little voice in your head that reminded you these being your first days in the city and you shouldn’t bring a stranger back to your place, you told him you lived only one block away, a clear invite implied.

In what felt like 1 minute and 3 hours at the same time, you arrived at your building, luckily getting the elevator empty. Not even waiting for the doors to close, Aaron backed you up on the corner of the elevator, his tall and strong body pressing your back to the wall while his mouth worked wonders on your neck. Any good manners you may have turned into far memories while he drags moans out of you with every touch, kiss and breath.

His hands left the deathly grip on your hips and took hold of your jacket, taking it off of you. He groaned when your shoulders were back on display, his mouth immediately connecting to them. The leather of the jacket slided though your arms, and he picked it up before it hit the ground.

The elevator doors opened, and you walked out together to your apartment. You got the keys in the hidden pocket of your jacket, which he held out in a politeness that was almost comical if compared with the brutality of you making out just a few seconds before, and tried to open the door with shaking fingers.

It was a hard job, honestly, but the attentive gaze he fixated on you and on each one of your movements made you more uneasy than if he was touching you. He chuckled when you almost dropped the key, which embarrassed you and turned you on simultaneously. You silently thank god when you finally manage to unlock the door, getting in and letting him follow suit.

You locked the door while he placed your jacket on a chair. You fixed your dress, which under his attentiveness felt like three times shorter, and wandered towards the dinner table, subtly feeling shy.

“Do you want something to eat?” you offered, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. He tilted his head to the side, a smirk slowly growing on his face “Yes. Bend over.” he nodded towards the table behind you, and your breath hitched.

You didn’t feel any shame at how fast you turned away from him and bent over your dinner table, submitting to him and his orders.

Aaron grazed the tip of his fingers through your covered back, his tough somehow feather-like and firm at the same time. You held back a moan because it would be pathetic being so turned on by that.

He moved your hair to the side in a swift motion, finding your zipper on your upper back. While he unzipped your dress in a torturous-slow pace, he left open-mouth kisses within every inch of skin that got exposed. You stopped fighting against the sounds that threatened to escape with every touch of his.

When he got to the very end of the zipper, on your lower back, he lifted you off the table by your waist just enough to slide the dress off your legs. The strangled sound he made when he saw you lying on the table, nothing on your body except for your blood red lacy underwear and high heels, made your legs shake.

He approached you, gripping tightly on your hips and massaging your ass-cheeks like it was a play toy. He squeezed you, lifted you and pressed you against the table, manhandling you at his own wishes. Your moans were nothing but a fuel for him to continue the erotic exploration through your skin.

“Aaron…” you murmured, begging. “Mhmm” he agreed, not needing any other incentive to remove the last piece of fabric you had on. Despite the slow and tortured manners he used to take off your dress, he got rid of your underwear urgently and hungrily, throwing it across the room without another thought.

He stepped back to watch the mess he made without even having properly started with you, proud of himself. Your body displayed across the dinner table, your back arched as much as possible and your stomach pressed against the cold material. Your ass thrown back, your legs slightly parted and your heat open and wet, daring him to come closer.

You looked back, the lack of his body heat pressed against you causing you literal pain, and the way he stared at you, his pupil dilated and a evil smirk dancing on his lips, was an entire foreplay on its own. Your naked self displayed like a meal in contrast with his perfectly straightened suit was a sight so obscene that it should be a crime.

Not wanting to be entirely submissive, you swayed your hips, throwing them even more in his direction, which immediately wiped the smirk off his face. He stepped closer so fast that you only registered the slap he gave you when you felt the hot ache on the flesh of your ass, hoping the bruise of his large and calloused hand turned a tattoo on your skin.

“Nice mirror.” he murmured, referring to the long and asymmetrical mirror on the right side of the table, reaching the ceiling. For a moment you forgot about it, still not used to your apartment, so looking at the sight of you two almost drove you insane.

Aaron distanced himself just enough to manage to swipe a hand between the two of you, gently caressing your folds with his ring and middle finger. He groaned, his hand already slippery from your juices.

“Please.” you begged. His feather-like touches were better than nothing but far from enough to give you any relief “Use your words, dear.” he said, somehow sounding tender and sarcastic at the same time “I need… You…. Do something, anything… Whatever you want, just… Please” you panted, his hand gripping your hip tight enough to keep you from moving. “Hmmm” he agreed, finally satisfied with your answer. You almost screamed when you saw him kneeling down through the mirror, his face directly aligned with your open folds.

“Oh my…” your words turned into a yelp when you felt Aaron’s tongue lick a stripe down your folds, from your clit down to your hole, and you shake in anticipation. He alternated between wet kisses, the same way he did with your mouth, and caressed his fingers, using the same two he used to tease you to penetrate you.

The squeal you let out when he pressed his thumb on your clit was loud enough to make him stand up, stepping away. You turned your face to him desperately, making him chuckle. “Calm down” he snorted, staring deeply at your eyes as he undid his tie -the first piece of clothing he let go. Instead of getting undressed, he crumpled the thick and expensive-looking fabric and shoved it into your mouth, which for some reason was slightly opened while you watched him. “You’re being too loud and it’s already too late.” he explained, his smirk showing how much he was enjoying degrading you like that -you were too. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and he leaned closer, tugging your hair to place your head against his shoulder. “If someone interrupts us to complain about the noise I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

With your mouth being full, you only managed to moan in response – not that you would be able to form anything else even if you could. He just chuckled and kneeled down again.

Now he wasn’t exploring you anymore: he was fully devouring you. He knew exactly where to touch, where to bite and where to lick to make your legs shake and gave out. You drooled on his tie, your moans and yelps muffled with it. Your brain was partially melted, your instincts almost animalistics while his wet kisses quickly – almost too quickly – worked you up.

He felt you clench around his fingers, penetrating you skillfully, letting out a strangled groan  while he curved his fingers in a hook inside you and sucked on your clit. You didn’t have an ounce of shame inside of you, only desperation while you rubbed yourself on his face, chasing the relief you knew it was about to happen.

And it did.

Your vision blurred, and as much as you wanted it, you couldn’t keep your eyes opened. Your legs gave out and if it weren’t for the strong grip of Aaron you would’ve probably hit the ground. He didn’t stop his kisses and caresses, just making it more gently, helping you ride out your orgasm as long as possible. When you started to get too sensible he stepped back, licking his fingers and murmuring in content with your taste. The fact that he did that for himself, not just to tease you, was enough for the heat on the pit of your stomach to come back as strong as before, having to fight the urge to throw your ass back at him again.

Before you could actually do it, he stood up and helped you to climb off your heels. He held you by your hips and spinned you around, planting a kiss on your forehead. He smirked when we saw this tie still properly stuffed on your mouth and took it off “Good girl.” he winked, leaning to kiss you on your partially numb mouth. His praise made you unconsciously push your hips against his, feeling his hardened crouch poking your lower back. The evidence of what you’ve done to him gave you pride and confidence, all you needed to take control of the situation – at least as much as he was willing to give you.

“Come to my room” you whispered, looking at him with your eyes slightly wide “I wanna ride you on my brand new bed” you blinked, a smug expression on your face. He seemed lost for a second, recomposing himself almost immediately and pulling you tight against his chest.

You stood up, trying as hard as you could to keep composed with your wobbly legs, and guided him to your bedroom. He stepped in, his attentive eyes scanning the place at first, like he wanted to understand it – understand you. Having arrived in the city only a few days ago, you didn’t have time to properly decorate the place. Except for a few pieces of furniture, your book collection and the queen sized bed with mahogany coloured sheets, the apartment hadn’t had time to absorb your extravagant personality – yet.

The sight of Aaron in his tailored suit, fully dressed – besides the discarded tie in the dining room – standing in your dark and feminine room made your breath hitch. Recomposing yourself, you stepped closer to him, pulling further into your room, and kissed him, languidly and thirsty, gripping the lapels of his suit jacket and pushing down his shoulders. He let go of your waist and let the fabric slide down his arms, and you latched onto them to feel his firm biceps flexing with the force of his grip now on your breasts. His calloused hand doing wonders to your sensitive flesh, squeezing and massaging them skillfully. You yelped when he pinched your nipples, feeling his grin against your lips.

You hurried to unbutton his dress shirt and almost yelped in joy when heard the clicking metal of his belt being undone. In a mess of kisses, bites and hands, he took his clothes off, keeping the boxers.

You stepped back from the kiss and glanced down, your fingers grazing his defined torso, feeling and hearing his breath hitch with your gentle touch. The lights of the city didn’t illuminate much, but it was enough for you to see the dark hairs and scars spread along his body, making you want to know him better and understand where which of them came from.

Any elaborated thought dissipated as soon as your eyes focused on the volume of his boxers, his hardened, thick and voluptuous transpiring power from under the thin cotton fabric. When your hand wrapped him, still over his underwear, he grunted and let his head fall against yours, breathing heavily.

“Can I ride you, Aaron? I want it so bad, please” you purred, your voice hoarse from desire while looking at him through your lashes. 

He was doomed.

“Fuck.” he whispered, loving being manipulated by you. He slides his boxers down, and when his dick sprung out of it, its red and swollen tip leaking with precum, you thought you were dreaming. You couldn’t hold yourself back and wrapped your hand around it, squeezing him tightly. He groaned, pushing you back and climbing on your bed. He half laid on the head of your bed, his upper back leaning against the bed frame. His head tilted backwards, his large hand massaging his thick dick, staring at you with dark and lustful eyes. The sight was engraved in your brain forever. “Aren’t you coming?”

You laughed, climbing on the bed and crawling to him in a feline gaze. You stopped between his open legs, his thick thighs and powerful making you look even smaller. You kneeled in front of him, taking his dick off his hands and mimicking his gestures. His eyes fluttered close, his lips pressed tightly together. It wasn’t your intention – at least not now – but you ended up leaning down and pressing a wet kiss on his tip, making his eye shot open with surprise and pleasure.

You licked his length – and what a length – not leaving any inch untouched. His breathing was already unsteady, his eyes fighting a battle to keep open, alternating between your eyes and your mouth and the wonders you were doing to him.

“I have other plans for you tonight” you smiled, sitting up and getting a condom on your bedside table. You skillfully opened the package and handed it to him, who nimbly placed on himself, his gaze locked on yours so vividly that could –and maybe should – scare you. If your expression didn’t match his.

He pulled you in as if you weighed nothing, placing you on his lap. You hoovered over his dick, biting your lower lip in anticipation. You held him steady, directing him on your wet cunt. Looked deeply into his eyes, you lowered slowly, feeling every single inch of his invade and stretch you. Both of you groaned loudly at the contact, fighting against the please to keep your gazes locked together.

“Fuck…” he swore “So fucking tight” he groaned, gripping your hips so tightly you were sure – and hopeful – it would leave marks. “So big… You’re so big. Stretching me.” you moaned unreasonably, just saying whatever crossed your mind. He squeezed you tighter. When you sinked down completely, taking all of him inside you, he gritted his teeth. “Christ” he managed to whisper between his teeth. Not easing even slightly up his death grip on your hips, he started to move you. Not up and down, back and forth. Grinding you against himself, his dick deep and greedy inside you. The friction so delicious and dangerous.

“Good god, Aaron” you moaned, digging your nails on the flesh of his shoulders “So… so good” you managed between pants. “Mhmm” he agreed, looking at you so intensively while you followed his directions, rubbing against him forcefully. You were so wet your juices started to drip, wetting his pubic as well. You started to move faster, too close to your second climax. He helped you move with one hand, guiding your movements and murmuring praises and commands while you grunted, moaned and begged – nothing of it making any sense – while you chased your high. With the other hand, he played with your nipples, your head tilted back and your chest arched on his face, like you were offering yourself for him to take you as he wanted to.

“Look at me, I want you looking at me when I make you come again” he ordered and you – slightly pathetically, honestly – compiled immediately. Staring deeply into his eyes you came undone, your whole body shaking while he took over your movements, helping you ride out your orgasm as long as possible.

When you climbed off your high, he didn’t stop. On the contrary, he changed movements, making you bounce on him “Aaron… too much…” you pleaded with gritted teeth. “Oh yeah? Do you want me to stop?” he offered in a mocking tone, knowing damn well you didn’t. In response you just kept moving, bouncing on his thick dick with the help of his thrusting and his grip on your hips. He chuckled, evil “I knew it. Desperate for me, for my cock. You’re going to limp your way for your brand new job. What will your boss think of you?” he teased, despite his voice being just as hoarse as yours. The feeling of it all was so much – him hitting so deep in you was so strong, the sting on your legs from moving so much, and the knot forming in the pit of your stomach once again – that you couldn’t think straight, even if you wanted so badly to talk back.

You leaned forward, kissing him again. The new angle made him hit even deeper, making you both moan loudly with pleasure. Aaron pushed his legs up, his feet on the bed giving him more impulse to thrust into you harder into your cervix, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer.

He grabbed your face, pressing your mouth against his ears, in a silent plea for you to moan directly to him, not wanting to let any of the pretty sounds you made go to waste. With his other hand, he gripped the flash of your ass, pulling you tight against him, guiding your movements to sync with his, bouncing hardly on his dick.

“I’m close… S-So close…” you warned him, between moans and bites on his earlobe. “Fuck. Give it to me” he demanded, keeping up with his movements until he felt your thirst and strongest orgasms. You clenched around him so tight he wouldn’t be able to hold back his own climax even if he wanted to. You came together riding out your orgasms, relishing in each other’s sounds, trying as much as possible to extend the sensation.

Maybe if you weren’t so tired, you wouldn’t have slept together. Or woken up together, both of your alarms ringing at six am. Too little time slept, but – oh, so – worth it.

–

“Come on, Hotch is waiting.” Penelope Garcia, member of the BAU with whom you had talked during the bureaucratic part of your transfer, welcomed you at the lobby. You had small conversation on your way around the place, her warm and excited energy refreshing you after the few hours of rest “You’ll love him! Well, he’s going to be your boss so not love-love. I mean, I love-love him, but we work together for years. It’s more of a father and daughter love. Not that I see him as a father figure, I really don’t but.. I’m rambling. Oh, we’re here!” he said, squealing in excitement, while giving you a toothy grin. You couldn’t say you were as excited as she was, but it was impossible not to be at least a little bit happier after talking to her.

Penelope knocked on the door, looking back at you expectantly. 

“Come in” you heard a voice muffled by the door separating you. 

She opened it delicately, stepping in first and stopping by the door “Sir, she’s here.” “Oh, yes. Let her in.” he said, standing up and fixing his already perfectly suit.

When you stepped into his office, it was like the world stopped spinning. You felt like you were having a stroke, refusing to believe that your boss, A. Hotchner was the same Aaron from the night before. 

You slept with your boss.

He gave you three glorious orgasms the night before.

And another one the morning after – just a couple hours ago, if you will.

Un-fucking-believable.

Apparently he thought so too, since his look altered frantically between you, Penelope and the window that led to the bullpen, like this was just a sadic prank his team pulled on him. He called your full name in a questioning tone – just to make sure it wasn’t.

“Yes” you nodded, sounding much more steady than you were actually feeling. His movements faltered for half a second. Not too long that Penelope could pick up what was happening, but enough for you to realize he was just as surprised as you.

“Aaron Hotchner.” he stepped closer, firmly shaking your hand “Let’s get started?” 

It was going to be a long meeting.

pt 2 here

@stormyskies-writes with the amazing prompts!!

[rosierin]

ya wanna kiss me so bad | atsumu miya

synopsis; (y/n) and atsumu get into a fight and he tries to flirt his way out of it 'cause he's a piece of shit like that.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It started with the dishes.

Well—technically, it started when Atsumu promised he’d do the dishes.

Three days ago.

(Y/n) stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring at the criminally large stack piled in the sink—then at Atsumu.

“You said you’d do them.”

Atsumu didn’t look up from the couch, fully immersed in the volleyball match on the TV. “I was gonna.”

“When?”

“I dunno. Soon.”

“You said that yesterday.”

(Y/n) exhaled slowly through her nose, willing herself to stay calm. She wasn’t looking for a fight—just a little accountability. That’s all she wanted.

“I do the dishes almost every night. You never do them. I asked you nicely, too—c'mon, it's not that hard."

Atsumu didn’t look away from the TV. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, jaw slack, remote in hand like she was nothing more than background noise.

(Y/n) could’ve sworn she heard him click his tongue—followed by something muttered under his breath.

“Like I said... I’m gonna do ‘em. Today.”

She glanced at the clock.

Her eye twitched.

“It’s already almost eight.”

This time, Atsumu finally looked up, brows raised like she was the one being unreasonable. Like she had the audacity of bothering him. “Why’re ya gettin’ so pressed over dishes?”

(Y/n) stared him down. “It’s not just the dishes, Atsumu. It’s you saying you’ll do something and then not doing it. Every time.”

“God,” he groaned, flopping his head back dramatically. “I didn’t think it was that deep.”

She counted to three in her head. Once. Twice. Tried to let it go.

But the third time never came.

“Well, it is to me!”

She hadn’t meant to yell. But the words came out sharper than she intended, propelled by the weight of too many eye rolls and broken promises.

Atsumu sat up straighter. The humour slipped from his face.

The shift was instant. Gone was the lazy, half-smirking Atsumu—this was the version that actually listened. The one that made her chest ache more than her head.

“Oh,” he said. “So this’s somethin' that's been sittin’ on yer chest, huh?”

(Y/n)’s throat tightened but she stood her ground. "Yes, actually. 'Cause I'm tired of constantly cleaning up after you. You're not a child, Atsumu."

“Oh, so now we're name callin'?"

“I didn’t—” She clicked her tongue, frustration cutting through. Her voice came out sharper now, more intentional. “Atsumu, listen. I’m tired, okay? I ask for one thing—one—and you still—!”

“Alright! I forgot, okay? Christ—yer actin’ like I burned the damn house down. Is it really worth all this?”

(Y/n) looked at him. Really looked. The complete lack of guilt on his face, the way he made her feel like she was the one causing the problem—

Her hands curled into fists. That was it.

“Yes!” she bit back, voice cracking. So much for not raising her voice. “Because it makes me feel like you don’t give a shit!”

Silence.

His jaw clenched. He looked away.

(Y/n) took a shaky breath, chest still heaving with the leftover heat of the argument.

“You always do this," she said through gritted teeth.

“Do what?” he said tightly, eyes narrowing.

“Deflect. Dodge. Make it a joke so you don’t have to deal with it.”

Atsumu stood.

Slowly.

(Y/n) stiffened as he rose from the couch, his full height unfolding like a threat she hadn’t expected. His eyes didn’t leave hers—not even once—as he stepped around the coffee table and crossed the room, unhurried.

And when he stopped?

He was standing far too close for her liking.

She hated when he got like this—when he used his much broader build against her.

It felt unfair. Cheap. A trick she’d seen him pull before.

And yet—infuriatingly—it still worked. Not because she was scared of him—she knew better than that. But because it made her feel small, and she hated giving him even a flicker of that power.

It was Atsumu, after all. All bark and no bite. All bluff and bravado.

Still, her pulse picked up before she even realised.

“And you always make me out to be some kinda villain,” he said, voice low now—measured, unpredictable.

She swallowed, stubbornly holding his gaze.

She’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of stepping back. Of flinching. Of letting him know he had any kind of effect on her.

But the pounding in her chest didn’t stop. Not as he drew closer. Not as his shadow overtook hers.

“Because you make it so easy—”

Another step.

Her breath hitched.

“—and you never—!”

“Admit it, ya wanna kiss me so bad.”

Silence.

(Y/n) blinked. Once. Twice.

Her lips parted.

“…What?”

Atsumu tilted his head, smirk blooming slow and smug like he knew exactly what he was doing. “That’s what all this is, right? You’re mad. You’re red. You’re yellin’. All that heat’s gotta go somewhere.”

She just stared at him.

Not because she was flustered.

Not at first.

No, at first it was the sheer audacity. The unbelievable, blinding nerve.

She opened her mouth—ready to argue, to insult, to throw hands—but nothing came out. Because what the hell do you even say to that?

Her jaw dropped. “You—are you being serious right now?”

“That’s not a no.”

She made a sound—half scoff, half inhale—then clamped her mouth shut again.

He was still watching her, calm and cocky like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the middle of their argument.

It was infuriating. That look on his face—like he knew exactly how off-balance he’d thrown her.

And the worst part? The longer she stood there, the warmer her cheeks grew. Not from the flirting. Not really.

From the fact that he was getting to her. And he knew it.

“You—you think you can flirt your way outta this?” she sputtered, cheeks burning. “You think I’m just gonna forget everything ’cause you said something stupid with that dumb look on your face?!”

He grinned—all teeth and no shame. “S’worked before.”

She shoved him—light, almost pathetic. Less about pushing him away and more about saving face.

“You’re impossible. Honestly, Miya. You're insufferable.”

Atsumu shrugged, unbothered, stepping in again, voice dropping like velvet. “I’ve been called worse.”

She stared up at him, hands twitching with the urge to strangle the smug out of him.

Still burning. Still flustered. Still not sure if she wanted to punch him or scream or shut that mouth of his by—

She needed to leave before she found out.

She turned on her heel.

“I’m done. I. Am. Done.”

And then she was gone—before he could see the look on her face, or the way her hands were still clenched at her sides like she was holding back a war.

What was she even angry about again? The dishes? His stupid grin?

Ugh. Whatever. She’d let Osamu deal with him.

For now, she needed to cool the fuck off.

Bonus scene:

[Kitchen – Two minutes later]

(Y/n) was long gone.

The room had fallen quiet again—aside from the sound of the volleyball match still playing on the TV. Atsumu had completely forgotten it was on.

He stood in the middle of the living room, still wearing that smug, post-chaos expression like it was his favourite cologne.

Osamu wandered in from the hallway, glanced at the leftover tension hanging in the air, then looked at his twin.

“You do the dishes yet?”

Atsumu didn’t blink. “Nope.”

Osamu exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “So what was all that for, then?”

Atsumu shrugged. “She started it. Probably just wanted to blow off some steam."

Suna’s voice floated in from the doorway. “You’re lucky she didn’t slap you.”

Atsumu just smirked, eyes drifting toward the hallway (y/n) had disappeared down.

Osamu gave him a look. “She wanted to. Another word outta ya and I reckon she'd have actually tried to kill ya.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Kiss, kill. Who’s to say?”

Osamu and Suna replied in unison—both flat, both immediate:

“Definitely the latter.”

“Kill. One hundred percent.”

Atsumu muttered under his breath, full of misplaced confidence, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Osamu rolled his eyes and turned toward the kitchen.

“Unbelievable," he muttered. "Move. I’ll do the damn dishes.”

Atsumu stepped aside—grudgingly—and Osamu smacked the back of his head on the way past.

“Ow—!”

“If ya keep refusin’ to pull yer own weight,” Osamu called over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink, “we’re kickin’ ya out. Don’t think we won’t, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu huffed, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah... whatever, ‘Samu.”

He didn’t argue. He’d been around his brother long enough to know when he was being serious.

And he most definitely was.

Then, right on cue, (y/n) reappeared.

She strolled in—calm, composed, and way too smug for someone who’d stormed off minutes ago.

Ah. So she’d overheard then.

She didn’t say a word.

No eye roll. No snide remark. No dramatic sigh. Just a glance toward the sink—where Osamu had, without hesitation, taken her side.

Then she helped herself to the last piece of leftover mochi and walked straight back out.

No performance. No victory speech. Not even a single glance in his direction.

It was like she didn’t even need to rub it in—because having Osamu and Suna in her corner was enough

Atsumu stared after her, brow twitching.

For once, it was him who felt the heat rising.

“Why’s she quiet now?” he muttered. “That’s so much worse.” I honestly rather she just yelled.

Suna sauntered into the living room next, sipping from a coffee cup. “Mm. Sucks, huh?”

Atsumu flopped onto the couch with a scowl, arms crossed like an oversized sulking child.

“She’s doin’ it to rile me up.”

Suna flashed him a knowing look. “Sounds like you’ve got a type.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

But he didn’t sound very convinced.

[asapstarkey]

It's Complicated — Rafe Cameron

Chapter One: Here we go again

Introduction

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader

Summary: Rafe can’t resist you and tensions boil over at a party on the beach.

Warnings: Drug use, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, implied smut, swearing, death of parents

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Here we go! Chapter One. I can’t say I’m super pleased with this but I wanted to set the tone. Please please please let me know what you think! The series title is an A Day To Remember song for all my emos. And the title of this chapter is the first words of the song. Lmao. Just a fun fact for you.

“Y’all have a good one! Be safe out there!” you called as you waved off the boat you just gassed up. 

You put the nozzle back in its place and wiped your hands on your shorts as you stood upright. You stared out at the coastline where the sun was setting and sighed softly. 

“Yo!” A voice called from above and you turned to find your brother standing at the door of the surf shop. “That’s it for the day. Let’s wrap it up.” 

You nodded, bending down to grab your water bottle and head up to help them count the money. 

“Chop, chop! We’re gonna miss them starting the bonfire!” 

“I’m coming John B!” You shouted back at him then muttered, “Jesus Christ.” You climbed the steps and entered your little bait and surf shop. 

Sarah was sitting on the stool counting the drawer while Kiara sat on the counter and counted the lock box. You busied yourself helping Pope put away products people decided not to buy and reorganize the shelves, two key members of your group clearly missing. 

“Where’d JJ and Cleo go?” you questioned, looking over your shoulder at your younger brother for answers. 

“To get the keg,” Sarah replied. She was counting the same stack of five dollar bills for the third time with a furrowed brow. 

“What? Why would they go get it? I’m the only one here of legal age,” you said with a laugh. 

You knew the Pogues had acquired fake ID’s over the years and never had trouble buying alcohol before. It just made more sense for you to be the one to go get it without the hassle. The clerks at the gas stations and liquor stores charged extra for knowing they had fakes but letting it slide. 

“New corner store just opened up a couple blocks away. You could show them an ID with a picture of Abraham Lincoln on it and they’ll still sell to you,” Pope answered. “Those guys are either dumb or don’t give a shit.” 

You hummed in response, hanging one last fishing lure on a hook then heading for the door. Sarah and Kiara were taking too long counting the money and you wanted to rinse off the sweat and oil from filling gas all day. John B could handle locking up for the night. 

You were exhausted. The beginning of Summer is always the busiest with the most tourists coming into the OBX to vacation. You almost considered heading straight for your bed and staying in for the night. But this was the first big party of the season, and you deserved to have some fun. So you hopped in the shower and relaxed under the warm water. 

There were dozens of people already on the beach by the time you arrived. Chatter and laughter filled the air as you slid the side door of the Twinkie open. Your eyes scanned the crowd, seeing Pogues, Kooks, and Tourons alike. They were still stacking wood in the rock circle where the bonfire would soon be lit, cutting the cool breeze coming off of the ocean despite the humid Summer’s night air. 

“Just in time,” Sarah sighed happily while climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Kiara handed you a couple of bags of red solo cups, her carrying a few more as well as the rig for the keg. 

“You boys got this right?” Cleo asked with a smirk as the four of you girls started towards the beach, leaving the men to lug the heavy keg through the sand. Grumbling could be heard from behind as you giggled and skipped towards the crowd. 

The beers started flowing quickly and flames soon illuminated the faces around you. You kept your red solo cup in hand as you weaved through the crowd and welcomed the warmth from the fire. The first few beers went down easily, your mind already fuzzy and buzzing from the alcohol. 

You caught up with old friends from school who were back from the Summer. A lot of them were fortunate enough to get off of Kildare Island and build a better life for themselves. Some were married, and some already had kids. The more you talked to them the worse you started to feel. 

You and John B weren’t so fortunate. Yes, the treasure hunting and gold helped you start a business, but you still struggled. It was the only source of income for you and six other mouths to feed. You rarely had much left over after paying the bills and buying supplies. Not enough to get you onto the mainland and into college. 

You made your way to the edge of the crowd, closer to the waves crashing on the shore. You stood alone and scanned the crowd that had grown much larger than when you first arrived. Your gaze landed on the Kooks, standing in their own group away from the rest. They looked at anyone who passed with their noses turned up, acting like they were better than everyone else like always. You couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed your face. 

That’s when your eyes locked with Rafe’s. He smirked as he raised his cup to his lips and took a drink, staring over the rim. Sophia hung off of his arm like a trophy, completely oblivious to the silent interaction you and the man beside her were having. His new flavor of the month you supposed, or year maybe. They’d been together since February, even though Rafe refused to call her his girlfriend. She was a Pogue yet hid it well. Somehow weaseling her way into the group of spoiled rich kids as if she belonged. Somehow gaining the attention of the King Kook himself and getting him to stick around. Well, kind of. 

You wandered off at some point. You needed to clear your head and rid yourself of thoughts of how much of a failure you felt. As well as the man who contributed to it. 

The voices from the party grew quieter and the waves grew louder. The beer in your hand was lukewarm now, but you fought through a sip anyway. You came to a stop, bare toes wiggling in the sand as you stared out at the reflection of the moon on the water. Just as your head started to clear and the silence settled in, a voice ruined it. 

“Done with the party already?” 

You sighed and your eyes fell closed for a moment before fluttering back open. 

“Just needed a breather,” you replied. The footsteps grew closer until you could see his board shorts in the corner of your eye and he stopped. “What do you want, Rafe?” 

You turned to look at him as he was lighting a joint pinched tightly between his lips. The smoke started floating off the end as he inhaled and his eyes flickered up to meet yours. 

“Just came to check on my favorite Pogue,” he retorted stiffly with a sideways smile, holding the smoke in his lungs for another second before exhaling. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, looking back out at the water without saying anything in return. If you entertained him you knew what would happen. But Rafe seemed determined. 

“Want a hit?” He asked, slowly inching closer until he was standing beside you. The sleeve of his open button-up shirt brushed your bare shoulder, blowing in the wind around his toned abdomen. 

You ignored him. You shook your head and took another drink from your red solo cup. 

“Come on, (Y/N). You know you want to,” Rafe teased, moving to stand in front of you. He took the cup from your hand and took a drink, holding the joint out between you in your direction. 

You didn’t meet his eye, staring down at the rolled green that was slowly starting to go out in front of you. “Fine,” you sighed, going to take it from his fingers. But he pulled it away. You dropped your hand against your side and huffed. You knew what he wanted. He bit his bottom lip and brought the joint up to your mouth himself, watching your lips wrap around the end as you inhaled. 

“Atta girl,” he whispered with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and snatched your cup back, swallowing down half of it in two gulps. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nervous around Rafe. One, because of his unpredictable attitude and behavior. Two, because of the undeniable tension between the two of you being in such close proximity. No matter how many times this happened, you were always nervous. 

Rafe’s hand came up, brushing your hair over your shoulder before toying with the bikini strap tied around your neck. Rafe placed the joint between his lips and held it there, around it he suggested, “Why don’t you and I go have a little fun?” 

You looked up at him incredulously. “What?!” 

“Yeah,” he shrugged, eyes flickering from your lips down to your bikini top. His fingers trailed the seam of the bikini, over your collarbone, and atop your breast. Goosebumps were left in the wake of his touch, your body betraying you even though you tried to fight it. “We always have so much fun at these parties.” 

“Rafe..” you breathed as he dropped the joint into the sand and he bent down, lips brushing your jaw causing your breath to hitch. Your voice trembled slightly, “What about Sophia?” 

Rafe hummed, no remorse at all for what you were about to do. He kissed your neck once below your ear. The sound of your cup being dropped was drowned out by the thumping of your heart in your ears. His breath was hot on your neck as he spoke softly, “She doesn’t make me feel the way you do. No one makes me feel the way you do.” 

Your hand came up to grip his biceps, eyes fluttering closed as his lips worked over your sensitive skin. His hands found your hips and pulled you closer until you were nearly chest to chest. You would never admit it out loud, but you felt the same way. No man had ever come close to making you feel the way that Rafe did. And you weren’t sure anyone ever could. 

Your hands slid over the muscles of his arms until your fingers found his hair. He raised his head, pupils blown as you finally met his eyes. Your bottom lip shook from the look of pure desire on his face. You glanced at his lips, unable to ignore how badly you wanted them on every inch of your body.

You caved. 

“Make it quick. I’ve already been away for too long.” 

Rafe smirked wide before he pulled you into a heated kiss. He pulled away only to say, “You won’t have to worry about that. I’ve been waiting all night to get you out of this damn bikini.” And then he was kissing you again, backing you into the trees to sneak you around to his Jeep. 

As you climbed out of the backseat of the black Jeep, it was clear that post-nut clarity hit Rafe, and the buzz from the beer and weed had worn off significantly. He wouldn’t even look at you as he fixed his swim trunks and ran his fingers through the hair your fingers had just been gripping like your life depended on it. You sheepishly fixed your bikini top in the reflection of the passenger window and swiped at the smudged mascara under your eyes. 

The sound of the back door slamming made you jump. Rafe didn’t say a word as he walked around the vehicle and back towards the party, leaving you behind to collect yourself and come up with some excuse as to why you disappeared. 

You scurried around the Jeep and towards the Twinkie, faking like you had been in the old van the whole time in case anyone saw you. As you rounded the front, you saw Rafe back with his group of friends acting as if nothing had just happened. His arm was back around Sophia’s shoulders and you uncomfortably witnessed the moment he lifted her chin for a sloppy kiss. 

I wonder if you know I just came from his mouth twice in the back of the car he brought you in, you thought to yourself. 

And that’s when the anger set in. How dare he use you like that and go back to her like you were nothing? How dare he treat either of you this way. As much as you couldn’t stand Sophia and how fake she was, she didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this. 

Your eyes pricked with hot tears of fury. You made a break for it from the Twinkie, beelining for JJ who was at the keg because he was the only person from your group you could see at the moment. But there was only one route to him. Too many people on the beach to weave through. And it led you right into a trap. 

“(Y/N)! Care for a beer?” Kelce offered as you tried to get past the group of Kooks, a smirk plastered across his smug face. 

“I’m good. Thanks,” you replied dryly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. 

The sniffle gave you away. And like vultures, they couldn’t wait to rip you apart.

“What’s got the Queen in such a rush?” Ruthie stepped in front of you to block your way. That stupid nickname made your blood boil even more. Queen Pogue. They called you that like everyone called Rafe the King Kook. As if there was some kind of hierarchy amongst the already divided groups on the island. “Stay awhile!”

You looked past her, praying that JJ would look up and see what was happening. He was too busy talking to younger Pogues. You could tell he was also already wasted by the squint of his eyes and the sway of his body. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Ruthie teased again, trying her hardest to get under your skin. 

“Fuck off and get out of my way,” you warned. Your hands were in white knuckle fists at your side. You were trying your hardest to keep your anger at bay. Anger with Rafe that everyone around was about to get the wrath of.

The Kooks laughed and gasped in feigned fear. Your jaw clenched and you closed your eyes, trying to focus on your breathing. If Ruthie didn’t move you were going to move her yourself. Which she would be sure to press charges on you for and that’s the last thing you needed right now. 

“Just let her go, Ruth,” Rafe spoke up from behind you. For a second, you thought he was coming to your defense for once. Urging his group of ‘friends’ to just leave you alone. But then he opened his mouth again, “No point in wasting your breath on trash like her. She’s not worth the trouble.”

White hot rage spread through your veins and for a second, you blacked out. You ripped the full cup of beer out of Kelce’s hands and threw the whole thing in Rafe’s face. Commotion. Suddenly there were bodies and shouting all around you. You lunged at him as he stood there in shock but someone grabbed you. You were screaming obscenities and flailing in Topper’s arms, swinging at Rafe despite knowing you wouldn’t land a single punch. 

“Fuck you, Rafe! Are you fucking kidding me?!” you wailed. “Let me go!”

JJ was there in an instant, grabbing your arms so you didn’t hit him. “Hey. Hey!” he tried to calm you down. “Topper let her go, man!” 

“(Y/N), what happened?” John B was there now too, grabbing the sides of your head and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Calm down. What did they do?” 

“We didn’t do shit man, just offered her a beer.” 

“Bullshit!” JJ snarled, knowing you wouldn’t get so worked up over nothing.

Your bottom lip trembled, eyes flickeirng to Rafe who was soaking wet and looking at you in disbelief. Sophia was using her own tank top to wipe the beer off of his cheek and neck. He scoffed and snatched the shirt from her, storming off down the beach and towards the ocean to rinse himself off. She trailed after him like a lost puppy. 

“Just take me home, please. I want to go home.” 

A/N: Add yourself to my tag list for this series if you’d like! As always, feedback is appreciated and I’ll see you soon with Chapter 2!

Tag list: @itsmattiesworld @escapismlourve @mattyskies @persiar9 @bellstwd @f4ll-for-you @oatmealisweird @FAMEFUCKERS @famefuckers @enthusiastms @lilleesthings @koibleufish @ravenroyale @reidshearts @probablyreadingsmutlol @rafelovergirl @angvl3tears @bilssturns @babygirlwilly

[rat-rambles]

Gravity falls has a theme of obsessive unrequited romantic love like to the point it's almost absurd like by the end of season one everyone was like JESUS CHRIST DIPPER GET OVER WINDY. So who's surprised that the main villain of the whole show also continues this theme but being toxicly head over heels for Ford. I mean it's consistency.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

Could I request a smut with Bellamy Blake? Like him and the reader are trying to get a quickie in before everyone comes back and he tries to make the reader cum one more time? :) if u can ofc!

close call | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — you and bellamy take advantage of a moment alone in the rover on a scouting expedition. time is against you when bellamy makes one final request before everyone returns.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings: smut, almost caught, penetration (p in v), oral (fem receiving), quickie, multiple orgasms, cowgirl, idk whether part of this is considered dub-con or not but I’ll still add it just in case

notes: the ending is sort of abrupt but anyways—

word count: 1.8k

The rover was bouncing so vigorously; it was a wonder the axles hadn’t broken under pressure.

“Oh my—fuck! Oh my god!”

It had started off innocent. Two people had to stay behind to guard the rover as a group scouted the forest terrain for new foraging and hunting grounds for Arkadia. Bellamy had offered to stay behind along with you. At first, you both obeyed the instructions to watch over the rover. But, damn, he looked so goodin his tan t-shirt and black cargo pants, you just couldn’t restrain yourself.

First came the flirting, then the wandering hands, and then suddenly you were inside the rover, on the floor in the back, with Bellamy inside you.

Your breasts recoiled up and down, cleavage exposed from the low neckline of your tight tank top as you bounced on Bellamy’s lap, his cock sliding up into you with each drop of your hips. His face was buried between your breasts, sucking harsh kisses into your skin. Fuck, you should have told him to stop; people would see the marks.

But you couldn’t. Especially when he lowered to your sensitive peaked nipple and bit it softly through the material of your shirt.

“Ah, fuck!” you rasped, skin prickling with goosebumps.

Fingers tangled in his dark wavy locks, you guided him back up to your level, frantically catching his lips in a wanton kiss. Your tongues moved together with a hunger of their own, strings of saliva keeping you attached whenever you parted for a sliver of breath.

You sank down fully onto his pelvis and engulfed his entire pulsating length before grinding your hips back and forth at an almost Olympic-level speed, feeling his cock repeatedly curve into your throbbing walls. Something between a whine and a groan of the words “fucking christ” was mumbled against your lips by Bellamy.

His hands held you down by the hips as he began snapping his own hips upward, skin-on-skin sounding as his pelvis slapped against your ass. You grappled onto his broad shoulders as your head fell back with a filthy high-pitched moan which, thankfully, was confined to the rover’s interior.

“So fucking good, princess,” Bellamy breathlessly praised between mind-devastating thrusts. “So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Good.”

His fingers dug harshly into your skin, blunt nails surely creating red crescent indentations in your soft skin. You would wear them like a trophy. He forced your hips down and trapped your body on his cock as his head fell back against the mesh panel wall, soft tip spurting thick white come deep inside your belly. His scrunched brows twitched with release; lips were parted as his shallow breaths gave way to deep sex-drunken moans.

The warm white liquid filled you up, leaking prettily down Bellamy’s thick penetrating length. You were so full of his seed and ever-hard cock that all your body could do in response was orgasm, the heat spreading from your belly and pervading your entire nervous system.

All control was lost. You trembled from head to toe, essentially vibrating on his cock which was still prodding against your cervix. Strangled gasps fell from your lips, your forehead falling against Bellamy’s who had finally managed to regain his composure and was hypnotically watching you work through your own high.

Finally, the both of you reached a state of tranquillity, holding each other closely, panting and inhaling one another’s intoxicating breaths. It was a good thing too—that you finished so quickly.

“The other’s will be back soon,” Bellamy whispered, finishing your thoughts.

You nodded. He pulled your hips forward again and you both made some quiet noise of pleasure, eyes glued on one another and simmering with atmospheric desire. For about ten seconds, you stayed like this—motionless, panting, staring.

And then Bellamy was flipping you over onto the car floor.

He hovered above you, brown eyes pooling with sin, dark strands of hair partially obscuring his vision. You simply looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless, and obviously, he found your shock amusing, evident from the subtle smirk on his lips.

“Want you to come again before they get back.” He leaned down to leave a hot kiss on your neck, lips tickling your skin as he murmured, “Think you can do that for me?”

You blinked, dumbfounded. “What?”

And then he was lowering himself down to your hips and hooking his arms around your thighs. His question wasn’t really demanding an answer—this notion was crystal clear as he abruptly buried his face between your legs and began eating you out like there was no guarantee tomorrow would come.

“Bell!” you cried with a gasped squeak, your back arching off the floor and eyes squeezing shut from overstimulation. “Wait, please, it’s—it’s too mu—” You cut yourself off with a sharp moan and encased his head with your thighs as his lips suctioned around your clit. “Shit! Don’t stop!”

The plea in your voice was useless. Of course he wasn’t going to stop. Not until your thighs were nearly crushing his skull as your taste coated his tongue, dribbled down his chin, and dripped from your pussy in a pretty, perfect glistening mess.

You rose to your elbows, hand reaching down to delve your fingers between his soft wavy locks, alternating between pushing him deeper into your pussy and tugging his hair to coax a groan from his lips which vibrated against your already throbbing clit.

The sounds you made could barely be considered moans, but rather stuttering cries—cries for more, cries to encourage him to keep doing that heavenly thing he was doing with his tongue.

“Right there,” you gasped.

He nodded, humming in compliance. Anything for you; anything to get you to come undone from his manipulation. His biceps flexed as he dragged you closer, hands splayed across your tensed stomach, rubbing and massaging the soft skin.

Tongue wide and flat, he licked an agonisingly slow stripe from hole to clit, beginning to flick his tongue side-to-side once he reached your swollen sensitive nub. God, he had your heart pounding and it felt so exhilarating. The pulsing had dropped into your stomach, each rapid beat building the tension that was tightening your gut.

Your hips rolled mindlessly against his tongue, using him like your own personal sex toy. His eyes were closed, literally drinkingin the fact that he was lapping between your thighs. He enjoyed giving pleasure just as much as you did receiving which made the moment so much more hotter.

Over the sound of your whining and panting, you could hear the distant conversations of people returning. Returning to the rover that Bellamy was currently eating you out in. Fuck.

“Bell.”

“Mm.”

He just kept going. Part of you wanted to ignore the approaching group and continue letting him bring you to your peak, but the other part recognised the embarrassment of potentially being caught in such an… indecent position.

“Bellamy,”you gritted.

The authority in your tone managed to tear him away from your pussy (and made his cock twitch with a drop of come).

He looked up at you through messy strands of hair. “Come for me one more time, princess,” he urged, voice low and husky. “Then I’ll stop.”

His hand kneaded the side of your waist, gaze on yours as he awaited your response. His mouth and chin sheened with your slick—a pretty, perfect glistening mess. How could you deny him when he looked like that? When he was begging to worship your body and set your nerves alight?

The flames licking at your insides began to suffocate, orgasm receding slowly into non-existence. It was all you could do to nod your head. “Make me come.” Your voice was heavy with desperation. “Please.”

Within seconds, he obliged, large veiny hands curling around the base of your thighs and diving back in. If you thought he was quick before, you were in a whole other ballpark when his mouth returned to your clit. Your fluttering eyes rolled back as his head swiftly shook from side to side, the tip of his tongue pressing hard against your sensitive nub.

An orgasm was rocketing inside you, so fast approaching that you felt entirely unprepared for its arrival. The voices outside in the forest were getting closer and so were you. So close you felt like you could reach out and touch the powerful feeling inside your gut. Technically, you could.

Your hands fisted in Bellamy’s hair, fumbling for any sort of tether to the ground because you were certain if you let go, you would shoot off into oblivion. He repeatedly sucked on your clit, swirled tight circles, devoured you like this was his last meal on death row, and then repeated the process.

“Good girl,” Bellamy mumbled into your pussy. “Almost there.”

Eyes squeezed shut, you writhed beneath his hold, hips jerking against your mouth. Your nipples ached with hardness. Your eyes overflowed with hot tears, streaming down the sides of your face. Your whines had turned to borderline screams, begging him “Don’t stop!” and a mixture of senseless profanities.

Your quivering thighs—with the last of their strength—threatened to crush his head as you squeezed around him, finally feeling the white flames inside you burst into a devastating explosion.

“Fuck!”

***********

Side-by-side, you and Bellamy stood outside the rover, fully dressed and watching as the scouting group returned from their minor expedition. Bellamy’s hand, which was resting on your hip, wandered to your ass and softly kneaded it in his palm, causing your body to tense in fear of being seen.

He leaned down far enough for you to catch his quiet words. “Don’t worry, princess,” he said. “I’m the only one who knows what you just did on the floor of that rover.”

Your jaw clenched, eyes remaining on the approaching group. “I’m the only one who knows you begged to make me come on the floor of that rover.”

His response was a quiet chuckle, his hand moving to your back to rub it affectionately. Just before the others reached hearing distance, he added, “And I’d gladly do it again.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, forming a timid smile on your lips.

Raven was the first person you made eye contact with. She subtly gestured to your pants, wearing a semi-proud grin as she nodded in approval. A horrid blush flooded your cheeks and you looked down to see your flier was completely undone. Well… shit.

“Anything happen while we were gone?” Monty asked, carrying a variety of flora samples.

You side-eyed Bellamy, witnessing the slightest smirk quirk on his lips.

He was quick to respond, sounding casual enough to avoid suspicion. “Nothing too interesting.”

You nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, his arm was discretely supporting your weight as your legs were still violently trembling.

[soapcloth]

Christmas Eve -> Brother’s cbf!Gaz x reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, pushy Gaz, lightly implied stalking, pregnancy idealization (?) from Gaz at the very end

Oneshot - 1.6k words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Inspired by multiple fantastic Gaz works on my feed rn -> syoddeye 🎄| pricetagged🔔| ceilidho 🪐

Your brother brings an old friend with him home for the holidays, said friend knows exactly what he wants for Christmas.

How could it be Christmas Eve already? Wasn’t it literally Halloween a week ago- as if your point didn’t stand thus far, it had literally only begun to snow overnight, blanketing the neighborhood of your childhood family home by the time you woke up.

“You coming down, love? Company’s arriving!” your mom called, followed by the muffled bellow of your older brother and feet stomping off the snow. You glanced at your still-packed duffle bag on the floor beside the bed, the one you had all but collapsed into the moment you got to it and bit at your lip, deciding that catching up with your brother you hadn’t seen since the previous holiday season was a bit higher on the priority list.

Digging into your tote of gifts soon to be placed under the tree, you slid out the store-bought baked goods you had grabbed on the way into town and padded down the stairs.

“Christ! There you are!” your brother exclaimed, pulling you into an embrace halfway between a hug and a chokehold. You laughed and swatted at him. “Off, enough!”

The sound of a throat clearing made you stand up straight, amused warm eyes meeting your own. “Hey.”

You tilted your head, eyes slightly widened with a curious expression. “You brought a friend?”

The man’s eyebrows twitched downwards as he cleared his throat again, almost inaudibly- this time to hold something back. Your brother barked out a loud laugh, clapping his friend on the shoulder and sighing. “All you, good luck.” You laughed in response, one of your defaults when you weren’t quite in the loop as your brother kicked off his boots and grabbed the desert from your hands, trudging into the kitchen with his bags, snow still yet to melt from his jacket.

“Kyle.” he said, voice rich but holding a tone of unease as he brought a lithe leg up to slip a blundstone off.

“Nice to m-”

“Don't,” he urged. “Garrick.” he clarified.

“Gazza?” you gasped. You hadn’t seen him since you were both teenagers; you, the annoying little sibling and him, one of your brother's numerous cool, older friends he would play soccer- football you scolded yourself internally- with.”How long’s it been?” you asked.

“Entirely too long.” he responded with knowing eyes, just barely too fast- like a gun discharging unexpectedly. He grabbed for his other boot as his eyes flicked up and down the length of your body nonchalantly. If you listened close enough, you might have heard his breath catching. “Missed you, duckie.”

You flushed at the old nickname. “Do not.” you laughed, grimacing.

“You used to be so keen on following us around, that change?” he grinned, stunning wolfish smile on full display. You shot him a look. “Shame, right shame.” he surmised. “Our little duckie flew the pond and now you’re too good for nicknames? For me?” you balked at him, mouth parting to respond.

“-Are you going to let Kyle in the house? It’s freezing over near the door.” your mother scolded you. Kyle’s eyes focused on your own as he cocked his head, lips drawn into a smirk. “Well?” he inquired, assessing your flushed cheeks. You nodded, feet carrying you into the kitchen where everyone was crowding, busy with dinner prep. “Anything I can help with?” kyle asked, incredibly all too close if the hot breath down your neck was anything to go by. Your mother waved him away before setting her sights on you. “Can you show Kyle the guest room, lovie?” there was a hand over your hip from abaft- warm and steady, which you swatted away, a quiet, displeased hum coming from behind you in turn. “Sure.” you replied.

Reaching for one of Kyle’s bags near the door, he snatched it up, tutting. “Nah, don't think so, duckie.” he huffed out in a laugh, slinging it over his shoulder. “Lead the way.” he grinned, composure regained as he lightly tapped at your ass, an innocuous smile directed your way when your head whipped around in his direction. His eyebrows raised, had you imagined it? Was it one of his bags? You coughed. “Room- you want upstairs or down?” he thought for a moment. “Up.” he nodded. “You first.”

“How gentlemanly.” you remarked, hoping to inject a playful atmosphere back in on your end. a few steps up and the hair on the back of your neck was raising in that way it did when there were eyes on you. You didn’t want to look back, certain if you did, you’d find him staring square at your bum. Sure enough, he was- only a little disappointed you didn't catch him.

You rounded the corner past your own door, still slightly ajar and opened the guest bedroom door. “Well, this is it.” you sighed, patting your thighs as you looked around the neat and vacant room.

When no response came, you turned to find the hall empty, and even worse- your door open wider than it was seconds ago. “kyle? “ you called. “Yeah, duck?” he responded, a far enough echo to tell you he was in fact, inside your bedroom. “What are you-” you found him sitting on your bed, hands out behind him, looking around. “Hasn’t changed at all, huh?” he wondered aloud before his heavy lidded eyes fell in line with your own. Your phone dinged- a grateful distraction. Patting your pockets, your gaze lifted to find Kyle idly swiping at your phone, the one you had left on your bed. “You really need to use a passcode.” he mumbled. “Who’s ‘beloved’?” his nose scrunched up in distaste.

“A friend, give that back.” you prompted, crossing the room to snatch it away. Of course, Kyle was faster, reflexes beyond anything you could possibly produce. You shot another look up at him where he now stood, phone over your head.

“Nah, not good enough, love.” he retorted, tone lower than you had heard from him before. “Who’s ‘beloved’?”

“My friend Molly, not that it matters.” you frowned.

“Oh, it matters.” he mused, tossing your phone onto your bed with newfound disinterest, instead, directing his attention onto you. “It matters?” you challenged. He huffed and nodded “To me.” he mumbled , tongue darting across his lips. “been goin’ fucking mad about you for years.” you swallowed a lump in your throat as his jaw twitched. “You’ve been keeping me going, duck. The reason I keep shoving on.”

“D-does my brother know?” you asked after a beat, voice unsteady. It was a stupid question, what did it matter if your brother was blessing this hypothetical situation? Still, you needed to fill the space while you processed this bombshell.

“Bloody bastard wouldn’t talk to me for months when he found out.” he breathed. “Gave me a healthy black eye for it too.” you winced. “I'd do it a thousand times over. And for the record- wouldn't matter if he didn’t know. You’re my little duckie, nothing and nobody is gonna change that.”

“What about my say?” you asked. He had the nerve to laugh, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “What about it?” he hummed so low it sounded like a purr. ”I’m not something you get rid of, love.”

Cocky asshole.

“You’re impossible.” you countered with an exasperated sigh.

“Nothing’s impossible for me, duckie.” he responded. It was like he had these responses wound up and spring loaded. “You know-” he spoke. “I’m not some good for nothing kid anymore, I can take care of you. Fuck” he hissed out a breath, readjusting. “That's all i've ever wanted for us. Let me take care of you.”

The way his broad shoulders squared up, you could tell you were wading into choppy waters. High tide. Mid winter. You breathed deep. “And if I want to take it slow?” you asked.

“I can wait forever. As long as you need." It was almost shocking seeing a man so easily pegged as suave sound so resolute and eager. Desperate. His jaw clenched, eyes drawing upwards pitifully. “Now by ‘slow’-”

You raised an eyebrow, causing him to raise his hands in defence. “You’re fit. Not my fault. Just wanna know if i can kiss my little duck.”

“-Just kiss?.” you challenged, not believing it with the eyes he was sending your way. “More.” he admitted. You paused, rolling it over in your mind before nodding, cheeks suddenly hot.

He practically leapt at you, turning you onto the bed and caging you in “fuck.” he mumbled, eyes dilating, taking in the sights he had only seen in his head thus far. “You’re going to do me in.” you would have surely responded with something charming had there not been a tongue fighting to get into the back of your throat. He was practically biting at your mouth in his fervor, somehow allocating enough concentration away from your mouth to grind you deep into the bed. “Fuck.” he keened between kisses. “I've been-” there's a tongue licking at your gums. “Watching you, y’know.” He laughed, the sound muffled “I bet you didn’t know, did you?” he was huffing against you, breath entering your mouth and making you dizzy. “Keeping you safe.” he was just prattling on, whatever nonsense that was passing his mind. You were getting so dizzy you couldn't even comprehend the weight and implications of this statement. You didn't live in your little town anymore. Braving a marathon of flights and cabs to get home for the winter. ”-So gorgeous, fuck.”

“You talk too much.” you hummed into his mouth. You could feel him smirk against your skin. “Cheeky thing-” he hissed, pressing wet kisses to your jaw.

You were pulled from your little bubble when your mother was calling your names for dinner.

To your lack of surprise, the meal was spent with a hand under the table massaging at your thigh and with an arm glued around your shoulders for the subsequent post-dinner walk in a way that made you wonder if he thought you would disappear if left to wander too far- something he’s been resolute on for years, whether you were aware or not.

You wished you didn’t see the look on his face when your mother was talking to your brother about his pregnant wife, when she would get in tomorrow, how excited she was to have little tots running around again. His eyes practically lit up.

So much for slow.

[leclercstars]

perfectly matched.

college!art donaldson x reader

Summary: You and Art swore to never speak of that drunken night again. But you found yourselves together at your college bar, tipsy, and almost unable to resist each other. Warnings: SMUT! 18! alcohol usage, drunk sex, cursing, biting, protected sex

It was one night.

One night, three months ago. Swept up in too many celebratory glasses of champagne. His messy blonde curls looked like a halo with your blurred vision. The traces of liquor on his upper lip seemed to be beckoning you in, begging you to find out if it was vodka or tequila. You left at the same time, he had offered to walk you home. Always a gentleman, always seemed to care about you. You both were stumbling, the drinks hitting the two of you all at once. You ended up outside your house, and then inside your house, up your stairs, in your bedroom. You’d seen his strong hands gripping the racket before but god they looked even better gripping your ass. Clothes thrown all over the room, not able to undress each other fast enough. His chiseled collarbones the perfect culprit for you to leave bite marks along. You woke up the next morning, head pounding, still naked. You felt him next to you, his tight abs pressed against your bare back, curls tickling the side of your neck. Fuck, how could you let that happen. He left in a haste, each of you promising to not discuss the events of the night prior ever again.

And now here you were. A few too many double vodka lemonades deep inside your shitty college bar. The whole team had decided to go out to celebrate the end of a stellar season and unfortunately, Art looked just as good as ever. His backwards Stanford cap and his loose Budweiser t-shirt made him look like some sort of shitty frat guy, which certainly wasn't unappealing to you since that tended to be your type. You tried to play it cool when he walked over to you. “Having fun?” he smirked, sidling up on the barstool next to yours. He leaned back against the bar, looking so perfectly relaxed. How do people end up this sexy?

“Could be having more fun,” you said casually, sipping your drink. Wait. What the fuck. Why did you just say that. You knew you had drank quite a bit but jesus christ isn’t it supposed to be liquid courage not liquid “ruin this friendship?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Art, looking genuinely confused. God sometimes his innocence was almost a little annoying, made you want him even more half the time.

“Sorry, geez I should not have said that,” you were slurring, the alcohol and your emotions making it hard to think straight.

He leaned in closer to you. You could smell the tequila on his breath, knowing that was his liquor of choice from the last time this happened. “I think I can make this night a whole lot more fun,” Art growled. 

You had never heard his voice sound like that before. Low and lusting, you knew you were not going to be able to resist. You locked eyes with him, and you could just feel how needy you probably looked. The two of you got up and left without saying goodbye.

Art was gentle. He was caring, a shoulder to cry on. Someone you could turn to if you were having a bad day and needed a hug. That side of him was not so apparent behind your bedroom door. He pinned you against the wall, muscles rippling in your face as he sucked on your neck. Your moans were soft, hands pulling on his curls, earning equally soft groans from him. You were obsessed, this didn’t happen often and you knew you had to take in every moment. Every inch of him that you could feel, taste, touch, it was completely overtaking you. His boxers were sitting low on his hips, exposing his v-line. Your lacy bralette had been tossed aside, leaving your nipples free to be caressed by his rough hands. His mouth roamed from your neck down to your tits, taking one in his mouth as he gazed up at you. Fuck, your head rolled back against the wall. His eyes were shut, tongue flicking so expertly across your nipple. You never wanted this image of him, looking so intoxicated with your body, to leave your mind.

He stood back up, leaving no room between your now naked bodies. Suddenly his features softened, a nervousness painting itself across his face. He scratched the back of his head, a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind. “Do you want to like-” he was basically whispering, cheeks flushed. It was astonishing how all his confidence had suddenly evaporated. “Fuck?” you filled in the blank, leaning closer to his lips, teasing him with the thought. That hadn’t happened last time you were together. He was too drunk, and well,  he just couldn’t quite get it up. “Yeah, fuck yes please.” he groaned. You laid down on your bed as he walked to his wallet, pulling out that little gold wrapper. He climbed up on top of you, using his thumb to gently brush the hair away from your face. He looked ecstatic, the drunken-ness painting a stupid grin across his face and making you just feel insanely horny. He slid the condom on over his already throbbing cock, positioning it just outside your entrance.

He slid just the tip in first, making you wince. You needed to get used to how big he was, learn how to take him. His hips rocked gently as he gave you more each time, slowly starting to fill you up.

“God I needed this,” you moaned breathlessly. “Yeah baby?” he cooed, giving you more of him as he pressed his lips against your tits, leaving marks along your cleavage. “Making sure you don’t forget this in the morning,” he smirked, his confidence returning. “Then fuck me like I won’t forget it,” you clapped back, basically saying you wanted all of him.

“Oh yeah?” He thrusted inside you, making you cry out in ecstasy. No dick had ever felt this good before, and maybe it was because you were drunk, but you could just tell he was hitting it like he fucking meant it. Your hands clawed into his back, legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper inside. He was pounding into you now, the sound of your bodies echoing throughout the room. You watched as he slid in and out. “You like watching huh baby? Like seeing how good you are at taking me?” 

You grabbed his hair in response, pulling his head into your neck and making him groan and fuck you harder. His tip found your g-spot, and the feeling was unlike any other. Watching his muscles ripple with each thrust, so far inside you he was nearly in your stomach. You squirted all around his cock, leaving his abs glistening. He bit his lip and looked at you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “God that is so hot.” he wasted no time getting back to the rhythm of things.

This sex was truly unlike anything else. Watching the man you saw as a teammate, so vulnerable above you. Completely naked, so far inside you. And you were taking him so well, the sexual chemistry between the two of you just completely undeniable. You made great hitting partners on the court, and that relationship suddenly didn’t feel so different from this one. The way you both knew exactly what the other wanted. The perfect balance of teasing and support. “Fuck, fuck.” Art’s moans were primal, and you could feel how close he was getting, watching his arms tense up. “I’m gonna cum too,” you said breathlessly.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your jaw, making you lock eyes.

It was like an explosion, overtaking every inch of skin on your body. You cried out, feeling his cock throb inside your pussy as you came simultaneously. You fit perfectly together, feeling each other up as you rode out your orgasms. His hand was wrapped around your arm, yours clawed into his back. He collapsed onto your chest, looking up at you in awe.

“You are unbelievable.”

dividers by : @.cafekitsune

[p0orbaby]

Could you go an request for Leah Williamson x Reader.

Leah has a crush on reader, no one knows except for Alessia who caught her watching edits of reader. The team are in the gym, doing pulls up, weights all that stuff. And Leah can’t keep her eyes off you. Getting turned on by the movements and flex muscles. Alessia seeing this teases her through-out the whole time.

-

The gym reeks of dedication, effort, and that specific brand of post-workout musk that no amount of designer deodorant can hide. It’s all heavy bass music, the metallic clang of weights, and the occasional grunt from someone pretending this is their 15th rep, not their fourth. You’re mid-pull-up, arms flexing in a way that looks almost unfair to the human eye. Leah, meanwhile, is failing miserably at playing it cool.

She’s not even trying, really. She’s perched on a bench with a dumbbell that’s more decorative than functional, staring at you like you’re the last goal in stoppage time. Her gaze keeps flicking from your biceps to your shoulders, her jaw tightening whenever you move.

“Subtle,” Alessia whispers from the treadmill beside her, not even pretending to hide her smirk. She’s seen this before—caught Leah at 11 p.m., huddled over her phone, watching a fan-made TikTok edit of you scoring last season. Leah had looked up, panicked, and slammed her phone down like a teenager caught watching something decidedly not safe for work. Alessia hasn’t let it go since.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leah hisses, trying and failing to keep her eyes on her dumbbell. She gives it a half-hearted curl, immediately setting it down because apparently, five kilos is suddenly too heavy.

“Right,” Alessia drawls, upping the treadmill incline just to feel something. “You’re just admiring the… technique?”

“Exactly”

Your laugh cuts through the gym noise, and Leah flinches, like she’s been caught red-handed. You’re joking with Katie McCabe, something about the pull-up bar being too high for her. Leah swears she’s never been jealous of metal equipment before, but here she is, wishing she were that bar.

“Look at her,” Alessia says, low enough for only Leah to hear. “Flexing, laughing, being all… sweaty”

Leah glares. “Stop”

“Stop what? Observing?” Alessia bats her lashes. “Honestly, it’s inspiring. You should go tell her she’s doing great. Maybe offer to spot her?”

Leah shakes her head, panic flashing across her face. “I’m not that obvious”

Alessia’s grin widens. “Mate, you’re a blinking neon sign. I half expect you to start holding up a banner that says, Please notice me, Reader”

Leah clenches her jaw, staring fixedly at the ground like it’s personally offended her. You’ve moved on to the bench press now, lying back, the muscles in your arms and chest taut as you push the barbell up. Leah makes the mistake of glancing up.

“Christ,” she mutters under her breath, her ears turning red.

“Christ can’t help you,” Alessia quips, leaning forward on the treadmill handles. “You’re done for”

You finish your set, sitting up and wiping the sweat off your brow with your shirt, inadvertently flashing just the tiniest sliver of toned stomach. Leah, already fighting a losing battle, looks like she might combust.

“Alright, that’s it,” Alessia announces, stepping off the treadmill and grabbing a water bottle. “I can’t watch you suffer like this anymore. Either talk to her, or I’m telling the entire team you’ve got a crush the size of Wembley on her.”

Leah’s eyes widen, and she grabs Alessia’s arm in a death grip. “You wouldn’t”

Alessia just raises an eyebrow. “Try me”

Before Leah can argue, you saunter over, a casual smile on your lips and a towel slung around your neck.

“Hey,” you say, glancing between the two of them. “What’s all this about?”

Leah’s brain short-circuits. Alessia, unbothered and enjoying herself far too much, grins. “Leah was just saying how impressed she is with your form. Weren’t you, Leah?”

Leah stammers something incoherent, her face flaming, and you tilt your head, amused.

“Well,” you say, smirking just enough to make Leah’s pulse spike, “I’m more than happy to book you in for a one-on-one to show you the ropes, if you’d like?”

You walk away before Leah can respond, leaving Alessia in stitches and Leah questioning every decision that led her to this moment.

[arciam]

Underrated JayVik moments/lines (13/∞)

"You should come up with me. We're partners!"

...This well-meaning, painfully oblivious himbo is2g.

Don't get me wrong; it's great that Jayce wants Viktor to be included. But that scene as a whole, to me, has always been one of the most brutal when it comes to the developing disconnect between Jayce and Viktor.

It's the most unguarded with Jayce Viktor will ever be about his anxiety regarding the precarious spot he inhabits in Piltover and society as a whole, his damaged self-image... and yet there is not a shred of recognition on Jayce's face as to why Viktor would decline to make a public appearance in front of "all of them".

After all, they're partners, equals (and in Jayce's eyes, Viktor was never broken), so where's the issue?

This right here is a running theme throughout season 1 - time and time again, Jayce fully fails to assume Viktor's perspective and see what the world looks like through his eyes. Jayce knows he thinks the world of Viktor, but sadly, this blinds him to how differently they are treated, how broken Viktor views himself in anticipation of people's disdain, and above that, just how lonely Viktor feels.

How fully and truly forsaken he feels whenever Jayce fails to support him.

Jayce doesn't understand that Viktor needs him at all.

Once you recognise this, you see it in almost all of their scenes throughout acts 2 and 3. Even in some they don't share, such as, infamously, the sex scene.

(Even the one time Jayce appears somewhat close to this realisation, he says "now he needs me and there's nothing I can do" ...Jayce please. Even Mel understood that the only thing he would have had to do for Viktor was to not leave him alone, yet this pure-of-heart, dumb-of-ass boyfailure keeps wanting to do the most and thereby accomplishing the least. I love my man dearly but Christ alive...)

Thankfully though, it doesn't stay that way.

Because not only does Jayce eventually learn – in a very hands-on way – what the world looked like from Viktor's perspective by losing the function of his leg, clawing his way from the depths of the Fissures to the top of Piltover in maddening solitude (save for the gawking of unsympathetic entities). And not only does he learn that the „impossible dream“ as his mother put it, the beauty and the salvation he was chasing his entire life was Viktor all along.

He also learns that this same dream literally bent time and space solely to set Jayce on his path to Viktor. To save him from himself, to save him from loneliness –

because Viktor needs him.

"Only you can show me this." - Without you, I am lost.

And I believe the moment Jayce realised this, understood the depth and scale to which Viktor actually needed him, that's all there was. In the end, when given the choice, of course he was going to stay with Viktor over abandoning him ever again.

(Disclaimer: When I refer to Jayce as a himbo or a dumbass, I am not downplaying his intellect, only questioning why he's not using it sometimes.)

Part 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/7½/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20

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[pinkolve]

Better-A Spencer Reid Fanfiction

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Summary: Penelope drags you to a bar to meet one Spencer Reid, insisting he's 'just your type.' (She was right.)

Genre: Fluff fluff fluff!!!!

CW: Reader acts a little overstimulated and socially anxious, reader wears glasses, fem!reader, very awkward!reader (to match spencer's freak), use of y/n, first person point of view, early seasons spencer reid because he's my baby, reader is very insecure, reader has an inner monologue, ooey gooey mushy cheesy fluff

Word Count: 1,065

A/N: Hello again!! I'm kind of proud of this one, I think it's pretty cute. I'm thinking of making a part two where you guys go on a nice little date, lemme know if you'd read it!!!

“These heels are fucking stupid.” I groan to Penny.

“At least they look super hot.” Penny shrugged, trying to make me feel better.

“Yeah, not on me.” I groan again, stumbling a little.

“Oh don’t give me that.” I nod right away, waving off her comment.

“Right right, sorry.” Penny had told me I need to stop being so negative about myself. Clearly, I wasn’t doing very well.

“I’m so used to flats, how does any woman manage this?! Jesus Christ!” Penny just laughed.

“We’re almost there, sugar, just take it easy.” We rounded a corner and the bar came into view. We walked up the sidewalk towards the door.

“Remind me why I let you convince me into doing this?” She offered me a hand when my ankle bent a little.

“Hot nerd, remember?”

“Right, right. Spencer’s his name?” I ask.

“Yup! You’re gonna love him, everyone does.” She opens the door and we walk in, the loud music reaching my ears within seconds. I can somehow smell every single person’s drink at once. The music is already starting to get on my nerves. This guy better be as hot as Penny insists he is.

“Please tell me he’s here already. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stand the smell in this place.” My face sours.

“Yeah, yeah! He said he’s somewhere at the bar with Derek!” She looked at me with sympathy. “I promise everything will be alright, I’ll drive you home whenever you’re ready to go.” She smiles and grabs my hand gently.

“Thanks, Pen.” I smile back and let her lead me to the bar. I look down as a bit of hair gets stuck in my lip gloss. I sputter, trying to pull it away. Right when I look up I’m face to face with the infamous Spencer Reid. I notice Penny’s hand is no longer holding my own but I can’t look away from his gaze to find her.

“Hey.” His cheeks are dusted pink, and he offers me an awkward smile. All the words I could possibly say back get caught in my throat. My face is impossibly hot and I can feel every single part of my body practically light on fire. Penny was right…He is insanely hot. I push my glasses up on my face and shake my head.

“Hi, sorry!” I giggle nervously, already embarrassed with myself. “I’m Y/N.”

“Spencer.” He replies. His voice is soft and quiet, like he’s telling me a secret.

“So, Derek and I are gonna go get our groove on!” Penny’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I look over at her as does Spencer. “You two lovebirds have fun!” She squeals before dragging Derek off to the dance floor. I stare at them as they walk off, feeling almost betrayed that she would leave me to fend for myself like this.

“Did she drag you here too?” Spencer’s voice pulls me back in. I look over and his eyes are already locked on my own.

“Yeah, she did.” I laugh. “I mean, I can’t say she had to force me. I was looking forward to meeting you. She did have to force me to put on these devil heels though.” I scowl down at my feet. Spencer lets out a breathy chuckle. I look back up at him with a wide smile.

“She did have to force me. I’m not really good with social interactions. But I’m glad I caved and came anyway.” He looked down at his hands, smiling.

“She talked you up a lot, she really wanted me to come tonight.”

“She talked you up too.” He nodded to himself.

“Oh god, what’d she say about me?” I cringe, remembering all the horrible things she knows about me.

“She said you were sweet, and funny. She also may or may not have used the term, ‘smoking hot,’ when referring to you as well.” Spencer huffed out a short laugh, still staring at his hands.

“Oh geez.” I rub a hand over my forehead. “She always makes me sound way better than I actually am.” Spencer finally looks at me again, his smile suddenly gone.

“What do you mean?” His eyebrows furrowed. I worry I upset him somehow.

“Well-” I take a big gulp. “I just mean that she always says I’m ‘super hot’ and makes me sound like some kind of super model, but I’m very far from it.” My reply is met with silence. Great, you already scared him off with your self-deprecation. Can you be normal for even a second?!

“Honestly, how she described you wasn’t correct at all.” Spencer pauses. And this is the part where he admits that he thought I’d be much hotter than I am. “She said you were ‘smoking hot,’ but I’d say you’re much more…’a goddess who walks the earth.’” He thinks for a second before laughing. “God, that was so cheesy wasn’t it?” He brings a hand up to cover his face. I’m beyond stunned. I can’t even bring myself to move a muscle. I can’t even make my fingers so much as twitch. Spencer’s smile fades and his face is still covered by his hand. I start to realize he probably thinks he’s ruined this, just as I did a couple seconds ago.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said something that kind about me.” Spencer moves his hand and meets my gaze. His face is just as red as mine feels. “Guys always tell me I’m hot or…Something along those lines. But no one has ever said something so…” I pause. “I don’t even have a word for it. I feel like I’m about to burst into tears like a fuckin’ idiot. That was the sweetest thing I have ever heard.” My eyes are watery as I stare up at him. He’s so different. Spencer’s smile returns and his eyes practically fucking sparkle.

“I’m surprised no one’s ever said something like that to you before. Were all the people you met blind perhaps?” I burst out in a fit of giggles. Spencer watches me laugh with the most dopey smile on his face.

“Apparently they might have been.” I laugh. I take a deep breath. “You know…How Penny described you wasn’t quite correct either.” His face falters.

“Am I better or worse than she described?”

“Better.” I respond without missing a beat. “So much better.” I sigh dreamily.

[stylesparker]

closer than friends

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: season 1/2 era, friends to lovers, sweet love confession, Dean being Sam’s wingman

A/N: my first supernatural fic is finally here!!! It’s been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to write, and I’m so glad I was able to get this out and share it. Please reblog if you enjoy!! <33

"How many times are you gonna shift in your goddamn seat, woman, jesus christ." Dean glances over at you from the wheel for the fourth time, watching you rub your eyes and knock your shoulder into the side of the Impala's door again.

"It's not my fault the passenger seat isn't made for comfortable napping, Dean."

You hear Sam chuckle from over your shoulder; this makes you look back to find him comfortably nestled into the corner of the backseat with his sweatshirt tucked in the crook of his neck so he can lean against his door without discomfort.

You huff, "I don't want a word from you."

"Says the girl who called shotgun and fought for the front seat all morning."

"What did I just say?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, knock it off. We're finding a place to sleep tonight."

While Dean focuses back onto driving, you try your hardest to find a suitable position that would allow you to sleep for awhile up until you guys made it to whatever hotel you were staying in for the night. You'd like to blame the Impala for your sleep deprivation, but you've slept in it before just fine, so you know the car isn't the problem. Even though you're going on just over 36 hours of no sleep, your mind won't shut off. The events of the case you were working on for the past couple of days play like a movie in your head, reminding you of how it ended over and over again.

You swallow quite harshly, and shift in your seat again. Something soft smacks the back of your head and you whip around to see what Sam's hit you with, but it's just his sweatshirt, and he's already leaning against the side of the car like he was before, almost as if he hadn't moved at all.

You mumble out a quiet "thank you," and you don't bother to even listen for any sort of reply before you're stuffing his sweatshirt underneath your head and forcing yourself to go to sleep. It's not long before you hear Sam's soft breathing from the backseat signifying that the boy has finally fallen asleep himself. You almost gave up until you saw Dean turn down his music just a little, side-eyeing you as he looked between you and the road.

"Is that better?" He asks.

"It was fine before."

"I'll keep it like this anyway."

You hum in response, and he goes back to humming his own tune to follow along with the music. With Sam's soft breathing in the back and Dean's low humming, you finally find something else other than your mind to focus on, which ultimately leads to your eyes lulling shut and you drifting off to sleep.

When your eyes start to peel back open again, the car is stopped and there's light rain patter on the wind shield. You lift your head causing Sam's sweatshirt to lightly fall into your lap, and at the same time the door opens revealing a slightly wet Sam waiting for you.

"C'mon, we're here."

"Slow your roll, Sammy, I just woke up." Your head lolls back onto the seat, and you let your eyes close once again, forgetting about Sam who's standing in the rain waiting for you to get out.

"Alright, let's go."

You shiver and grumble a slight protest as you feel his cold hands slip underneath your body to grab you and pick you out of the Impala. He knocks the door shut as he cradles you close to his chest as to not drop you, and as he locks the car. Your ear stays smushed against his front as he carries you, allowing you to feel the soft pitter patter of his heart beating in his chest.

"What time is it?" You mumble sleepily.

"Close to ten."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." You nod, not replying this time so you can nod back off in his arms. You're back to being fast asleep once again by the time Sam reaches the room Dean picked out for you, and he tries tucking you into your bed as gently as possible so he doesn't accidentally wake you up. In the short process you only mutter something unintelligible to Sam's ears as he finishes pulling the blankets up, so he ignores it and kisses you on the forehead, bidding you a good night before he retreats back to the room he's sharing with Dean for the night.

It's much later when you're rudely roused from sleep by a nightmare; you sit up straight in the bed with your hands by your sides clawing at the sheets, your eyes wide and unfocused, much too scared to figure out where you are or how you've gotten there. It takes a second to realize you're in a motel room, and now, the sheets that were once neatly laid over your body are haphazardly thrown towards the end of the bed, practically hanging off and hitting the floor. You take a shaky deep breath in and out, taking your trembling hand and placing it over your heart in an attempt to regulate it.

After a couple minutes your breathing is sort of back to normal, but your shakiness hasn't stopped. At that point, you're aware you won't be falling asleep again anytime soon, so you sit up further and throw your legs off the bed to go and find something to busy yourself with. In the corner there's a chair that you notice has your bag on top of it, and there's a small table next to it with a notepad. Your curiosity pulls you towards it, and when your feet reach the table, you're able to make out Sam's sloppy handwriting.

If you need us. - S

Next to the writing is a key card, which you can obviously assume is the one to their room. You pick it up and turn it over a few times, debating on whether this dream was something worth needing them for. In your head, needing was the same thing as bothering and it was never used as a positive term. But you know that if you spend another minute in that bed you might actually start crying and drive yourself crazy over the dream, so you take your chances and hope one of the boys will let you sleep in their bed or at least talk to you for awhile and get your mind off of it.

When you open the door and step outside, you become acutely aware of the cold air on your arms and legs rather quickly, and you begin to wish you were wearing a sweatshirt instead of one of Sam's shirts and a pair of shorts. The chill encapsulates you, making you hasten your step towards the room down the hall with the number specified on the key card. Once you make it to the room, you're pushing yourself up on your tip toes because, despite your sock covered feet, the ground is still horridly cold and you're hoping to get off it as soon as possible. Although, you find yourself unable to let yourself in once you find yourself standing in front of the door. You give it a good five minutes before you work up the nerve to finally pat the key card on the handle to allow yourself in the room. Once you've pushed open the door a crack, you're able to perceive a bed-side lamp turned on, and Sam leaning against his headboard next to it.

His head snaps up from his book at the sound of the door being pushed open, but he relaxes when he realizes it's you.

"Hey," he says softly. He's in the brown sweatshirt you were passing back and forth earlier, and he's weirdly still in a pair of jeans, but at this point you're used to seeing Sam and Dean wearing their jeans to bed.

"Hi," you respond back, even softer.

Sam likes to think he's pretty good at perceiving your body language, especially after knowing you for so long; so when he notices your trembling hands, your flushed cheeks, and your frantic eyes, he knows that you've had a nightmare.

He's not gonna ask why you're there since he knows why, so he only pats the side of the bed next to him and asks, "You wanna' join me?"

You're quick to nod your head and cross the room to join him, and it's only then when you're on the bed that you notice Dean isn't in the other one.

"Where's Dean?"

"Oh, he left to drive around. He's probably at a bar, or sleeping in the car somewhere." He says casually.

You hum, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Neither of us really could. He asked if I wanted to come with, but I didn't really feel like leavin'." Sam left out the fact he didn't want to leave you here alone, since he doesn't like leaving you anywhere by yourself. Dean doesn't either, but he doesn't get fussy over it like Sam sometimes does when you fight them on it.

"I can't either," you say quietly.

With some of your hair dangling in your face and your flushed cheeks, you look sort of delicate in Sam's eyes. You look sad, but when you look at him you have a gentle smile covering your lips, and when you look away your mouth curves downward again, only slightly, to where you might think he won't notice, but he does.

Sam's always stayed observant of you, even when you think you're the one who takes all the mental notes of him.

He reaches out, lifting the hand closest to you and letting his palm rest gently on top of your shoulder.

"You okay?" He almost looks like a puppy when he asks, and it's pitiful. For you mostly because he's cute, but why should he look like that when you feel like you're gonna start crying any minute.

You don't even want to answer because if your mouth opens you're either gonna say you're fine, or words describing the terrors you experienced in your sleep are going to come pouring out of your mouth and you won't be able to stop until you're a sobbing, pitiful mess and you could not handle being that way in front of Sam.

You couldn't.

But looking at him looking at you so fondly, it's like he's trying to tell you he'll comfort you the only way he knows how and he's gonna fix all your problems with a touch or two alone. Like the way he wants to hold you will melt all your fears into nothing and the way he wants to kiss you will make you forget any of it even happened. His eyes speak more than words could express in this moment and you don't even care if you seem desperate, or needy, or anything really. You allow yourself to fall forward into his awaiting arms, and when your head meets his chest, you can't help the first sob that escapes your lips.

You sound so tired, and the way that you're crying so harshly makes him feel like you're tearing yourself apart inside, like each breath is ripping off another piece of your heart.

"Honey..." he breathes out gently, wrapping his one arm around your neck and his other only comes up about half way so he can hold your head close to him under his chin. You've fallen completely into his side, your head against his chest and one leg practically in his lap, but he doesn't seem mind. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You consider it for a moment; you probably would feel better opening up to him about the case you just worked, considering he was also there and knows how hard it was, but you also know opening up to Sam makes you feel close to him. Intimate almost. You’ve never been one to share your thoughts or feelings generously, and you think that must have just came with the messed up childhood, since Sam and Dean are pretty much the same way. But as the years went on, the boys got much better at opening up to you than you did them. Although, if there was anyone that could get you to talk, it was Sam.

Today, you decided, would not be one of those days.

You shake your head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'll be fine." You know by his soft sigh that he doesn't believe you, but luckily he doesn't push it. "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" You whisper shyly, despite knowing he wouldn't say no to you.

"Yeah," he strokes your hair softly, "Yeah, of course."

You lay comfortably against him as he slowly but surely calms you down, holding your head and rubbing your arm gently as you let out sad little sniffles. Once you've relaxed, you murmur something into his chest that he thinks might have been a thank you, but before he can ask you've already fallen asleep.

About an hour later after the two of you have fallen asleep, Dean unlocks the door and enters the room slightly shitfaced but more so tired. He freshens up in the bathroom so he doesn't wake up feeling even worse in a couple of hours, and he doesn't even notice you're there until he's trudging out of it, eyes wide and feet frozen to the floor as he takes in the image of you and Sam cuddled up to each other in Sam's bed. He manages to put his fist against his mouth just in time to cover up a surprised laugh, taking in the sight of his little brother in the same bed as their best friend.

"This is gold." Dean smiles mischievously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to capture the moment. "Just friends my ass." He mutters.

...

"Dean, if I have to hear you say that girl's name again one more time, I'm going to chop your head off. I don't care how good she was at su-"

"Alright, alright, let's quiet down shall' we?" Sam pats your shoulder and looks around the cafe to see if anyone heard you bickering with Dean about last night's one night stand. Dean laughs loudly as he lets himself into the corner booth that the three of you chose while you were walking in.

"What, you nervous someone's gonna hear us, Sammy?"

"It's 8 in the morning, Dean. Let's be a little respectful."

You hide your giggle, "Yeah, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam as he ever so casually throws his arm over the back of the seat behind you, looking at the side of your face to see if you've taken notice. You're picking your nail, completely oblivious. He almost rolls his eyes again.

"Well," Dean straightens up, "Let's see what we have on the menu today."

"Don't act like you're not going to get the same exact thing you get every day," you comment, not even looking up from your nail.

"What's with the attitude, sweetheart? Didn't sleep well?" Sam's smile quickly turns to an annoyed frown as he makes eye contact with Dean, silently sending him daggers to keep his mouth shut.

You squint your eyes at him and open your mouth to come back with a retort, but the waitress walks up before you get the chance to say anything.

"Are y'all ready yet, or would you like a few minutes?" She asks kindly.

"Can we have a couple more minutes?" You say, since the three of you haven't even taken a look at the menu yet. She nods and retreats, leaving you alone with the boys once again. Sam and Dean grab their menus and you quickly realize there isn't a third, so you go to call the waitress back, but Sam nudges you just before you do.

"It's fine, just share mine." You huddle close next to him, resting your chin on your hand as you survey the food options as Sam does the same. He's so close his hair just so slightly grazes the skin of your cheek. Dean raises his eyebrows when he notices Sam's leg has started bouncing and he covers up his laugh with a cough just as he did last night, busying himself and acting clueless as the two of you look up at him.

"You alright?" You ask jokingly.

"Yup, totally fine. You guys ready yet?"

"Yep. How about you, Sammy?" He clears his throat and doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in response, which has you eyeing him weirdly. You choose to ignore it and let Sam order for you while you kick Dean under the table to stop being flirty with the nice waitress, and he only winks at you before he gives his order too.

When the waitress departs from your table, Dean lets his eyes follow her just for a second before he's turning back to the two of you, and he gets this questioning look on his face when he realizes the two of you are blankly glaring at him with the same narrowed eyes.

"What," he throws his hands up in defense, "I can't admire a good-looking woman?"

You and Sam glance at each other with a knowing glance right before you look back at Dean and say, "What's with you today? Why are you acting so..."

"Strange." Sam says. He leans forward on the table, "Why do you look like you're up to something?"

"Huh? Me?" Dean points to himself, "I'm not up to anything. I'm just being plain old me."

"Yeah, sure." You laugh him off and start a side conversation with Sam that has the two of you forgetting about Dean for the moment. Dean always knew Sam liked you; it's so obvious, at least to him. But he wishes he'd realized before how clearly obvious you are too. He doesn't know if he wants to throw up or throw a party.

...

A couple weeks later

"One or two rooms?" The lady asks.

"One please." Dean replies, handing the lady one of his debit cards that probably had some weird made up name on it. When Dean turns around with his debit card and the key in hand, you and Sam are looking at him weird like a couple of toddlers.

"Really? One room? Since when have we done that?" You questioned.

"Since you and Sammy boy over here started sharing a bed every night. I'm not gonna pay for two rooms when you don't use yours." Dean quickly catches on to how he's embarrassed the two of you so he adds, "and besides, I'd rather you stick with us anyway. Keep the team together." He pats your shoulder with a smirk and leaves the two of you behind. Sam spares a glance at your face and he's a bit surprised to find that you're just as taken aback as he is, but you don't say anything and you follow Dean rather quickly.

The three of you head back to the Impala to grab your bags before heading to the room, and when you go to take out yours, Sam slides in front of you and grabs his in one hand, and yours in the other.

"Sam." You say impassively.

"Yeah?"

"I am fully capable of grabbing my own bag."

"Oh I know. I'm just getting a quick work-out, since you know, your bag is like 50 pounds from all the clothes you carry.

"It is not, I barely bring anything with me!"

"You might be right, but if I may ask, how many of the shirts in here are actually mine?"

You pretend to think, "Um, probably like two. Maybe three."

A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs at you, "Now you're lying! Half my wardrobe is in here!" Sam pushes the cracked door open with his behind and holds it open for you, standing to the side with his foot on the door. Dean's bag is at the end of his bed and he's already crashed on the bed nearest to the door.

"Hey, it's not my fault your clothes are more comfortable than mine! I don't know who decided that men deserve softer clothes."

"Well, in that case," he dropped the bags, "be my guest."

"Oh, how sweet. I like how you think you had any choice in the matter."

"Haha, very funny. Do you want the first shower?"

"You can take it, I had it the other night. Besides, I need to figure out which shirt I'm stealing tonight. I was thinking of the blue one, or actually, maybe the green-"

"Oh my god, I'm leaving." He rolls his eyes, but you can see the amused smirk on his face as he heads to the bathroom, and gently closes the door behind him. You giggle to yourself as you pull out his blue shirt from your bag and a pair of pants since it's a bit chillier tonight.

He's out of the shower pretty quick, and when he emerges from the steamy bathroom, you're next to Dean's bed whacking him repeatedly with a pillow.

"I told you to stop snoring!" You yell at him.

"Hmph, stop hitting me, crazy woman!" He mumbles sleepily at you. You stop hitting him when you notice Sam watching you, and he wants to laugh at how cute you look, like some kid who's got caught doing something they're not supposed to.

"What, he was bothering me."

He smiles, "I don't doubt it."

He doesn't realize that you froze mainly because he came out in a pair of sweats and no shirt, with his hair dripping wet and a towel around his shoulders. Dean peaks his eyes open and grumbles when he notices the way you're looking at him. You hear Dean, which breaks you out of your temporary trance.

You drop the pillow and give him a sheepish look, "I'm gonna- I'll take my shower now." You nod, promptly leaving the room after you grab the clothes you had set out on your bed. Sam watches you leave, more than a bit confused might he add, suspicious of the way your mood had suddenly changed. Once he hears the water running and the curtain pull back signifying you're in the shower, and can no longer hear him, he settles on the bed and asks Dean a question.

"What happened?"

"You happened, you idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. I'm sick and tired of watching you two pine after the other when you clearly love each other, so for gods sake- no, my sake, tell the girl you love her and get on with it!"

Sam's face is hysterical, and if Dean weren't so tired right now he'd be laughing, but he's exhausted in more ways than one, so all he can do is shut is eyes and hope his little brother makes a move on the girl who's been his practically since the day they met her.

"D-Dean... I can't just-"

"Yes you can, and you will." Dean finalizes. "At this point I'll just do it for you. It's unbearable." Sam huffs loudly, flopping back onto the bed.

He lays there and stares at the ceiling for awhile until he hears his brother's soft snores coming from the other side of the room; when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, he hears the shower turn off and your light humming become more audible.

He takes a final deep breath just as you walk out of the bathroom with your hair combed nicely and your warm pajamas, perfectly ready for bed. Not exactly ready for your best friend to confess his undying love for you. He wants to crumble at the sight of your smile.

"You okay?" You ask gently. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he waves you off, "When am I not fine?"

You laugh softly, "Do you want me to answer that?"

"Actually no." He gives a soft laugh of his own before his eyes land on his brother again, thinking over the words that were spoken to him just minutes prior to you walking out of that door. You were so near, so close to their conversation, and you have no idea. He can't help but think that maybe you'll be taken aback, shocked beyond belief, or traumatized enough to the point you yell at him and leave him for good. Or, maybe... possibly... there's a small chance you do feel the way that Dean says you feel, and in just a few moments the entirety of your relationship will change. Well, no matter what it'll change.

He just hopes it's what he feels it might be.

Sam's face snaps up to you quickly, like he's just had a sudden thought, and his eyes hold yours for a beat too long before he asks, "Can we go outside for a second?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gets up and takes long strides towards the door, you just a foot behind. He opens it and leaves it open for you to slide through, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets facing away from you. You give him a questioning glance, but he doesn't see it.

"You have the key?" You query.

"Um..." he pulls out the card in his hand to make sure and you giggle at him, but he just nods, putting it back in his pocket, gulping strangely, "Yeah, I got it."

"Okay." You whisper softly, closing the door quietly behind you. You're silent for a moment, giving him a second to see if he'd speak first, but he doesn't. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm in love with you."

Not even a beat later, those words exit his mouth, and everything changes. The atmosphere that was once light, comfortable, and knowing, has shifted to one of fearful eyes, harsh breaths and unspeakable tension. His hands, once unafraid to grab hold of you, now remain glued to his side, flexing and itching to reach forward and touch your skin. His heart is beating so fast he feels like it's getting torn out; each individual piece of it being sliced and picked carefully from his chest as if he were on an operating table.

He can't tell if the look on your face is fear or shock. Probably both. But he doesn't know if it's good or bad and it's scaring him.

"Say something." He breathes out, with a drop of desperation.

Your mouth, hung open for a brief amount of time, now closes, and you gulp just like he did before he uttered those five little words.

"What did you say?" you murmur, looking like you just got pulled from space.

He repeats himself. "I'm in love with you."

You don't say anything again, but he continues.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to say that." He interrupts himself with a laugh, a scared, almost detached sounding laugh, but one nonetheless. You stare at him as he goes on. "For weeks I've had these moments where I look at you and all I can think about is telling you how I feel, but then some part of me ruins it and then I forget about it until you do something again that makes me want to say it again."

"Which, I swear is every two seconds because all you have to do is look at me with those eyes and all I want to do is grab your face and tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how I can't stand sleeping next to you one more night without you knowing that I can't sleep without you anymore. I need you by my side, tucking your head under mine. It's not that I can't because I could, but I don't ever want to again. I could live a hundred lifetimes, all of them with you in them, but if you weren't mine, if you were someone else's, I wouldn't dare live another."

When he notices the tear streaking down your face, he finally reaches forward to hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your own comes up from your side to grip tight onto the wrist that's holding your face, and he can tell that you've noticed he's shaking.

"Sam..." Your voice comes out unsure, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" He questions you, giving you an incredulous look. "Sweetheart, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

You're holding onto him so tight, he just knows what you're going to say next.

"I love you." You thought it would come out a whisper, but it sounds stronger than you expected. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sam, I love you so much."

His smile is brighter than a thousand suns, and his forehead drops against yours, staying there as you breath the other in; this new confession bringing in a wind of fresh air that has you feeling like you've both earned a pair of new lungs.

"I thought you might say that." He utters quietly, making you laugh and hit his chest lightly.

"Oh, shut up. Then why were you so scared, dumbass."

"I was confessing my love for you, either way I'm gonna be nervous!"

You smile cheekily, "Your love for me..."

"Don't act like you didn't know." His other hand comes up to hold the other side of your face, tilting your head up more to see you clearly.

"Maybe. But I had my doubts too." You confess.

Sam shrugs, "Well, without Dean I probably wouldn't have said anything for another decade, so-"

Your mouth drops open, "You finally gained the courage because Dean forced you to?" Sam stays still as you gape at him, and he smiles nervously.

"Does it help if I was thinking about it first?"

"Oh my god." You groan dejectedly and drop your head forward onto his chest. He holds the back of your head as he shakes with laughter.

"Okay, okay, be mad at me, whatever. Am I getting my kiss now?"

"Who said you were gonna get one at all?"

"Don't mess with me."

"I wouldn't dare."

...

The next morning, Dean groggily peels his eyes open to the morning sunlight peeking out of the curtains, and grumbles, questioning the time. It's around 8 am, which surprises him because he would have expected you or Sam to have woken him by now. At the thought of you guys, he turns over and manages to find himself alone in the dingy motel room. The bed covers are torn from the top of the bed, more settled towards the end of it, showing that you guys obviously slept in it, but there's no sign you or Sam are even still here.

Suddenly, he hears the low growl of his Baby pulling up outside, making him swing his legs out of bed and trudge over to the door. He swings it open, getting ready to yell at the both of you for going anywhere without him, even if it was breakfast, but his eyes widen and his jaw drops at the sight he's seeing.

You and Sam are standing close together near the trunk, leaning against the side, but mostly the other. Sam's hand, that isn't holding the grocery bags, is holding your hip, and you're looking up at him with a mischievous look in your eye. Sam says something which conjures up a giggle out of you, which then has Sam smiling brightly at the sight of you. He leans down and kisses you straight on the lips, holding you there for a moment before he pulls away to catch his breath. Both of you stand there, unaware of Dean's eyes on you, but neither of you would even really care if you did.

Dean's shocked expression turns to one of accomplishment. He nods, satisfied, and smiles like his brother just did. He sighs.

"Kids."

[on-leatheredwings]

False Pretenses (18+)

Yandere ! Damian Wayne x (Fem) Reader

romantic, 18+ > summary: Damian needs an heir someday, and he knows your body can provide that. > tw/cw: stealthing/baby trapping. there is consensual sex under false pretenses, so this could (and should) make this fall under dub- or non-con! there is also a brief mention of somnophilia. Plus, some breeding kink, praise kink. Also some weird thoughts about (cis) women who are fertile being ‘ideal’ and a preference for biological children. Just a warning. > word count: 5088. jesus christ. > [a/n: (smokes a blunt). ] > again 18+ only, damian wayne is 21

So, Damian has a breeding kink.  

You sit in bed (his bed), knees to your chest, trying not to smile.

The covers are wrapped around your bare body as you recall the night prior’s events. 

Last night was the farthest you two have gone physically. You’ve made out, of course. That was in short order after officially becoming a couple, the both of you starved for the other. You’ve groped each other, both over and under your clothes… You’ve given him a handjob… (To his utter dismay that you’ve brought him to orgasm first rather than the reverse.) And last week, you took him in your mouth for the first time. But yesterday night was the first time you had been on the receiving end. 

Now, you are no virgin, but the memory does make you clutch your metaphorical pearls. You didn’t know simple fingering could be so… perverse.

Damian’s two middle fingers are thrusting back and forth into your trembling cunt. Your ears are steaming at the resulting noises filling the air. They’re lewd, and entirely involuntary on your part. Sweat on your temple drips, your torso heaves with shaken breath. Your damp back lies flush against his hard chest, two perfect puzzle pieces. Damien’s chin rests on your shoulder, allowing him to have a beautiful view of the mess you’re making on his slender digits. Viridian eyes have their entire focus on you, utterly fascinated. 

The look in them is enough to make you blush, even if two of his fingers weren’t in you right now.

Sinful, reverent whispers into the shell of your ear marvel about how well you’re doing, how prepared you’ll be to take him afterwards. Damian’s free hand rests on your abdomen, pointedly over your womb.

He’ll fill you. Breed you. After all, you can handle that. You were basically made for it. He knows you’d be perfect at it.

Chin resting on the palm of your hand, you come back to the present. 

Yeah, that was really turning him on, you mull, with almost academic interest. Your lips curl into a catlike grin. How curious!

Hey, you aren’t judging! You can see the appeal. After all, you hadn’t exactly been complaining last night… just caught off guard. 

You sit with your thoughts as Damian washes up in his restroom. 

It is in his bedroom you currently lounge, absentmindedly fiddling with satin sheets. His bed is large enough to drown in. His room is a wash of dark emerald greens and deep blues, with golden accents. On a table sits a sheathed sword, its grip a beautiful gold.

Both of you are college students finishing up your last semester. During the school season, Damian stays in his penthouse. Yes, his penthouse. Why he couldn’t just stay at his billionaire father’s mansion, you don’t know. Bird has to leave the nest sometime, you suppose. 

Slowly lowering your knees and letting your back hit cool sheets, you lie down. You get lost in the ceiling – a beautiful Arabesque pattern is subtly molded across its expanse. Damian’s culture is so cool. Such was a sentiment you had communicated in such words, and he simply kissed your knuckles with a proud curve of his lips, and thanked you for the compliment. You blush.

Ugh. Damian is so cool. 

You start pulling up every uncool thing about him in your mental reservoir. You can’t have him getting a big head, after all. Or rather, can’t have his head getting any bigger.

Hmm… breeding kinkster, breeding kinkster, thy name is Damian Wayne.

You blink dumbly.

Breeding... breeding…

Pregnancy.

Your body stiffens. 

Wait. Does this… does that mean something? Is that like. A thing? What people call foreshadowing? You sit up, disturbed.

At that exact moment, Damian saunters out of the washroom. His eyes catch yours immediately, as if drawn by magnetism. He is still shirtless, navy blue sweatpants looking entirely artful on his tall, bronze body. His usual shrewd expression relaxes at the sight of you.

At the sight of him, your heart skips a beat, and not out of admiration for his looks. It was like you had been caught red-handed, speculating things. Sometimes you swear he knows what you’re thinking.

He stalks toward you, eyes loving. He places a kiss on your lips, punctuating it with “Good morning, my love.” 

“G-good morning,” you return, painfully aware of your nakedness under his sheets. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He places kisses on your bare shoulder, trailing down until he’s kissing your hand. While normally you’d be melting, you remain stiff.

Damian pecks one last kiss when you blurt, “Do you want kids?”

You inwardly smack your forehead. Well, you weren’t one to shy away from a tough conversation. For better or worse.

Damian stirs, blinking at you.

You continue, trying not to wilt, “Do… Do you want kids? I-is that something you want? Like, someday?”

How the hell did this not come up sooner, you don’t know.

… Well. 

Perhaps it hadn’t come up because your relationship was fairly new. You’ve known Damian for five years now. And for the last two, your relationship had been under a taxing, soul-sucking ‘will-they-won’t-they-it’s-complicated’ vague denomination for quite a while. Both of you knew each of you had feelings for the other. But Damian confessing his vigilante secret and his assassin past was quite the double whammy. 

Damian was resolute in keeping you and himself safe and alive, but you had to think critically about a future with him. Eventually you said fuck it, throwing caution to the wind because you loved him, and you wanted him. And he, you.

Officially, it’s only been three months of dating – and you both are young. You both are in your last year of college. Talking about kids felt … fast.

Damian remains silent, face tentative. Having been leaning over you, he now sits on his bed, looking thoughtful. 

“... Is that something you want?”

You sigh. Of course he’d turn it on you.

“I…” Your throat feels tight. God, why can’t we just enjoy a damn honeymoon phase… “I mean…? I’m… open to it. But yeah, it seems kinda… Like. I don’t know. That’s a lot right now.” Your voice is uncharacteristically small and meek. 

You should stop there. Keep it vague. Keep things light. But you know which side of the fence you’re leaning on, and so should he.

“A-and you know– like, you know I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother– I just. Don’t know. If ever. I guess?” 

You sit in awkward silence with him. You pray God just decides to smite you where you sit, because Christ. That was horrible.

Things like this could break a relationship, you know. And your chest clenches painfully at the thought of separating from Damian.

Damian takes in your words, nodding. He’s usually so easy to read – you’re well-versed in Wayne-nese by now, having spent a lot of time with him and the rest of his family. But he seems to be withholding his inner thoughts intentionally from you. Your heart sinks. 

You nudge him with your feet.

“Damiii. Do you?”

Damian’s eyes glimmer with characteristic haughtiness, instantly making you warm. He crawls forward, hands sinking into the bed by your hips. He nips at your nose before locking lips. It’s a sweet, sweet kiss that’s like candy, until you feel the stroke of his hot tongue. You moan freely, not caring that he’ll likely tease you later for being so easy.

He retreats, licks his lips. 

“You fiend,” you blurt. The insult rolls off him.

“What I want is to be with you.” You swallow dryly, heart thumping like a chorus line. You wouldn’t be surprised if Damian could see literal hearts in your eyes. 

He puts a hand on your knee, stroking softly. You feel mollified at the action. Damian only did that when everything was alright. 

“We’ve got class. If you get dressed fast enough, I’ll buy you that confectionary you’re always wanting.”

You stick out your tongue. “It’s a frappe,” you say, adding before he could say otherwise, “and yes, it is real coffee.”

Back from class, you decided to read on his living room recliner while he drew in his study. Damian indeed sketched, as he did everyday. Unsurprisingly, you were the subject, along with your favorite flowers. But Damian chose his study, rather than drawing you from life, because he also wanted to check if today was the day he thought it was. He opens the drawer of his wooden desk, papers neatly filed. He picks up a sleek black folder that spends most of its time laid in hiding underneath.

… 

So, for the record, Damian did not lie. 

He merely obfuscated an answer with a truth. 

He does want to be with you above anything, and if children were out of the question due to natural causes… sure, he would learn to get over it. His brothers are all adopted and are as legitimate heirs to his father as he. But as it stands, Damian needs an heir someday and he knows your body can provide that. 

… A not-insignificant part of him quietly admits that he simply wants his children to be blood-related. He’d never express this to anyone. His brothers are adopted, so how could he? But instilled from infancy into Damian was that he was the result of two genetically perfect individuals. 

So why shouldn’t his child be the genetic amalgamation of you and him, both of whom are also two perfect beings? The thought of impregnating you sounds… good. Ideal. Natural, even. Call him a romantic.

When opened, inside the folder is a calendar for the year, with no notes or writing. Some days are blank. Some are highlighted in either red or green.

His eyes skirt down to the current day of the calendar, and Damian's pleased to see it is indeed among a week that's painted in green. Today is within the ideal window leading up to your ovulation.

You've said in passing that your cycle is pleasantly regular and Damian's past investigations have proved this to be true. Not that he asks anymore. He snorts, remembering how last time you looked at him incredulously and asked if he was a Republican, since he was “all up in your womb.” 

However, you do keep menstrual products in your bag when he’s predicted it. You also spend quite some time at his place, so he does note when there’s pad wrappers in his bathroom trash bin.

Last year, the day he knew you were the one – his One – he brewed you a tea before bed. Its sedative contents ensured you wouldn't wake, and you were out like a light within minutes. So, Damian pulled off your pants, and collected a specimen from you as you slept. Of course, he did so with sterile, sexless precision –  Damian wasn’t a pervert or deviant. He sniffs. He’s better than that. Even if his hands did linger.

Test results proved you were healthy and fertile. He recalls this with pride. As expected, you were perfect in all things. Damian closes the folder and ruminates in his seat. 

Damian had assumed so, but now you’ve confirmed with him that you’re unsure about raising children based on your history with your own family. He hears you. As if he doesn’t have his own slew of mommy problems. If you bring it up again, he’ll wave you off. You’ll be an amazing mother. You just need a push, and you’ll be confident soon enough.

His fingers steeple. Hm… There’s the issue of having children before marriage… He doesn’t know how you feel about children outside of wedlock, but it’s not as though you’re very traditional. You don’t seem to have a problem with the fact that’s how he was conceived. It’s not a big concern regardless, because Damian is going to marry you anyway. If it’s an issue, you both could marry in as soon as a month. 

It all works out. 

It’s perfect, he thinks.

Damian puts up his sketchbook and folder alike, heading to his bedroom to change. It was about time he put his plans into action, and he knows just how to usher it into fruition.

“That doesn’t look like a very satisfying read,” Damian says, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. 

You don’t look up from your book, your cringing face only deepening. 

“Well, that’s because it isn’t. I was lied to! By my favorite Youtuber! By BookTok! And fuck it, by the government–”

"My love."

“You ask for one slow burn rivals-to-lovers and instead you get him fawning over her within three chapters–”

“My love,” he repeats, though amused.

“And let’s not even start about how this prose is abysmal–”

“My love.”

Since it was said oh-so-sweetly, you look up from your book. 

Damian is... oh. He's in that outfit he knows you like. The League of Assassins one that's sleeveless, dark, and form fitting with gorgeous gold trim. It turns his body into a marvelous painting of black and gold on the tanned backdrop that is his skin. And you’ve told him so… Except his eyes. His beautiful, intense green eyes. He straightens from how he leans against the wall, stepping closer.

You toss your book, not even watching its trajectory. It takes out a vase on the way down and you still don’t spare it a glance.

"Damian Wayyyyyne," you sing, hopping up to stalk toward your prey. Your hands land on his chest. Hello, tig ol' biddies, you cheer internally. It takes considerable restraint to keep from saying it aloud – you know Damian gets all flustered with his delicate sensibilities. “Why, are you trying to seduce me?”

An elegant, thick brow rises in amusement. Well, that was exceedingly easier than expected.

“That depends entirely on whether it’s working.”

“Oh, it’s working,” you say, running your hands down to his abdomen. His hands rise to capture yours. 

“Tt.” 

Damian takes steps backward, leading you by the hands into his bedroom. Your leer grows even bigger. Oh, yes. You two lock eyes the whole while until you reach the foot of his bed, merriment and attraction dancing in both pairs.

You push him onto the bed, on all fours above him. You dive down for a deep kiss, tongue eager for a dance. Eventually it’s you who separates to breathe, panting lightly. The sight below you is one for sore eyes, Damian Wayne lying with eyes glazed with lust. He’s acting awfully agreeable, and you can’t say you don’t like it.

“Habibti, I want you.” Damian slides his hand to cup your crotch. You shiver, at his touch and his words.

“And you have me,” you say, voice warm. “Habibti.”

He smirks, probably thinking your accent could use some work. 

“It’s Habibi, coming from you.” 

You nod shyly, but you can have a lesson later. You’re about to slip off your pants when he brings your hand in between your bodies, placing it on his crotch. You sharply inhale. He’s hard, and straining against sinful, elastic tights. 

“... And I mean, I want all of you.”

Your brows rise. So, he wanted to go all the way today? You feel your cheeks and crotch flood with heat. You find it easier to nod your head rapidly, lest you start barking. At your agreement, Damian’s face washes over with anticipation. You’re glad it’s not just you over the moon at the prospect.

You both rip your clothes off manically, laughing and elbows butting into each other’s sides. Damian expertly flips positions, boxing you in with his knees. You exclaim in surprise, a sound that drifts into shaky breaths and mewls of pleasure as he runs his fingers over your breasts, your stomach… He wets his fingers with his mouth before his digits start circling your clitoris.

You inhale sharply, mesmerized by the cyclical motion. Never until Damian has sex felt so flustering. Just watching his administrations was overwhelming, let alone the feeling– Your head reels back from an electric shock of pleasure. You gasp into the air.

"W-wait... wait, you have a condom, right…?" you whisper, though you have half a mind to just go without. You need him.

Damian tensed. 

"I... I don't like how it feels." You raise a brow. You've heard condoms can feel like a second skin, especially nowadays. Then again, men were always complaining about them. It's not like you had the necessary equipment to confirm, so hell if you knew how it felt.

You place your hands on his cheeks, and his hands ghost over your wrists. You bite your lip.

"Well… Just this once? And if... it's that important to you, maybe I'll get on birth control–" 

His head jerks as if struck, his brows furrowed.

“No.”

You stare, agape. There’s a small pause, both of you staring at the other. Damian’s face looks as though he’s betrayed himself. Your boyfriend didn’t strike you as so… traditionalist, to say the least. Lord knows you wouldn’t be with him if he was… so you will hear him out before nurturing any suspicion. 

Sitting up on your forearms, you ask, “... What do you mean ‘no’?” 

"I mean… I…” Damian sighs, looking utterly frustrated with himself. “I mean, you don’t need to.” 

You blink and raise a brow, unimpressed. 

“... Because?”

Damian’s jaw hardens. He grits out, “Because, I'm… sterile." 

You flinch, purely from surprise. Damian merely stares, eyes narrowed in what you presume is annoyance at himself. 

Uh. Okay, hello brand new information? Why hadn't this come up before? Well, it is pretty sensitive information. And since you hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, why would he have brought it up? And today was the first day you had even thought about kids. It… makes sense. 

"Y-you are...?" You settle down, much like a cat whose hair is lowering from standing on end. "Okay… okay...” Damian remains stony, but he cringes at your clear relief. 

Mistaking it as embarrassment, you quickly stroke his cheek. “No, baby, I'm sorry about that." You could assume it's quite emasculating. Men and their complexes about performing and wow, suddenly the breeding kink makes sense.

“So, you can’t…” you trail off. Knock me up? remains gracefully unsaid.

Damian nods stiffly. He really does hate lying to you like this. "I've been told it's very... unlikely." In reality, Damian knows his sperm count, and he's verified there should be no issues with reproduction. You both are in peak condition.

Despite the heat raging in your pants and your body begging can we just fuck already, you furrow your brows. All of this sounded fine, but it was still just… you needed specifics. To be safe. After all, there’s no rush, is there? Even if your pulsating cunt would beg to differ, painfully aware that two naked people were in a bed not doing naked-people-things.

"When did you get tested? And w-why? I mean, you're only twenty-one." 

He waves his hand, snorting with his typical condescension. "I'm an heir to a dynasty – as soon as I was of age, it behooved us to know." 

Us. That’s not a you-and-me “us”. You cringe, thinking about Talia and Ra's Al Ghul making it their business to know Damian's fertility. What an invasion of privacy for him… And no wonder he thought nothing of being in your body’s business as well.

"Well, unlikely is still possible, right?” You fear any surprises. Lord knows it would be just your luck to get fertilized by the un-fertilizable. You point at him. “And we should be using condoms anyway! It's not just pregnancy we should be afraid of."

Damian wants to assure you how insanely low the chances are of an infertile male getting anybody pregnant, and is about to do so, when his eyes narrow. 

"Is there a reason we would need to protect against venereal diseases? There are none between the two of us." You flinch at his tone, colored with the acidity of jealousy. Suspicion.

The implication (accusation?) causes you to glare at him. 

“...Yeahhh, okay,” you reply coldly. “Moment's ruined.” 

You push him off you, but in a panic, he hisses your name. You flinch. At your wary expression, the color drains from his face.

“I… I’m sorry,” he says, brows furrowed and looking utterly ashamed. “I… I’m sorry.” You don’t meet his eyes, simply nodding. He places kisses on your wrist, shoulder, nose. Damian sometimes had his moods, although he was truly confusing you today.

“It’s fine, really,” you reassure. And it’s true, it was mainly the heat of the moment. You were sure Damian could never really scare you.

Your words don’t persuade the shame and fear out of his eyes or lighten the heaviness of his brow. You smile, huffing. Taking his face into your heads, you kiss him chastely on the forehead, nose tip, both cheeks. Until you punctuate the action with a kiss to his lips.

“Damian, really.”

Damian nods stiffly. He’ll never truly forgive himself, but he’s probably okay enough for now.

You shift on the bed, and there’s the telltale sensitivity between your thighs. Damn it. You still want him. You two stare at each other, still very naked and aroused. You turn the idea in your head … He’s sterile, right? And pregnancy is your only reservation. 

As if hearing your thoughts, Damian’s face fills with determination. 

“... I-it’s–” okay, let’s have sex anyway, you are going to finish. 

“I’ll do it,” he interrupts. You blink. He leans toward you, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, when he suddenly withdraws. 

Your eyes catch the glimmer of some metallic object. He holds a silver square wrapper in between his fingers, likely plucked from beneath his pillow.

You look at him, and he says frankly, “I’ll do anything for you.” 

You melt… before grinning, catlike. “My, my. So it seems Mr. I-Don’t-Like-Condoms still prepares a contingency plan. Very Son of Batman of you–”

“Shut it,” he groans, dotting kisses along your neck to make you do just that.

You feel relief flood your bloodstream. Then it is quickly replaced with raging desire. Oh, finally. 

“Lay back,” he says, too soft to be an order. You do so without fanfare, a little curious as to why he’s not following you. Then you see him scoot back, feel him hike up your lower half, and you feel a thrill of excitement. 

You squeak, feeling your ass leaving the bed entirely. A pillow is quickly placed underneath, and you are feeling quite pampered.

There’s curious licks along your labia, to which you twitch.

Damian finds his way to your clitoris, suckling and stroking heavily with his tongue.

“Hhnngh,” you speak. Keep going. Right there. 

“Truly, a poet,” Damian’s voice says, muffled. You bite your lip, unable to retort because it feels too good. Damian is curious, experimenting. You know he’s gamifying this, responding and changing his strategies entirely on what draws the most unintelligible noise out of you. He slips his tongue in, and you grasp at his hair. He responds by pumping it back and forth.

Eventually, you do fear he’ll bring you to orgasm with this alone, when you both have more plans for the evening. 

You wipe a layer of sweat from your temple, panting. “I’m ready. I’m ready,” you say, tugging meekly at short black locks.

Damian hums, and the vibration hits you straight in the clit. He sits up on his forearms, lips delightfully messy. His cheeks are ruddy and his brows are pinched with effort, chest heaving for breath. He looks very good like this. 

“I’m ready,” you say again. Damian doesn’t need to be told twice. Your head hits the back of the pillow, and you close your eyes as you catch your breath. You hear the rustling and discarding of a condom wrapper. Damian positions himself accordingly, hands sunk into the bed on either side of your waist.

“Ready?” he asks. His eyes hold… shyness, if you can believe it. You stroke his cheek, grinning. 

“Always ready for you,” you respond. You make sure to sit up. You want to see.

You watch, fascinated, as the head of Damian’s cock slowly disappears into your body. The consonance between seeing it and feeling it only stokes the fire of your arousal. 

You moan openly, the sound making your ears heat. Damian dares to chuckle, and you claw his back in retaliation. 

“Oh, shut up, and go deeper,” you breathe, eyes fluttering with pleasure. You didn’t realize how much you missed this. The feeling of being filled, of being full. You didn’t realize you could miss something you never had as well – Damian felt like he belonged in you. You feel every inch of you work to accommodate his sudden presence.

“And how can I deny such a request?” he gasps aloud, voice strained. 

You feel more than a little pride that you were among the few who could make Damian bend to your whims with this (or any) level of subservience. The proud, proud Damian Wayne. The same Damian that sinks into you further, into your tight, hot wetness. He finally bottoms out and you exhale.

“You’re… a perfect… fit,” you say, dazed and in between pants.

Little do you know the resulting pang that shoots into his groin at that statement. He grasps you harder, maybe even enough to bruise. He needs you badly. He needs to fill you badly.

Damian leans even more forward, and you squeal. You’re just along for the ride at this point. He does all the necessary machinations to fold you in half, thighs bending back.

"W-wait," you stutter, but it falls on deaf ears. 

He’s really stretching the limits of your flexibility here. Before you know it, you’re in a mating press. 

“Damian,” you moan, because you’re too overstimulated to say much else.

“You’re perfect,” he says into the shell of your ear. “You can take this. You were made for this.” You nod, slack-jawed. He rocks into you, skin slapping against skin as your pelvises meet. Your eyes flutter and roll back.

“I could spend forever filling you up. I could spend forever watching it spill out of you.” 

You close your eyes, cheeks aflame, much too embarrassed by his perverse whispers. You feel … almost ashamed at how much it arouses you. Almost. Majorly, it’s fulfilling a dark fantasy you didn’t know you liked.

“... Come inside me,” you breathe, unable to say anything more. You were embarrassed enough. He was using a condom, it was assumed he would be. But hopefully he’d see you were participating in his little fantasy, that you liked it too…

His thrusts are unyielding, and they only get harder, faster, more desperate as the time passes. Damian finishes with a groan, his abs clenching and flexing with effort.

You welcome it, taking it all because he’s right, you were made for this. In this moment, it’s like you were entirely made for this.

To your surprise, there’s sudden stroking on your throbbing clit, and that brings you to the finish line as well.

Your head jerks back violently, body snapping to attention as you ride the wave of an orgasm. A gasp by your ear. You’re clenching around Damian’s length, wringing him dry.

He collapses, narrowly keeping himself from squashing you flat. The two of you are a tangle of sweaty limbs, chests heaving.

“You’ve got to get out of me sometime,” you tease.

You’ve both been lying like this, too taxed to move for maybe ten minutes now. 

“Is that so? Honestly, I could die here without complaint,” Damian says, and you get the feeling he’s dead serious. Nevertheless, he rolls away. He does not let you go far, wrapping his arms around you. You shiver at the feeling of him unsheathing himself, suddenly feeling empty.

… And wet. Wetter than expected.

You keep from flushing. Damn, you were really enamored with him, it seems.

You rub your thighs together, relishing in the feeling. Until you pause.

… No, like, you’re really wet. 

You slowly sit up, investigating. To your surprise, you’re leaking… cum. And clearly not just your own. It’s smattered down your thighs, sticky. When you pause and can literally feel the cum drip out of you, you exclaim.

“Fuck… fuck.” You put a hand to your dripping cunt, and are surprised when it indeed comes back wet and pearlescent white. It’s for real. 

“What’s wrong?” you hear, but you hardly register it.

You pull at a scrap of wrinkled plastic, pulling it out. The condom is shredded. It broke. 

“Damian. It broke.”

You stare at it dumbly. It broke. You feel the onset of fear creep by… it’s held at bay, when you feel Damian hushing you, stroking your shoulders.

Damian holds you, asks why are you worrying…? He told you there’s no way. He can’t, he’s sterile. 

You dumbly nod, combating fear by reasoning with yourself. Well… you were about to have sex without it anyway, after all. What does it matter if the condom broke? 

You suppose it’s just the shock of a failsafe… well, failing to save you. So why do you feel so disconcerted? What’s this niggling feeling, you wonder. You stare at your inner thighs. His cum paints you like a mark.

“It’s nigh impossible,” Damian states. He’s doing what he does best – nullifying your emotions with facts. He pulls you back into his arms, your back against his chest. “The condom was really for your peace of mind. It’s not like it did anything.”

You don’t speak, simply staring at the condom in your hand. You nod. 

“Really, there’s no point in wearing condoms from now on anyway. They break.” 

Damian’s fingers trace circles on the bone of your shoulders. “I mean, they’re practically pointless. And either way–”

With his long reach, he grabs his phone off the nightstand. He pulls up an article, illustrating the likelihood of him successfully inseminating you. 

“See?” he says. “It’s not a factor.”

Unwilling to let whatever strange funk you’ve entered ruin the afterglow of your orgasm, you nod again. You turn your head halfway, smiling. Of course, without missing a beat, Damian kisses you sweetly. 

To hell with the condom. And to hell with getting stuck in your head. Lord knows you overthink everything. It’s as Damian says. 

His fingers dance on your abdomen, and it tickles. 

It’s impossible.