#the best part of tumblr is silly tags
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logging in for the first time in a month cos i keep forgetting that i have a tumblr account this is so real levi xx (i am tiktok user 4yrtn 😊)
call of duty characters as f1 drivers (captain john price)
(masterlist | call of duty characters as f1 drivers masterlist)
so, why do i think price is seb? well, let me elaborate:
seb is a grid dad (or better said he was). he looked after the young ones and took them under his wing. on the track, when he’s racing, he didn’t give a fuck about anyone but when he saw a driver crashing (lando in spa is a good example) he made sure they’re okay. he checked on them as good as he could.
he was a beast during his prince, winning 4 wc’s back to back and holding the record of most back to back wins for 10 years (until max came lmao). he didn’t joke around when he was in a intense battle and he would do whatever necessary to, either, defend his position or overtake the driver in front of him.
off track he’s funny, he cracks the most random jokes and just gets alone with anyone, unless he really doesn’t like you (then he’ll also subtly show it to you).
he is (or was) a safe space for anyone on the grid and he’s besties with kimi (which kinda fits since price and simon also are like this🤞🏼).
price is kinda the same. a beast on the job (he doesn’t hold the rang of captain because he slumps around and he doesn’t lead one of the best task forces because he’s got a nice beard).
he doesn’t fuck around but still looks after his men, making sure they’re okay and they’re still in one piece. he’s one of the best in what he does and it’ll stay that way for a long time.
off duty i think he’s funny, yk? cracking dad jokes together with simon and just laughing at the most random stuff.
he takes his time to check in with gaz, soap and simon and he really, deeply cares for them. he wants to make sure they’re okay and well and he’ll do anything to secure their wellbeing.
he keeps the mood happy together with soap and maybe it’s a bit annoying sometimes but it’s because of a good intention. price gets along with everyone, not being too rough on recruits except they’re being shitty towards his team or they lack respect.
price’s trying to remain a source of happiness and jokes in a work field surrounded by death.
seb was trying to remain a source of happiness and jokes in a work field surrounded by pressure, stress and hate.
that makes them too so alike to me. i hope you understand what i mean lol.
lmk if you have any other opinions!
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Nando being silly in S2E2 of his doc 🥺
#well...i wrote tags for this and queued it and yet it didnt post at all and was back in my drafts w no tags#tumblr never ceases to amaze me!#i wrote tags at like 4 am so i have no memory#and i dont realtl wanna write them again so I hope this vid speaks for itself#tho i will say:#i guess i find it cute how soft spoken and polite and silly he is in all these#i think its funny to see a 'celebrity' experience the same awkwardness of covid times#like when hes just awkwardly standing there and staring as his bag gets disinfected#and like seeing him w service workers and he tries to be somewhat serious and then cant help but be silly#THE SINGING PART IS THE BEST OKAY.#f1#formula 1#fernando alonso#we do a little bit of f1#fernando(show)#fernando s2e2
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crossover of the last two piece of media you watched/played?
This may be the weirdest thing I've drawn in a while and it is almost embarrassing how much effort I put into it lmao
Watched Deadpool and Wolverine for the second time last night and read a volume of One Piece today, making a silly little Wolverine version of Zoro just felt like the obvious choice. Zorolverine <3
#this is so stupid and I had so much fun drawing it#the best part was drawing Zoro with the silly little kitty cat ears#also lets pretend I know how to draw stomach muscles#if I keep gaslighting myself into knowing how to do it one of these days I actually will#asks#artists on tumblr#labrart#one piece#one piece fanart#op#op fanart#fanart#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro fanart#idk if I should tag the wolverine part of this lmao I feel like it's too far removed#oh well I will anyway#wolverine#wolverine fanart
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Eating is truly the privilege of the living
I'm very sorry to ask something like this, I've really been struggling with this question, and I wanted to ask the combined wisdom of the people on this site
I would like to know why you keep going, and what drives you to keep living. I know there are a lot of reasons to stay alive and enjoy life, I can think of a few that personally resonate with me, but I really want to know what your reasons are
You do not have to comment on this if that's too big of an ask, and I'm very sorry for asking something like this, I really need someone's help, I feel like I don't have much purpose
Also if I may ask, please don't post any suicidal ideation in the comments of this post, I really can't handle something like that right now
#ooh this is a very good one#i think thats a really important part of maturing for me#is slowly uncoiling the ideas i have around purpose and significance#because it really does end up feeling like a job#and when you work a job you feel hates you. you want to get away from it#i try to see the significance in all the small things#and i do my best to be acceotibg of the cards i have#and how i have dealt them#its like that robert frost poem that everyone misinterprets all the time#i took the “path less travelled”#which was not#in fact#a totally unpopular path#it was just the one i saw to be justified#in truth#i cant really know how much one path has been tread#i cant tell how much success others have had#but it is a path worth taking#and THAT makes all the difference#i think tumblr tags are a kind of poetry#its the meaning or the lack thereof of a need of meaning that makes it really special#like idk#im just being silly on a website#is it a website that deserves my time?#well yeah#as much as i enjoy it#and thats life#more or less#less meta-analysis#and more simple principles
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the 2024 formula 1 silly season and drama master post, part 2 (part 1 here)
Hello and welcome to ah fucking fuck auto caps fuck fuck fuck how do i turn off auto caps AHA there we go okay. take 2
hello and welcome to the great and very insane formula 1 2024 season drama post, part 2. if you are new here or are just looking for part one (which contains the previous 16 (?) races, the off season, pre season testing and everything else, that can be found HERE. (a word to the wise: open it in a browser, not the app, and preferably on a computer to avoid crashing. its fucking long).
what the hell is formula 1? car go fast. fastest cars in the world zoom around tracks at top speeds of over 300kph, piloted by the top 20 drivers in the world. it might not sound dramatic, but oh man. you will Not be disappointed. this post focuses on the drama, the insanity, the sheer what the hell how is this a serious sport. no legitimately. we've just about seen it all this year. grindr, dogs, watersports, ice cream brands, its all here.
the point of this post? to educate, to catalog the insane drama, and to just have a good time. people like to gatekeep this sport, there is also a lot happening. i try to make it easy to understand. again, probably best to start at the beginning of the post because it does a pretty good job of explaining things, which i began way back in january, and can be found HERE (again, shes long, be careful)
and, as usual, if you do not want to see this post EVER AGAIN, block the tag #saph explains silly season 2024
and a second caution, i assume this post will be getting long as well. including this one we have minimum 9 updates left!
anyway, those of you who have been following along the whole time, welcome back! i know we got a little delayed. and i know we’re on a new post, so lets just briefly take a second for me to explain what the fuck happened. first i had an anatomy test, second i work 2 jobs with fuck ass hours, third tumblr decided to stop letting me look at any of my drafts, fourth tumblr support ghosted me about the drafts issue and the post was half saving half not so i just decided fuck it, were going with post 2, electric boogaloo, and fifth, i decided to start typing this instead in a google docs so. many changes. if you're new here i am usually more on top of this.
but here we are. were back on street circuits. we’re in baku, azerbaijan, for the start of the last third of the season. 8 races remain, world championship titles are still within grasp of multiple people. the drama is dramaing. and today is september 22, 2024 and lets fucking go.
first and foremost, on account of the fact that this post is late (again, see above), were going to have to do a bit of a speed run. if you're new here, i promise that this is not representative of my normal dedication to the update post. and for those asking, yeah, ill probably compile it somewhere better than a tumblr post after its all said and done, but we don't have time for that now.
what we do have time for is the Off Week (and like some of the media stuff). and it was filled with silliness:
george russell decided to wear what can only be described as slightly ugly yellow short shorts with his taylor swift shirt that he got at the eras tour. this was baffling for several reasons, the main reason being that i don't think the internet knew that he was capable of wearing a graphic t shirt
fernando alonso got his aston martin valkyrie finally. in case you are unfamiliar, a valkyrie i think is the worlds fastest street legal car. he posted tweets about this that made it seem like he wanted to fuck the car. hilariously, the car broke down an hour later.
we also had the very thrilling conclusion to grill the grid. oscar won and he somehow managed to look more pleased about his grill the grid win than his first race victory.
instagram
nico rosberg went to the green awards and he wore a fantastically insane teal blue suit. yes i know hes not a current driver. but you all like hearing about him so ask and you shall receive. unfornunately i cant find a picture of it though
and also not a current driver is mick schumacher, but my roommate asked me to include that he was seen on his girlfriends instagram being bad at golf. like. exceptionally bad at golf. like he hit a tree 20 feet in front of him.
also playing golf was lando norris. except he managed to look like try bolton from high school musical 2.
he also talked about the world driver championship with his friend max fewtrell while they were playing golf. unfortunately i lost this link in the sea of technical difficulties, but the gist of it was that he was saying that there is still hope for him to beat max in the championship (hes about 60 points behind right now). lando doesnt usually talk about the championship because he doesnt want news outlets to paint him as “desperate” so this was interesting
charles leclerc had an insane off week. first he rear ended someone in monaco. then he spoke at a yacht conference. he was not scheduled to speak at said yacht conference, he was there doing something else and they were like hey you're cool people know you, heres a microphone. he alsp ended up on a weather channel while promoting a karting event he was doing for the jules bianchi foundation (his god father, the one who died during the f1 race in japan 2014). he also changed his instagram pop and re centered it because some random tiktoker told him it matched his aesthetic better.
oscar piastri posted a photo of himself sitting in the cockpit of a plane and then promptly deleted it. because he posted it on 9/11. for anyone who doesnt know what that is, that was when some terrorists hijacked commercial planes and few them into the world trade centers in nyc and the pentagon in washington dc
max verstappen also posted a plane pic with himself and lando norris, but he did not delete it.
we also had the return of daniel ricciardo’s jpg instagram account, which is kinda like a finsta for photos that hes taken. i think lando started this a few years ago.
heading into the race week we certainly got a weird ass batch of pr. including but not limited to:
lewis hamilton was back on top and slaying in the fit game. as was yuki.
lewis hamilton also exposed george russell as listening to katy perry pre race. katy perry and taylor swift (this was after he claimed that he liked listening to old school rap music.) though, lewis then started singing wrecking ball???? confusing vibes all around
george was not off the hook yet tho because some intern definitely make him say skidibidi toilet or whatever the thing is idk, i might be gen z but im not insufferable, okay? actually george in baku was just all kinds of unhinged
george and alex also got up to something, what it is no one knows but it is clearly something
max pulled up to the paddock de aged about 10 years. picture one is of him in baku in 2015 (i believe he was 17) and picture 2 is this year. no i am not kidding.
and franco walked into the paddock telling everyone about argentinian mate (which is a drink, not a friend)
and max shoved a microphone out of the way so everyone could gossip
instagram
then of course, we had some slightly more relevant drama
haas announced that ollie would be replacing kevin at baku. in case you forgot, kevin magnussen received a total of 12 penalty points over the season so far, which means he gets one race ban. how did he get the points? well he was mostly wreaking havoc on everyone else so that his teammate, nico hulkenberg, could drag his car into the points. lets all remember the time in saudi arabia where he managed to get 20 seconds of penalties by basically driving like a mad man just to make sure that nico could keep his position after he pit stopped. anyway, nico was kind of pissed about the race ban situation and said “maybe the guidelines for F1 penalties need to be reviewed as the stewards ‘want to get involved’ no matter the contact.”
in any case though, k mags was out. and ollie was in. we’ve seen ollie before. notably he subbed in for carlos sainz at the saudi arabia gp when carlos had appendicitis. he managed to get points as well. since then, he has been announced as a haas driver for 2025 and is now subbing in for k mags (haas, later in the week called him a super sub. clearly no gen z person read that over.) he can do this because ferrari has a haas engine so they share reserve drivers.
adrian newey finally got employed. i know! i can hardly believe it either! but he did! and youll never guess where!
ferrari? no that would be too obvious.
mercedes? nah
williams? no too much of a shit show
aston martin? ding ding ding! just the right amount of shit show!
that is right. newey is going to aston for 2025.
apparently he was offered a “good package” according to himself, which i assume means pay and also the fact that lawrence stroll made him a shareholder? stakeholder? whatever its called. in the team itself. basically he has a lot of power.
he said that he always wanted to work with fernando and lewis. and he couldn't do both. and aston had a better package than ferrari.
fernando looked positively evil during all the announcement pictures. and called the team "definitely the team of the future" and for those of you who don't know, fernando is positively evil. hes just been stuck in a shit box and we havent seen very much of him, but man does he know how to evilly slut it up. so that will be fun to see.
by contrast, people said that lance was not excited enough. and well. lance 1. has resting bitch face and 2. never really looks excited about anything. also he lives in a world where take your child to work day somehow became his job. (his dad owns the team).
lewis hamilton was asked what he thought about adrian not going to ferrari, and here's what he had to say:
"i feel like, while I have mentioned before that it would be an honor to work with adrian, i have been privileged to work with two championship winning teams that didnt have adrian."
mclaren announced pato o ward would do FP1 in mexico. who is pato o ward? hes one of mclaren’s indycar drivers and one of the f1 reserve drivers. he is incredibly charming and definitely runs his own social media as seen here:
mclaren Also claim they figured out who their number 2 driver is and they claim its oscar. i say they claim because the statements were a lot more complex than that. essentially, according to andrea stella, the priority is to the team first, then lando and then oscar. so they didn't outright say that oscar is the number 2 driver and i am willing to bet real money that this is because mr mark webber, oscars manager, has something in oscars contract that prevents him from being a number 2 driver. this is of course because mark webber was one of the most infamous number 2 drivers in f1 history to none other than menace war criminal sebastian vettel, who in their time as teammates, managed to win 4 back to back world champions. or, top to bottom if you're mrs darbus from high school musical.
lando was asked about this and he said that yes, the team does support him. though he would not expect oscar to give up a win for him and that it is more complex behind the scenes. i suppose we will see if there are any papaya rules coming out this weekend….
and oscar said "i think the main point is its not purely just going to be me pulling over for lando every single race, because thats how none of us, including lando, wont want to go racing, if we feel that someone has done a much better job on a weekend, whichever way it is, we want that person to be rewarded."
max verstappen commented on the mclaren situation as well. which was funny mostly because red bull has one of the most defined number 1 and number 2 drivers of any team. he said "you look at it form oscar's perspective, he is closer to lando than lando to me. they have to deal with that."
and allow me to put on a tin foil hat as we are about to talk about the future of the red bull seat. because all i have to offer here is a baseball hat and a red bull can.
a long time ago we talked about the red bull cans. the ones that red bull makes to promote f1. at the end of last season red bull put max and checo on the red bull can. this season at the start it was just max on the red bull can. well. now checo has reappeared on the cans too. and i will tell you what i think this means. it means that checo is not getting swapped this season, which was a possibility for awhile.
but! there is more!
daniel ricciardo made an instagram post this week. and it was very interesting. but most interestingly he was wearing a red bull hat.
which he does occasionally, no big deal really. he did race for the for several years, he technically does currently. BUT then he showed up TO THE PADDOCK wearing the red bull hat.
which is Big Interesting. usually you show up in a statement outfit or wearing the team kit. and daniel is not a red bull racing driver. he is a visa cashapp racing bulls driver. they might be owned by red bull but they are Not the same team. so why the red bull hat. in the paddock. well, the rumor is that hes taking checos seat for 2025. and the rumor is that this will be announced before mexico. so checo can have a proper send off.
and with that. the baku lore.
theres a lot that has happened at baku. as i said its a street circuit. and i think its the fastest street circuit. but over the years theres been some notable events.
such as the great kimi raikkonen radio for gloves and steering wheel:
instagram
they gave mini kimi this week gloves and steering wheel in honor of that
the max and daniel crash in 2018 when they were running p1 and p2 respectfully
instagram
and of course. how could we forget. charles’s infamous “i am stupid” radio.
youtube
speaking of charles, he crashed again in fp1. not quite in the same spot, but nearly. he took a picture with the marshalls.
then in fp2 he rage quit, basically saying that the car sucks.
instagram
but he was back and better than ever in practice three because he managed to top the time charts. welcome back fuck ass ferrari.
some other teams definitely experienced the lows but not really the highs of baku during practice. like lance stroll who came on the radio to say “this is not a car” (good thing they have adrian newey now, right?
franco colapinto also cut his ear before practice on the neck strengthener stretcher thing that they all use and the team wanted to give him stitches but he was like no no no i need to be in the car in about 5 minutes im not doing that. so he jammed on his helmet and jumped in the car. he also crashed and when he went to the medical center he took off his helmet and there was blood everywhere and they were like no no no you cannot race! and he was like no! this is not from the crash! and then explained it and they let him do qualifying.
also im pretty sure? ollie bearman crashed? in practice? but frankly i don't have time to google it so whos to say.
but alas. qualifying.
i know i know this is kind of a shitty update. i promise ill go all out in singapore. i PROMISE.
so as i said. its a street circuit. high speed. 90 degree corners. and also windy as hell. we also had the dynamic duo of karun and harry in the commentary box.
max led the first practice, george led the second and i think charles led the third. or some order like that.
slipstream here is almost essential (slipstream: going behind another car to reduce the wind drag so you can go faster)
charles has the last three pole positions (first in qualifying) here in baku, but he has never won. by comparison, red bull have never had pole here but they have won.
and franco has never been to baku before.
i think that's all the exposition that we need here.
q1 started with max complaining about his car. “the car is jumping around like crazy on the rear axle” he said. despite this he was sitting in p3.
the mid field battle though….the mid field battle was heating the hell up. mostly because none other than franco colapinto, who if you will remember, has never been to baku before, had split the two ferraris. he was in third for the moment, .109 seconds behind carlos sainz and .159 seconds ahead of charles leclerc. we still had a lot of qualifying left to go, so this was probably not going to stay, but it was still insane. he was pushing insanely hard, nearly kissing the walls. clearly he had learned from his crash in practice.
the two mclarens waited until the very end of q1 to do their final flying push lap, and oscar made it through, but tragedy struck for lando.
lando was in the middle of his last flying lap, time was ticking down, and there was a Very Brief yellow flag on the track. now, according to rules, you cannot complete your flying lap if there is a yellow flag. so lando pitted and was stuck down in 17th and out of qualifying. this would be the first time that he was out in q1 since vegas last year (which if i remember correctly was also not his fault)
now though, of course nothing is ever that cut and dry. people thought that there had been a mis showing of a flag. yellow flag means that a car is stopped on track, white flag means that a car is going slowly on the track. and people thought that there had been a yellow flag shown when it was actually supposed to be a white flag (if there had been a white flag then lando would have been able to keep doing his flying lap) lando himself said that he had no idea what people were talking about because there is a light on the steering wheel that lights up when flags are called and he had a big yellow light. so it was clearly a yellow flag.
if you're concerned about lando being able to pull it out of the bag, id like to point you in the direction of the mexican gp last year where lando qualified 17th and finished 5th. on a track that was hard to overtake on. he can be absolutely insane when he wants to be. worry not gentle reader.
in any case. also out in q1 was daniel ricciardo, valtteri bottas, zhou guanyu and esteban ocon.
and notably, williams, who was on fucking fire this weekend as we already saw, finished q1 with alex albon in second (ahead of oscar) and franco colapinto in 8th. pierre gasly had somehow managed to also get into 4th. and nico hulkenberg was in 7th with ollie bearman in 13th. i told you the mid field battle was heating the hell up.
q2. everyone zoomed straight out of the gate. they didn't want to get lando norris’d. but, speaking of that, if lando managed to get no points in the race and charles managed to win, charles would overtake lando in the drivers championship. mark webber himself told this to charles, who was absolutely baffled.
in any case, charles was kinda suffering right now and that was because he was not getting slipstream from carlos to make his lap faster. meanwhile, carlos seemed to be actively trying to give charles the slipstream because he came on radio to say “he keeps missing the tow”
and amazingly, franco colapinto was 4 tenths AHEAD of alex albon. alex albon who had not been unqualified by his teammate once since the start of 2023. ex red bull driver alex albon. that alex albon.
max topped the times in q2, followed immediately by charles. insanely, fernando alonso managed to drag the aston martin to fifth. and franco was right behind him in 6th. by comparison alex albon was in 10th.
and from q2 we lost ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda (who has never qualified lower than 8th in baku), pierre gasly, nico hulkenberg and lance stroll. so yes, ollie bearman managed to outqualify nico hulkenberg. this is ollies second ever f1 race.
steaming on forward to q3.
we had, for review, in q3 the following:
both ferraris, both red bulls, both mercedes, both WILLIAMS (has not happened since vegas 2023), plus fernando alonso and oscar piastri.
right out the gate it was wild.
“red bull! theyve re found their mojo! or have they!” karun said. red bull were in 5th and 6th and not entirely sucking for the moment.
everyone did one flyer and then came out at the end for a second flyer.
here were the standings:
charles, carlos, oscar, george, checo, max, lewis, alex, franco, fernando
and everyone was making it to the line and all was going smooth until-
wait a second what is that
could it be! alex albon! with the air box fan still on his car! surely not!!!
oh but it was! and harry and karun were like oh wow so unfortunate for williams tisk tisk
meanwhile ted jumped on the radio to Loudly announce to everyone that this was insane and if i have time here i will put the rant he ranted cause it was Fantastic.
and what do you know i have time
so we had 3 minutes left qualifying and everyone was pulling out of the pits for their last flyer when oscar hopped on the radio to say
"the williams still has the air box fan in"
"oh what an error! disaster for williams!" karun and harry said. they speculated if the marshalls could get it or if the session needed to be red flagged. but alex threw the fan off the car.
and then they asked "ted have you ever seen that before?" and ted did not hold back:
"ITS A MASSIVE YELLOW FAN HOW COULD YOU MISS IT???!!! HOW COULD THE MECHANICS MISS IT???? I CANT BELIVE THEY WOULD MAKE SUCH A MISTAKE DOWN AT WILLIAMS! SUCH AN EXPERIENCED BUNCH OF GUYS AND GIRLS! WHAT IS GOING ON AT WILLIAMS OPERATIONALLY? HOW COULD YOU SEND A CAR OUT LIKE THAT?"
alex, obviously, got fined for an unsafe release 5k euros. he also had to throw the fan off to the side and got slightly covered in dry ice. he did not get to the a second flying lap.
franco did tho!
and here were out qualifying results:
p1: charles p2: oscar p3: carlos p4: checo p5: george p6: max p7: lewis p8: fernando p9: franco p10: alex p11: ollie p12: yuki p13: pierre p14: nico p15: lance p16: daniel p17: lando p18: valtteri p19: zhou p20: esteban
oh ho ho but we werent done yet. because pierre gasly got disqualified from qualifying. for failing fuel flow regulations. and lewis was going to have to start from the pit lane for changing his power unit.
everyone, and by everyone i mean oscar max and checo, pretty much said that charles was going to get pole no matter what, they knew this coming in and the best they were trying for was second
onto the race.
notably, this is considered a checo track. this was one of the three races that max did not win last year. because checo won it. its a track that he does well on, evidenced by the fact that he qualified above max in qualifying. so people were expecting big things from him.
and so, we head into lap 1.
charles managed to hang onto the lead. checo passed carlos straight out of the gate for third and max managed to pass george to take fifth. lando had managed to get ahead of nico and up into 13th. notably, franco held onto 8th and ollie was able to hold onto tenth.
someone who was not doing well was lance stroll, who came on the radio saying that he had a puncture. this was from contact with yuki. lance had to pit for fresh tires and was pretty immediately thrown to the back of the grid.
by lap 2 lando had managed to get past daniel and was in 12th, he was trying to get past yuki next, which he managed by lap 3. yuki also lost a spot to nico.
also slaying in the mclaren was oscar, who took fastest lap. then charles took fastest lap.
and lewis hamilton, who had started from the pit lane, was up to 16th. already. somehow. though he was displeased with the tires, sayig that “this tire is pretty bad” over the radio.
yuki meanwhile was clearly having a problem because he had started going very very slowly. thought the pit wall said that he had no problems. this would later turn out to be false but we will indulge them for the time being.
franco was STILL ahead of alex albon on lap 6. STILL.
lando on lap 8 managed to push his way into points positions, overtaking ollie bearman for 10th. though this was where things were about to slow down for him because in front of him were alex, franco and fernando, who were all very close together and would be hard to get past.
george was back in bad luck hell as a plastic bag entered his airbox. will he ever catch a break.
on lap 11 nico hulkenberg finally caught up with ollie bearman and passed him for 11th.
and max’s car was not working. to potentially no one’s surprise. “i have zero bite in the car” he said. and this was probably true because checo was a whole 6.5 seconds ahead of him. insane gap.
several pit stops later that i will not detail out because we simply do not have the time, alex albon ended up in 4th and lando ended up in fifth. and oscar was about to get undercut by checo.
“mojo seems to be back for checo perez” harry said, correctly.
mojo was back for him indeed. and now he was right behind lando.
and if you will recall, according to mclaren themselves, priority at mclaren is the team first, then oscar, then lando. but oscar was ahead of lando. so what did mclaren do?
they asked lando do hold up perez, but not compromise his own race.
remever a long time ago when i said mclaren wouldn't have any internal drama this season? man how i was wrong.
lando managed to hold up perez for around a lap or two before he got past. this was crucial because this was during when oscar was in the pits.
thanks to lando and the power of the papaya rules teamwork, oscar ended up coming out in 4th, only .706s ahead of checo.
mclaren are working together everyone! mclaren are working together!
meanwhile, turns out that yuki did indeed have problems because he retired on lap 17 with a hole in his sidepod from the contact with lance on lap 1. this was now two races in a row where he had had to retire for reasons out of his control.
several more people pitted. and eventually charles was back out in front, oscar was in p2. until he wasn't. no, he didn't dnf. he overtook charles! he was in p1! he popped out of nowhere! nowhere being 2 car lengths back and just flooring it to spring around charles like a little silly slinky! karun called it a “good, fair and robust defense,” which sounds like its descibing notes in wine. but this was not wine. this was the baku gp. and we were only half done.
ollie bearman was defending against lewis hamilton, holding on tightly to 14th place.
charles was still behind oscar and he could not get past, despite the fact that he was still very much in spitting distance. “they are pushing like crazy or they have more grip than us” he said.
carlos got past both lando and alex albon and was up into 4th
this brought max up behind lando. max was on 11 lap old tires and lando was on 24 lap old tires. but lando still defended like hell and managed to hold onto sixth. max was 0.632 seconds behind lando on lap 25 when he said that “my brakes are not working.” this was hardly a surprise. max has hated the car since china.
also experiencing technical difficulties was sir lewis hamilton. he was stuck down in 14th and was first told to do “everything you can do to get the surface temp down” of the tires. he said “im trying” then several laps later on lap 29 he came on the radio to say “are you seeing how i have to drive this thing?” “yes,” bono, his engineer said. “quite effective though.”
max was still half a second behind lando. mclaren faked a pit stop call over the radio to get max to pit. he did not.
but, george russell did manage to pass him. which was “not good for max’s world champion aspirations.”
this was also when ted very bafflingly said that “if i had a sofa in the pit lane i would be jumping up and down on it” im not sure what that was in response to.
meanwhile, ollie was still holding off sir lewis hamilton. and charles was trying to get oscar to pit again by lying over the radio. it was not working.
lando did a pit stop finally and came out a whole 15 second behind max. he was hoping to catch max by the end of the race. but it might be tight. lets go last lap lando.
“lando, imagine andrea on your shoulder saying ‘zero wheel spin’ in every exit,” lando’s race engineer said. if you're confused, everyone else was too.
10 laps to go and here were the order of affairs:
oscar
+.449s charles +1.865s checo +2.989s carlos +16.530s george +1.909s max +11.535s lando +9.715s fernando +2.589s alex +2.451s nico +4.667s franco +1.590s lewis +1.261s ollie +1.791s pierre +9.205s daniel +23.919s esteban +.789s lance +3.862s valtteri +3.631s guanyu
lando was determined. he took fastest lap on lap 43 and was 8.8s behind max
at this point, the leaders were starting to lap the cars in the back. “the back markers are starting to come up,” checo’s engineer said to him. “its going to get messy.”
“hold onto your hats and if you don't have one go get one and hold onto it” harry said. harry would turn out to be correct.
we had the top 3 all running very close to eachother, that was oscar, charles and checo and “welcome to the party carlos sainz!” who was now 1.2 seconds behind checo in the four way battle for the lead.
definitely not leading was lance stroll, who retired on lap 47 with a brake problem.
oscar managed to pull ahead of charles by 1.5 seconds, finally knocking him out of DRS range. so now it was a three way battle for second. and charles had “no rear tires. no rear tires at all.”
and, just like i said he would, lando managed to pass max on lap 49. he was closing the gap slowly in the championship.
“verstappen’s day goes from bad to worse,” harry said. because lando still had fastest lap, so he would score 3 more points than max. which is important if lando wants to beat max in the championship (though i think hes still like 60 points behind)
meanwhile! franco managed to pass nico hulkenberg for 10th! he was in the points!!!! at his second race!!!
but this was short lived because there was a crash! a big smackeroo! between carlos and checo!! checo was mad, carlos didn't know what happened.
what happened was that carlos was trying to pass checo but checo did not move over. it was deemed an equal fault accident. both of them were utterly confused at what happened and apparently spent 20 minutes in the medical center being utterly lost and aparently saying that sometimes this sport sucks. and! contrary to what several people said! checo did not bang on carlos’s helmet after the crash.
the crash actually caused chef's dad to have a heart attack. he is stable now.
and well. this clip of george from the post qualifying interviews definitely didnt age well:
instagram
but! since we were a matter of a few laps from the end, this meant that the rest of the race was finished under a virtual safety car.
which meant
OSCAR PIASTRI WINS THE AZERBAIJAN GP
and george inherited p3!
and on his own merit too! no safety cars, no team orders, no weird shit!
“yes!” he whispered over the radio.
he almost fell getting out of the car, then gave us all the “one moment” hand gesture before properly celebrating.
instagram
he also got driver of the day!
(this was marginally better than george russell, who said over the radio “i cant get any rubber (to pick up on his tires) all im getting is leaves”)
gunther steiner also hosted the post race interviews. which was interesting.
george said that the most difficult part of the race was “driving full gas into a wall of carbon fiber on the penultimate lap…the vsc should have come out sooner”
charles bashed ferrari because they didn't do any high fuel runs in practice.
oscar was entirely pleased. “i managed to overtake and hold onto it for the next 35 laps..one of the better races of my career.” and honestly, oscar winning a race straight after mclaren basically announcing that he was their number 2 driver is nothing short of hilarious.
and! mclaren was now leading the constructors championship by 20 points! for the first time in ten years!!!!
the top three had a moment outside of the car that was filled with baffled:
and oscar's engineer tom got to stand on the podium with him. he usually takes a selfie with oscar after each race he podiums at, but he was too excited to so george took this picture for them
(george also aparently demomished oscar in a game of uno on the plane, immediately humbling him)
george also shielded himself from the champagne on the podium
the cooldown room reacted to the crash in a very straight forward manner:
instagram
and very quickly cause its midnight and the singapore gp starts in 8 hours, the post race, speed ran:
-mark webber told off laura winter for thinking that oscar didn't have good tire management
-alex albon was “super happy, that's a lot of points for us” (williams finished in 7th and 8th). he cut his own interview short when ollie bearman arrived, saying “I can go, im happy to go” and then waving comically.
-williams was so pleased with this result they blasted everyone with champagne. and they overtook alpine in the constructors championship! this was also their best race finish all season
-(and a quick note, if youre going to really blame logan for being that shit of a driver here, please remember that the car he was driving was several rounds of upgrades behind alex's pretty much the entire time he was driving it)
-ollie became the first driver to ever score points in his first two races for two different constructors because the double dnf pushed him up to 10th place. he said that there was not much difference between the haas and the ferrari, the ferrari was just red
-franco continued to charm everyone and flirt with the reporters.
-they interviewed george and lewis and the camera had to be adjusted for george's height. it was comical and resulted in my favorite edit so far of the season (sound on)
instagram
-lando looked pleased and happy for once. he said about holding off checo that “i didn't hold him up i just had to cool my tires a little.” he was delighted to be leading the constructors for the first time in ten years and he defended alex albon saying “i struggled to get past alex for a while, which is common, alex doesnt make mistakes.” he also ratted on max for going to fast during the VSC and said “i didn't complain, facts were stated.” and to sum it all up he said that “im executing things well, i’m very quick…i’m not going to be the happiest guy, but i am never the happiest guy….car is performing well everywhere…some red cars behind us seem to be our biggest competitors right now”
-by comparison george insulted all of pirelli. the tire people. “pretty infuriating that it (the pace) changes this so much….its black magic, people who make the tires don't understand the tires…..for 20 laps we had a car not worthy of points and for 20 laps we had a car fighting for victory and the only difference is the tires.”
-lewis was notably upset after the race and walked through the paddock with his helmet on, not wanting to talk to anyone. but he did talk to franco and ollie and congratulate them on a job well done defending against him and racing against him. franco even fangirled over this on his instagram.
-charles was clearly upset with ferrari. he was so upset he posted a thirst trap.
-and oscar. oscar was very happy this afternoon. and his mom was there! she doesnt usually come cause it scares her, but nicole was there today!
-mclaren celebrated with a hell of a lot of champagne. both oscar’s wina and lando’s insane recovery, and the fact that they were leading the championship. red bull have been dethroned, at least for now.
-there was so much champagne that lando took off his socks to spray it. all seems well at mclaren.
-at least one thing is for sure, oscar had a better time here this weekend than last year when he got food poisoning and only ate four pieces of toast
and with that. we head into singapore. quite literally as it is starting in a few hours. again, i apologixe about this post. its a little sad, but the next one will be better. pinkly promise.
see you all soon!!!
#not a tag#from saph#saph explains silly season 2024#im so sorry this is so late i am sooooo sorry aaaaaa#i will get my shit together#baku 2024#Instagram#Youtube
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Conquer
Part 2 of 5
Series Masterlist
Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)
Chapter Summary: It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.
Pairing: Loki x Female Reader
Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.
Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub. (see series masterlist for series warnings)
A/N: I realize that the GIF I'm using for this chapter is TVA!Loki, but the attitude is very much in keeping with this chapter, so I decided to forgo accuracy in favor of thirst. Also, you may be thinking "Part 2 of 5? I thought this was going to be 3 chapters!" Me too. Welcome to what it's like being in my brain: even I don't know what's going on here.
The wedding night isn’t the end of the sex, of course.
The immediate, sharp need for your first coupling is gone, but there’s a dull and persistent ache that keeps you coming back to his bed every night (and several times during the day). Loki is equally ravenous, if not more so.
While you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to fuck him, you still don’t like being the one to initiate sex. It sounds silly, but it feels like admitting to a vulnerability that you’re not prepared to acknowledge, let alone act on.
The problem is that your sex drive has skyrocketed since the wedding.
You’ve heard about this happening—the saying soulbonds are meant to be consummated, but some are more thorough than others didn’t come out of nowhere. You just didn’t think it would be a problem for you, especially once you found out who your soulmate was.
You were wrong about this, of course—you are constantly horny. Your mind is a cineplex of perversion, constantly playing memories of the times that he has fucked you, ways he might fuck you next, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his annoyingly perfect cock. It makes you want to run your brain through the washing machine, like a couple of Tide pods and an extra rinse cycle might fix this.
But the part that drives you crazy is that he always seems to know when you’re in these moods and he always manages to claim the upper hand. It is—like so many things with Loki—profoundly irritating.
It’s all physical—your conversations are limited to the mundane or the utterly filthy. It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.
You can feel his gaze caressing your body as you walk down the stairs to meet him. Your dress is gold and glittery, and hugs your curves while the slit sneaks just high enough that you know the fashion blogs will call it daring. You keep your eyes on your feet and your hand on the railing as you navigate the stairs in your heels. Normally, Loki would comment on that—something about how you needed proper education in comportment, you were a queen, queens don’t stare at their feet, people expected elegance, blah, blah, blah. Tonight, though, he’s silent as he takes you in, which you know means that he’s particularly enchanted by how you look. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to feel sexy and confident, to enjoy the fact that the most powerful man on the planet has been rendered speechless by how you look.
Are you ridiculously horny? Sure, but you’ve got it under control. You can hold out for an evening and you’re pretty sure Loki hasn’t figured it out. If he had, he almost certainly would have said something inappropriate when he offered you his arm. He’s probably going to be distracted by the gala anyway. Why had you ever doubted yourself?
When the two of you get into the limo, you remember why.
The moment the door shuts behind you, Loki is pulling you close, his hands cupping your breasts and then sliding down to your thighs while his lips latch on to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.
“What are you doing?” you ask, as though his intentions are in any way unclear.
“You need to come. I can smell you.” He’s hiking up the fabric of your dress.
Well. So much for him not noticing.
Your cunt clenches. “We’re in public.”
“Those windows are tinted and the partition is up.” His breath is warm on your neck as the fabric of your dress pools around your waist.
“I can still wait.”
“Oh, I don’t think you can.” His fingers slip between your legs (when did you spread your legs for him?), gently grazing the gusset of your underwear, which you know is embarrassingly wet. “Soaked already,” he breathes, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. “You need to come.”
“I-I c-can—I can wait until—oh fuck.”
He pushes the fabric of your underwear aside and lightly teases your clit with the tip of his finger.
“You can’t,” he rasps, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You’re such a greedy, needy little thing. Your cunt is insatiable.”
He presses his first three fingers together and rubs your clit in a big, broad circle that makes your back arch.
“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flexing against the seat. “Fuck, just like that.”
“I thought you said you could wait?” he says with that mocking lilt to his voice, the one that makes you simultaneously want to punch him in the face and also ride him hard and fast and a little rough.
“Shut up,” you grit out.
He laughs low in your ear. “Oh, you don’t mean that, I know you love it when I talk you through it.”
You hate that he’s right.
“You love hearing about how tight and wet you are, how hard I am for you.” He drops his voice lower. “How hard I’m going to fuck you.”
You can’t help the quiet moan that falls from your lips.
“Yes, you love it when I talk to you like this,” he purrs. “And I love hearing what an utterly filthy, wicked girl you are.”
You whimper, despite your best efforts to keep quiet.
“Oh, I like that little noise,” he says, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Let me hear you.”
“I hate you so much.”
You’ve said this to him before and like all the other times, he simply laughs. “Hate me all you like, darling, but you and I both know that you love what I do to you.”
You bite your lip and try to focus on the pleasure that’s rising in your hips.
“Has anyone ever made you come as hard as I do?” he muses, like he’s just making casual conversation. “From the way that you scream and beg for it, I imagine that there haven’t been very many that were capable. Your cunt has quite clearly been neglected.”
You’re going to ignore what he’s saying. That’s what you’re going to do. There’s no reason to listen to any of what he’s saying.
“The truth is that you need me, don’t you?” he says, nipping at your ear. “You need me because I know exactly what to do to sate your needy little cunt. I know exactly how to make you scream.”
You hate how close you are, hate how the impending rush of your orgasm has basically rendered you speechless, save for a few incoherent whimpers.
He brings his lips close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “What would those pitiful Midgardians say if they knew their queen was such a needy little slut?”
Instead of delivering a stern rebuke, you come hard. Incredibly hard—it is arguably one of the most intense orgasms he’s given you yet, blazing through your body with a ferocity that leaves you shaking in its wake.
And he notices.
“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purrs as he rubs you through the aftershocks. “I felt how hard you came, how utterly desperate you are for me to fuck you.”
“Loki, please,” you breathe.
He tugs at your underwear. “Take this off.”
Your first instinct is to challenge him, but the fabric is now uncomfortably damp and you desperately need him to fuck you, so you lift your hips and slide your underwear down and off your legs without any complaint. He takes it from you and sticks it in his pocket.
You expect to hear the clink of his belt buckle followed by his silky smooth voice ordering you to sink down on his unfairly perfect cock. Even though you’ve just come, you want more. You always do with him.
(You decide not to think too much about that last part).
Instead, though, he smooths his hair and settles back into his seat, looking out the window. After a moment, you clear your throat expectantly.
He glances at you, utterly casual. “What is it?”
Your eyes narrow. He’s playing dumb and you both know it.
“You made me take off my underwear,” you say, biting back a sharper reply.
“I did.”
“So…fuck me.”
He gives an amused little chuckle that makes your palm itch to slap him. “Darling, we’re in public, that would be unseemly.”
You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You’re full of it.”
His gaze turns smoldering and stern. “And if you want to be full of my cock later tonight, you’ll change your attitude.”
You’re not sure if it’s the absence of underwear that makes you feel more aroused than usual or if he’s awakened some latent perversion you were previously unaware of. Possibly, it’s both.
Your breath hitches and he smiles like he knows he has the upper hand.
“Do you want that?” he says. “Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt with my big cock?”
You’re so far gone that you find yourself nodding before the thought of being contrary can even cross your mind.
“Well, then,” he says, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his tuxedo jacket, “you’re going to have to earn it.”
You huff out an irritated sigh and yank the skirt of your dress back down. “You’re an ass,” you say with a scowl.
“And you’re going to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t be coming at all.”
You stare at him, lips parted in the start of a complaint.
“And however much your pretty cunt is aching right now, I imagine it will be twice as worse tomorrow with no release,” he says. “If I’m feeling generous, of course. I could always make you wait longer.”
You close your mouth, biting back the urge to scowl.
He smirks. “That’s my good girl.”
Your cunt throbs. By the end of the night, your thighs will surely be sticky with your own arousal.
“This is unfair,” you grumble, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.
“Behave,” he says as you approach a rather impressive set of gates. “We’re almost there.”
A flick of his wrist sends seidr racing along your skin, smoothing your hair, straightening your dress, and fixing the smudge of lipstick at the corner of your mouth.
Your underwear remains in his pocket.
You have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.
The Minister for Finance is giving a presentation. You’re not entirely sure that you would have been able to follow it under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Loki’s hand up your dress.
The two of you are seated at your own table—it’s one of the more stupid formalities he insists on, though you suppose it’s advantageous in this instance. His actions are obscured by the table and tablecloth and probably a little magic, but your heart is still racing with the thrill of it. His movements have been slow and deliberate, and the result is that he’s effectively been edging you for the duration of this forty-five minute presentation.
It feels incredible; it’s agony. You love it; you hate it.
“You’re being a very good girl,” Loki murmurs to you at one point and that alone nearly sends you over the edge.
“You’re a jackass,” you whisper back to him.
He chuckles. “If you want me to let you come once we get home, I’d suggest changing your tone, my love.”
You resist the urge to scowl, but only barely. “You made me come in the limo over here because you said I couldn’t wait,” you point out. “What happened to that philosophy?”
“It was supplanted by a desire to see what happens when I tease you for several hours.” A wicked smile curls at his lips. “Besides, I love how tight and desperate your cunt feels when I make you beg for me.”
You always come hardest when he makes you beg for him. You’d never admit it, though.
“I’d think you’d be more concerned about getting caught,” you say. “What do you think that would do to your image?”
“Oh, I think it would do wonders for my image,” he says. “Attentively tending to my wife’s needs despite potential social embarrassment? It’s rather feminist of me, don’t you think?”
“Okay, first of all, that is not what femini—” Your voice cuts out as he rolls his finger in a particularly devastating circle.
“What was that, my love?” he asks, voice thick with faux concern, his true intent easily betrayed by his shit eating grin. “You seem distracted.”
You’re not entirely sure if you’re tensing your muscles in anticipation of an orgasm or in an effort to stave it off. “You’re awful.”
His voice drops. “But I’m making you feel so very good, aren’t I?”
You take a deep breath, trying to soothe the tightening knot in your belly, even as your body is begging you to rush toward it.
“Aren’t I?” His tone turns stern and you hear the implied order loud and clear.
“Yes,” you bite out.
“Yes what?”
You swallow. You’re starting to get close, closer than he’s let you get so far. “Yes, you’re making me feel good.”
He smirks. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”
You nod, taking another deep breath through your nose. Keep it together.
“I could let you come,” he muses. “Everyone’s watching the presentation. You could be quiet, couldn’t you?” His pace increases just slightly, enough for you to start to feel the tempting, shimmery tendrils of release. “Do you want that, lovely?”
It’s not a good idea, but you nod anyway.
“I had no idea you were so filthy.” His fingers are massaging your clit more firmly and you bite back a gasp because you know it won’t be long. You’re trying to keep a straight face, but you’re struggling. You are so deliciously close.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
But just as you’re about to start to tip over the edge, Loki’s hand retreats and the building pressure in your hips diminishes back to that steady, throbbing ache just as the Minister for Finance concludes his presentation.
Loki is smirking like he expected this. “Ah. Unfortunate timing.”
You may kill him.
“You did that on purpose, you ass,” you hiss at him.
“Oh, you’ll thank me for it later,” he says, his voice dropping low.
You scowl at him, though you suspect he’s probably right.
You get a slight reprieve during dinner, but only in the sense that Loki’s hand is no longer up your dress. Your aching arousal remains, coating the inside of your thighs. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsing in your clit, the muscles of your cunt aching as they clench repeatedly around nothing.
While his hand is no longer up your dress, Loki continues to be as unhelpful as possible.
“Shall I let you unravel on my tongue?” he murmurs to you during the main course. “Or do you need my cock first?”
“I think you need to stop talking,” you say as evenly as you can muster.
“Whatever for?” he asks with the sort of feigned innocence that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Surely you’re not concerned that I’m going to make you come simply by telling you what I want to do to you.”
You take a slow sip of your water.
“Or perhaps that idea appeals to you?” he asks, dropping his voice even lower. “Do you want me to make you come in front of all of these people?”
There’s something about the idea that’s admittedly appealing in a taboo sort of way, though you aren’t quite sure you actually want to pursue it or if you’re just so desperate that even objectively bad ideas sound good.
“Truly, I doubt you could keep quiet,” he says. “You and I both know how much you like to scream for me and I’ve been teasing you for what, three hours now? But perhaps that’s what you want. You were about to come for me earlier. Perhaps you want them all to know what a needy little sl—ah, Stefan! So good to see you again.”
Loki has seamlessly directed his attention to the Swedish official who has approached your table. His ability to be charming and personable is irritating, particularly when he’s often been uttering absolute filth to you mere seconds before. Meanwhile, your brain has completely short circuited—your thoughts stopped being anywhere near coherent when he started touching you under the table during that presentation and your cunt is pulsing. You manage a polite smile and a pleasantly vague expression that you hope hides the fact that all you can think about is Loki throwing you down on the table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight and you’ve screamed yourself hoarse.
“You conducted yourself quite well,” Loki says softly once the man leaves. “I’d never have guessed that you’re hiding such a needy, sloppy cunt under that dress.”
You take a deep breath. “What’s to stop me from slipping off somewhere and taking care of things myself?”
His eyes flash a little dangerously and you hate how much it thrills you. “If you do that, I’ll see to it that you don’t come for a week. At least.”
You are irritated with him, certainly, but you are far more irritated with yourself for being even remotely aroused by his words.
“You’re insufferable,” you hiss instead.
Loki smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’ll see how you feel a few hours from now when I’m buried in your tight cunt.” His breath ghosts over your ear and it takes everything in you not to shiver. “I suspect I’ll find you much more agreeable. You always are when you need to be fucked.” His voice drops even lower. “And I know how much you need it.”
Your legs are shaking and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening.
You almost come during the concert.
It was probably easier for them to set up the orchestra on the same stage as the presentation, but it means that you’re still sitting at the same table as before, which gives Loki more than enough cover to continue touching you. His hand is creeping back up your dress before the oboe even plays the tuning note and while he’s still going slowly, it’s been four and a half hours and your body is aching for release in a way you have rarely felt.
His fingertip skates across your clit just a little too quickly and firmly and suddenly, you’re poised right on the edge. One more stroke of his fingers, just one more slight movement and you’ll come.
It’s a split second decision, so quick you can scarcely think twice about it. You desperately want to come, but even though you almost let it happen earlier, you know that a stifled public orgasm isn’t really what you want. You want him to hear you scream—you don’t want to hold back.
And you want to be good for him. You want him to reward you for being good, you want to be his good girl—
You shake your head to dismiss that thought and grab his wrist in a silent warning. Quickly, he moves his hand away, sliding it to your knee. Your cunt shudders and aches, the pulsing throb of your arousal even stronger than before.
He brushes his lips against your ear. “Oh, very good, darling. You’ll be rewarded for that.”
“You could reward me now and take me home,” you say pointedly, though it would probably be more effective if your voice wasn’t so shaky.
He chuckles, draping his arm around your shoulders. Every so often, you’ve seen a candid photo of the two of you in People or one of the other celebrity magazines and you’re always taken aback by how normal you look. You imagine that it would be the same if someone were to take a photo right now—you’d look like just another couple cuddling and canoodling instead of…whatever it is you actually are. Soulmates who hate each other but fuck like it’s their job and the rent is due? There’s no easy way to classify your relationship, which you suppose is for the best: this is not the sort of thing that should be common enough to have its own word.
“We still have quite a bit to go.” He brings his index finger—the same one that had just been up your dress—up to his lips and closes his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. “Norns, I can taste how desperate you are.”
You cross your legs in the hope that it will alleviate the pulsing ache between your thighs (it doesn’t). “You’re not helping.”
“Of course I’m not,” he says. “I told you, I want you begging for me by the end of the night.”
“How have I not already exceeded that threshold?”
He smirks. “I like to be thorough.”
Five minutes later, his hand is back between your thighs.
“Let’s try that again,” he murmurs. “Do you think you’ll be able to resist a second time?”
Somehow, you do—and two more times after that. By the end of the concert, your heart is pounding, your legs feel like rubber, your cunt is dripping, and you’d easily sell your soul for an orgasm.
“You’re doing so well, darling,” says Loki. He’s been full of praise and filthy promises and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.
“Can we please go home?”
He chuckles. “Of course not, that would be rude.”
“I have a hard time believing you’re concerned about rudeness, considering where your hands have been this evening,” you say with a pointed look.
“You wound me.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it grudgingly, your legs wobbling slightly. “Now. Come help me charm the Minister for Defense. I need him to be much more cooperative about sharing intelligence.”
The only good thing about schmoozing with Swedish officials is that Loki can’t have his hand up your dress while doing so. Even so, he still finds ways to be constantly touching you—a hand on your lower back, your elbow, your shoulder, your waist. These things shouldn’t be erotic, but he somehow manages to make them so. Every brush of his fingers against your bare skin is agony: you are burning for him.
You watch the clock tick through another hour and a half while trying not to let anyone on to the fact that you’re keen to leave. Time feels like it’s dragging—even when the event officially ends, it still takes another thirty-seven minutes for you to say your farewells and make your way out to the front where your limo is waiting.
Your legs are shaking as Loki helps you into the limo. He slides into the seat next to you and you find yourself leaning into him, unable to resist any longer.
The door shuts.
“Loki—” you start to say.
“When we get home,” he says promptly.
“You can’t possibly—”
“Oh, I can.” He pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been hard for you all evening,” he purrs in your ear, settling you so that the thick column of his cock presses hard against your ass. “Do you know how many times I nearly dragged you off to some empty room to take you up against the wall?” He brings his mouth down against your neck, teeth pressing against your skin just hard enough to almost hurt. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access, guiding his hands to your spread thighs.
“Do you know why I didn’t?” he murmurs against your skin.
“Because you make terrible choices?” you say before you can think it through.
His low laugh rumbles deliciously against your throat. “No.” His hands slip underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skating along the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your hips roll forward almost unconsciously, your breath hitching.
“I didn’t because I know that you need to scream for me,” he says. “Just as much as I need to hear you.” His fingertip grazes your slit. “And you know that we can’t do that properly in the car.” His finger strokes your clit and you moan. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, tracing a slow circle over the sensitive skin. “I don’t think that I’ve ever made you this wet.”
“Loki—”
“I’m not giving you permission to come yet,” he murmurs, adding just a little more pressure. “I need you to be good for just a little longer.”
You let out a whine that you’re not at all proud of as he moves his hand away to gently massage your inner thighs. “Loki, please.”
“Be good.” His voice promises pleasure and punishment and everything in between and you feel drunk with desire.
“I’ve been so good,” you say, bringing his hand back to your cunt. “Please just let me come.”
“When we get home.”
“Just once. Please.”
He chuckles and brings his lips up to your ear. “You know that I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You know I always take care of your needy cunt. I always make you come. You just need to wait a little longer.”
“I need to come now.”
“Think about how good it’s going to feel if you wait just a little longer.”
“It would feel good now.”
“It will feel even better in our bed.” He rolls his fingers in a slow circle on your clit. “You know it will.”
You whimper, rolling your hips with his hand.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this desperate,” he says. “I’m rather partial to it.”
“Don’t get used to it,” you grumble.
“Oh, I’d advise you watch your tone, darling,” he says low in your ear, sliding a finger inside you, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit. “I don’t want to deny you, but I may have to if you keep being so pert.”
As if to make a point, he slides another finger inside of you and you find yourself once again on the edge. You grab his wrist, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to hold back the rising tide within you.
“Oh, good fucking girl,” he growls and the pride in his voice makes your cunt clench hard on his retreating fingers. “You want to come so badly, but you’re being so good waiting for my permission.”
“God, this had better be worth it,” you say as you wait for the pulsing ache between your thighs to recede.
“It will be,” he murmurs against your neck. “You know it will be.” He shifts you in his lap so you face him and guides your hand to his cock. “Do you feel how hard you’ve made me? I’m aching for you.”
You rub his shaft, working your way up to catch the tab of his zipper between your fingers. He looks at you, eyes hungry, a smirk curling at his lips.
Slowly, you pull down the zipper.
“Oh you wicked thing,” he purrs, a low groan escaping him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and slowly begin stroking him. He’s rock hard and throbbing, and your hand quickly grows slick with his precome.
You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, flicking your tongue against his earlobe.
He chuckles. “Are you trying to flip the tables on me, darling?”
You’re a little miffed that he figured that out so quickly. “Would that be so bad if I was?”
He laughs again. “You’re adorable.” He slides a hand along your inner thigh and back under your dress. “But I think we both know who’s really in charge here.”
Even the possibility of his hand touching your cunt has your breath quickening and your hand faltering in its rhythm on his cock.
You’re not about to admit defeat, though.
“Don’t you want to fuck me?” you say, trying to keep the quaver out of your voice. You give his cock a few long, indulgent strokes. “We’re nearly there already. All I’d need to do is move a little closer.”
He chuckles, his hand sliding up to lightly tease your folds. “I would have made you warm my cock the whole ride back,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “but I don’t think you could have done it without coming. You’re too sensitive.”
Your lips part like you have something to say, but all rational thought and the entirety of the English language has fled your brain and even more arousal is pooling between your legs.
Loki smirks like he knows all of this and he briefly strokes you from your entrance to your clit before withdrawing. “Ah, we’re nearly home,” he says, moving your hand away and patting your thigh before tucking himself back into his trousers. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, shall we?”
You climb off his lap and straighten your dress, but don’t even bother trying to fix your hair or makeup. You stumble out of the car a minute later, hoping that you don’t look like you’ve spent the entire evening poised on the brink of orgasm.
Loki, of course, is annoyingly put together. He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you forward.
“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get to our rooms,” he says under his breath as you make your way into the foyer.
“That had better be a promise,” you say.
“I thought we established that I’m the one who gives you orders—”
“We established nothing—”
One of his advisors—Sigurd, the same one who spoke to you in the hotel when he found you—is approaching Loki at a brisk clip.
“Your majesty—”
Loki barely takes his eyes off of you. “Later,” he says, waving a hand in Sigurd’s direction.
“Sire, it’s urgent.”
Your heart sinks. Loki stops and turns to Sigurd, eyes sharp, mouth pulled into a firm line. “It had better be.”
Despite the intensity of Loki’s expression, Sigurd looks unbothered and remarkably calm. “We received new intelligence on the matter you inquired about earlier, your majesty.”
Loki’s expression darkens and you realize with a sinking sensation that he has to go deal with whatever this is. “A moment,” he says to Sigurd before turning to you.
He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him. “Go to our rooms,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
You nod and he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be good for me.”
A thrill runs through you.
By the time you get back to your rooms, though, you’re a little annoyed. He’s been teasing you for hours and when you finally get home, he suddenly has another work thing?
It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.
Though admittedly, he did look pretty surprised and annoyed by Sigurd’s sudden appearance. It’s probably not fair to blame him for that.
Probably.
You take your time getting undressed, mainly in the hope that it will somehow hasten his return or trick you into thinking time is passing quickly. Not that you’re looking forward to him returning for any reason other than sex. You still hate him—you just really need him to fuck you. That’s all it is.
You hesitate for a long time over the collection of silk nightgowns in your wardrobe. Should you put something on? Should you just wait naked on the bed? A silky green number catches your eye. He’d probably like that. He’s pretty predictable when it comes to that sort of thing—put on his colors and he goes feral. With any luck you won’t be wearing it for very long, but you might as well do what you can to facilitate that outcome.
You contemplate underwear and decide there’s little point, given that tonight’s set is still tucked into his pocket.
You situate yourself in the middle of your bed and try not to think about your throbbing cunt. It would be so easy to get yourself off, but you know that it won’t be as good.
You need him.
You try to ignore the thought. It’s just physical. That’s all it is. You’re on edge from being teased all evening. It doesn’t mean anything.
You wait.
It’s late when you finally hear the door click open, followed by the tap of his dress shoes on the floor.
You sit up in bed, your eyes roving greedily over him. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is draped around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled up. You are loath to admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.
Before you can even get any words out, he’s striding across the room, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. His clothes disappear the second he hits the bed, followed swiftly by your nightgown. Seconds later, he’s on top of you, mouth seeking yours, cock pressing insistently against your stomach. Your hands are just as greedy, skimming up his back and combing through his hair.
“Have you been good for me?” he murmurs as he nudges your thighs apart.
“Yes.”
“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, his voice stern.
“No,” you say.
He knows you’re not lying and the hungry smile he gives you almost makes it all feel worth it. “Good girl,” he growls. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”
“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drags his cock through your slickness. “Please.”
He chuckles as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I know, darling, I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Your cunt is so slick and sensitive from his hours of teasing that just the act of him sliding inside of you feels like you’ve reached your own personal nirvana.
“Oh, fuck.” Your voice comes out in a whimper and your legs tighten around his waist to hold him in place because he feels so overwhelmingly good.
Loki lets out a low groan as he eases inside you, catching his lower lip between his teeth as his brow furrows. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you as he starts to move. His first thrust is slow but even so, it draws a whimper from your throat. He’s always felt good, but this is transcendent.
“Oh god, please don’t stop,” you gasp.
“I won’t, my love.” His voice is tender as he moves with an aching, slow precision. “Not until you’ve had your fill.”
For the first time this evening, you let down your guard. Every time he’s touched you tonight—even before the gala in the limo—you’ve had to hold back to some degree. You haven’t been able to give into it, to let yourself be completely unbound and unguarded. But now when he’s moving inside of you, you have the freedom to just be and feel and it’s exquisite. Every thrust of his hips, every reverent caress of his hands, every sigh or groan is an opportunity to discover a new kind of heaven.
“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between your bodies to rub your clit. “Even with my fingers playing with your pretty cunt under the table, you looked every inch a queen. My queen.”
He’s never talked to you like this before and it makes your body sing. You arch, rolling your hips with him as the building wave inside you rises impossibly high, as though every orgasm you almost had this evening is starting to arrive all at once. The tension in your hips is equally fantastic and unbearable, a supernova of sensation that may destroy and remake you all at once.
“Filthy girl, I can tell you’re getting close,” he purrs, tilting his hips so he hits the spot that makes you tremble. “You act so prim and proper in public, but it takes so very little to turn you into my perfect little slut when I get you alone.”
You are approaching the peak, the whirling center of the storm building inside you. “Loki—please, I can’t, I’m gonna—”
“That’s it, darling. Soak my cock like a good girl.”
You always come the hardest when he’s inside you and this is no exception. The pressure in your hips is suddenly and spectacularly ablaze with a shimmering euphoria that draws a raw and primal moan deep from inside your chest. You are a fountain of sparks, all the tension and desire of the evening finally reaching its apex. You have yearned for this all night and the resulting blaze is spectacular.
His pace is still slow, but Loki’s eyes are wild and you get the sense that his composure is hanging by a thread. Though his eyes occasionally flutter shut as your cunt convulses around him, his gaze is locked on you in a kind of wonder.
“Do you have any idea how good you feel when you come on my cock?” he rasps.
Even in the throes of utter bliss, you need to hear his voice. “Tell me.”
“I would create entire worlds and walk through the fires of their destruction just to feel you come.”
You shudder out a sigh. “More.”
He picks up his pace just slightly. “I would flatten mountains and raise valleys and reverse the currents.”
“More.”
He’s hitting that aching spot inside you again and the rolling tremors of the aftershocks are starting to coalesce into another building wave. You moan and his hand moves back to your clit, slick fingers pressing and rolling in just the way you need.
His eyes shine, bright with lust as his hips and fingers work diligently to unravel you again. “I would take down the stars and bring the heavens to the earth…”
His words are making you dizzy and his movements are coaxing the pressure inside of you into a cyclone that you know is going to take you down.
“Loki, please.” These are the only words you know because your entire world is him moving inside of you, inevitable as the sunrise, the architect of the heavenly destruction and renewal that is building and building in your hips.
He shifts so his weight is entirely on his elbows, bringing his lips up against your ear so you don’t miss a single word. “I would lay my crown at your feet and forsake my name…just to feel you come on my cock.”
The coil in your hips snaps and unfurls into a starry, sparkling oblivion that has you crying out his name over and over like he’s your ending and beginning, the center of your universe. Your eyes are shut against the onslaught of intense sensation, but you can feel him reaching the blissful height he’d been speaking of. He groans and slurs out a few incoherent oaths before succumbing to you and filling your pulsing cunt with his hot release.
His mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he means it as he slows to a halt. You lie together for a long moment, hearts beating wildly against each other.
This felt different than other times. There was an intensity there that had nothing to do with the sex. You don’t know what that means, other than it’s definitely not any kind of feelings for him. It must be something else. You’re certain it’s something else.
“I didn’t realize I’d be called away upon our return.”
You’re so distracted by your thoughts that the sound of his voice startles you slightly.
“Oh, um, yeah, I figured…it seemed unexpected,” you say.
He lifts his head to look at you, green eyes intent. “Trust that there are very few things that could have pulled me away from you in that moment.”
He’s being sincere. It’s not what you expect and that scares you a little, though you can’t quite articulate why. The idea that he would care whether you thought he’d intentionally extended your wait hadn’t even occurred to you. You don’t really know this side of him.
“So, it wasn’t like…making a proclamation designating June National Peanut Butter Month.” You know you’re deflecting, but you don’t know what else to do.
He frowns. “That can’t possibly be a real thing.”
You shrug. “It might be. Lots of governments do stuff like that. Maybe you should consider it.”
His smile is slight, but brief as he stretches and slowly eases out of you. “I will leave that to others.”
There’s a beat of quiet and you suddenly find yourself desperate to fill the silence. “What did they need to talk to you about?”
He looks at you sharply and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Loath as you are to admit it, this conversation has fostered a flicker of warmth between you, a fact you only notice now because of its sudden absence.
“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says as he rolls off of you. It’s not unkind, but it’s also not warm, and the discussion is clearly closed.
Part of you mourns the loss of that little spark of closeness, but a larger, louder part is intent on pretending it never existed in the first place.
“Suit yourself.”
You’re annoyed and you roll off the bed and go about your evening routine with a little more clattering and stomping than is strictly necessary. There’s a lump in your throat that you don’t understand and you’re full of feelings you can’t define. You eventually settle on the bed with your back facing him, glaring at the wall like he can see you.
But then he reaches for you in the darkness, his arms winding around your waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of your neck as he pulls you to his chest. And instead of reading him the riot act, you let him hold you and let yourself relax into his embrace, fingers twining around his. You sleep better like this, you tell yourself. That’s the only reason you’re allowing it. It’s nothing to do with him.
You’ve told yourself that every night since your wedding and every night, it gets a little more difficult to believe.
Next chapter coming soon
#loki smut#loki x reader smut#loki x reader#loki x female reader#loki laufeyson smut#loki x female reader smut#loki fanfiction#conquer
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Post ending / rescue AU / recovering Curly is everything to me, so I’m making a list of other people’s posts that feature him. (The links will connect to a reblog of them in case anything ever happens to the original post)
If anyone ever see’s posts like these ones, PLEASE tag me in a reblog!! All posts are welcome, not just art!
Please note that I don’t decide what to add to this list based on shipping, opinions on the metaphors in the game, the accuracy of burn scars, the morality of Curly, or anything else that causes discourse in the fandom. I just add any posts that I come across that include Curly recovering from his injuries in any way. Prosthetics, wheelchair, wig, crutches, It just needs to have him in better shape than when he first got injured.
No NSFW
(Also this post is edited to add new ones when I find them)
Rehabilitated Curly
Party with no Jimmy
Stand around in medbay party (Idk if this counts, but he has prosthetics so I'm saying it does)
Happy abortion!
Post-ending speculation (text)
20 years later (I AM NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THIS WITH MY MERE MORTAL EYES)
ANYA’S GRADUATION DAY
Post ending
Rescue/Recovery AU
My own post! (text)
Aftermath Curly
Good ending
Best way to approach captain’s disability?
A little sketch
They care
“I wouldn’t want to frighten her”
Anya doesn’t quite overdose
They’re safe
Guys rate my fanart
WWI face prosthetics
Less fucked up Curly AU
Fix-it type AU
Silly recovering time
Curly got some gifts for his b-day
Imagine Curly survived (twitter)
Curly with a service dog
I’m not a dog and you’re not a mare
Drawing the dentalcare crew (does this count?)
The quality will not be questioned
Fix-it AU
Want to make Curly some cool new mechanical hands so he can strangle Jimmy
One can dream
He’s got a wig now
Happy ending where they all survive (devianart)
It hurt my heart (twitter)
God forbid I get sick (translated?)
This might be controversial but… (text)
Let’s get you out of the house!
Cyberpunk AU
Cartoons with breakfast
Old-school surgeries (text)
Post-ending fic prompt (text)
Post-rescue AU curlyana
Post-rescue curlyana part two
Why is this goddamn white boy so hard to draw?
Captain stop infodumping the baby
Maybe never forgive
Draw Captain Curly having a prosthetic limb
Curly from Mouthwashing (good ending)
This is how I imagine Curly post OP
whats the worse fate, whatd be better for the tulpar crew
Wip
🐈
Mouthwashing AU (Reddit)
Curly if he survives (Reddit)
My own art
I’ll give him smoochies, prosthetics, and skin grafts
Art dump time✨
Hoppin on da trendin train
The crew built curly a mechanical hand
How to give Captain Curly a voice (idk if this technically counts, but it’s a disability aid so I will)
Doodle of the Tulpar crew post-rescue!
New hyperfixation just dropped
Hi Tumblr. Funny seeing you here
Another rehabilitated Curly
Who up washing they mouth rn
Don’t use the dog buttons (text)
Haunted part one and two
Prosthetics
AU were someone saves them
Mouthwashing doodles
A New Ladder-Reader x Curly (I’ll add the original art videos when I can) (also I didnt read it. if someone did read it, please let me know if it’s SFW)
I know he always have his headphones on
More rehabilitated Curly✨
You guys like this right
Anya, what’s it like working as a medic on a spaceship?
This is how we can still get the good ending
“I’m sorry Anya”
More cringe mouthwashing art be upon thee
Curly’s happy (and recovering) ending
Writing an AU of mouthwashing where the crew survives
Most people seem to be giving him prosthetics…
Doing a bit of study
2
Ladonb Kokosa (TikTok account, LOTS of great videos )
Giving the mouthwashing characters what they deserve (TikTok)
Zest for life
Edit: I am no longer seeking out these posts, and new ones will only be added if I’m tagged or such
#mouthwashing#mouthwashing AU#Captain Curly#recovered Curly#healing curly#healing curly mouthwashing#mouthwashing curly#curly mouthwashing#recovering curly#recovering curly mouthwashing
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ISATOBER Day 31 - I promise
Isatober round up thoughts below!
🎃 Happy Halloween! 👻
It’s arrived - the final day of Inktober 2024! And I have a couple of things to say to close out so let’s go!
First off, and most importantly, a huge thank you to @darlnyan who created the Isatober prompts I’ve been following this year - they’ve been great all the way through - I don’t think I would’ve had half as much fun with any other set of prompts! Go check them out and follow them if you haven’t yet!
A second huge thank you, though it kinda goes without saying, to the creator of Isat @insertdisc5 ! Who made a game so amazing that I’ve spent an entire month making fanart for it every single day - and my enthusiasm still hasn’t wavered in the slightest! Isat has inspired me more than anything has in a WHILE - both to create fanart and to work on my own original projects. Also! it did kinda revive my tumblr from the dead! Funny how that happens!
Third! I wanted to congratulate everyone else who participated in Isatober this year, because I’ve been checking this tag every day and you are all INSANE! Genuinely incredible! Pat yourselves on the back because you deserve it! Seeing the different ways everyone has interpreted these prompts has been the best part of the whole challenge for me, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what everyone puts out next!
And finally thank you to everyone who has left notes on any of my Isatober drawings this month. I genuinely never expected this many people would enjoy my silly fanart and I’ve got so much encouragement from the community! You’re all amazing 💖
And with that!
I think it’s time to give Sif a rest (for a little while anyway). I am hoping to spruce up a few of my unfinished Isatober pieces as well as finish some unseen WIPs next - so keep an eye out for those!
Enjoy the rest of the season everyone, and look foreword to Inktober 2025!
#isatober#isatober2024#in stars and time#isat#inktober#inktober 2024#isat fanart#isat siffrin#artists on tumblr#isat loop#isat odile#isat bonnie#isat isabeau#isat mirabelle
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rafayel: an artist's nails
summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.
tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish
wc: 1.0k | (ao3)
a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.
“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.
“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.
“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.
“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”
Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”
“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”
The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”
An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“
“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”
The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?
You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.
“Okay—Raf—Mm!”
He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.
“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.
Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.
“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”
…
No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.
“Ah, you’re back.”
Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”
You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.
“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”
Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.
“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”
Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.
Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.
He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”
You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”
“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.
You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”
Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.
#love and deepspace#rafayel#lnds rafayel#lads rafayel#love and deepspace rafayel#rafayel love and deepspace#lnds x reader#lads x you#lads imagine#love and deepspace imagines#lads fic#lnds fanfic#love and deepspace scenarios#lads scenarios#grandisknight fics#gklnd
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18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]
Summary:
“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”
You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”
“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”
The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.
Like a moth to a flame, you follow.
Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC
Word Count: 11,734
Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')
Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!
Masterlist
Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed
It burns.
The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.
Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.
It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—
Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.
One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.
Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.
What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.
The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.
You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.
The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.
The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.
A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.
“Caleb…”
“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.
Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.
“What was that for?”
“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.
Like always, he watches. You look away.
“Thirsty.”
“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?
“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“
“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.
“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.
You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.
When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.
Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.
From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.
He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.
It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.
“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.
“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.
“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.
“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?
“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.
“I… know that. It’s just….”
A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.
“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”
You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.
“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”
You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”
“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”
The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.
You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.
Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.
Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.
“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.
“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.
“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”
“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”
“Demands?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.
“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?
“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.
“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.
“I see.”
Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.
“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.
“I missed you.”
Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.
The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.
“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.
“You tell other people about me?”
“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.
“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”
“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.
“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.
“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.
“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.
Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.
“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.
“Yeah… I… I guess—“
“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.
Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.
“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.
You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.
“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.
They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.
“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.
“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”
This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.
This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.
“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”
Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.
Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.
He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.
“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.
It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.
Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.
You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.
“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.
But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.
Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”
You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.
“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.
“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.
“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”
“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.
Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.
“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.
“Never?”
“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it — innocently enough. His breath stutters.
Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.
“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.
“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.
“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.
“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”
You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.
“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.
“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”
Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.
“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”
And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.
You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.
“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.
The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”
“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.
Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”
“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.
It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.
Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.
“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.
“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.
“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”
The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.
“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.
“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.
Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.
“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.
“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.
“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.
“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.
“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.
Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.
“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.
“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.
“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.
It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.
Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.
“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.
You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.
“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”
“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.
He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.
Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.
“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.
And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.
“I told you—“
“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”
You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.
“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.
“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”
And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.
“Finish what you started.”
Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.
“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.
It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.
“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.
“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.
“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.
He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.
“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.
“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.
“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.
“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.
“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.
“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”
“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.
“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.
“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”
Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.
“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.
That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.
It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.
“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.
“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.
“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”
“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.
“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.
“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.
“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.
“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.
“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”
“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.
“You have a list?”
“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.
Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?
“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.
You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.
“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”
“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.
“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”
You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.
“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”
“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.
You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.
Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.
It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.
—
Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed
#love and deepspace#caleb#caleb x reader#caleb x mc#gender neutral reader#caleb love and deepspace#lads#lnds#love and deepspace smut#xia yizhou#xia yizhou x reader
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hey mods!!! I loveeee your taste in fics, you awesome ppl always have amazing ones on hand!! I was wondering if you knew any fics where Aziraphale and Crowley are just absolutely silly and ridiculous lol, it’s soo cute!! Thx for all the fics, and have a nice dayyy
Hi! You might like to check out our #humour, #humor, and #crack tags for silly fics. Here are some more silly ones for you...
You're Telling Me a Shrimp Fried This Rice? by absolutely_obsessed (G)
"A 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘱?" "Oh, yes." "The little..." Crowley lifted his hand up and held his pointed finger and thumb about three inches apart, "little buggers in the ocean?" "The very same," Aziraphale confirmed. "𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 that?" "Quite right, my dear." "𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺?" Crowley asked, 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 baffled. "Really."
Fighting A Duck For My Pants And Winning by ineffablefool (T)
"Missed connection. You were the angel sitting on this park bench, I was the demon fighting a duck for my pants and losing. If you saw me, please call me. (PS. I got them back - let’s hang out!)" (Based on a Tumblr prompt. Human!Crowley is a disaster, but fortunately the very pretty angel he disaster'd in front of appears to think that's endearing.)
Dear Raphael by asideofourown (T)
The thing was, even after Crowley Fell, Heaven forgot to delete his login to their system. The only half interesting thing he had ever found in Heaven’s archives was their newspaper, even though it was a dreadfully dull rag. But even then, Crowley was never inspired to truly interfere with the Celestial Observer’s contents until the late 1600s, when advice columns were invented on Earth. As always, brilliant inspiration struck him like… like whatever inspiration strikes like. So Crowley resolved to meddle, just as a side project. Maybe if he got enough angels heated at each other, he could report it as a victory to Hell. Anyway, Dagon had always liked gossip, and the Celestial Observer’s new advice column was a ready source of that. It was pure genius. [Crowley, demon of Hell, becomes Heaven's foremost advice columnist]
"And I Would Never Say 'Pickle'!" by SanSanFanFan (G)
What if they hadn't been able to switch back again?
You Know the Answer (So Scream It Out Loud) by his_infinitevariety (G)
“Between us we have 12,000 years’ first-hand knowledge of all of human history. I think we can manage a few silly quiz shows.” This is apparently what happens when Crowley convinces Aziraphale to watch a bunch of British quiz shows with him.
Haunt Your Own House, Thank You by musegnome (E)
The line had at last dwindled to almost nothing when Aziraphale looked up with his best plastic customer-service smile and saw sunglasses. “Hi,” said Crowley with a grin. “Someone told me I needed to order something if I didn’t want to get tossed out on my ass.” “An excellent suggestion on Someone’s part.” Aziraphale’s exhaustion melted suddenly away. “What can I get you?” The grin turned wicked. “I want a footlong.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Don’t we all.” (Or: The story of how Crowley, and Ouija boards, got banned from Subway. Inspired by the famous Ouija Boards and Seances are Not Allowed at the Subway photo.)
- Mod D
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Our Gentle Sins: Part 5
Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader
My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say
Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist
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Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me
Chapter summary: Past. You get sick Present. You can't help fall into him.
Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
2.6 words
a/n: Mean girls reference for mean girls day1!!
Before
This was terrible. Absolutely awful. You were feverish, dizzy, nauseous, diarrhea… all of it. You knew you should say you can’t work… you were barely functioning, you didn’t want to get your kids sick, but your anxiety simply didn’t allow it. When Charles greeted you this morning, you felt awful and considered asking if maybe it was possible for you to potentially go to your room early today…
And yet, when he greeted you and asked how you were, you lied and said a cheery, ‘wonderful!’.
For the last few weeks, you and Logan had lunch together almost every day. You started making extra for him and bringing him a fork, just in case he comes. This last week, however, he hasn’t shown. You didn’t blame him. What a man doesn’t want after kissing a woman is for her to freak out, lock herself in a changing room for 20 minutes and cry, then proceed to not speak as he drives her home. Not your best moment, if you were honest.
But it had taken you by surprise, and with a myriad of guilt swirling in your head, you’d worked yourself into a panic attack. It was happening so fast, so fucking fast and you weren’t ready.
Logan was… you wanted him, you wanted him so fucking. The strong muscles busting out of his wife beater, the way his jeans hung low on his hips, the way that if you asked him to reach for something for you, you could see a trail of hair leading to something making you blush. Sinful thoughts swirled your head, always making your fingers trail over the cotton panties on under your night dress… but you couldn’t fathom him actually wanting you until that moment. When your lay in bed, pj’s looking like something out of little house on the prairie rather than the lingerie you were sure a man like Logan was used to. He was probably drowning in pussy, women who were far prettier and sexier than you.
Women who didn’t come with baggage
Women who didn’t do the things you had done.
It was no wonder he was avoiding you. He could slide himself into one of the many beautiful, mentally stable women here. He’d probably gone and done that as soon as you’d gotten home, realize you weren’t worth the- Oh fuck.
Rushing to the bathroom, you throw up, making it quick before cleaning up and getting it to gether for class. You could make it through the day. It would be fine.
It was not.
Most of your classes you just gave them reading time, or to work on other school work which they were grateful for. Occasionally, someone would come up and ask a question as you did your best to avoid breathing on them; if someone got sick because of you, you’d never forgive yourself, but your fear of rejection made it difficult to express your feelings. For all the talk about women being the emotional ones, somehow you were never allowed to express them. Even as a child, you were hit for crying, until you learned that voicing a need was disrespectful. You wouldn’t disrespect mr. xavier like that.
As your students filed out before lunch, you had grand plans of napping on your desk during lunch before you straight up passed out. Those plans proved silly when Logan walked into your room, looking like a kicked puppy.
“Logan, I’m sorry-” You were about to apolgize for the panic attack, but he started talking first.
“I know you probably hate me-”
You both stop and blink.
“No, I’m sorry. You took me out trying to do something nice-”
“No, no,” He interrupted. Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I… shouldn't have done that, the kiss, I mean.”
Your face feels warm at the mention, but that honestly didn’t mean much. You’ve been warm all day. Still, you didn’t want Logan to think you were some crazy homeschooled jungle freak. All you wanted was to just be normal.
You try to stand. “That’s s-sweet of you…” That attempt didn’t get far, feeling dizzy as the room swirls around you. Vaguely, you can hear Logan call your name in a question, but it’s hard to hear over the muffled sound in your ears. For a moment, you’re falling, then rising again. Logan had you in his arms, and you cling to his plain white shirt as you come back to it. He’s already carrying you out of the room.
*
Logan is aware of the attention on them. Prying eyes of teachers and whispers from students, gossiping about the pretty little teacher in the arms of the local asshole. No one would get it. No one understood what he felt for you, not when he barely understood it himself. He came to apologize, to ask for things to go back to normal as if he could ever be normal about you, but the distance was killing him. He needed those lunch dates. He needed watching movies with you in the lounge tucked away on the other side of the couch like you were nervous. His gentle baby doll, needing him to guide her. He couldn’t live like he was now, not after tasting you.
Then he saw you there, looking flushed and unwell, and thank god he moved closer to you because you passed out into his arms.
“Logan, what the hell did you-” Scott tried to talk to him, but Logan brushes passed with you in his arms.
“She’s sick. Can you figure out someone to take over the class?”
But Scott was insufferable, putting his hand on Logan’s arm to stop him. “I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“What the fuck does it look like?” Logan snapped, turning around quickly. He regretted it when your little hand tugged on his shirt, groaning. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gonna get you to bed.” He looked over at Scott with a glare. “As soon as Mr. White knight lets me go.”
If Scott could take off his glasses, Logan was sure he’d see his eyes roll. “Just- fuck, why is she unconcious?”
“Because I drugged her.” Logan deadpans and waits for Scott to open his mouth. “No, dumbass she’s sick. She’s fucking burning up.”
To his horror, Scott reached for you, and on instinct Logan pulled away. When Scott glared at him, Logan aquiessed.
“Jesus… that’s not good…”
“Yeah, it’s not, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to take her to bed so she can rest.”
Logan felt Scotts eyes on his as he walked towards your room.
“Make good choices, Logan…”
*
Logan didn’t leave your side the rest of the day except to get you water. He called Remy to get your medicine, and the man showed up in a jiffy trying to fuss over you, but Logan practically kicked him out, saying you needed to rest. Truth was, Logan didn’t want anyone else touching you. You didn’t need anyone else, you only needed him. He was gonna take care of you. Logan kept a respectful distance as you sweated your fever out, sitting on the chair in the room and watching Tv after you deliriously requested bobs burgers. This was the last thing he expected you to watch.
He never touched you anywhere unnecessary, and when you asked for his help getting to the bathroom, he closed the door behind him to give you privacy. When he heard you washing your hands, Logan panicked a bit at the idea of you standing without his help in this state, and entered the bathroom to walk you back to your bed.
“I’ll be okay, Logan. I can walk by myself now. I'm not a doll.”
“Yeah, you are. My dolly.” He resisted the urge to kiss the top of your head as he tucked you into bed again.
“Lo?” You mumble, some song playing on the show in the background.
“Yeah, baby doll?”
“Can you lay with me?”
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. It was a step in the wrong direction, crossing boundaries that were blurring every day… but he could never say no to you. Not ever.
Which is why when Charles came in to check on you, and he found you asleep on Logan’s stomach, he knew he was in trouble.
“Staying away from her, are me?”
“Listen, Chuck I know it looks bad but she’s-”
Charles voice remained cool, but Logan knew he was in trouble. “Sick, yes, I’ve heard. Cyclops has informed me she fell sick. I’m glad you are taking care of her, by surely Gambit could have handled it.”
“Remy don’t know what the fuck she needs.” Logan snapped, sounding overly defensive. Yeah, logically Remy probably could’ve handled it, but he doesn’t know you like he does. Logan was the only person who could give you what you need.
“I believe Gambit is her friend. He would take care of her.”
“Cut to the chase, wheel. Am I in trouble?”
There was a pause of silence, Charles glancing to the TV, then back to Logan. “I told you before, I won’t tell you what to do. But has she told you about her past.?”
Logan swallowed, a bit of anger bubbling up in his at the little knowledge you gave him. “Some. She was homeschool, weird church stuff. Teen marriage.”
He nodded. “Her husband beat her, quite severely. Frankly, I can’t believe she survived it all. Parents, courts, police, medical, at every corner of her life this child was failed by the system, and she is a child, Logan.”
“She’s twenty thr-”
“And you still have 150 years on her, give or take. And considering how she was raised and the lock and key her husband kept on her, mentally she’s younger. I took a chance on her because she needed it. She has a good heart and is skilled at what she does even if she doesn’t know how to divide or what a mitochondria is. Just as I’ve taken in everyone here who is lost, a stray, abandoned by the ones who claimed to love them and cast aside by the world. There are many beautiful women here, Logan. You are a handsome man. You do not need to go after the girl about to fall apart.
But he didn’t understand. Charles could never understand. He didn’t get that Logan didn’t want the other women here, he didn’t want anyone but you. You were meant for him, and he was meant for you.
After
It was getting harder and harder to pretend that you weren’t pregnant. Harder to act like you were fine and getting through the day.
Harder to avoid Logan without making it obvious you were avoiding him, when all the students and teachers were well aware you and him used to eat lunch together and spend most of your free time with him or Remy.
Harder to ignore when you were vomiting in the morning. It was bad, it was so bad and you didn’t want to think about the future, but this was forcing you to content with the fact life was inside you. You didn’t want this baby… not like this, anyway. You had dreamed of this life, even dreamed of it with Logan. A baby in your, happy little job at the school, Logan by your side… You didn’t understand why he did what he did to you, what you did wrong. Why he had to disappoint you like everyone had.
When the door to your bathroom opened, you didn’t have to look up. Soon, large hands were wrapped around your hair as you threw up, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him to go away. He wouldn’t listen anyway, he never did.
Logan could smell when you were throwing up, always lurking nearby and with his heightened smell, he was always on you. So, this had become the routine. He was allowed near you for this. Logan would hold your hair, rub your back and whisper gentle words while you got it out and for a moment you’d pretend, pretend he hadn’t violated you, that you weren’t scared of him. Pretend like you were a cute little married couple awaiting a little bundle of joy and attending church and he was the love you thought he could be, protecting you and caring for you. When it was over, Logan helps you brush your teeth and wash your mouth.
As you stare in the mirror, you don’t recognize yourself. You looked tired. Thinner. A mess as Logan stood behind you brushing your teeth. That’s when the bubble began to crack and you remembered that you let your rapist touch you again. That you were just as weak and pathetic as you had alway been. That you were trapped, always trapped, doomed by your body and your womb and your heart that was always bleeding for some sad soul and now you were beginning to rely on Logan again.
He wiped your mouth with his sleeve, rugged flannel gentle on your lips. Sweet as he ever was.
“I have to go, for a bit.” When you looked at him through the mirror, he clarified. “Maybe a month. Maybe less…”
You blink. “No.”
He blinks right back. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to do what you did and then just leave me alone!”
“I’m not.” Logan turned you towards him, and you hated that you just wanted him to hug you. “I’m coming back. It’ll give you some space, and when I get back we can talk, and… we can figure things out… and we can get you to a doctor, dolly.”
The idea of going to a doctor again, especially another OB/GYN, was scary… the idea that soon, you wouldn’t be able to hide what was happening was even scarier. But the idea of doing this alone, without Logan?
“No.” Your eyes fill with tears, already partially wet from the puke. “I need you now! You don’t get to just break me and walk away!”
There's silence for a beat, but then he sighs. You can see a softening of his features, maybe a little smile. He was happy you were depending on him. You knew you were falling down the wrong path, but it was so hard not to. You parents said this was who you were meant to be, that it was biological, Gods plan for men and women… were they right all along? “There’s a girl, western Washington area, pretty rural. Mutant. Her family is…. They think she’s possessed. Performing exorcisms on her. She’s not gonna live… Kurt and I are gonna help her, hopefully bring her back. She needs help, dolly. No one helped you, but we’re gonna help her.”
Logan knew that would get you. A girl in a strict religious family being abused? Yeah, it was a chapter out of your book. Most of the chapters, honestly.
You sat back against the counter, pajama dress still on. You close your eyes. “What if I end the pregnancy? You just gonna do it again?”
Slowly, he raises a hand to your face, and despite his efforts to be careful you still flinch. “What happened will never, ever happen again, Dolly. I could never really hurt you, don’t you understand that? You won’t get an abortion. I know it. But we’re gonna figure this out. You, me, our child.” A hand on your stomach. “A family.”
Thank you all so much for your love!!!! Dont forget to check out the spotify, and telling me more songs!!!!
A few questions about remy last chapter
Let me know your thoughts on the story below!!!
Comments mean the world! It's what keeps me writing. I dont need reblogs (although they are helpful to spread my work!) but interactive comments are s special. theorizing or noticing little things makes me melt.
@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2
#logan howlett/reader#Logan Howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlet smut#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#dark logan howlett#dark!logan#non con#dub con#wolverine x reader#the wolverine#Hugh jackman#Hugh jackman Logan#x men wolverine#dark wolverine#wolverine smut#logan wolverine#james logan howlett#remy lebeau#be quiet masterlist#our gentle sins series#charles xavier#scott summers#soft logan howlett#sick fic#logan howlett sick reader#morning sickness
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I am SO EXCITED for the 4th Annual #Azirafeast, The Feast Day of the Angel Aziraphale, an inclusive fandom event! It’s celebrated November 19th and is a made-up holiday that brings the community together, regardless of how a person participates in fandom.
On November 19th, everyone is welcome to celebrate the Feast Day of Aziraphale by drinking cocoa and wine, eating good food, reading, being stylish on their own terms, enjoying the company of friends and embracing the spirit of Aziraphale! Please share your pics on socials with #Azirafeast!
Creators are encouraged to show Aziraphale indulging in what makes him happy or why you love him (canon or fanon!) Create “Lore” for why Aziraphale has a feast day! What miracles throughout history has he performed? Creations can be dramatic, serious, sexy or silly!
All forms of creation are welcome: Draw, write, sing, act, sew, bake, cosplay or anything else! However YOU want to appreciate our favorite angel. All variations, versions and representations of Aziraphale are welcome on the feast of Aziraphale.
Anything tagged #Azirafeast or I will reblog, the same for Instagram and Twitter. I’ve had a permanent highlight on my Instagram for the last 3 years, and maintained this tumblr. Check out what others have made for previous years!
There is also an AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Azirafeast
Anything added to it I will promote on my socials for #azirafeast.
I know I don’t have the biggest following, but the idea is that on the feast of Aziraphale even fans who don’t have a large social media presence will still be seen, still have their experiences noticed, and will feel part of a community that cares.
Folk can get stressed about creating by a “due date.” I encourage folk to post early if they want, and to keep posting after Nov 19 if they miss the day or don’t finish in time. Aziraphale procrastinated on preventing the apocalypse, you’re just embracing that energy!
And remember, you don’t have to “make” anything to participate. Eating cake and lying to your boss is a great way to celebrate! Confuse some customers, watch a nature documentary, get drunk, be kind to someone (Muriel) who is new but trying their best!
Just make sure to tag your contributions with either #azirafeast so we can celebrate with you! Please feel welcome to take my words and reshare anyway that you like, and make your own posts to generate awareness! Please do share in any fandom communities you’re a part of, or feel free to try to convince people IRL this is totally a real holiday.
I do not run, own, control or anything of the sort in regards to #azirafeast. The idea came from Cliopadra and a private discord server, and the brilliant folk there picked the date and ran with it. I encourage folk to participate because I think it’s a lovely idea! It is NOT “mine.”
#azirafeast#feast of aziraphale#good omens#the feast of aziraphale#Azirafeast2023#Azirafeast announcement
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heaven sent
authors note: after a month off, i've finally finished my noah piece :) this is my first on tumblr, second one all together (there's one on my ao3). this was a request a friend of mine made a month or so ago, and i'm happy to finally get it out for them. briefly proofread, sorry for any mistakes. as always, enjoy and feedback is appreciated :) my requests are open btw! i'm also working on tag-list, so if you'd like to be added please send me a message :)
pairing: noah sebastian x reader
cross-posted on ao3
word count: 6.8k
cw/tags: slight friends to lovers, readers first time, realization of ~feelings~, fingering, cunnilingus (noah is a munch), p in v, protected sex (be safe!!!!! wrap it up folks!!!), fluff, maybe slight angst if you really squint, loads of tension, noah being a sweetheart, open ending, 18+ minors do not interact
You stare at Noah’s door, nerves bubbling inside of you. It was silly to be nervous - Noah was your best friend. You’ve lived with him for the last three years, known him even longer, and you’ve asked him plenty of favors in the time you’ve spent with him. However, this time was a lot different.
Navigating your 20’s was something you were still figuring out. Establishing your career, finding a friend group that you trusted, and even dating was all so confusing. You’ve gotten the career down, and you think you got a pretty solid group of friends, but romantic relationships are still something that you can’t seem to get.
You’ve been on dates, that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was when things got… intimate. You’re embarrassed to say it, but you were still a virgin. It wasn’t like you were waiting for that special someone, it just never happened. You’d either get to that point and chicken out, or never even make it out of the kissing stage. At this point you just wanted it done and over with, but you couldn’t just do it with anyone.
That’s where Noah came in.
You trusted him more than you trusted yourself, you think, and your other friends told you that if you just wanted to get it done and over with, do it with someone you won’t regret.
You don’t think you’d regret Noah.
With a shaky hand you reach up and knock on his door, the music from inside pausing. You hear shuffling and the twist of the doorknob, and there stood Noah. He smiles.
“Didn’t know you were home,” He swings the door open and goes back over to his desk, falling into his chair. “What’s up?”
You don’t move, just stand in the doorway, your nerves intensifying. Shit.
He looks over at you after a moment of silence, and his brows furrow, lips pursing slightly.
“Hello? Everything alright?”
You shake yourself out of your trance and shift on your feet, arms crossing over your chest.
“Can I ask you something?” You bite down on your lip. “Like… a favor?”
Noah’s head tilts. “…What kind of favor?”
“A pretty big one.” You can’t help but smile sheepishly at the way Noah’s eyes narrow at you before his gaze softens, realizing your nerves, and he nods towards his bed. You walk over and sit down without a word.
He rolls his chair over to you as you pull your legs up under yourself, hands laid in your lap, and he reaches for them. You jump at the touch, and he frowns, but he doesn’t let go.
“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” His eyes narrow again. “…Do you need me to fight someone? I’m not really good at that, but I’ll try.”
You can’t help but laugh before dropping your gaze from his, looking down at your hands intertwined together.
"No, no fighting is involved."
"Oh, thank fuck. You know I'm not much of a fighter." You laugh again but it falls short, the nerves resurfacing again. Noah's lips dip into a frown. "Seriously, what's up?"
You pull your hands from his to wipe them against your pants, sighing deeply. How do you even bring this up? You practiced a script in your head for hours before even standing in front of his door, but now that you're in his room, and he's sitting right in front of you, it's like you've forgotten everything you wanted to say.
"You can't laugh." You finally say. "And you can say no. It's... a stupid favor, anyways, but you're one of the few people I wholeheartedly trust, so..." Your words trail off with a shrug and you look up at Noah again, seeing confusion written all over his face.
"You're acting weird again." His head tilts again and you keep in your laughter this time. He looks like a confused puppy. "Did you do something illegal?" His eyes widen a bit as he leans in. "...Are you in trouble? Am I going to be an accomplice? You know I wouldn't do good in jail, dude."
"Oh my god, Noah." Your hands come up to rub at your face, laughter spilling out of you. "I'm not in trouble and no one's going to jail."
"Then what is it? You're acting like it's something crazy."
"Because it is!" You whine, falling back onto his bed. Your eyes stare up at the ceiling, arms resting on either side of your body. "And it's fucking embarrassing."
"I've known you for like 6 years, I think I've seen every embarrassing thing you've done."
You hear his chair squeak and feel the bed dip beside you, but you don't bother looking over. You feel his body, heat radiating off of him, and you suck in a breath at the close proximity. You truly were never bothered by being close to Noah, but ever since you've thought of your silly request, just the thought of touching him has your head reeling. He lays beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. You manage to sneak a glance at him and he's already staring down at you, lips pursed.
"Talk to me."
You pout. "I'm nervous."
"Oh, please." He reaches down to flick at your forehead, and you yelp, eyes slitting into a glare at your friend. "It's just me."
You sigh, gazing back up at the ceiling. "Alright. Just... Please promise not to laugh. And remember you can say no."
"Got it. Now, what is it?"
"So..." You hum, eyes falling shut. "You know how I'm still like... I've never had sex with anyone?"
"Yes." Noah says. "Still shocked, by the way, but I support you. It's not for everyone and we all go at our own pace."
You flush at his words, eyes opening to stare at him again. "Why're you shocked?"
He shrugs. "Just am, but it’s not a bad thing. Like I said everyone goes at their own pace.”
"Right." You clear your throat. "It's not like I don't want to do it, it's just... it's never happened. I think..." Your eyes fall shut again, not being able to look at him anymore. "Anna said I might be one of those people that just need to do it with someone I already know. Someone I trust, so it's not as scary."
"Hm..." Noah shifts next to you. "You could be. That's not really unheard of, a lot of people are more comfortable having sex with someone they're already comfortable with."
"Yeah, right." You suck in a breath. "Well... I've been thinking about it recently. And um..." You reach up and cover your face with your hands, trying to hide the deepening flush to your cheeks. "I was thinking about who I trust enough to do that with and... I trust you more than anyone else. Probably even more than myself."
The silence that follows is almost deafening. You're sure it took him a moment to register his words and you know the second he does, the bed shifting beside you. Noah sits up and you can feel his eyes boring into you, and it makes your skin crawl. You can't pull your hands away from your face, too scared to even look at him.
It was such a crazy thing to throw out there, you knew that. What's the worst he could say? No? Your mind kept replaying that over and over again and yeah, the worst he could say was no. However, you feared that maybe you asking him of this would make things awkward. You knew it wasn't a friendship ending type risky, but it was enough to maybe make the next few weeks stiff and weird.
"Are you..." Noah pauses and you hear him suck in a breath. "Are you asking to have sex with me?"
"God, when you say it like that it sounds so fucking weird."
By better judgement you pull your hands away from your face to look up at Noah, expecting the worse. Though, it's not bad at all actually. He looks confused, definitely, but he doesn't look too uncomfortable. His gaze is still soft as his eyes meet yours.
"Why me?" He sounds shocked, as if there should be a hundred other options before him.
"Well. I live with you, and you're my best friend." You say simply and shrug. "You're also the only person in this world I trust enough to be... vulnerable like that with. For my first time, at least."
He nods, tongue darting out to swipe as his bottom lip and your eyes can't help but follow the movement. Something low in your stomach stirs, heat rushing through you, and you tear your eyes away to gaze into his again.
"You can say no," You remind him quickly, moving to sit up across from him. "It's a crazy favor. I won't take it to heart."
"I..." His words trail off and his lips press together, looking off to the side. "I don't know if we should."
For some reason your heart sinks to your stomach. A part of you knew he would say no and knew that was the worst thing he could say, but there was some other part of you that clung on to the possibility. You just wanted to get it over with and you were hoping that maybe he would help you out... but you still understand his hesitancy.
"Of course, yeah." You nod your head quickly, face heating up again. "I shouldn't have even asked; I don't know what I was thinking."
"No-"
You get up from his bed and rush towards his door. "Forget it, okay? I'm sorry for making it weird."
You don't bother looking back at Noah, slipping out his door and practically running to your room across the hall, shutting your door behind you.
…
Later that night while you were getting ready for bed, Noah slips into your room. You freeze, turning to look at him as he stands in your door frame, wringing his hands in front of him nervously.
“Okay. I thought about it some more.”
You pause. “About what?”
“About… what you asked me.” Your skin heats up at his words and you start to shake your head, but he holds a hand up to stop you. “I’m really fucking flattered that you trust me that much to even consider me a possibility and… and if you still want to, I’ll do it. If it’ll make you happy.”
The silence that follows was brutal. You weren’t sure how to take it, especially with the way Noah was looking at you. He seemed nervous, almost like you had been earlier, and it has something inside of your fluttering. Like a bunch of butterflies had been set free inside your tummy all at once.
You swallow. “What?”
"I don't know, I just." He leans against the doorframe now, arms crossing over his chest. "The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Being vulnerable can be hard, especially during sex, and... part of me wishes my first time was with someone I trusted."
You stay silent, eyeing Noah from across the room and he finally looks up, eyes meeting yours. He gives you a gentle smile and goosebumps rise across your skin.
"Really?" You say dumbly and he laughs.
"Yeah." He shrugs. "I mean, do I regret it? Not really, but I think it would've made the experience better if it had been with someone I trusted and maybe had known longer than a few weeks." He slowly makes his way towards your bed and sits down on it, patting the spot next to him. Your feet move before you can even think, settling down next to him. "I also want your first time to be good. I know too many people whose first times were shitty, and I don't want that for you. If... if it's with me, I'll be able to make sure you're enjoying it, and not just doing it to say you did."
You notice the subtle flush on his cheeks, and you can't help but smile.
"I just need to know that this is really what you want because there's no going back after this."
He reaches out to place a hand against your thigh, and you know it was supposed to be soothing, but the burning feeling it left against you was almost too much to handle. You nod quickly, eyes never leaving his.
"If I didn't want this I wouldn’t have asked, Noah." You say softly. "I've thought about it a lot and... and if I were to choose anyone in the entire world to do this with, it would be you."
Something in the air shifts after the words leave your mouth and you swear you see something cross in Noah's eyes, but it's gone before you could even think about it. You feel his fingers dip into your thigh for a split second before loosening, rubbing the spot he had dug into.
"You're one hundred percent sure about this?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You stare at him for a moment before your eyes linger down to his lips, before flicking back up to him. He noticed but didn't say a word, hand still rubbing your thigh. You nod.
"Yes."
"Okay." He sucks in a deep breath after a moment and pulls away from you, the moment you two shared slipping away. Your stomach turns, almost missing the contact, but you scoot a bit from him anyways. "Okay, cool. Do you work this weekend?"
You raise a brow at him, head shaking. "No. Why?"
"I'm free most of Saturday and Sunday, so we could... uh, do it then."
"Oh." Your eyes widen. "You want to wait?"
"I mean, yeah. Us doing it now would be weird, right?" You think about it briefly before nodding. It would be odd to just dive into it now, you don't think you'd enjoy it that much. "This gives us time to... prepare? I don't know. Be less nervous? And it gives you a few days to really think about it."
You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart swells in size at how concerned Noah was, making sure you were completely okay with your decision.
"I've thought about it for almost a week now. I think I'm sure."
“Alright, no need to get fucking sassy with me.” He leans over to flick at your forehead, like he had done earlier, and you swat at his hand.
“I’m not even being sassy!”
“Whatever, dude.” Noah finally gets up from your bed and looks down at you, brows raising. “So, next weekend?”
“Um. Yeah. Next weekend.” You clear your throat, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible, and Noah nods.
“Alright. Cool.” He looks like he wants to say something else, lips pressing together before he shrugs it off, making his way towards the door. “Does pizza sound good for tonight?”
You blink. “Huh?”
“Pizza.” He looks over his shoulder. “For dinner?”
“Oh.” You blink again, the sudden change in conversation taking you for a loop and you push yourself up off the bed. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Awesome. I’ll go ahead and order it and let you know when it’s here.”
You watch him slip out of your room, listening to his footsteps down the hall, and something in your tummy stirs as the realization of what’s happening finally settles in. What the hell did you just get yourself into?
…
You sat in the middle of your bed late Saturday evening, staring up at Noah as he stood at the end of your bed. You were still nervous, but not as nervous as you had been almost a week ago. Noah had been right - the more you thought about it and prepared yourself, the less scared you seemed to be. You can't lie and say all the nerves have gone away, because they sure as hell haven't, but looking at Noah right now, all you feel is comfort.
"Feeling alright?" Noah's voice breaks you from your thoughts and you give him a small nod.
"Yeah." You hum, your hands spreading against your thighs. They were bare, the only thing you had on were some sleep shorts and an oversized shirt you typically slept in - probably Noah's. "Just nervous."
Noah gives you a smile as he crawls onto the bed towards you, your heart picking up under your chest.
"It's okay to be nervous." He mumbles, sitting on his knees in front of you. You still have to tilt your head up just to look at him. "But it's just me, okay? I'll take care of you. I promise."
His words have your stomach turning, like a bunch of butterflies have just been released. Your skin heats up and you're sure your cheeks are flushed some sort of light pink, and Noah leans forward, his lips ghosting against your forehead. You take a deep breath and let your eyes flutter shut at the feeling, trying to ease your nerves.
"At any time you want to stop, you tell me, okay?" He says once he pulls back, hand coming up to rest beneath your chin, tilting your head back up. Your eyes open. "If it becomes too much, I need you to tell me. This is about you - not me. No egos will be shattered or anything."
"Okay."
"If it's alright with you, we can do the stop light method." He hums, hand never leaving your face. "Red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for keep going."
You stare at him, eyes already glossed over in a haze, and you nod in his hold. "I trust you."
He pauses, eyes scanning over your face one more time before he leans in again, lips pressing against your forehead more firmly. Your eyes slip shut once again and you lean into it, savoring it. You miss the feeling of his lips against your skin when he pulls away, letting his hand drop.
"Lean back for me."
You scoot up the bed and lean back, the back of your head pressing against your pillow. Noah stares down at you before nudging your legs open gently, leaning forward to hover over you. Your heart is thudding so loudly against your chest it's the only thing you can hear, and you swear Noah can too. And you suspect that he does, especially with the way his lips quirk up at the ends before his eyes catch yours.
"Just relax, okay?" His voice is much lower now and it has something in the pit of your stomach heating up, skin tingling. "You're in good hands."
"Promise?"
Usually you would tease him, since that was the nature of your relationship, but right now you feel too vulnerable. You need to know that you'll be okay with him, which you're sure you will, but hearing him say it out loud just makes you feel a little bit better.
His gaze softens. "I promise."
The look you two share has alarms going off in your mind, and your stomach turns in a way you've never felt before, yet you don't think you've ever felt safer in your life. You relax yourself against your bed, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.
"Okay." You breathe out. "I trust you."
"Thank you." He actually sounds happy by your words, almost like he's proud, and he leans down, lips ghosting against the skin of your neck as he mumbles out, "I trust you, too."
You can't help the gasp that escapes you when he presses a handful of soft, barely there kisses along your neck. He has an arm propped up beside you to hold himself up, while the other is rested against your hip. He nudges your shirt up ever so slightly, the pads of his tattooed fingers brushing against your bare skin. By instinct your hands raise to reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair. You feel him press against you, a shaky breath leaving him and when the air hits your skin, you shiver.
Noah presses another kiss to your skin before he pulls back, sitting up on his knees. You stare up at him, lips parted as a gasp escapes you. The look in his eyes was almost too much, the usual softness in his brown eyes darkening. The hand that was on your hip pushed your shirt up more, letting it wrinkle up against your stomach.
"Can I take these off?" He questions, fingers now tugging at the waistband of your shorts.
You can only nod, words not being an option right now and your hips lift up on their own as he tugs your shorts down your legs. Your body shakes the second you're exposed, the only thing covering you now is your underwear. The cold air hits against your core and its damp, and you flush out of embarrassment. He's done nothing but kiss you and you're already wet. You try to shut your legs out of habit, but Noah was still seated between them.
"Hey," His voice is rough, but he leans down, meeting your eyes again. A hand rests against the top of your thigh, his fingers dipping dangerously close to the one spot you're aching for him to be. "You okay? You don't need to hide."
You nod again because nothing seems to come out and Noah shakes his head, hair moving around.
"Talk to me."
Something in his tone has you shivering again, and you swallow. "I'm okay... just not used to this."
"I understand." His eyes drop from yours down to his hand against your thigh, watching as he gently caresses the skin. You can't help but squirm when his fingers get a bit too close to where you want him, and he glances up at you, lips quirked up into a grin. "I promised to take care of you, and I'm going to."
"I know."
He doesn't respond, just gives you another grin before he slides his body down yours, nestling himself in between your legs. You've never had someone that close to that part of you before, the closest being a finger or two, and when Noah's tugging at the band of your underwear you have to look anywhere but him. Your hips rise off the bed, and you let him drag them down your legs, almost achingly slow, and your eyes lock onto the ceiling.
You're bare in front of him and just knowing that has your chest tightening, your throat closing up. Your fingers move back to the sheets beneath you, and you grip them tightly, squirming when you feel Noah's fingers drag up your thigh. You feel him shift, finger dragging closer and closer to your center, and then the brush of his lips against your inner thigh. You squeak.
“It’s okay.” He murmurs, so low you barely catch it. “Have you ever been fingered before?”
You nod, stiff and quick. “Mhm. Felt weird.”
“Probably because you were so tense.” Another quick kiss was pressed to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.”
He starts off slow, a long, slender, tattooed finger sliding up and down your slit before he gently prods at your entrance. You suck in a breath when you feel him push in, body stiffening again. You've been fingered before, you're not that inexperienced, but it's always been uncomfortable. Not enjoyable. Noah senses your unease and presses a kiss to your hip, his free hand rubbing your thigh.
"Need you to relax, baby." His voice is muffled by your hip and the word baby has your entire body flushing. "It'll feel good when you do."
"How do I do that?" You whine out, fingers gripping the sheets. He pushes forward again, his finger now fully inside you. It feels... foreign.
"Stop thinking so much." He lifts his head up and you sneak a glance down at him, his eyes blown wide, and lips pursed in a slight pout. "Think of something that relaxes you, because you're way too stiff right now."
You toss your head back against the pillow, huffing out, and Noah laughs softly to himself and scatters a few more kisses against your skin. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling, body almost instantly melting into the mattress.
"Keep doing that."
"Kissing you?" He mumbles, lips brushing over your hips again. You nod.
"Yes. Please."
"Atta girl," He mumbles, almost to himself when he pumps his finger inside of you, finally relaxing around him to make the action much easier than before. "I got you."
This goes on for a few minutes - soft, delicate kisses being placed along your skin as he worked a finger inside of you. As time went on, the odd and almost painful stretch from before became... pleasurable. You don't even notice the tiny noises slipping from your lips and your hips slowly rocking down to meet his finger.
"You think you can take another?"
You nod. A second finger slips in, and the stretch has you keening, back arching slightly off the bed. It wasn’t terrible, though. No, it felt good. So much better than your previous experiences. You clench around his fingers, and you hear Noah groan quietly, face pressing against the inside of your thigh to muffle the noise.
“Fuck.” You curse out when he picks his movements up, fingers now scissoring in and out of you.
“Feel good?” Noah sounds strained, like he’s trying to hold himself together even though you’re the one experiencing all the pleasure. You nod.
“Really fucking good.” You choke out, hips bucking down to meet his fingers. “Green. Please don’t stop.”
“I won’t, baby.” Noah mutters, not once letting up. “Doing so well for me.”
You practically purr at his words, your body warming up and feeling the fly all over. You’ve always been one to love a good bit of praise, and hearing it come from Noah was something you’d never imagined enjoying so much. A surprised gasp leaves you when you feel his thumb press against your clit, applying pressure while his fingers continued.
"You've ever been ate out before?"
Noah's words pull you away from the cloud you were just on, the pleasure coursing through your body. You whine, shifting your hips down to meet his fingers again but he stills his movements.
"No." You whimper.
You wiggle your hips down to get some kind of friction, the heat that was beginning to pool in your tummy slowly slipping away. You hear Noah groan below you and he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, gently biting down on the soft plush of skin there.
"Can I be the first?" He breathes out, lips dancing across your skin. "Please. I'll make you feel so fucking good, I promise."
“Yeah,” You nod quickly, hips rolling down to gain some kind of friction again. “Please, just do something.”
That’s enough for him, diving headfirst between your thighs.
Noah leaves no mercy, his lips wrapping around your now swollen clit as his fingers begin moving inside you again. The feeling of his tongue wet and heavy against you and his long fingers pumping in and out of you has your eyes crossing, stars dancing around the edges of your gaze. You can't help but let another moan slip, hips bucking wildly. You feel Noah moan against you, angling his fingers up to press against something inside of you that's pulling an unexpected noise out of you, something mixed with a cry and a moan. You’ve never experienced pleasure like this before with another person.
The heat pooling in your returns much quicker than you thought and you feel yourself clench around his fingers, hips moving on their own accord. Noah moans again, tongue moving against you, and you swear you feel shifting at the end of the bed. You take a chance to glance down at Noah, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. You have to bite down on your bottom lip to hold in any noises and watch as Noah ruts his hips against the bed.
You’d never seen anything so insanely attractive before – Noah’s mouth working against you like a starved man and getting off on it to the point that he has to grind against the bed to get some kind of release. It’s enough to push you over the ledge, the heat in your stomach snapping and your cunt clenching around his fingers. You cry out, falling back onto the bed as your eyes squeeze shut. You’d experience orgasms before, but this was your first with another person, and it was probably the best damn orgasm you’ve ever had.
Noah doesn’t let up until you’re practically shaking, reaching down to curl your fingers into his hair and physically push him away. He laughs, light and airy, and turns his head to press a quick kiss to the side of your thigh before finally sitting up. You stare up at him with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath he took. You feel your heart pounding against your chest, ringing loudly in your ears as the realization of what just happened settles into your bones.
Noah just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life.
Your cheeks flush with color and before you could reach up and hide your face from him, he’s leaning down, hovering over you. You suck in a deep breath.
“Was that okay?” He questions softly, but you can hear the slight shake in his voice, and the look in his eyes was anything but soft.
You nod. “Better than okay.”
“Yeah?”
You watch a smile spread across his lips and find it hard to look anywhere but there, so you don’t, and you give him another nod.
“Do you wanna keep going?” He leans further down until your noses are barely touching and you’re doing everything in your power to pull him down and kiss the absolute fuck out of him.
You nod again, swallowing harshly. “Yes, please.”
He doesn’t say anything, just hums out a quiet noise of approval while brushing his nose against yours. You can’t stop yourself from smiling at the soft gesture while he sits up from the bed. You watch with hooded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his eyes and you let your gaze trail over him, not trying to hide the fact that you were indeed checking him out. You lived with him so of course you’ve seen him shirtless countless of times before, but now it was different. Much more intimate.
You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth as he’s pushing both his sweatpants and boxers down, crawling back towards you. You sit up and finally pull your shirt off as well, tossing it to the ground before lying back down, watching Noah reach over for the condom he had brought in with him, and you swallow down the nerves that were beginning to rise.
It’s now or never.
You meet his gaze again and the look he’s giving you, like he wants to devour you has a fire setting off inside of you. Your eyes drop to his achingly hard cock, watching as he rolls the condom on, and you squirm underneath him, fingers gripping the sheets below you. He grips his cock, long fingers wrapping around his length and your mouth practically waters at the sight.
You realize in that moment you’ve never wanted someone more than you do now, and that is definitely something you’ll have to unpack later. Right now, though, all you can think about is the way his slides the tip along your slit, teasing your entrance before pressing into your now sensitive clit. You whimper, hips wiggling down and Noah chuckles above you.
“Remember, red is for stop, yellow is for slow down, and green is for keep going. Okay?”
It takes you a minute to register his words, too focused on the way he looks above you, and you give a shallow nod. “Okay.”
“Good.”
Noah hikes your legs up around his waist and you circle them around him, unintentionally pulling him closer to you. The tip of his cock nudges against your entrance at that and you suck in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. He takes his time slipping in, going as slowly as he could, and you whine quietly, face scrunching up at the feeling. It was different than his fingers, much bigger, the stretch almost uncomfortable and not the same pleasurable feeling you had just moments before. You feel his body lean over yours when he finally presses in all the way, nose brushing against yours again.
“Look at me.”
You do, eyes opening to stare up at him. His voice sounded strained again, like he was holding himself back for you, and the look in his eyes has you melting into the bed. You stare up at him with wide eyes, not sure what to say, and he gives an experimental roll of his hips. You whine again, the stretch as his slide in and out of you has your back arching off the bed.
“Is this okay? Talk to me, baby.”
You give a small nod, another noise falling from your lips. “It’s okay, just… I’m yellow right now. Go slow, please.”
Noah let’s out a breath like he had been holding it and gave you a nod, giving another small roll of his hips before stilling inside of you. You have to shut your eyes because the way Noah was staring at you was almost too much, your chest feeling like a brick had been sat on it. You can’t believe that you were doing this, finally, and with your best friend no less.
He rests his arms on either side of you, leaning down to nose as your cheek before dipping his head down to press a few kisses against your neck. He nuzzled himself against you, letting one of his hands come down to rest against your hip, gently rubbing soothing circles against your skin.
“You’re already doing so good for me,” You hear him whisper, pressing another kiss to your neck. “Color?”
You flush, keening at his words and your back arches off the bed on its own, causing your hips to shift down and you fee his cock slide further inside of you. The head presses against that spot inside of you again and you let out an unexpected moan, pleasure finally sleeping through your veins. You clench around him, hips shifting down again, and he presses his face against your neck as a groan leaves him.
“Shit.” You breath out, hands coming up to card through his hair. “Green. I’m so fucking green.”
With another groan, Noah rolls his hips against yours and you moan again, eyes rolling back. The stretch of his cock no longer felt uncomfortable, pleasure coursing through you with each slow thrust Noah gives you. His lips never leave your skin, licking and biting at your neck with each roll of his hips.
He pulls back to press his forehead against yours, eyes boring into your own and you squeeze yours shut. Another moan leaves you as he gives a rather hard thrust, your fingers gripping the ends of his hair and tugging. He whimpers at the feeling and you tug again, wanting to hear those sounds fall from his lips more, and his movements speed up.
The heat you had felt in the pit of your tummy earlier was beginning to form again, warmth spreading through your chest. You open your eyes again just at the moment when Noah’s hand left your hip to slide in between both your bodies, rough fingers pressing against your swollen clit. Your mouth drops open, a loud moan escaping you. The feeling of his fingers rubbing against your clit as his cock slides in and out of you was enough to make your head spin.
“You like that, baby?” He breathes out, lips dangerously close to your own. You nod quickly, whining out instead of answering properly. “Come on, you know I need words.”
“Fuck.” You choke out, a mix of a cry and a moan leaving you. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop.”
This spurs him on, another whimper slipping from his lips as his hips snap into your own, pace picking up. You clench around his cock, the tip hitting the spot inside of you over and over again. His fingers never let up against your clit either, matching the pace his thrusts and you swear you feel dizzy, eyes rolling back. You’ve never felt like this before, and you think you prefer his cock inside of you over his fingers, the feeling unbeatable.
Your mind races just at the thought of Noah doing this for you, making you feel like this, wanting to take care of you, and your throat tightens for some reason. Something from deep inside your chest twists and you get the overwhelmingly need to be as close as possible to Noah, your fingers gripping the ends of his hair again.
“Noah.” You whimper out, eyes burning with unexpected tears.
“What is it, baby?” He grits out, eyes never leaving yours. His gaze softens when he notices your eyes watering, hips stuttering for a moment. “Are you okay? Tell me a color.”
You nod quickly, head knocking against his gently, and your hands drop from his hair to wrap around your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer to you.
“Yes, fuck. Green.” You moan, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat. “Just feels so fucking good. You make me feel so good, Noah.”
Your words just start pouring out, slurring together almost like you’re drunk, and your cunt clenches around him again. You’re close, so fucking close, you can feel it, and so can Noah.
“Yeah?” He whispers, lips brushing against your own. Your back arches as you give him another nod. “God, you feel so fucking good on my cock, baby. Everything I ever dreamed of.”
His fingers against your clit speed up, and you let out a choked moan at the feeling of the heat in your stomach snapping. The combination of his words and his thrusts, plus the pressure against your clit, has your orgasm hitting you at full force. You’re not sure what kind of noise leaves you, something primal pulling itself from your chest as your vision blurred again. You feel like your body was sent to heaven and back, the most euphoric feeling coursing itself through your veins as your orgasm washed over you.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit.”
You hear Noah groan from above you as he fucked you through your orgasm. You don’t know what comes over you in that moment, but staring up at Noah as he chases his son release, you don’t think you’ve ever seen something so beautiful. Without thinking, you pull him down to you, lips sliding over his sloppily as he continued to fuck into you. A surprised noise leaves him, muffled by your lips, and with one last thrust you feel him still inside of you, spilling his release into the condom.
Silence follows after that, nothing but the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breath filling the room. Noah’s face is buried in the crook of your neck and your arms are still tightly wrapped around him, holding his body against yours. That overwhelming feeling in your chest seems to return, but you can’t even fully think about it, your mind too hazy. You feel exhausted, limbs feeling like mush after two mind blowing orgasms, that you barley even register Noah pulling himself up and out of you slowly.
You watch with hooded eyes that are becoming too hard to even keep open as Noah crawls off the bed, sliding the condom off and throwing it away, searching your room for his boxers before slipping them on. It’s a blur after that, Noah looking for the cloth he had brought in, probably to clean you off, and you barely remember him getting back on the bed, slowly pulling you up to slip clean clothes on your body.
Your back meets the bed again as you flop back down, curling yourself into your bed. It’s never felt comfier, you think, as you feel Noah curl up behind you, pulling your blankets over both of your bodies. His arm feels heavy over your waist, and his lips leave a burning feeling against the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss there.
The last thing you remember is your fingers curling around your hand that rests against your stomach, whispering out, “Thank you,” as sleep finally overtakes you.
#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fic#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian x reader#mine
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ML Fanfic Recs for Completed Fics Under 4000 Words
Hope everyone likes my selection here! I've got 21 fics for your perusal, mostly either humor or angst fics. When it comes to shorter wordcounts, those are the two genres that tend to make the greatest impact for me. Humor especially seems to thrive in short-form fics, I rarely see it in longer ones - if it appears in longer fics, it's usually in rom-com form.
I've tagged every author that I knew the tumblr username of. Feel free to tag the author if I didn't manage to get them!
All of these fics will be in my Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024 Collection, and if you like that, please consider checking out my other collections, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2023, Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2022, and Keyseeker's Choices For Best Completed Miraculous Fics - Misc. Years.
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The Challenges of Changing Your Life by Shortdreamer
In the days following their return to their own universe Marinette was faced with several new challenges. But the most intimidating challenge that Marinette faced was getting to know her “new” partner.
Great ML Paris Special fic here! I love Marinette changing how she interacts with the people in her life in order to try to forge relationships, and hopefully, maybe even gain some semblance of the life her counterpart has.
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The Magical Rainbow Flying Caticorn by CrochetJellybean
Kagami is just trying to have a fun day with Marinette when Felix keeps messaging her. Apparently Adrien stole the peacock miraculous and won't give it back.
So this is a fun little fic. Felix is very annoyed at having lost his Miraculous, but hey, at least the kwamis are amused with the situation! There might as well be some sort of upside to being a Senti XD.
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The Self I Should Be (The Self I Could Be) by @pisoprano
Adrien realizes he has some feelings for Loveybug. Loveybug realizes that Adrien still misses Ladybug.
I love how this fic explores "private selves" and "public selves" for both Adrien and Marinette, lets them both relax a bit and decide what kind of dynamic they want to have. It's excellent!
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never been in love by @bittersweetresilience
Félix wonders if he has a heart. If he does, it doesn't beat like that.
I love this look at aromantic!Felix, him wrestling with his feelings (or lack of them) as he struggles to come to terms with them, especially since part of his father's abuse involved Colt telling him he could never love.
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Always Trending! by @candlemouse
Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube argue over the Parisian superheroes’ relationship and identities. Things heat up even more when interviews from the Ladyblogger, Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste, and Ladybug release!
This is a fun little glimpse into social media within Miraculous's world, especially with the speculation over secret identities. People keep on putting forward Adrien Agreste as possibly being Ladybug or Chat Noir, even though he's too busy to possibly be a superhero XD
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Paper Masks by @jheqiawrites
“How do you feel about causing a little mischief?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I beg your pardon?” Loveybug swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You know, trouble, pranks, clownery, buffoonery, silliness, a lark, a jest, sheer jiggery-pokery!” “That depends on what kind of shenanigans you had in mind.” She giggled, eyes wide and bright with appreciation. “ Ooh, that’s a good one! I should write that down sometime. But, as for your question…” She pulled her yoyo out and flicked it open, spilling white light over their feet. “It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of concern,” Catwalker said, but forgot immediately what else he had been going to say when he saw Loveybug pull roll after roll of toilet paper out of the white field. All he could do was stare as she continued to pull out rolls until she had made a small pyramid on the floor next to them. “Excuse me if I sound rude, but what on earth are you going to do with those?” The smile she gave him was pure puckishness. She waved at the bright figure of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. “My lord, have you ever TPied a national monument?”
Loveybug AU fic here! (obviously). I loved the absurdity of these two trying to TP... well, I won't spoil where they eventually decide deserves the treatment XD. Mostly, though, I love both Loveybug and Cat Walker (but mostly Loveybug) breaking down, breaking out of their new personas, and really getting to talk with each other.
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you could win a rabbit by @purplecatghostposts
Félix raises an eyebrow but obliges. He should probably get on with it before Adrien second guesses himself too hard and tries to take it back. Félix pulls the tissue paper out and squints at what’s inside. It’s— a plushie? He takes it out of the bag to get a better look at it. All of the air is stolen from his lungs the second he does. A rabbit plushie. A white rabbit plushie. (Or for Félix’s next birthday, Adrien teams up with Marinette to make Félix a rabbit plushie, much like the one he had as a kid. Old feelings Félix thought he buried return in full force.)
I loved seeing a potential backstory to the torn stuffed bunny we saw in the play in Representation, and Felix's reaction to getting another rabbit plush was heart-wrenching!
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A Domestic Cold War by @unecoccinellenoire
Félix lives with a murderer. It’s not the first time. Unfortunately his cousin would never ever forgive him if Félix was to take Nathalie Sancoeur off the board.
I like the conversation Nathalie and Felix have here. They don't like each other (or well, Felix doesn't like Nathalie, Nathalie is just ambivalent about him), but they come to an understanding. It's interesting to see Nathalie's viewpoint on life and killing, and hear allusions to the things she was up to before she became Gabriel's secretary.
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the eyes that follow me; the ghost of my errors by NeonLite
There was something wrong with Duusu. More than Felix thinks should be. He didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviours. He doesn’t know what’s normal for the Kwami or how Kwami were supposed to act at all. The information he gathered from the tablet wasn’t much, he learned even less about the Kwamis but… Felix didn’t have a frame of reference for Duusu’s behaviour. But he didn’t think the Kwami of Emotion should look so empty.
I love how this fic acknowledges how Felix doomed the rest of the kwamis to staying with Gabriel, and how unhappy Duusu would be about that. Which Felix understands, but he was also desperate, and right now he can't stay transformed for long or keep any sentis he makes alive, which just... you can feel his desperation and bottled-up guilt. He knows what he did was wrong, but he'd still do it again, in order to feel safe for once in his life.
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see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere) by @that-was-anticlimactic
“Why? Why are you suppressing?” “Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…” And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams. [or, alya suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]
I love how this fic goes into some of Alya's thoughts and insecurities about having Tourette's, how the general public doesn't understand, and then lets her receive comfort and validation afterwards. It's just... really nice.
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i'm worried 'bout the future by @purplecatghostposts
He edges closer to Adrien, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “If it comes down to it, I’ll distract him while you run and hide the first second you get.” “What?” Adrien blurts, louder than Félix would like. His eyes dart to Argos but thankfully, he doesn’t turn around. Félix shoots Adrien a look to lower his voice and thankfully, his cousin listens. “You think we can’t trust him?” “He has the Peacock Miraculous.” Félix points out. “He’s from the future.” Adrien counters. “And Future Chat Noir trusts him so… Maybe we can trust him too?” (Or Chat Noir and a Peacock Hero from a decade in the future end up in the past and save their past selves. Félix is wary of whoever this ‘Argos’ is.)
I love time travel fics. Felix being really wary of the Peacock hero's deliciously ironic, something that Argos realizes and he doesn't. While Adrien's just happy to see his future self and completely trusts what Chat tells him. I loved how Argos was put out when he realized why his past self is afraid of him and trying to reassure him as best he can without giving away spoilers.
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The Black Cat of the Family by Anonymous
To Felix, Chat Noir is freedom. Pure freedom, unhindered by anything (well, except perhaps a little too much dedication to Ladybug). He goes where he pleases when he pleases. He acts so ridiculous, like no one was ever watching, even when everyone was watching. He chafes at orders and authority, even when the orders are coming from Ladybug herself. He's free to be whoever he wants, in a way Felix only wishes he could be. So of course he starts flirting with the catboy. It also doesn't hurt that the superhero is easy on the eyes. Chat Noir, meanwhile, is simply trying to figure out how to reject his cousin without revealing his own secret identity. But when has anything in his love life ever worked out for him? Or, in other words: Somehow the Fathom-Graham de Vanily-Agreste family becomes even more dysfunctional in brand new ways.
This was fun, I liked the natural way Chat caught Felix's attention with his kindness, wit, and hidden depths. It makes sense why Felix would slowly develop a crush on him, while Chat just thinks that he's having fun with his cousin.
Also Chat's reaction when he realizes that Felix is, in fact, confessing his crush on him, is just priceless XD.
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Handle With Care by @dragonchris
AU where soulmates can feel each other's emotions. But having a soulmate isn't always beautiful and romantic. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it hurts. Marc and Nath have to learn what that means for them.
This was cute, I loved seeing how Nathaniel and Marc both thought about their soulmate, and how they cope with the aftermath of Reverser in this AU. Helps that Alix is a platonic soulmate of Nathaniel's here (Nathaniel has two soulmates).
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Draining the Tank by @trinketsinthesun
After a hard day of being Paris's most famous fashion designer and supervillain, Gabriel Agreste wants nothing more than a hot bath. But with the hot water tank always empty, he starts to wonder - why is Adrien taking such long showers?
So this fic is rated M, and it's rated that high because Gabriel comes to suspect that Adrien's long showers are due to him masturbating while he's taking them (no masturbation actually takes place in the fic). Then he notices that Adrien's long showers happen to occur most frequently during akuma attacks and draws his own hilariously wrong conclusions XD.
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Marinette's Temporal Daycare by Choppa01
What do you do if your child is in danger and you have access to time travel? If you're Marinette (A.K.A Ladybug) you send them back in time to your younger self. Bunnix goes back in time to do the drop-off, expecting to surprise a younger Marinette. Instead she is the one who ends up being surprised.
I love the "Adrien and Marinette babysit for their future selves" trope, so this fic was a delight to read! It's ramping the trope up to 11, with multiple different Bunnixes dropping off kids from across timelines, and Marinette having long-since figured out a system to make this work for everyone.
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I Want to Remember by @kiraheartilly36
Adrien wants to remember all the times Gabriel tried to be a good dad.
This fic is less than 200 words, you could fit the entire thing in an AO3 summary if you wanted to, but I found it both sad and hilarious. Some dark humor here.
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The Wifi Trap by @jessecosay
Written for the Miraculous Fanworks Anniversary Prompts 2024 for Teleocrater. Alternative universe. Alya is trapped as Lady WiFi, even after being freed by Ladybug. But, at least she has Marinette on her side.
I love fics where people are trapped as their akumatized selves, so this one was right up my alley from the beginning! I love Alya trying to cope with the prejudice people are displaying towards her for being akumatized, and Marinette helping to defend her. Thankfully, while its unfortunate that she's trapped in Lady Wifi's form, she DOES also have access to her akumatized self's powers, which comes in handy...
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Overload by Verse
The power of creation is not by any mean gentle.
This is a Miraculous side effects fic. Marinette's body will create and create and create, overproducing and causing harm to her unless she finds a way to purge the excess. She got lucky that the particular way her body overproduces is relatively simple to handle and can be harnessed for good purposes. Other Ladybug wielders were not so lucky.
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Not the Ghost by Yellow_Soul
She… wasn't alone. Not anymore. Even when they parted ways, she would still have someone to come back to. A person that would look forward to seeing her.
I loved this fic's take on why Reverse!Marinette and Reverse!Sabine apparently have a bad relationship. It makes sense that if Tom died, Sabine may be unable to cope with it and begin lashing out or distancing herself out of stress and grief. Love the idea of Adrien and Marinette commiserating over their similar circumstances as well.
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LOCAL SUPERVILLAIN IS A PEDO?!? by AlexJX
Gabriel stares at the morning news headlines… And walks straight out of the room. “...Father?”
People start noticing that Hawkmoth keeps akumatizing children and reach certain conclusions. It doesn't help that demanding some kids' "Miraculous" or "magic jewels" could be seen as a euphemism.
Ladybug and Chat Noir do nothing to help the situation.
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Fall From Grace by PlasmusDogmatic
fall from grace verb 1. lose favor or a position of power or honor.
So this story explores a scenario where the Miracuteam is gradually put through darker and more brutal scenarios, becoming darker and more brutal to match, until Parisians are about as afraid of them as the actual villains - and also know that it's partially their own fault, since part of the reason the Miracuteam is more hostile and brutal is because Paris started being harsher and more critical towards them as they struggled more. I found this exploration of their descent really interesting, as the team doesn't turn "evil" at any point, per se, they just get placed in worse and worse circumstances and adapt in some damaging ways.
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