#you followed him to that place and got exploded

[fall0utmind]

Medical leak AU pt 7

It's 11pm, have 5k words of whump from Vale's POV.

Chapter 7 - Vale's Interlude - A03

Parts 1-6 on the #medical leak au tag

Usual TW apply (suicide, abusing pain meds - no graphic details)

LMK what you think

Ever since the news broke, Valentino had been overwhelmed by a myriad of confusing feelings.

He first heard whispers in the paddock on Friday morning. He was walking past some journalists and had noticed the excited murmuring that usually accompanied big news. It wasn’t until he heard Marquez’s name that he stopped, pretending to be busy so he could eavesdrop.

Although he liked to pretend Marc was no longer important, he could not deny his interest in the man. Marc had ruined his untarnished career; it was only normal to feel such intense rage whenever he was reminded of the man. It was the reason he still spoke about him, he needed the world to understand the injustice, to feel his hatred. Because that was what this was all about. Hatred. He knew the boys would call him obsessed, but really, he was just getting a better idea of the enemy, for Pecco’s sake. He scoffed when he figured out what the journalists were talking about, the apparent breaking news– yeah, as if. He continued walking, amused by the idea. It was preposterous, all Marc wanted was to beat Valentino, to take his records. He wouldn’t have given up on that. The one thing Marc loved more than anything else was winning. He shook his head; Marc was never so weak.

It wasn’t till later, when he sat watching the press conference, that a sliver of doubt crept in.

He considered himself an expert in Marc. The way he calculated every action, how he performed every expression. Everything was a persona with him. But after the first question, it all crumbled. He watched pure fear cross Marc’s face before he could school it. The press constantly brought up 2015, it usually made Valentino feel slightly vindicative, the way Marc always had to paste on his media smile. This time, though, he only experienced a creeping sense of dread. Marc was trying to get them to move on from the topic, with limited success. Valentino observed the way Pecco was staring at Marc, concern and bemusement unhidden in his countenance. It made Vale frown. The atmosphere in the press room was tense, even through the screen.  

It only got worse.

Marc was staring into the distance, looking at something off-camera, his expression alarmed. The next question was worse, shaking Marc out of his daze. He watched in fascination as Marc’s façade fell apart, sweat glistening on his brow, his face carefully blank to the casual observer. Valentino flinched when his name was mentioned, and his stomach dropped at the sentence that was uttered.

Marc? Suicide? No way. No, that wasn’t possible.

Valentino was clenching and unclenching his fists, his brow furrowed as he intently stared at the screen. He thought he might be having a heart attack.

Jesus.

He was fixated on Marc’s face; Valentino saw the horror dawn on his face as understanding settled and felt his own nausea rising in response. He watched as the Marc on-screen flitted his eyes to the other riders on stage, he followed the younger man’s gaze. Pecco looked wrecked, fear shining in his eyes. The others didn’t look much better. The silence was deathly; Marc was frozen in place – a rabbit in headlights.

Valentino blinked. Marc shot out of his seat, sending it clattering to the floor. He watched in horrifying confusion as Marc fled. There was a second of quiet before the media room exploded. The three remaining riders looked bemused, staring after where Marc had bolted, before they too rose to their feet, trailing out of the room in a daze. Valentino had to close his eyes for a second. This could not be happening. Seriously. This had to be some elaborate joke, a media ploy from Marc’s team. He simply could not believe that happy, carefree Marc had done this. He settled slightly, yes, of course. It had to be false. Marc would never give up, no matter how bad it had gotten.

*

Thoughts of Marc were still on his mind when he found Pecco later. He wondered what had happened and why Marc had reacted in that way. A part of him thought this must have been some elaborate ploy to gain sympathy.

Pecco was sitting despondently on the settee in his motorhome, deep in thought. Vale once more cursed Marc Marquez, of course, Marc couldn’t just leave Valentino alone, he had to fuck with his students too. Anger rose within him; he shoved it down. Right now, he had to focus on Pecco. He sat down, their knee knocking as he did so, and sighed quietly.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Ah, I do not know. Cazzo, that was hard to watch”, Pecco replied.

Valentino cocked an eyebrow, there was more anxiety in Pecco’s voice than he had anticipated. He had hoped that it wouldn’t have affected his student as much, Marc was clearly fine, wasn’t he? He said as much to the other man, who scowled in response.

“You’re joking, Vale. You should have seen him after, he was a mess, throwing up in the toilets, almost crying. It was horrible”, Pecco snarled. It raised Vale’s hackles, Pecco didn’t know Marc the way that he did.

Marc was a manipulator; he changed that narrative to suit himself. He would do anything to win, including betraying people he claimed to love. He got people on his side by any means. The way he’d convinced Ducati to hire him for next year still baffles Vale. Sure, he was a good rider, but putting him in red was a bad move, stupid if you asked Vale. Marc was dangerous, and unpredictable. Ducati was Italy’s pride, and they had gone and put enemy number one on their bike. Valentino’s frustration had nothing to do with his title record and his own failure on the Ducati machine.

Nothing at all.

Valentino tried not to consider it too hard, how much he thought of Marc. In his weaker moments, he allowed himself to reminisce on what could have been. He hated to admit his former soft spot for Marc, the way the younger looked at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars. At his worst, he let himself imagine sharp cheekbones and pink lips, of loud laughter and warm brown eyes. Marc should always be smiling; even going through tragedy, he smiled. The thought of him in pain made him shudder. But he was not in pain, because it was a lie. It was abhorrent to think of it as the truth. It could not be. It went against the very fabric of the universe. It was a bit like this: he hated Marc Marquez, and Marc Marquez was a smug bastard who was always infuriatingly happy. These were two facts that he clung to desperately.

He turned back to Pecco, who had gone stiff beside him. Valentino had heard that Alex Marquez had swept Marc back to their motorhome after the press conference, he tried not to think too hard about that. Clearly, it had shaken Pecco, and Vale didn’t like that one bit. He settled a hand on the younger’s back, ignoring his own thoughts for a minute.

“Pecco, you cannot let this get to you”, he said. “Let Marquez deal with his stuff, it will blow over soon enough.”

Pecco did not look settled by his answer, but Vale did not have anything else to say, instead, he changed the conversation into a practice debrief, easier territory for them both.

If only he had been correct.

*

Marc got pole position in qualifying. It made Valentino grit his teeth in frustration, wondering how the hell the Spaniard was beating the others on a year-old bike. He had been watching Marc carefully in his box, noting his slightly subdued manner. It made an unnamed emotion swell within him. He pushed it down. His stomach soured when he caught sight of Andrea Dovizioso in the Gresini garage, looking at Marc with unconcealed fondness. He was all over the Spaniard, the two of them laughing together like children. Surely nothing was that funny. The ugly feeling only grew when they walked past whilst Vale and Pecco were chatting in the paddock, the older whispering to Marc. Valentino couldn’t help but stare, as he always did when it came to Marc.

Valentino didn’t notice the man until it was too late. He watched it happen in slow motion- the cruel words and Marc’s heart-breaking reaction. The ‘fan’ was brutal, viciously attacking Marc. It was hard to watch the way his face broke, his eyes going shiny with tears. Valentino’s world stopped at the hurt he saw. By the time his brain came back online, Pecco had gone, stalking over to the incident. He followed closely, grimacing as Pecco began to shout at the man. Marc was being dragged away by Dovi,  Vale tried to shove down the misplaced discomfort at seeing the two together, it almost felt akin to jealousy. But that was impossible. He had nothing to be jealous of.

(Nothing).

He re-focussed on the way that security was hauling the man away from them and towards the exit. Valentino tugged Pecco’s sleeve, wanting to escape from the public as soon as possible. He swallowed down the feelings which threatened to rise at what he had just witnessed.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s not worth it”, he sighed, pausing briefly before continuing, “you are upset, it is not worth staying and watching, we will make sure he never comes back. I promise.”

Pecco relented. His face was distraught, his anguish clear. By the time they reached the Ducati motorhome, Pecco had fully retreated into himself and asked to be left alone. Valentino accepted the request despite his concern. He did not really want to abandon the younger man but felt he had no choice after he had almost screwed up that morning.

Being alone gave him time to think, as uncomfortable as it was. He was surprised by the venom that had laced the man’s voice as he spoke to Marc, it made Valentino wonder if that was usually how people addressed him. He could understand Marc’s reaction to such horrible words, and Pecco had always been a kind-hearted person. Dovi’s intentions were still unclear to Vale. He let his thoughts drift back to Marc- his sad eyes and blank face. It couldn’t be easy to be hated so viciously. To make matters worse, a quick look on social media told him that a lot of people had said similar things. He thought back to his interview this morning, where he had suggested that they disregard thinking about Marc’s life from 10 years ago. It was, after all, pointless. The past was the past. Clearly, he was alone in his views. He pointedly did not lament the fact that Sepang and his 10th were a decade ago too, because that was different. He closed his eyes, pushing away the mental image of Marc’s shattered face.

Instead, he focussed on his anger. The way Marc had practically fallen in Dovi’s arms as if he was anything but a lone wolf, an outsider in the paddock. He had heard whisperings in the paddock that Dani Pedrosa and Jorge Lorenzo were in Gresini today too. It seemed like Marc was inviting all the retired riders to watch. He did not analyse the feelings too much, but let the indignation rise within him. Marc’s stupid games were affecting Pecco, it was unfair. Vale frowned at the thought, it would not do, he would have to tell Marc to cut it out. Make sure that Marc knew that Valentino knew the truth.

It wasn’t too difficult to catch Marc before the sprint. The younger had, predictably, taken the quiet route through the motorhomes to get to the garages. What was more unexpected was the tense fight that occurred. Valentino had expected to call Marc out and be met with annoyance and maybe an admittance of guilt. He had not anticipated the stone-cold fury in Marc’s voice, nor his own rising emotions, made worse when he spotted Dovizioso’s stupid jumper. He tried to keep his temper under control but the thought of Marc lying to the media, making everyone feel bad, only to be doing that, with Andrea of all people, left a sour taste in his mouth. He was meaner than he intended to be and was met with blazing anger from Marc. There was startling hurt in his voice. It was only once Marc had turned on his heel and stalked away that Valentino realised that the younger had had tears in his eyes and that he had sounded scarily like he was telling the truth. He watched him leave as regret welled up inside of him.

Merda

*

When Marc crashed out of the sprint race, the guilt and regret increased tenfold. His heart had stopped when Marc had collided with the ground, nausea rising when he did not move after. He could not stop thinking about the look on the younger’s face as he had called him an attention seeker. It hurt too much. Suddenly, ten years of anger seemed irrelevant. To make it worse, now people were talking about more leaks, something about Marc and painkillers. Valentino wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. He was beginning to question why Marc would do this to himself.

Afterwards, Valentino tuned into the stream of the media pen, not wanting to go down in person. Pecco had won the race, and Marc had gotten back to his feet, scoring no points but alive. Valentino could only watch in horrified fascination as the press continued to hound Marc. He had never seen it so bad. The way the journalists watched Marc like they were hunting prey made him shiver. He didn’t think he had ever seen Marc look so ruffled. A distant voice told him that this was his fault. The aftermath of Sepang flashed through his head, he steadfastly ignored it. It was not his fault the media had broken into Marc’s house. He had not caused the fallout or the hatred, if Marc had not ruined his title chances, there would have been no issues. Valentino scowled at the thoughts.

His momentary distraction ended when Marc once more stalked out mid-interview. It left Vale feeling slightly dumbfounded. Why would Marc keep having such strong reactions to the news if it was planned? As much as he hated to admit it, his theory was beginning to show cracks, splintering at the edge. He chose not to consider the other feelings that came alongside that revelation. Instead, he turned off his phone, hoping the boys would provide some distraction when they came back.

The boys came pouring into his motorhome an hour later, after their celebrations and debrief, as was usual for the academy on a race weekend. Luca and Bez were first, talking between themselves about the race, making Valentino smile with their rehashing of the events. When Franky entered, he was complaining about how long his debrief had lasted, making Valentino grin as he reminisced. Long debriefs were always painstakingly boring. Pecco and Cele eventually stumbled in half an hour later, the older still buzzing from his win. Vale tried to let his awkwardness from earlier show as a round of cheers sounded. He congratulated Pecco warmly, and let happiness fill him at the sight of Pecco’s beaming smile in return. Things would be okay.

Valentino drifted in and out of the conversation after that, his thoughts elsewhere. He nodded at appropriate times and tried to look interested whilst his mind whirled. It was inevitable, really, that someone would bring up Marquez eventually.

 “Did you see Marquez’s crash?”, Bez asked.  

It prompted a round of affirmative hums from the others. Luca flicked his eyes over to Valentino, his eyebrows furrowed.

Pecco looked contemplative before he responded, “I am worried, he would not look at me on the grid. Then he crashed. He was distracted. I think the media are being too harsh. And the fans. They are being cruel. The things being said...”

He trailed off, deep in thought. Luca bumped their shoulders together, smiling gently when Pecco met his eyes. Valentino had the distinctive feeling that he was missing something.

“Did you hear about what happened in the press pen?”, Cele asked.

Pecco frowned at him, tilting his head to signal that he should continue.

“Apparently, he froze up completely when they asked him about the pain medication. Aleix and a few others basically carried him out. I saw it happen; I’ve never seen him like that before. It was horrible”.

His eyes flashed to Valentino as he spoke the last bit as if he feared being chastised. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, was he really so obsessed with Marc that his boys were afraid to mention him?

Bez looked on in confusion. He turned to Cele,

“What do you mean pain medication?” he asked. “I haven’t really looked at any of the articles, I thought it was bullshit? Or some kind of a joke”.

Pecco huffed slightly, scowling at Bez as he did so. The younger touched his arm in apology, and yet again Valentino felt out of the loop.

It was Luca who pulled out his phone, bringing up one of the many articles which covered the news.

“Here”, he said. “Yesterday his medical records were leaked to the press. There were a whole bunch of appointments and hospital visits documented. The main bit was at the end of 2015 and onwards. He had been to A&E twice, there was a lot about suicide attempts and Alex saving his life. Apparently, he had tried to overdose, it's unclear what happened the second time. His heart stopped I think.”

Valentino blanched. Luca grimaced slightly before continuing.

“From there, there was a whole bunch of stuff about his mental instability and risk. It looked pretty bad, even as a non-medical professional. Then today, more of it was leaked, this time about his crash in 2020. Apparently, he was abusing the painkillers prescribed to him. He would race through agony, causing more issues with his arm, and then just take a load of painkillers after to mask it. Again, Alex ended up getting him help. No wonder they are so close. I think there was a lot of concern about him using the pain as a form of self-harm or something, then it was so bad he just kept taking medication.”

Pecco spoke up then, his voice strained, “I just don’t understand how no one noticed. One of the most prominent drivers on the grid and no one noticed his declining mental health or his use of painkillers. It’s ridiculous.”

Valentino was barely listening, transfixed instead by Luca’s words. He took the phone out of Luca’s hand without asking, staring down at the article. There, in black and white, were pages and pages of clinical medical records for Marc Márquez Alentà. Valentino felt a bit sick. He couldn’t stop reading. There were blocks of gruesome detail about his A&E visits. The medical terms flew past Valentino, but he got the gist. It was bad. Page after page after page of horrific detail about every bit of pain Marc had gone through across the past decade. His eyes glanced over words, his mind conjuring the images to life. He could see 22-year-old Marc’s face, heartbroken and desolate in Sepang, and then blank afterwards. Fuck. How had he not noticed?

He wanted to stop. He couldn’t. Panic was rising inside him; he clamped it down. It was a lie. A lie. This couldn’t be true. He tore his eyes away. It swelled within him. He was going to be sick. He was losing it. Marc. He had missed it, how had he not seen it back then? The thought of his Marc like that broke him. The thought of him being the cause made him choke. He squeezed his eyes shut. Where was this coming from? Why did he care?

Vale spoke without thinking, his mind a million miles away.

“Why would he do that?”, he asked. Luca shot him a sympathetic look. Valentino had a suspicion that his face was betraying his emotional turmoil.

He choked over his next words.

“It’s not true. It can’t be true. Marc wouldn’t do this. Marc loves winning. He couldn’t win if he was 6 feet under. No. No. It must be a lie.”

Valentino knew he was now ranting like a madman. The boys were staring at him with wide eyes full of fear. He felt like he was going crazy and yet he continued.

“Why would be so selfish? Why would he do something like that? He was so young. He had so much to live for. What about his family? His brother. It’s not fair. It’s so selfish. I hate him. Bastard.”

Valentino was on the brink of tears, clutching at his hair. He didn’t notice the way Pecco’s eyes had turned hard and cold. He didn’t see the way Bez had frozen, clutching Pecco’s arm. The others were silent, shocked at his words.

Valentino looked up. He met Pecco’s eyes.

The younger man stood and stiffly walked to the door. He opened it and looked back towards Vale.

“You do not get to say things like that when you were part of the cause. Don’t you dare call him selfish. You are the bastard here”, he whispered, his words scalding. Before Valentino could respond, he was gone. Bez leapt out of his chair to follow, slamming the door behind him.

Valentino shot Luca a questioning look. His younger brother sighed,

“You are so obtuse, Vale. His sister also went through similar. She almost died. He is hurting seeing Marc this way too.”

Vale found himself full of outrage. How was he meant to know? Of course, he felt bad for Pecco, but this was Marc they were talking about. He said as much to Luca, who just shook his head, looking angrier than Vale had seen him in a long time.

“You need to wake up Valentino.”, he said.

“You do not hate Marc; you are obsessed with him. Yes, you were angry, but that was a decade ago. Surely you are over it by now. If I were you, I would consider what all your feelings about Marc really mean. Before you fuck it up even more.”

With that, the rest of the boys filed out of the motorhome, leaving Vale to stew in his anger and his guilt. He did not want to think about what Luca had meant about Marc. Instead, he would find Pecco and apologise, it was, after all, unfair to bring the boys into it. It was not his finest moment; Marc had always had that effect on him. He scowled at the thought. No one had ever been like Marc, he doubted anyone ever would. For Valentino, Marc was like a drug, inherently bad but at the same time addictive. A strange paradox for someone he hated.

Vale locked the door of the motorhome behind him as he headed out to find Pecco. The wave of anger had receded, and the guilt came crashing back down, threatening to drown him. He had to make it right.

Pecco wasn’t in his own motorhome; the lights were off as he went past, the door unanswered. He tried the Ducati garage but still had no luck. The staff had not seen him since earlier, after the sprint. Bez’s motorhome was similarly empty. He was running out of ideas and worry was beginning to engulf him.

One last idea struck him, and he walked slowly toward Marc’s motorhome, the lights were on. As he approached, the dread he felt threatened to engulf him. It was like a premonition. A war between guilt and anger was waging inside him. He heard Luca’s voice, followed by Bez’s, and the fury took hold. He threw the door open; it hit the wall with a resounding bang. He took in the scene before him, the remorse souring in his stomach, turning to resentment.

“What the fuck is going on?”

*

In hindsight, he could have handled it better. He had seen red. The thought of his boys running to Marc. Then he saw Marc on top of Dovi and Lorenzo.

He lost himself.

It wasn’t until Marc addressed him directly that he felt like he could breathe again. He returned to his body. The more Marc spoke, the more his fury faded to irrelevance. But then Valentino had spoken without conscious thought, once more putting his foot in it.

The realisation had taken his breath away. Marc had been crying. Marc had been vulnerable; he hated being perceived as weak. Marc was angry, no, he was furious. Marc had just had his deepest secrets announced to the world. He was receiving more hate than Valentino had ever seen.

He hadn’t been lying.

Why the fuck did Vale ever think he had been lying? The evidence had been right in front of him, but it had been too scary to really look at. Valentino hadn’t wanted to admit what he had done. He realised what Luca had meant then. He didn’t hate Marc. Yes, he had been angry about his tenth world championship slipping through his fingers. Yes, he had partially blamed Marc. But alongside the hurt, the anger, the pain, was pure devotion. He had lost the championship and blamed it on the nearest person to save his ego. Although Marc had done wrong, he had never deserved this. Sure, Valentino still thought he was dangerous, pushing the bike to stupid limits. But Marc would never hurt anyone on purpose. It was like falling 50 feet and hitting the ground, the realisation crashing into him. He was jealous of Dovi, that he got the Marc that smiled and laughed, the Marc that Vale used to have. Before everything had gone to shit. Valentino thought that maybe he had loved Marc for 11 years and that somewhere in his head, love had become confused with hate. He had never hated someone like he hated Marc; he had never loved someone like he loved Marc. It was all-consuming. He was obsessed. He thought about him all the time. He was always angry, scared, and jealous when it came to Marc. He couldn’t pretend he was ambivalent, not when he consumed every waking thought. Not when he still went on podcasts to talk about the younger man. Every insight was like a punch to the stomach.

He thought Marc was stupidly pretty, with his cheekbones, his bronze skin, his wide eyes and plush lips. He wanted Marc next to him, under him, above him. He wanted to kiss the stupid, smug smirk he always wore on his face; he wanted to kiss away his tears. Valentino wanted to bring Marc breakfast in bed, make him laugh, and make love to him. He wanted Marc on his track again, taking off his helmet after with wild eyes and messed up hair. He wanted to fuck him on every surface of his house, in every position. He wanted Marc in every way that he could have him.

Oh god, he loved Marc and all he had done was fuck up his life for a decade.

Valentino panicked.

He scrambled, pleading with Marc, distantly aware of the horror on everyone’s faces. He had been kicked out. Marc had shouted at him, and then Alex had shouted at him. Pecco left and Luca was disappointed.

He deserved it all. If he could take all of Marc’s pain, he would. Instead, Valentino was left with a yawning pit of desperation and want, devastation and pain. His anger was gone.

He thinks about the way the younger man used to look at him. He thinks about the adoration that he had brushed off as hero worship. He had broken Marc’s heart. The look on his face in that press conference. The way Marc would look away during Vale’s jokes about them together. He had assumed it was awkwardness, now it seemed like someone had hit too close to the truth. Now, Marc barely glanced at him, brushing off every comment Vale made to the media in a desperate hope for a sliver of attention. It destroyed them both.

Standing there, outside the motorhome, Valentino realises just how much he has fucked up. He isn’t sure there is any coming back from this. Certainly not with the way Dovi and Marc look at each other. But damn it, he will try. He will spend the rest of his life on his knees grovelling if he has to. He has spent too long with his vision clouded by misplaced anger. It had taken him 11 years to work out his love for Marquez, he would spend the rest of his life loving him, and every day trying to prove it to him. Even if it killed him.

[cas-spirit]

@ancha-aus has been making a Subnautica/UTMV au, and it got me thinking

(This is unrelated to ancha’s au, but she inspired this thinking exercise. Go check out her project!!! It's very interesting.) (Sorry if you don't like getting tagged Ancha)

What species I would give each Sans (I haven’t played below zero yet, so there are only animals from the original)

Classic: Gasopod

~~~They strike me as chill fish

Swap: Rabbit Ray

~~~Vibes

Fell: Biter

~~~It was between Biter and Crashfish, but I don't see Fell as that self destructive

Outer: Ampeel

~~~The white spots at the end of it's spikes makes me think of stars, especially if they were glowing in the dark ocean

Geno: Ghost Ray

~~~It was between Ghost Ray and Jellyray, but Ghost Rays appear in the Lost River, a hard to reach place like the Save Screen is

Ccino: Cuddlefish

~~~A friendly face for a friendly face

Farm: Skyray

~~~These guys are above water animals, so Farm can still do his namesake, probably watching over the farms previous crash survivors left behind

Epic: Warper

~~~These guys scared the shit out of me in my game. But, they're strong and purple

Color: Sea trader Leviathan

~~~He's absorbed six human souls, he can be a leviathan, but Color gives me the vibes of a wanderer, someone who can't stay in one place

Delta: River Prowler

~~~Vibes

Dust: Stalker

~~~Their whole sneaky factor reminds me of how Dust is normally quite, probably sneaking up on people without meaning to

Horror: Sand shark

~~~Exploding out of the ground makes me think of Horror and I can't explain why

Killer: Bone shark

~~~These guys are very persistent, almost followed me back to my base in my game

Cross: Crabsquid

~~~Apparently you can hatch these guys to guard your base? Literal guard behavior

Nightmare: Sea Dragon leviathan

Dream: Sea Emperor leviathan

~~~The difference between Dream being more of a peacekeeper/passive while Nightmare won't take shit/is more aggressive

Ink: Reefback OR Sea Dragon leviathan

~~~He plants multicolored coral on his back to look colorful OR being the one Leviathan with arm/hand adjacent limbs would be helpful for creating things

Error: Reaper leviathan

~~~Had to make him the most aggressive Leviathan

Reaper: Ghost leviathan

~~~While it was tempting to make him a reaper leviathan, he's not that aggressive. The Ghost leviathan's glow gives it an otherworldly feel, which I think matches the god of death.

(Bonus) Passive: Mesmer

~~~Vibes

[isa-ghost]

I had a dream that Phil joined another smp and we eneded up getting more q!Phil lore and now that I woke up I'm lamenting it's not real ;;;;

Bits I remember is him reaching the End with someone else through almost a glitch? Like they were leaving the nether just as a ghast tried exploding the portal and it took them theyre. But like Phil finds a message for him in there? With a green feather in it.

So he follows the message and finds a secret base in the Overworld where he runs into Chay and Lullah???? But as if theyd hatched and became proper players. And it seems fine cause it's Sunmin and Ama voicing them but Phil feels a bit wary (and theres a point where "Lullah" makes a joke in portuguese instead of spanish and Phil corrects her) so the vibes are that it's something mimicking them or straight up hallucinations.

And after he leaves we get revealed that he's still somewhat possesed by the Ender King???? As in the jerk figured out a way to do the more subtle possesion and just influencing Phil and making him forget chunks of time where he was more in control.

I was gonna get villain Phil in my dream and now i'll never know how it goes ;;;;;;

Holy shit that's sick??? Omg???

Allow me to take thos and run for a moment, imagine with me real quick:

My personal belief is that person he went to the Nether/End with was Fit or Etoiles. Or maybe Pierre. Those are largely the people he'd break shit with.

I fuck SO HARD with "Ender King never fully left Phil's body, he left a shred of himself in him Just In Case and it's undetectable (for now)."

I don't know why I'm so stuck on the green feather. Like... Who or what could that be? Idk why I'm so hooked on it, something about that is just so compelling but I've got nothing as to how to run with it. Though for him to find the feather with the message and then find the kids hatched,,, Idk, maybe Chayanne has feathery wings that are green (bc you KNOW Lullah's would be purple).

Also possibly fake Chayanne and Lullah ooouuuuhhhh... Consider: It IS them but that shred of Ender King is amplifying Phil's already usually easy-to-trigger paranoia. Not to mention we don't know how long after QSMP this is, the kids could have plenty of time to change and learn. It'd make sense that Lullah would want to carry on her memory of the Brazilians by learning Portuguese and even if not that, it's not unreasonable to say that During QSMP she could've picked up plenty of Portuguese things from the Brazilians themselves. It's just that Phil has never heard (or perhaps doesn't remember ;D) her making such references.

This is post-QSMP ending since you said it was a new SMP. This is post Death Family finale. As far as Phil knows, his kids are either dead, asleep forever, or hatched into crows back home in Hardcore. How could they have left there to hatch? It's too good to be true. He refuses to believe it's them (at first) because he doesn't want to get his hopes up. He doesn't want to reopen that wound, it's not even closed yet in the first place!

AND THE SPICE OF HIM STILL BEING PARTIALLY POSSESSED. THE KIDS NOT KNOWING YET AND HAVING TO REALIZE IN REAL TIME AND HAVE THE HORROR DAWN ON THEM. AUGH. Like when they see him for the first time, it's SO CLEAR he's doing TERRIBLE and not even just because of the partial possession.

He hasn't been readjusting well to being alone in Hardcore again. He's disheveled, he clearly hasn't been sleeping well, he's closed off, standoffish, a little cold. Not the warm, chill, smiley father still fresh in their minds. He's resistant to making new friendships on this new SMP because he hasn't overcome the pain of saying goodbye in QSMP and is he Hyperaware that eventually he'll have to say goodbye again here and he Does Not Want To. He is just Not doing well mentally and you can physically see it when you look at him.

The fucking spice of the kids not being around to be vigilant and catch that shred of EK sooner, the fact that Phil's been in such a bad state that EK has just been free to fester inside him. And you KNOW the kids would blame themselves for not being around to be vigilant.

Phil doesn't know EK is still hiding in his body yet, he doesn't Know what's festering inside of him, and it's actually hard to say if he'd do anything about it if he Did know because he's so depressed and hurt, he's still grieving. After all, in canon, Phil was very upfront with the kids post-possession that if anything ever happened to them again, he'd give up and just let EK take him.

But I bet you Chayanne and Lullah would remember him saying that as soon as they clock that there's a shred of EK lurking in their dad. And they'd be TERRIFIED that it's on the verge of becoming a reality.

Dude your dream is COOKING, even without me taking it and stretching it out like this. I'm going insane. /pos

[shipstorms]

more modern AU

Halfway through the episode, there’s a faint beep of a keycard and the door clicks open. Gale turns down the volume and stands up just as someone appears past the corner with a single duffel slung over his shoulder.

"Gale! Holy shit!" Bucky greets loudly, dropping the duffel onto the bed and pulling Gale into a hearty hug. All the action coalesces into a big blur, but he's solid and warm, the first person Gale's touched so closely in months.

"Hey there," he manages, face held tight against the ribbed collar of Bucky's t-shirt. 

Bucky smells like everything comforting: clean laundry, low-profile deodorant, a freshly sparked flint. And it has to be Bucky -- who else would have a keycard to the room? -- but Gale is just about knocked sideways by the sheer physical presence of him. Back then in Afghanistan, on truckloads of ephedra pills, Bucky had almost been thinner than even Gale. The person who stands before him now is hulking, both taller and broader than that rangy kid. Even his voice has thickened up rough with whatever he's been sucking through his lungs for the past few years. Which, judging by the Marlboros peeking out of his shirt pocket and Parliaments tossed onto the dresser, has been varied and plentiful. 

It takes a second to overwrite his memory of Bucky with this current iteration, and another second to react. He pats at Bucky's back, then drops his arms when Bucky grabs him by the shoulders and pushes them apart so they can look at each other. 

"Been awhile, huh? How've you been?" Bucky shakes him a bit. His expression is familiar, open and happy, the kind of smile that doesn't have to be earned, and all his other features fall into place around it. 

"John," Gale says. Even to his own ears, he sounds genuinely delighted. "You grew up."

Bucky laughs. "Pretty sure I was grown back then, but I know what you mean. You too, Buck. You look good."

Gale is about to say, not as much as you, or nah, not me, but maybe that would seem like he's too fascinated with this transformation. So he doesn't. 

"Do I still look psyops good?" he asks instead. 

He can spot the moment Bucky processes this reference and connects it to the correct memory. "Even more so," he confirms, eyes crinkling up with another wide grin. "They need to start putting this mug on recruitment brochures, I've been saying that for years."

He gives Gale a final squeeze before turning too soon to unpack his bag. A wrinkled suit emerges, followed by a dopp kit. "Can you believe Croz is getting married?" he asks with his back toward Gale. 

"Half the guys at Bagram got hitched before they even deployed," Gale points out, distracted, studying how Bucky's hair is still shorn down close, tapering to a dark point on his nape. The paleness of his upper arms peeks past his sleeves when he stretches out to toss a charging cord onto the pillow. 

"Love," he crows. "What a beautiful journey."

He heads over to the bathroom, hanging his suit on the door hook and emptying his kit by the sounds of it. "We got like an hour, right? Do you mind if I shower? Need to get some steam going to unwrinkle this thing." 

"Go ahead," Gale calls back. 

"We'll catch up after!" Bucky hollers.

The door shuts and the water turns on. Gale punches the TV volume back up, though he's already forgotten what myth they were busting in the first place. Something on screen gets smashed with a hydraulic press before exploding and he watches vacantly. Finds himself thinking again about how much Bucky has changed; marveling at it, almost, that this man had somehow burst forth from that cocky little grunt, sharp-chinned and dwarfed under his helmet, turning to face him in the dark the first night they'd met. The image is still clear in Gale's mind, revealing itself as a core memory that's been lodged in there this entire time without his knowledge or permission.

Gale rubs at his eye, tries to override it with the static of pressure, but it doesn't do any good. The real thing is right on the other side of that wall.

[gjdraws]

every day I think about what ray saw in fraser that prompted him to follow this man to a diner and invite him home for dinner

[monstersholygrail]

I am such a nuzzler (I’m severely touched starved). But I just love me a good nuzzle with some sweet cuddling and maybe a bit more than that.

Imagine Werewolf bf who welcomes and encourages your clingy behavior and all the nuzzling that comes with it. Not only because he loves the attention but because he is just as obsessed with you as you are him.

You get this sort of shy look in your eye when the urge arrives and Werewolf bf notices it instantly. His arms move on their own as they spread out wide. Allowing you to immediately dive into his embrace. Nuzzling your way up his furry body till you burrow into his chest.

Loud purrs emanate from Werewolf bfs chest as his arms move to wrap around you, practically squishing you to his chest. You both adore the hard secure touch of each other’s hold. His purrs only growing louder as you move up and nuzzle into his neck, nosing brushing along his marking spot.

His cock can help but harden whenever you do this. It’s his instant weakness. The idea of you two marking each other. Of being bound and getting these cuddles for the rest of your life. It sounds like heaven to him.

And of course when you’re cuddling with a Werewolf bf, cuddling doesn’t stay cuddling for long. With your delicious shapely body pressed so tightly against him, he can’t be blamed for his actions that follow.

As you two continue to squirm against each other, practically wanting to crawl into each other’s skin, it’s simply not Werewolf bfs fault that his erection just so happens to grind into your lovely pussy. He can feel the growing dampness through your panties and he growls out his approval. Always so wet for him you are.

The whine that leaves you vibrates through his skin, only serving to make Werewolf bf even harder. His hands never leave their place around your body, not even as they slide down and so gently push your panties off to the side. He wouldn’t dare take his hands off of you when in need of such closeness.

Making sure to maintain your cuddles while he rolls his cock easily inside your addictive wet heat. Werewolf bf tightens his hold on you to the point where you can barely move as he starts moving your bodies in a steady rhythm.

Your bodies rocking together as noises of pleasure fall from your lips and spill right into each other’s skin. Not an inch of space between you and neither of you would have it any other way. Werewolf bf’s claws scratch along your back and you cry out, toes curling at the added sensation.

Burying your hands in his fur you move as best you can, eagerly sucking his cock back inside you with every thrust. Wanting all of him as close to you as possible. Rough grunts leave your bf as his pace picks up, fulfilling your need as he does all the others.

Werewolf bf keeps his grip firm but gives you the room to move faster and meet the snap of his hips. You immediately jump at the chance, drool dripping onto his fur as you bounce sloppily on his huge girth. Wanting to feel just how roughly he can split you open and stretch your weeping cunt.

As you both move together it doesn’t take long for you both to explode, clenching down on his length and milking his cock for all it’s worth as he shoots spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside your walls. Werewolf bf shivers in return, his body buzzing as your essence coats his member and your walls stay firmly implanted around him.

Your limp form sags happily back into his chest. Nipping playfully at his neck and resulting in Werewolf bf’s cock twitching inside you as he snaps his jaw at your neck in retaliation. You laugh lightly, nuzzling back into him, glad to be even closer to him as his softening cock stays inside you.

Werewolf bf moves his hands up and down your back and over your body, caressing every inch of you. Loving how your body trembles and leans into it in response.

Yeah, Werewolf bf wouldn’t give up your nuzzles and clingy behavior for anything. He’s got everything he needs right here.

[slvttyplum]

ever since having your child, time went by super fast; you could barely keep up. with the help of satoru, things were even easier; you didn't even think about sex—that was until the sleepovers.

your child was getting the age where they would hang out with their friends and want to sleep over their place all the time, and you let them because that's when satoru would fuck the shit out of you. the both of you took the weekends where your child was gone to fuck, and there was no shame about it.

sex was hard to come by when the both of you were so busy—to the point where the both of you became sexually frustrated—all day long. it got so bad to the point that you would have sex every other month, but you tried to look on the bright side and see that your husband was still there cuddling you when you woke up.

it was like a guardian angel swooped down and gave you exactly what both of you needed, and that was sex. having him slide inside of you for the first time in moths had your curl on impact, it felt so fucking good you thought you were going to lose your mind.

satoru felt the same way, if not better. sliding himself into you had his head spinning and his stomach exploding with butterflies, sweat already forming on his forehead. he was going to cum right inside of you if he didn't pull out right then and there. this is what he's been missing, missing being inside of you, and looking at that beautiful face scrunched up in pleaser and your sweet voice that flowed like honey in his ears, call out for him whenever he hits your favorite spot.

your body sinking into the mattress every time he thrust into you and your fingernails digging into his soft skin as he held your thighs apart, pushing his hands into you so he could see how your pussy reacted to everything he was doing to you, spitting onto your wet cunt even though you were already dripping. hearing the sounds your pussy made drove him insane; it made him fuck you harder. see how much you could take.

"i missed you so much, baby." leaning down to kiss you on the lips, taking one of his hands to grab your jaw and push into you even more so that the tip of his dick that was leaking cum slid against your sweet spot so that you were begging him for more. you wanted more, but your body was telling you no. you were way too sensitive to handle what he was doing to you, but you wanted more.

"more, baby, please harder." he almost couldn't breathe from how tight you were squeezing around him, taking deep breaths as he pushed into you more and more, one of his hands sliding to your stomach, slowly sliding down and lightly pressing as his eyes scanned from your pussy to your eyes.

"you feel that? look at me; i'm right here." your eyes following his as you look at your stomach and satoru pressing down, his dick was so deep inside of you there was no time to comprehend. teasing you as he kept pressing down on the sensitive spot and leaning in closer to kiss your neck, licking over multiple sports before he settled on one where he knew would have you whimpering.

this happened every weekend. you were on your toes when he came into the room, barely wasting time to strip off his clothes just to fuck you like he fantasized in his head for weeks on end. the feeling of his tongue tracing over your skin had your panties soaked, and he knew that, sliding his hand in between your thighs, feeling the mess you made just for him to clean up.

sex is all the two of you would have during that two days and a half weekend. there was no regret in every moment satoru slid his dick deep inside of you because, at the end of the day…

parents need breaks too.

[endearng]

Third time's the charm

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: During one of your movie nights with Spencer, you decide to, once again, take the lead. Or, you got cockblocked so often that you almost thought it wouldn't happen. WC: 3.1k Warnings: smut (nipple play and dry humping); reader thinks spencer might be asexual but he's just a shy puppy; they are desperate for each other; "ruined" movie night; virgin!Spencer my beloved. (I guess that's it. If I forgot something, please let me know!) A/N: Aaaand here it is! I didn't think I'd write smut so soon, hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it - it's actually a sequel to Dearest friend, but can be read as a stand-alone. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. <3 Masterlist

"It’s nice we finally have some time for each other," you hummed in agreement. "Thanks for coming over," Spencer said.

"You don't have to thank me," you said, sitting down on his couch after placing the drinks you chose from his fridge on the coffee table. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you confessed. It got him blushing.

Spencer started one of your movies. It was your choice: you usually took turns picking out a movie to watch together whenever you had the chance, since neither of you were keen of going out that often and you didn't have much time outside of work. It was a fun opportunity to know more of each other through your personal taste, since he often chose foreign films about humanities and you, well, you made him watch Easy A, which got him talking about Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter.

After the movies, you would talk to each other about it, maybe mentioning a personal experience that you remembered thanks to a particular scene or a character's arch. Maybe you would kiss.

Which was a problem. Well, not a problem, but, you see, you didn't have much time together other than going to each other's houses and out on a few dates, which were your favorite: Spencer often found the most beautiful, cozy places to take you, like coffee shops, museums, bookshops and libraries, followed by a nice dinner at a local restaurant. It was during one of those dates that something gave him the nerve to touch your hand. Holding hands quickly escalated to having his hands around you at all times possible, and it got to the point where you nearly had to peel off of him when he got too comfortable and you sadly had to leave to do something. These moments of physical touch were making you go insane, thinking about making a bolder move on him, but you thought that maybe he wasn't ready. Plus the fact that you seemed to be interrupted whenever things got too heated.

If you had a nickel for everytime you and Spencer had to stop right before you got intimate (in any way, really), you'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice. It was like the universe (more like Hotch and the gore that surrounded the team) were set on a mission for you to never have sex again. Besides that, more extreme thoughts plagued your mind and told you that maybe he wasn’t attracted to you like that. It often made you go home feeling a little bit insecure.

You knew that it was better to assume, but you were only human. After some pep talk with yourself on the way to his place, you convinced yourself that you would have to have this conversation with him, sooner or later. You thought so hard about this that you even came up with the possibility that he was asexual — you were fine with it if he was, obviously, because being with him made you feel whole. Still, you wanted, you needed to get this off your chest before you exploded with assumptions and unrequited feelings. Unrequited desire.

You decided to try to be subtle. Scratching the back of his head with your nails lovingly, you both watched the movie. "What are you doing?" He asked, looking at you. You could see the goosebumps on his arm, that must have been the trigger for the question coming out of his lips. You gave him a soft smile.

"It's called affection, pretty boy," you kissed the tip of his nose. "And I don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

You kissed his left cheek when he turned to look at the TV screen.

Then, you turned his head gently to kiss the right one. He glanced between your eyes and your lips, so of fucking course you were about to kiss him, but you decided to tease him a little and pecked the tip of his nose and gently kissed his forehead instead. He breathed out a laugh. Ticklish. It made you wonder where else he would be sensitive.

Stop, you slut of a brain.

When you were about to kiss his lips, you withdrew your face from his, smooching his cheek instead. He sighed, oblivious to your real intentions, impatient and utterly, stupidly in love with you.

Oops. There goes your heart. Out the window. Taking your judgment with it.

"Spence?"

"Yes?"

"Can I do something?"

"Yes," he answered. "You know can do anything, baby."

"This is a very dangerous thing to say to a girl who has the feelings I have for you," you said, grinning. His expression morphed into one that almost looked like sheer panick.

You slowly moved to straddle his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted to, his legs trapped between yours. You sat yourself on the top of his thighs. He watched every movement feeling like the world stopped and there were the both of you, moving in slow motion, movie long forgotten behind you. His breath hitched when he came to his senses and noticed the position you were in, now that you've done what you had. "Is this okay? It's more comfortable than kissing you like… well, that," you laughed softly.

"Yes. I-It's perfect," he breathed out, hands finding your waist.

You lips finally met his in a kiss that had both of you sighing. You found out that Spencer was a really good kisser — and you were proud to be the one with whom he practiced kissing to perfection —, your lips easily falling into a passionate rhythm. Gasping for air, you pecked him on those perfect lips that were red and puffy from all the assaulting you were doing, but he quickly pulled you in for another, this time, sloppier than ever, encouraged by your own boldness. He was french kissing you. Fairly used to it, but not with the intensity of it, you groaned in welcomed surprise, hands finding the nape of his neck and getting a grip on them, not so gently as you normally did. You pulled his hair down, breaking the kiss, lips tingling and lungs screaming for air. He smirked, feeling smug at the state he left you in.

You rose slightly from his lap, still holding his head and looking straight into his eyes. By holding yourself slightly above him, the pendant of your necklace grazed his chin, like he had imagined many times after watching you fiddle with it. God, it was finally coming true, having you in his arms and intending to let you do whatever you wanted to him and him only, the way that it should be ever since the day you met. You nearly made him go insane, pulling you closer to his body than you ever were, acting like a desperate madman. You smiled down at him and kissed him again, more feverishly than before, trying to tell him through that kiss that you were his. Biting his lower lip and earning a fucking moan, you sat yourself down on him again. You felt his bulge against your clothed core and the light contact made you feel lightheaded.

You were so caught up on him that it almost made you forget you needed to talk to him first. Unfortunately, as you tried to catch your breath and to find the right words to speak, Spencer felt his insecurities creeping up on him. Despite knowing it would be best to talk to you, he felt like voicing it out loud would push you away from him — which he didn't want. He was very comfortable with the indecent small distance between your bodies.

He was fidgety. You knew you needed to address this because your boyfriend wasn't the best at voicing his needs — you remember and giggled internally at how you had been the one to knock on Spencer's door asking him to put an end to your suffering by telling him how you felt. Heh. Kudos to you.

"I wanted to talk about this with you," you murmured, now feeling his kisses peppering the skin of your neck. You knew how much he was hiding from you because he wouldn't stop moving and it was very distracting, but if you didn't speak, it would be the end of you. "I'd ask if you were okay with me and you like this, about taking further steps, shit." You moaned when he fucking bit you and kissed you right after.

He pulled away from you, hands flying up to the back of your head. Foreheads touching, eyes locked in yours. "I want it. I want you, I mean. Been wanting you for some time now—a very long time, yes." He strongly shut his eyes closed, most likely working up the courage to say something. "But I don't want to... disappoint you," he finished, sounding insecure.

Not on your watch.

"Me too, Spence. God, I want you so bad," you answered, unable to look away from him, who now looked down, paying close attention to the rising and falling of your chest. "Hey, look at me, please," you pleaded. His eyes met yours. Oh, those maddening eyes... "Believe me when I tell you, baby, I want you. And if you don't want to do anything, you don't have to. I won't push you, of course. I just wanted to have a conversation with you before, because setting boundaries is important and consent is hot—" he laughed quietly. Making jokes was your go-to way of making situations lighter and he was glad for it then. You smiled when you noticed the sound he made. "And I'm also positively certain that you wouldn't like to have our first time on your couch."

"My first time," he revealed. softly. Eyes not meeting yours.

Oh.

You didn’t falter. "It doesn't change much, baby. I still stand for what I just told you," you assured him, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Spence."

Looking back into your eyes, he declared, "And I want you."

"You can have me," you answered, "You already have."

"You'd need to guide me. You know, hands-on activity. Because I’ve never done it before…" he trailed off.

"Lucky for you, I'm great at teaching."

His grip finds your waist, lips anxiously waiting for yours — and when they touched to mold perfectly in another breathtaking kiss, he felt complete. Like nothing bad could ever happen in the world just because you were in it. His past, his insecurities, the awful things you both saw on the field, nothing mattered. Looking at you, touching you, was a nearly an out of body experience. The things you got him thinking by just kissing him. And he thought his insecurities would get the best of him. Jokes on them, you exist.

You look at him through hooded eyes. "I've never felt like this before. I feel... tingly," he confessed, lovely smile on his face, eyes blinking.

"You're feeling good, handsome," you answered, glancing at his dazed eyes.

A beat of silence. Swallowing second thoughts. "Can you make it better?"

"Is that a request or a challenge?" You asked, grinning.

"A request." He answered shyly, hiding his face on your neck, peppering kisses on your skin. You were going to explode.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," you shivered, feeling absolutely lost, "I might spoil you and give you everything you want," you sighed.

"Let me have it, then," he answered, voice muffled by your skin.

"I'm all yours, Spencer."

He had the audacity of blushing as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt. You smiled at him. In this state, if he asked for you to run naked around town, you probably would. It was dangerous, to say the least. Softly, yet desperate, the words left his lips. "Can I take this off?" He sucked in a breath. "Please?"

"Yes, pretty boy, you can," you answered. "You can have anything. I thought I already said that."

"Yes—You did. You did," he breathed out between needy kisses across your skin, getting rid of your shirt in no time.

At first, he was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen many naked (or semi-naked) women in front of him, but you were something out of this world. The bra you were wearing matched your skin tone and pushed your breasts together and there was the fucking necklace, almost mocking him by being constantly so close, too close to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. The view was almost overwhelming by itself. You looked at him, but he couldn't possibly come up with the words that would describe you in that moment. Words had failed him, nothing else in his mind but you. The tool he used to communicate, to access the world and how it shaped reality, to comprehend the mind of another person, to get to know others... He had nothing left. Except from the pulsing of his boner against your clothed pussy, that is.

Just like that, IQ of 187 slashed to 60, Emily Prentiss said, once. Funnily enough, when you passed by wearing a sundress.

Unable to talk but, oh, so able to use his hands, they traveled up to your breasts with a featherlight touch, which didn't stop him from feeling your heartbeat. He let his hands trail over the soft and sheer fabric of the bra you were wearing. Finding your nipples, his touch got more intense. He licked his lips. His actions made you shudder and sent a spark of excitement to your sex. "Pretty," he said. "So, so pretty, my girl."

"Do you like it?" You asked, breathless from a little touching. Pathetic. "I got these thinking of you. Wanna look pretty for you, Spence."

"You are," he said, looking into your eyes, his own foggy, hands reaching to touch your neck. "You're pretty all the time, it's so unfair to me," he murmured. "I really like them on you, but… can I take ‘em off?"

"Yes. You can do anything, Spence."

Spencer wanted to burn the sight of you, in that slightly disheveled state, in the back of his mind so he could remember it forever — not that he would have a hard time trying to remember anything. Nevertheless, he did everything so slowly, almost as if trying to tattoo on the tip of his fingers the softness and temperature of your skin. He inhaled deeply, consumed by your floral-scented perfume and lifted his hands to unclasp your bra. His fingers curiously, but unhurriedly, lowered each of the straps. Like opening a gift that had been so carefully wrapped he didn't want to ruin.

But did he wanted to be ruined by you.

The sight of your bare chest was marvelous, to say the least, and he timidly grazed his fingertips against the exposed area, eliciting goosebumps and a soft whine. His mouth watered, thoughts simply reduced to the need of having you in his mouth. The striped pattern on the soft skin of your breasts around your nipples were faint, barely there, unless if you took a close look at it. It goes without saying that he was blatantly gazing at your bosom at this point.

Pupils dilated, he looked up at you, hungrily, drawing his face closer to you, curls tickling the skin of your collarbone. He inhaled your scent, mind blanking. Tortuously dragging his lips on your skin (and unintentionally smearing some of his saliva on you, he was drooling, after all) as a silent request, the necklace brushing his forehead slightly. The grind of your hips against his answered his plead to taste you.

"Oh—you're so, so good to me, princess," you moaned when he finally wrapped his lips against the nub, playing with the other.

You felt almost overwhelmed with the attention you were getting and the reaction you were having to said attention. Your underwear was sticking almost uncomfortably against your core and you felt yourself aching for some relief, aching for him. So, as Spencer worked his hot tongue on your tits, licking, softly biting, sucking, making a mess on and of you, you busied yourself by chasing the relief you both desperately wanted. The solace it provided you both with was exhilarating and made you feel dazed.

Steadily rocking yourself against him, you earned a few grunts. "You're making a mess of me, pretty boy," you murmured as he switched his attention to the other boob.

"Give it t'me—I want it, I deserve it," he breathed out, body aching with lust, cock pulsing against your covered clit. His words only fueled the fire inside you, the coil in your lower stomach threatening to snap at anytime now.

"Yeah, you do, my boy," you breathed out, pulling the hair on the nape of his neck, nearly tasting your orgasm, "gonna look so pretty when you come for me, won't you, baby?" Both hands gripping your hips, mouth never leaving your skin. You sure would be bruised by tomorrow, but this, this was definitely worth it.

"Yes—Yes, I will," He whined. He fucking whined.

"Tell, me—ah—where do you want to cum, baby?"

"Shit—" until then, you were sure that was a word you'd never hear him saying, let alone that freely. "Gonna—Shitshitshit," moaning out your name.

That's when it hit you that he had cummed his pants. It was such a fat load that it had seeped through both his underwear and his slacks — which prompted you to reach your own high with a moan of his name directly into his ear.

Both of you feeling dizzy, you slump against him, feeling his arms wrapping your frame as you rested your head on his shoulder. You both took deep breaths, the only sound in the room. Well, besides the movie you both totally ignored.

"I can't get up right now... My legs feel wobbly," you chuckled. "Are you okay, Spence?" You asked, looking at him when you didn't get an answer.

"Yeah, 'm fine," he answered, "I mean, I'll be fine as soon as I recover from you."

You laughed sincerely, "From me? What have I done to you?"

"You gave me what I wanted, you spoiled me, you broke me," he said, a silly smile adorning his pretty face. You pushed him playfully. "I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now. My brain has stopped working ever since you straddled me. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, babe."

"Wrong answer. You're so gonna keep doing that to me, so you'll definitely be trying to killing me from now on." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, Bakugo jacking off, se*ual fantasies, male orgasm, ejaculation

Summary: you're Bakugo's roommate, and although you hardly ever interact, Katsuki secretly develops intense feelings for you. Unable to gather the courage to confess, he silently admires you from a distance — until the day he stumbles upon your OnlyFans account

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Living with Bakugo Katsuki was always an unpredictable ride. He was a walking firestorm - intense, brash, and always on the edge of exploding. But after a few months of sharing an apartment with him, you’d come to realize something: Bakugo wasn’t just a chaos incarnate. He was meticulous, sometimes even thoughtful, and despite his rough edges, he’d never once crossed any boundaries.

You’d gotten the room through your mutual friend, Kirishima, and Bakugo had agreed reluctantly. 

From the very beginning, he’d kept his distance - never really speaking unless necessary, and most of the time he stayed in his room, went on missions or trained late into the night. 

You could feel his eyes on you sometimes, though, watching silently, like a predator sizing up his prey. But whenever you looked, he was back to his usual aloof self.

What you didn’t know was that Bakugo was harboring a dangerous attraction to you. He’d never admit it, not to you, and definitely not to himself. You were out of his league. Too sweet, too gorgeous, and the very idea of being vulnerable enough to confess his feelings made him grit his teeth in frustration. He'd fantasized about you countless times though - his imagination running wild with ideas of what it would feel like to claim you. But he buried those desires deep, thinking you'd never look at him the way he wanted.

That was, until one night.

Bakugo had come home late from a mission, exhausted but restless. After a shower, he threw himself onto his bed and mindlessly scrolled through his phone, his thumb hovering over the OnlyFans app. He opened it to unwind, expecting to see the usual faces he followed. 

Katsuki wasn’t the type to do things halfway. Whether it was in battle or in bed, he always gave everything he had. He liked control, craved it, and when it came to sex, that desire for dominance only amplified.There was something about seeing his girls completely undone - driven to the point of exhaustion, their minds hazy and bodies twitching from overstimulation - that made his blood rush straight to his meaty, veiny cock. He loved it. Loved fucking them stupid, pushing them until they were too weak to even move, taking them apart piece by piece until they were nothing more than a quivering, overstimulated mess. He'd fuck them hard, in the deepest, most mind-numbing positions that left them gasping for air, so lost in the pleasure that they couldn’t think straight. And when he was done, when he was satisfied and had cum deep inside them, he’d sit back and admire his work - the way his cum would slowly dribble out of their abused, slippery holes, their bodies so spent they couldn’t even squirm at the discomfort. That sight alone was enough to make him hard all over again. 

Not everyone could keep up with him. He knew that. His sex drive was relentless, and sometimes, it was easier to find that satisfaction elsewhere - somewhere he didn’t have to hold back or deal with the aftermath. Because that was the thing about Bakugo Katsuki - he didn’t just fuck. He conquered. 

That’s why he liked OnlyFans. It was a place where he could explore the things that got him going without any strings attached.

Bakugo liked to watch. He followed plenty of girls there who reminded him of the kind of sex he liked to have - the ones who weren’t afraid to push their limits, who would ride their toys until their legs were shaking, their eyes fluttering in that tell-tale sign of pleasure that had turned to something far more intense. The girls who let him imagine fucking them so stupid, until they couldn’t even think, until all they could do was huff and puff his name into the mattress, their bodies boneless, overwhelmed, claimed his.

Upon spotting a familiar figure suggested in his feed, he felt his entire body go rigid.

It was you.

No fucking way, he thought to himself, eyes wide in disbelief. There you were, posing in a barely-there lace bra and panties, your lips curved into a teasing smile. You looked so different - so confident, so seductive - nothing like the girl he passed by in the hallway every day. His cock immediately stirred, blood rushing south as he continued to stare, unable to believe his eyes.

Bakugo's mind raced, trying to process the image. You had an OnlyFans? Fuck, that’s hot. The realization hit him like a truck - he could actually watch you, see more of you than he'd ever imagined.

Without thinking, he subscribed, and a moment later, a notification popped up: “New subscriber: ExplosiveKing.”

His cock twitched at the sight of your next photo - a close-up of your tits spilling out of the lacey bra, your nipples hard and pushing against the fabric. Then came a greeting message, and Bakugo almost dropped his phone when he saw it.

Thanks for subscribing, handsome ♡ Hope you enjoy the content! 

You even attached a photo of you in nothing but a thong, your ass up and face turned towards the camera with a playful wink.

He groaned softly, his cock already straining against his boxers as he stared at the image, replaying every interaction you two had ever had. All the tension, all the moments he pushed away, came rushing back in an overwhelming wave of desire. His dick was dribbling more precum into boxers, the fabric going from damp to soaked quickly as he feverishly sought his release.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, already palming himself through his Kalvin Clein boxers. His left hand reached down, cupping his dick through his pants. "Nnnnhhh," he couldn't stop the soft and breathy moan that escaped him as he flipped his dick up, into a more comfortable position. His hips were already pushing forward, into his hand. He needed more.

His fingers fumbled as he tugged his boxers down, needing relief as he gripped his length, hard and throbbing. His breathing grew heavy, and within seconds, his rough hand was wrapped around his cock, the image of your perfect ass burning in his mind. He pumped himself slowly at first, his imagination running wild. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you lived just a few feet away from him, and here he was, jerking off to your nudes. 

"Shit, you're perfect," he muttered under his breath, eyes glued to the screen as he pumped his cock. He imagined your hands on him instead, the way your soft lips would feel against the tight skin on his rock-hard cock, the sound of your breathy, sloppy moans in his ear. His grip tightened, matching the pace of his fantasy, biting his lip to muffle the groan threatening to escape.

As he stroked himself faster, the guilt began to fade, replaced by raw, animalistic desire. You’d never know. And hell, if you were posting this shit for other guys to see, then why not him?

It didn’t take long before he was groaning your name under his breath, imagining you on top of him, your tight body grinding down on his cock. The idea of having you - right there, in the flesh - made his pulse race. His fist moved faster, eyes squeezed shut as he pictured the way you’d look riding him, those soft lips of yours gasping for breath as he filled you up with his meaty dick.

His imagination ran wild - your pretty face, your tits bouncing as he fucked you senseless, the way you’d cry his name. That thought alone sent him spiraling, his cock twitching. With a low growl, Bakugo came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling onto his hand as he panted, chest heaving. He kept pumping, riding the high of his orgasm, but even as the pleasure subsided, he couldn't get you out of his head. 

For a moment, guilt flickered in the back of his mind again. You were his roommate. Hell, you were always so nice to him, always sweet and considerate. And here he was, jerking off to your pics in secret. But as his phone buzzed with a new notification, that guilt quickly dissolved into something primal. 

You had just started a live stream.

Bakugo's cock twitched in his hand again as he opened your stream. 

You were sitting on your bed, wearing a cute little lingerie set that clung to your body in all the right ways, thigh-high stockings completing the look. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you adjust the camera, giving everyone a perfect view of your body. "Hey, cuties!" you chirped happily, the camera lighting up with your playful smile as more viewers trickled in. "Hope you're ready for some fun tonight!"

ExplosiveKing: Damn, doll, you look fucking amazing tonight

"Aw, thank you, ExplosiveKing!" you giggled, reading his comment. "So sweet of you to join!"

Hearing you say his username in that sexy, cheerful voice of yours set something off in him. His eyes darkened with lust as he started stroking his slobbery cock again, the thought of you calling out to him making him harder than ever.

You started off slow, teasing your viewers with gentle touches, running your hands over your body as you spoke sweetly to them. But when you pulled out the vibrator, Bakugo nearly lost it. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse racing as he watched you slip the toy between your legs, letting out soft moans as you teased yourself.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. Every little gasp, every roll of your hips - it was driving him wild. He matched your pace, fucking his fist like he was fucking you, imagining how your pussy would feel clenching around him.

Then, as if reading his mind, you slid the vibrator inside your already sopping pussy, your breath hitching as you moaned for your audience. 

Bakugo bit his lip hard, stroking himself faster as he imagined what it’d be like to have you under him, begging for his cock. His grip tightened, pumping his length in time with your movements, chasing that high again. 

It happened so quickly that his brain barely registered the exact moment.

His cum surged up through his throbbing, overstimulated cock in powerful spurts, spilling and bubbling from the slick, swollen tip, leaving a thick trail of pearly semen coating his hand and seeping through his fingers as Katsuki moaned your name. 

The young man fervently hoped you hadn’t overheard him from your bedroom.

Weeks passed, and Bakugo’s obsession with you only grew. He watched every stream, donated more than anyone else, and even bought his first sex toy - a pocket pussy - just to mimic fucking you when you used your toys on camera. Every Wednesday and Friday became his ritual. He’d lock himself in his room, pull out his laptop, and jerk off until his cock was raw and spent. Sometimes he'd cum three or four times in a single stream, completely lost in the fantasy of you.

But as much as he enjoyed it, it started to get under his skin. The other men watching you, the ones leaving comments and drooling over you - it pissed him off. You were his. He hated knowing they were getting off to you too, even though you were right there, living with him, just down the hall.

One night, after one of your streams, you noticed something unusual - ExplosiveKing had donated more than usual. 

There was a short comment attached to the donation:

"You have a way of getting under my skin like no one else. No matter how many others are watching, you’re mine in a way they’ll never understand."

And honestly? You didn’t mind. Among all your fans, he stood out as your favorite - dedicated, generous, and mysterious.

What you didn’t know, though, was that the man behind the screen was Katsuki Bakugo, your roommate. That the same explosive hero you lived with was jerking off to you multiple times a week, falling deeper into his secret obsession with every stream.

He wasn’t merely your biggest fan - he was the man who longed for you entirely to himself, who fantasized about fucking you dumb every time he heard your sweet voice. For now, Bakugo remained hidden in the shadows, silently worshiping you from his bedroom, awaiting the day he would muster the courage to reveal just how desperate he was to be your boyfriend.

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Yandere elf x reader - Love Making

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru! Go follow her and love her 🫶(pushes all of you to her blog)

I am out of ideas, y‘all. I am so happy you guys love my dumb smut lol 🩷 really thank you! Idk if I‘ll do any more, unless specifically asked. Also, if meru is ok with it ✨

Warning: 18+ content, drugging, general nsfw, oral !

—————

He smothered you with his length.

You got brief respite when he exited, gasping in short bursts.

Silas was caressing your face with both of his hands, holding you in place. His soft thumb pressed lightly into your cheek.

„Good, good~“, he cooed breathily.

In his mind, he was just giving you your nourishment. He didn‘t fully understand why the milking made him feel so lightheaded, why he longed to do it over and over again. But mothers wrote in the baby books that it is a precious bonding ritual, one they never experienced before.

And surely, this was a feeling he hadn‘t experienced before.

Silas let his darling suck his teats every day, but because he was an elf, his milk was stored elsewhere. Of course!

He had a collection of instructional manuals he had consulted (Romance Novels) and they referred to this act as „love making“. What a beautiful term! Silas felt giddy whenever he thought about it. That‘s definitely what the situation in the spring was, too - it all makes sense now!

Letting out a few breathy moans, he felt you lick his tip, as he thrust gently forward. He had prepared you again, giving you long and deep kisses to fully drench you with his aphrodisiac tongue. It was impossible to stop yourself. The way his kisses made you forget yourself, wanting him. You knew now how hard you could come with him just in you. It was annoying to admit, but you wanted more.

You looked up at him and a flush of purple filled his ethereal face.

„K-keep drinking, my precious…“, he huffed. He was holding himself, pointing it at your open lips.

You let your tongue fall out. You could see him gasp inaudibly from arousal at the sight of you. It was kind of fun to tease him. He looked beside himself, whenever he was close.

Your tongue brushed his tip again and he shivered. He was gently holding the back of your head, his fingers laced within your messed up hair. You could feel him push you forward softly.

Without warning you swallowed him as much as you could. Silas yelped at the feeling of you jerking your head forward vigorously. The sounds he made were so pitiful. You couldn’t get that much of him in your throat, but the mere velocity and sudden depth made the elf convulse and shake uncontrollably. He was trying to hold back, but it was futile.

He exploded with a guttural squeal. You felt his seed plummet into your throat and you quickly released your mouth to avoid choking. More overflowed onto your face, the most of it was dripping out of the sides of your mouth though. You swallowed harshly at the load.

Silas was immobile, his arms twitching by his massive side. He didn‘t speak for a while either, so you just sat there in silence with faint sounds of dripping.

Finally, Silas sat up with a flushed face. Dried tears stained his cheeks as his lip quivered.

„Darling… y-you were hungry, weren‘t you?“ he was trying to talk in his melodic voice, but you had taken his ability to be graceful.

You brushed some semen off your chin and stared at him.

„Oh, let me!“, he grabbed a beautiful doily he had been embroidering with donkeys and cows on it. He read babies like barn animals.

He wiped your face clean.

„There! All clean,“ he beamed down at you. Still feeling a bit sticky, you asked if you could go wash your face. He clapped his hands frantically, proud of you, for whatever reason.

Silas‘s semen didn‘t smell like normal cum. It had a strange, soothing scent to it. You stood over the basin and sniffed your hand a few times. What was in his damn bloodstream that made everything about him smell so fucking divine?

In the background, you heard Silas practice some lullaby, poorly.

Evidently, it was time for bed.

[realcube]

— SAIKI RELATIONSHIP HCS

☆ very hesitant to hug you/hold hands bc he is afraid he might shatter all your bones. prefers kisses, less can go wrong

☆ except that one time he kissed you and was so flustered that a whole galaxy exploded

☆ but it was one of those really distant, useless ones so he moved on

☆ or that time you held his hand and he literally started levitating ??

☆ finishes exams in two seconds then spends the rest of the time annoying you

'i don't mean to disturb you but i noticed you put the wrong answer for question four' 'get out of my head!'

☆ i already wrote a drabble about this but he morphs into different objects to 'prank' you

☆ you always want him to shrink bc what's the point of having a psychic bf if you can't carry him around on your person like a polly pocket

☆ he's very apprehensive about it, however one day he finally agrees to it because you have a shift at work and you really wanted him to join you but it would be weird if he just showed up to your place of work unannounced so he shrunk and you carried him around in your back pocket

☆ that is until you almost sat on him!! and when he dived out to avoid being crushed, he fell onto the sticky work floor covered in dust

☆ still hasn't fully recovered 😿

☆ omg if you are insecure about a physical feature of yours , instead of using his powers to change you, he will use his mind control on the entire world so that your insecurity is now the beauty standard (similar to what he did with his hair)

☆ he doesn't use mind control on you though bc it's rude

☆ in fact he tries to avoid using his powers on you all together bc it would only cause trouble (with the exception of telepathy bc he likes to speak to you.. unlike he does with most people)

☆ and he's very strict with that ethic of his

☆ which is nice and all, and really easy until he does something super embarrassing in front of you

☆ like you see him scream at a cockroach or smth

☆ and he is SO tempted to use memory alteration on you so you could just forget that ever happened

☆ but he just can't bring himself to do it

☆ OR when your birthday was before his so he got you a present but didn't do that much else, but when it was time for his birthday and you went all out, he so wanted to either go back in time and do better or just alter your memory so you think he went all out too

☆ oh and passive aggression doesn't work on him ofc

☆ if you are ever mad or upset at him for whatever reason, you can't be like 'hmph i'm not gonna tell you what you did wrong, you just have to know :<' bc he can.. y'know.. read your mind

☆ and he also knows exactly what to do to make you feel better and forgive him, every single time

☆ plus you can never stay mad at him for long anyway bc he's just too cute!!

☆ too shy to admit that he wants to spend more time with you so he will use his powers as some sort of excuse

as you're about to leave saiki's room, he lies, 'wait. don't go. i have had a precognition that something terrible is going to happen to you if you do.' 'really?' you raise an eyebrow. 'and what might that be?' he wasn't really ready for any follow up questions so he stutters and thinks of the scariest scenario he can 'toritsuka.' ... 'toritsuka is going to do what? jump me?' 'no. just toritsuka.'

☆ for your birthday or anniversary he does something you call the 'saiki special' where he duplicates himself to give you a full body massage

☆ it's what dreams are made of !!!

☆ but yeah it's a lot of effort so he saves it for special occasions

☆ he would so love to watch trashy reality tv shows with you

☆ but he so uses it against you

☆ like if you are ever studying and are like 'why am i working so hard when you are psychic and can literally set us up for the easy life 😫'

☆ he'll be like.. you know who else never worked hard a day in they're life.. the kardashians!! do you really want to end up like that??

☆ and when you say yes this is the face he makes 😐

☆ dw though bc as i said before he will be in your head during exams so he can help you a little

☆ his love language is actually spoonfeeding you food and desserts

☆ and yes he actually uses his hands opposed to his mind to control the spoon, just to show you that being a psychic doesn't mean he gets to cut corners!

[princessbrunette]

daddy!johnb should have known there was a meltdown inbound from puppy!reader when she was being irritable with everyone. pup was always a ray of sunshine.

you’d been snappy with him towards the end of your day spent running about with the pogues, and when pulled up on it — your boyfriend pulling you to the back of the group walking back to the twinkie, a hand firmly on your lower back, as he mutters a low “hey, clip the attitude okay? this isn’t you.” you only responded with an agitated whine. maybe that’s when he should have checked in.

you explode in the twinkie not twenty minutes later after some more tsking from your boyfriend, pushing him away suddenly and raising your voice in the back of the car where he sat with you, luckily letting pope drive the crew home this time. “theres too much noise and i’m cold and wet and tired!” you erupt, shoving at him in the backseat, loud enough to earn an awkward side eye from kiara in the seat directly infront.

“alright, okay, hey — look at me.” the older boy croons, gripping you until you still in his grasp, letting out a few agitated sobs into his chest. he sighs, eyes all soft and sad that you’d probably feel guilty about if you saw. reluctantly, you claw your way out to look up at him urgently, like you were desperate for some answers. he melts.

meanwhile, sensing your little meltdown in the backseat the group get a little quieter out of respect— jj turning the radio up just a little bit to create a wall between the chatter and the two of you. you relax just a little bit in his grip.

“no need to freak out on me, okay?” his eyes are wide and yours are teary, breathing all heavy. he notices, placing a warm palm on your chest. “first of all, we’re gonna breathe.”

you follow his instructions — in and out, until your breathing pattern is somewhat regulated. he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole time, john b was good like that. eye contact was his forte.

“okay, next problem. hit me.” he shrugs one shoulder and you shrink a little. “use your words, sweetheart. daddy’s listening, i just wanna help.”

“my clothes are wet.” you verbalise and he nods proudly before holding up a finger and lurching over the backseat to reach for one of his spare shirts he keeps in there for his days spent on the road. showing you, he then pulls it over your head and helps you take off your damp blue crop top beneath, tossing it into the back. he unclips your bikini top too, throwing it with the shirt whilst maintaining your dignity.

you sit, slumped and sleepy — looking a lot more comfortable and he guides your cheek with his finger to look at him once more.

“hey, what else?” he urges and you blink. before you can respond, you yawn. “okay.” he nods.

pulling you onto his lap in the backseat, john b stretches out as best as he could— rubbing your back up and down and leaning his lips down to your ear.

“so we got roughly… one hour left of this journey? i want you to take a nap. right here, bubba.” he holds you tightly, and you can’t help let out a few relieved sniffles— the long day having caught up to you big time. he was so attentive, it made you wonder what you did to deserve it. “i know sweet girl. everybody has days like these, okay?”

“even you daddy?” you rasp tiredly.

“oh yeah. especially me. big time.” he jests, before rocking you lightly to sleep in the quiet van.

[ilyrafe]

𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!

word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)

a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!

it’s almost like a sixth sense.

rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved. 

when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.

“where were you? why did you leave me here?”

he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.

even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.

“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.

his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.

“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.

“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.

he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.

“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”

“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”

is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?

“you can read on the bed.”

“you won’t mind the lamp on?”

“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”

you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.

while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.

every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.

sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.

deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.

being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.

when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.

“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.

“it’s almost four.”

“and you’re going to sleep now?”

“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.

(...)

rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.

your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.

he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).

you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.

“go back to sleep.” he whispers.

“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”

“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.

“i’m okay, rafey.”

rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.

“you’re gonna be tired.”

“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”

rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.

“you have insomnia?”

“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”

you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.

after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.

“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”

“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.

“well, i’m just one call away.”

you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.

silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.

he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.

(...)

only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.

rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?

you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.

impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.

“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m studying for my exams.”

“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”

“i’d love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”

“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.

“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.

“y/n, please go to sleep.”

something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.

“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”

before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.

as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.

the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.

he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.

“what are you doing here, rafe?”

“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”

“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”

“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”

“i don’t wanna have sex.”

“i’m not talking about sex.”

oh.

“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”

“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”

you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?

“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”

“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”

it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.

“okay.”

rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.

you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.

the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.

you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.

the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.

“are your parents home?” he asks.

“no, why?”

“so i could have come through the door, huh.”

“yeah.” you laugh.

a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.

rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.

“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.

your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.

thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.

“nothin’. close your eyes.”

you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer. 

why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.

that tried to drown his own sister.

why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?

probably.

(...)

as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.

when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.

the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.

when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.

he didn’t leave?

it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.

“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.

“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”

you laugh.

“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”

“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”

you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.

for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

[womanmanipulator]

prove your love

spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

synopsis: lila gives your boyfriend heart eyes. when he’s assigned to stay over at her place you’re pissed. when spencer comes home, he makes sure to show his love for you. SMUT!!! minors dni

warnings: dom/sub, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), piv, various positions, overstimulation, pet names such as trouble, sweetheart, love, etc. very cheesy.

~

you slip your heels off in the hall with an aggravated huff. ‘look on the bright side, the case is over.’ your brain tries to tell you but the many sights and experiences of lila disrespecting you and glaring at you wasn’t going to leave your brain anytime soon. meanwhile, spencer got the opposite treatment, compliments, heart eyes, and lingering handshakes the entire time. she even slipped him her number, that little—

“hey,” spencer says, knocking you out of your thoughts. he can tell your brains conjuring something up. he can practically see the cogs turning in your head. “what’s got you so worked up?” he asks, taking a step towards you. his hands settle on your hips then travel to your lower back. he smiles down at you.

“nothing.” you dismiss, light and airy. trying to act unbothered. “why do you think i’m mad?” you question back, a little too defensive for your liking. “are you asking me to profile you?” he grins. you don’t get the chance to speak before he starts, “for starters, you practically ripped your heels off and threw them, you’re all tense, your fists were balled up and i can tell your thinking hard about something.” he exaggerates.

“you’re wrong because i am perfectly fine.” you state matter of factly. brushing his hands off you and walking to the bedroom. he follows after you. “holding in emotions, specifically anger, can have detrimental effects on one’s mental health. the constant internal struggle to suppress emotions can lead to even more stress, anxiety and even depression.” spencer explains. you just hum in response, searching in your closet for something comfortable, your mind doesn’t stop running about stupid lila though. he watches you. it wasn’t uncommon, he loved to observe you. most of the time it was just to see your pretty face while you were in thought but other times he liked to study your behavior and learn your routines. spencer liked to do it with you.

“you’re staring,” you comment. “i can’t help it.” he flirts. “oh please, did you tell lila that too today?” you let slip. you flush. glad you aren’t face to face with spencer right now. “that’s what this is about?” he chuckles. “cmere,” he says. you stumble over to the bed and he pulls you onto his lap. “you know i love you right?” he says. you nod. not looking at him. “so much, like i am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you, or whatever bella said.” he makes a twilight reference. you were the one who forced him to watch it. you giggle a little, meeting his eyes. he smiles. “there’s my girl.” he murmurs. your heart swoons. his hands settle on your waist and he leans in. you kiss, it’s almost like a breath of fresh air. when he pulls away, still keeping close he speaks. “i think i need to prove how much i love you, hmm?” he hums. “you don’t need to.” you mumble. “but i want to, please?” he pleads. you don’t protest for long. “okay.. if you must.” you giggle. he smiles. he’s so pretty you feel like your going to explode.

as he places you on your back, unbuttoning your shirt, he starts to spit out another fact. “did you know men are more jealous of sexual infidelity than emotional?” he asks. “women are actually the opposite, they get more jealous with ‘emotional cheating’ than sexual.” he takes his time, you always loved how smart he was. it turned you on.

“i wasn’t jealous,” you say. “oh really?” he snorts. slipping off your shirt. “yeah.” you say. he instructs you to lift your hips so he can slide your pants off. “mhmm..” he says. eyes focused on your body, he’s too distracted to make a smart comment. “she was pretty, i guess.” you try to say. lila was gorgeous. he just chuckles and shakes his head. not bothering to comment. he dips down and kisses you. nose accidentally bumping against yours and teeth clashing. it was messy, just how you liked it. “what was that thing about kissing and shaking hands?” you ask, just to hear him talk.

“the number of pathogens transferred from just a single handshake is staggering. it’s safer to kiss,” he says into the skin of your neck. “that’s interesting, tell me more.” you smile. he groans. “i can tell you all about it later, can’t i just take care of my baby now?” he smiles. “baby? what happened to trouble?” you grin. “you are trouble,” he sighs. lovingly of course. you giggle as he kisses down from your neck to your collarbone, then unbuckles your bra without struggle. pulling it off. he trails down to your tummy, pressing little kisses here and there. making you antsy. he reaches the spot you need him most and smiles into your skin as you squirm a little. “patience, trouble.” he says. he plants a firm kiss on your hipbone and pulls your panties down with one hand. “you’re so pretty,” he smiles. eyes flickering to your face. “all mine, hmm?” he hums and you nod enthusiastically. he chuckles and thumbs experimentally at your clit.

you press your hips up into his touch, leaning into it. chasing that feeling. he smirks, inserting two fingers slowly. he paws at that spongy spot within your walls. you let out a quiet moan and spencer doesn’t deem it good enough, he starts punching at the spot. abusing it almost. this pulls another moan out of you and he speeds up the movements on your clit. you almost see heaven as you arch your back, eyes rolling back. he leans down, attaching his lips on your clit and sucking harshly. thank god you weren’t standing because you would’ve doubled over with how strong your orgasm was. you try to get the words out but only pant. spencer can tell, “gonna cum, trouble?” he asks. then continues his attack on the bundle of nerves. the coil in your belly snaps, climaxing with his name on your lips.

the sound of your slick fills the room as spencer works you through your organism. eyes trained on your pussy. his fingers are pulled out, given a quick lick and suddenly his mouth is on you. lapping and drinking up your release like a man starved. “spence, wait— gimme a minute-“ moan.

your begs fall on deaf ears as he’s absolutely lost in you. there’s no pulling him out. you reach your hand down and bury it in his hair. pressing your hips into the bed to escape the overstimulation. trying to tug him off, he doesn’t listen though. moaning into you when you pull on his hair. the vibrations make you even more sensitive before, his nose brushes up against your clit as two strong hands come to hold you down on either side.

you moan, tears pricking in your eyes from the overstimulation. everything’s magnified by 10. the obscene sounds of your pussy fill the room as your poor clit is abused, spencer’s tongue prodding into you, milking you for everything you have to offer. the familiar hear fills your belly and you can feel the coil start to unwind. “spence—“ you sob. cumming again. riding against his face. you can feel that bastard smirk against you as he greedily laps up your release. “you’re okay,” he coaxs. finally pulling off of you. he presses a kiss to your mound then pulls himself up, he kisses your cheek. then wipes the stray tears on your cheek.

“hi pretty,” he says with a smile. your eyes meet his and you smile, a little dazy. “you have something on your face.” you say, remaints of cum. “do i?” he chuckles. he wipes it off with the back of his hand and kisses you. you can taste yourself on his tongue. “love you so much,” he mumbles against your lips. you don’t get the chance to respond before he’s kissing you again. a little tongue slipping in as he gets carried away. he messily kisses the corner of your mouth, then latches onto your neck. he works at his zipper, multitasking.

begrudgingly, he pulls away from you, slipping down his pants and kicking them off haphazardly. you tug at his shirt and he takes the hint to pull it off. undoing his tie and throwing it somewhere. when he FINALLY takes his shirt off you get to run your hands along his torso giddily. “y’so pretty,” you mumble. “this isn’t about me, it’s about you, trouble.” he says. slipping off his boxers. his cock slips angrily against his stomach and you almost whine. he leans down and kisses you as he slowly pushes in. the stretch burns but is bearable. “i know. its okay,” he whispers. he presses to the hilt, nudging against your cervix. you feel full, his hand slithers down and presses against your lower belly. “mmphh.” you whimper against his lips. he devours the sound and keeps his lips on yours as he starts to thrust in and out of you. pulling his head back to see your face every so often as the tip nudges against that sweet spot. it’s torturous how slow he’s going. you’re so overstimulated, tears start falling out of your eyes.

he smiles down at you, picking up the pace a little. his face contorts and he lets out a moan. you involuntarily clench at that and it punches out another sound. “trouble— can’t keep doing that.” he slurs. the wet sounds of him shoving your slick out of you fill the room as your hips collide. teeth and noses brush together messily and he’s practically devouring you. everything’s happening so fast. before you know it you’re coming again, his name recited on your lips. he works you through it, slamming into you with a feverish pace. you constrict around him and he’s not long after you, pressing himself as far as he can into you and coming. he’s whining,

you pant, he’s collapsed ontop of you. buried in your neck. tears roll down your face. “good girl, good job. taking me so well.” he praises breathily. taking? “..taking..?” you say. “don’t you mean took?”

“we aren’t done.” he lifts himself up from your shoulder, pushing his glasses up. the both of your climax leaks around his dick and spills out of you slowly. “i can’t!” you start to cry as he pulls out, he presses your knees to your chest and shoves himself back in. so much for catching your breath. “you will,” he says softly. beginning to thrust in and out of you, he’s so deep you feel it in your stomach. “that’s it, my good girl huh?” he praises into your neck, a pang of arousal shoots through your body and you can feel yourself get wetter. “spence—“ “none of the whining, you can take it.” he says. he bites at your jawline. you moan loudly. everything feels so good, it’s too much. he reaches down and starts to rub figure eights into your clit gently, a contrast to the brutal pace he had going. “there ya go, taking me so well.” he murmurs, pulling his teeth off and kissing gently. “ah- i- gonna.. cum.” you force out. almost forgetting how to talk. “let go baby.” he says. your back arches, eyes rolling back, clinging to him as if he was the one keeping your grounded. he follows after, shooting cum into you with a whimper and a “nngh.”

it’s unreal. you see stars.

when you come down from your high, your sat on spencer’s lap, dick still intact. you sob, falling into his shoulder and clinging onto him. “i can’t spence.” you sniffle from the overstimulation. if you had to come again you’d probably scream. you’d also scream though if he pulled out.

“the world record for most female orgasms in an hour is a hundred and ah- fuck, thirty six” he says as you clench around him. “i think you can.” he smirks. you push his glasses up.

you bite back, “nerd.”

-

that’s it

not proofread

i’m sick asf rn 🥰

[halsteadlover]

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: a TikTok trend turns out to be the best surprise of your life.

• Warnings: few curse words and dirty talking, highly suggestive at the end.

• Word count: 1040.

• A/N: I don’t know how to feel about this one to be honest 😭 Let me know what you think and like, comment and reblog if you want. As always thank you so much for your constant support I missed you all so so much ❤️

“Hi guys!” You smiled, taking a step back to show your entire frame in the video. “Come here baby,” you called Charles waving with your hand and encouraging him to come closer to you. He wrapped his arm around your hip, leaving a kiss on your temple before bringing his gaze to your figures on the phone screen.

You were making a TikTok and you had finally found the perfect opportunity to follow the trend of calling your boyfriend ‘husband��, wanting to capture Charles’ reaction really bad.

“You look divine,” he whispered in your ear, his voice so low it was unlikely it registered. You giggled as you looked at him and leaned against his body, placing a hand on his shirt-covered chest and letting the scent of his cologne invade your senses.

“Sooo,” you continued, turning back to the actually absent audience. “I’m here with my husband, we just finished getting ready for the gala…”

You suddenly stopped, no longer able to keep a serious expression when Charles turned his head so quickly you almost feared he had broken his neck. You burst out laughing when he opened his mouth in disbelief, looking at you with a shocked expression you’d never seen on his face before.

“What? What’s wrong?” You laughed.

“What did you just say?” He exclaimed in amazement and you finally turned your gaze to him, your heart exploding in your chest noticing the dazzling smile he had on his lips as he looked at you.

You giggled again. “I said my husband…”

His hand gripped your hip, fingers pressing into the straws of your dress. “Fuck say that again.”

“My husband,” you repeated, now completely forgetting about the TikTok. “Does it bother you?”

“Bother me?” Charles took your hand that was still resting on his chest and directed it to his heart. You smiled as you noticed it was wildly beating.

I guess it didn’t bother him.

He pressed his lips to yours, sucking your soul from your body with just that contact. “Again.”

“You really like the way that ‘my husband’ sounds huh?”

“Mon dieu yes…” His lips trailed a trail of kisses along your jaw to your neck. “I want to fuck you so bad right now,” he whispered in your ear and you almost fainted.

“Alright, alright, enough…” you giggled as heat spread across your cheeks, remembering your phone was still recording. You pulled away from his grip and stopped the TikTok before Charles grabbed you again and pressed his lips against yours, this time without any inhibitory brakes and not caring about your meticulously cared for makeup. His mouth devoured you, possessing every fiber of your body.

“Oh god babe…” you breathed barely knowing what even was your name anymore. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Your husband…” He sighed “That was the hottest and sexiest thing I have ever heard in my life. What are you doing to me?” His hands roamed everywhere on your body, now uncontrollable as they groped your flash. “If I had known how beautiful it sounded I would’ve done it much sooner.”

“Do what?”

He reached into his suit’s pocket and pulled out a small box, an unmistakable little box which sight was enough to give you a heart attack.

You gasped, your hands over your mouth when he opened that little box and got on his knee.

“I know it’s not what you deserve, this isn’t how I planned for this to happen and I really apologize but I honestly can’t take it anymore baby. I’ve been carrying this ring with me for months now, always waiting for the perfect moment but it never seemed to be enough because I wanted to make the perfect proposal, just like you deserve… But… God… I also know as long as there’s you and me, everything will always be perfect, it doesn’t matter the time or place that’s why I was planning to propose after the gala, I had prepared…” he spoke, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Fuck it doesn’t matter now because hearing you call me your husband even if it’s just a trend on TikTok made me regret not doing this sooner and realize how stupid I was to wait this long. I can’t wait to hear you say it for the rest of my life, so…”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You exclaimed jumping without even letting him finish his sentence, your face streaked with tears.

He chuckled, his eyes equally filled with tears. “You don’t even want me to ask?”

“Fuck hurry up and ask me so I can say yes a thousand times!”

He smiled and your whole world stopped.

“Mon amour, would you like to make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

“Yes fuck yes!” You screamed in hysterics and threw yourself into his arms, almost making both of you fall on the floor.

His laughter rang through the room and you found yourself leaning into him as he slid the ring along your finger, noting with so much joy it was exactly what you had always wanted and remembering how you had mentioned it only once a while ago and how he had remembered it.

You grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him until there was nothing left of the two of you but jelly.

“We’ll celebrate later baby, now get naked because I want to fuck you so bad I think I’m going to explode. And I won’t stop until you won’t even be able to walk out this room.” His hand tightened around your throat, squeezing lightly and enough to make you dizzy with desire, just how you liked it. His lips, red and swollen from your impetuous kisses, continued to caress yours, leaving you more and more impatient and eager.

“What about the gala?” You managed to ask, hoping he cared as much about it as you did. You just wanted to be with your fiancée.

I’m a fiancée now oh my god!

“I don’t give a damn about the gala or anything or anyone else other than my fiancée,” he replied and you mentally did a backflip. “The only thing I can think about right now is how good is going to feel to be buried deep inside my wife,” his fingers unzipped your dress, making it falling around your feet. “How good it’s going to see that ring wrapped around my dick.”

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[monstersholygrail]

While at first your owners were overjoyed about the fact that you, a Mouse Hybrid, and your mate, a Cat Hybrid were getting along so much better than before, their concern quickly grew. They began to wonder if you two were getting along too well, not knowing how far your relationship had already progressed.

They worried that their silly little cat was playing too rough with you. Having seen the way he would tackle you, his hips pinning you in place so he can paw at your body. Or the way his sharp teeth nip along the fold of your neck, leaving dark claiming marks in their place.

They got you for him so he could have a friend but they didn’t want him bothering your cute self too much if you were unable to fight back when the intensity rose.

And as his heat got closer and closer to starting they only began worrying more. They knew he’d become even more rough and raunchy. The last thing they wanted was for their precious plump mouse to get scared or hurt.

So, for your safety, they decided to set up their cat hybrid with their friend’s cat hybrid. With an agreement from both owners she would come stay over at the house so they could mate in peace. Only until his heat had passed and he was able to control himself as usual; if only they knew.

Your big mouse cheeks puff up in anger as the female cat walks into the house. Parading into your territory. Your mate didn’t even notice, too busy loudly purring while licking at his marks on your neck and making sure they stayed dark. Something he was doing more of recently with his heat coming up.

When your bf’s heat fully started, it began to affect all the hybrids in the house. Your bf kept clinging to you, taking every chance he could to get away and take you somewhere he can relieve the heat you cause to burn inside him even hotter.

The other cat hybrid could smell his alluring scent and it grew harder to resist despite being scared off by your scent always mixed so deeply with his.

For you, your bf’s heat only heightened your need to claim him in every way possible.

The tension was growing thicker and thicker the longer things went on without you properly laying claim on your mate. Especially now as the other hybrid eyes your mate from the other side of the living room.

Your bf, too caught up in the consuming lust of his heat to notice anything else, still only ever has his hands on you. Sensing her eyes on you, you finally decide to settle this one and for all.

You straddle your bf and he immediately sighs in relief, already needing to have you all over again. You rub against his hardening cock, letting him know you need him now too.

In the blink of an eye he’s flipping you onto your belly, ass high up in the air. His body molding against your own, his loud purring rumbling in your ear.

“Look at you, such a good mate. Taking care of me when I need you so bad,” he coos.

Your eyes flash as you look at the other hybrid. Your tail intertwines with your bf’s and you reach back, rocking back against his aching cock and sinking your claws into him to keep him close. He growls, pawing at your clothes so he can get to you. Your unusual behavior not going unnoticed by him but it only gets him more hot and bothered.

His eyes follow your line of the sigh to the strange hybrid leaving the room in a frenzy and he growls. The heat within him threatening to explode as he realizes what you’re doing.

With a swipe of his paw he shreds the rest of your clothes off. The sight of your glistening fat cunt has his mind spinning. He yanks you closer and sinks his length deep inside you in a long smooth stroke, stretching you out till your insides are burning just as his are.

“And staking claim on your mate too. Such a good girl f’me. Now let me take care of you,” he growls, wanting to properly reward you for showing another Hybrid what’s yours.

You still have your claws in him, keeping close as he desperately fucks his cock into you. The close proximity forcing his thick tip to slam against that soft spot deep inside of you with every hard snap of his hips. You can feel every inch of him against you and it helps soothe the feelings controlling you.

Loud moans and cries of pleasure echo throughout the house form you both. Ensuring the other hybrid can hear. His ribbed length rubs along your gummy walls. The friction has your toes curling and your back arching into him as you meet every thrust.

Every inch of your form shakes as the pleasure he gives you doubles over. Your body practically seizing as he has you coming hard in his cock. But just when you think he might start slowing down, he quickly pins your wrists over your head and rams his length into you.

“I don’t know if she’s gotten the message, little mouse. Might need to make it a little more clear,” he says, a feral glint in his eye.

He fucks you until you forget another hybrid was ever here to begin with. He makes you forget everything besides his name as he forces you to scream it each time he brings you to release.

When his heat ends not longer after, the other hybrid leaves to go back home to her family. You and your bf watch her from afar, his frame hovering on top of yours as your owners happily chat away.

As soon as goodbyes are shared and the door closes, your bf rolls over to pin you against the couch. That look in his eye making you wonder if some of his heat hasn’t totally gone away just yet.