#and its just. not been a good week for me

[heartyluv]

Note: Please —Click Here— to read the request! Thank you for sending this in, baelicious! (I think I’m gonna start calling my anons that. Feels more personal LOLLL) Had a little extra time today and this isn’t too long, so I hope that’s okay. I too have larger bewbies, so I completely understand! I hope you enjoy!

Warning: You talk about how much you dislike your boobs (A little self deprecation, I suppose), Caleb calls you pips, boob grabbing, very, very, veryyyy suggestive and a little dirty talk but no actual smut

Caleb/Reader

You were excited about thirty minutes ago when your large and expensive expedited shipment of clothes was delivered to your front door. Unfortunately though, every single bit of that giddiness went down the drain the moment you put on your first piece of clothing.

As someone with more of a…bustier set of breasts, finding clothes that fit nice and looked good on you felt like winning the lottery ten times over.

That’s how obnoxiously rare it was.

But just for once, you let yourself believe that you found a viable solution to your problems when you stumbled upon this clothing brand’s website two weeks ago. They consistently ensured that potential consumers were well aware of their extensive catalog.

It’s supposed to consist of trendy and stylish designs fit for every body type. Not only were they absolute liars, but you were more than willing to drop a one star in their ratings for the ridiculous false advertisement.

No matter what top or dress you slid up, down, and around your torso, all of them refused to cooperate with your boobs. Either they were too tight around your bust and loose everywhere else, or the neckline poorly supported your cleavage.

“Why did I even bother?” you mumbled to yourself as you finished closing the baby blue blouse that was already straining far too much where your breasts sat in your bra. You were not going to be putting a pin in it to keep it tougher. You absolutely refused.

The buttons in the middle were ready to pop open like you were the damn Hulk.

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be sad—not even disappointed. At this point, you were fucking annoyed.

Just as you turn to the side in the mirror and can evidently see that anyone would get a clear view of your simple black bra—because good luck if you found one you deemed sexy or attractive—through the opening that should be laying flat against you, your boyfriend walks into your shared bedroom.

Caleb whistles flirtatiously as he walks towards you, biting his bottom lip while his eyes look you up and down.

“Don’t even,” you shake your head with a frown. Floored by the way you disregard his obvious and sincere wordless compliment, he tilts his head to the side and stares into your eyes from behind you in the mirror.

“You do know that I’m still going to, right? Because,” he’s pressed against you now, putting his hands on your waist and forcing a smile from you when he kisses your neck. “you should always know how good you look and as your boyfriend, it’s my job to fulfill that duty to its utmost potential.”

“Babe, this doesn’t even look good on me for you to try and act like it’s remotely presentable,” you whine.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. I will bend you over in front of this mirror and fuck you until it gets foggy if I have to.

“Caleb!” you chuckle with embarrassment, feeling the warmth immediately flood your cheeks. No matter how long you’ve been with this man, you would never get used to how easily he utilized his free will. He’ll tell it how he wants to, and couldn’t care less if anyone thought otherwise.

“Tell me what you don’t like, pips. Clearly, I can’t find the problem.”

“My freakin’ boobs,” you groan, looking at him gawk at his favorite twins on the planet in the full body mirror. “None of the clothes fit how I want them to and it’s because my tits are too damn big!”

“These are the one you were looking forward to?”

“Mhm.” Your lips purse in a pout. “Now I have to return them.”

“Or…not.” His hands reach in front of you and you eye his fingers as they start to undo the buttons slowly.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure my girls are okay after the way you’ve talked down on them.”

“And what about your main girl?” you tease.

“I’ll take care of all of you at the same time, don’t worry.”

You press your lips together in anticipation when he slides the top down your shoulders, your back instinctively arching when his warm fingertips graze your back in their efforts to undo your bra. Being the experienced individual he is, it feels like only milliseconds before you’re standing in nothing but your panties.

A soft moan falls from your lips when his large and rough yet gentle hands, take hold of your supple mounds, squeezing them and grazing your nipples lovingly.

He presses kisses agasint your skin the more he feels the soft globes in his palms, relishing in their weight.

“You know what I like to do to these, don’t you?” His tone is playful and teasing, yet nothing short of erotic.

“I do.”

“Tell me.” A quick pinch of your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers make you mewl.

“F—fuck them,” you breathe. “You like to fuck them.”

“I do,” he hums in approval. “Maybe I need to. Should make a mess on your tits with my cum so you can see just how perfect they are.”

“Caleb…” Pressing your ass against him and feeling how hard he’s gotten makes you want to take him up on his earlier “threat.”

“We’re gonna keep the clothes, pips. I understand your frustration.” He grinds into you, making your head fall back on his broad shoulder.

“I’ll find someone to fix them for you. Have them corrected to fit exactly how you want.” His breath on your skin makes your pussy clench. “That’s what we’ll do from now on.”

You nod desperately, not trusting yourself to speak properly. How he loves on and takes care of you tends to leave you speechless.

“Get on your knees for me.” Your eyes slowly open when his hands fall from you and butterflies flutter in your gut when he starts to slide your panties down.

“Let me take care of my girls.”

🍎 Tags: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @sweetcalebb @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus

Creds to @/cafekitsune for the dividers!

[mushroom-onalightpost]

i dont often add my thoughts like this, and i hope you don't mind if i do here, but;

I moved out of my very religious, very emotionally abusive parents' house at the beginning of 2025, and Holy Shit have things changed. i knew somewhere in the back of my mind that they would because i also saw the "things get better just wait" variants over and over. but, like a lot of people, i had sort of stopped believing it because it had taken so long to happen, and my situation still felt so fucking shitty. but then it happened. i got the lucky break id been waiting for, and now i live with my partner and meta in a different city with 3 cats and a dog.

i could immediately tell i felt safer before we even fully moved in. we had no couches yet, no chairs, no beds-- just a shitload of boxes and bags of clothes stacked around, and a bluetooth record player blasting hozier as we unloaded the next carload together, and i could fucking breathe

in the 6 months since ive lived here, ive noticed a dozen other signs that ive felt safer here in ways i didnt realize i didnt at my parents

i sing without fear of my mother noticing my voice drop, i do dishes half awake without keeping an ear out for my grandma, i sit out on the front porch without being asked why, i talk to my neighbors without my verbal filter going into overdrive for fear of info getting back to my parents, and-- the most recent thing ive noticed-- i sleep through the night more than ever now

while living with my parents, it was normal for me to wake up 3-5 times every night, and i couldnt figure out why. i mentioned to a coworker last week that since moving out, ive slept better than i have in memory, and they simply said "Good, that means you feel safe there." and boy oh fucking boy if that didnt make me bluescreen in the middle of buttering popcorn at 11:30 in the fucking morning

i just. hold on. you'll get there, and once you do, youll get to experience a million little things that will bring you joy in a way youve never felt before. hold on for that. its worth it.

I get to be more free as an adult than I ever did as a child and I think more kids need to know that. as a high schooler part of what made my depression so bad was being told over and over again that it was the most carefree time of my life. while I was trapped in an abusive home + amongst bullies at school + in a body that wasn’t right for me. opportunities to be carefree don’t end when you turn 18. you can be more you than ever as an adult and that’s such a gift. I know ‘it can get better’ is an annoying thing to see over and over when you’re as trapped as I was back then. and I know that if you’re still a kid you deserve to be free right this second. but it can and will get better and this is not where life stops being interesting. promise

[prettygirl-gabi]

Maddie Rooney🏀 is unavailable

Pairing: Paige Bueckers xFiancé!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: oh it was a surprise indeed

A/N: just wanna thank @thatonesuschix for being a pawn in my plan

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin

I should’ve known Paige was up to something the second she left the house wearing that smug little smirk she gets when she knows she’s keeping secrets.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” she asked, adjusting the collar of her oversized purple Nike x Supreme tracksuit in the mirror, roots perfectly hidden under her beanie.

I was standing in the kitchen, unpacking dishes from the last moving box while rocking a wrinkled tee and pajama shorts.

“Nah, I’m good. The couch and I are in a long-term relationship today.”

She chuckled and came over, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “Alright, just remember I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”

I squinted. “Is it something I’ll love?”

She winked. “Hopefully. No promises though.”

Then she walked out in that baggy purple fit and all-white Air Forces like she wasn’t about to change my entire emotional state in less than four hours.

I spent the next couple hours organizing the bathroom cabinet, lighting candles, and scrubbing mystery spots off the kitchen counter.

Boring.

Domestic.

The kind of stuff that should’ve given me peace.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what this surprise was.

Paige had been teasing it all week and I thought maybe she had a spa day planned, or got us Beyoncé tickets or something.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be betrayed in 4K.

I was sprawled across the couch with a blanket on my lap and a bowl of popcorn beside me when I casually opened Twitter to see NBA Draft updates. I typed Paige’s name into the search bar for fun—just to see if she’d made her appearance yet.

I wish I hadn’t.

The first photo that popped up stopped my whole heart.

There she was, at the Dallas Mavericks Draft Watch Party, posted up at the edge of the court in that same purple Nike x Supreme tracksuit. But the beanie she had one was long gone… and in its place?

A blunt healthy chop.

And fresh platinum blonde roots.

I nearly dropped my phone into the popcorn bowl.

“NOOOO,” I yelled, sitting up like I’d been electrocuted.

I clicked on the photo, zoomed in, and stared at her sleek, straight hair—the same head I’d been kissing just this morning, except now it looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.

“This is the surprise?” I muttered to myself. “Oh, she’s sick for this.”

I immediately swiped up and hit FaceTime.

No hesitation.

She had one chance to explain this before I spiraled.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Nothing.

I stared at the screen like it had betrayed me too.

She always picked up.

Even if she was in the middle of something, she’d at least text back a quick “can’t talk rn, will call after.” Or a “kiss my ass.” But now? Radio silence.

I tried again.

Same result.

“Okay,” I muttered, pressing my lips together. “That’s how we’re playing this.”

I went back to Twitter and kept scrolling.

Clip after clip, angle after angle—Paige talking to reporters, Paige laughing with fans, Paige crouched down and talking to some sweet little kid reporter in a Dallas jersey. Paige doing Paige things. That new hair shining like she just walked out of a Dyson Airwrap ad.

And me?

Completely out of the loop.

The longer I watched, the more I paced.

I wasn’t mad that she cut it—I mean, she looked incredible.

Of course she did.

Paige Bueckers could shave her head and still look like she walked off a runway.

But to not tell me?

To keep it secret and then hit a whole red carpet rollout for the public before letting me, her fiancé, see it?

I grabbed my phone again, thumb already holding the audio icon down before I could second guess it.

“So not only did you touch up your roots… you cut your hair, and didn’t think to tell me—your loving girlfriend of six years, fiancé of one, by the way? Come on, P… be so for real. And THEN. And…and Then..you let me find out through Twitter? Of all places? Ohhhh, fuck you, Paige Madison. Fuck. You. Ohhh you are so sleeping on the couch tonight.”

I sent it.

And for a solid ten minutes, the only response I got was her leaving me on read.

Which would’ve been fine.

If she didn’t then post a video of herself lip-syncing my audio message to her Instagram Story, standing center court like she was accepting a Grammy for “Best Betrayal.”

I kid you not.

A video of her in the green room, dramatically lip-syncing to my audio.

She even clutched her chest and gasped when I said her full name.

Fans were already losing it in the comments.

“They’re unhinged I love it.”

“This relationship is peak entertainment.”

“Y/N really said ✨drama✨.”

I threw my phone on the couch and flopped down with a groan.

She thought this was funny.

She thought me discovering her haircut via Twitter was content.

She was lucky I loved her.

I heard the door open and close softly. Paige walked in like she was trying to sneak in past curfew, even though she knew I was still awake.

I didn’t say a word at first.

She peeked into the bedroom, still in the same tracksuit, and smiled sheepishly. “Hey…”

I didn’t even look at her. “Hope Twitter treated you well tonight.”

She sighed. “You’re still mad?”

“You got a whole haircut and didn’t even text me.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Yeah. And I found out through Twitter. That’s not a surprise, that’s a jump scare.”

She walked over slowly and sat on the edge of the bed, her freshly cut bob brushing just above her shoulders. The soft lighting made her look even more unfairly attractive. Rude.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, voice quiet. “I just… wanted to feel fresh. The season’s been crazy. The move. The press. I needed something for me.”

“I would’ve supported that,” I murmured, softer now. “I just wish I’d been part of it.”

Paige reached for my hand. “You always are. Even when I’m bleaching my scalp in a stranger’s salon.”

I snorted. “You look hot. That’s the worst part.”

She grinned. “You think so?”

“Don’t act brand new. You’ve been trending since 7PM.”

She laughed, brushing her fingers up my arm. “So… what if I said I booked us massages tomorrow? And brunch. And maybe… just maybe… there’s a box in the closet with your name on it from Coach?”

I raised a brow. “Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Absolutely.”

I tried to glare, but the truth was, I’d already melted. Her new hair looked incredible, and she smelled like vanilla and champagne and expensive night outs. I caved.

“Alright. But next time you cut your hair, you better text me a ‘brace yourself’ warning.”

She nodded. “Deal. Can I sleep here tonight? Or is the couch calling me?”

I pulled back the covers. “Only if I get to run my hands through your freshly done hair.”

She laughed and slid in beside me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

As I tangled my fingers in her freshly-cut hair, she whispered, “You’re still gonna use that in arguments, aren’t you?”

I grinned. “Oh, definitely. I’m getting it framed.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[nolita-fairytale]

hard launch | joaquin torres x fem!reader summary: you and joaquin hard launch at bucky's congressional fundraiser.

warnings: allusions to smut (minors dni), tooth-rotting fluff, lots of flirting, joaquin w/ danny ramirez curls, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, swearing, idiots in love, use of she/her pronouns, mentions of food, friends to lovers

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this takes place in the same world as and for us, it won't be long, but can be read as a standalone piece.

masterlist

You’ve barely knocked twice before the door swings open, revealing one very handsome Joaquin Torres. His curls have grown out since you’ve seen him last, and the way he looks at you takes your breath away. 

“You’re early!” he practically cries, his face lighting up as he takes you in. “You should’ve called me! I would’ve picked you up at the train station.” 

“I wanted to surprise you,” you interject, the sweetest smile on your face as you throw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck. 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here,” he groans, the feel of your body pressed against his, surreal and perfect. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself of how good you smell, as the two of you remain in his doorway. 

“Your hair!” you cry, running your fingers through his soft curls.

“I need to get it cut. It’s so long,” he shakes his head, though he can’t help the grin that’s permanently, he thinks, spread across his lips. “Don’t! I like it like this,” you tease him flirtatiously, giving his hair a playfully little tug. 

You pull back, just enough to plant one on him, pressing your lips to his. 

“Hi, baby,” you say softly, your heart practically melting.

He kisses you once more, this time for just a little longer than your last one. 

“Hi, mi corazon. It’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he sighs, happier than ever as he pulls you in for another tight squeeze. “C’mere.” 

“It’s so good to see you. How was your trip?” you ask him, after Joaquin tugs you into his apartment, insisting that you let him get your bag. 

You listen to him as he explains the majesty of Wakanda, and how absolutely geeked out he got when it came to the tech, as you take in his apartment. It’s much bigger than you expected—and certainly much bigger than yours—your eyes glazing over the large windows that line one of the walls of his living room that look over Washington DC. 

“Holy shit… is there something you’re not telling me. Like are you rich now or what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your surprise. 

He chuckles, shaking his head, your duffle bag in hand as he answers: 

“Uh… no. Sam called in a favor to help me get the place and as for the rest, uh, well… VA loans.” 

“Woah.” He smiles, utterly charmed by the look of awe on your face, the crinkle in the corners of his eyes an indicator of such. 

“Can I give you the tour?” he offers, offering you his hand. “It’s not a huge place but… yeah, it’s nice.” 

You take it, gladly, taking every chance to be connected to the boyfriend who you haven’t seen in a couple of weeks, due to his work trip to Wakanda. You know he’ll have plenty of pictures to show you—of Wakanda, of his new suit, of all the things he got up to—and yet you know there’s plenty of time for that later. 

It hasn’t been very long since his trip to Philly, where a night of reminiscing led to a love confession that’d change the course of your relationship with him forever. 

That, and mind-blowing sex.

He takes you through his kitchen, one he barely uses, even with its long kitchen island that overlooks his spacious living room. Even with how roomy the apartment is, it’s not like it’s much more than a living area and a bedroom, so it’s only a matter of time before you end up there. Joaquin shuffles you through his bedroom door, to find, once again, large city-facing windows with the curtains pushed open. Curiously, you peek through his large bathroom area to catch a look at the adjoining bathroom and walk-in closet. Joaquin places your bag down on the floor of his bedroom, his bed made neatly from years of mastering perfect military corners, with a happy sigh as he watches you explore. 

“Convenient that your bedroom was the very last stop on this tour,” you note, leaning up against the door frame of the ensuite. 

“No ulterior motives, I promise,” he replies, holding his hands up in the air as if to say, ‘I’m innocent.’ “Well,” you take a step forward, especially now that his hands are free. “Maybe I have ulterior motives.” 

“Oh yeah?” he chuckles, a small smirk threatening the corner of his lips as he takes a few more steps towards you. “Yeah. You see,” you begin, giggling as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in so that you’re flush against his body. “It’s just… I sort of have this condition where if I’m in a room with you for longer than five minutes, I have to be naked.” “That’s so funny,” he plays along as you’ve now wrapped your arms around his neck. “ I think I have the same condition.” “Oh my god, I wonder if we’ll be included in the same medical study,” you let out a false gasp.

He shakes his head again, crashing his lips against yours, determined to spend the rest of the afternoon making you fall apart with his hands, his mouth, his cock, till neither of you can think straight. It doesn’t take long before he’s pulling you down on top of him, leading the both of you to his bed so that he can do just that. 

*

“You don’t think it’s too much skin?” you ask, suddenly shy, as you stare at your reflection. 

The silky, sage green, floor length dress that you wear, is deceptively modest at first glance: a high neck halter cut that shows an obscene amount of back with how low it dips, with the sweetest little button detail trailing down your low back. 

“Holy shit. You are so out of my league,” is all Joaquin manages to get out, as soon as he sees you. 

“Just answer the question, loverboy,” you tease him, turning towards him. 

Joaquin’s barely dressed, save for a black pair of trousers, in all of his shirtless glory—his hair, at least, styled. It’s his turn this time to lean up against the door frame of the ensuite as he looks you over, his words caught in his throat, like he didn’t just give you some of the best orgasms of your life mere hours ago. 

“I think…” he trails off, at a loss for words at how beautiful you are. He scratches the back of his head as he takes his time, searching for the right ones. “... that it’s just right, babe. People get all kinds of dressed up for these kinds of things. It’s-, you’re perfect.” 

“I-,” you chuckle, especially in regards to his final words. “... doubt that I’m perfect. I just mean, well, I don’t want it to be… you know… too sleazy or anything. I know it's an important fundraiser for Bucky.” 

“Well, if you ask me, I think you’re gonna help Bucky raise more money,” Joaquin flirts with you, a little more confident in his ability to tell you exactly what he thinks of how stunning you look. “Hell, I’d be halfway to giving up my life’s savings if I saw you at one of these things.” 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m going as your date,” you flirt back. “Can’t have that.” And then. “Okay, but you need to get dressed! Didn’t you just say that Sam said the car’s gonna be here soon?” 

“Ah shit. Yeah, give me like five minutes,” he swears, hurrying back into his walk-in closet for the rest of his suit. 

In all the time you’ve known him, Joaquin Torres hasn’t been the most punctual human—outside of, you can only imagine, his commitments in the military. But of course, that’s not the version of him you’ve known your entire life. The Joaquin you know is the one that’s always thirty minutes to an hour late to the function, so you know you have to keep him on a timeline. 

You dig through your bag for the pair of heels you plan on wearing tonight, then make your way out to the living room to give him some space to finish getting ready. You take your time making sure that you have everything you need packed in your clutch—your phone, your ID, and lip gloss—before beginning to put on your shoes. 

You smell him first, having walked through a cloud of cologne he's sprayed, before hearing a shuffle of footsteps till he’s standing in front of you, dressed fully in an all-black suit. It takes everything you have in you not to let your jaw fall on the floor. 

“Told you I could get ready fast,” he smirks, unaware of the effect he has on you. 

You’re still figuring out how to metaphorically pick your jaw up off the floor as you rise to your feet, your lips beginning to curl into a smile. 

“You should only wear this,” you compliment him, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest. 

“You like?” he asks, his eyes lighting up. “I love,” you emphasize, as you make your way towards him. 

“Good, because it’s my best and only suit,” he sighs, feigning relief. 

“Well, I don’t know if it’s your best,” you reply, cheekily. 

He shoots you a questioning look and you’re quick to remind him that your personal favorite suit is the one he was born in. 

“Ah yes, my very best suit,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Can’t exactly go out in that. Now that would be too sleazy.”

“Hell of a way to help Bucky raise campaign funds,” you tease him, joking along with your fine ass boyfriend. 

“Lucky for you, and only you, you’ll get to see me in both this weekend,” he winks in your direction, outright flirting with you. 

You smile. 

Because you know it’s true: 

You’re the luckiest, to get to be loved like this. 

"We should eat something before we go. There's never any real food at these things," Joaquin states, heading towards the kitchen area. "Oooooh! We should totally pick up a pizza on the way home," you suggest.

"Ugh, my girl thinks of everything," he grins, as reaches for a bag of white bread on top of his fridge.

You giggle together over PB&J sandwiches before Joaquin gets a text from Sam that says something along the lines of:

Car’s here, lovebirds. 

*

You ride with Sam and Joaquin in the car Bucky sent for the three of you, mostly observing the way Joaquin interacts with his friend and mentor with ease, practice, and the charm you’ve known your entire life. You wish you could say the same for yourself, but this all feels so new to you, especially as you stand next to your boyfriend, clinking glasses and making small talk with some of the most important people in Washington. 

“Sam, I mean. Captain America, sir. I-,” you stammer out, still navigating how starstruck you feel as you stand in front of Thee Captain America. 

“I told you. You can call me Sam. In fact, I insist,” he reminds you, his voice gentle yet certain as he tries to put your nerves at ease. 

“Yes, sir. I mean, Sam,” you smile, this time with a little more confidence. 

“And what do we have here,” you hear a voice say, as Buck Barnes approaches the three of you. You watch as Sam and Joaquin exchange hugs and greetings with the man of the hour before his attention turns to you. 

You introduce yourself, followed by a firm handshake from Bucky. 

“Bucky, this is my girlfriend,” Joaquin introduces you, at the same time that Sam adds:

“The kid’s girl.” 

“Wow,” Bucky marvels, his eyes darting from you to Joaquin, then back to you, before, with a laugh, declaring, “You are so out of his league. It's great to finally meet you.” 

“Buck,” Sam says, something warning in his voice.

“That’s what I said!” Joaquin exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, feeling more vindicated than ever. You laugh, “Ehhh, I think I got pretty lucky with this one. Just had to put up with him being a pain in my ass all through our childhood.” 

“Well, you’ll be glad to learn that nothing’s changed in the pain-in-the-ass department,” Sam adds, playfully. 

“C’mon, Torres. I got someone I want you to meet,” Bucky announces.

“You good?” Joaquin asks you, his eyes soft. 

You nod, “Of course. Go shmooze, or whatever else it is you guys do at these things.” 

“Don’t worry, Torres. I’ll take good care of her,” Sam ensures, instilling confidence in the both of you with a nod, as Bucky ushers Joaquin away. 

“You look empty. Should we grab another drink?” you ask Sam this time. 

“Sure,” he replies, leading you through the crowd and back to the bar. 

By the time you’re waiting for your drinks, you’ve learned about Sam’s sister, Sarah, and his two nephews. It’s not like you were able to talk much the last time you saw each other, just barely in the same place at the same time, both worried about Joaquin. He’s finishing a story about the best plate in New Orleans, noting that next time he’s back home, you and Joaquin should join him. 

Joaquin catches your eye across the room, as if to check in with you, even though he’s supposed to be chatting up the men in suits Bucky’s introduced him to. When you know the men in suits aren’t looking, you give Joaquin a thumbs up to let him know you’re doing just fine, earning a soft laugh from Sam. 

“Glad to see he’s treating you right,” he says, as if he’s learned all he needs to know from the small interaction. 

“I-, yes. He’s the best,” you reply, halfway to swooning over Joaquin to… well, sort of his boss. 

“Sam,” you start, faking confidence in calling him by his name and not Captain America. “I uh… I never got to thank you. For calling me. You know… to come see Joaquin when he was in the hospital.” 

“Oh, no need to thank me. Seemed like talkin’ to you was making things better. Glad he could have a piece of home with him,” Sam explains with ease. 

“I just-. I don’t know. I don’t know if we’d be here without, well, without, for lack of a better term, parent trapping us,” you continue, half in disbelief that you’re standing here, thanking him for his romantic advice. 

He smiles, realizing what you’re saying, “Seemed like all he needed was a push. The both of you.” 

You smile in return. 

“Yeah, we did.” 

A beat. “Well, shit. Captain America and a matchmaker? What can’t you do?” you joke, taking a more playful approach this time. “Yeahhhh,” he sighs, jokingly. “Gonna add it to my special skills on LinkedIn. Could be the next Hitch. The reboot."

You laugh, agreeing that he'd be an excellent candidate for Hitch 2, and as you continue your conversation with Sam, it feels like one big step towards becoming a part of this world. It’s certainly not what you pictured for yourself, and yet, standing here with Captain America (who’s quickly becoming your friend, Sam), with the love of your life stealing glances across the room at you, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ditzybrainlaura]

She's been asking you if you'd do something special for her... You can see how much it means to her. She's been begging you for weeks. You're nervous. You were always "macho". This is so pink! You'll look so girly. You'll do it for her though. You'll do anything for her. It's just you and her, no one else will need to know.

It feels so soft. You love it. You're embarrassed to admit it though. Your girlfriend loves it. She is letting you know that too. You like it too but you're so nervous about it. You always thought you were the man of the house.

You're starting to enjoy this. The attention. The energy. Your relationship needed this. Your girlfriend is so happy. You are too. You're sat there, wearing your cute babydoll. Your girlfriend lusting over you. Then she says those words you'll never forget

"You look so sexy as my girlfriend."

Her girlfriend?! You're overwhelmed. She sees the panic in your eyes, sits on your lap and kisses your lips. You forget all your worries. In this moment, it's you, your girlfriend and your pink babydoll.

If this is the reaction you get, maybe you need to feminize more? You enjoy it. She enjoys it. What's stopping you?

"You're my good girl, sweetie" she whispers. You are hooked.

Thank you @alwayscute for sharing this incredible photo! I love it. I hope you like my take on it 🫶🏻

❤️ @sissydollyisabella 🩵 @happy-sissy-madison 🩷 @sissy-sabrinas-world 😂 @ditzybrainlaura 😍 @christina-tiara 🏳️‍⚧️ @prissytutu 🦋 @annas-worldxoxo 🌈 @sweetie-lindsey 😍 @veras-caption-haven 💓 @amberleannethenewgirl💋 @incognitoelizabeth 🍼 @sissymissyxo 💅 @honeyhornypup 🥵 @sweatersub 😍 @cassandra-the-baby-girl 😇 @goodwitchkylie 🏳️‍🌈 @its-me-mandi-duhhh 👑 @cutieecassie 🔥 @sleepy-bimbo-bambi-3 ♠️ @selenasgirltiffany21 🤍 @uneamifemme 💖 @leiamoony 😩 @pinkyfaggyx 🍆 @just-kailee 🎀 @sissyloren2 🩵 @remygurl45 💕 @supremefaggotdestiny6912 💝 @karlie-xoxo 😈 @beta-dreamsva 💖 @2inchchelsea🤠 @sienna-thee-sissy 🥺 @goodgirlmadison 🤗 @stacey-xox-bimbo ❤️‍🔥 @elektrarose 🤭 @jessigurll 💋 @jade-the-princess 👸 @thessa-xox 💘 @kimberly-kash 🥰 @youknowmemomma 🫠 @christina-tiara 💞 @pinkfemgurl 😵‍💫

[bullet-prooflove]

Existential: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @fadeinsol @cowardlycandy

Summary: You and Pope have another first in the aftermath of Smurf's death.

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.

The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.

The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.

Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.

Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.

Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.

Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.

The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.

Night Thoughts - You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.

Being with you again is existential.

It’s passion, it’s fervour and it’s love in its purest form.

That’s what Pope thinks as his fingers thread through the silky strands of your hair, his thumb ghosting over your cheek. You’re lying together on the bed where you made a baby, the dying light of the sunset filtering through the open window. The breeze caresses his bare skin as he eases inside you, your name rolling off his lips like a prayer.

His hands chase all over your naked form, caressing the space where his child resides before he grips your ass and thrusts deeper, connecting with you in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. You gasp into his mouth and he knows he’s found that sweet spot, the one that has you coming undone around him in just a couple of thrusts.

He tries to ride it out, to hold back but the ecstasy it hits him like a wave, crashing through his body as you tighten around his dick. Your hands tangle in his hair, gripping his curls as you kiss him like your drowning, like he’s the only person on this earth who can haul you out of the water, who can breathe the life right back into you.

You climax together, his hips flush against yours as he paints your insides with hot, white spurts that have him moaning his pleasure into your mouth. He stays buried deep in the aftermath, his palms smoothing over your curves as he looks into your eyes.

“I love you.” He whispers for the very first time in his life. “I love you so god damn much.”

Love Pope? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[rubywillkins]

Bed Time | oneshots

Charles Leclerc

“I’d climb every mountain..

And swim every ocean ..

Just to be with you…”

The soft glow of morning sunlight leaked through the curtains, casting golden shadows on the hardwood floor of the Monaco apartment. The room was still quiet, except for the rhythmic tapping of Charles’ fingers against his laptop keys. He sat by the window, dressed in a faded grey t-shirt and sweatpants, his brows furrowed, utterly focused.

Deadlines, strategy plans, sponsor calls—the kind of work that never really stopped, even for a Formula 1 driver.

In the bed they shared, Y/N stirred under the duvet. She rolled over to his side, now cold and empty, and blinked at the sight of him across the room. Her voice was still sleepy when she murmured, “Charles… come back to bed.”

He glanced up. And instantly, the hard lines on his face softened.

“Mon ange…” he smiled, his voice still low from not speaking for a while, “I just have to finish one thing, I promise.”

Y/N sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. “You said that an hour ago.”

“I know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “But it’s just—this race week is important. The simulator notes came in late and I didn’t want to forget.”

He looked down, feeling a little guilty now. He hated disappointing her. Always did.

“I get it,” she said softly, leaning her head against the pillow, watching him. “But… it’s Sunday morning. And you promised me one morning that was ours.”

That struck something deeper in him. He closed the laptop slowly, hesitating for only a second. He wasn't good at switching off. But he was good at listening to her.

“Okay,” he said, voice quieter. “You’re right.”

She didn’t expect him to actually get up so quickly, but he did—crossing the room in a few long strides, climbing back into the warm bed with her. She giggled softly as he did, and he let out a rare boyish laugh, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her into him.

“You win,” he whispered into her hair.

“I always do,” she teased.

He nuzzled against her neck, warmth blooming in his chest. She smelled like lavender and sleep and home.

“I really do love you, you know?” he said, more serious now.

She turned to face him. “I know. And I love you. Even when you go all workaholic on me.”

His smile stretched slowly, the kind that lit up his whole face. “I’m sorry… I just want to be good at all of this. Racing. Life. You.”

“You already are,” she replied, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “But you don’t always have to prove it. Just… let me be your soft place to land.”

His breath caught for a moment. That meant more to him than she'd ever know. Charles had always been private, guarded, always polite in public, controlled on camera. But with her—he could be undone. Could be real.

“You are,” he murmured. “You’re everything.”

And just like that, his focus shifted from circuits and strategy to the quiet sanctuary of their bed. His arm draped over her waist as he tucked her close, her body curved into his, and the world outside faded into background noise.

No podium could ever compare to this kind of peace.

Lewis Hamilton

“Let my love adorn you ...

You gotta know, baby…”

The London skyline shimmered outside the penthouse windows, hazy and golden in the early morning light. The city was still quiet, wrapped in its own kind of slumber, but Lewis was already up — sitting on the velvet armchair near the balcony, journal open, pen in hand, a mug of herbal tea resting on the table beside him.

He was deep in thought, legs tucked up, hoodie sleeves pushed past his elbows, expression contemplative as soft lo-fi jazz played in the background. The kind of stillness he’d grown to protect. Reflect. Heal.

Behind him, the massive bed was still warm, tangled in cream silk sheets and Y/N’s soft breathing. But her eyes fluttered open when she didn’t feel his presence beside her.

She stretched lazily, her voice still raspy with sleep as she called out, “Baby... come back to bed.”

Lewis glanced over his shoulder, lips curving at the corners. His pen paused. "You always know when I slip away," he murmured, teasing gently.

“That’s because it’s colder without you,” she pouted, resting her chin on the pillow as she looked at him. “And it’s our first real morning off together in... weeks.”

He closed the journal slowly, sliding the pen between the pages. “You’re right,” he said, voice warm and velvety, yet thoughtful. “I just... needed to write out a few things that were sitting heavy.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. She knew that tone—introspective, a little weighty. He always carried the world in his heart. The battles, the brilliance, the hope.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

“I am now,” he said honestly. “Just needed to clear some energy.”

Then he stood, barefoot, quiet as ever, and walked back to the bed. He paused at the edge, taking her in—hair messy, skin glowing in the early light, arms outstretched in invitation.

“You know,” he said with a small smirk, crawling in beside her, “there are a hundred places I’d fly you to right now. Just us, private jet, ocean breeze, zero noise.”

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his curls as he laid his head on her chest.

“Sounds tempting,” she whispered. “But this? You, here, like this… that’s already everything.”

He exhaled, deeply and slowly, like the kind of breath that empties your soul of tension. “You really get me,” he said, voice low against her skin.

“I do,” she whispered. “Even when you disappear into your mind for a bit.”

He turned his face into her, kissed the space just over her heart. "I love you for that. For letting me wander without ever making me feel lost."

Silence settled around them, soft and thick. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

“Okay,” he mumbled, already relaxing, “five more minutes… but I might make it a whole day.”

Y/N smiled, pressing her lips to his temple. “Good. Because I was planning on keeping you here anyway.”

And just like that, Lewis Hamilton—the man who danced between the metaphysical and the fast lane—let go. No circuits, no cameras. Just him and the woman who saw every part of him, even the ones he didn’t always show.

He didn’t need a private island to feel at peace. He had it, right here, in her arms.

Carlos Sainz

“Love is the answer, at least for most of the questions in my heart…”

The gentle hum of the espresso machine was the only sound echoing through the quiet Madrid apartment. Carlos stood at the kitchen counter in a soft navy t-shirt and grey joggers, stirring his coffee with one hand, scrolling through race data on his phone with the other.

It was early—too early for most people on a day off—but not for Carlos. He liked his quiet mornings, liked starting the day before the world demanded too much of him.

From the bedroom, a low, sleepy voice broke the calm.

“Carlos…”

A pause.

“Come back to bed.”

He turned his head, a soft smile forming before he even replied. “It’s not even 8, cariño,” he called back, voice still laced with that low morning gravel. “You sure you’re not tired of me yet?”

“You’re my favorite pillow,” Y/N mumbled, her voice muffled in the sheets.

That earned a quiet chuckle from him. Dry, amused. The kind that barely made it out of his throat but lingered in the room.

He finished stirring his coffee, set the phone down, and padded barefoot down the hallway toward their bedroom. He leaned on the doorframe for a moment, watching her curled under the duvet, hair wild and arm stretched toward where he used to be.

“I thought I’d let you sleep,” he said gently. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You not being here is the bother.”

His brow arched slightly. “Dramatic for someone who calls me emotionally boring.”

“You’re not boring,” she yawned, pulling the covers open in invitation. “You’re steady. Like… calm in a storm.”

He tilted his head slightly, that soft expression returning. Carlos had never been the man of grand speeches. But he was consistent. Steady. Quietly all in.

“You know I’d come back just for that, right?” he said, moving to the bed.

He set his mug on the nightstand and climbed under the covers, immediately pulling her against his chest. His hand slid under her shirt—nothing intense, just a warm palm against her spine, fingers tracing lazy circles like a silent way of saying I’m here.

Y/N hummed in contentment, fitting herself perfectly in his arms.

“I know you’ve got a million things on your mind,” she whispered, “but I like you best when you let yourself rest.”

His lips brushed her forehead. “I do rest. When I’m with you.”

That was the thing with Carlos. He didn’t overwhelm. He anchored. He wasn’t loud about his love—but it was in every touch, every look, every way he quietly chose her over and over again.

“You’re my safe place, you know?” she murmured.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held her a little closer.

Then, finally:

“I know, mi amor. And you’re mine.”

And with that, the day could wait. The world could wait. Because in this moment, wrapped in warmth and love and the kind of peace that doesn’t need proving—Carlos was exactly where he wanted to be.

Franco Colapinto

“I guess I’m in love with the way you hold me ....

And I’ll spend the rest of my life…”

The Sunday sun filtered lazily through the gauzy white curtains, casting soft shadows across the crumpled bedsheets. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee — warm, nutty, familiar. Y/N stirred awake, arms reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed.

Empty.

She blinked, brows furrowing. No Franco.

His pillow was still warm. His hoodie was still tossed at the foot of the bed, which meant… he hadn’t gone far. But still. It was Sunday. Their day. Their slow, no-plans, order-too-much-food-and-do-nothing day.

She sat up, eyes still heavy with sleep, and called out, “Franco?”

No answer.

She grabbed the nearest sweatshirt — his, obviously — and padded into the living room.

There he was. Sitting on the floor. Surrounded by open notebooks, a half-eaten banana, a sketchpad, and what looked suspiciously like a very unofficial to-do list written on the back of an old receipt.

He was humming softly to himself, pencil tucked behind one ear, glasses slipping down his nose.

“Seriously?” she said, arms crossed at the doorway. “You left me for your chaos corner?”

He looked up, blinked once, and grinned. “You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me. You abandoned me.”

Franco stood, stretching in that slow, exaggerated way that made her roll her eyes and smile all at once. “Abandoned is a strong word. I was going to come back the second my brain shut up.”

“It’s Sunday,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re allowed to tell your brain to shut up.”

He hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her in until she melted against him, warm and grumpy and barefoot. “I missed you too, you know,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

“Then come back to bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He grabbed a couple of sticky notes from the floor and slapped them to his forehead. “Reminders for later,” he said solemnly.

She burst out laughing. “You’re the most chaotic genius I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the person who keeps me from accidentally drinking paint water,” he said, scooping her up bridal style with zero warning.

She squealed, clinging to his neck. “Franco!”

He grinned. “Too late. We’re going back to bed.”

He carried her like it was the most natural thing in the world — like he’d always known exactly how to hold her, how to make her laugh, how to make the world slow down. And when he finally dropped them both into the sheets, limbs tangled and hearts synced, he whispered against her skin:

“You’re the best thing I’ve ever made space for.”

And that Sunday — the kind that never made the highlight reels but somehow felt like everything — became another quiet moment stitched into the life they were building.

Together.

Oscar Piastri

“And I need you to know that we're fallin’ so fast

We're fallin’ like the stars…”

The hotel suite was quiet in that specific post-race kind of way — hushed, heavy, and slow. Outside, the sky was dull with overcast clouds, the streets of whatever city they were in a blur behind rain-smeared windows.

Y/N blinked awake to the rustle of hotel sheets and the smell of mint tea steeping in the corner of the room.

But Oscar wasn’t in bed.

Again.

She rolled over to see the bedside clock: 8:42 a.m. Early, but not insanely early — unless, of course, you were Oscar, and you apparently didn’t know how to sit still even after driving at 300 km/h all weekend.

She sat up, pulling the duvet around her shoulders like a cloak and calling out, “Where’d you go?”

His voice floated in from the small sitting area near the window. Dry. Awake. Oscar.

“Just writing a very dramatic grocery list.”

She peeked over the duvet to find him there, legs tucked under himself on the armchair, laptop open, his face lit only by the grey light filtering through the clouds. Hair tousled. Hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Calm as ever.

“Groceries?” she asked, amused.

“We’re out of oat milk. It’s a crisis,” he said without looking up. “Also, I forgot which laundry detergent you like, and I don’t want to guess wrong again. Last time the clothes smelled like a dentist’s waiting room.”

She smiled to herself. It was ridiculous. It was so him.

“You’re incredibly annoying for someone who’s also kind of perfect,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“I take pride in that.”

She waited a beat, then added, softer this time, “Come back to bed.”

He looked over his screen. And something in his face softened — the sarcasm paused, and there it was: that quiet, thoughtful affection he never put into too many words.

“Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “You just... disappeared.”

Oscar closed the laptop slowly, placing it aside. “Right. Terrible crime. Left my girlfriend alone in a five-star bed with six pillows and central heating.”

“Exactly,” she said, smug under the covers. “And you forgot the best part.”

He stood, stretching with a groan that sounded far too dramatic for a 23-year-old. “Me?”

She nodded, watching him walk back over, calm and casual, like he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent person she'd ever met hiding behind a dry one-liner.

Oscar climbed under the covers without another word, settling beside her with practiced ease — like they’d done this a hundred times, and would a hundred times more.

He didn’t say much — didn’t have to.

Just wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her in, and whispered near her temple, “There. The bed’s whole again.”

She sighed into his chest, and after a moment, she felt his hand brush gently down her spine — just once. Barely there. But enough.

“Thanks for coming back,” she said.

“I always do,” he replied.

Lando Norris

“I’m still holding on to everything that’s dead and gone…”

The hotel room was dark, except for the soft glow of a hallway light peeking under the door and the occasional flash of city lights bouncing off the windows.

Y/N was asleep.

Or at least, she had been.

The door clicked shut behind him — too carefully. Like he was trying not to be heard. A second later, Lando’s shoes hit the floor one at a time with soft thuds, followed by a rustle of fabric as he tossed his hoodie onto a nearby chair.

He moved like a teenager sneaking in past curfew. Quiet. Strategic. Guilty.

Y/N cracked one eye open. “You trying to rob the place or just tiptoe like a cartoon criminal?”

He froze mid-step.

“Shit,” he whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be awake.”

She flipped onto her back with a groggy smile. “Well. I wasn’t. Until I heard my boyfriend trying to ninja his way across the carpet.”

Lando grinned in the dark. “I was being so subtle.”

“You opened a chip bag two minutes ago.”

“That wasn’t chips. That was... team hospitality mints.”

“Even worse.”

He laughed under his breath, then crawled carefully into the bed, lifting the covers with an exaggerated gentleness that made her giggle.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he whispered, burying his face into her shoulder.

“You didn’t,” she said, combing a hand through his curls. “But you definitely weren’t in bed when I reached for you.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Dinner ran long. And then Zak wanted to talk about some sim work. And then… I dunno, I just got stuck in one of those ‘Lando being Lando’ convos with the crew. I didn’t want to bring all that energy back in here and ruin the peace.”

She looked at him in the dark, quiet and honest now, no teasing. “You being here is the peace.”

He blinked slowly. His smile softened — the kind that wasn’t for cameras or anyone else.

“You’re ridiculously good at that stuff, you know?” he said. “Making me feel like I’m allowed to just… be.”

“You are,” she whispered. “But only if you come back to bed properly. No weird stealth missions. No mint crimes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulled her into him dramatically, wrapping her up in the duvet like she was the most valuable thing in the room.

“Better?” he asked, chin resting on her head.

“Much.”

They were quiet for a minute, her hand tracing slow shapes against his chest.

Then he mumbled, sleep already tugging at his voice, “You always wait up for me?”

“Always.”

A pause.

“Even if I’m late?”

“Especially if you’re late.”

He exhaled, the sound soft and real. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t,” she teased, smiling into his neck.

But she held him a little tighter anyway.

Paul Aron

“Not talkin' 'bout a year ...

No not three or four..

I don't want that kind of forever in my life anymore.”

The first light of morning slipped into the room, pale and gentle, painting soft shadows across the walls. The air was still, the silence sacred.

Y/N stirred in bed, eyes fluttering open. The sheets beside her were still warm — but Paul wasn’t there.

Not surprising.

He had a habit of slipping out of bed early, especially after long nights — the kind where conversations ran deep and silence wasn’t awkward, just heavy. The kind of nights where tears sat close to the surface and hearts got a little too exposed.

Last night had been one of those.

No arguing. No raised voices. Just real life, quietly sitting between them — work stress, family things, future talks. The kind of emotional honesty that didn’t need fixing, only holding.

She reached for her phone, but stopped. Instead, she sat up, pulling the blanket around her, and listened.

There. Soft footsteps. The kettle in the kitchenette whirring to life. A familiar scent — cinnamon and chamomile.

She got out of bed and padded down the hallway, finding him exactly where she hoped he’d be: leaning against the counter, mug in one hand, hair still messy from sleep, hoodie zipped halfway up over bare skin.

He looked up, and his face softened immediately.

“You should’ve stayed in bed,” she said quietly, voice still hoarse from sleep.

He held out the second mug without a word. She took it, letting the warmth seep into her hands.

“I woke up and didn’t see you,” she added.

Paul sipped his tea, then gently nodded toward the folded blanket and notepad left on the table. “Didn’t go far. Just needed a second to let my head catch up to my heart.”

She smiled. “That’s very you.”

He tilted his head slightly, amused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

He didn’t react dramatically. Just reached out and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. One simple motion, but it made something in her chest settle.

She looked up at him again. “Come back to bed.”

He hesitated only for a second. “You sure?”

“Yes. You don’t have to carry all your thoughts in a corner. Just… come be with me.”

Paul took a final sip of tea, set the mug down, and reached for her hand. No resistance. No big declarations. Just his quiet, solid presence walking back beside her.

Once they were under the covers again, he pulled her close — not because he was told to, but because he wanted to. Her head fit perfectly against his chest, and the room fell into stillness again.

He kissed the top of her head, voice low. “Thanks for letting me come back slow.”

She smiled into his skin. “Thanks for always coming back.”

And just like that — in their own quiet way — they picked up where the night had left off. Not with words. Just warmth. Just together.

Arthur Leclerc

“Can I go where you go...?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?”

It was barely 6:30 a.m. when Y/N stirred in bed, confused by the faint sound of keys jingling and the door very gently clicking shut.

She blinked at the empty space beside her, eyes narrowing.

“Arthur…” she mumbled to herself, pulling the blanket up over her shoulder, still too sleepy to investigate — until she smelled it.

Croissants.

A second later, she heard a not-so-subtle crinkle of a paper bag and a quiet curse in French followed by a whispered, “Merde.”

Now fully awake, she turned toward the doorway just in time to catch Arthur tiptoeing in, hoodie slightly damp from the early morning mist, cheeks pink from the cold, and a very suspicious-looking pastry bag clutched in one hand like a stolen treasure.

He froze when he saw her propped up on one elbow, eyebrow raised.

“…I can explain.”

She smirked. “You better.”

He walked in sheepishly, trying not to smile. “You said last night you missed the pastries from the little corner bakery. I woke up early and thought—surprise breakfast in bed. Very romantic. Very Arthur.”

“It would’ve been more romantic if you were in bed when I woke up.”

“I wanted you to sleep,” he said, crossing the room to her, placing the warm bag on the nightstand. “But clearly, I’ve underestimated how ninja you are with your hearing.”

She sat up, reaching for the croissant and tearing off a piece. “You’re lucky these are still warm.”

He laughed, settling beside her, sliding back under the covers without hesitation. “I didn’t think I’d get scolded for trying to be sweet.”

“You didn’t get scolded,” she said, handing him a bite. “You got caught.”

Arthur leaned over and kissed her cheek, his voice lower now. “Still worth it.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder as he handed her a second pastry from the bag. “You could’ve just cuddled me till I forgot about breakfast.”

He turned toward her, grin lazy. “You say that like we can’t do both.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Come back to bed and bring pastries? A man of many talents.”

“Exactly,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, croissant still in hand, crumbs already on the blanket. “This is the real breakfast combo: carbs and cuddles.”

Y/N laughed into his chest, heart full. That was Arthur — chaos in a hoodie, thoughtful in action, never one to say a lot, but always showing up in the most perfectly imperfect ways.

And in that early morning mess — rain-slicked hair, flaky pastry crumbs, cold fingers and warm kisses — she didn’t need anything else.

He was already everything.

[kokii-omii]

Flight Fest Race Event Story (part 1)

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

[ignihyde dorms - Pan's Room]

*RIIIING*

*RIIIIIIING*

🪽: helloooo?? oh! sup bro, ya need smth? wait what? wdym you want ME to do it??? you cant just drop that on me man- i- ugh....

🪽:

🪽: it was mom's idea..? aw man now i CANT bail out, she'd be so mad if i flake.....why? wellll i uh haven't exactly been replying to her messages....yeah....

🪽: k fine I'll do it, yeah yeah I'll talk to ya later, bye bye......

🪽:.......SIGHHHHH

🪽: ˢᵗᵘᵖᶦᵈ ᵈᵘᵐᵐʸ ᵇʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⁻ How are you an absolute unit of an athlete but get sick cuz someone sneezed near you??

🪽: guess i gotta find teammates...

[ignihyde dorms - Idia's Room]

💀: no the sequence is up down left right and then you spin

🫗: wait what button lets me spin????

💀: which controller did you pick u-

*DOOR BREAKING*

🪽: IDIA

🪽: Idia..Peyn...you're coming with me

💀&🫗: HUH????

🪽:Tldr; my brother signed me up for the race thats happening in my hometown and i need teammates

💀:Race?? as in like SPORTS???

🫗: like the Flight Fest? as in like FLYING??

🪽: yep

💀&🫗: HELL NO! / HELL YEAH!

💀: no- nah- nuh uh- NO WAY- am i gonna be participating in a sports event, racing against ATHLETES,

🫗: cmon boss! this is the Flight Fest! its like THEE biggest event in Feather-Fair city!

💀: thats EXACTLY why im not going- eughh so many people are gonna be watching you and they're gonna be clip farming that race and if you crash into something, and it'll be so over!!!

💀: i am NOT about to embarrass myself and have it be streamed to hundred and thousands of normies

💀: besides im the housewarden, so im the boss and i can't have both myself and the vice leave the dorm unattended

🫗:Boooo, no fair

🪽: guess it cant be helped... he used the housewarden card on us , we cant argue with that

🫗: why dont we take Ortho?

💀: wait yeah why dont you take Ortho with you- he'd love something like that- and he'd be WAYYY better for the race

🪽: nope- sorry Ids we cant take him, he'd be TOO good at flying with his rocket feetsies, it'd be unfair for the other athletes

🫗: guess that means we'll just have to ask from the guys at the other dorms then

[Cafeteria]

♦️: ooof bummer, that totes sound annoying, i feel rlly bad for you Panny

♠️: but a race? that sounds amazing!

♥️: and aw man not to mention we'd get cool suits and everything!

🪽: sooooo? does this mean you'll join??

♦️: sorry babes we unfortunately cant

♥️: me and deuce barely passed our quizzes, so the housewarden's making us do DOUBLE the work for preparing the unbirthday party

♠️: yeah...and we'll have to do that with our regular chores too...

♦️: and im in charge of watching these two so they dont slack off lol, but snap some cute pics for me kay? don't leave poor little cay-cay on read

🪽:aw man.. but i definitely will, you'll be the first to see the fit when i get it, guess all of heartslabyul is off the table for the entire week.... oh well gtg I'll ask some of the other guys

[Courtyard]

🍎: THATS SO COOL

🫗:RIGHT?? and it gets even BETTER, if we win then we get free food from the vendors for the WHOLE WEEK

🐈‍⬛: Mrah! Free food? like anything we want for a whole week?? I CAN GET AS MANY TUNA CANS AS I WANT???

🫗: that's IF we win the race, otherwise you still have to pay for it

🍎: I'm so down for this but we gotta convince Vil-san to give us his permission and let me participate first

🍩: Shishishi, what's this i hear?

🫗: Ruggie-senpai! this is perfect! do you wanna join us for the flight fest?

🫗:cuz ik you're really good at maneuvering in the air

🍩: well if a freshie from our spelldrive club wants my help then who am i to refuse?

🐈‍⬛: you're just here for the free food...

🍩: hey im not one to shy away from something like this, so I'm totally down

🫗: maybe we should get Leona-senpai as well, but we gotta find Pan first so he can convince Vil to let Epel go with us

[Botanical Gardens]

🪽: Pleaaaaaaseeee please please please please please please please

🦁: No

🪽: Cmon man we need a really good flyer in our team, and you're the best one i knowww

🦁: i said no, now leave me alone ya goddamn spring onion, why dont you go ask the Lizard or that damn Owl of his

🪽: malleus scares me... and i already asked Lucien and he said no

🪽: so pleaseeee Leona cmonnnnn, im running out of options here, im on my knees man- i wont leave til you say yes

🪽: PLEASEEEEE

🪽: PLEASEEEEEEEE

🪽:WAHHHHH LEONAAA

🦁: grr... ALRIGHT- just quit whining- god you're so annoying- If i go with you will you shut up now?

🪽: yes! and don't worry! i already asked the headmage and he'll let us skip class without our grades being affected by it

🪽: think of it as a vacation with a little outdoor activities

🦁: ugh, if we lose cuz of you im throwing you off one of the cliffs

🪽: noted-

🍩&🫗: Leona-saaaann/Leona-senpaaaaii

🦁: shut up im going

🐈‍⬛: wow that was easy

🫗: oh Pan's here, great! Now let's go cuz we gotta convince Vil to let Epel join us for the race, he's already at the pomefiore dorm waiting for you

🪽: well if Ruggie's in then i guess we got our team! you guys should get ready and stuff we'll meet all of you guys back at the mirror chamber after we get Epel

🪽: be sure to bring your essentials and we'll be back in like 15 minutes, let's go Peyn

🫗: yeah, see ya guys later

🐈‍⬛: cmon Yuu lets go get ready!

[Mirror Chamber]

🦁:..they're late

🐈‍⬛: mrah, we've been standing here for 10 minutes, how long is it gonna take?

🦐: dont worry they'll show up soon

🍩: cant blame em, its gonna be hard to convince Vil to let Epel skip class for a week, even if our grades wont get slumped

🫗: ugh...Man..

🍎:....

🪽: mm.....

🦐: you guys look beat, what happened?

🪽: Vil said yes but....

🫗:he made us do makeup for like 30 minutes and wouldn't leave til we got both sides of our eyeliner to be equal

🍎: my face hurts from the constant wiping...

🪽:okay okay enough of that lets just go-

🪽: to Feather-Fair City!!!

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

Part 2 (soon)

[lilpaigeywbb]

⟡꒰ the art of recovery ꒱⟡

-part one

➜ summary: your drug dealer, turned into something more, left. now you need to find ways of recovering both from her and the drugs

➜ warnings: overdose and withdrawal stuff!!! angst!!!! then some fluff and drugs, addiction, rehab, yada yada, not proofread (as always)

➜ pairing: drug dealer!paige/uconn x reader

➜ authors note: yay it’s outttt!!! no smut (sorry) but i think this panned out how i wanted it to (i liked part one better tho ugh). i appreciate all the love i got on part one so thank you guys so much! and i know it’s not a lot but thank you for 175 followers, it means so much to me. i love you guys.

i thought it’d be easy to recover from her.

i spent the first few weeks wallowing in self pity, the self pity turned into anger, and the anger turned into pain. the pain turned into drugs and the drugs led to only bad things.

first it was weed, my go-to drug. weed always made me calm and i thought it’d help to erase the pain of paige bueckers but if anything, it intensified it.

so i tried something stronger. pills. it was only a few at first, just to help me sleep. but sleep turned into escape. escape turned into survival and soon enough, i was taking a handful a day just to feel something. it was a thursday when survival turned blurred into overdose.

the night it happened was a blackout. i remember calling 9/11 because i thought my heart was giving out. my hands went numb and i must’ve dropped my phone to the floor. i think i was slurring and begging the dispatcher not to let me die. there was one thing i remember, probably the clearest thing.

i told the dispatcher to tell paige that i loved her and that i was sorry.

when i came to, the lights were blinding and the beeping was too loud. there were tubes in my arms, something clipped to my finger, and i had the distinct feeling that someone had saved me when i didn’t deserve it. nurses kept telling me i was lucky, that i was blessed. it didn’t feel like it.

the first night, i didn’t sleep. i couldn’t. the withdrawal symptoms were terrible. my skin felt like it was crawling, like something was trying to claw its way out from the inside. i couldn’t stop sweating — hot, cold, hot again.

i threw up almost four times until they gave me something but it didn’t help. one of my friends stopped by and brought me a bagel and some gatorade, the red kind. my hands kept shaking and my whole body would twitch out of nowhere.

eventually, the symptoms passed and i was able to sleep again. i think i slept for a day or two, my body worn out and exhausted from everything i’d been through. i could swear i felt paige, even in my subconscious. i could smell her cologne, feel her hands brushing through my hair, and hear her voice telling me she was sorry. it all felt so real.

and it was.

when i woke up, the nurse was taking my vitals, writing it all down on a chart. i groaned and winced at the pain. my body was still weak, recovering from the effects of the drugs. the nurse looked at me and smiled, “you’re up! that’s good. you have a visitor. i think she’s in the restroom but she’ll be so glad you’re awake.”

i huffed and rolled my eyes to myself. probably one of my friends, which was the last thing i needed. i didn’t want to see anyone, i just wanted to be alone. the nurse left and i was alone again, safe for whoever was in the bathroom. i checked my phone for messages which i didn’t have and then put it down. the sink started running so i mentally prepared myself for whoever would walk out of that door.

but no amount of mental psyching could’ve prepared me for this. for her.

paige walked out, closing the door behind her and our eyes met. they were still perfect and blue, specked with small dots of gold. she stood still, like she wasn’t sure what to do. like she wasn’t sure if she wanted me to know that she was here. i couldn’t pretend though. i knew she was here.

her steps were hesitant as she moved towards me. she didn’t say anything. neither did i. what could i say? she stood above my bed, her muscular arms crossed. she gained muscle. she looked good.

there was no jump up and hug, no apologies, no tears- well, not MANY tears. her eyes watered as she saw me awake, my eyes watered as i saw her. it was always her.

i didn’t say anything, just lifted the blanket and scooted over as a silent invitation she would take.

she did.

paige’s body moved on instinct next to mine, her form curling up against me. i wrapped my arm around her shoulders, our limbs tangled with the iv and tubes. there were still no words exchanged, just silent tears against each others skin.

she finally looked at me, our noses pressed against each other. her voice was soft, broken.

“im so sorry.”

i didn’t say anything at first, just nuzzled my nose with hers more. eventually, i whispered, “you’re here. and that’s enough.” she nodded, murmuring quietly, “i never really left. not in the way i should’ve.”

i finally gave in and kissed her. it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t desperate. it was trembling and slow and real. it was salty and filled with forgiveness. her lips were chapped, but they moved against mine like they remembered. like they’d been waiting. i know mine had been.

when we finally pulled apart, our foreheads stayed together, breathing each other in for the first time in months. paige’s eyes bored into mine, saying so many things at once. “i’m really truly sorry. i don’t know why i left. i guess i worried i was bad for you or that id hold you back or-“

i cut her off with another kiss, murmuring against her lips, “it’s okay, p. you came back.” she nodded and smiled, “and im not leaving again.”

i ended up going to rehab (mandated by the hospital, and paige of course) and got clean. it’s been almost a year and i haven’t touched a drug since. paige stuck with me the whole time. she visited, brought me snacks, and brought balloons and a nice banner for me when i got out.

we moved to rhode island together, wanting a quiet place to get away from our old lives and start our new ones together. she ended up coaching basketball which was interesting. she started playing while i was in rehab as a way to keep herself busy. she was all muscle now.

we adopted a kitten and named him tommy just because he was a tommy kind of guy. we took him to the beach a lot and brought him to mee the kids she was coaching. they all loved him.

today was a normal morning. paige was still in bed while i was sitting on the balcony with tommy in my lap, sipping coffee. i turned and looked back, seeing my beautiful girlfriend still asleep on her stomach, her face pressed into the pillows. something about the way the sunlight shined on her blonde hair was so ethereal.

i watched as tommy started cleaning his paws, getting distracted by his tail. the breeze was warm, yet cool, the sun bright, yet subtle. mornings like this were perfect.

i was so lost in thought that i didn’t notice paige come up behind me, kissing my head. i smiled and stood up, turning to face her, tommy sitting on the chair by himself.

her strong arms wrapped around me, her soft lips pressing a kiss to my forehead. “morning, baby,” she murmured, her voice like a ray of sunshine. i looked out at the sky, thinking about what had led to all of this: a text.

we had our ups and downs, highs and lows, and yet, we turned out okay. love, i’d learned, didn’t always look like it does in movies. sometimes it started in a dorm room with text about weed.

sometimes it broke you apart, but if you were lucky - like we were - it built you back together. and when it did, it stayed. the truth was, i never thought id recover from how much i loved paige bueckers. turns out i didn’t have to because her love wasn’t what i needed to recover from.

it was just what i needed to help me recover.

➜ ppl: @iowahawkeyes22 @soph1asticated @bueckerssball @fandoms-bythedozen @evanpeterstoe @soapyonaropey @onlyhereforpazzi @melpthatsme @fivest4rbuecks @avvwritesstufff @rand0mmmgg

[ilovebabyonboard]

Care Package Confessions

PAIRING: Bob Floyd X Pilot!Reader

CATEGORY: Fluff

SUMMARY: On deployment, a misdelivered care package and a too-honest letter you never meant for anyone else to read land in the hands of the one person it was secretly about: Bob Floyd. You weren’t supposed to fall for the quietest guy in the squad, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to find out. But when he reads the words meant only for home, everything changes—awkward glances, missed chances, and a slow, soft unraveling into something neither of you expected

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

WARNINGS: Mild angst, mutual pining, mild invasion of privacy, semi proofread

The sky above the naval air station was a colorless, cloud-smeared expanse, neither blue nor grey—just muted, like someone had turned the world down to half-volume. Beneath it, the base bustled on with its endless mechanical rhythm: the metallic stutter of hangar doors, the thump of boots on concrete, the sharp hiss of hydraulics bleeding into the wind.

And in the middle of it all, a quiet anticipation hung in the air like the scent of jet fuel—subtle, but unmistakable.

Mail day.

On deployment, small things carried a weight far beyond their size. A hot meal. A familiar brand of soap. A joke that actually landed without falling flat. But letters—letters were gold. They were proof that somewhere beyond the scrubby tarmac and sun-bleached barracks, life moved on without them. That they weren’t forgotten.

When Maverick’s voice crackled over the PA system announcing the squad’s mail had arrived, the whole base seemed to shift, like the tide turning.

“Mail drop’s in,” Fanboy announced, bursting into the briefing room like a storm of caffeine and good news. He waved a clipboard over his head like it was a winning lottery ticket. “Confirmed: the boxes have arrived.”

“Finally,” you groaned, the tension in your shoulders easing a notch.

Around you, the rest of Dagger squad perked up, eyes brightening like kids promised pizza at lunch.

Rooster leaned back in his chair with a yawn. “Think my aunt sent that giant tub of trail mix again?”

Hangman drawled, leaning forward across the table. “She’s definitely sending it for me.”

Rooster gave him a deadpan stare.

“No fighting,” Phoenix mumbled from the wall, eyes half-closed. “Save it for the sky.”

You looked back down at your half-finished checklist, trying not to let your hopes rise too high. You’d written home several times over the last month—mostly to your best friend, Em, and your siblings—but you hadn’t been sure if anything would come back. Still, part of you hoped.

A week before the care packages arrived, sleep was a stranger.

The buzzing overhead lights outside your room hummed low and steady, the cot beneath you felt too stiff, and the earlier simulation rattled more than you cared to admit. You’d flown well—you always flew well. But when Bob spoke over comms—calm, measured, steady—you found your own breath skipping beats.

It wasn’t what he said.

It was just him.

Bob Floyd was… complicated in the simplest way.

He wasn’t loud like Rooster or cocky like Hangman. He didn’t swagger into rooms or fill the air just to prove he could. But he carried a quiet presence. Gentle, steady—like the hum of a well-tuned engine or the low static of pre-dawn radio waves.

You remembered the first week, when he held the door open for you even though his arms were overloaded with gear. Then, during briefing, when he quietly corrected a flight schematic with a soft, “Actually, I think this is reversed,” and nailed it perfectly.

Bob didn’t take up space.

He made space.

And that did something inside you—something soft and stupid and utterly inconvenient.

You were trying really hard not to fall for the guy who lent pens with a quiet smile, like it was the kindest thing in the world.

And you were failing.

Spectacularly.

So, when your brain refused to quiet down, you did what you always did: you wrote.

The letter started as a joke.

“Dear Em,” you wrote, “I think I might be in actual trouble. Not, like, Navy trouble. Emotional trouble. The kind where your stomach flutters and your brain short-circuits and your heart does this horrible lurching thing every time a certain someone says your name."

"I’m not saying I’m falling for a naval aviator whose glasses fog up when he’s embarrassed—but I’m not not saying it either.”

You went on, describing the squad: how Coyote bullied you into morning runs, how Rooster couldn’t cook to save his life, how Payback snored like a jet engine about to take off. You wrote about Bob’s laugh—rare, quiet, always a little surprised—and how you lived for the moments when he’d glance up from a mission brief and catch your eye, like it was accidental but not quite.

You cringed as you wrote it but didn’t delete the words.

You signed off: Anyway. I won’t say anything obviously cause I'm not stupid. But I had to say it somewhere. Just in case.

You folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and tucked it into the box you’d set aside for care packages.

You thought it’d be safe on its way home before anyone else saw it.

You were wrong.

Because when the mail finally landed, your box from home wasn’t among the pile waiting for pickup.

You scanned the rows of care packages, eyes darting between names and handwritten labels, but there was no sign of yours. No familiar scrawl from home. No hidden treasures wrapped in duct tape and love.

You asked around, casually at first, then with more urgency—“Has anyone seen a box for me?”—but the answer was always the same: nothing.

What you didn’t know was that somewhere else on base, Bob Floyd was sitting with two boxes stacked in front of him.

Two boxes with your name scribbled with hardly legible handwriting on one.

Your family was usually so careful, so meticulous with the labeling, but somewhere in the chaos—a slip of handwriting, maybe a mix-up in the sorting—your package had gotten swapped.

Bob, quiet and unassuming, hadn’t said a word. Maybe he hadn’t noticed at first, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to make a fuss. After all, two boxes might mean double the snacks, double the comfort. But Bob wasn't that guy— So he definitely didn't notice.

Bob kept his eyes fixed on the cardboard box that didn't look like it was for him that was in front of him.

He turned it once, then again, squinting at the name scrawled in permanent marker across the side. He couldn't even tell if it was written in English the legibility was so bad.

He hesitated.

The packaging wasn’t familiar—no handwriting he recognized, no usual return address from his sister or cousin or the couple old classmates who still sent him the occasional care bundle for morale.

Still, he opened it. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell: barbecue chips. The second was the envelope, tucked under a bag of off-brand trail mix and a novelty bottle opener shaped like an F-18.

It was handwritten.

Sealed.

He should’ve known right then—should’ve stopped, double-checked the box, handed it off to admin to reroute. But something about the envelope snagged his attention. It wasn’t addressed formally. No full name, no rank. Just a single word in neat handwriting: Home.

And beneath it, in parentheses: to Y/N.

Bob frowned slightly, the crease between his brows softening as he thumbed the edge of the envelope. His fingers brushed the seal.

He didn’t open it maliciously. He didn’t even intend to open it at all. It just… happened. The way you might pull a book from a shelf you didn’t remember placing there. Instinctive. Curious. Thoughtless in the moment, but not unkind.

The paper unfolded like a secret.

He read the first line, and his breath caught.

"WHO IS THIS MYSTERY MAN? You have to send me a photo! A guy with glasses? That’s totally your type, Y/N. Come on, spill the details!”

He read the line again, and again. Then again.

Across the room, you sat half-listening as Phoenix described, in graphic detail, what would happen to Rooster’s skin if he didn’t stop using three-in-one body wash as face cleanser. The squad was in full post-briefing mode—half-buzzed on caffeine, half-crashing from mail day—when your eyes skimmed the room and landed, briefly, on Bob.

He looked… unreadable. His expression wasn’t quite confused, but it wasn’t neutral either.

Just distant.

Focused on something from his package.

You didn’t think anything of it at first.

Not until much later.

Not until the moment when everything, quietly, and without warning, went sideways.

Bob Floyd didn’t mean to read the whole thing.

He really didn’t.

But once the words were in front of him, once he realized it wasn’t just a small note or a postcard—it was a letter—his brain stopped working the way it normally did. Quiet, ordered, methodical.

Instead, it just… whirred.

And then stalled.

And then, against all better judgment, it drifted forward.

At first, he told himself he’d just skim. Just enough to know where it came from, to figure out how badly he'd messed up, and then stop. That was the plan. That was always the plan.

But the second line knocked the air right out of his lungs.

“How tall is he? 6'7 or is that reaching it? Does he do that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger and mumbles smart things under his breath? I swear if he wears button-downs off-duty, I’m going to pass out.”

He sat there, frozen in his chair, surrounded by the soft clatter of snack wrappers and paper tearing open and Hangman loudly reading something he swore was a love letter from a high school girlfriend.

Bob didn’t hear any of it.

He just stared at the letter, then read the next paragraph. And the next. And then he was too far in. Too deep. He couldn’t have stopped even if he’d tried.

Each line felt like peeling away the edge of something that had always been sealed off. A secret voice. A map he wasn’t meant to see.

And then came the kicker:

“If you don’t tell me more about what his voice sounds like by your next letter, I’m flying to the base myself.”

He had to close the letter and fold it twice to stop his hands from shaking. It wasn’t just you writing about him anymore—it was someone else talking about him, based on what you’d said. He didn’t know how to process that.

It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. He knew himself well enough to recognize the archetype.

He laid in bed later that night, replaying it all: the teasing, the affection, the familiarity with which your friend talked about him—a man she’d never met. A man you’d clearly talked about before.

That part got him.

You’d talked about him.

To someone else.

Like he was important enough to mention.

Like he mattered.

And for someone like Bob—who spent most of his life blending into the edges of rooms and avoiding attention—that realization felt like someone had cracked a window in his chest and let in the air.

Bob spent most of the morning thinking about the almonds.

Well, technically, they weren’t even his almonds. They were yours. Or, at least, they had been, before the letter. Before the swap. Before his sense of moral order cracked like the seal on your envelope.

Now the bag sat on his desk—salted, honey roasted, your favorite brand, the one you’d mentioned offhand during a late-night flight brief two weeks ago when you were both too tired to filter what came out of your mouths.

You’d laughed and said something like, “If someone mailed me a truckload of these, I’d probably marry them on the spot.”

At the time, Bob had just nodded, like he wasn’t about to remember that sentence word for word until the end of time.

Now, staring at the bag, he felt ridiculous.

What was he supposed to do? Walk up to you like, “Hey, I accidentally read your emotionally intimate letter confessing your crush on me, and now I’m giving you back the snack that came with it?”

Absolutely not.

So instead, he decided on a middle path. He’d ease into it. A slow reveal. A gentle tip of the hand.

He’d just… start a conversation.

A normal one.

With you. Easy.

When he saw you in the hangar, your hair pulled back and flight suit tied around your waist, squinting into the sun with a wrench in your hand, his heart did something embarrassing in his chest.

You smiled when you saw him—bright and easy, like always.

Bob almost turned around.

Instead, he walked forward, almond bag clenched tightly in his hand like it was a rare diplomatic offering.

“Hey,” he said. It came out fine. Fine. Maybe a little high-pitched.

“Hey, Bob,” you said, half-laughing like you were surprised. “You’re up early.”

“Payback's snoring,” he replied, giving you an annoyed look.

That got a laugh.

Bob felt like he’d just been handed a trophy.

You leaned against the bench, eyeing the bag in Bob's hand.. “Didn’t peg you for the almond type.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

You nodded toward his hand. “The almonds."

“Oh. Right.” He looked down like he’d forgotten he was holding them. “Yeah. Just… had them. Figured I’d eat some.”

Brilliant.

You smiled again, but something in your brow furrowed. “You okay? You look a little red.”

Bob went very still.

Abort mission.

This was a terrible idea.

He wasn’t built for this. He didn’t know how to flirt. He knew how to calculate airspeed and adjust radar parameters and give Phoenix the exact correction she needed mid-dive. He didn’t know how to have a crush on someone who might actually like him back.

It felt like flying with the control stick locked at full sensitivity—every tiny movement sent him spiraling.

So he panicked.

“No, I’m good,” he said quickly. “Just tired. Been a long week.”

You tilted your head. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Exactly.”

You gave him a weird look—half teasing, half concerned—but didn’t push. Instead, you bumped your shoulder gently against his as you passed.

“Go drink some water, Bob,” you said. “You get weird when you’re dehydrated.”

He didn’t respond.

He couldn’t.

Because you touched him and smiled and told him to hydrate like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And suddenly, it was too much.

Bob speed walked to found a corner in the mess hall that afternoon where no one would bother him and sat with his back to the wall, trying not to replay the morning in 4K ultra-cringe quality.

He could’ve told you.

He could’ve hinted.

But instead, he flailed, lied about being tired, and failed to give you your almonds.

He didn’t even eat them. They were still in his pocket.

The truth was: he wasn’t used to this. The possibility of someone choosing him. Liking him not just as a squadmate or a dependable co-pilot, but for the soft, quiet, weird corners of him.

Bob had always kept those corners hidden.

Because when you grow up being the quiet one, the careful one, the one who people always describe as “sweet” but rarely as “someone I’d fall for,” you start building walls without realizing it.

So now, standing on the other side of that wall, letter in hand, he didn’t know what to do except… retreat.

That felt safer.

Few Days Later...

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment the warmth between you and Bob started to falter. It wasn’t a sharp crack or a sudden snap. More like a candle’s flame, flickering nervously in a breeze it didn’t know how to fight — small and wavering until it threatened to gutter out altogether.

After that night, everything felt quieter. Not worse, exactly. Just… off. Like something had shifted beneath the surface, a current you couldn’t quite grasp but felt pulling you both in opposite directions.

He started calling you more on the comms. His voice was softer than before, like a whisper meant only for you, threading into your flight path like a warm hand steadying the turbulence.

Then that first morning after, when you nailed your run and found him waiting on the tarmac, his words were simple but held weight—a compliment muttered low, like he was afraid to speak too loudly and shatter the fragile moment. That small kindness lingered longer than it had any right to, curling around your chest and making your heart thrump in a way that made you both dizzy and hopeful.

That was day one.

By day two, things began to retreat. He was still there — polite, present — but a distance settled between you, thick and cold as fog rolling in over the runway. He stopped sitting near you in the mess hall, his eyes no longer catching yours during briefing. The quiet side comments, the folded arms leaning in close in the hangar? They vanished like smoke.

Day three was worse.

Now, he barely spoke at all except when he absolutely had to, clipped and careful. Words spoken only because the mission demanded it, not because he wanted to hear your voice.

And then, tonight—when Hangman cracked a ridiculous joke and you laughed without thinking—your eyes found Bob’s only to see him already looking away, like your gaze was too bright, too much. Like he couldn’t bear to be close, but didn’t know how to leave.

It was cruelty.

And all of it—every hesitant hello, every half-smile, every empty space where he used to stand near you—was driving you quietly out of your mind.

You waited until the evening, when the San Diego heat had finally broken and most of the squad had gathered in a lazy sprawl out back.

Someone had dragged folding chairs into a circle around a makeshift fire pit. There was music. Half-warm beer. Cheap chips. Laughter, floating light and distant into the night.

You didn’t laugh.

You were watching Bob.

He sat at the edge of the group again—physically there, but somewhere else entirely. One foot out the door.

Just like every other day since last mail day.

So this time, you followed him when he left.

He peeled off around the side of the barracks, quiet and unbothered, like he didn’t think anyone would notice.

But you did.

You always had.

So you stood and followed when he slipped quietly away.

“Bob,” you said softly, catching up behind him.

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

You slowed, letting the silence fill the space between you. Then, steadying your voice, you asked:

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for days, the tension releasing in a shudder.

“I’m not,” he said, voice low, careful.

“Don’t lie,” you said, your words fragile but firm.

He didn’t answer.

You stepped beside, coming into his line of sight.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His head jerked up, eyes wide and startled.

“What? No. God, no,” he said too quickly.

“Then why does it feel like I said something wrong just by existing?”

He flinched, like your words had grazed a raw nerve.

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck. His eyes darted everywhere but at you.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he said, voice rough with regret.

“Then what are you doing?” you pressed, softer now, heart thudding in your ribs. “Because for four days you’ve been—”

“I don’t know,” he cut you off, too fast. Then quieter, almost crushed: “I don’t know.”

His voice cracked like brittle glass.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched.

Saw the weight in his shoulders, the way his chest tightened with something heavy and unspoken.

Finally, he spoke again.

“Your box got mixed up as mine and I—I read your letter,” he began, voice quiet and hesitant, like each word was a step into unfamiliar ground. “And… well, it was the kindest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

He scratched the back of his neck, cheeks coloring just the faintest shade, like he wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or proud.

Bob swallowed hard, eyes softening.

"Maybe it sounds stupid,” he added, voice dropping to almost a whisper, “but it really… meant a lot.”

His eyes finally found yours, soft and a little unsure, like he was afraid you might think less of him now that the words were out.

“I don’t… usually get that kind of thing. You know? Compliments. Or people saying stuff like that.”

He took a breath, a small, nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So, maybe that’s why I’ve been acting weird.”

He looked down, then back up, like he was searching for courage in the fading light.

“I didn’t want to mess it up. Or make it awkward between us.”

“I was trying to you know— make a move or whatever Fanboy says... but I guess avoiding you just made it worse.”

He shrugged, shy but sincere.

“I’m not good at this stuff.”

You smiled—soft, patient, warm.

“It’s okay, Bob.”

He let out a small laugh, like a relief he didn’t know he was holding.

You bit your lip, cheeks warming under the soft glow of the night. The quiet between you stretched out, heavy with unsaid things.

“It’s my fault,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. You raised a shaky hand to your forehead, like you were trying to physically smooth out the awkwardness curling there. “I shouldn’t have written those letters about you. I’m so sorry.”

You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to make things weird or put you on the spot. I just… I thought it might be nice to say what I was feeling to a friend.”

Your words tumbled out, rushed and shy.

You glanced up, meeting Bob’s eyes, searching for any sign of anger or irritation.

But instead, he gave you that soft, shy smile again — the one that made your heart skip.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice warm and steady, “It wasn’t weird. Not to me.”

He shifted a little closer, like courage was building up inside him too.

“I just… didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.”

He raised a hand to fix his glasses, awkward but honest. “So I did the dumb thing and froze.”

You smiled, relief blooming between you, soft and slow.

“Make a move, huh?” You teased, trying to regain your confidence. Stepping closer to Bob until you were standing just feet apart.

He blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah" He said sheepishly.

You smirked, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before flicking back up. “So why don’t you right now?”

His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, and he swallowed.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “But I'm no good at this.”

“Guess I’ll have to teach you,” you said, leaning into his body warmth.

Bob’s breath hitched, eyes darkening with promise.

“Good luck,” he said softly. “I’m a slow learner.”

And then, without another word, he reached out and brushed your hand, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Then closed the small gap between you.

[gyuhanniesworld]

but i like your brother, too (kmg x oc x csc) 🔞

"babe, can you bring this to our new neighbours? heard they moved all the way from korea," your mom distracted you from your reading as she placed a big bowl full of her famous cookies.

you reached for a cookie as she turned around and when it almost landed on your lips, she paused and said "don't get any, okay? you don't want any unwanted calories, right?" you sighed as you placed the delicious cookie back. you rolled your eyes as you stood up, bringing the bowl with you as you made your way towards the front door.

you cursed your dad's genes for your overthinking tendencies. well, it has been a while as you indulged on some sweet snacks as your mom made it quite clear that you gain weight quicker than most people (which is not really true). you swallowed the lump in your throat as you neared your neighbour's walkway.

you saw multiple men take things from the big truck towards the house and as you followed one of them towards the stairs, you were shocked by the shirtless man getting out of the front door. he had a towel around his neck and was clearly going back to the truck to help out some more. his steps stopped in front of you and you were more shocked as he smiled at you.

"hi, there! didn't know we had a pretty neighbor." he cheekily stated as he wiped the sweat on his forehead. since you had a clearer and more close-up look on your new neighbour, you could say that he was around your age or somewhat older by a few years. he was really tall and had a good built, a great and hard one-

"shamelessly checking out each other on the first day? you're starting to surprise me, bunny." he chuckled and took a few steps towards you.

you cocked an eyebrow. "bunny huh?" you teased as you stretched your arm to give him the cookies. he never broke eye contact as he took the cookies and took a bite of one. he shamelessly groaned and closed his eyes as he devoured each one.

"skipping 1st and 2nd base, i see and i still don't know your name," you chuckled as he continued inhaling the cookies. a shorter but still big man made an appearance as he was clad in a tank top and cargo shorts. holy shit, is this a frat house or something?

"mingyu, i need a hand on that dresser for dad's room." he stated as he stopped beside who i'm guessing is mingyu.

you smiled and stuck your hand for him to shake, "hi! my name's dakota and i live right across the street." and as you looked at the guy, god must really love their family because look at those genes.

"my name's seungcheol but you could just call me cheol," he cheekily said and a cute dimple popped out. "i see you've met my brother, mingyu" he stated and took a cookie for himself. as you looked at the brothers, you knew your break was going to be amazing.

you bit back a moan as mingyu's tongue made love to your clit and his fingers pumping in and out of you. after just a week of 'talking', you found yourself sprawled on the youngest choi's bed.

you fisted his hair as he groaned on your pussy, leaving open mouth kisses on your opening. he gripped on your hips as he grounded his face on you. you were getting restless as one of his hands made its way to your mounds, teasing the nipple.

"gyu, fuck. i'm almost there." you whined as he continued eating you out. with the few times you've messed around, you discovered how much of a giver the guy was. he enjoyed eating you out and you could feel that he was getting off of it. he would make you cum on his mouth multiple times before fucking you for hours.

"you love my mouth on your pretty pussy, don't you, bunny?" he asked as made eye contact. you moaned lightly as he teased your clit with small kitty licks, knowing how sensitive you were from making you cum twice already. you chewed on your bottom lip as he continued his assault on your cunt.

"would you like me to destroy this tight pussy? make everyone in the house hear you be a whore for me?" he hummed as he kissed up towards your boobs. he stopped right in front of the unattended one and enveloped his mouth around the sensitive nipple. you threw your head back and accidentally released a loader moan. you furrowed your eyebrows at him and he gave you a cheeky grin, still slightly bitting on the sensitive skin. he knew your nipples were really sensitive and he just had to bite down on it.

you shook your head and rested your head on his pillows with your arms over your head, enjoying everything mingyu was giving.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small movement on mingyu's slightly ajar door. you smirked and sighed loudly, slightly exaggerating some of your reactions.

"come on, daddy. destroy me with that big cock of yours." you made your voice slightly louder as the tanned man's mouth made its way towards your lips. "you're really vocal these days, huh, bunny?" he smirked as he envelopes your mouth for another kiss.

you opened your eyes a little as you checked on the shadow moving outside gyu's door. you moaned as you felt mingyu's big cock making its way to your folds, gathering enough of your slick before he slowly entered you. mingyu kissed the side of your head towards your neck, licking and sucking as you took your time adjusting to his size.

"you're so perfect for me, baby. look at that pussy squeezing my cock in. fuck, how are you still so tight, huh?" he grunted as he slowly moved. it felt like being split open and it felt pretty damn good. you admired mingyu's beautiful body and couldn't resist sucking on the nipple right in front you. he moaned as his movements started picking up pace.

"such a slut, couldn't shut you up without suckin' on something, huh?" he asked as his hips snapped, sounds of skin slapping bouncing off the walls. you nodded as you looked up at him.

"fuck, i'm almost there." he whispered as he took out his dick out, leaving me whining before flipping me to my stomach. he got a pillow and placed it just above my pelvis before entering me again. as he thrusted in, he was hitting deeper spots.

"you just love being played with, don't you baby?" he asked as his cock hit that spot that made your head spin. you climax was coming and so was mingyu as you felt his thrust become more brutal. you were going to have a hard time walking tomorrow, for sure.

"daddy! i'm gonna cum! fuck! fuck! ahh that's it. fuck, come in me, please" you muttered as you felt yourself break. mingyu's movements stilled as he grunted, feeling ropes of white painting your walls and filling you up. you breathed deeply and checked on your voyeur, strong hands out and pumping his thick rod. you could clearly see him finishing, as well. you smirked lightly as he quickly got out of your sight.

your attention was pulled out as mingyu placed a hand on your face and asked "you okay, baby?". you smiled gently and pulled his face in, kissing him. "you want to cockwarm me, bunny?" he chuckled as you refused to remove your legs from his waist.

"yeah, i kinda like this." you joked as you pulled him in for a hug. thoughts going back to how seungcheol jacked off to his brother blowing your back.

soooo that's part 1! lets see how long its gonna take for me to write part 2 (probably 2 hours but i'd probably let it sit in my drafts for months after rereading it 😭)

[starlinggirll]

ok ok hear me out …. pilot!art x flight attendant!reader 😖😖

COCKPIT — D. ART

AUTHORS NOTE — i love this, specially since the picture of the guy lowkkk looks like art in his short hair era. not really but kinda!

the plane had landed.

another successful flight by the hands of the art donaldson.

"ladies and gentlemen, southwest welcomes you to los angeles. The local time is 8:56 PM. please unbuckle your seatbelts and quickly but in an orderly manner grab your belongs and begin to get off the plane. please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight. and again, have a good time, southwest airlines thanks you for choosing trusting us with taking you to your destination."

your sweet, soft voice rang through the whole plane. Art sighed, opening the cockpit door and wishing all of the people departing the plane good luck on their journeys. which coincidentally, was also were you were standing.

"a bit of turbulence, dont you think captain?" you teased, waving bye to an elderly woman as you helped her get out of the plane. "no flight is a good flight without a bit of turbulence." art countered, his eyes trailing your body up and down as he nodded goodbye to the last passengers.

you rolled your eyes. your relationship with art was a bit weird. you both have slept together, more times than a normal friends wity benefits would. but also, you both dont really know eachother other than what you both tell one another. sure, he's seen every single inch of your body, but he doesn't know you. and you dont know him either.

he's technically your boss. your superior.

"already leaving?" he mumbles, softly grabbing your arm. "im going to my hotel. i beraly slept last night." he chuckles, grabbing your arms and pulling you closer. "really? i wouldn't be able to tell since you're always so pretty and bubbly." you groan, pushing him off. you go to the plane to close the door.

he doesn't give you a second before he's scooping you up, taking you to the cockpit. "come on, its been a week since we've been with eachother." you whine as he sits you down on his chair, his free hand locking the cockpit door. "fine. whatever." you whisper, looking up at him.

you both are would he lying to yourselves if yall didnt admit you missed eachother.

"see?" he hums, already seeing you fall for his charms. "i knew you wanted it as much as me." he gets in his knees, turning his chair so he can press a kiss against your knee over your thigh highs. "mm."

he parts your legs, making your uniform squirt ride up. he trails his lips over your stomach, then your breasts. he's kissing nothing but clothes, but the anticipation is making you throb. "art.." you whisper, grabbing a handfull of his hair to crank his head, allowing you to kiss him. he kisses you back, his hand groping your boobs.

"you taste so good," he whispers as he sucks against your bottom lip, unbuckling his belt to let his cock free. "a quickie, yeah?" he breathes out, grabbing a hold of your legs to make your legs wrap around his shoulders. you're in a bit of an awkward position, but the discomfort is overpowered by the anticipated pleasure.

he rips your thigh highs, the sound of it making you cringe. "hey-" "shh. ill buy you new ones after this." he whispers, stroking himself while kissing your inner thigh. his free hand pulling your panties to the side. "jeez, you're visually wet." he teases, running his finger up and down your lit. "gosh baby, you miss me that much?"

you look away, your cheeks heating up. "s-shut up and just do it already." you whisper, but he ignores you and cups your jaw, making you look at him. "ah ah baby, i want to see you fall apart." he slaps his tip against your clit groaning at the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

"ready sweetheart?" he lets your jaw go, slowly inserting himself in. "fuck fuck.." he groans, dropping his forehead against yours. "you're so tight." he chuckles breathlessly, kissing you softly. "and you're so big.." you whisper back, kissing him back.

his pace starts increasing, swallowing all of your moans since he refuses to pull his lips off yours. "fuck im going-" he groans, increasing his pace enough to make the chair shake. you moan against him, the end of your heels digging into his shoulder blade as you clamp down against him.

he waits till you come, almost losing his grip when your walls clamp down and basically milk him dry. but he's able to pull out, jerking himself off and shooting his load in his hand. both of you are sweaty, and his lips are still on yours. "i never forget how much i love this." he laughs, still breathless as he gives you one last kiss before pulling away and using a napkin to clean his hand.

he helps you up, adjusting your skirt. "all pretty again," he whispers almost to himself, staring at you for a good, long second before pulling you for a passionate kiss. his hands smoothiny down your hair. "let me take you to my hotel room." he says once he pulls away, not without one last peck.

"please?" he insists once you dont answer. "will we get food after?" you mumble, looking up at him. your make up is smudged now, but he finds you even more beautiful. "yup. and a good night's rest." he smiles, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the cockpit.

you sigh. its a toxic cycle, specially since neither of you seem to be looking for something serious. but you cant bring yourself to say no.

and he cant bring himself to let you go.

[angels-hideaway]

𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 III

Chapter I ;; Chapter II

vampire!Caitlyn Kiramman x peasant!fem! Reader

c/w: descriptions of gore, blood etc. intoxication, mild nsfw. Reader has comphet too.

w/c: 6.2k

a/n: ITS FINALLY HERE! Sorry it took long, I was going back and forth on a lot of things and even caught some writers block😵‍💫. I’m happy I could get it out to everyone though! Thank you for all the support on this personal fantasy fic!

summary: As you and Caitlyn finally confront your feelings for each other, ghosts from your past return, leading you to commit an atrocity you can’t take back. SONGS: waltz no.2 by Cihat Aşkin, albinoni/Arr. Giazotto: Adagio in G minor, Melting Waltz by Abel Korzeniowski, Vocalise, Op. 34, no. 14 by sergi Rachmaninoff, A Heart Made of Yarn by Franz Gordon. (Happy listening!)

“Wait for me!” You yelled for the boy in front of you. Cassian, your friend, was already racing through the woods. A small branch in his hand. “Ugh, all you girls are so slow!” He pouts, finally stopping for you to catch up. “I’m not slow! This dress is just not good for running…” you mumbled. Cassian grabbed your hand and led you towards the castle. “The adults never let us come up here…They say a vampire lives inside.”

You admired the beautiful gothic architecture with awe. “A vampire?” Your eyes were wide with childlike wonder and curiosity. “I’d sure like to meet them.” Cassian’s face contorts. “Meet them? I’d like to kill’em! This branch probably won’t do though…” he tosses it away. “I’ll need something bigger. I’ll make a fine vampire hunter when I grow up! And you’ll be my wife.” His chest puffs up with confidence.

“But I don’t-” 

“oh it’s okay. I’ll take care of you!” He cuts you off. “Okay…”

Your eyes flickered open. Now awake from your dream, you remember Cassian. A childhood friend who pursued you relentlessly. As he grew up, he became overbearing and pushy. You once convinced yourself that you were in love with him, but it wasn’t working. You never once felt love for anyone, but you wanted to. Being unmarried at your age was already unusual. You tried to love Cassian, but no matter how much time you spent with him, you couldn’t.

 As your senses woke, you noticed that there was a strange weight on top of you. When you attempted to sit up and  look to your side tiredly, you were met with Caitlyn’s glowing blue eyes. She grinned before pushing you to lie back down. “Let’s stay like this. Don’t move.” You were too tired to argue. You could feel her shift to listen to your heart beat. “You’re so sweet like this… All cozy and warm.” She moves again to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you in to her. “Caitlyn?” She presses her forehead to yours. “Yes, dear?” 

“Uhm.. what are you doing?” She makes a strange face, but replies “I’m just spending time with you. Before I feed.” 

“That’s tonight?” She nods, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

“I’ve been waiting all week. I can’t get enough of you.” She traces your body with one hand that stops on your hip. “Do you enjoy being a vampire?” You ask. “You’re always so excited when it’s time.” She stops and thinks for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I enjoy it. I simply get to enjoy some unorthodox benefits. Like watching you slowly weaken underneath me, like a wilting rose in my garden.” 

“That’s quite poetic…” your eyes meet her in an intense stare.

She sits up, and cages you beneath her. Her bare arms are on either side of your head, and it’s only then you notice she’s almost completely naked. Her shirt isn’t buttoned all the way, and you can see all the way down to the start of her stomach. “What? Never seen a body besides your own?” She notices your strange reaction. Caitlyn seems comfortable with nudity. “No it’s just, that makes this a lot more intimate.” 

“I suppose it does. Are you okay with that?” Her sly grin makes your heart stir. She knows what she’s doing to you. “Uhm, yes.” 

“That’s my girl.” She hugs you gently, before dragging her tongue up the side of your neck. She was being very sensual tonight. “Well, wherever you’re ready.” You tell her. Caitlyn lays you back down and lays next to you herself. She stays like that for a while, just relaxing before rolling on top of you, and pinning your arms above your head. “So helpless. I love fragile little creatures.” 

Her teeth sink into your neck like they belong there. She reciprocates any sound you make with one of her own. You’ll whine in pain, and she’ll groan in pleasure. Your body begins to feel fuzzy again, and you wrap your arms around Caitlyn’s bare back to hold you steady. Every time she’s fed from you, she drinks more each time. Her body tenses and twitches whenever you make a sound of pleasure from the drug controlling your psyche. 

Your arms fall back to your sides, and Caitlyn seizes the opportunity to intertwine her fingers with yours like clockwork. When she finally releases you, she sighs and brushes the stray hair from your face. “You sound so beautiful when you’re in pain. I can’t decide if it’s prettier than the sounds you make when you’re high off venom.” She lies back down and cradles you against her.

“Caitlyn?” That was the longest she’s ever bitten you, meaning this is the most venom you’ve ever had in your system. You can feel it coursing through your veins, and altering your thoughts. You almost enjoy the sensation of being high from it. You’re Caitlyn’s. The crest you still wear around your neck proves that. You’re her blood bank, forever. Meanwhile she’s gazing at you with hazy eyes. “What’s going through your head right now, my dear? Tell me.” She gets up and squeezes out a wet rag on the table next to the bed.

“Caitlyn…” you mumble as she places the cool rag on your forehead. “Oh really? Is that all?” She checks your pulse. “Again. Do it again. Take as much as you want. Drain me, please.” She relishes in your desperate words and sighs in satisfaction. “Aww, I wish I could. Unfortunately doing that may risk never tasting you again, so I’ll have to decline. Now, get some rest.” She kisses your forehead, leaving a lip stain of  your own blood.

That wasn’t the first of many odd interactions. Just yesterday, she left a bouquet of fresh roses at your door for you when you woke up. It’s also become a habit of hers to go out at night and surprise you with new dresses and luxuries. The breakfasts you wake up to become more elaborate too.

Sometimes, she’d dance with you at night too. She’d just be in her study and get up, make her way to wherever you’re seated, bow, kiss your hand, and ask: “May I have this dance?” Then, she’d dance with you slowly, holding your hand gently, with her other arm around your waist. She does this while looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world. There wouldn’t even be any music most of the time. Sometimes she’d hum a song, or sometimes she’d just dance with you in silence.

Is it possible that Caitlyn is in love with you? But that would mean that you’re her one and only. The book said so. Kiramman vampires love one and never again. What would you do if that really was the case? 

“Darling? Are you awake?” Caitlyn peers into your room one night. She comes inside and sits at the side of your bed. “Is something the matter, Caitlyn?” She shakes her head no. “I’m just checking on you. Any more nightmares?” She rests one hand on your thigh. “Not recently. I think I’m okay now.” She starts to rub up and down your thigh through the blankets. “That’s good…” She squeezes gently. 

“Caitlyn, I had a question.” You sit up and prop yourself against some pillows. “Feel free to ask me anything, darling.”  She smiles reassuringly. “If a vampire fell in love, what would happen?” You knew the answer already from the book, but you just wanted to see what she would say. “If I fell in love?…Well, I’d treat them very well and love them forever. I can only love one person in my life, so they would be my everything.” She doesn’t break eye contact the whole time she says that. “And you?” She says. “What?”

“What would happen if a sweet girl like you fell in love?” She’s smiling softly. “I’m nothing special, so nothing fantastical like having one true love or anything like you… I suppose I would want to be with them. Maybe I’d be too shy to ask, or maybe I’d be forward and tell them as soon as I figured out how I felt.”

“Really? How wonderful it must be to fall in love. I never knew that sort of love in my life. I only knew lust.” She looks remorseful. You question further. “Never in your human life did you fall in love? Not with any of your uhm, partners?”

“No. Maybe I could have, but that wasn’t what I was looking for. All I wanted was that feeling watching a girl unravel beneath me provided. Power, maybe?” She thinks on it some more, but looks back to you with renewed curiosity. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?” 

“Me? Well, not exactly.”

“That’s a strange answer. It’s usually a yes or a no.”

“Well, I would say yes, but I think it was more so me wanting to feel love. There was someone: a boy named Cassian.” Caitlyn looks very focused on your story. “And you loved him?”

“I wanted to. I never felt romantic love for anyone. I wanted to, but it just never happened. I think something’s…wrong with me.” Caitlyn comes to your side and brings you into a hug. “Nothing is wrong with you.” She hugs you tighter. “You just didn’t love him, and that’s okay. I’m confident that somewhere, there’s someone who loves you very much…”

“Caitlyn.” You lean into her grasp, and she lays you down gently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I love you, if that counts for anything.” She drags one thumb over your bottom lip. “Someone so kind and understanding of me, someone who doesn’t run away.” Her hair falls onto your face

“You love me too, don’t you? Please say you do.” She lowers herself to lie on top of you in a smothering hug. “ I think I do.”

“That’s enough for me, my love. Let me cherish you here, forever.” Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. Your eyes are still open just from the surprise, but Caitlyn’s fingers dragging over your face urge you to close them. She kisses you with as much hunger as she does love. Her fangs scratch your lips, and the taste of your own blood taints the taste of her kiss. 

When the two of you part, a thin, string of saliva still connects you. Caitlyn’s lips look glossy and you can feel her breath on your face. There’s a moment of silence where she gazes at you with eyes filled with adoration. “Thank you.” She whispers. 

When you wake up in the morning, Caitlyn is asleep. She’s nocturnal, so you leave her in bed. She kissed you. She kissed you hard. You raise your hand to your lips, and touch them gently. You can even feel the little cut left by Caitlyn’s fangs. You were her one and only love. She loved you. The thought made you feel like swooning. 

That evening, you hear the soft meow of Whisper, and see the cat appear from a dark hall. “Whisper? Is something the matter?” The cat seems tense. Her fur is raised and pupils dilated.

You follow the cat up the stairs to the balcony of the castle. “Whisper?” The cat stops. Walking out onto the balcony, you look out over the village and the woods. It’s only sunset, but you can see a trail of smoke rising from the direction of Crows-Wood. It had to be a fire, but the village wasn’t burning. A bonfire. You can feel your stomach drop with dread. Crows-wood only threw large bonfire parties before a hunt. Not just any vampire hunt though, they were sending off a group. You remember them distinctly. The people chugging ale and screaming at the top of their lungs, the vampire corpses and caricatures being paraded on sticks, and the slew of weapons the hunters were preparing to head off with. You always stayed inside during these just because they disturbed you so much. Who could celebrate the murder of anything with such fervor?

A group of vampire hunters were being rallied to head this very way to kill Caitlyn. When you realize this, you rush back to your bedroom, with Whisper following. “Caitlyn! Caitlyn wake up, please!” You shook her cold body into waking. She was still in your bed, sleeping as peacefully as when you left her. That was the case until your frantic shaking and tears woke her. “Darling please, what’s the matter?” She takes your hands gently to stop them from shaking her. “Crows-Wood! A bonfire they’re- they’re-”

“Shhh, my love.” She sits up and pulls you in against her chest. “Calm down. You can explain once you’ve done that.” Whisper leaps onto the bed and settles next to Caitlyn. 

“Now, speak slowly and tell me what’s going on.” You pull away from Caitlyn and look her in the eyes. “Crows-Wood is sending a group of hunters this way. I saw them celebrating over a bonfire.” Caitlyn’s expression grows grim. “How many do they usually send in a group?” You try and recall from your memories. “Uhm… five or six.” Caitlyn sighs. “I can take them, but I’ll need your help.”

“What do you need!? I’ll do anything.” She smiles at you and brushes your hair away from your neck. “I hate to ask this of you, but I’m at my strongest when I drink human blood.” 

“Of course! Take as much as you need.” You pull your dress down to expose your shoulder. The night has fully set in now. Caitlyn’s hand brushes your cheek, and she pulls you in for a kiss. She pulls herself back from your lips to kiss your chin, and continues down to leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. “Caitlyn…” You whisper her name into the room that’s growing ever darker. She nuzzles into the crook of your neck before biting down. Her hands wander down your body, to the small of your back to palm at your rear. Her touch is gentle, but firm.

When she’s finished, she lifts you bridal style and leaves your bedroom. “It’d be too easy to find you here. I’m sure it’s you they’re really after. I’ll bring you to my room.” You’re semi-conscious during the walk there. Caitlyn’s bedroom is” deeper into the castle. She sets you down on a large bed that smells like her. Old fragrances and roses.“Promise me you won’t move. Please just stay here.” She tucks your intoxicated body into the blankets, and leaves. 

You’re woken by the sound of screaming, stomach-twisting wails of pain, and crashes. You’re still high off of the venom, but you stumble out of Caitlyn’s bed to see what’s going on. You’re vision is swimming and you’re feet feel heavy. You have to get to Caitlyn. She needs you. You need her. 

“They’re here.”

The hunters have arrived, and are fighting with Caitlyn as you lean on walls to navigate the castle. She told you not to move, but you couldn’t just lie there and hope she came back alive. You wanted to help. How would you help in the state you were in? Even you didn’t know. You’d manage somehow. By the time you make it to the stairs, you can see the gory display. Three men lie dead on the floor, choking on their own blood as it seeps from gashes in their throats. Their faces are forever expressing regret and horror. The two left are injured, but Caitlyn seems to be tired too. She’s holding up well, but you can tell her energy has depleted. 

“Where is she!? If you’ve killed her I’ll drag you out into the sun come daylight!” An all too familiar voice screams out. Cassian? He’s part of the group? “I’d never lay a finger on her.” Caitlyn rasps, grabbing the other assailant and crushing his throat to fleshy mush in her bare hand. The sickening sight is followed by the snap of his bones. All the times she’s touched you, she’s been perfectly capable of something like that. Cassian yells out in rage, and charges at Caitlyn, wooden steak in hand. Caitlyn seems ready to defend herself until he pulls a small wooden cross from his pocket. The sound of Caitlyn’s scream surprised you. She sounds horrified. So crosses really do affect vampires that much. Caitlyn loses her footing and falls back.

No. This can’t be happening. She killed four of them and the last one standing will manage to kill her? And Cassian of all people? You had to do something. Caitlyn looks melancholic on the ground. It’s like she could get up, but won’t. She just lies there as Cassian aims his wooden steak at her heart. 

Neither of them noticed you rushing down the stairs.

With a gut wrenching scream, you plunge a dagger from a dead man’s hands into his back. Cassian barely has any life left to turn around and look at you. “You’re…alive.” He utters before falling to the ground. Still lost in the venom and your fear, you continue to stab his dead body over and over and over again, screaming all the while. You finally stop when Caitlyn pulls the dagger from your hands, and brings you into a tight hug. “No no no this was never supposed to happen.” She whispers. You sob into her chest from the shock and repulsion. You killed a man. Not just any man, but one you knew since childhood. One who came all this way to rescue you. 

“Darling look at me please, look at me.” Caitlyn wipes your tears with her thumbs and forces you to look at her. Shes looking at you like she doesn’t recognize you. “He was going to kill you I- I couldn’t let him take you away from me!” You’re spouting nonsense as you try to make sense of your impulsive action. “Shh shh shh..” Caitlyn just urges you to be quiet, and hugs you close. You can taste his blood in your mouth. “I- I’ll run you a hot bath, and we can soak together okay? It’s okay.” Caitlyn clearly is not sure what to do with you. You killed for her. Something so much more than a flimsy declaration of love. 

 You’re seated between Caitlyn’s legs as she hugs you from behind while you both soak in the hot bath. You haven’t said a word since you killed Cassian. Caitlyn is concerned. Every so often, she’ll attempt to coax a conversation out of you. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Silence. You cannot speak. “… This might not be the right time, but thank you. At that moment, when I was there on the ground, I was just so…” Her voice breaks. “Tired. Tired of fighting, of hiding, I just was ready to die. But then I remembered you. I remembered that I didn’t want to leave you, because I love you.” She holds you tighter, making the water slosh around the bathtub. You can feel her chin on your head, and her breasts against your back. “But it was too late. I was on the ground, and a wooden steak was inches from my heart. That’s when you attacked him. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. I wish you didn’t have to do that, and part of me wishes I had died instead of staining your hands with blood, but thank you.” 

She lifts you out of the bath, and drys you off herself. Caitlyn doesn’t take you to your bedroom that night, she lets you sleep in her bed with her. She doesn’t bother putting a nightgown on you, and just leaves you in your underwear. She talks you to sleep, before leaving to clean up the mess of blood and dead bodies. When she returns to bed, sitting at your side, Caitlyn does something she thought to be impossible.

She cries.

She can hardly believe it herself when she feels the first tear roll down her cheek, but they don’t stop. She shouldn’t be able to cry. She can’t. Her body is frozen in time, unable to produce blood, tears, waste, anything. So why is she crying? Since turning, this is Caitlyn’s first time crying for someone besides herself. Her first tears that didn’t stem from selfishness, but from how overwhelmingly guilty she felt for what you did for her. She doesn’t try and stop them, but just lets her tears fall. Caitlyn goes to sleep that night with you by her side, feeling a little more human than normal.

You wake up screaming. There’s blood everywhere. On your hands, in your mouth, and even in your eyes. Cold arms pull you back down to the bed and hold you steady. “Shhh my love. I’m sorry…” You manage to calm yourself, and relax into Caitlyn’s arms. “This is all my fault.” She whispers. “No please don’t blame yourself. I did what I did all on my own.” You reply. “Caitlyn, do you think we have to leave the castle?” Caitlyn seems to be thinking. 

“Maybe, but for now, I think we’re safe.” She intertwined her legs with yours beneath the sheets. Her lips find yours in a soft kiss. Her fingers thread through your hair, and between kisses she whispers. “I love you. I’m grateful for what you did, even if I wish it hadn’t happened. I’m truly sorry.”

“That was him.” You admitted.

“What?” Caitlyn’s lost. “That was the man I told you about. The one I tried to love.” Caitlyn gasps quietly. “I see.” She’s avoiding your gaze. “He was looking for you. That whole time he kept badgering me on what he’d do if I hurt you.” She sounds annoyed. “Honestly, it seems like he loved you. He wanted you back from me. He said you were his.” Her tone sounds angry, yet collected. 

When Caitlyn notices you’re asleep again, she sighs and kisses your lips once more before laying you down. 

When you wake up, Caitlyn’s asleep. Whisper is meowing at the end of the bed. You feel a bit better after all the commotion last night. It’s still hard to believe you killed anyone. Heading downstairs, you check to see if the bodies and carnage are still there. It’s not. Caitlyn must have cleaned it. Killing Cassian almost felt like being born again yourself. It was as if you truly accepted yourself for what you were, standing there, covered in his blood. Someone who could never love a man, no matter how much he urged you to. Every time he stated you’d marry him, the advances he’d make, offerings to your parents, and shouting matches that ended in your tears came crashing down. 

You had decided where you stood the moment you stabbed him. Going against your own people for a vampire. You wanted to stay with Caitlyn forever, and that’s something humanity wouldn’t allow. You’d ask her to turn you into one of her own tonight. You’d be a vampire too.

That night, you wait up for Caitlyn. As usual, she comes into your room to check on you. “Awake this late, my love?” She joins you on your bed, guiding you to lean your head on her shoulder. “Caitlyn, Would it be possible for me to become a vampire?” She freezes. “Why would you want to do that?” 

“I abandoned my humanity the moment I killed Cassian. I want to be with you forever, even if it means becoming a monster.” Caitlyn looks at you fondly. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Sure you’ve killed, but so have many men. Asking to be like me is asking to be forsaken by god. Besides, I’d never get to taste your blood that way again.” 

“A vampire can’t drink another vampires blood?” She laughs. “No. When my family was still around, we tried that. Vampires need the blood of others because we can no longer produce any ourselves. There’s no blood to take from me, or any other vampire.” An explanation that makes sense. You’re proposal sounded foolish now. 

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been in my right mind.” Caitlyn strokes your back reassuringly. “I understand. Back when I killed for the first time, I was horrified by myself. The difference between you and me is that you don’t need to kill again. I shouldn’t have to either, yet the people of Crows-Wood insist on making me. I was ready to give up, and just let them kill me.” She sounds exhausted. She’s been alive for more than a century, and the whole time she’s been hunted. You can’t even imagine the stress and fear. Before all of this, you thought she had nothing to be afraid of. Safe to say your views have changed.

“I don’t think dying would have been much better.” You say. Caitlyn scoffs. “I’ve been dead a long time. Death comes for us all. In the end, we’re all equal in the eyes of death. Something that life hasn’t granted me.” 

“But doesn’t it scare you?”

“I stopped fearing it a long time ago. It doesn’t matter how scared you are, because every death is equally tragic. Even for those some consider evil.” You sit there in silence with her, letting the words she spoke swim around in your head. “I’m lucky I got to meet you though.” She kisses your cheek. “I’m happy I met you too.” You return with a kiss to her lips. It’s almost like you can’t stop kissing each other. The kiss grows and continues, until Caitlyn’s on top of you. Her hands are in your hair and you can feel her tongue in your mouth. You don’t stop kissing her until it’s physically impossible for you to continue. Caitlyn watches you gasp for breath with that same hazy expression like when she feeds. 

“I should leave.” She huffs. “Why? I was thinking that since I couldn’t become a vampire like you, that we could at least…” she stops you with a finger to your lips. “Please don’t say what I think you’re trying to. You must remember that I’m still a creature who runs on her instincts at the end of the day. I don’t know if I could do that with you without getting you hurt. Sex is what made me this way in the first place.” You reach out to cup her face in your hands. “But that was when it was purely for your pleasure alone, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to take the chance. No matter how much I’d like to.” She tears her gaze away from you and sits up at the edge of your bed. You feel a wave of disappointment wash over you.

“Caitlyn I’m sure it’ll be fine. Please?” You follow her and wrap your arms around her from behind. “Darling, please don’t entice me. I’d love to, really, but I just don’t want to hurt you. Please just get some sleep okay? It’s getting late for a human to be awake.” She pries your hands off of her and stands up. “Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll be here if you need me.” And just like that, she leaves. 

Caitlyn wanted you badly, but she couldn’t let herself falter. Make the same mistake she did a century ago, and use you for her own benefit. Caitlyn’s back slid down the door as she sat down on the floor, pressing her fingers to her temple in thought. She already was using you. Using you like cattle that she could feed off of. Caitlyn wants to love you, but her past won’t leave her alone. She can’t tell if she loves you, or if she’s reverted to her past ways. She stands up and rests her forehead against your door. How she longed to go back, but she knew what would happen if she did. Hesitantly, she leaves to go read and distract herself. 

You fall back on your bed with a sigh of frustration. You couldn’t force her. You went to sleep that night with a new way to think of death, and a burning desire for the one who inspired that way of thought. Sleep didn’t come easy that night. After tossing and turning, and many fantasies of your vampire lover, you finally got some rest.

In the days that pass, Caitlyn certainly notices your increasingly clingy state. She tries not to think about it, or what it implies at all, but it’s almost impossible. She wants to make sure that she loves you for who you are, and not just the lust she feels. 

The next few days are peaceful. There are no raging mobs or groups of men marching up the mountain to have Caitlyn’s head, and you can finally sleep at night without thinking about murder. That is until you hear the sound of a glass bottle shattering in the night, waking you and Whisper up instantly. 

The cat hisses and slips out of your bedroom, and you follow. You follow the sound of glass being swept, and end up at the old wine cellar underneath the castle. Caitlyn is cleaning up glass shards as blood seeps into the stone flooring. When she notices you, she looks embarrassed. “Did I wake you? My apologies.” Once all the glass is cleaned she stares at the blood in defeat. “How am I meant to clean this?… a mop I suppose.” She gets a mop and begins to sop the liquid up. “Are you feeling alright?” Caitlyn shakes her head no. “It’s a full moon tonight. So far I’ve been this way without you noticing, but cravings get worse on nights like these. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped a bottle.” 

“What kind of blood is that?” She stops moving. “It’s…cow’s.” Something tells you it’s not cow’s blood. Maybe a humans? You hope not.

“Alright.” You decide not to pry. “It’s only two or three more days until you can drink from me. If you want, we could just do it earlier if the craving is that bad.” She whirls around. “Absolutely not. In this state, I’d loose control almost instantly. I could kill you.” Her hands start shaking again. “Uhm, I can finish cleaning, and you can get a drink.” You propose. She nods hastily and drops the mop, instantly moving to sort through her array of bottles. When she choose one, she doesn’t even bother to pour it in the glass. She just drinks straight from the bottle.

She sighs in relief when she finally puts the bottle down, and it’s almost completely empty. A little bit of blood is running down her chin and her chest is heaving. “Don’t look at me, please. Stay away before I lose my mind.” She genuinely seems ashamed of her behavior.  “Caitlyn, is there anything I can do to help?” You approach her slowly. She sets down the bottle and uses a handkerchief from the table to wipe the blood from her chin. “Help me? Oh, I don’t think there’s any way you can. Just don’t come near me until tomorrow night.” Her voice is unsteady, and her eyes can’t seem to focus on your face. 

“I think I’ll go lay down.” Caitlyn excuses herself and leaves the cellar. You finish cleaning, and decide to go search for her. You find Caitlyn in her bed on her stomach, with her arms hugging a pillow that her face is buried in. “Caitlyn?”

“Yes?” She looks up and over her shoulder at you. Her eyes look tired and she’s paler than usual. “You look sick. Are you really okay? There’s nothing I can do?” She merely pats the free space on the bed next to her. That’s all you needed to see. As you make your way towards her, something about Caitlyn feels off. You sit down on the bed next to her, and she doesn’t react at all. You’re caught off guard when she suddenly cages you against her chest with her arms. Her strength is uncanny, but steady. You trust she won’t hurt you by applying too much force. 

“I told you to stay away.”

“I was worried. You’re acting strange.” 

“Strange? I’m already a vampire. I don’t know how I could get stranger.” You try to pull away from her, but her hold on you is iron clad. “Why are you holding me so tightly?” You’re a little annoyed by her. Caitlyn tries to relax her grip, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. “Like I said. I run on instinct. I’m not human. Right now, my body wants to suck you dry because of that wretched moon. That’s why I can’t let go. It’s torture.” You try and relax your muscles to make this less uncomfortable for you. “And nothing I can do could make it less unbearable?” 

“Maybe if you left, and I didn’t see you, but I don’t think that’s an option anymore.” 

She slowly leans into your face, pressing her forehead to yours and sighing. “You smell so good…” her voice is still shaking, and her hands follow suit. “Uhm, thank you.” 

“I’d never hurt you on purpose, you know that right?” Her arms finally loosen, and move to begin undoing your dress. “Uhm-yes I know.”

“So would you be okay if I bit you early? I know I said I wouldn’t but damn it all. I promise I won’t take a lot. I’ll be gentle.” She says between kissing down your collar bone, and forcing you to lay down. The kisses make you irrational. All you want is for her to give you more.

“Yes, that’s fine. Just a small bite.” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy her sucking you blood. The practice felt like you were closer to her than ever before. The pain felt good, and the pleasure even better. It was sacred, and intimate. Caitlyn pulls down your dress to expose your breasts to the cool castle air. Her fingers trace over the buds of your nipples, making them harden quickly. “You’re not biting my neck?” Caitlyn chuckles. “Mm, I’ve gotten quite tired of that. I want to bite you somewhere else. Somewhere more personal.” She lifts you with her arm around your lower back. Your back is arched, and your chest is completely vulnerable to her. You can feel Caitlyn’s tongue glide around your right breast until it settles on your nipple. When she bites down on the surrounding flesh, you whine in pain, but the hurt quickly disintegrates as her venom is pumped straight into your veins.

Caitlyns eyes never look away from you, and the longer she’s latched onto you, the brighter her eyes glow. When she finally lets go, your breast is left cold and wet with her saliva. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it..” She’s more herself after receiving human blood. She adjusts your dress so you’re covered again. “You’re irresistible. Not to mention how fast your heart was beating. You can feel it too can’t you? How fast it’s going?” Sure enough, you think your heart may burst from your chest. You feel euphoric. “I think you like this. The blood sucking I mean. Just look at your face right now.” She chuckles and checks your pulse as usual. “This isn’t good. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken our rules.” She sounds like she’s talking to herself more than to you. “From now on, I’ll never break the rules again. I’ll never feed off of you off schedule ever.”

And she tries. She really does try, but sometimes the tension between you two is unbearable. Sometimes, Caitlyn will shut herself in her room just to avoid giving in again. You’re doing okay physically though, as long as she doesn’t do it more than four times in a row. When you get dressed in the morning, or undressed at night, you’re body is littered in bruises and bite marks. She’s gotten into the habit of biting you in unconventional places. Your arms, thighs (a favorite), and more. Not all of them are from blood sucking, some are just hickies. Caitlyn’s tried to just mark you normally as a way of “simulating” what it’d be like to actually bite you. You never thought you’d be in a relationship with someone who craves you so carnally. You’ll spot her looking at you like she wants to eat you alive from time to time. Her ice blue eyes burn through you, making you feel bare and exposed before her. The lingering touches, the soft, quiet times, and even the violent, intense moments all combine to create an addicting kind of love. 

It’s one of Whispers favorite things to do to interrupt a heavy kiss with a meow, before pouncing on either you or Caitlyn’s lap to whine for attention. Caitlyn would huff in frustration, but give in to the black cat and stroke her velvety-soft fur for a while.

You’ve gotten into the habit of waking up insanely early just to lie with Caitlyn as she goes to sleep for the day. You’ll lie there while she holds you close, like a child does their favorite toy. When she’s asleep, sometimes you’ll stay and just enjoy the early morning hours by her side. When whisper gets tired of waiting for breakfast, she’ll meow until you gently remove yourself from Caitlyn’s arms, and get started with your day.

Taglist: @starryeyes-7 @caitlynsbathwater @halle5s @riotstemple29 @mxchi-mxxn @thinkviolets @commanderraccoon @madalinee @gwscloq @seisei18 @paigeilicous @cottagegirlworld-blog @cenizajskp @kittymrtnezz69 @jiryelle @vivienneswhispers @all-things-lilac @marve1stranger @trulysapphic @b7ue8erry @poeticrenaissance @whatthefuckisthisapppppp @girlsatourbest @st0nerlesb0 @butchpuppyy @yearningandstillnotlearning @eyehatesex @sunsetzzzzzzz @kaylovesmatcha @venuswarmlight @mellowdreamlandpost-blog

[corpsedogs]

✿ kingston

jason todd x reader

im still proof reading and editing chromatic silence so for compensation im gonna post random oneshots of jaybird

The rain came down like piano keys. Not frantic, not urgent… just music made by water, a rhythm that hummed against the windows of the apartment Jason had started calling “ours” in casual sentences that always made your heart stumble. It was that kind of evening, the sky didn’t know whether to bruise or brighten and where the hours stretched long and shapeless.

Jason sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He’d come home late again, smelling like wet asphalt and cold wind, even though he’d said nothing yet— his body language was already whispering an apology. You didn’t need the words.

He looked over at you then, lashes wet, eyes thoughtful. “You ever been to Kingston?” he asked. The two of you decided to take a break somewhere, the two of you have been planning for weeks— yet you didn’t know where the destination was just yet.

You blinked up at him from the pillow, sleepy but not yet asleep. “No,” you murmured, “but I like the way it sounds when it rains. I wanna go there.”

Jason smiled— “Yeah,” he said, like he understood the poetry in what you meant. “Same.”

Sometimes, he was like this, quiet. Just heavy with thought, like his soul hadn’t quite shaken the day off. You sat up, sheets falling from your shoulders. You reached for the notebook by the lamp, one you kept for dreams and phrases that refused to leave you alone.

“I had a dream about you last night,” you said, pen already scrawling shapes. “You were laughing. It felt like something I had forgotten until I heard it again.” Jason leaned in, one arm braced beside you on the bed. “What was I laughing about?”

“I don’t remember,” you confessed. “But it made me cry. I think I was just happy.”

He kissed your temple, his lips warm and reverent, like the rain against the window. “You get like that when you dream,” he said. “All misty-eyed and sweet. You write it down every time?”

You nodded, flipping through pages. His name was inked into the margins like a heartbeat, even when you didn’t mean to. “I’m afraid I’ll forget the little versions of you my mind makes up,” you said. “They feel real too.”

Jason exhaled. “You always remember more than I do. I think I’ve forgotten more good things than I’ve kept.”

“You’ve kept me,” you reminded him. The room stayed silent for a bit. “I get scared sometimes,” he admitted, his voice raw now. “When you say stuff like that.”

Sometimes, you could tell he was afraid that everything inside this apartment would wear out or get thrown away. And sometimes, you could tell that he was afraid of losing you.

You turned to him, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Loving you doesn’t make me fragile, Jason.”

“No,” he said, “but it makes me fragile.” And wasn’t that the truest thing he’d ever said?

You pulled him into bed, let him tuck his face into the crook of your neck, where he could breathe and not speak. He smelled like rain and leather and something warmer. Your hands found the familiar shape of his spine, the old scars, the quiet tremors he never acknowledged.

“Baby,” he murmured suddenly, he only ever called you when he forgot to be afraid— “tell me where you want to go for summer.”

You smiled into his shoulder. “Anywhere,” you whispered, “as long as you’re coming with me.”

“I’m yours,” you said simply, because it was true. And then you added: “Everything I have. Everything I am. Yours.”

He buried his face into your neck again. And this time, he didn’t say anything. The rain was still playing its soft song on the glass, and in its rhythm, you wrote another dream about him without even trying.

You’d remember it in the morning.

But even if you didn’t, he would still be there.

[silkytoru]

Can’t Seem to Let You Go

MDNI | 18+

synopsis: staying broken up with gojo satoru isn’t as easy as you thought it would be, especially when he’s still hopelessly in love with you.

contains: mutual pining, smut with a little plot, bondage, light degradation, pussy slapping (barely), light breeding kink, piv, oral (female receiving), his dick is BIG, yearner!gojo

word count: 4K

Gojo Satoru was infamous for his stubborn nature and his inability to back down, and you were facing the worst of it.

It had only been a couple weeks since you two broke up, but he was determined to win you back. No matter what.

If you were any other girl, he would brush you off without a second glance and move onto the next, but you weren’t. You were you. You were his girl and he’s not letting go of you any time soon.

Whenever anyone asked him if it was truly over between you two, he’d just offer them a wave of his hand and mutter something along the lines of you two “going through a rough patch”. He would sooner hollow purple himself before admitting that you were truly finished. That he was now single after meeting the woman of his dreams. His future wife. The mother of his future children. All ten of them.

His following you around was bearable for the first two weeks, but lately it’s been hard to ignore. He followed you around the school closer than your own shadow. People hardly ever believed you when you’d tell them you broke up with the man.

“Back off, Gojo,” you’d say.

“Gojo? Whatever happened to ‘baby, sweetheart, and munchkin’?” He’d feign hurt, a hand on his chest as if your words landed a physical blow to his heart.

You’d roll your eyes and go about your day.

But it was just getting annoying. Love notes in between your lesson plans, rose petals sprinkled on your desk, his wishful smiles from across hallways. It was time for it to stop.

One day you muster up the courage to show up at his apartment, furiously knocking on his door. One of the sappy love notes he had given you was fisted in your hand (which you had found in your car of all places).

The door swings open and you’re faced with the white-haired sorcerer, his bandana hanging around his neck carelessly and his eyes boring into yours. A smug smile plays on his lips, as if he’d been expecting you.

“You came all this way to see me?” He tilts his head, his towering frame leaning against the doorframe.

You have to fight to keep your eyes on his. He looked at you with a certain going on his eyes, as if you never left.

“You know exactly why I’m here, Gojo,” you say, your voice firm. “What’s this?” You hold up the crumpled note, waving it in his face as if its an offense to your very being.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, almost proud. “A proclamation of love.” He says it so casually, as if the constant chasing isn’t driving you insane.

“We broke up,” you say, your voice firm. “I don’t want any of this.” You look down at the note, the messily scribbled ‘I love you’ and the tiny doodles of hearts. “So stop bothering me.” You hand him the note, the thin paper suddenly feeling heavy between your fingers.

He doesn’t meet your gaze, slender fingers folding the note tightly. “This bothers you?” His voice was low, quiet even. You’ve never heard him sound so unsure.

You sigh and shake your head, exasperated. “Listen, Satoru, we can’t keep doing this. It’s confusing and it’s wrong. Just move on.”

“I can’t.” The words spoken were simple, but they held so much weight. “I’m sorry for not giving you enough of my time before, and I’m sorry for being hardheaded and loud. I want to be better. For you. And I’m sorry it took losing you to realize how good what we had was.”

Whatever words you had got lodged in your throat, an unmovable lump of something that made you stop and think.

But no, you couldn’t linger on his words for too long. You’d come crawling back into his waiting arms. Again.

“It’s too late. Just give up.”

And he watched you leave for the second time, taking his heart with you.

~

It seems that your words have finally gotten through to him because for the next week, your desk lacked the aroma of flowers and your lesson plan notebooks were free from the extra love.

Instead of the smiles he’d given you before, all you’d get from him are heartbroken stares and a yearning look in his eyes whenever you’d pass by. You couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

You were sitting at your desk, marking some papers silently. A flash of red brings a slight furrow to your brow. You push a few files over, peering under a worksheet.

There it was, under heaps of papers, a single rose petal glinting in the sun like a ruby. And along with it, a deep aching in your heart for something. Maybe a flash of cerulean blue instead of the deep red you’re seeing. Maybe the glinting of pearly whites.

You aren’t given much time to linger on those thoughts as your door creaks open. You make a move to grab the petal, crushing it in your fist as your eyes fly to whoever’s at the door.

Yuji walks in, a bashful smile on his face. “Gojo-sensei wanted me to give these to you.” He hands you a stack of papers.

It was so unlike him to send someone else to your office. He usually took any opportunity to see you.

You choose to ignore the dull feeling of disappointment and sift through the papers with a furrowed brow. “A trip to Tokyo?” You mutter. “Your exams are next week. What are the higher-ups thinking?”

Yuji shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. It was obvious he was just as confused as you are. “Gojo-sensei is going to be chaperoning though,” he mentions, giving you a sidelong glance.

You feel heat creeping up your neck and you glance away before the teenager could notice. “I’ll think about it,” you mumble, almost indignantly.

The young boy just chuckles before leaving, the door closing behind him with a click!

Your shoulders slump and you rub a hand over your face. What has gotten into you? You can’t be a chaperone on this trip. You have papers to grade and reports to write and—

Oh, fuck it all.

~

The students were buzzing with excitement, chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they file through the entrance of the hotel in Tokyo. You have a brochure in hand, reading about the scheduled museum trip for tomorrow.

Satoru was late, of course he was. So you had to wrangle all the excited teenagers into the lobby and brief them about all the rules yourself.

“Curfew is at nine, no sneaking out past that time, you can go to the pool as long as you have someone with you. No wandering around alone, no funny business, no—”

“The most important rule is to have fun,” you hear a familiar voice behind you, as playful as it is smooth. The velvety timbre of his voice helps to smooth out your frayed nerves and you find yourself releasing a deep breath without realizing.

“And don’t get into any trouble,” you add, giving the students a stern look. One of you had to be serious.

Satoru slings an arm around your shoulders and you ignore the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest. “We work so well together,” he teases, looking down at you with a look you can’t decipher.

The enthusiastic chatter of the students is drowned out by the mere presence of him.

God, he smelled so good.

He drops his arm from your shoulders and works on getting the students into their designated rooms, all the while you’re standing there like a fool in love. Again.

~

It’s well past twelve and everyone is settled. Your room was decent, a bed, a table, and a counter with a cooler conveniently placed atop it.

It was silent, save for the streetlights buzzing outside and the occasional footsteps of a passerby. Peaceful even.

And you still couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, you’d get visions of cheeky grins and something blue. It was infuriating. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

A sharp knock at your door pulls the sleep right out of your eyes.

Could it seriously be a student at this hour? You really don’t want to have to call room service about another clogged toilet.

You sluggishly walk over to the door, robe wrapped tightly around your body, before you swing it open.

This was definitely not a student.

“Can I come in?” Satoru asks. He looks exhausted. His hair was a mess stop his head, his bandana was out of place, lazily perched around his head in a way where the silk sagged, revealing a sliver of the blue eyes you adored so much. “Please.”

You hesitate. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gojo—”

“Toru.” His voice was sharp, firm. Leaving no room for argument.

You nervously twist the doorknob, wanting so badly to slam it in his face (or slam your lips against his).

He peels off his bandana, crumpling the fabric in his hands, to stare you dead in the eyes with a pleading look. “Please. I need to see you.”

You were considering responding with a ‘you’re seeing me now’, but you knew that’s not what he meant. You nod and open the door wider for him. His stance softens, as if he was expecting to be turned away. He walks in, chest brushing against your side with the way he squeezes past you, although the door was wide open. He sits at the foot of your bed, patting the empty space beside him.

You sigh, steeling yourself for the worst before you move towards him, the bed dipping with your weight combining with his.

Satoru looks at you, his gaze soft and unyielding. Unguarded. “I’m sorry for this,” He mutters. Before you can question his words, he finishes with a quick: “I’m going to kiss you now.”

It’s all he says before his lips descend onto yours, his hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You were too surprised to even respond, so you did the next best thing.

You slapped him.

Your palm left a red mark on his cheek that you only noticed when he parted from the impromptu kiss. He looked at you like he was lovestruck, lids heavy and lips curving upwards into a gentle smile. “Do it again.”

“Are you serious?” Your voice almost cracks in outrage. “What is wrong with you?”

“Everything,” he admits, almost too quickly. “I leave my laundry on the floor, I never listen to the voice of reason… and I’m the best choice you will ever make.”

Silence follows his words. He said will. Not could. Will make. As though he was so sure of the fact that you’d choose him.

You will your heart to harden before you roll your eyes and stand up, pointing at the door. “Out.”

“No,” he says. It makes your brows shoot up and your knees weak. “If I leave this room, I’m leaving half a man. I need you, baby.” He grabs ahold of your hand, looking up at you with those pretty eyes. Pleading. “I’m not leaving. Not letting you leave. Not again. Just give me a chance.” His lips ghost over your knuckles, reverent. Devoted.

How many bad decisions are you going to make this week?

Your feet move before your brain could register. You crash over his lap and your lips meet his in a searing kiss. He doesn’t miss a beat, kissing you back with the same fervor.

You felt feverish, your skin all hot and sticky as he panted into your mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip. He flicks his tongue over your reddening lips to soothe the sting of his lovebirds.

“Toru…” you were breathless, hands grabbing whatever they could, his shoulders, his hair, his neck. He was just as handsy, hands smoothing over the curve of your waist before descending lower.

“Been too long,” he groans, peppering kisses all over the sweet skin of your neck, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs. “Need you, pretty girl.”

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your robe, spreading your legs further to accommodate his size. “Need you here.” He presses you closer, your crotch pressing against his tented pants.

You moan at the contact, fingers tangling in his hair. “Fuck. Please.”

He chuckles against your skin, nipping at the pulse point beneath your ear. “Begging already? Forgot how eager you get.”

His hand slides up your thigh, fingers prodding at the front of your damp panties and his hips buck up at the feel of needy cunt. Even through the flimsy fabric he can feel you throbbing around nothing. “This sweet pussy’s gonna drive me crazy,” he mumbles. “Need it on m’face. Please, baby.”

Satoru lifts you up and spreads you out on your back. You’d almost forgotten how strong he was until your back hit the plush mattress. “Lift your hips up for me. There we go, good girl.” His voice was soft yet commanding, as if he wanted so badly to take his time but he couldn’t.

He slides your sticky panties off first, pressing them to his nose and taking a big whiff. “Shit— could get off on this alone.” He pockets your panties ‘for later’ and places a pillow right under your hips so your heat is angled towards his hungry gaze. “Spread them for me.”

You felt like a mindless zombie when he commanded you this way. A victim to his whims. Your thighs were shaking and your eyes were glassy with tears already. But there was no one you trusted more than Satoru.

“I’ll take good care of you. Just like I always do. Have you cum on my cock. But first…” he wastes no time, his nose bumping against your clit once he pulls you in, fastening your thighs around his head. He lets out a deep groan as the first taste of your sweet cunt, already making his lips glossy with its wetness.

“Can’t believe I stayed away for this long. Was going crazy, fuck.” His voice was muffled, syllables vibrating against your clit as he inhaled your heady scent, eyes rolling back into his head and his hips rut into the mattress. “Fucked my fist to the thought of this pussy, to the thought of your smile, to the smell of you.”

His words had your mind blank as you imagined him late at night, a picture of you illuminating his phone screen as he stroked his aching cockto you, moaning your name, chasing a high only you can give him.

You couldn’t get lost in your fantasy for too long as he grips your hips tightly and licks a long stripe up your pussy. From your gushing entrance to your perky clit that was already saturated with his saliva.

The contact makes you bury your fingers in his locks, a small sob leaving your lips. “More, please!”

You don’t need to tell him twice when he starts tonguing at your entrance, drinking up your juices greedily. The sounds that were coming from between your thighs were filthy, his deep grunts mixed with the squeeelch from from your soaking folds provided a heady combination. Every whimpered plea that fell from his lips can be felt against your cunt. As if he were talking to it personally.

You cry out, fingers gripping his soft locks. “Feels s’good, Toru!”

Satoru could only respond with a long sluuurp! as he pulled you closer, the tip of his straight nose nudging harder against your clit.

It was driving you insane. You needed more, more, more. You roll your hips forward, grinding against his face, chasing a pleasure you knew by heart.

“That’s it. Ride my face. Ride it,” he mutters, already delirious from the feeling of you (or from the lack of oxygen).

You have to bite your hand to muffle your needy moans. His lips were hot and wet, drinking you up for all your worth. “M’cumming, Toru. P-please…”

He sucks on your clit, tongue flattening over it as your orgasm rolls through you and you’re bucking your hips, chasing the heat of his mouth. “Atta girl,” he mumbles, staying buried between your thighs for a moment longer as he helps you ride out your orgasm, tongue lazily drawing figure eights on your sensitive bud before he pulls away from your saccharine pussy.

His lips and chin were glistening with your juices as his eyes met yours. You could almost see the reflection of hearts in his pupils as he looked at you.

His dick was painfully hard, straining against the fabric of his pants. He peeled back your robe and pushed your knees up to your chest. “Missed her. Missed her so much,” he mutters, eyes focused on your pretty cunt. All swollen and dripping. For him.

You pull him down, kissing him deeply. He slides his tongue into your mouth and you taste your own essence on his lips. “Need it, please,” you mumble against his lips as he moans into yours.

Truly the best way to shut the sorcerer up.

Your hand trails down his chest, giving the waistband of his pants a teasing tug before you palm his cock. It was warm and rigid against the soft skin of your hand. He bucks his hips into your hand, muttering soft words into your greedy mouth. “You make me this way. Only way I can ever get hard.”

You’re so taken by the kiss you don’t notice his hands catching yours, binding your wrists together with his long fingers. “Need your cock.” You whimper when his lips trail back down to your neck, pressing wet kisses all over your exposed flesh.

The feeling of silky fabric makes your brows furrow in confusion. His bandana Was he… tying you to the bed? “Toru, w-what are you doing?”

“So you can’t get away. Not again. Never again,” he mumbles desperately, pushing his pants down his milky thighs haphazardly. He throws them off to the side and his boxers join the pile soon after.

His cock springs free in all its glory, slapping against his lower abdomen. His pretty pink tip was weeping with pre, dribbling down the length of it.

Satoru fists his cock in one hand, the other braced on the bed to keep him from collapsing on top of you. He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he gives it a few tugs for good measure. “Look what you do to me, baby. S’all for you. I’m all yours.”

You have to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from drooling, but your cunt beats you to it. You squeeze your thighs together, the stickiness of it all gluing your thighs together.

“No, no, no.” His hands are on your thighs, prying them open. He looked desperate. Feral. “Don’t hide from me, need to see you. Need your pretty pussy. So wet f’me.”

His digit plunged into your gooey hole, past your gummy entrance and his knees buckle. You cry out, pulling on the restraints to no avail.

“So tight,” he mutters, removing his finger to tease your opening with his heavy cockhead. “Want me to fuck you, baby? Wanna feel me stretch this lil pussy out? Ruin you for anyone else.”

You nod eagerly. “Mhm, want you to fuck me. Wanna feel it inside.” One particular bump of his hips has his tip grinding into your pert clit. Your lips fall open at the unexpected nudge, your breathing shallow from all the excitement.

“Yeah? Anything for my sweet girl.”

He presses his cock up to your entrance and pushes in, past your gummy walls. “Fuck, she’s sucking me in. Look at you,” he coos, hand on your lower belly as he slides in deeper.

You feel every muscle in your body tightening at the intrusion. It wasn’t anything new, you two have fucked before. Countless times. But it’s been so long. “Hngh, you’re so big. M’gonna explode.”

He grins, pressing down on your belly till he feels his swollen cock streeetch! you out. “Hah, you can take it. You’ve always been so good at it.”

Your eyes were glassy and you’ve never felt so full. Did he get bigger? You wanted so badly to tangle your fingers in his hair or mark his rippling back with your nails, but the bondage made that impossible.

He finally starts to move, his heavy cock gliding in and out of you. Satoru’s eyes are locked on the movement as his hands keep your hips steady and in place.

Watching his slick-coated dick leave your pussy was like heaven to the man, he’d finally gotten a taste of you after so long. And there was no way he was letting you go.

Once he was sure you were accustomed to his size, he snapped his hips forward, in and out, unapologetically. Deliciously abusing your insides, precum painting your walls. The friction made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. Every ‘ah! ah! ah!’ that fell from your lips was punctuated by a vicious thrust.

The hotel bed creaked under the sheer power of his passion, the headboard slamming against the wall repeatedly. “Mm, slower, Toru!” You whine.

And, god, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. You looked so good underneath him, skin glossy with sweat, face contorted with pleasure. He could fuck a baby in you. or two.

“Slower? You’re telling me how to breed this greedy lil cunt?” He ends his words off with a quick ‘swat!’, directly on your poor cunt. It elicits a muffled cry from you as you buck your hips towards his hand.

He chuckles at your eagerness and gives another rough thrust. You could feel it in your stomach as his tip dribbles out another wad of precum into your awaiting womb.

You could feel his cock stretching you out in more ways than one. He was so fucking big, you felt every ridge and every vein. One particular vein was brushing deliciously against that sensitive spot inside you, making you squirm in your spot.

You whimper as he doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon, hands anchoring you to himself as he fucks you deep, cock buried to the hilt between your gummy walls before he leaves your warmth before plunging back in. It was a torturous pace.

“Keep squirming like that and I’ll have to tie your legs up too,” he mutters as he pressed your knees to your chest with his own abdomen, fingers reaching between your sweaty bodies to circle your clit, swirling it in circles as his cock continued to push into you, bullying your poor cunt.

Satoru’s head falls forward, damp forehead pressing against your shoulder. “I’ll fuck you however I want—” His voice breaks off at the end as your sticky cunt suctions him back in. He hums against your skin, the sound low and content. Your heart hums right along with him.

He’s moaning against your skin, pleading with you to take him deeper, squeeze him tighter. He was in so deep you could feel his cockhead at your cervix, fucking into you as if he wanted to breed you.

He cups the supple mounds of your ass and lifts you slightly higher, angling your hips so he’s pummeling your g-spot with every erratic thrust. Your head falls back, a whiny moan of his name is the only thing that leaves your lips.

Your stomach tightens, your tight cunt clenching around his cock. “Toru, please. Wanna… m’gonna cum.”

He pulls you closer, your wetness connecting your pelvises together even when he snaps his hips back before plunging back in for more. “That’s it, my girl. Milk my cock. Cum f’me.”

And you do, hips bucking to meet his mean thrusts as your orgasm crashes over you.

He’s not too far behind, whimpering out a few praises as he quickens his pace before his cock twitches, painting your insides with his hot, syrupy cum. “Fuck, just like that. Take it.” He keeps your weeping hole plugged up, keeping his cum from escaping.

His release was warm inside you, but it made you feel so full. It’s like he hadn’t cum this much in ages. His eyes fall down to your hole that was still clenching around his cock, a creamy ring of both your juices pooled around his base. He mutters a curse before his eyes meet yours.

His hand reaches upward to undo the knot that binds your wrists to the bed frame. He takes ahold of your slender wrist and presses a gentle kiss to the reddening skin there.

Your heart softens at that, and at the gentle look in his eyes. “I’ll do right by you this time. And I’m not talking about just fucking you,” he mumbles. “Choose me?”

You chuckle softly and roll your eyes. You were stuffed to the brim with his cum and he was still unsure?

“I’m yours, Satoru.”

~

hihi I hope you enjoyed!!! I appreciate all the support I can get!!

[ashs-thoughts]

the first time will and hannibal fuck is so nasty btw. it think it'd be like mid-late season one or maybe early season two (just sometime after the s1ep7 ambulance scene) and will would be so distracted lately by the thoughtsTM of hannibal and hes so mad at himself for being distracted (and wanting hannibal of all fucking people) and he goes to one of his sessions and vents a lil about how he cant get into the Killer Of The Week's head because hes so distracted and hannibal draws it out of him that its because of thoughts and feelings he'd been repressing before and will doesnt wanna say exactly WHAT thoughts and feelings so hannibal starts asking questions about symptoms and it starts normal like insomnia, mood swings, loss or gain of appetite, etc but then after a few minutes he looks will in the eyes and says in the slut voice (the same one he had when he compared him and will to achilles and patroclus) 'increased libido?' and will is internally freaking but hes kind of into it so admits to that and hannibal does the whole 'tell me will' thing he does and asks if its more a desire rather than thoughts and will is kinda like 'huh yeah i guess' so hannibal asks the nature of it and at this point will is tired and over it and very horny and looks this man in the eyes and goes 'carnal' and then hannibal smiles and plays along for a minute like he doesnt know before will finally just sighs and goes 'tell me, doctor lector, whats the point in drawing this out?' and hannibals internally torn between the ingrained urge to eat the rude and the ingrained urge to eat out will and says sumn like 'are you trying to admit something, will?' so instead of saying anything else will goes over and kisses him and ends up on the desk and hannibal fucks him as rough as will asks for and its so fucking nasty and hannibal has scratch marks on his shoulders and back and ass at the end and will has bruised hips and hickeys all over his neck and chest and then will just leaves and the next time he comes over hannibal goes 'tell me, will, are you still so distracted?' and will fucks him that time and life is good