#and you just can’t do that in a season- especially one where they are the villain from the start

[my-stories-vault]

Thank you for such a lovely comment, Beth. Left me giddy, lol. Took me the entirety of yesterday on what I wanted to say 😄💘!

This was super sweet H 😍 I haven’t read a song fic in SO LONG, and from talking with you and what little I know of Tollywood (also thanks to you), seeing this paired with Love Story and the little nod to Dean being her Romeo at the end was just so special!

Haha, yesss - I was nervous about that, lol. Didn't see too many of those here. Lol, yeah, the dramatic Tollywood - I tried to walk the fine balance between my exaggerated world and the outter sublime one. I realised while I was writing that the Romeo and Juliet is a good drama to pair with my culture in some ways, it made a good bridge between my two inner worlds. So glad you liked it 🥰!

I can’t get over how beautiful your prose is ❤️

Thank you so much 💘. As a Lit Major, it's an honour to here one of my works being called "prose" - feels like a plaque. Means a lot 🥹

On a side note, I know it has nothing to do with it, but the wrapping ribbons brings me to my first love of love stories - Sailor Moon

Oooh. Is it an Australian cartoon? I love the gif you've shown me, lol. I grew up on Doremon and Shin Chan, or Ninja Hatori if we stretched it - but Sailor Moon sounds so fluid (probably the effect of the ribbons 🤭😂).

There you go again. I love the usage of hanging the moon. I’ve only seen it used a few times, but you just know Dean loves deeply, and if he finds something like he has here, he’s going to be fiercely protective. I loved how you showed him fierce and protective of her, while trying his damn hardest to be respectful of her wishes.

Right? The phrase is so damn gooey and sexy at the same time - I wonder why it isn't used more often. Haha, thank you so much - my Deans keep changing on what season/background he has if it's in an AU - but this one thing'll never change. Protectiveness bordering on paranoia - I find if I were as traumatised, I would've been the exact same 🙂.

Hahah - thirty seven. I’m surprised the hunting ones like the dungeon are a problem when her family are hunters, but I guess it’s not the to do thing to have where you work and where you live under one roof?

Ooof, that's a good point. I forgot it might not seem that normal to a non-native eye 😂.

Okay, I'm going to break down the parental code that reigns a lot of people here: Control.

They don't have a problem with weapons, per se, but they have a problem with what house the weapons are in. They see Sam and Dean and they see two jacked men, grazing the glory of six feet without parents (elders are guides, without them you are a disgrace in our society - you will never be up to any good) - and they think that their daughter's nearly committed a sin. Because then the boys are stronger than the parents and they disapprove.

Does that make sense? I sometimes get my normals blurred lol.

Yeah - I need you to tell me more. Is it over the shoes that I’m assuming they’re wearing? The ankles? Lower leg?

It's preferable that both the blesser and the blesse (just make words but I hope you get the sentiment 😂) are barefoot. Shoes are sort of disrespectful that's why you don't wear it in temples, and that means, you shouldn't wear them while giving/receiving blessings either. However, when in hurry, you excuse it. And the blesse is supposed to bend down well and touch the toes of their elders; the elders will loving show their blessings by touching your head.

Fun side fact: some cultures don't allow girls to touch feet (before marriage) because they are considered reincarnations of goddesses.

DEAN DESERVES EVERYTHING - so does this reader!

I just copy pasted because I wanted it to be said again 😂❤️ - especially the Dean part 🙃.

This is what I’m wondering again lol. Her parents are hunters. I reckon they’re seeing a lot more that they’re saving face over. We won’t comment on that stuff, but we will show here other marriage prospects in private.

Oh, they are very conscious of society watching. They won't say anything in front of the Winchesters because they are "strangers". But if I know their mindset correct (said the author, lmao) they came prepared with the Marraige prospects - they were simply waiting to know about her virginity so they could know if the guy would accept her or not.

Please note that I hate it as I say it 🙂🔫.

How dare! I was so mad when I read that. And the line about trying to be a friend to your kids. A parents job is not to be a friend but to parent.

Very true. But here, usually the self-conscious mothers, feel like if they were their child's friend, they would be younger. A dad rarely ever feels worried about their age. I figured I should include it to demonstrate to a slight extent what the mother was going through too. I don't know if that's something in pther cultures as well?

Really I was mad with how the parents were treating her the whole time, but the contrast with Dean and the love he was showing, my heart ❤️

Also just love Dean doing what he does best!

I'm so glad I was able to convey that through, lol. I was nervous I was overdoing it or not enough. I usually don't get like that, but I wanted to show all sides in a very few words. (As you know, one-shots aren't my strong suit 🤣.)

This was a beautiful story (where’s the proposal- huh? Huh?) Thank you so much for sharing! Whenever I read reader inserts, I’m reading the y/n as an OC and I loved how you shared your culture with us and the little differences/nuances compared to western culture.

Hahaha, inserting the thought of proposal in my other series now lol.

And thank you so much for reading. Feels damn awesome to hear your comments and thoughts about it 💘😘!

Love Story King.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Y/N L/N

Blurb: You are in love. You have strict Indian parents. What else spells disaster?

Trigger Warnings/Tags (18+): language, overprotective parents, angst, hurt/comfort fluff.

Song Inspiration and Lyrics: Love Story by Taylor Swift (mentioned in bold and italics)

A/N: This one's close to my heart 🙃. My dear friend, Hepza from Wattpad, had this challenge with me two years ago. She wrote about Indian Arranged Marriages, and I wrote about the Love Marriage version. These were my prompts: "I don't want a Prince Charming on a white horse", Love Story by Taylor Swift, and any two Indian wedding traditions of my choice (they're explained in the chapter). If you want to give Hepza's version a go, you can find her on Wattpad - her version's amazing ❤️❤️.

Disclaimer: NOT ALL Indian parents are like how I've shown in this fic down here. Some are kind, supportive, and progressive. However, a few of these situations are derived from the real lives of a few other people I know: this is for them: I hope you all find your Deans, lovelies.

Love Story King.

We were both young when I first saw you

I close my eyes and the flashback starts

I'm standing there

On a balcony, in summer air

You trode lightly on the gravel road that hugged the Bunker from the outside. The early summer sun shone on the black rocks like an aesthetic come true. Slight summer heat licked up your neck and spiraled down your spine as you stretched languidly. Closing your eyes, you spread your arms as if waiting for the morning gorgeousness of the backwoods to douse you like the wrapping ribbons of the wind. The snow was melting, and so were you. Your melanin-plus body was appreciative of the dying winter even if you were having an internal meltdown.

You spent November through January dodging the outdoors, telling Dean you didn't want to catch a cold. The poor man, alternatively, with his brother, braved the frost to go on supply runs. You repaid them with warm meals for their tummies, tummies that had been homesick for most of their lives.

Today, a slice of your home was joining you. You couldn't decide if you were more anxiously nauseous or anxiously happy to be seeing them after two years.

But it wasn't your mom's nagging calls that had finally dogged you into an agreement. Your parents wanted to meet their future son-in-law. You'd finally broken down and told them about him - your conscious couldn't let you marry Dean without at least their approval. You owed them a meet-and-greet because Indian or not, they'd helped take care of you all your life.

Right up until Dean came along and plucked you from the crowd.

You'd always been a hunter, so that kind of introduction to Supernatural 101 hadn't really been necessary in your case. And much to both yours and Dean's surprise, you two had clicked. You had just moved out of your parents' sheltered scrutiny when you bumped into Dean on a case - one thing led to another, and you ended up in each other's company so often that one day you two decided not to part.

'Good morning,' a tastefully gruff voice met your ear; it was a warning before two arms wrapped possessively around you.

You let out an indignant huff on being interrupted during Nature Time, but you turned into a puddle in his embrace - where you felt the safest. Accepted, loved, and at home. Before Dean, you didn't think of those words as synonymous. 

'Fill up on all that affection,' you mumbled, resting your head back against his chest, and he pressed his lips to the side of your hair before lowering his head into your neck so that the scraggly scruff of his cheek tickled your skin ever-so-lightly. He brushed his lips to the juncture where your neck and collarbone met as he hummed, making a shiver run down your spine.

'Tell me why again?'

He laid a series of kisses on your shoulder, trying to make you forget your dumb rules. You also saw the tint of nervousness in his voice, through the relaxed gait he'd forced onto his body.

You smiled sadly. 'It's not allowed - hugging, or even holding hands before marriage. Much less kissing, or . . . sex.'

When you broke that news to Dean two weeks ago, you didn't know who had been more annoyed about it: him or Sam; mostly because Dean constantly complained about it, much to your amusement and Sam's horror. Dean had also been "making up" for the lost time about to happen, once again, to Sam's absolute misery.

Not that you had been exclusively and actively seeking out that "act" before meeting Dean - in fact, he'd been your first - but you did like . . . canoodling with him. You were the more one-man-woman kinda person - literally in everything. And you'd known that when you had given yourself to Dean, he would be it for you. Meanwhile, that was still unacceptable to your family. So, this visit was essentially going to be "fake it till you can make it" kinda altercation.

'I know it's supposed to be honourable,' he commented, placing another kiss up your neck. 'I just think it's stupid. I mean, what if you marry a person and you have no chemistry?'

You smirked. 'You're just upset about no sex for a week with me.'

'Of course. That, too. You're downright edible.'

It elicited a stuttering giggle from you. He turned you in his arms to see you for himself, and you snaked yours around his neck.

His freckles shone in the sun, like red polka dots for handsome faces. His cupid's bow dipped his upper lip downward, which you really hoped your kids would inherit one day. Some days you it was a tough decision to consider: what's more adorable about Dean - his dimples when he was smiling with his heart on his sleeve, or his glittering forest gems that highlighted between his crow's feet when he looked down at you as if you'd hung the moon.

He was giving you that look now. It prompted a shy, bashful smile of your own.

'I've told you before: chemistry doesn't matter,' you responded to his question. 'You aren't marrying them because of their . . . "skills", but more because you're promising them the rest of your life - despite anything.'

Once upon a time, he would have teased you for your inability to say the word "sex" so casually - one of his favourite pastimes was poking you out of your shell - and what he loved even more was that you often ventured out . . . only for him. He knew what a special pedestal he'd been put on in your heart, and it meant the world to him.

However, today he didn't have it in him to lure you out with sweet nothings. He nodded absent-mindedly, still recalibrating his mind around the fact that he won't be able to say that word for the next week either if he didn't want to be rejected.

If your five-year-long relationship had been anything to go by, you two have a multitude of differences that set you both seas apart, literally. It's evident you two've been a product of generations that belong to different continents altogether, but why should that stop love from blooming? If only Dean could get that across, everything would be all right.

'I'm having flashbacks,' you whispered.

'Of?'

'Our relationship,' you admitted.

He frowned. 'Why?'

'There are thirty-seven things in the Bunker right now that they can disapprove of.'

'That's specific,' he chuckled.

'I'm serious,' you chided. 'Sam has long hair, we have guns taped under the dining table, and don't even get me started on the torture chamber behind the archives. If my snooping mother finds it, you can say goodbye to all our dreams and hopes.'

Dean tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He knew you wouldn't leave hi,m and he also knew how painful it would be for you to marry him without your parents' blessing. Your relationship with them was complicated; it reminded Dean of his own relationship with his father. Family can rip you apart, but you still want to keep it together; Dean didn't want it on his conscience that he didn't even try to support you through it.

He tugged your chin up and gazed into you with a seriousness that the man reserved for special occasions. 'You know I love you. By the end of this week, they'll know no man, or woman, will love you more than I can.'

You strained on a smile and forced yourself to revel in his optimism. You kissed his palm softly.

'Yeah, they're humans, after all - they'll see it,' you hoped. 'And I love you, too. So damn much.' It was your habit to say it back; you couldn't not.

See the lights, see the party. the ball gowns

See you make your way through the crowd

And say, "Hello"

Little did I know

That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles

You welcomed your parents into the Bunker with a huge smiles. It was nice to see them after such a long time. Greetings were passed around, and Dean and Sam had gone as far as to lean down and touch your parents' feet.

It was an Indian thing to touch your elders' feet to seek their blessings, and you were simply surprised that they even remembered it was a thing. You were fighting tears of joy and sheer overwhelming by the time your Mom happily hugged them like her own kids. At least they'd won her heart just a smidge. While the boys backed away to take their bags, you had started leading them down, subtly fanning your face to stem the tears right where they were.

Your parents levied one question after another on you - mostly catching up about hunting (they were hunters, too - it was a family business), then they asked how America was treating you, and you questioned them about their flight before they finally steered the conversation to the reason they were here.

A few days back, Dean had proposed - he'd gone and done the whole nine yards, the champagne, a classy restaurant, beautiful music in the background, and the most breathtaking ring you'd probably ever seen in your entire life. Or maybe, it was just the man who'd been holding it. 

But you hadn't been able to say yes.

It led to one of the largest fights the two of you had had, but it ended with Dean demanding you reveal everything to your parents if it was such a bone of contention for you. Your paralysing fear had only been swayed when Dean later confessed that it felt like you were ashamed of him. You decided the world could screw itself, but you wouldn't let him feel that for a single second more. 

That had been four days ago. Now your parents were here, in your space. 

'So, you live here all alone, Y/N?' your father said with a slight edge to it.

Tread carefully, all the alarms in your head screamed at you - for this was where the beginning of the end started.

'Oh, no. This is, uh, Sam and Dean's place.'

Another look was exchanged between your parents. Oh, how you hated that look! You stuttered to dispel their worries. 'I just . . . you guys were coming over, and my house couldn't have held us all, so Dean offered . . . while you were here.'

You were a grown-up woman, for God's sakes, that lied for a profession - you should have been able to say it better than that, right?

Right.

Luckily, you'd cleared all the lies with boys beforehand, so they knew what to do in case you weren't able to hold your own.

So, even if you'd lived at the Bunker practically ever since you left your parents', they really didn't need to know that. Because forget handholding - living in close quarters with a man before marriage was a sin, and these were two strong, bulky-ass men who could manhandle you around even on their worst days (you bet this was what your father was thinking). If they found out the truth, they would declare you dead to all your family, friends, and relatives.

Dean swooped in when it seemed like you'd jammed. 'We have a lot of rooms here. I wanted you guys to be comfortable. Especially now that we're going to be a family.' He stepped up beside you and was going to put his arm around you, but the way you stiffened reminded him to keep his hands to himself, so he tucked them awkwardly in his pockets, shooting them a charming smile as a replacement.

Your Mom shot him an uncomfortable smile. 'Oh, dear, that's sweet of you. But you didn't have to go to such trouble.'

'Nonsense! Please, you're welcome here.'

Your parents didn't look convinced.

They had evolved barely to welcome the different societal norms of the culture Dean was a part of, but the idea of a love marriage was a new level even for them - heck, they were just getting used to the fact that women could drive cars.

'We should eat!' You clapped your hands and smacked your lips. 

'Yeah, good idea,' Dean breathed out, taking a lead as he often did. 'Why don't you show them the restrooms, sweetheart, and their rooms? I'll get the food; Sammy'll set the table.'

Before you could glare at your boyfriend for the very suggestion, your Mom was already protesting. 'Absolutely not!'

The ever-active brothers who were already in motion froze in their places with confusion and slight fear. The kitchen was the one place where your mother's voice rose - it was sad she'd rearranged her life around that one room, not that you had any say in that. You also realised that the boys lost all the little respect they'd gained in your mother's eyes. With your father, they went negative.

'Why would you work in a kitchen, Dean?'

Dean looked sincerely befuddled. 'Ex-Excuse me?'

Your mom looked at you as if she was waiting for you to yell "Buzinga" or something to prove this a joke - you half wished you could. You may not have gone over this with the brothers, but you were an Indian daughter, and you'd be remiss if you didn't have a suitable lie ready for it.

'Well, the boys have lived alone for most of their lives,' you were quick to supply. 'They're used to working for themselves, Maa.'

Both the Winchesters shot you a look of incredulity at that explanation. 

'Papa, Maa, why don't you take the boys with you, and relax, huh? I'll handle everything.'

That brought a smile to their faces, and they loosened the muscles slightly. Your father patted your mother's shoulder (they weren't even too affectionate after so thirty years of marriage) while Sam followed them with slight reluctance.

Dean doubled back to follow you into the kitchen, where he hissed in a lowered decibel. 'What is this?'

You sighed. 'Indian men are the breadwinners, women work the households - sometimes even the women who work, actually.'

'That's just stupid,' he was quick to aide.

You couldn't even begin to count how many times Dean had said that about the Indian way of doing things. You loved him for it, actually - he hated all the regressive things you did, but he was a willing participant in the traditions that made your culture beautiful - he happily walked the balance for you, like the little girl in you had wanted your partner to. 

'Look, just, work with me here,' you begged. 'I haven't been able to cover everything with you guys, okay? And this is just for a couple of days.'

'But that's a couple of days of you working alone,' Dean said with upset - you know how he took sharing everything with you to heart, and you adored him for that. It was a relief to be with him after the kinds of marriages you'd seen in your household, but you needed to do this if you wanted approval.

You smiled ruefully at him as you brought out dishes. Dean's hand came out to pick up the cutlery before you slapped it away, and he glared at you.

You retorted with: 'Go, Dean. I'll be fine. Trust me - for my parents doing all the household work alone is almost as important as having a college education.'

You could see he was struggling with that new information.

'Now leave, or they'll think you're helping me.'

'Oh, God forbid, you're actually taken care of,' the sarcasm was real.

You smirked before something occurred to you, and your expression turned to one of reprimand. 'Oh! And we're lucky my parents didn't notice it, but don't call me "sweetheart".'

'What, now, they have a problem with nicknames?!'

You could already see this week being too much, but you decided to inhale before you calmly explained. 'Well, yes. It's weird to call a woman with any nickname before marriage, unless of course it's a legal nickname.'

'That's just—'

'—Stupid,' you completed. 'I know.'

He seemed genuinely nettled, so you cut him some slack: 'You can say it to me when we're alone? Just . . . watch everything you do in front of them, okay? It's like fighting a monster - you must watch your every move lest you want yourself to be vulnerable to their attacks. They are vicious when they want to be - nearly as bad as sorority girls, I suppose,' you said, trying an expression more suitable to his understanding.

'Seriously?'

You smiled at him pleadingly, and Dean left with a huff, muttering under his breath.

But you appreciated him going the effort. Dean is a wonderful man, and once you passed through this week, you were sure the rest of your lives were going to be amazing.

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

But you were everything to me

I was begging you, "Please don't go"

A knock on the door pulled you from your reverie. You put down your reading glasses to see your mother push it in before you could allow the person inside. Frankly, you were just grateful she knocked before barging in. Getting that habit instilled in your parents was equivalent to getting a child potty-trained.

You smiled softly at your mother and the warm grace she seemed to pull into the room. You felt a nostalgia towards her; you'd missed her, even if it was only a little. 

'Hey, Maa. You and Papa settling in okay?'

'Oh, yes. I unpacked everything. Your father caught on that new show,' she said with a tint of bitterness. Yet if you pointed out, you'd be the bad guy, so you didn't. 'You?' She came to sit beside you on the bed, and you staved off the annoyance that came with the invasion of personal space, making room for her.

'Yep. So. What are you doing here?'

'Oh, I just, we haven't had the opportunity to talk in the longest time . . . And now you're getting married!'

You forced a smile. 'Uh huh. Yeah. Thanks for giving Dean a chance, by the way. It means a lot to both of us.'

'Oh, sure. Sure,' she waived it off, and you felt a tingle of discomfort go down your spine. 'You two crazy kids must be in love if he's willing to put up with your extra curves.'

The last few years with Dean had taught you to take offense at things like that. He cured what he'd called your "sorry syndrome" - it was so bad that when a person told you not to apologise so much, you apologised for apologising so much. A trait of your mother's and a gift of your childhood. However, it had been five years. 

So, instead of shrinking down in shame, which would have been your old self's go-to, you actually scoffed, 'Pardon?'

'Oh, you know,' she said sweetly, casually, looking down at your body in distaste. 'It's almost like you're already married - you seemed to have stopped watching your weight.' She had the audacity to laugh in the end. Her own hands were clutching her stomach as if she were trying to hide her own bulge. 

Embarrassment colored your cheeks beet red. 'Mom,' your voice took a sharpness that made even Dean grimace most of the time - but your mother remained obliviously uncaring of your feelings and happiness.

'Oh, honey, don't look at me like that,' she chided as if you were the one who had it all wrong.

Sure, you may have gained a couple of pounds, but you were still well within the weight range that a person of your height should be at. Just because you didn't have a flat stomach didn't make you unlovable. . . .

'I don't want to talk about this,' you reeled in your emotions to stop them from disrupting your steadfast voice.

If you want to insult someone to death diplomatically, your Mom would be a good teacher.

'Oh, there's no shame in talking about weight; isn't that what girlfriends do?' she nudged. 

It was pathetic that she thought that that was what being your kid's friend meant. What was even more pathetic was that it stemmed somewhere from her need to be young, more than being a supporting star in your life.

The most pathetic thing, you ask? That you actually thought you missed her.

You cringed. 'There's nothing to talk about. Dean loves me for who I am.'

She gave you a sceptical look. 'Are you sure, sweetie? Look, Y/N, he's a man of . . . Western Culture,' she said it as if that were a despicable status to have. 

'We've been talking about that,' you gritted. 'Not all Western Culture is British - not that all the Britishers are wrong.'

'Oh, now you're going to teach me, are you?' her eyes flashed. 'How old do you think you are? I'm your mother. Who do you think is more intelligent here? My parents were in the Dandi March that Gandhi led to get something as simple as salt for his countrymen! And you think you know how the British were, better than me . . . ?'

You tuned her out for a bit. There was only so much you could listen to as she used Gandhi, a brilliant man, by the way, who became one of the original topics of conversation between you and Sam, for her own means. Parents used stories to control their children, at least in your household. 

'And that's not even the point!' she spat, bringing you out of your reverie onto a point that isn't her bragging about being wiser simply because she's older. 

'Dean's . . . an orphan. He didn't have the hand of his elders over his head. And I'm pretty sure he's had sex way before you. I mean, has he even agreed to wait? For you?'

You were so flustered by the point of sex - the first time you'd heard your mother use the word - that you couldn't address how her "orphan" point bothered you, like a knife in your back might.

'Yes!' you lied. Well, partially lied. The part about Dean waiting for you, as soon as he knew you both had feelings for each other, was true. But it was your decision and yours alone when you told him you were ready for the next level. 'Dean's a gentleman, Maa,' you punctuated - this part was a hundred percent true though.

Your mother was yet to be convinced. She pulled out from the pockets of her fully unrevealing nightgown, a few photos, and nausea seemed to climb up your food-pipe the second you realised what that could possibly be.

Your eyes widened in betrayal as she confirmed your suspicions. 'These are a few Indian men your father and I have been talking to, sweetie-'

'No,' you shot out of your bed in revulsion at even the thought. 'What the . . . I love Dean!' You choked on the word "hell" there in the middle. 'You came here to give him a chance!'

'Be that as it may, you're still a kid, Y/N! You don't have the experience of the world - listen to me, just go through them.' She pushed them in your face.

You blinked back your predictable swell of frustrated tears because you didn't want to give her another reason to insult you. 'Why are you doing this?' your voice wavered. 'I don't want another man. I'm in love with Dean. You told me you'd get to know him-'

She sighed (cutting you off) as if she had to explain everything to her dumb little child. 'Look, now that I know you aren't tainted, I'm sure these men will be willing to accept you. It's not too late for you, sweetie. You just fell in love, you didn't indulge in . . . sin,' she said the last word as if it were taboo.

It took you a long second to process her words, "tainted", "sin", and a few more underlying insults in less than five sentences.

You were sick to your stomach. You couldn't actually believe this was your mother - a woman who was supposed to accept and love you no matter what. What surprised you more was how much you held onto hope every time, and how it was that much deeper that they hurt you. Every. Time.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

'Y/N, language!' she gasped as if you'd just told her to fuck off.

You lassoed your temper enough to not let another angry word wander out of your mouth, and you subsequently fled the room. You were faster than her and practically raced down the hall, ignoring her calls for you to get back.

Tears were already streaming down your face by the time you reached the library, and you almost jumped out of your skin when Dean's warm voice sought you. 'Y/N, do you want to join us for a beer?'

You made an abrupt halt, and it was then that Dean noticed your tear-stained face. He was already on his feet and approaching you to comfort you when you let your frustrations loose on him.

'I would love a beer, Dean,' you said ironically, 'But I'm not allowed one. Because I'm still a little kid, and my parents think we're making a mistake by getting married!'

He was shocked at your outburst. He glanced back at the other two men in the room, who looked slack-jawed at you. 

The oldest man in the room gained a furious glint in his eye as he schooled himself. 'Young lady, you need to calm down,' he ordered with restrained emotion.

'Calm down?! Calm do-!' you inhaled sharply. 'How could you do this to me!?' you cried out. 'I love Dean! And you guys knew this, but here you are trying to sell me off as a virginal, all-in-one, ready-to-be-the-mother-of-their-babies woman to a couple of losers I don't even know!'

A hurt look filtered through Dean's expression, and he longed to reach out to you and calm you down himself, but he didn't want to fuel the fire. He hated how they've been treating you, and he's starting to see your point about them driving you crazy.

It hadn't been one whole day, and they'd made you cry so. His heart took a hit everytime he peeked a look at your face. He hated this. He was starting to hate them.

Your father rose to his best height - and once upon a time, you would have shrank away from that intimidating pose that he managed to cut - but you could see it now; your boys towered over even him. And suddenly, you weren't scared of this man anymore - the one who'd controlled your and your Mom's every decision.

'The boys we've been looking for you are all perfect for-'

'That's the thing - I don't want a Prince Charming on a white horse!' you essentially screamed.

Holy shit, I just yelled at my father.

But even that wasn't good enough to stop you. 'And if you can't realise that . . . ' you shook your head at a loss for words, panting, as you rushed up the stairs and out of the Bunker.

Dean only waited for a courtesy second before he bolted after you.

And I said

"Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince, and I'll be the princess

It's a love story, baby, just say yes"

Romeo, save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess.

It's a love story, baby, just say yes

Dean knew you like he knew the back of his hand. On foot, without a car, there's only a handful of places your laziness would allow you to walk towards. So, it was no surprise when he found you at a quiet clearing in the Bunker's nearest bunch of woods. You'd gained a habit of storing a blanket and some reserve food in the trunk of a tree that you'd found a hole in. And he knew his money had been in the right place - you were already on the picnic blanket, sniffling as you'd rolled into a ball, trying to comfort yourself.

He sat down silently beside you and pulled you in his arms, tugging till you were fitted snugly between his legs. Then he tried to coax your hands away from yourself, and you broke down sobbing as you released the hold on yourself and caught him in a hug that tight.

He returned the embrace, letting you curl into him as you let your angry tears out. As you let the pain flow. He rocked you from side to side slightly till your full-blown sobs were down to smaller body wracks.

He was curling and uncurling his fingers through your soft, recently washed hair. And it was only when you could hear more than your own voice that you noticed him speaking soothing words to you, even occasionally pressing a feather-light kiss or two atop your hair.

'I thought,' you gasped, clutching the drenched shirt on his chest, 'I thought, maybe this time they'd be proud of me. This time they would approve of my choice.'

Dean waited, you continued.

'Y-You're the best thing about me, Dean,' you swallowed. 'All my life, all my decisions have revolved around their choices, their approval. Everything they wanted. But you . . . you're so perfect. How could they ever find a flaw in you?'

Dean frowned at the choice of your words, and as he often did, he disagreed, deciding to take issue with your words. He pinched your chin between his fingers and made you look up into his eyes. 'You're perfect as you are, Y/N.'

'My parents don't think so.'

'I do.' He wiped the wetness on your cheek, 'Fuck, sweetheart, I want to marry you; I want to start my own family with you, I want you to be the mother of my children - that's gotta mean something, right?'

You blew out a breath. 'I just don't know what to do anymore - I guess, I guess . . . maybe I was . . . I was trying to get them to . . . accept me, for once. I fought with you for that. I mean, what the fuck?!'

Dean ducked down his head, and kissed the saline over your mouth, releasing it a second later to kiss your left cheek, then the other one, and then leave several other butterfly kisses in his wake all over your face, just trying to calm you down.

When your breathing had seemed to get even, and you looked to have calmed down a great measure, Dean finally spoke. 'What do you wanna do, sweetheart?'

You huffed, looking down at your hands. 'Ideally? We should elope.'

He had to chuckle. 'Oh, yeah? That's not very Indian of you,' he poked your tummy, and you glared up at him softly.

'They're never going to agree to this. Us. And I'm not marrying someone they choose . . . some asshole hunter who thinks he's got all the ladies of the world wrapped around their little finger - I've already got one of those.'

'Hey,' he looked you in warning, but both of you knew his gaze held no heat behind it.

You shot him a sweet, mischievous smile, and he narrowed his gaze at you, before he articulated what he wanted to say to you, '. . . Look, I-I don't want you to regret anything. We can't simply sail off into the sunset. If that were possible, we would have already done that.'

You pouted. 'Really? I was already looking for castles on far-off islands where I could be a Princess, and you'd be my Prince.'

'I thought you didn't want a Prince Charming.'

'What I want,' you grasped the open ends of his flannel, 'is to have a life with my one true love, and to not be told how I'm supposed to feel.'

He couldn't resist a peck to your pouty lips, and he tightened his hold on you. 'Alright. You'll have all of that. But after we give this another try, okay? If I can, I want to give everything to you.'

You sniffled. 'Am I asking too much of you? I know we shouldn't care what our parents think. That this is about us.'

'This is more than that,' he said. 'You want your entire family to be there on your wedding day. I get that. I wish my whole family were there, too, you know?'

You gulped your sadness and cupped his cheek. 'I know.' You nuzzled your warmed-up face into his neck. 'I think . . . somewhere I want them to celebrate you too,' you whispered. 'It's silly, but I want to be the family you miss. I want to be there for you. I, too, want to give you everything I have - and if that's crazy relatives, you're gonna have it!'

He half-smirked. 'Well, aren't you nice?' He kissed your forehead with fervor, then he rested his head against yours. 'I love you.'

You kissed him in retaliation, fierce and loving. Long enough that both of you were panting by the time you parted. 

'We'll go in after a few minutes,' he murmured against your lips.

You snickered. 'Papa giving you a hard time, huh?'

'Shhhh,' he pressed another kiss to your hairline, and you had to smile at his avoidance tactic - you knew he was trying not to complain about your parents, and that was legit downright sweet. 'Let's not talk until we're ready to head back, hmm?'

'I can live with that,' you whispered.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering if you were ever coming around

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town

And I said

"Romeo, save me, I've been so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think"

You beamed down at the new designs covering the expanse of your hands right up until your elbows - front and back.

As compensation for forcing you, your parents had tried to make amends - extremely begrudgingly, mind you; and after hundreds and hundreds of talk sessions with Sam and Dean, they had been prepared to finally, completely, and wholeheartedly accept this relationship.

Months. Took you two eight months, precisely.

But it was worth it.

And you didn't know who had been happier with this development - you or Dean; for once, they'd been treating him more like a son than they'd ever treated you like a daughter - gender dynamics, yada yada.

For your sake, the boys tried not to show how obviously they enjoyed their attentions, and your mom's spoiling attitude towards "her boys", but you were glad that your boys were finally getting the love and care they deserved. If your parents are overstrict, they are also overcaring, and it usually plays out in favour of guys. You'd had enough of their involvement for a few lifetimes, so you were just happy to sit back and watch them choose Sam and Dean over you. For sure, some little part of you wished they'd treated you like that when you were a kid, but you'd take the brother's happiness any day.

After all, you shouldn't be too surprised - it was practically a trope to treat the in-laws better than your own kids. And if the in-laws were men, you stood no contest.

But even your mother's pestering and nagging couldn't upset you today.

Today, you'd applied mehendi, and you were bubbling with excitement to show it to your fiancé.

After dodging most of your relatives' rooms who'd taken up residence at the Bunker for the wedding that was in three days, you'd managed to sneak into Dean's room. It wasn't like most of them were up anyway - it was way late in the night, and everyone had crashed after the Music Night (also known as Sangeet in India) that was a custom before the weddings.

Dean was already ready for bed, in his sweatpants, and was pulling on his t-shirt for the night.

You let the door click back softly, and it was a testament to how tired Dean must be if he didn't notice you up until now.

'Hey, handsome.'

He whipped around with his gun pulled on you, and his eyes went wide. 'Y/N! Dude, don't do that! It's bad enough most of your relatives don't know the concept of knocking!'

You let out an evil giggle. 'Aw, did I scare you? Do you need a hug? Do you need me to tuck you in?' you used your baby voice on him.

'No,' he replied in order, 'yes, and yes!'

You laughed this time, holding your hands behind your back this entire time. 'I have a surprise for you first,' you told him in a sing-song voice.

'Really?' he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

'Geez, get your mind out of the gutter! You just said, none of my family knows how to knock.'

'Well, fortunately, I know how to lock,' he looked at you meaningfully. 'Blows your mind, doesn't it? The science of locking?'

Your body vibrated with laughter, and your cheeks throbbed from smiling so much. 'You're incorrigible; but no, that's not the surprise.'

'Then?'

'Close your eyes.'

He sighed in a manner that said, "the things I do for you". You locked the door behind you just for a few moments of privacy (didn't stop Dean's devious smirk from growing) as you drew closer to your man.

You draped your newly colored hands over his shoulders in a gesture you'd lost count of how many times you'd already performed, and it was pure instinct when he returned the hug, keeping you close to him, attaching you to his hip.

'Open 'em,' you softly told him.

He looked down at you instantly, smiling first at your proximity before his eyes drew to the gorgeous shade of brown patterns smattered across your forearms and palms, a fragrance tickling his nostrils as he tried to guess which new tradition he was being privy to now.

'Is that permanent?' came the first question as his own palms came to capture your wrists and have a closer look as his cute brows furrowed curiously.

'No. It's called mehendi.'

He shot you a questioning glance as he turned your hand to get its full experience.

'A heena tattoo,' you clarified. 'It's temporary. You apply it like paint to your hands, sometimes legs. When the first layer peels away, only its hue is left and that amazing smell . . . it was one of my favourite things as a kid, to get mehendi done.'

'Why?' he asked, loving the childlike glee you displayed when you talked about this.

'Because they said, the darker the color of your mehendi, the more your man will love you,' you grinned.

'Oh.' But it didn't have the effect you were expecting on Dean. He frowned and looked down at you in earnest. 'But then why would you wear it at our wedding?'

'What do you mean?' getting anxious that, perhaps, he didn't like it - the wedding was in three days, and this was not going anywhere till two weeks at least.

'I mean . . . do you doubt how much I love you that you needed to put this on? I mean . . . What if it's not dark enough now? Doesn't mean I don't love you.'

You wouldn't have been able to fight the smile even if you tried, and boy, you tried because Dean seemed sincerely hurt by that. You turned your hands so that they rested face-up in his palms, and then, on both hands, you pointed at two distinct spots, making him squint to understand.

'Wait . . . is that my—?'

'When you get married, you write the groom's name amongst the designs to show that your mehendi came true. Only the man you love the most has the honour of going up on your hands in Mehendi,' you informed.

And Dean bit his lip, as his ears turned pink. 'All right, that's awesome. Can . . . Can I also put it?'

An unadulterated laugh burst out of you.

The dirty blond-haired man blushed harder, trying to understand what incited that reaction. 'What? I want to honour you, too!'

You're heart fluttered, and millions of butterflies took off in your stomach, your love swelling up in your chest to the point that you weren't sure you would be able to contain it anymore.

'You would do that for me?' your voice was gently disbelieving, and Dean could have sworn he saw tears shining in your e/c irises.

'Only if it's okay with you.'

You cupped his face in your hands. 'You can do it - just don't let any of the elders see it.'

'Why not?' his nose scrunched adorably.

'They'll think you're gay,' you chuckled.

He rolled his eyes slightly as he rested his forehead against yours. 'Oh, but sweetheart, what I'm about to do to you is so not gay.'

He pressed his lips passionately to yours, and let's just say you didn't get to leave the room like you'd originally planned you would.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said

"Marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone

I love you, and that's all I really know

I talked to your Dad, go pick out a white dress

It's love story, baby, just say yes"

There was only one other thing that proved a bump on the road to the wedding.

It was a day prior to the big day.

Your parents had cornered Dean and Sam into the library and insisted that this was more important than sleep; probably even more important than the wedding itself.

The brothers had shared a worried look, and Dean told them that he'd call you too, but your father only demolished that idea by deeming you a child, and he said that there was no possible requirement for you in an adult conversation, quote-for-quote.

Sam had been a huge calming factor to Dean's flaring temper during interactions with your parents. The younger brother, even now, had to temper Dean's rage with a warning look, and a comforting hand on the shoulder that said they were too close to the wedding to let anything ruin it.

And Dean at least agreed with that part.

Although the boys had been loving how well-treated they seemed to be once your parents warmed up to them (and how they also bought into the several lies that Dean and Sam had to pave the way with to the wedding) - it hadn't gone unnoticed in Dean's eyes how you were still treated more like an object being given away rather than his fucking bride. He hid his annoyance well from you, so it wouldn't put you in a tough position.

Sometimes he couldn't believe how unfair that system was towards women, and it was absolutely horrible as to how the woman he considered his world was nothing but an object to be disposed of in some people's eyes.

It was hurtful, and Dean's admiration for you had skyrocketed ever since he saw what kind of shit you'd had to put up with all your life - and how, despite it all, you'd turned into such a beautiful human being - one he could see spending the rest of his life with. One he craved to be with, one he prayed to God for, one he'd always dreamed of.

He wasn't saying that his culture was any better - if anything he probably also condoned it to a great extent - because the thing is, and this was his strong belief, culture shouldn't make people simply for the reason that people make culture; why should one person's thoughts confine another person's actions in such a demeaning way?

He'd sworn to himself that he would treat you like you actually deserved for once - not that he wasn't trying before, but he was going to try harder, and that was a promise he made to himself.

'So, Mr. L/N, what did you want to talk about?' Sam politely asked.

Your father had asked them to call him "papa", a term of informality and endearment that you preferred - but they hadn't been comfortable with it, and your dad hadn't been comfortable being called by his first name, so the boys simply stuck to "Mr. L/N" or "Sir" till they were ready to break that habit.

'Actually,' your father was tense. 'We probably should have talked about this earlier.'

One of your Uncles added, 'We just assumed that you would be the first ones to bring it up. We were wrong.'

'What? What do you mean? Is everything okay?' Dean sat on the edge of his seat.

The older men exchanged exasperated looks.

'What is it?' Dean pressed.

Your father sighed, and raked a hand through his hair tiredly - he seemed to age ten years in those few seconds. 'We haven't discussed the dahej.'

The brothers looked to one another for help - finding the other one equally clueless, they both raised their brows simultaneously in a very brotherly fashion at your family.

'Dowry,' the Uncle cleared up.

Dean felt bile press against his mouth, and he wasn't sure he'd heard it correctly. 'Dowry?' he had to resist grinding his teeth. 'You want to buy me to marry your daughter?' the disgust was clear as day in his voice, and Sam looked equally disturbed by that notion.

'Well . . . don't you want that?' your father looked surprised with their reactions.

'No!' Dean barely stopped himself from yelling. 'Sir, with all due respect, I love your daughter - and I want her for the rest of my life. That's all. Now, if you could stop treating her like a piece of your furniture or something, I would really appreciate it. Traditions or not, she's a human being, and what you just suggested is outrageous.' Dean stood up in anger, but he kept speaking steadily. 'I respect that woman; heck, I worship her, and now that she's becoming my wife, you'd better respect her too, or I swear to God, we're going to have a problem.'

He marched out, leaving Sam to deal with the aftermath. But Dean was too busy fuming to actually give a fuck right now.

And he would've just walked on by till he was in the sanctuary of his room, when he found his peace just at the end of the steps at the beginning of the corridor.

'Y/N,' he breathed out.

You had tears in your eyes again - and would have begged everyone to believe that you weren't always such a crier, and it was the situations really - but right now, you didn't have it in you. You were surfing on one of your most emotionally heightened moments.

Dean's heart sped up. 'Did I cross a line? Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry—'

You raised a hand to cut him off, rolling your eyes a little. 'These are happy tears, stupid.'

He sighed in relief. 'Really?'

'Well, a mix,' you shook your head. 'Did you really mean that?'

Dean was on the verge of taking offence again, but he kept his voice low so that you were his only audience. 'Of course I did!' He gestured widely and vaguely at the Bunker around you, 'Do you think I'd tolerate any of this for anyone else?'

And once again, Dean Winchester had made your heart grow three fucking sizes.

Any other time, you would've avoided getting near him in fear of being cited - but right now, you were too damn overwhelmed and too damn weak in the knees to not slot your figure against his in gratefulness. You were always amused by how much love you had for this man: you were sure you'd combust if he wasn't holding you together right now.

His anger washed away with your nearness. 'Aren't you scared someone will see you?' There was only a slight teasing lilt to his words, but he was tightening his hold on you nonetheless.

'They'd better,' you answered. 'People should be taking fucking cues from you. You're like . . . like a . . . a Love Story King,' you bestowed the title.

His cheeks decided crimson fit them as he also simultaneously fought off a grimace - but he was trying not to spoil the moment as he smiled down at you, eyes full of awe and adoration. 'Well, now that I've talked to your Dad, and everything is out of the way - I guess you're finally mine.'

You smirked. 'Oh, jaan, Juliet always belonged to Romeo.'

He blushed harder, only because that nickname did things to him. It meant "darling" in your language, and sounded incredibly sexy to him in your velvet tongue.

He then pulled away to show you the inside of his hands. And you gasped softly when you saw your name written on both his palms in Mehendi, and your eyes were pooled with renewed tears. 'Oh, my gosh, you actually went through with it!'

He chuckled at your awestruck expression. 'Yep. Turns out even Romeo only belonged to his Juliet.' He cringed a tad because he segued into your Taylor Swift reference.

But you pulled him down for that, laying your lips against his - the rest of the world be damned. If this man can quote your favourite singer, you can kiss him in a hallway.

A/N: So, what do you think? If you have any comments or questions, please feel to reach out!

And one more thing! I know I haven't updated for a while. One of my relatives passed away a while back along with the other shit that I talked about. I fell hard off the consistency wagon. When I could find my inner writer again, I decided that I would finish the TSW series before I started posting it again, so this kind of gap never repeats - I've been going hard at it, and I hope to finish writing it soon! Y'all can expect regular posting from around October. Thank you all for your patience 🥰❤️!

Meanwhile, I will try to update a few fics that I do have, like this one, on here.

Tag List.

@aylacavebear @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @emma1998sblog @globetrotter28

@bettystonewell @jollyhunter @ambiguous-avery @thegirlinmaroonsweater

[ashironie]

Theory ab the order of villains in LMK, idk if this is common knowledge or if the theory already exists

What we know:

S1: DBK for most of the season then in the last ep gets possessed by LBD (as well as a hint that she will be important in the seasons to come)

S2: Spider Queen under the influence of LBD (at the end gets killed by LBD easily to show LBD is a serious threat)

S3: LBD, finally, she is at her most glorious, she also gives MK a silly cute little crisis <3

S4: Azure Lion, at first he’s thought to be an ally but it’s then revealed he was the villain, also it is revealed he was let out of the scroll by someone else. One thing I want to make clear for this theory, Azure Lion did everything of his free will, the people (probably the ten kings of the underworld) who let him out knew what he would do and condoned his actions, he was not manipulated whatsoever.

That leads to S5 onward. Basically everyone knows the theory that the people who let Azure out of the scroll are the ten kings of the underworld, many MANY things point to that.

But the way one of the kings left their little meeting at the end was very LBD finding Bai He at the end of S1.

My theory is that there’s a pattern, 1: Villain causes the heroes threat and kinda related is this other mysterious villain but we don’t know anything ab them 2: the Villain is being influenced or manipulated by mysterious villain and finally gets killed by mysterious villain to show mv is a threat 3: Mysterious Villain is the villain of this season and is really really scary to our protagonists 4: profit

It would make sense from a story telling standpoint, parallelism, increasing stakes and dread, allowing your watchers to guess what happens next (which is almost always a good thing, especially in the way this would allow), etc. It’s a good formula and you can point attention to breaks in the formula that reveal character growth (MK telling his friend about 10ks unlike how he didn’t tell them ab LBD, SWK not just fucking off to try and deal with the problem himself, more involvement of Red Son to show how he has solidly become a hero [really manifesting that last one tbh], etc). And like I said, it’s good to allow your watchers to be right, it can make for them to be more invested, it can make them feel more confident in make theories and therefore interacting with the fandom and source material more, and it shows that the watcher understands what you are giving them, if they can accurately predict what you are going to do, then you are doing something right.

Uhhhhhhhhhh bye

[lianmendes]

⋆˙⟡ clark kent/superman fic recs ⋆˙⟡

welcome to my directory of all the clark kent stories I love! all writing credit belongs to each individual writer, and if you resonate with any story, make sure to show that author some love by commenting, reblogging, or both! reader discretion is advised, so be sure to check the warnings. this list will be updated regularly. updated: 8/04/2025

ʚɞ krypto, take me home - @buckysfaveplum

when Clark can't make it to the fortress, Krypto brings him to you

ʚɞ eyes like pretty lights - @fawnindawn

surprising clark with a visit at the daily planet, it sparks memories of the past and how some things never change, especially clark's eyes that still shine like pretty lights only for you. seeing your best friend again in metropolis, it might be harder to leave... especially when he doesn't want you to.

ʚɞ makes paintings with his tongue! - @sceletaflores

you and clark have a conversation about superman...

ʚɞ just hold me - @plaidcowboy

a badly injured clark comes to you after a losing fight against the kaiju. not only does he need to be patched up, but his ego needs a little fixing to. and luckily for you, your praise does just the trick.

ʚɞ no strings attached...unless? - @kryptoclark

what was supposed to be a simple no-strings hookup between best friends turns complicated when feelings inevitably get involved. huh. who would've thought?

ʚɞ nsfw clark kent headcanons - @lacelottie

ʚɞ whipped clark headcanons - @squipa

ʚɞ fortress - @charmedntruer

tasked to take clark to the safest possible place he can recover from the pocket universe, you come to a few new revelations of your own upon seeing where clark was raised in the countryside.

ʚɞ kiss me - @sunshine-lux

it's obvious to everyone at the daily planet that y/n and clark have an unspoken thing going on. one late night at the office might just be what they need to stop dancing around it.

ʚɞ messy makeout sess - @vemathie

thinking deeply and heavily about clark being all desperate and messy when you're just making out...

ʚɞ super-headaches at the daily planet - @luveline

Something about Clark makes your head hurt. (And something about Superman is strangely familiar.)

ʚɞ my hero pt 2- @jungkooklover777

an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

ʚɞ unfold your love - @junleb

jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love

ʚɞ everyone adores you (at least i do) - @rosesaints

you work at a coffee shop on the ground floor of the daily planet...enter clark kent. mister medium-drip-extra-room-sincere-eyebrows.

ʚɞ night's so blue - @junleb

it's rare for two reporters to be assigned to the same movie. how convenient that you already have a good relationship with clark. or, this is too good to be true. it isn't a set-up, right?

ʚɞ till i lose it - @fawnindawn

Clark finds himself feeling jealous for the first time when you get assigned on a case with Jimmy Olsen, and start spending more time with the photojournalist instead of him.

ʚɞ groupie - @buckysfaveplum

he’s your punkrocker. your star. but sometimes you wonder if you’re just a groupie, if he sees you the same

ʚɞ in the silence - @cursedheartsclub

In the quiet spaces between friendship and something more, you fall for Clark Kent the way snow falls—softly, steadily, all at once.

ʚɞ you can see it with the lights out - @junleb

clark is home, no matter the city or season

ʚɞ you are in love - @auroralwriting

clark kent had always been a good friend to you at the daily planet—but as the two of you fall head over heels for each other, you can’t help but notice the striking similarities between him and superman

ʚɞ phases to love - @hearts4hughes

ʚɞ going nowhere - @frivolousimagination

clark misses out on your relationship because of his superman duties. it puts a rift between you.

ʚɞ love, meteors, and clark kent's accidental flight - @stevebabey

Working at the Daily Planet, you - like everyone with eyes - are particularly enamoured with Clark Kent. A meteor and a spilled secret later, he shows you just how enamoured with you he is.

ʚɞ to whom it may concern - @cursedheartsclub

You start getting anonymous love notes at the Daily Planet—soft, sincere, impossibly romantic. You fall for the words first, then realize they sound a lot like Clark Kent. And just when the truth begins to unravel, you start to suspect he might be more than just the writer… he might be Superman himself. 

ʚɞ the kiss heard 'round metropolis pt 2 - @daisybvck

You and Clark have always had a special relationship, you two adore each other but haven’t had the guts to admit your feelings, what happens when one day when Superman saves you and you share a kiss.

ʚɞ kiss me like nobody else does - @jayblades

you and clark are paired during a night out in the field with the rest of your team at the daily planet and you find yourselves in a bit of a tight spot; not the best place to be stuck with your brick wall of a journalist colleague, but you digress.

ʚɞ better late than never - @kryptoclark

you decide to spend your summer between jobs back in your hometown, smallville. it comes to a surprise to both you and your childhood best friend, clark kent, that you're both visiting at the same time. there's nothing quite like the summertime air to help old memories resurface – and maybe stir some old feelings back to life.

ʚɞ crash landings - @barnesonfilm

you didn't imagine meeting your boyfriend's parents for the first time would start with you crash landing on their lawn in the middle of the night

ʚɞ starboy - @buckysfaveplum

recovering from kryptonite poisoning back home in Kansas leaves your relationship with Clark a bit confused. you’ve always been his rock- his best friend. but now, back on the farm, maybe there was always something more

ʚɞ brief encounter - @pinkmirth

clark is, at heart, a nerdy little guy and i believe that his silliness should be shared with the world

ʚɞ commercial break kisses - @iuvboa

ʚɞ i know, i know, i know - @luveline

You confess your affections to an unsuspecting Superman, but your best friend Clark can’t know about your crush, okay? You’d die of embarrassment. (Or, Clark falls in love while Superman does most of the wooing.)

ʚɞ cause i'm a punk rocker - @bippiti

you moved to smallville because you had to save your family's farm. it was a place you never wanted to stay but also one you couldn't escape. then you met him: quiet, steady, and the one person who saw through your walls. slowly, without warning he became the part of you you didn't even know you were missing

ʚɞ mastermind pt 2 - @auroralwriting

as one of the daily planet's most popular gossip column writers, clark is surprised to learn you're a genius when it comes to superman. he's also surprised to learn you aren't all heels and makeup

ʚɞ cutie coworker clark - @bruisedboys

your cute coworker clark overhears your conversation with lois, and takes it upon himself to get you some of your favourite things

ʚɞ missed calls & make-ups - @redrebecca

Clark stands you up on your first date. It turns out he has a pretty decent explanation.

ʚɞ foolish hearts - @tw1sters

Loving Clark Kent is easy, but he seems to find letting you go even easier. At least, until Clark is forced to fully reckon with what it means to really lose you.

ʚɞ just one - @geminiwritten

you and clark have been best friends since college, and you know everything about each other—including his superhero identity—but tensions have risen since you started working with him at the daily planet, and after superman is exposed to a 'truth telling toxin' you decide to take a little advantage of the fact that he can't lie

ʚɞ 'cause i can see you - @myladybelle

it’s been a couple months since you started working at the daily planet, and you’re beginning to suspect that your awkward, mild-mannered coworker might be hiding a much bigger secret than his crush on you

ʚɞ seven minutes in heaven - @neellscapsule

clark likes to know what other people think of 'superman'. he very much wishes to know your thoughts of him as well.

ʚɞ lovestruck and looking out the window pt 2 - @tangledinlove

you see your friend clark without his glasses for the first time. he looks… oddly familiar

ʚɞ mystery of love - @rosesaints

4 times he showed you he loves you + 1 time he says it

[mixingandmelting]

Inconspicuous Relationship

Summary: Everyone in the family thinks the two of you hadn’t tied the knot and keeps playing matchmaker. He, being the troll he is, decides to roll with it

He told you it was going to be fine. To leave it to him; his plan was going to be flawless. Flawless his ass. You’re dying from second-hand embarrassment and Jason’s not helping with that shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You know, Gotham Park is apparently considered one of the prettiest in the city during all four seasons.” Steph starts, sending you a look across the dinner table. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic to go there, especially for a first date?”

You beg to the higher beings that your cringe isn’t visible in your smile as you hummed in agreement. You’ve been enduring this since the beginning of the family dinner where the siblings kept dropping obvious hints for the two of you to get the ship sailing. And Jason being Jason, went along with it all the while ignoring the secret glares you give him. For Pete’s sake, he was even playing footsies under the table!  

“Didn’t you say you had a plan?” You hiss under your breath as Tim and Dick, surprisingly, voice out in agreement how Gotham Park was the last place to go on a date, their expressions speaking for the horrors they’ve seen there. 

“Yeah? Why? You don’t like how my plan’s going so far?” You scowl, kicking his foot away when he prod your foot again with his. He gives you a cheeky smirk in response. 

Checking and seeing Steph getting into a squabble with the other over the apparent controversial site, you lean closer towards him. 

“You call this a plan?”

“If not, then what is it?” He chugs the water in his glass, waving a hand towards them. “Besides, over half of them are grown ups. They’ll get it one way or another.”

If you’re not dying from embarrassment, you’re dying from stress. It’s clear as day that he’s in it for the chaos while you’re simply wanting to rip the bandage and get this over. Just when you’re about to snap at him, you catch Damian staring at both of you across the table. Quickly, you compose yourself, the same smile you had on for Steph now directed at the fourteen year-old.

“What’s wrong Damian? Need something?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his gaze blank and revealing nothing. You can feel sweat accumulate in your hands, the urge to swat at the man beside you getting stronger at the coughs he lets out that’s meant to cover his laughter. 

“I simply don’t get it.” The teen then takes a bite of his dinner and thoughtfully chews on it. “Why can’t Jason simply ask you out for a date when he’s completely smothered for you?” 

Cue the room going completely  dead silent. Well, sans Duke pounding his chest from choking on his food. You would’ve, at least, chuckle at had it not been for you steaming up. 

“D-Damian? Damian buddy?” Dick calls out from his seat, his voice slightly pitched. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t be the only one that’s getting tired of them beating around the bush, Richard. I’m simply spelling it out, that’s all.”

“Damian-“

“No, Damian’s right.” All eyes set on Jason, who puts the silverware down and leans back on his chair. “It’s not like I’ve been really meaning to hide it anyways so,” he turns toward you, “what do you think of Saturday, 1:00 PM at your favorite place you like going to?” 

…You can’t do this. This man and his theatrics; you wanted to scream how he had already asked about it last week. Tell them they’re getting scammed,  it’s not even the first date-! 

But Damian’s words keep echoing in your mind and the fact Jason knows that you know that it’s true is messing with you so badly. It prevents you from trying to calm everyone down, the family up and arms at the “horrible” confession Jason gave as he merely shrugs and asks what else he was supposed to do.  You further baffle them when you muster a nod, your hands still covering your very much burning face. 

Later on, when Bruce comes back from the supposed emergency phone call, he pulls you and Jason to the side. It was one thing to hear Bruce Wayne giving his approval and blessing (for some reason) for you two’s relationship. It was another when finding out this whole thing was indeed staged by both Jason AND Bruce to get back at the rest of the family for a prank that occurred last week during a joint mission as the older man asked the younger if everything went accordingly. 

You decide to give Jason a piece of your mind once the two of you got home which led to him to follow you around and ask you to reconsider calling him by his full name for the rest of the week.

[lesbiansaaviik]

Can I be beautifully honest with you guys? I hate 91 Whiskey and So Says the Sword

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[no-144444]

The Grid! : When their teammate likes you...

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: somehow plays it cool…

Oscar understood that you were a magnetic person. You’d always been more extroverted than him, always been a bit more open to other people, and generally, you were just interesting. He got where Lando was coming from, to be fair, he’d fallen for you too. 

But openly flirting with you in the middle of a red flag during one of the most dangerous races of the season? That took a certain asshole. 

Lando Norris. 

Oscar had looked up to Lando throughout his career, and now having him as his teammate was brilliant. He loved it, up to a point. In recent months he’d been noticing the way Lando looked at you. The way he talked to you. The way he always wanted to be around you. 

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around Oscar as he walked up. “Doing well out there.”

He also knew that you were less than interested in Lando. Not that you didn’t like him, but you did find him slightly immature and ridiculous, especially with how he handles races and media afterwards. You much preferred Oscar’s style of driving, and his way of speaking. 

Oscar nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He watched as Lando’s face fell, then he quickly picked it back up. “Doing our best, right Lando?”

You both looked to Lando, who looked guilty, like he’d been caught. 

“Yeah mate,” he agreed before walking off. 

“Jealous much?” you smirked, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Oscar shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Just wanted a kiss, that’s all.”

“From me or Lando?” you teased.

“You, obviously,” he mocked. 

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Lando Norris: deeply insecure. 

Lando is insecure about a lot of things. One of his main ones is his worth as a human, and a driver. It hit him hard when Oscar got to stand on the top step of a podium before he ever had. He knew it was a matter of circumstance and the fact that the car was getting better, but it still hurt. Yet, you were always there to pick up the pieces. His sweet, kind girlfriend who was always there for him. 

That same girlfriend that was laughing at a joke Oscar told. Oscar wasn’t funny. Oscar has never been funny. 

Lando watched as you two talked. He watched the way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you engaged with his points and added your own. The way you two easily laughed, joked, and teased each other without ever going too far. 

He couldn’t help but feel… without. You had always been more introverted, and your extroverted side always seemed to come out with other introverts, aka, not Lando. Then began his spiralling of wondering whether or not he was good enough for you. He knew you loved him, and he loved you, but would that be enough? When you’re so different? When he can’t give you what Oscar can? Oscar was a 2-time-Gp winner in his second year. Oscar was more similar to you than Lando was. Oscar’s personality was closer to yours than Lando’s was. 

Was he enough for you?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He walked into the hotel room, exhausted, and glad that the day was over. Media days took it out of him, and he was sick of watching Oscar’s smug face as he charmed you all day. 

You flung yourself on the bed, exhausted. “Oscar would not shut up today, would he?” you sighed. 

Lando’s lips quirked up into a smile. He turned to hide it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He kept talking to me about random shit, and I had to pretend to be interested all day.”

Lando almost laughed. “You don’t seem to mind when I talk your ear off.” 

“Yeah, obviously not,” you scoffed, looking at him as if it were obvious. “I like your rants. You don’t expect me to answer you all the time. You just let me listen. Plus, I love your voice.”

Lando’s heart felt fuller than it did before. You picked him. You loved him. 

“You like my voice, eh?” he smirked, joining you on the bed. He pressed soft kisses to your neck as he wrapped his arms around you. “I know a way you can hear it-”

“Lando, did I not just say I’m exhausted,” you chuckled, playfully pushing him off. 

He smiled. You truly were perfect. 

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Lewis Hamilton: unbothered 

He watched as George attempted to flirt with you and laughed. You laughed too, thinking it was a joke. George walked off, embarrassed. 

Lewis walked over and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. “George is-”

“Pathetic?” he offered and you shook your head. 

“Don’t be so mean!” you scolded. 

“He’s a big boy, he can take it,” he smirked. “And anyways, what was he thinking?”

“I am your wife,” you nodded, agreeing. “But he is pretty cute…”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?” he teased. 

You laughed. “Never.” 

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George Russell: trusts you

“Lewis, nice to meet you,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “I’m Y/n Russell.”

“Y/n… your sister?” Lewis turned to George, smirking. “I didn’t realise she was so pretty, I guess someone had to take all the beauty genes.”

“She’s my wife,” he smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist. “And yes, she is gorgeous.”

You somehow kept it together as Lewis apologised and walked off, but immediately broke out into laughter as he turned his back. 

“What a dick,” George chuckled. “You alright?”

“All good baby,” you giggled. “A bit weirded out that he thought we were siblings.”

George nodded, grimacing. “I vote we never speak about this again.”

“I second that,” you nodded. 

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Kimi Antonelli: confused more than anything

Ollie was a really nice guy, one of Kimi’s best friends despite only knowing each other for a year. He was a good teammate and a good friend. 

Kimi was clueless. He didn’t always understand what people meant when people ‘flirted’, to be fair, English was his second language. He watched as Ollie wrapped an arm around you, resting it over your shoulder as you grimaced, clearly wanting him to stop. Kimi just shrugged, assuming you’d just push him off or ask him to stop. You weren’t exactly known to put up with shit like that, so he wasn’t worried. You three walked around the Monaco bay, looking at the boats as the sun set, all three of you full from dinner. When you finally parted ways, you and Kimi went back to your hotel room as Ollie stayed out, going to Arthur’s house to visit, you sighed as you lay down. 

“What did you think of Ollie?” Kimi asked, laying beside you, your back to him. 

“Apart from his obvious flirting, I thought he was nice, I guess,” you shrugged. 

Kimi frowned. “What do you mean?”

You turned around to see him. “Him flirting? Yeah, I thought you’d say something about it,” you explained. “He was kind of… weird about it.”

“Did he make you uncomfortable?” he asked, upset with himself that he hadn't noticed. 

You stared at him with an inquisitive look, he really was oblivious. “Of course he did.”

“What?” he questioned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to make a bad impression,” you muttered. “He’s your best friend.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” he reminded you, taking your hand. “And you are more important. If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me and I will deal with it, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his hand. “Thanks Kimi.”

“Anything for you,” he smiled. 

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Alex Albon: slightly insecure…

He sat in his drivers room, he’d just filmed Team Torque with you and Logan, and he couldn’t help but feel… left out. You were American, specifically from the exact state of Florida, where Logan was from, you lived on the same street. You’d grown up together before he left to move to do European single-seaters. The entire episode was just you two talking and reminiscing over your joint experiences as a kid. Logan remembered everything about you, your favourite colour, your favourite food, even your favourite childhood movie (which Alex had gotten wrong). 

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, sitting beside him. “You’re not talking.”

“I didn’t know you and Logan were such good friends,” he admitted. 

You shrugged. “We grew up together.” 

“I know,” he responded, his voice low and hardened. “I didn’t know he’d remember everything about you.”

“I mean, people told me he had a crush on me in middle school so…” you trailed off when you noticed how Alex was closing his eyes and nodding. “Are you… jealous, or something?”

“No.” Yes. 

You smiled, feeling a little bit guilty. “Alex, you don’t have to be jealous,” you assured him. “I love you. More than anything.”

The pain in his chest eased slightly. “You’re sure?”

“Very,” you nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

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Franco Colapinto: doesn’t even notice or gaf

Alex laughed at one of your jokes as Franco looked over some of the data from his crash. After a while, you walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him from behind. 

“Hi bebé,” he smiled, tired, but happy to see you. “How are you?”

You groaned. “Alex keeps flirting with me.”

His ears pricked up hearing you say that. “Alex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. He turned to you. 

“Should I ask him to stop? I can talk to him-”

“It’s alright, I made him aware of the fact that I’m not interested,” you explained. 

“Oh, alright,” he shrugged. “Once you’re happy.”

He went back to looking over the data and you frowned. No reaction? No possessiveness?

“You don’t mind?” you questioned. 

“That he was flirting with you?” he asked, you nodded. “No, not really. I’m the one you’ve chosen for 3 years. We love each other, sí?” 

You nodded. 

“So we’re fine,” he smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

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Logan Sargeant: also a bit upset…

He sighed as he watched Alex chat to you, a smirk on his face. You were his girlfriend, Alex couldn’t have you. Alex had James, Alex had Williams, Alex had the talent. Logan had you. Alex couldn’t have you. 

You glanced back at Logan, who had grown quieter in recent moments, and you frowned. His eyes were blown up, wide-eyed, mouth open, and his mind was thousands of miles away. You politely ended the conversation with Alex, dragging Logan back into his driver's room with a concerned expression. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, trying to play it off. “I”m fine, just… tired.”

You frowned again. “Logan, you can talk to me.” 

He shook his head, his hands gripping your waist, then the dam broke and he rested his head on your shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you if I lose this.”

Your heart broke. “Logan you’d-“

“No, please just let me talk,” he whispered. “I love you, more than anything. We both know I’m getting replaced either after or during this season,” hearing him say it as such a definite, hurt you. You knew how badly Williams had messed him up, but to hear him so defeated? You could’ve cried. “And I don’t want to lose you if I lose all of this. I love racing, but I love you more. You’ve been here through everything, always. You’re always here for me, and I just hope I haven’t fucked this whole relationship up with all my mental health stuff and being a bad driver-”

“Logan,” your tone was stern. “I love you. I love you, my Logan. I support ‘F1 driver Logan Sargeant’, and you’ll always be that, but I love Logan Sargeant, the boy who asked me out when I was 14 and never looked back, the boy who has made me feel loved and supported since that day, the boy who fought an uphill battle and is only now realising he’s allowed to let the boulder fall. I love that you’re a fighter. I love that you’re a driver. But I love most that you care about and love me. I care more about your mental health than any money or fame you could ever gain. I’m not asking you to keep putting yourself through this, Logan. I want you to be healthy and happy. I want you to smile again. I want to see the real you again.”

“What is the real me if I’m not winning?” his voice was just below a whisper. 

“You get to figure that out,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Now please look at me Logan, so you know that I’m telling the truth.”

He raised his head, his eyes watery as he looked at yours, and for the first time in a while, he actually felt like it might all be ok. 

Granted, only when he was with you, but alright all the same. 

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Daniel Riccardo: freaky wit it

Daniel gripped his steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white under his gloves. He was in the car, meant to be in the zone, but all he could think about was the way that Yuki had a hand on your back. He knew Yuki definitely wasn’t a threat to him or his relationship, but it still felt shitty not being able to get over there and show him that you were his. 

He rushed out of the car, exhausted after bringing the VCarb in Q3 yet again, and immediately his hands were on you. 

“Looking so good today baby,” he whispered between kisses. “So fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You groaned against his lips, smiling. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah baby, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he smirked as he pushed a hand into your underwear. Your eyes went wide and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from moaning too loud. You weren’t even in his drivers room, you were doing it against Yuki’s door in the hallway. 

“We should-fuck- we should go to your r-room,” you stuttered out as he rubbed your clit in lazy circles. 

“Why?” he smirked. “When I could have you right here and now,” he punctuated every word with a kiss, moving your hand and swallowing your moans as he sped up. “So fuckin’ beautiful so me.”

“Dan,” you moaned as he finally pushed a finger in. 

“So wet for me too. You like doing it like this? Where anyone could hear you? Anyone could see us?” he knew his words were falling on deaf ears as he revelled in the fact that he got to watch you fall apart for him. He got to make you cum, he got to kiss you, he heard every laugh, saw every part of you and your personality. It was him who you picked to love, and be loved in return. 

And by God, he wouldn’t trade you for the world. 

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Liam Lawson: angry sex anyone???

Liam grabbed your hand, pulling you into his drivers room after he had watched Yuki give you heart-eyes yet again. 

“That fucking dick,” he seethed, pressing his body against yours, pressing kisses up and down your neck. “Always fuckin’ wants what’s mine.” 

“Liam,” you whimpered as he pushed you down on the bed. “Please.”

Any and all control of himself was abandoned, and he pulled his race suit off, watching as you pulled off your dress. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he cursed, climbing on top of you as he smirked. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly pushed inside you. It burned, in the best way. “All yours.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl, taking me so well.”

Once he was fully inside and you were comfortable, he was thrusting in and out of you at a rate previously unknown to Liam. Did he like fast and rough sex? Yes. Was it ever this fast? No. Was it ever this rough? … no comment. He was grabbing and smacking all over your ass and tits, you were too busy gripping onto his hair as he used you how he pleased, all the while cursing out Yuki and praising you. 

You both left the driver’s room a little bit less steady than before, but much more satisfied than going in. Liam felt better too, since he’d given you something to show just how much he meant it when he said he was yours, and you were his. That something stayed dripping down your leg as Liam finished the race, ahead of Yuki. 

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Charles LeClerc: death?

He watched, the light in his eyes slowly dying, as you spoke animatedly to Carlos. 

Carlos Sainz, now number one enemy of Charles LeClerc. 

Honestly, he knew you’d never choose anyone over him, you loved him and he knew that. Still, some voice inside of him continued to urge him to run over to you two and scream ‘mine’ and then run off with you. He didn’t, obviously. He knew you would’ve been mad at him if he did. 

As the day continued, you stayed talking to Carlos, every so often, Charles would interject with a sarcastic comment, or some stupid fact about you, then following it up with ‘yeah, I know more than you’. It turned the two of them into school children. Both of them coming to you at different times of the day with random facts about random things, until you finally told them both to stop and share their love of facts with each other, not you. You had gotten so frustrated with the two of them, that you didn’t even want to speak to Charles. 

They both stopped after that. 

Any time Charles was jealous after that palaver? Yeah, he just stuck with the regular PDA overload. He didn’t want to deal with another sex ban. 

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Carlos Sainz: also freaky wit it

His gaze darkened as he watched Charles put a hand on your shoulder. Bullshit. You were his girlfriend. You were his. 

“Querida, stop fucking with me,” he demanded, a tight hold on your arm as he dragged you into his hotel room, 30 minutes later. 

You scoffed. “I’m shockingly not fucking with you at all,” you smiled, annoyed but unsurprised at his shitty behaviour. “In fact, I was being perfectly nice to everyone, including you, all night.”

He watched as you sat on the bed, exasperated and tired of his behaviour. He noticed how you quickly pulled off your heel, took down your hair and sighed, staring at him. 

“What?” you asked. “What did I do now?”

Part of him left bad, it wasn’t your fault that you were irresistible. It wasn’t your fault that Charles thought he could have whatever he wanted. It wasn’t your fault that you had to be kind, just to keep up appearances. It still made his blood boil, but he did appreciate the fact that it wasn’t technically your fault. 

But someone had to help him get rid of all of this pent up tension. 

“On your knees,” he spoke, his voice low and laced with desire. Your eyes widened, but you did as he said anyway and sank down to your knees in front of him, “It’s going to be a long night, querida. I can’t wait to see your pretty makeup smudged,” he smiled sadistically as you tried to not be as turned on as you were. 

I guess you two were a match made in heaven, or maybe hell. 

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Arthur LeClerc: plays his jealousy off… (not)

He grabbed a handful of your ass, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to yours as you yelped. You had been unsuspecting as you leaned over the guest barrier, trying to hear what Manuel was saying to you, when Arthur had caught his other teammate, Charles, staring at you with a smirk. 

You shoved him off after a few seconds and stared at him, waiting for an explanation. 

He shrugged. “Je voulais t'embrasser,” (I wanted to kiss you). “Is that a crime?”

“When you’re doing it like that, yes,” you chuckled, amused by his jealousy. 

“What?’ he smirked. “You don’t like it?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes. “Arthur LeClerc,” your tone was warning. “Don’t push it,” you leaned in closer, whispering. “Tout le monde n'est pas aussi obsédé par moi que toi, arrête d'être jaloux.” (Not everyone is as obsessed with me as you, stop being jealous).

He laughed. “Tu es irrésistible,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “I cannot help it!” You gave him the finger as he walked away, and he blew you a kiss.

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Ollie Bearman: a bit upset…

He literally hit his head against the desk as he watched Kimi flash you his signature smile. He was sick of it. You were his girlfriend, not Kimi's best friend. You were his girlfriend. Alas, he couldn’t exactly whisk you away, you were his race engineer after all, and this was a strategy meeting, so he sucked it up and paid attention, trying not to look at you. 

You’d noticed how low Ollie had been all day and caught up with him as you walked out of the strategy meeting. “You alright?” you asked, wrapping one his arms around your shoulders as you walked beside him, away from the rest of the group. 

“I’m alright,” he lied, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes on his lips. You frowned. 

“Please talk to me,” you begged. “I don’t like it when you shut me out.”

He sighed. “It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” you smiled. “I’m sure it’s not Ollie, just talk to me.”

“I don’t like how close Kimi is to you,” he admitted. “I’m… It makes me jealous sometimes.”

Your face softened. “So I’ll put some distance,” you shrugged. “Easy.”

He did a double-take. “N-no I- you don’t have to do-”

“Ollie. I want us to work, and if that means I have to ask Kimi to back off a little bit, then I’ll do it, yeah?”

Ollie nodded. “I’m sorry-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Bearman,” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your lips to his. 

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Max Verstappen: ummm guys???

Max would be an insufferable child. He would literally hide their gloves and racing shoes, he would put dish-soap in their bottle, he’d somehow fuck up their laundry, and all because they looked at you too long. You were his, why would anyone else think you were available. 

There he was, on live, racing with his team, when you came over with another can of redbull for him. He’d been focused on the game, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimpse of his teammate, Luke’s stream. He saw him checking you out. 

He saw red. 

“Luke, do you need something or do you just like staring at my girlfriend?” he scoffed and you groaned. He wasn’t unknown to make scenes in public. 

“Max,” you groaned. “Please don’t.”

He rolled his eyes and settled for a kiss on the cheek while Luke just blushed. Max understood where he was coming from, you were fucking gorgeous. That still didn’t make it right though. 

Again, a little while later, he caught Luke staring at you as you sat in the back of his set up, watching the race silently. 

“Seriously Luke, do I need to turn off my camera or can you act like an adult and keep it in your pants?” He scoffed. “Het is onzin,”(it’s bullshit) he sighed.

“Max, calm down,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, muting his mic. “Who gives a fuck about Luke?”

He groaned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he admitted. 

“I’m a big girl, I’ll be alright,” you smiled, kissing him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled, then went back to his racing, though he did push Luke off the track (in the game) a few (7) times. 

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Paul Aron: he trusts you. 

He sighed, watching Armaury place a hand on your waist. Was he losing you?

Then he smiled as he watched you shove him off, shouting in his face. You were a big girl, you could handle yourself. You didn’t always need Paul to come in and protect you, he loved that about you. He felt his sense of pride growing as you walked over, still shouting at his teammate who was looking increasingly guilty and uncomfortable, even more so when you ran over to Paul and kissed him right there and then, in front of everyone. 

Yeah, he really had nothing to worry about. 

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Lance Stroll: mf he is scary. 

Lance smirked as he watched James (a friend of his) wrap an arm around your waist as you danced with a couple friends. Your face screwed up into one of disgust, and you politely excused yourself to get another drink. James sauntered over to Lance, a smug smile on his face. 

“Might want to keep your lady on a tighter leash,” he smirked. 

“Oh yeah?” Lance cocked an eyebrow. 

“Yeah man, she was dancing all over me!” he chuckled. “Seriously, I’d steal if she wasn’t such a-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he told him, his tone dangerous. “My girlfriend is exactly that, my girlfriend. If you want to go dance with her and make her uncomfortable, that’s your prerogative, but don’t be surprised when I punch you for it.”

His ‘friend’ left quickly after that. He didn’t bother you again. 

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Jack Doohan: maybe a bit angry…

He scoffed as he watched Pierre try yet another pick-up line on you and he felt himself get even angrier. Yes, he was the new guy. Yes, he should definitely bite his tongue and suck it up. Did he do that? No…

He went over to you and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your head as Pierre’s face fell into a frown. 

“Oh, you two are-!” He started.

“Together? Yeah. 3 years, right babe?” He smiled, a little too smiley for regular Jack.

“3 years, sounds right,” you nodded. “Nice to meet you Pierre,” you smiled before walking off, away from the two of them. Jack followed behind you and you sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“It’s not my fault I have a hot girlfriend,” he defended. 

“It’s not my fault I’m the hot girlfriend!” You laughed. “Just… keep your jealousy to yourself in the future!”

He grabbed onto your waist a pleading look in his eye. “But you make it so hard…”

“Don’t give me ‘fuck me’ eyes right now Jack Doohan,” you scoffed, pushing him off. “You are such a child.”

He chuckled, happy with himself. 

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[whisperedmeg]

LIBRARY RULES ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: you went to the library to escape the solitude of your apartment. but the last thing you were expecting was to spend the afternoon flirting over Foucault with a sweater vest-clad FBI agent who talks philosophy like it’s a love language.

genre: fluff | w/c: 1.2k

tags/warnings: none really! some light academic jargon and mentions of philosophical theory but you don’t need background on them for the story to make sense

a/n: went to the library and got inspired to write a quick little fluffy fic over the weekend 🤓 I chose the philosophy angle because I recently rewatched s4e8 ‘masterpiece’ where spencer mentions working on a philosophy BA. I dove into my old university notes while writing this, but my brain is a bit fuzzy on this stuff so pls excuse any inaccuracies lol. also specifically had season 2 glasses reid in mind (yet again). if glasses reid has no fans, I’m dead.

You only came to the library because your apartment is too loud. Or too quiet. One of those paradoxes you could never quite define — either way, you can’t focus, and you need to. So you packed up your laptop and headed for the only place where you could guarantee the atmosphere would match your mood: hushed, academic, and ever-so-slightly tense.

You love libraries. Especially the older buildings — all worn paper, polished floors, and endless mazes of shelves. There’s something sacred about it. But what you didn’t expect was for someone else to reach for the same book at the same time as you.

“Sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

You freeze. So does he.

Your eyes meet.

He’s tall. Messy-haired. Wearing a sweater vest over a button-down and a pair of browline glasses that make him look like he walked straight out of a graduate seminar. His hand is still suspended halfway toward the spine of the book you’d both reached for — Foucault’s Discipline and Punish, of all things — and his mouth was already parting to apologize again when he seemed to realize you’re both staring at each other.

“You go ahead,” he says quickly, dropping his hand.

“No, really, you can take it,” you say. “Are you also writing an unhinged think piece on carceral theory and state surveillance?”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not currently. But now I’m intrigued.”

You tilt your head, feeling a little emboldened. “Do you think Foucault actually believed total surveillance was inevitable?”

He blinks, surprised. “I think he meant it more literally than people like to admit.”

“So, panopticism as a warning?”

“Or a prophecy. Depends on how generous you’re feeling.”

You laugh. “Are you always this philosophical in the library?”

He looks faintly bashful, like maybe he isn’t used to playful interrogation. “It’s, uh, kind of my default setting.”

You laugh again and glance at the book still between you. “So, are we sharing this, or arm-wrestling for it?”

“Actually,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just hoping to reread the section on disciplinary power, but it’s not urgent. I can find something else if you—”

“We could share,” you offer, surprising yourself. “There’s a reading table over there. Neutral ground.”

He looks at you for a moment, something curious in his expression. Then he nods. “Alright. Neutral ground.”

You walk side by side to a tucked-away wooden table nestled between shelves, sit down next to each other, and open the book.

The silence is companionable at first. You each pull out notebooks. You reach for your fountain pen. He’d brought a mechanical pencil — you find that endearing.

He turns the book toward you and taps a paragraph. “This part always gets overlooked.”

You read it silently. Nod. Scribble something down.

Then pass it back.

He makes a soft noise of agreement and flips a few pages, skimming with an intensity and speed that makes you wonder how many times he’d read it before and just how many words per minute he could possibly absorb.

You lean over slightly. “That part, where Foucault describes power as diffused rather than centralized. That’s where the whole thing turns, don’t you think?”

He glances at you across the book’s spine. “Yes. That’s where it stops being about prisons.”

You smile. “And starts being about everything.”

He passes the book back and nods towards your padfolio. “You take good notes.”

“Thanks,” you say, warmth blooming behind your ribs.

For the next twenty minutes, you trade the book like it’s a conversation — passing it back and forth with soft commentary and under-the-breath questions. You don’t speak constantly, but there’s no awkwardness. Just the quiet rhythm of two people paying attention to the same thing at the same time.

You aren’t sure when your knee started brushing his under the table. Or when your hands began to linger slightly too long during each pass. You tell yourself it’s incidental. The table’s small, and the book is large. But still, you notice.

When your fingers brush his again — knuckles, this time — you hear his breath catch and look up to catch his eyes.

You could look away. Instead, you opt for a conversational angle.

“So what’s your background? You don’t seem like the political theory type.”

He tilts his head. “No?”

“You read too fast. And your notes are in shorthand.” You lean in, smiling. “You’re either a court reporter, an academic, or some sort of federal agent.”

His eyes sparkle with something between amusement and alarm. “I’d argue there are more possibilities than that.”

“You’d probably argue anything,” you say, grinning. “Which is why I’m betting on academic.”

He ducks his head. “I’ve spent a lot of time in academia, but nope. I’m with the FBI.”

You struggle to hide your shock, then study him a little closer. “You? No way.”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, offering a wave instead of a handshake. “Profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Wait. I’ve heard of you.”

Spencer blinks. “You have?”

You smile. “It’s hard not to, if you work anywhere near federal law enforcement. You’re the one with, like, a million PhDs and a tendency to quote Enlightenment theorists in case briefings, right?”

His ears flush pink. “My reputation precedes me, I guess. But, uh, just three PhDs. Not a million.”

You laugh softly at his awkwardness and introduce yourself in return. “I work in federal program management. Mostly DOJ-funded prison reform initiatives. Sometimes I write about the surveillance state.”

His brow lifts. “Then you probably know more about this than I do.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” you chuckle.

He ducks his head. “Well, I’ve never done it professionally. I just read a lot.”

You study him for another moment — soft-spoken, serious, a tad awkward, earnest to a fault — and feel something warm pool in your chest.

“I like your brain,” you say casually.

That makes him choke on air.

You grin. “Too forward?”

“No, I just… don’t hear that often.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “That seems criminal.”

He looks at you like he’s mentally thumbing through an index card catalog for the appropriate response. When he doesn’t find one, he does what you imagine he always does: he reaches for something safer. Facts.

“Foucault argued the panopticon wasn’t just architectural,” he says suddenly, voice steadier than his posture. “It was a metaphor for disciplinary power throughout society. He thought it turned surveillance into a subtle form of control.”

You gasp. “Oh no. Now you’re flirting with post-structuralist theory?”

He flushes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s my love language.”

For a moment, the air between you shimmers — not quite silent, not quite static. You watch his fingers tap against the pages. He watches your smile soften.

You stand, closing your notebook. “I gotta head out. But would you want to do this again? Same time next week?”

His gaze lifts. “Same book?”

“Same table,” you say, shaking your head as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Different philosopher. I want to see what you have to say about Nietzsche. I bet you have many opinions on eternal recurrence.”

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still on you. “You have no idea.”

As you turn, notebook tucked under your arm, the air in the library seems to shift. The hush of pages and footsteps resumes around you, but it sounds different now. Warmer, maybe. Or maybe it’s just you.

At the end of the row, you glance back.

Spencer’s still watching, lopsided grin on his face. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks away like a little kid caught peeping at his gifts on Christmas Eve.

You turn the corner smiling.

Library rules: always return what you borrow. But this time, maybe — just maybe — you’re hoping to keep what you’d found.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | taking away their food - tiktok trend

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (comment if you'd like to see other drivers or feel free to drop into my inbox!) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : taking away their meal while they are still eating to see their reaction...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3490

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : when i tell you i love these tiktok trend requests, i love them...! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were on vacation at a beautiful beachside resort. unlike max, who preferred to stay offline, you were chronically online and had seen the recent trend of taking away people’s food while they were eating. what better way to have some fun than to try it on your husband?

max had a relatively short temper, but he was always patient with you. that’s why you couldn’t wait to see his reaction when his food was suddenly taken away…especially in an expensive restaurant.

after placing your orders, you excuse yourself. “i’ll be right back, babe, just have to use the restroom.”

instead, you hurry over to your waiter, who isn’t too busy at the moment. slipping her a generous tip, you ask, “while he’s eating, can you take away his food?”

she laughs, immediately catching on. “i’ve seen the trend! i’d love to do it—especially to max.”

trying to contain your excitement, you make your way back to the table, casually setting up your phone to record. the food arrives, and you both dig in.

as you eat, you casually chat about the upcoming f1 season. “are you excited?” you ask between bites.

“yeah, but testing is gonna be interesting. new regulations could change a lot,” max replies, focused on his food.

then, right in the middle of a bite, the waiter swoops in and takes his plate away.

max freezes. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“what the hell?” you say, feigning confusion.

max blinks before his expression shifts. “yeah, what the hell? i want to speak to their manager. what are they, fucking idiots?” his voice rises, his irritation clear.

that’s it—you can’t hold it in anymore. not wanting the staff to get in trouble, you call the waiter back, who quickly returns with his dish. “my apologies,” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

before max can get another word out, you burst into laughter. “it was just a prank, my love. an extremely funny one at that.”

max sighs, shaking his head. “you know i was hungry…”

you roll your eyes. “we had a snack before coming here. don’t lie.”

he huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “you’re lucky you’re my wife and not another driver.”

you grin. totally worth it.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“are you excited to see the family again?” you ask lewis as you adjust your dress, glancing at him through the mirror.

lewis nods, holding out his tie. “always excited,” he says, smiling as you step closer to help him fix it.

you both make your way to the family dinner, where you're greeted warmly. everyone loves lewis so much that they always prepare a vegan-friendly meal just for him—without making a fuss about it.

at the gathering, you and lewis naturally drift apart. he’s with your father and uncles, deep in a discussion about sports, while you join the women in the kitchen, chatting and catching up.

your cousin pulls you aside, giggling. “have you seen that tiktok trend where you take their food mid-meal just to see their reaction?”

you smirk, already plotting. “oh, i have an idea.”

once everyone is seated and eating, conversation flows easily. then, mid-meal, you casually get up, walk over to lewis—who’s completely engrossed in a conversation with your uncle—and, without a word, take his plate away.

you turn on your heel and walk straight to the kitchen, leaving him staring after you, utterly speechless. the entire table falls silent. the women bite their lips, trying not to laugh, while the men exchange confused glances.

lewis clears his throat, placing his napkin down. “if you all will pardon me for just a second.”

he follows you into the kitchen, where he finds you at the sink, rinsing a plate. his brows furrow, but there’s amusement in his voice. “love… what are you doing?”

you don’t turn around just yet, keeping up the act. “what do you mean? i thought you were done.”

lewis tilts his head, his expression both concerned and affectionate. “darling, i’d barely even touched my food.”

you finally turn to face him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “i know,” you admit, pulling his plate out of the microwave with a grin. “i just wanted to see your reaction.”

lewis exhales a deep sigh, crossing his arms. “and what exactly did you think was going to happen? that i’d sit there, starving, while you pranced around with my dinner?”

you shrug innocently. “honestly, i thought you’d be more dramatic. maybe throw a little fit, demand justice, give a speech about how a man’s meal should never be taken from him.”

lewis raises a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “oh, so you expected a whole performance?”

you nod. “at the very least, i thought you’d stand up on your chair and make a passionate plea for your food’s return.”

lewis chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

you hand him back his plate with a cheeky smile. “and yet, you married me.”

he takes it, setting it down on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “mm, don’t remind me. i think i should’ve put ‘no pranks’ in the vows.”

you gasp in mock offense. “excuse me? that would’ve been a dealbreaker.”

lewis laughs, resting his forehead against yours. “then i guess i really am stuck with you.”

you grin. “lucky you.”

he shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before picking up his plate. “lucky me, indeed. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’d like to actually eat my food before you come up with another ridiculous idea.”

you smirk, watching as he walks back to the table. “no promises.”

ʚ・george russell

george loves your home-cooked meals. after a long day of racing and testing, he always comes home with an empty stomach, ready to devour whatever you’ve made.

and lucky for him, despite spending most of your day rotting in bed on tiktok, you still managed to cook one of his favorite meals. so, when he walks through the door, you greet him with a warm smile, already setting the table.

“smells amazing,” he sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead before heading off to freshen up.

once he’s cleaned up and comfortable, you both sit down and start eating. conversation flows easily as he tells you about his day—mostly car talk that you only half understand but love listening to anyway.

then, mid-meal, right when george is in the middle of a big bite, you casually grab his plate and stand up.

“i’ll just be right back,” you say nonchalantly, walking toward the kitchen.

george freezes, fork in midair, watching you disappear with his food. at first, he just blinks, processing what just happened. then, he calls after you.

“love?”

you stay silent, waiting.

another second passes.

“babe?” his voice is a little more confused this time.

still nothing from you.

now you hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up, followed by hurried footsteps coming toward the kitchen. you grab a spoon and take a big, dramatic bite of his food just as he walks in.

he stops in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring at you like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal.

“love,” he says, slow and measured, “what are you doing?”

you make a big show of chewing, eyes closing as you hum in satisfaction. “mm. wow. this is really good.”

george blinks, looking between you and his stolen plate. “yeah, i know. that’s why i was eating it.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “honestly, i don’t think you appreciated it enough. i just had to double-check how good it was.”

he folds his arms. “by eating my dinner?”

you nod, taking another bite just to test his patience.

george lets out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “after everything i’ve done today—hours of training, media, testing—this is how you treat me?”

you smirk. “think of it as a lesson in patience.”

“oh, i’m very patient,” he argues, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “but i will be getting my food back.”

before you can react, he lunges for the plate. you try to dodge, but george is quicker. he snatches it back, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“ha!” he exclaims victoriously.

you pout. “that was rude.”

george smirks, taking an exaggerated bite right in front of you. “oh wow. this is really good.”

you gasp. “now you’re just mocking me.”

he winks. “just had to double-check how good it was.”

you groan, swatting at him as he laughs and walks triumphantly back to the table, plate in hand.

“love you,” he calls over his shoulder.

you huff, crossing your arms. “yeah, yeah. enjoy your stolen dinner.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos thought of you as a saint—you could do no wrong in his eyes. and honestly, you could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten mad at you… actually, scratch that. it’s zero.

this man loved, and he loved hard.

one of your favorite things to do together was cooking, but nothing beat grilling outside when the weather was hot. it became a little tradition—firing up the grill, making burgers, and just talking about the most random things.

today’s topic? trying to convince carlos to leave formula one so he could stay home with you every day.

“mi amor, that sounds like a great idea, but…” he gestures dramatically toward your beautiful backyard, “we would not have a home if i did that.”

you sigh dramatically. “we could live a simple life. maybe raise some chickens, grow our own vegetables…”

carlos gives you an amused look as he flips a burger. “you scream when a bug lands on you. you think you’re ready for farm life?”

“fair point.” you nod solemnly, making him laugh.

once the burgers are ready, you both sit outside on the deck, enjoying your food and the warm evening air. conversation flows as usual—lighthearted, full of teasing and laughter.

then, mid-bite, right when carlos is at peak burger enjoyment, you casually reach over and take the burger straight from his hands. not the plate. just the burger.

you don’t even wait for his reaction before standing up and walking into the house, taking a big bite as you go.

carlos blinks, completely caught off guard.

“amor?” his voice is laced with confusion and betrayal.

you don’t answer. you just keep walking.

then he snaps out of it.

“amor!” he calls louder, pushing his chair back as he stands. “come back here!”

you hear his footsteps on the deck as you disappear into the house, stuffing another bite into your mouth just as he reaches the doorway.

“oh, you’re in trouble now.”

you sprint toward the kitchen, but carlos is faster. within seconds, he wraps his arms around you from behind, tackling you onto the couch as you let out a squeal.

“no! carlos! it’s mine now!” you laugh, trying to take another bite, but he pins your arms, shaking his head.

“i trusted you,” he says dramatically, his face hovering inches from yours.

“and you love me,” you counter, mouth half full.

he sighs, looking at the last pathetic remains of his burger in your hand. “that was my best one yet…”

you pat his cheek, swallowing. “it was amazing, really.”

carlos groans before flopping off of you, lying on his back on the couch with a pout. “now what am i supposed to eat?”

you sit up, stretching. “i guess i could make you another one.”

he side-eyes you. “you guess?”

you grin. “fine, fine. i will make you another one.”

carlos huffs but follows you back to the kitchen, watching as you start grilling again. after a moment, he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you smirk. “i know.”

carlos laughs, kissing your cheek before finally getting his fresh, non-stolen burger.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc is the definition of polite. he treats everyone with kindness, never raises his voice unnecessarily, and avoids causing a scene at all costs.

so he definitely wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen to his dinner—at his favorite restaurant, no less.

before walking to your table, you quietly slipped the waiter a generous tip and explained your plan. the waiter grinned, fully on board, and assured you they’d pull it off perfectly.

by the time you sat down across from charles, you had to bite back a smile.

as you waited for the food to arrive, conversation flowed easily. you leaned in slightly. “do you think i should start traveling with you during the season?”

charles’ eyes lit up. “of course,” he said immediately. “i would love that. and we could bring leo too—he’d love it.”

you laughed. “leo on a private jet, living the life.”

charles nodded. “exactly. he’s already spoiled, but this would make him impossible to deal with.”

the food finally arrived, and as always, charles looked delighted as he took his first bite. you chatted here and there, but you were mostly just waiting for the moment.

then, just as charles lifted another forkful of food and put it into his mouth, the waiter swooped in and—without hesitation—took his plate away.

charles froze mid-chew, blinking in confusion.

you clenched your jaw to keep from laughing as his brows furrowed, his eyes following his plate as it disappeared.

“amore,” he exhaled, swallowing his bite as he turned to you. “what the hell just happened?”

you shrugged, pretending to be just as confused. “i have no idea.”

charles sighed, rubbing his forehead before muttering something in french. you caught bits of it—something about karma for not finishing his meal last time.

still holding back your laughter, you watched as he looked toward the waiter, debating whether or not to say something. charles wasn’t one to cause a scene, but this? this was testing his patience.

“excuse me?” he finally called out, voice still polite but definitely stressed.

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. letting out a laugh, you waved the waiter back over, who immediately returned with his plate.

charles looked between you and the waiter, realization dawning. “no…”

you grinned. “oui.”

the waiter set his plate down. “désolé, monsieur leclerc, but it was a request.”

charles turned to you, eyes narrowing. “baby…”

you beamed. “it’s just a prank!”

he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. “you…” he pointed his fork at you, squinting. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you leaned forward on your elbows. “i know.”

still mumbling in french about betrayal, charles picked up his fork again and resumed eating while you giggled, already thinking about what prank to pull next.

ʚ・lando norris

lando loves eating out with you—especially at small, lowkey urban spots where no one bothers him and the food is always good.

tonight was no different. after placing your order, you both slid into a booth, and lando immediately started rambling about something completely random.

“so i was thinking,” he said, gesturing animatedly, “if we ever get, like, really lost somewhere—like, no signal, no gps—do you think i’d be able to navigate us out just by looking at the stars?”

you snorted. “lando, you can’t even navigate a grocery store.”

“that’s different,” he argued. “they put all the good stuff at the back on purpose. it’s a scam.”

before you could argue further, your food arrived—a fresh, steaming-hot pizza.

“finally,” lando sighed happily, grabbing a slice immediately.

you both started eating, chatting between bites, until suddenly, just as lando reached for another slice, the cashier you tipped earlier casually walked over, picked up the entire pizza, and walked away.

lando froze, mouth slightly open, staring at the now-empty table.

“hey, i was eat—” he started, but before he could finish, the guy was already gone, disappearing into the back.

his head turned slowly toward you, utterly confused. “what… just happened?”

you glanced down at your own half-eaten slice, pretending to inspect it. “do you think they took it away because the pizza was bad?” you asked, struggling to hold in your laughter.

lando frowned, tilting his head. “i mean… maybe? but we already ate some. wouldn’t they have warned us first?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized it too late—maybe it’s, like, radioactive or something.”

lando blinked, deep in thought. “well… i feel fine. for now.”

then, shaking his head, he pushed his chair back. “i’ll just go talk to them—”

before he could stand, the cashier reappeared, grinning as he placed the pizza right back on the table. “enjoy your food.”

lando just stared at the guy, then at the pizza, then at you.

“were we not already…?” his brows furrowed.

that was it. you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as lando continued to sit there, completely lost.

“what?” he asked, blinking. “what’s so funny?”

still laughing, you managed to get out, “i—i told them to do it. it was a prank! for tiktok!”

lando’s jaw dropped. “you set me up?”

you nodded, still giggling.

he exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “wow. betrayal. right in front of my pizza.”

“i had to,” you grinned. “your face was priceless.”

lando grabbed his slice, taking a big bite while still glaring at you playfully. “i hope tiktok enjoys this, because i’m not sharing my pizza with you anymore.”

you gasped. “lando—”

“nope.” he turned away, holding his slice protectively. “find another victim.”

you just kept laughing as he ate, shaking his head at you—but deep down, you knew he’d totally get you back for this.

ʚ・oscar piastri

there’s nothing better than a good pasta, so while you and oscar were in italy, you decided to have some fun. recently, you’d been seeing the tiktok trend where waiters take food away mid-meal, and what better place to pull it off than in the land of pasta itself?

tipping isn’t really the norm in italy, but you still managed to sneak the waiter a little cash. using your very broken high school italian, you did your best to explain the prank. it wasn’t easy—your italian was atrocious—but thankfully, after showing him the tiktok, he got the idea. with a knowing grin, he agreed.

when you and oscar sat down, you could barely contain your excitement. the pasta finally arrived, steaming hot, and you both eagerly dug in.

as always, conversation flowed easily between the two of you. oscar was rambling about something—probably a weird f1 fact or a debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—when you glanced at the waiter and gave him a small, knowing smile.

that was his cue.

without hesitation, the waiter swooped in, grabbed oscar’s plate, and walked away.

oscar froze, fork still mid-air, a single strand of pasta dangling from it. his eyes followed his plate as it disappeared into the kitchen.

“did… did my food just get stolen?” he asked slowly, turning to you with the most genuinely confused expression you had ever seen.

you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. “maybe… do you think something was wrong with it?”

oscar frowned, looking down at the pasta still on your plate. “but we’re eating the same thing…” he blinked. “was mine poisoned or something?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized too late and saved your life.”

oscar squinted at you. “so they just left yours?”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. “maybe they don’t care if i get poisoned.”

his jaw dropped. “that’s messed up.” he started shifting in his seat, glancing toward the kitchen. “i should probably go—”

just as he was about to stand up, the waiter returned, placing his plate back down in front of him with a grin. “buon appetito.”

oscar looked at the waiter, then at you, then back at his pasta. his face was priceless.

“wait, what?” he looked genuinely lost. “was i… not supposed to have it? were we not already eating?”

that was it—you burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

“oscar,” you wheezed between laughs, “it was just a prank! for tiktok!”

he blinked. once. twice. then, realization hit.

“oh, my god.” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you set me up? in italy?”

you wiped a tear from your eye. “yes, and it was so worth it.”

oscar shook his head, sighing dramatically before twirling some pasta onto his fork. “unbelievable. i thought i was actually banned from eating for a second.”

“you should’ve seen your face,” you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, taking a bite. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smirked. “i know.”

oscar chuckled, pointing his fork at you. “but just so you know, you will pay for this.”

you shrugged, twirling your own pasta. “looking forward to it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Max "If It Weren't For The Baby" Verstappen | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Max and George show no signs of stopping anytime soon and poor y/n is stuck between a rock and a hard place. but soon things escalate when Max accidentally opens his big mouth.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

y/n_russell posted:

y/n_russell: Habibi come to Abu Dhabi✨

Comments:

user: SHE’S BACK, EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!! 🔥🔥🔥 user: MOTHER RETURNED TO THE GRID AND IT SHOWS. user: Abu Dhabi isn’t ready for her!! 😍 user: Not to be messy, but is that a bump or just the angle? 👀

user: Delete this before you embarrass yourself further. 🙄 user: You do realize that’s body-shaming, right? Yikes. user: Maybe it’s just the dress, maybe it’s none of our business. Either way—don’t. user: Imagine logging onto the internet just to get ratio’d in the comments. Couldn’t be me.

georgerussell63: Wow. 2 whole photo in front of Lewis’s garage? Feeling betrayed right now.

y/n_russell: omg george, do you want me to write "george is my favorite" on my forehead or something? relax. georgerussell63: I’m just saying, where’s the support? y/n_russell: maybe if your garage didn’t feel like the waiting room at a dentist’s office, I’d consider it. georgerussell63: That’s because we’re professional. y/n_russell: nah, it’s because you have the personality of unseasoned chicken. user: 💀💀💀 SHE CAME FOR HIS LIFE.

user: MAX. LIKED. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

user: Not Max creeping in the shadows like that. George, sweetie, you seeing this? user: Netflix doesn’t even need to make a script this season. The show’s writing itself.

landonorris: MOTHER.

y/n_russell: 🔪🔪🔪 user: The knives are out. Lando, RUN.

lewishamilton: Always great to have you around. Thanks for showing up and supporting me this weekend. Much love ❤️

y/n_russell: Wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know I’m rooting for you Lew! Big things ahead 💪🏽

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Okay, F1 fans, we’ve got a hot one for you! Max Verstappen and George Russell’s sister, Y/n, were spotted on a hotel balcony together, and it’s seriously got people talking. 👀 Y/n was supposed to be at a totally different hotel with George, so why is she with Max—especially with all the drama going down between them? 🤔

Is there something going on between these two? Or is Y/n just making it clear that she’s Team Max in this ongoing feud? You know we’ll be watching this one unfold closely... 🔥

Comments:

user: Yooo, what’s going on here?! Y/n is in Max’s hotel?? 😳

user: Is this a secret relationship or is Y/n just picking sides? I need answers!! 😬

user: So Y/n's team Max now? This is messy. 👀

user: Max and Y/n are lowkey dating and no one’s telling us?! I need the receipts ASAP. 😩🔥

user: Sis really out here with Max?? I can’t believe this. George is gonna flip. 😬

user: Okay, but like... is she betraying George by cozying up with Max right now? Or is she just done with the drama? 👀

user: Nah, this can’t be real. She’s out here looking all comfy with Max while George is literally her brother?? What kind of betrayal is this? 😱

user: Is this the kind of power move we’re witnessing?? Y/n dropping George for Max?? 🤯💥

user: Ok, but lowkey, I ship them so hard. Max and Y/n would make the hottest couple. 🔥🔥

user: No, fr. Max and Y/n are EVERYTHING. They look so good together, I’m lowkey obsessed. 😍👀 user: Can we just take a minute to appreciate how they’re literally radiating chemistry? I don’t care if they’re not dating—they should be. 😩💅

user: The way she’s just chilling with Max tho... George must be somewhere crying right now. 🤣💀

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: “If it weren’t for the baby.” Three words that sent the paddock and the internet into absolute mayham today after Max Verstappen dropped the bomb during an interview. 👶💣

Fans are already in detective mode, dissecting every second of this wild moment. Whose baby? Is Max a secret dad? And what does George Russell have anything to do with it?

Interview Transcript:

Journalist: Max, earlier this week George Russell referred to you as a “bully” in his recent comments. Do you have any thoughts on that?

Max: (chuckles awkwardly) Well, you know, George always has something to say. I’m not going to get into it.

Journalist: But do you think his characterization of you is fair?

Max: (sighs) Look, I’m just here to race. I’m not interested in petty drama.

Journalist: It doesn’t seem like George is letting it go anytime soon. Are you planning to address it with him directly?

Max: (visibly annoyed) I really don’t see the point in—

Journalist: But isn’t it important to clear the air, especially since the tension is so public now?

Max: (snapping) If it weren’t for the baby, I wouldn’t even bother trying to make peace with him!

(A beat of stunned silence. Max’s eyes widen in realization.)

Journalist: The… baby? What baby? Max, can you clarify—

(Max mutters something under his breath and walks off, leaving the journalist baffled.)

Comments:

user: BABY???? HELLO? MAX, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

user: What baby, Max?! WHOSE BABY?! I haven’t been this confused since Abu Dhabi 2021.

user: Can someone please check if Max even knows what he said? He looked so panicked when he walked off.

user: “If it weren’t for the baby”??? Sir, we’re not in Panem; calm down.

user: Peeta Verstappen has entered the chat. Someone hand him a loaf of bread. user: Peeta Mellark walked so Max Verstappen could run user: I just KNOW someone’s editing Max into a Peeta scene as we speak. Can’t wait.

user: Okay but what baby would involve George? George is childless?

user: Guys, hear me out: What if Max is secretly dating George’s sister? That’s the ONLY way a baby ties them together. user: Nah, there’s no way. George would’ve punched Max into next week already. user: Okay but think about it. Max. George’s sister. A baby. Uncle George. THIS IS LORE. user: I’m just saying, George’s sister has been looking very glow-y lately… 👀 user: Not a theory, just facts: Max is babytrapping George into a truce. 💀 user: Wait... isn’t George’s sister in Abu Dhabi right now?? 👀 user: omg and they were seen together on his hotel balcony jskjsk user: I’M SCREAMING. THIS THEORY IS TOO GOOD. user: Max... the man, the myth, the secret brother-in-law.

user: F1 fandom today: trying to figure out if Max has a secret family or if we’re all just collectively hallucinating.

user: Bro, if this is true, Netflix better dedicate a whole episode to Uncle George. user: “If it weren’t for the baby” is my villain origin story now.

user: GUYS. What if Max meant baby as in, like, his cat or something? We’re spiraling.

user: Okay but why would George care about Max’s cat?! Use your brain. user: Honestly, the only thing that makes sense is Max dating George’s sister. Uncle George confirmed. Case closed.

user: Y’all, the way I will actually SCREAM if Max and George’s sister are together. This is better than any race drama.

user: Max Verstappen?? A baby daddy?? In THIS economy??

user: Everyone’s fighting over the baby, but I’m just here wondering how Christian Horner is gonna spin this in interviews.

user: Plot twist: The baby is Christian Horner’s with Toto 😭

user: STOP. This is the most chaotic F1 season ever, and I love it.

Taglist: @ilovechickenwings @spooky-librarian-ghost @diaryofarandomkid @rd14 @hc-dutch @tremendousstarlighttragedy @grussellsprout @dannyespinosa06 @awritingtree @shelbyteller @diorbrxtz @96mcobo

[sordidmusings]

Between Two Points - Ace

Art from the doujinshi Torch by NINEKOKS

Summary: You and Ace have had a ✨thing✨for a good while now so sharing a bed wasn’t strange for you. It was, however, absolutely tormenting Ace, who couldn’t keep his mind from every time you’ve touched. You wake up to find him wanting. You thought you could keep things quick and fun but they just keep on escalating. Especially when he begs to be inside you for the first time. 

A/N: oh how Ace has haunted me, especially while writing this lol he’s one of my top favs so brain said we extra need to do him justice 👏 pretty happy with the smut but I’m most happy with the ending scene - I wanted it to be sweet and silly and so very Ace. Part of the Between Two Points series (“just the tip” shots for separate charas)!

Warnings: nsfw, Implications of inexperience (Ace), first time together, sleepy sex (at first lol), subby Ace, he begs and thanks you like a lot, he calls you “pretty” as a pet name, praise kink both ways, emotionally fragile Ace, I didn’t mean for that to come out but he demands it, I just wanna shower him in love and validation until he Understands, until then he gets some pussy, multiple orgasms (for both yayyyyy), overstimulation on Ace, probably cumflation, definitely my obsession with men fighting not to cum, you make him suck the mess off your fingers, aftercare, silly banter to soothe the soul, fem!reader - kept it basically gn but then an old lady joke called to me at the end whoops

Word Count: 10.2k

Come get a serving of that soup ( ˘▽˘)っ♨

“If you see your daydreams in me, they'll not lack

What's been weighted in me, I'll make you quake with reason

I can feel your knees sinking into the bed

Searching in my dark eyes to break what’s been said

There’s a wake of grace, hunting your soreness down

There's a light in my skin that's been dimmed

I'mma dig you up and give you what I took

Pull you up and tuck you in and make you look

I'ma smooth your shoulders down and calm what's shook

It was all forlorn, if only for a season

Watching me is like watching a fire take your eyes from you”

“Can something like this be pulled

From under our feet?

Leaving our skin

And burning coals to meet

Tell me now

The shortest distance

Between two points

Is the line

From me to you”

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Ace still can’t believe you’re in the same bed. Every step into intimacy he’s taken with you leaves him shocked and stumbling. He’ll keep tripping after you forever though because, gods, it’s you. You’ve done a hundred and one things to impress him in emergency and battle, to take his breath away with how you decorate yourself, to make him and others watch on in awe at your skills. Though, all of that pales in comparison to the simple act of you being you. You, who wormed your way into his mind with your quirks and open-minded talks. You, who could light up his body with a simple look, a tender touch, a loving smile. You, who took hold of his heart with your patient kindness and understanding. 

You, who is currently keeping him up with the delicious turmoil of holding you so close.

This is the first time you’ve slept in the same bed. Now, you’ve done plenty of other things together, so Ace hadn’t thought that it would be such a big deal. When it hit him that he was really going to be falling asleep cuddled up to you, something so affectionate and domestic, his heart pumped an extra hard beat to wash tingles under his skin. He had thought the flush of excitement would peter off into comfort and contentment. To be fair, a part of it did. The problem is that the other part began incessantly bombarding him with thoughts of everything you could be doing in the bed besides sleeping.

His past experience with you is only making it harder where he thought it would ease his nerves at being close. The sweet or heated kisses you’d grab him to steal only make his lips lonely at their memory. The spark in your eyes as your kisses move southward haunts him and keeps his dick twitching pathetically against your thigh. The echoes of times he got to be the one with his head between your legs, smothering himself in the heady taste and smell of you, has him biting back whimpers. Fuck, he’s aching and flushed and desperate and all you’re doing is sleeping in his arms. He feels guilt creep in.

This should be enough. He shouldn’t be laying here wishing for more of you while you’re already so sweetly snuggling into his chest, offering him trust and affection. Holding you while you’re at your most vulnerable should sate him. Feeling how soft and warm you are with your weight sinking the two of you together should ease him to rest. Yet his mind keeps reminding him of the last time your weight was pressing on him, leaving him equal parts wound up and embarrassed.

As usual, you had been tapped right into when he needed you to escalate things but felt he didn’t have the right to ask. All day he’d been hovering around you, a hand always on arm or shoulder and eyes always ready to jump to you. He was chasing at your heels when you waved for him to follow you so you could settle him with some attention. He was pawing at you the moment your lips touched, moaning at the first rub of tongues, grinding right when you pressed deeper into him. 

Soon he was on the floor with you on his lap, your palms pressing your weight into his heaving chest and your hips working him over. He flushed an even deeper shade of pink when you told him how pretty he looks. The thought of it has his cock jumping even now, and he struggles to keep from grinding up into your lower stomach. He can feel a hint of your mound at the base of his cock, begging him to press harder to tease himself with your plush heat and the firmness of your pelvis underneath. Knowing your clit was hiding right there against him - in easy reach for him to make you squirm with pleasure, make such pretty pretty noises, think of nothing else but how good he’s making you feel - chips away at his resolve. 

The memory continues with the feeling of his fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, caught between pulling you faster and shoving you off because he felt all too close to his end for a grown man who hasn’t even gotten his pants off yet. You were even still fully clothed but didn’t seem to pay that any mind as you circled and ground yourself on the hard cock trapped in his pants. Even with the layers, he felt how hot your cunt was getting, burning even more against him than your mouth when it took to painting a path through his freckles from cheeks to chest. When you took breaks to grind slowly over him, he felt the little moment where your hips slid before your clothes followed, delayed by you slipping through your own wetness first. His eyes rolled back at the fact that using him got you soaked and that out of everyone you chose him to sit your drooling pussy on.

With that thought and his grinds chasing you back, he felt his balls pull taught and his cock pound dangerously.

No, fuck, he hasn’t even made you cum - his clothes, fuck, he’s still in his clothes you, can’t see him cum in his pants like some pathetic boy, no nonono-

“Please,” Ace gasped out, using all his will power to still his hips and keep them pressed to the ground, “I’m- I’m too- please -hhah- you’re just so- fuck! Please, baby.” He was panting the words between moans, trying to find enough strength to hold your hips still. “Just s-slow down, I’m -nnnngh-” You just smiled devilishly down at him and kept picking up the pace. He grit his teeth and arched his head back, “I’m so fucking close- ah!”

He hides his face in the pillows and your hair even as the praises you had showered him in echo in his ears while he holds your sleeping body. His own painfully awake body shivers while he thinks of how hard he came, how each pump had felt like overwhelming bliss trapped against your heat and to the tune of your voice. It has him grinding against you before he can even think and sighing out in relief at a little bit of the touch he needs.

“Ace?”

Your sleepy mumble makes him freeze, every muscle taught like he grabbed a live wire.

“Why are you awake, honey?” The genuine concern in your sleep-thick voice only makes him feel worse. You try to lift your face from his chest, but a hand on the back of your head traps you there. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he swallows, hoping to trap the stutter back down. “Don’t worry - go back to sleep.”

He places a gentle kiss to the top of your head and scratches your scalp to try and settle you. It works for a moment and he relishes in the feel of your body relaxing back against him. That is, until you shift to the side and snuggle deeper. Your thigh brushes his obvious hard on and you both tense. He panics when he feels your eyelashes tickle his chest, letting him know your eyes flew open wide.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh, he thinks miserably. He’s confused when he feels you smile against his skin.

“Ace, honey, are you enjoying sleeping with me?” Even with the sleepy tone, you manage to get a lot of smug teasing in your voice.

“Yes?” That wasn’t meant to be a question.

“You sure?” you prod. “You seem awful tense.” 

You emphasize the last word with a firm press and rub of your thigh against his aching erection. His whole body shivers and a high sigh escapes him. His hands grasp you at hip and shoulder and he’s struck with the déjà vu of not knowing whether to drag you closer or make you stop. 

You’re having no such struggle, happy to find him a wanting mess. You’ll never get over seeing the confident and playful air he parades around with slipping off to reveal something fragile and seeking when you touch him. Sure, he won you initially with that part of him, charming you to his side like every other moth drawn to his inherent light, trapping you there with all the others under his protection and love. Knowing what pieces can lie under that blaze only makes the show more fun to watch. Knowing someone so powerful, so magnetic, feels the same way for you? Shows you places they’re scared to let others see? It’s your greatest rush and most cherished responsibility.

“You’re perfect, honey,” you praise. He just barely bites back a whimper. “Did you know I was dreaming about you?”

“You were?” Ace sounds much more disbelieving than you’d like.

“Mhmm, I do it often.” Your voice softens with honesty. “You’re always on my mind.”

There’s a slight tremble to Ace’s hold on you. He wants to say something, anything, but his throat has closed too tight for words to pass. 

“I can prove it to you,” the flirtatious heat to your voice eases the fragile vulnerability away. Ace is yet again thankful for your sixth sense when it comes to his needs. Your thigh creeping its way over his leg and hips helps distract him from the pressure behind his eyes. You settle your leg when it’s resting centered on his sensitive head. The weight of your soft thigh easing down on him forces a shaky “hh-ah!” from him and he feels his face flush in embarrassment and need. You reward the sound with a kiss to his pec.

“Well?” you whisper. “Are you gonna check?”

“Huh?” Ace’s blood is all in the wrong head for him to understand anything but praise and orders. You giggle at him and it makes his dick jump against your thigh.

Taking mercy on him, you grab the hand that’s planted on your hip. Slowly, you lead it to the swell of your ass and press his large hand to grip at you. He does so eagerly, playing with the pliant flesh filling his warm hold. Your sleep shorts are thin, letting him feel you easily despite the barrier. He can’t resist the instinct to pull and spread you open. You hum happily at the feeling, arching into it. Ace blows out a tense breath, bedding his cheek into the top of your head and canting his hips up ever so slightly.

“So good, sweetheart,” you sigh. He squeezes down and turns his face to find comfort in the smell of your hair. “Let me show you.”

You urge his hand a little lower, right to the hem of your shorts. You only stop when his fingertips slip under and tickle the skin right beside the swell of your lips. You want him to decide this on his own. He teases the elastic for a moment before trailing the pad of his finger over your underwear right where the seam of your pussy is, starting from your entrance up to your clit and back. Another content hum leaves you, encouraging him, and he swivels his hand to cup your heat. He shivers at the hot breath curling over his chest, and his head swirls happily when you arch your hips up to push your cunt deeper into his palm. 

This time it’s your own hand gripping your ass to spread you open for him. You arch and nudge into his hold more, unintentionally grinding over his cock in your writhing. His fingers twitch, teasing your clit, sparking it to life and leaving you wanting. He’s having trouble keeping himself tempered instead of writhing when he can feel the dampness of your underwear and how they slide messily between his palm and your pussy. He wants it coating his fingers, smeared on his lips, maybe one day he can feel it soaking his cock- 

“Touch me,” you whine impatiently.

Hasty fingers push under the band of your underwear and slip between your folds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Ace moans. His voice is low in his chest but softened by his breathlessness. He takes his time petting around your entrance and enjoying the feeling of your lips slipping to encase his fingers when he flattens them out to reach your clit.

“Told you I was dreaming about you,” you mumble happily. Even though your body is heated and tingling, you’ve still got the weight of sleep pulling at you, leaving you in a content mix of dreaminess and pleasure. You relax further into Ace, happy to let him touch you as he likes in that tentative, worshipping way of his. It’s that endearing contrast to the brash and confident way he presents himself and fights. He always starts touching you like it’s an honor he doesn’t deserve, something he needs to take slowly lest he scare you off or never get the chance again. Even though you love the treatment, it breaks your heart that he thinks he’s so below you as to not deserve to touch you, let alone receive your affection.

The tip of a finger presses at your entrance, just enough to have the pad sink in. You swivel your hips to urge him further and moan when he listens to your plea. Ace moans with you, always amazed at your tight heat. It welcomes him easily despite gripping down snugly on his skin. He pulls his digit out with a curl, shivering when your muscles clamp back against him. You sigh his name in that dreamy way that makes him feel special, and he can’t help but add another finger and sink them in deep. Even though he’s in to the last knuckle, you shove your face down into his chest and your ass into the air to try and suck him in deeper. He rewards you by petting at your walls, drawing more pleasurable twitches from your cunt.

“More,” you whine. It’s half demand and half complaint and all turning his brain to mush. How quickly you are winding into desperation is only making his own need grow. He needs to hear more from you, he needs you to fix the burning under his skin, he needs fuck himself into a place so deep in you that you can never be rid of him.

“Need to be inside you,” Ace groans before he can think about the words. “Please, pretty baby, you feel too good-” he swallows thickly when you hungrily grind back onto his massaging fingers, “fuck -hah- need to know-” he can’t finish his sentence because you’ve snuck your hand down to palm his erection and stroke him in time with your thrusting hips.

“Think you’re ready to fuck me?” you ask. You meant to check in and make sure he was emotionally ready, but your breaths rushing out of you made it sound harsh.

“Please,” he begs, voice broken, holding you tight with his free hand, “I’ll make you feel so good- promise, promise.”

“I’m just worried-”

“It’ll be okay,” he promises immediately, “just a quick feel, you don’t even have to let me fuck you- just gotta feel you on my cock at least once.” He tries to win your favor by using his free hand to tease your clit.

“Ace,” you gasp. It’s hard to slow him down when he’s winding your body up so well. With a quick jerk, he shifts you up his body, giving him better leverage to work you on his fingers. It lands your face in the pillow next to his and he takes the opportunity to suck open mouthed kisses across your neck. You mean to talk to him and get a hold on how frantic he’s getting, but all you can do is let out muffled moans into soft cotton. 

“I’ll be good,” Ace whispers against the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and humid and gets you one step closer to an orgasm lighting you on fire. “I’ll make you cum until you can’t worry anymore.” The fingers tweaking your clit and prodding your firming walls give weight to his promise. Your hips are already starting to stiffen and twitch with the oncoming climax. “I’ll keep begging, I’ll worship you, anything you want, just, fuck-” his voice breaks before he can stop it. “Please let me feel you.”

Ace feels like he can’t get enough air; he won’t be able to breathe if you pull away - he’s sure he’ll suffocate without you. His whole body is pulsing and alive with urgency, not just the cock straining against his pants. The only thing that’s keeping him grounded is you. Your pretty moans slipping out, half-covered by the pillow. Your searching hands, grasping and working his body over in search of something to hold on to. Your chest blanketing his own, ebbing and flowing in waves with your heavy breathing pressing into him. Most of all, the slick, plush grip of your cunt around his fingers, singing to him in little wet slaps every time it welcomes his fingers back home.

“Ace, I’m-” you turn your head towards him so he can hear and find him already looking at you. His flush is deep enough to try and hide his freckles and his pupils are blown enough to turn his brown eyes black. His slack jaw lets your breaths mingle. The pressure of his fingers on your clit increases just the slightest bit, but it’s just right to get your body to clamp down and not let go. “I’m so close, gonna cum, please, love-” Ace sobs out a moan at the new pet name and presses the fingers inside you even more insistently “ahhn! Don’t stop, don’t stop, gonna-”

You suck in a greedy breath and it’s trapped in your lungs as your body starts to seize up. The hit of pleasure has you curling as close as you can into Ace, needing to clutch him when the first wave crests heavily. His fingers follow you when you squirm to center fully on top of him, soothing you through the ride with gentle pumps into your twitching walls. You breathe again after a moment, letting out a flurry of praise into Ace’s shoulder. The little shakes of your hips make you rub against his trapped cock and his eyes roll back against his wish to keep watching you. 

The way your pussy clamps down on his fingers is absolute torture. Pressed so close with his eyes shut, he can almost imagine the rhythmic waves of your spasming cunt milking him while he fucks you full of cum. It has him panting along beside you like he was the one who just came. 

You’re easing down from your high, swollen walls settled along his now unmoving fingers. The sound of your panting settles with you and the room starts to still into a cozy calmness. Your muscles feel liquid and uncooperative as you try to adjust into a comfier position. The movement yet again rubs you against Ace and he whimpers at the heavy gush of precum it pulls from him.

With a pained sound, Ace wiggles the hand that had been toying with your clit out from under your hips and past his sensitive cock to draw shapes on your back. The action brings the smell of sex closer up to his face and he can’t help but groan. Fuck, he doesn’t want to push you or bother you, but the high of seeing you cum has passed and left him even more wanting.

“Pretty?” Ace starts softly. He kisses at your temple and you hum in reply. “...please?”

You hum again, only half hearing him between the orgasm taking the wind out of your sails and that wind having only been a small gust in the first place given it was somewhere around the witching hour.

“I still need you,” he urges, pressing his hips up gently for some miniscule relief and to make you understand. He’s scalding hot below you and throbbing into your lower stomach and it starts to bring you some clarity.

“While I’d love to continue, I’m tired,” you sigh. Before he can apologize or take it the wrong way, you continue. “Normally that wouldn’t really be a problem, but I want to be bright eyed and bushy tailed the first time I fuck you.” Even with the casual way you’re talking, Ace sighs happily and pulls you tighter at the idea. Before you can think about how you’re about to contradict your words, your mouth moves and you’re back to riling him. “I’ve thought of our first time together a lot, and I’m going to treat you to much more than some sleepy sex.” He shivers and moves back to mouthing at your neck at the promise. “I want you sitting pretty under me while I show you everything I can do to you.”

“But I’m under you now,” Ace argues.

“You are, and you’re doing so good at the looking pretty thing too,” you sigh in mock defeat. You feel him smile against your neck, both from the praise and from gaining some ground. Gotta get that idea back out of his head. “I don’t wanna leave you hanging, but I want to do more for you the first time you’re inside me.”

Ace doesn’t share that worry. He’s more worried about using his free hand to start guiding your hips in slow circles to feel the motion around the fingers still sitting inside you. It also teases his still leaking cock and makes it painfully easy to imagine the sensation blending so his cock feels the circles and the grip of your cunt. It flutters on his digits and he flexes his hand to feel the twitching muscles better, putting pressure towards your lower stomach. You keen at the burn it sets in your nerves, arching against his hand to feel more. Shoved so snuggly into your body, Ace’s fingers pick up the thump of your racing heart beating behind the walls of your pussy. He’s never needed anything more than he needs to feel it tapping against the racing pulse of his own heart pulsing through his cock.

“Please, pretty, please please ple-hease” he begs again, beyond reason. “What if- what if we don’t fuck? What if you just let me inside you to keep me warm?”

The idea is quite tempting. You kiss at the side of his face, giving yourself time to enjoy the fantasy of cockwarming him. It’s one you’ve come back to many times in your daydreams of him. Still, you want to fuck the sanity out of him the first time he’s inside you.

“Ace, no-”

“Just the tip.” The words are rushed and breathless and broken. “What if it’s just the tip?”

You realize there’s no reasoning with him and you’re losing the want to try. It’s not like you haven’t been wanting to fuck him since lust rode in on the coattails of “wow he’s pretty and so sweet”. He’s not the only one hiding insecurities though, and you frequently fear that if you don’t keep up the trend of blowing his mind with all the physical stuff then he’ll get bored of you. You can’t accept your first time together being anything less than perfect; the very idea fills you with dread, so much so that the potent temptation of Ace writhing and begging and even just his fingers making you feel so fucking good hasn’t shaken it off you.

“I can’t-” Ace swallows hard, “I can’t just keep dreaming about it, please, fuck, pretty, I need you.”

You believe him. You’ve never heard him so lost before in all your times fooling around. He’s prone to his tongue loosening the longer you touch and this is far from the first time he’s pleaded with you, but this felt different. There’s a frantic undertone to his voice and the words spilling from his lips. There’s truth to the emotion turning his grasp into a delicious mix of powerful and trembling. There’s no arguing with the twitching length grinding into your lower stomach - no way you can deny how hard he feels or the heat of it burning against you even through your clothes. It’s enough to make you lose yourself to the thought of getting to clamp down around his firm cock while the length finds places to toy with much deeper than you can reach. You can tell from the shape against you his width would press back at every nerve you’ve got, waking them up and making them sing. 

You come back to reality when he sneaks in a deep thrust of his fingers. The wet sound makes him moan, and the responding clench turns it into a deep, throaty “fuck”. His head flies back as he arches and grinds. You look up from the pillow and see his pretty black waves piling next to the sharp cut of his jaw. The bob of his throat as he swallows matches the jump of his cock. You feel every detail of it and notice he’s leaked enough to soak through his shorts and your shirt, leaving a sticky spot against your skin.

“You make me feel so good,” Ace moans. “I can make you feel good too.”

The fact that he thinks he needs to convince you of that even with his fingers stuffed in you, held tight with how your cunt’s swelled from pleasure, proves he’s very far from rational thought.

“You did,” you promise with a sweet kiss to his neck. “Now it’s your turn.” His head shoots up to give you a hopeful look. “You’ve cum from less, isn’t this enough?” You swirl your hips down against him to illustrate your point.

“It’s not about cumming,” he grumbles, suddenly sounding a bit more coherent and honestly a bit offended. “I wanna be closer.”

That throws you so off guard you just spit out the first thing that comes to mind.

“We could take off our clothes?”

Ace doesn’t give you time to take it back, his hands flying from you and already shoving his shorts down his thighs. He sighs in relief when his cock springs free, and nudges his head into yours mindlessly in relieved affection. Too impatient to finish the task, he stops pushing his shorts while they’re halfway down to instead get his hands under your shirt. You go to finish what he started but get distracted taking handfuls of his waist and thighs. When you thumb at the descending line of his adonis belt, Ace can do nothing but press into your touch, even pausing his mission to get under your clothes.

You lay yourself back on Ace, now trapping his dick between his twitching abs and the soft skin of your stomach and the tease of trimmed hair on your mound. Somewhere in his brain he thinks he should be ashamed of how he’s an absolute mess from something so simple as feeling your skin on his cock. At the moment, the shame is overshadowed by sheer need and awe. This is you - he’s dreamed of this, agonized over it, sat drowning in a mind and body desperate to find a way to get you to look at him, let alone touch him. Even when you started pulling him with you for teasing tastes on top of your shared missions together, all the time between had them feeling fake. Getting to have you feels so foreign and unattainable that his brain writes it off as false memories when you aren’t in his hands. 

And that’s why he holds you all the more tightly when you’re in reach. He needs you cemented in his grip and sunk into every sense so you’re all he knows. No questions, no doubts, no loneliness, no hollowness, just the comfort of you. He gets his lips back on yours before he breaks.

You hook your thumbs into your shorts and underwear but it’s not quick enough for Ace. He grabs them in a tight fistful and yanks. Your spread thighs keep them from getting lower than the end of your ass and Ace whines into your mouth. Trying not to break the kiss, you lean onto your right leg and try to work the other out of your clothing. It’s a clumsy and messy affair, each of you using a hand to tug at the garments while the other is busy trying to feel and hold as much of each other as possible. You lean back to look and finally get the damn thing off and Ace chases you the whole way. Between the hot slide of tongue, the nipping on lips, and the dancing rolls of kiss and grind you manage to get your left leg completely free of clothing.

“Fuck, pretty, how -hhh-ah!- do you do that?” Ace moans breathlessly after you set your hips back on him.

“Do what?” You’re moving your clit up and down his shaft in torturously slow grinds, mind fuzzed with the feeling of your wetness making you glide so smoothly on him.

“Make me -mmnngh!- fuck-” You circle your clit around his sensitive head, turning his speech into a few heaving breaths and groans. “Make me forget everything.”

Your lips are back on his in a rush, too fast for you to get out all the loving words living in you. First it’s as insistent and firm as your hips are working him over. After a long minute though, he’s lost too much breath to do much more than pant and hump into you in a desperate chase to feel more and more. You begin laying quick kisses to his cheek and land one in the shape of a smile on the corner of his open mouth. You feel it curl up under the press of your lips. 

“You m-make me happy,” Ace admits, a twinge of nerves managing to show through all the arousal in his voice. You bump your nose to his gently. 

“You’re my happiness, Ace.”

He whines and screws his eyes shut even more tightly. You feel his cock throb heavily against you. Taking advantage, you change to little circles against him and feel the pressure of it tease at your clit and entrance. A hand snakes into your hair and grips, holding you steady to press your foreheads together. His eyes crack open to search yours for lies. Even in the rush of your grinding bodies, the eye contact is still and sturdy as steel.

“You can’t just say that,” Ace breathes.

You feel how close he is, even harder than before and thrusts getting stilted in an attempt not to cum. You set on that singlemindedly, needing to hear his breathy broken moans, feel him squirm and jerk, shove him straight into a headspace empty of all but bliss. You get your own hand in his hair and tug, earning a moan and more pleads. Busying your mouth with his neck, you begin sliding along his whole length at a quick pace. The burn in your thighs is nothing compared to the pressure building between your hips, getting tighter and brighter with every swipe.

“No, holy shit, so close, s’close -hah hahngg-“ Ace starts babbling, “wanna cum in you, I’ll do anything, I’ll -mnnngh- anything please, fuck, too good, so fucking wet, so -fuck- can’t, please no, no ‘m gonna cum-“

You suck and teethe at the sensitive spot behind his ear and twist your grip in his hair, sure that would throw him over. Instead he lunges forward to sink his teeth into your shoulder and his hands clamp onto your hips to hold them perfectly still. You’re reminded of the power in the man who falls apart for you. It makes you clench and gush against him with a throaty moan. He holds on for dear life through it, tensing and throbbing and leaking and just barely managing to hold off his orgasm.

Once he’s sure he’s relatively safe, he lets go of your shoulder and begins kissing over the slight indents. The gentle touch feels electric on the tender skin. He continues to hold your hips prisoner, imobile against his own. After some deep breaths he pulls back to look at you. 

“I don’t want it to ever stop,” his eyes are shiny and his lips tremble, but not as much as his words. “Please.” That commanding grip lightens. He slides his hands so he can massage his thumbs into the creases where your thighs meet your hips, sending sparks under your skin. “Just a little of you.”

Your resolve finally breaks and you agree. “Just the tip.”

“Thank you,” Ace rushes out. “Remind me to take you out and spoil you.”

You huff out a laugh even though you’re pretty sure he’s serious. 

“As if you don’t try already.” 

You shimmy forward and he rights you into his grip again; getting you on him with as much skin to skin as possible, just where you belong. It makes maneuvering a bit more difficult but neither of you care; you’re too busy enjoying each other’s heat and taste.

“No goofing, just romance.”

His arms encase you while yours frame him, taking time to touch skin and play with his fluffy hair. You’re firmly settled against him, laying with your cunt just in reach of his leaking head. Each breath presses you deeper into each other and lets pressure tease at your breasts. You take a moment to sneak fingers to your sides so you can tweak his nipple. The shocked hiss is one of your favorites. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” You reach back to grab hold of him and give him a few firm strokes, just to hear his pretty gasps. “The gentleman act isn’t as fun without the goofy contrast.”

“It’s not an a-aahhhhhhnn-“ You use your grip on him to circle his head on your entrance and press back just enough for the weeping tip to catch. After drawing out the sensation for a few more breaths, you move to sit up for a better angle to give him a shallow ride, but he stops you.

“Stay.” Even though it’s an order it sounds like a plea. At your confused look he continues, “If you stay like this I won’t be able to start fucking you if I lose myself.”

He feels you clench against his cockhead and it twitches in response, desperate to sink just a little deeper and letting you know with a pressure that hovers just under enough to finally slip into you. He knows “if” was too weak a word; the moment he feels the plush heat of your cunt he’s a goner. He’s had ambition and determination and stubbornness woven through parts of his being since his first breath. Yet they all fail him when he aims them at restraint here. Staring down a warlord was easier than fighting his bone deep desire for you. You just have a way of making him feel so full of life that it circles back around to an endless emptiness unless he’s smothered in your presence. Like any addict, the starting hits were no longer enough and he’d chase bigger and bigger ones til he had the endless high of being always near and always yours. His body being newer to such waves makes it easier for his instincts to take over him when more becomes not enough.

You feel the slick skin of his tip licking at your entrance with each breath you both take, so focused on every little motion you swear you can feel his heartbeat against your cunt. You start pressing back more.

“Wait,” Ace gasps. He plants a hand at the back of your head and turns it to face him. You meet blown pupils in shiny eyes, brows fighting not to pinch, freckles dancing with every word and expression. His warm breath tickles your swollen lips and you can taste its sweetness on your tongue. You want to keep looking around his pretty face but his pleading eyes have you locked in their heat. “Look at me.”

You barely think to give him a shaky nod. 

Ace reaches his other hand down to join yours on his shaft. It slips easily around your grip and holds gently, letting you keep control. Your hand feels so hot between his large one and the beating cock in your palm. Testing his grip, you slowly pump down his shaft, a slick sound from the dripping of your cunt and his precum sliding through your fingers, and make your way back up to the tip with a twisting wrist. His hand trembles around yours and he curses against your lips but he simply follows your movements.

Happy with the reaction, you continue on. He begins sinking in and his brows furrow further. The slow pace lets him feel every bit of texture, every flutter of the muscles of your entrance as they greet him. He’s in enough for you to encase his slit and you both feel the reward of a thick gush of precum spilling right into you. You breath out a syrupy “so good” and Ace fights again not to cum again - it gives him visions of fucking you fast and deep until you’re hiccuping those words and he’s pumping you full for real. He doesn’t want to be hasty though, he might miss a single second of this blissful torture.

His dick is pressed in to a catch, hovered right where his head flares widest. You hold him steady and give a little circle of your hips to feel him play with your stretching entrance.

“-hah- holy o-oh -nnnngh- thank you thank you,” he mumbles and moans between trying to breathe. His eyes roll back and screw shut for a moment before he fights them back open to watch your hazy eyes and slack jaw. He pulls you forward by the hand in your hair to press your foreheads together. Those fingers begin a haphazard massage as they switch between grasping for grounding and petting at you in adoration.

You take in a lungful of his breath and his musk and the ambient sex and shimmy just a little lower. At last, your cunt gives to let the rim of his head pop in, finally warming you from the inside. It immediately has you clench down and you can’t help but moan pathetically at finally having something to clench down on. The burning skin of his cockhead presses back at the twitching walls of your cunt, sending jolts up your spine.

“Y-you -ahh- you’re so-“ Ace is struggling against his scattered mind and an ocean of oxytocin to get you to understand how perfect you are and how his chest is so full it aches and how he’d fight through pirates, marines, the whole world government just to be this close to you again. All that comes out is a grumbling, fervent moan of “warm”.

You clench again at the word and he whimpers. You slip your hand off of his cock and out of his grip before using it to make him hold his cock for you. It gets the sticky mess all over him, which he quickly uses to twist his hand slowly up and down his shaft. You follow the movement for a few pumps then bring your hand up to your faces. You’d wanted a taste but you get a better idea. 

The moment the pads of your fingers touch Ace’s lips, he opens them just a bit wider for you. He can smell the heady mix of you both and his mouth waters eagerly. Slowly and deliberately, you sneak two fingers past his lips and press them on his tongue, his eyes burning into you the whole time. He’s quick to seal his lips and suck, hot tongue roving over your digits to collect every drop. You can hear the wet sound of his working hand get faster. You shove your fingers in to the last knuckle and he swallows them down greedily, moaning the whole time.

It’s impossible to keep yourself still; the fucked out look on Ace’s flushed face and the attention feeding but not sating your cunt make you squirm. All the movement from his jerking, constantly getting faster and firmer, has his cockhead massaging every nerve of your entrance and reverberated through your lips and clit, sinfully delicious yet maddeningly subtle. Your body is begging for him to force his way deep, split you around his thick cock, feel that pounding drag against every inch of your swollen and pulsing pussy. Instead, you have to settle for a slow tilt and pull of your hips, guiding the head sitting heavy in you to press more one way then the next. One particularly hard pump of his hand sends a strong shock to your clit and you grip him with your hands as tightly as your core wrings down around him. A heavy throb of his cock gushes more precum into you. 

Hearing how much he’s struggling to breathe fast enough through his nose, you pull your fingers from his mouth to instead pull at his hair. He’s mumbling out curses and praises between frantic kisses around your lips. The battle to stare into your eyes is becoming lost; Ace’s won’t stop rolling back and fluttering closed and losing focus. You can practically taste how close he is and it sets your whole body alight. You’re sure when he cums you’ll be able to feel the pleasure in your own body.

“Ace,” you call and his eyes crack open to see you again. His lashes are so dark and long and make his eyes look all the darker. “Need to feel you cum.” The words are rushed and urgent, trying to sneak around gasps and moans. “Love, I want you t-to -mnnn!- fuck me full.”

“Fuck!” The word “love” echoes violently around Ace’s head, and he’s so wound up and frayed he’s scared he may actually catch fire. His scramble is immediate - hands flying down to clamp onto your hips, fingers sinking deep into your skin, head thrown back giving you a full view of the flush hiding his freckles, the strong jaw working between going slack and gritting his teeth, but most importantly his hips thrust against his will. A mindless,  ravenous instinct locked in place and told him to rut until neither of you could move, until each thrust wrung more cum from him only to have it gush out of you because how could you possibly hold more?

Unfortunately, Ace had planned ahead. Your precarious alignment lets the first few thrusts sink him just a centimeter deeper, the relief of more of you only matched by the insatiable need to have all of you. Just when he feels the knot of pleasure pull his balls taught and tense his cock hard as a rod, a thrust knocks him loose.

Ace lets out an actual wail as he loses your heat. The bliss of his orgasm gets lost with it, ebbing away quickly and leaving him frantic.

“No fuck I- please I was so close, shit-,” Ace sobs right by your ear where he’s nestled himself close for comfort.

Needing to calm him and missing the feeling of him too terribly, your hand goes back to his cock while you distract him with sloppy open mouthed kisses. You find him easily and try to settle him with a few firm pumps. Ace is relieved as the feeling comes back fast and he’s already tensing and squirming and curling his toes as his orgasm beats to life in his cock again. 

 “That’s it, love,” you encourage. “I’ve got you.”

“Can’t, cumming cummingcumming-“ Ace chants urgently, kicked straight over the edge by your care. You rush to get him back inside you first but his cock’s already kicking in your grip. The first spray of cum lands where your thigh meets your ass and the second splashes over your pussy. By the third you’re pressing him back in. The whole time Ace is moaning high and gasping and pulling you to him like he needs you to breathe. He’s squirming and handsy, back arching off the bed while he takes any handful of you he can get. You feel the heavy pump of his next spurt of cum and fall to instinct yourself. You push your body down his and plop the weight of your hips in his lap, taking him in one swift motion and a heavy slap.

“Yes! Y-ye-nnnghah!- yesss thank you thank you so good so good s’good-“

You grind yourself in a heavy drag, forward and back, relishing having him all the way inside you. He feels thick enough to press your hips wide and long enough to punch at your lungs. Each grind has him play with your insides, lighting every nerve to make you feel like he’s filled you from head to toe. Each grind also has a fresh throb press at your cunt and spurt more sticky cum where his head twitches against your deepest spots. It has an unfamiliar pit swallowing the orgasm that’s nearly formed in your core, filling your nerves with a new life. You pick up the pace, needing more of that deep seated burn you can feel with each rub of him in the pit of your gut.

Ace whines as his sensitive cock has less and less to give yet keeps up its pumping. He’s beside himself, feels completely out of control of his muscles and voice as he grinds and moans and pleads, yet somehow his hands help press your hips harder into his, adding strength to your ride with every push and pull. He’s left slack jawed at the feeling, mouth hung open to let out every humid pant and desperate sound. He can feel your thighs clamp up around his hips, your fingers claw frantically at his chest, your hips begin to shake and jump. Most of all he can feel the coming orgasm sink into the muscles of your cunt as they swell and twitch and begin to clamp down on him like a vice. 

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop-“ now you’re chanting to him and he feels a new rush flow through his body. The ending orgasm is replaced with new interest amid the burning haze of overstimulation. Every fiber in him knows that he just needs to make you cum and he’ll know what heaven is like.

Ace sits up quickly to meet you, detouring to mouth over your swaying chest and enjoy a taste of your perked nipples before he gets some space to watch your blissed out face and writhing body. He begins thumbing at your clit while his other hand urges your hips up a few inches. For a moment you keep your hips moving but they freeze when Ace plants the hand that was on them behind him and his feet on the mattress and he starts to fuck up into you. They’re shallow, staccato slaps of his hips into yours, sloppily pushing his cum out of you to make stickier sounds, sending vibrations rattling through the underside of your clit still pressed under his thumb, and it’s exactly everything you ever needed. 

The deep pit his fat cockhead taps at again and again pulls taught until your whole cunt squeezes and then you feel like you burst. A breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a holler of his name and you curl forward to cling to him. You try and ride out the high as it seizes you, shaking through your hips and legs and tightening its fist around your whole core. You don’t remember an orgasm ever massaging through you like this before - pulling heavy waves of clamp and release from your cervix to your entrance, each one making Ace’s cock feel even bigger and the pressure of that cock forcing you to stay open makes you nerves sing and dance tingles through your clit and up your spine and under your skin. 

You’re not the only one stuck at it’s mercy; Ace’s head is empty of all but the way the sensation ravages through his nervous system, taking his body from him and commanding it to hold you closer, harder, to fuck you faster, firmer. He knows his mouth is moving, but he’s not sure what it’s saying. His head is full of curses and wonder and “thank you”s and “love you”s but he has no clue what’s making it past. The only things he seems to hear are the roaring of his blood in his ears and the stream of praise tumbling from your lips. You gasp out, “Ace! Fuck, you’re so -hahn- perfect”, and he sears it in his brain forever. The way you pray your pleasure to him, bleed his name and “love” together as if they’re the same thing, it has his head spinning and his heart swelling and cock burning.

The pulses of your high get further apart so you force will into your legs and bounce with Ace to chase them. After a few though, his feet slip out straight and both hands are back on your hips to guide your thrusts and hold you tight. He’s kissing down the side of your face then hiding himself in the crook of your neck, where he can switch between kissing the taste of salt off your skin and huffing in lungfuls of the scent of your hair and skin and sweat and sex. He can taste his bliss on every moan he chokes out, can feel it throb closer with every clap of your hips he just clap needs a little more, needs the way clap your fingers tug his hair clap yes just like that and clap fuck, the way your pussy clap sucks him in clap so so close, just-

“Fuck, Ace, can’t breathe -hahnngh- too much, don’t let it stop -ah!- please, need you-“ 

He whimpers and crushes you in his hold, forcing you to sit still with him pressed as deep as he can go so he can feel every inch of you while he cums again. The first wave hits and he surges forward when his abs clamp tight, knees pulling up behind you to fully surround you. 

“Again?” You manage to gasp against his cheek.

“Yes,” he whines, “you’re just- fuck, fuck!”

It’s near painful to cum so hard so quickly after the last. His head is murky and floating at the strange sensation of the orgasm tearing through his muscles to make him grind and pump into you without having anything to gush out. Your body still seems happy enough with the offering though, completely in sync to milk out everything he could possibly give. 

It’s the perfect end to your high to be in your body enough to take in every bit of his high moans and mumbling and feel every bit of touch his instincts have him showering over you. He keeps nosing at your neck for comfort and tickling the sensitive skin there with kisses and words spoken right against your skin. His hands are deeply kneading the flesh of your hips, petting in trembling fingers and always pulling to keep your hips flush to his. His abs tense and jump, both with his stuttering breath and with the strong pulls of his dick every time it tries to force more out of him in a soul-deep need to fill you with him until he’s a permanent piece of you. His thighs are doing much the same, jostling you slightly against him from how he’s curled around you. Yes, this is exactly what you needed to cap your high and ease you back into reality. Especially with that deep voice of his showing off its range.

“Thank you, thank -nnngh- you, wanna be this close forever -ahhh- never -mm!- stop feeling you, love this, l-love y-y-hah!”

You guide him the whole time, petting his hair, kissing his temple, teasing his skin with your nails, and holding his back. The way he clings to you sets you ablaze but also lets you know how desperately he needs to feel held. His firm hold and your returning squeezes are the anchor that secures you both through the torrent and the drop from sharing bodies. Because of the affection, that drop is a landing in pure comfort and relaxation. Your muscles are all becoming liquid and you simply melt into each other and breathe. 

Ace may have never finished that thought out loud, but he continued it in the affection of his lips pressing so tenderly to your heated skin. He made it clear in the reverence of his hold on you, full of trailing fingertips worshipping your shape and gentle squeezes closer with warm and supportive palms. You understood from the cozy sway he set while drawing his temple up the side of your face to then skim the tip of his nose over your cheek and rest your foreheads together then find stillness. All the words he didn’t say came through in your shared breaths, which grew from humid puffs to a slow and smooth rhythm.

Just in case you missed the rest, he brushed his lips across yours, light enough to tickle before easing forward to mold them together. Your lips part to taste him once more and he indulges you, happily slipping his tongue between your lips for another dance. It’s unhurried how you kiss, lips firm and sure in how they press and drag together, tongues brushing slowly not to arouse but to simply enjoy. The slick sounds of the deep kisses ring in your ears in the quiet room along with the hushes of breath slipping between you two. Ace pulls in one particularly deep breath through his nose before breaking the kiss to sigh his happiness out. The whole thing is punctuated by one last sweet peck.

“I feel it too, Ace,” you promise.

His voice is thick when he whispers out once more, “Thank you.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and press a smile to his skin. Ace tilts his head just so to rest it on yours and closes his eyes to simply be. You’re not sure how long you stay sat in his lap holding him. Instead of the tick of a clock you have the swell of his breaths and the brush of his thumb. Now and again he’d start and leave a subtle sway or press kisses to your hair or squeeze you just a little tighter. You’d respond to it all in kind but his favorite was when he could feel a smile press your cheek into his collarbone or when you’d rest your hand over his pec just to better feel his heartbeat. 

Unfortunately, soreness begins to set in your hips and you have to move. Ace isn’t a big fan of the idea; you can tell from his grumble and his arms cinching around your waist. It's endearing, but no match for the protest in your joints.

“Ace, I’m sore,” you laugh out the complaint, too amused by his pouting. “Let’s lay down.”

“That I can agree to,” he says.

You doubt his words when you start to get off him and receive an indignant ��hey”. 

“Who said you were allowed to get off?”

“Pretty sure I was just letting us both get off.”

“I helped,” he pouts.

“That’s an understatement,” you reassure with two quick pats to his cheek. “But for real, I gotta get off so we can get settled.”

“Agree to disagree,” Ace chimes with that maddeningly bright and charming smile of his. It crinkles his nose a moment and scrunches his eyes in a way that brings out their glimmer and you’re sure you’d never be able to say no to that face for long.

“Okay,” you sigh. “How are we going to do this?”

“Clumsily,” he answers without missing a beat and you laugh again.

“Okay, Commander, take the reins,” you say as you settle back into laying against him, happy to let him take over this clown show.

“Ooooo ‘commander’, huh? Wanna try calling me that next time?”

Instead of responding you give his back a half-hearted swat.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he reasons.

“I’m filing it away for later, but please Ace my poor hips. You’re gonna make me an old lady in my twenties,” you whine.

“At least you make a cute granny.” You can hear the cheeky smile in his voice.

“Move!” You laugh and he finally does.

He scoots you both back once, holding you tight through it while you giggle at the bumpy ride. Now back to the center of the bed, he shimmies for good measure and lays himself back. He holds his arms out expectantly and you just raise a brow at him.

“You’re gonna slip out.”

“I believe in you,” he says. He tried to be deadpan but his lips couldn’t resist the smile.

“There’s your first mistake,” you say and he just smiles wider.

You shift to the right so you can rotate your left leg out and down. You lean your weight on his chest for balance, a palm flat on each large pec, and slide your leg down and back right next to his. You shiver at the release in your joint and Ace shivers at the pressure on his chest and the jostle of your hips. His softened dick twitches in interest.

“Stop that, we need to sleep,” you reprimand with no real heat.

“I didn’t tell it to do that,” Ace deflects.

You chuckle and continue repositioning, leaning to the left this time. It feels just as nice when your right leg gets to be straight again and you can finally lay down. It feels a little strange to be lying directly on Ace’s middle instead of tucked to his side or spooning but it’s not unwelcome. It’s definitely not a permanent feature, though, and you tell him as much.

“Just for a while,” Ace promises. Much softer he adds, “Not ready yet.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Taking stock of your body, you feel a pleasant exhaustion and let it help you sink further into Ace. His hands rest gently on your back, one spread between your shoulder blades and one drawing shapes over your lower back. His thighs are so warm next to yours and the packed muscle feels so soft when he’s relaxed like this. The same goes for the pec currently being used as your pillow. Okay, maybe you could stay this way quite awhile; Ace is unfairly warm and comfortable and having him sit still half in you sates some instinct you didn’t know you had. 

“Blanket?” Ace asks.

“Dealer’s choice,” is your non-committal response.

With some reaching and finagling, Ace manages to get a hold of the sheets and flap them to lay over you. He leaves them so that they cover your legs but make it no further than the small of your back. It lets the slight chill of the room continue to cool you off without going so far as to make you cold. It’s absolutely perfect with his high body temperature radiating below you. Yeah, you’re pretty sure you could drift off into some of the best sleep of your life just like this.

A thought strikes you. 

“How did you stay hard that whole time?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly through a yawn. Then he chuckles and adds, “maybe you just have a magic pussy.”

You laugh at the stupid joke, happy he’s relaxed enough in your relationship to joke more about sex now.

“Too bad you can’t go around testing that theory,” you sigh in mock sympathy.

Ace perks up and stares at you real strong. His eyes that were just fighting sleep are now full of life. You don’t say more and just let him look and stew on your words.

“Say it again but like I’m stupid?”

“That’s what I usually try to do.”

He barks a laugh.

“Damn, must be hard loving an idiot.”

“Not at all.” The tenderness that seeps from your words melts him straight through. Thinking better of leaving it (you know he knows you’re joking, but you also know that his mind is exceptionally cruel), you use the last of your energy to get up on your elbows and look him in the eyes. “You’re a dumbass sometimes, especially with those brothers of yours, but more than that you’re really smart.” You place a sweet kiss to his forehead. “And you’re strong and determined and reliable.” A kiss to one cheek. “And empathetic and sweet and thoughtful.” A kiss to the other one. “And you wanna know what you are more than anything else?”

“What?” His voice shakes and his eyes burn and he’s so exhausted from all the emotions of the night but they’ve also been the most precious things ever. 

You rest your forehead to his and take a deep breath, savoring the moment.

“You’re very very easy to love.”

A kiss binds your words and lips.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed 🥰 Please let me know if you did and criticisms are also welcome 🤍

Restarting tag list because Overthinking lol please lmk if you want to be on one! Even if you think it's obvious. I am: Stupid and Anxious 💀

Between Two Points Masterlist - separate character shots for the “just the tip” trope

Masterlist

[skzdust]

Rock Will Never Die

Pure smut. MINORS DNI.

This took me almost three weeks. The season's greetings has been eating me alive. So. Omegaverse rock band ateez. 6.7k words of it, which is by far my longest smut. Please enjoy <3

Big thanks to @kpop---scenarios, who helped me decide which members were alphas/betas/omegas, and for generally helping on this one!!! I appreciate you sm!!

Update 2.26.25: Sequel! Go check out Whatever Will We Do?

Update 3.31.25: Second sequel! Go check out Worth It!

Summary: Y/n, manager of rock band Ateez, is out of heat suppressants after a show. Luckily, all 8 members of her band are there to help.

Pairing: Ateez x reader

Includes: omegaverse, LOTSSSSS of smut, porn without plot, omega reader, spitroasting, double penetration, knotting, unprotected sex (you did not come here for sex ed but please be safe irl!!!)

Word count: 6.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You bit your lip as you pawed through your bag, looking for your suppressants. You could taste blood before you found the little orange bottle. You pushed down on it, opening the lid, and—

Empty. Not a single pill left. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

You turned around. Mingi was standing there, freshly showered in grey sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, a concerned look on his face. 

He looked so fucking good, you restrained yourself from jumping at him then and there. You could feel yourself getting more and more desperate, and you swallowed.

“You smell really anxious.” Hongjoong looked over from where he was relaxing in an armchair, still in his stage makeup and outfit. His striped knit hat was askew on his head. 

“I— well—” You stammered. “I’m— God, this is embarrassing.”

“What?” Mingi raised his eyebrows. “It can’t be that bad.”

You gave a small, involuntary whimper. “I’m out of heat suppressants… and there’s one coming on.”

“Well, shit.” Mingi said softly. “That’s not great.”

“And it’s not like you can really stop it once it starts.” Hongjoong said. 

“Exactly.”

“Hey, calm down.” Mingi’s voice was soothing. “We’ll find a solution for this.”

“What?” You whined. “I don’t have an alpha, and we’re in a hotel, and I don’t have any of my—” You swallowed. “Er, stuff. What’s the solution?”

Mingi and Hongjoong looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean… we could help you.”

You’d been the manager of Ateez for about a year now. They’d always been incredibly talented, but they’d needed someone with your managerial and business sense to catapult them into the stardom they now enjoyed. 

And as their manager, to make sure they maintained that stardom, you had to keep close with them. Ride on the tour bus with them, stay in the same hotel rooms, go to all the same bars and after parties. 

(Okay, so maybe you had some personal motives to that, too. Maybe the members of Ateez were the eight hottest men you’d ever seen. Maybe you fantasized about the aspects of them you saw both on and off stage. Maybe you thought about them when you were at home on your heat days, fucking yourself with a toy.)

But you’d never thought you’d be alone in a hotel room with two of the group’s four alphas with no heat suppressants. 

Especially not with them offering to help you.

They must’ve noticed your hesitation, because Hongjoong smiled softly. “If you don’t want us to, we don’t have to.”

“No! No, help— help— please help me.” You stammered, then more quietly added, “I need you.” 

“Shit.” Mingi said. “You’re all desperate.”

“I’m going into heat.” You huffed. “Of course I’m desperate.”

“No, I know. It’s just hot. You want a knot?”

His teasing sent a wave of arousal through you. “Stop it.”

“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “I like watching you squirm, y/n.”

You could feel slick leaking out of your hole, and you bit your lip.

“Enough, Min.” Hongjoong stood up. “I’m the captain, I’m going first.”

“Aw, but I don’t want to wait.” Mingi pouted. 

“Contact the others while I fuck her, then you guys can watch while you all wait your turn.”

You gave a long moan from where you were still crouched beside your bag. Hongjoong looked at you. “Slut. You like the idea of all of us fucking you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Hongjoong had never talked to you like this before, always sweet and gentlemanly as could be.

“When you text Woo, tell him he owes me.” Hongjoong said to Mingi, but he kept his eyes on you. “She seems to like being degraded, so I won that bet. Get on the bed for me, pretty.”

“Bet?” You obeyed, getting onto the bed.

“Me and Woo have had some money on your kinks.” He said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do.

Mingi snickered. “Pervert.”

You were, inexplicably, into this, and Hongjoong could tell it made you hornier. He laughed. “You smell even sweeter. You like that? Me and Wooyoung talking about how we’d like to fuck you?”

“Mhm.” You whined. “Can— um, can…” You trailed off, realizing how desperate your request sounded. 

“Use your words.” Hongjoong climbed onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. “What is it?”

“Can you fuck me at the same time?” You whispered. 

Hongjoong grinned, turning over his shoulder. “Mingi, you can tell Woo there’s a consolation prize for losing.”

You whined as he looked back at you. “Please, Joong. Alpha. Need you.”

He slid his hand into your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss. “Need you too, pretty. Take all those clothes off, you’re not gonna need them.”

You hurried to obey him, getting your shirt and skirt off as fast as you could. 

“Look at your body.” He murmured, his eyes raking over you. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You blushed, more slick leaking out of you. “Please, Hongjoong.”

“Ah-ah.” He raised his eyebrows. “You call me alpha, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” You whispered. “Please, alpha.”

He smirked. “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?”

You whimpered as his hand came down to rub at your pussy. His touch felt so good, and all you wanted was to whine and rut into his hand, but you restrained yourself.

“So well-behaved.” He remarked, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together, watching your slick drip down his hand. “I just know you’re gonna feel so good around me.” With that, he pushed three fingers inside you, and you moaned. 

“Fuck, Hong—alpha.” You breathed. “Feels so good, alpha. I… I want your cock, though.”

“Greedy little thing.” He laughed softly. “You’re gonna fucking get it, aren’t you? So be patient.”

You bit your lip again as he began rubbing his thumb around your clit. “Does that feel good, pretty? Is that what you need?”

You swallowed. It was a trick question, and you weren’t going to answer it.

“Answer me.” He added a fourth finger. 

“Ah! Yes, it’s good, but I need more, please, Joong—alpha!” 

He sighed. “Can’t even remember what to call me. I guess I just gotta fuck that disobedience out of you, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You squeaked. “Yes, you do.”

Hongjoong pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Your mouth began to water at the sight. He threw them across the room. “Mingi, when are the others coming?” You’d forgotten he was even there.

“Soon, I think.” 

You looked over Hongjoong’s shoulder to see Mingi watching you, his phone in his hand, practically drooling. 

“Good.” Hongjoong said. “I want to make good on Woo’s consolation prize.”

Fuck. He’d been serious? You couldn’t wait for Wooyoung to arrive. 

Hongjoong pushed his cock through your folds, coating it in slick. “So messy, pretty.”

You just watched him, breathing hard. 

He lined himself up with your entrance. You could just feel him starting to press himself in when there was the loud sound of a door opening. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi all turned around to look at it. 

San and Seonghwa walked in, both dressed in dark t-shirts and sweatpants. San’s eyebrows were raised as he took in the sight. “Oh, look at that, Hongjoong’s about to fuck y/n. What did you say, Mingi? She’s in heat?”

You could hear the smirk in Mingi’s voice. “Yeah, she’s definitely in heat.”

You didn’t even realize you’d started breathing so hard until Seonghwa walked over to you and put a hand over your mouth. “There. You can start, Joongie.”

“Don’t need your permission.” Hongjoong sounded a bit irked, but grinned at Seonghwa as he slid inside you. You moaned long and loud into Seonghwa’s hand. You felt so full… but it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me.” You asked, and it came out muffled, but Hongjoong could definitely tell what you meant because he laughed meanly.

“Is there something you want, pretty? Use your words, I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck me, alpha, please.” You tried again, and you could hear Seonghwa’s snicker. 

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, pursing his lips. Seonghwa leaned down and gave him a long kiss. You were a little surprised. You didn’t know they did that. 

Hongjoong looked at you after a moment. “I guess I can start fucking her now.”

“You should.” Seonghwa took his hand away from your mouth. “She was about to bite my finger or something. She’s so fucking horny.”

You wanted to snap out that you were in heat, of course you were fucking horny, but you held back. You wanted to submit, to be a good girl (to be their good girl) more.

“Fuck.” San said from where he sat on the end of the bed. “Damn, she’s so wet, I call next.”

“I was here first.” Mingi said indignantly.

Hongjoong abruptly pulled his hips back before snapping them back into you. You gave a long moan. This was what you needed, someone to fuck you long and deep and hard, into the mattress, someone to fuck a litter into you, someone to knot you and breed you and—

San cut into your thoughts. “No, I said it first. You and I both know the second someone starts to dominate you you’re gonna want to be a good boy, so shut up before I have to punish you.”

San’s voice was smug, or you thought so, most of the thoughts had left your head as Hongjoong had started to fuck you in earnest. His cock was so big, and so good, and filled you up just right. You couldn’t fucking wait for him to knot you. 

Mingi and San went suspiciously quiet. Honestly, though, you didn’t even care who won the argument, who got your body next, so long as they kept going the way Hongjoong was going. 

The door clicked open again, and you whined as Hongjoong stopped. “Alpha, can you please— why’d you stop?”

“Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice was practically a purr. 

You shivered. Wooyoung. 

“Hey, Woo, get over here.”

Wooyoung was in a black satin robe, a sash tied around his waist. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He smiled as he saw you. “Oh, God, you’re so gorgeous like this.”

“Right?” Hongjoong thrust inside again. “She feels so fucking tight. Want her mouth?”

Your eyes widened as Wooyoung smiled. “D’you want me, baby?”

“Yes.” 

Hongjoong pulled out for a brief moment to readjust, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. 

“Shh, pretty, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll be so full soon.” He murmured to you, helping you move so your head dangled over the side of the bed. You looked up to see Wooyoung untying his robe, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. He left it on, untied, as he gently pulled you close to him.

You were practically salivating at this point. His cock looked so good. He was gonna fill your mouth up, and Hongjoong—

Before you could finish your thought, Hongjoong pushed back inside you. You moaned, and Wooyoung took the opportunity to slide into your mouth. “So good for me.” He murmured, holding onto your hair. 

It felt so good, being full from both ends. “Fuck me.” You moaned, although it came out muffled and distorted around Wooyoung’s cock. “Fuck me, alpha.”

Hongjoong grunted and began to do as you’d asked, aligning his thrusts with Wooyoung’s so you were pushed back and forth between them. 

Through your cock-drunk haze you could hear Mingi whining. Your eyes darted over to him as best you could, only to see San pulling his cock out and slapping Mingi across the face with it before grabbing onto his hair. “Open up, slut.”

Mingi obeyed, his tongue lolling out. San groaned as he started to fuck Mingi’s face. Even just from glimpses you could see San’s cock was huge, much bigger than most betas. It was bigger than some alphas you’d seen, even.

You couldn’t wait for it to fuck you.

Hongjoong noticed. “Like watching Sannie fuck Mingi’s face, pretty?”

You moaned in the affirmative, spit leaking out around Wooyoung’s cock.

“Fuck, so messy.” Wooyoung sighed. “Such a good girl.”

That sent another shiver through you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. He sighed again. “Fuck, keep looking at me like that and I just won’t stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop. You looked at him for another moment before looking back over to San and Mingi, who were still… busy. 

Hongjoong and Wooyoung kept going as you watched them. San slapped Mingi, and as you watched his hands drifted down to his lap. San slapped him again. “No, bad boy. You don’t touch that alpha cock. That’s my job.”

“Fuck, San, tell him.” Wooyoung’s fingers tightened in your hair. “Make him be a good boy.”

Wooyoung’s commentary on San and Mingi’s oral was only making you wetter. It was really fucking hot to watch him make Mingi submit, and to see how whiny and teary Mingi got when he was being fucked, even in his mouth. You wondered what he’d look like with a cock at both ends. Like you.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong kept going, kept using you. Your body jerked between the two of them. You were mostly along for the ride. You could feel the slick between your legs as Hongjoong kept fucking into your pussy, and Wooyoung’s hands in your hair turned almost gentle, combing through it as he continued with your mouth. 

It was a nice contrast, Hongjoong rutting into you like a feral animal while Wooyoung stroked your hair and shallowly fucked your mouth. You closed your eyes. 

You opened them a second later as a loud whimper filled the room. You looked over to see Seonghwa yanking Mingi’s hair back, pulling him off San’s cock. “Sannie doesn’t get to cum yet, he’s not wasting it on you.”

Before you could see what they did next, Wooyoung’s hands suddenly fisted in your hair, pulling you down onto his cock. “Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum.” He held you in place, his hips moving madly. He was in your throat at this point, and fuck it felt so good to be so full at both ends, to be used so thoroughly by your band members. 

Wooyoung came, and you tried your best to be a good girl, to take it all, to let him use you, but you coughed as he pulled back.

“Good slut.” He whispered, leaning down to peck your forehead. 

You looked up at him with glazed eyes. “Good for you?”

“So good for me.” He smiled. 

You turned over your shoulder. “Please, need a knot.”

“A knot?” Hongjoong’s smirk was evident even in his somewhat breathless voice. “You want a knot, why not beg alpha for it?”

“Please!” You cried out, uncaring if you woke up the whole hotel. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need it so bad.” 

Hongjoong laughed, but it was more of a loud exhale with the effort of his thrusts. “I’ll give you a knot.”

He pushed into you, and you could feel something stretching you wide. 

Hongjoong’s knot. 

He came, deep inside you, his knot inflating. Wooyoung pressed a hand to your stomach, grinning at the way you felt full. “You really bred her, huh, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong reached around to hug you. “C’mon, pretty, relax with me.”

You hummed, pliant, laying down with Hongjoong as he curled up on the bed. Wooyoung joined you, pulling a blanket over your connected forms and cuddling into your other side.

“Thanks Woo, thanks, Joong.” You whispered. 

“No need to thank us.” Wooyoung kissed your neck, long and leisurely. “Always glad to fuck our favorite girl’s mouth. Whenever you want it.”

Hongjoong moved his leg, readjusting. You held back a moan at the slight motion of his cock inside you. “Yeah, we really should be thanking you, for letting us help you through your heat.”

“It’s not over yet.” You mumbled. “I’ve got a knot in me now, but as soon as it goes down… my heats tend to last some time.”

“Well, luckily for you, there are eight of us.” Hongjoong smiled.

The bed dipped as someone else got on. Wooyoung groaned in protest. “Hwa, let us have our moment.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “I just wanted to join, not trying to ruin any moments.” 

You absently started to stroke Wooyoung’s hair with one hand while you reached out for Seonghwa with the other. 

Seonghwa smiled, leaning down to kiss you. “So beautiful, but you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”

Out of the band’s members, you loved all of them in their own ways, but Seonghwa had always held a special allure. He was incredibly talented. The man played guitar and did vocals, none of the other members filled multiple roles like that. And he was sex on legs when he was onstage, singing duets with frontman San like they were in love. It drove the fangirls insane. 

And you, but that wasn’t something you’d wanted to admit until now. 

“Needy.” You nodded in agreement.

  Seonghwa gave you another, longer kiss. This one was sweet, but it had an undercurrent of seduction that yanked you in and kept you there. He was trying to turn you on again, and though Hongjoong’s knot was still locked inside you, it would not be a difficult task.

“Hwa… Joong’s still inside me.” You whined. 

Seonghwa bit your earlobe, making you twitch and gasp and arch your back. Hongjoong’s dick twitched inside you at that, and he groaned. 

“Well, as soon as he’s done, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

The words sent shivers through you. “I thought San and Mingi were arguing about that.”

“They’re still… busy.” 

You looked over Seonghwa’s shoulder to see San sitting in the armchair Hongjoong had been in earlier, scrolling on his phone. His legs were spread, and Mingi knelt between them. “Don’t drool on my pants.” San said, his voice bored, but you could see the little smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “That’s hot.”

“Mingi and San like to be rough.” Seonghwa smiled. “It’s quite fun to watch. You’ll have to join us more often.”

Hongjoong let out a strangled moan as you clenched down on him. You had no idea what they were, you had no idea what you were with them. You did know, however, that you loved them, and they loved you. And now everyone was fucking, you guessed? But whatever. It seemed to work.

And it seemed you’d fit in with them quite well.

 But you didn’t dwell on that too long, because when Seonghwa kissed you again, another wave of slick rushed out of you.

“Hongjoong.” You whimpered. “I need— I need—”

“I know.” Hongjoong kissed your neck. Wooyoung joined in, too, licking up the other side. “It’ll go down in just a second, and then Seonghwa can take his turn.” 

The phrasing, his turn, turned you on so much. Seonghwa, just like the others, got to use your body. They all would. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you rocked your body back onto Hongjoong’s cock. He hissed in overstimulation. You tried to be kind, to think of him, but your body just wanted to be fucked, more and more and more. You just held yourself back. 

They kept kissing you for a few more minutes, your body burning, until Hongjoong’s knot started to go down. You whined as he pulled out, suddenly empty. “Seonghwa…”

“I know, baby.” He got his pants off, and you almost started drooling at the sight of his long cock.

Seonghwa slid inside you, and you sighed at the sensation. “Fuck...”

Hongjoong and Wooyoung went off to shower, kissing you one more time before they left. Seonghwa set a languid pace, rolling his hips deep inside you. You were both panting after a few minutes, and you threw your head back. “Need it harder, alpha.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “Alpha? I’m a beta, baby, but I’m happy to fuck you harder.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Sorry, Hwa, I didn’t mean to…”

Seonghwa stopped for a moment to kiss your head. “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, it’s kind of a compliment. But I know you need a knot right now.”

You swallowed, nodding.

Seonghwa thrust into you a few more times before turning over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Mingi, get your submissive ass over here.”

Mingi pulled off of San’s cock, his eyes heavily lidded, spit dripping down his chin. He looked obscene, fucked-out without even having been fucked. 

“You heard him.” San patted his cheek just softly enough to be a pat and not a slap. “Get over there.”

“Mhm.” Mingi climbed onto the bed, sitting in front of Seonghwa. 

He smiled. “Such a good boy… why doesn’t our good fuckpet satisfy y/n? Give her the knot she needs.” His voice was patronizing, condescending, but based on the significant bulge in Mingi’s pants, he was getting off on it. 

Mingi nodded. “Wanna be a good boy for you, sir. Wanna make y/n feel good.”

A shiver ran through you. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes, then, and lay down on your back.” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a suggestion, Mingi.”

Mingi squeaked, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move to get his pants and shirt off. He propped himself up on the pillows, looking at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, standing hard and full.

Seonghwa smiled and scratched his head. Mingi leaned into his hand. “Good boy. Y/n, why don’t you come ride him for me?”

You inhaled sharply and pulled away from Seonghwa’s cock, instead positioning yourself over Mingi’s and grabbing onto his shoulder. He looked at you with the most pathetic, desperate expression you’d ever seen. “Please, y/n.”

You sank onto his cock, moaning as every inch of it filled you up. He whimpered as you seated yourself fully on him, staying still for a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Go on, baby. Use him.” Seonghwa encouraged, voice smooth as satin.

You took a breath and began to bounce on Mingi’s cock, moaning as he hit that spot inside you with every motion. Like the rest of him, his cock was big, and you were euphoric as you felt it deep inside you.

Seonghwa tilted your head towards him. You didn’t stop fucking yourself on Mingi, but you looked at him.

“Aw.” He simpered. “So sweet. The subs are playing nice. You wanna kiss me, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically, desperately. “Yes, Seonghwa.”

“Sir.” He reminded you.

“Yes, sir.” You rushed to correct yourself. 

“Good.” He murmured, leaning in. He gave you a long kiss that might’ve been sweet if he hadn’t started biting your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth.

Mingi’s whines were a sweet soundtrack to Seonghwa’s kisses. He sounded so desperate and submissive, a far cry from the Mingi you knew onstage or even off. 

“Can Mingi fuck me now?” You whined against Seonghwa’s mouth. “I’m tired.”

“Of course, baby.” Seonghwa helped position the two of you so Mingi could start fucking into you. He rubbed Mingi’s back for a moment before suddenly scratching down his spine. Mingi moaned, arching his back and pushing his cock deep into you.

“Good boy.” Seonghwa whispered. “Y/n wants you to fuck her, so make sure you do a good job.”

Mingi began rutting into you with the same fervor that Hongjoong had, only with a lot more whimpering and big puppy eyes. “Am I doing good for you, sir?”

Seonghwa grabbed Mingi’s hair and forced him to look at you. “Ask her if you’re doing good.” He looked at you. “Baby, be honest.”

“Am— am I doing good?” Mingi’s voice was small.

“So full.” You said, your voice breathy. “So good, Mingi, Seonghwa… Mingi,  don’t stop.”

Seonghwa laughed meanly. “For someone with such a nice cock, it’s kind of funny how little Mingi uses it.”  He yanked his head back. “He loves being stuffed full so much. So I’m sure this is a nice change of pace for him.”

Mingi looked at him. “She’s so tight… I’m gonna… sir, I can’t last much longer.”

“Knot her. Give her what she wants.” Seonghwa leaned down to speak into your ear. “He’s gonna breed you so full, isn’t he?”

Mingi pushed into you one last time before his knot expanded and you were locked together. You could feel him start to cum inside you, and you whined, shaking as your own orgasm overtook you.

When you came back into reality, Mingi was collapsed by your side, breathing hard. Seonghwa was furiously working his hand on his cock, and you watched, transfixed. 

“Good boy, Mingi.” He breathed. “Good girl, y/n. You both did so good for me.”

You made a pleased noise, and that seemed to send him over the edge. He spilled onto his fist, his hips jerking up into it.

“’M sorry I wanted a knot.” You muttered, feeling bad Seonghwa didn’t get to finish inside you.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” Seonghwa said, looking around for a towel. “You have no idea how much I like watching.”

Your face got hot at the words. “Oh… well… that’s good.”

He finally found one, wiping off his hands. Mingi wrapped his arms around you as Seonghwa laid down on your other side. You were sandwiched in a giant Minhwa hug, and it was heavenly. 

You didn’t quite fall asleep, but you were definitely drifting off cuddling with them. Having a knot inside you and two of your eight favorite people in the world with you made you feel happy and safe.

You heard the door open, but you didn’t care enough to look and see who it was, at least not until someone came over to you, and you heard two people messily kissing.

You opened your half-asleep eyes to see Mingi and Yunho making out, almost directly over your face. It was quite a sight to wake up to, and you moaned almost without realizing it. 

They broke apart, both smiling down at you. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Yunho leaned down to peck your forehead, and Mingi adjusted, moving his cock inside you. You whined at that, oversensitive but your body still craving more. 

They ignored you, kissing each other again. You could feel Mingi’s knot starting to go down, and you pushed yourself back onto him, chasing the fullness. It was too late, though, he was pulling out, whispering an apology to you. “Sorry, Yunho’s gonna go next, though, okay?”

Your body was so hot, the ache between your legs so strong that you just looked at Mingi with big eyes. “Is he gonna fuck me?”

Yunho laughed. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just make you lay there and stay still. Hold me deep inside you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep it together, but Yunho continues.

“You just wanna get fucked so bad, isn’t that right, you want me to breed you and make it feel so good… maybe I’ll just make you take me the way I want it, hm?”

You knew Yunho was an alpha. But he’d always been sweet and kind to you. He’d never teased you like this.

His large hands moved over your form, caressing you, your tits, your waist, your ass, rubbing your pussy. You stretched out, opening yourself up to all of him. 

He laughed and unzipped his pants, revealing his cock straining against his boxers. You whimpered just looking at the bulge. 

“Stop teasing, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was playful. “Don’t you see how much she needs it?”

You gave Seonghwa a grateful look before turning your attention back to Yunho. “Please, Yunho.”

“I love your begging.” He smiled, but there was no kindness in it. It was toothy, almost predatory. He completely took his pants off and positioned himself over you like he was about to fuck you. His boxers were still on, and the cotton rubbed against your clit as he rubbed against you. You whined weakly, feeling almost dizzy with the need to be full.

“What did I say, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was firmer now. “She’s in heat. Be nice.”

Yunho sighed, and before you knew what he was doing, you were flipped on your stomach, your knees propped up under you and your face pressed into the pillows. 

“You wanna get fucked?” Yunho’s voice was almost a growl. Clearly he was not happy at Seonghwa’s interference. “I’ll fuck you, sunshine.”

A thrill went through your body at his roughness. You could feel his tip at your entrance, and you took a deep breath. 

Yunho pushed inside in one swift motion, and the breath you’d just taken whooshed out of your lungs. He was so deep inside you, so big, so good…

And then he started moving. With every deep thrust, you felt like you might cum that second. He was so rough, his fingers digging into your hips. You knew for sure there would be bruises the next morning. 

Yunho fucked you like he hated you, and as he leaned over your back, you could feel he was still wearing his sweater and buttons from the show. The pins felt cold on your back, and you shivered. 

“You like it like that? You like it when I fuck you rough?”

You nodded. “Yes, alpha.” 

“You know, you really should share with Sannie.” Seonghwa’s voice was light, lilting. “He’s been waiting so patiently.”

You could hear rustling behind you, and a whimper that sounded like Mingi’s. It was probably San standing up, and you wondered if Mingi had returned to sucking him off as soon as his knot had gone down and he’d left the bed.

Yunho fucking growled. 

You whined, the display of dominance turning you on more, but the rest of the room went silent. 

“I’m so sorry.” Yunho said immediately, stilling his hips. “Oh my God, I did not mean to do that.”

“It’s okay.” San said, and he sounded genuine. “Take your time with y/n, I’ll get my turn after.”

You did your best to stay still, trying not to ruin their conversation, but you needed him fucking inside you. 

“Thank you, San.” Yunho’s voice turned to you. “You alright, sunshine?”

“Mhm.” Your voice was small. “Yes, Alpha.”

“You want more?” Yunho’s voice turned smooth, slippery. 

“Yes.” You breathed.

“Yunho?” 

You pushed yourself up from the bed at that voice. “Yeosang?” You hadn’t even heard him come in.

But there he was, sitting cross legged on the bed beside you. You could see the fabric between his legs was dark, clinging to his thighs with slick. 

“What is it, baby?” Yunho hummed.

Yeosang bit his lip. “I fear… y/n may be sending me into heat.”

Your head nearly spun at that. One omega sending another into heat was not something that happened often, not unless the pheromones were just right. It had to be the scents of the alphas in the room who’d already fucked you who had a relationship to Yeosang, right? It couldn’t be you?

Yeosang smelled sweet, smelled needy. You whined. 

“Hey, Sannie? I have an idea.” Seonghwa said. “Why don’t you fuck Yeosang while you wait your turn.”

“Fuck.” San sighed. “I would love to, but I gotta keep disciplining this little slut for now.” There was a strangled noise from probably Mingi. 

You could hear Seonghwa’s smirk in his voice. “Joong? Wanna get over here and fill Sangie up?”

“I can do that.”

You’d almost forgotten about Hongjoong and Wooyoung. You looked around for them and saw Wooyoung laying on the other bed, watching, as Hongjoong got up to position Yeosang beside you. 

He smiled at you. “Hi, y/n.”

“Hi, Yeosang.” You breathed. He was so beautiful, still in his stage makeup, with bronze blush and little star freckles dotting his cheeks. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” 

“Can I kiss Yeosang?” You looked over your shoulder at Yunho.

He laughed, thrusting his hips into you. Your head fell back on the pillow in front of you. 

“Yeah, you can kiss him.”

You pulled your head up and looked at Yeosang for a moment, just taking him in. His expression went blissed-out for a moment as Hongjoong slid inside him, and you took that opportunity to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

“Mm, y/n.” He moaned into your mouth. “You taste so good.”

“Wooyoung.” You explained. 

You and Yeosang kept kissing, your hands slowly getting a little more exploratory with each other, while Yunho fucked you and Hongjoong fucked him. It felt so fucking good to have him inside you, and to have two pairs of warm hands on your body. 

You were dimly aware of Seonghwa moving to the other bed, and based on the sounds you were hearing he was touching Wooyoung, but you were too caught up in Yunho and Yeosang to really care. 

You could barely breathe for the size of Yunho’s cock inside you. He wasn’t quite as big as Mingi, but he still felt delicious inside you, hitting spots inside you that made you sigh and whine in pleasure. This was a side of him you’d never seen, and it made you feel so good.

“Fuck me.” You whined. 

“I am, sunshine.” Yunho gripped your hips tighter. “You’re already kissing Sangie, do you need someone else to come over and shut you up with their cock?” His voice turned into a whisper that edged on a growl. “No one else is touching you till I’m done with you.”

Yunho’s possessiveness was really fucking hot. He was a man possessed, fucking you with the fervor of an acolyte worshipping their god. 

Yeosang whimpered, and you looked at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears beading at their corners, and his mouth was wide. You wondered what he’d look like choking on someone’s cock— Mingi’s giant one, maybe. Although it seemed from what Seonghwa had said he wasn’t going to be fucking anyone’s face. Maybe they used Yeosang as a punishment. He’d have to hold Mingi in his mouth while Mingi stayed completely still. You could see it in your mind’s eye, Mingi looking at Hwa or Hongjoong and absolutely begging to thrust down Yeosang’s throat, and them denying him time after time. Maybe he’d even cry.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a particularly rough thrust from Yunho, and you cried out as you felt his knot starting to build at your entrance. “Fuck, Yunho, knot me, please.” You cried. 

“Beg a little harder.” He snarled. 

“Please, please, Yunho, please!” 

“That’s it.” He held you in a punishing grip, forcing his knot into you. You held your hand to your stomach, feeling the bulge of him inside you. He began to cum, groaning, and your orgasm hit you at the same moment. You arched your back, pushing you into a kiss with Yeosang, who returned it with a whine.

Yunho slumped on top of you, pressing a kiss onto your back. “You feel so fucking good, sunshine. Taking my cock so good.”

You sighed. “You feel so good, Yunho.”

The door opened one more time. You knew who it had to be. 

“Jongho.” San said. “Welcome to the orgy!” 

You could smell him as soon as he walked into the room. You’d forgotten he’d started entering pre-rut right after the show, and had decided to sequester himself in his room. It seemed Mingi’s text had encouraged him to come take a turn with you. 

Yunho’s knot went down quickly, deflating at the scent of another alpha clearly ready to fuck you into submission. The look in Jongho’s eyes was downright predatory, but the rest of his expression looked a bit nervous. He was chewing on his lip. “Hey y/n… do you still… need someone?”

You could feel yourself growing distressed at the sensation of so many ateez member’s cum leaking out of you. “Yes, Jongho, please, I need you to fill me up.”

Jongho’s clothes were off him in a flash, and he was on top of you. You were briefly worried that Yunho would get aggressive again, but he seemed spent, moving to take your place making out with Yeosang on the other half of the bed. 

“Not so fast, Choi.” San stood up. “I’ve been waiting though everyone else, it’s my turn.”

Jongho looked thoughtful for a moment. “What if we shared?”

San raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll get inside her… and then you can join me.” He looked between your legs. “I think her little hole can take it.”

You clenched around nothing, breathing hard. The thought of both of them inside you at the same time, fucking you in rhythm, was almost more than your heat-addled brain could handle. You needed them so bad you could barely even get out a whine, your desire choking you.

San smiled. “I like that idea.”

Jongho lined himself up with you, everyone’s cum and your slick making it an easy slide inside. You still gasped as he filled you up. Jongho was so thick, you wondered how San would fit. 

“Fuck.” Jongho’s voice was low. “I’m gonna knot you so hard.”

You took a shaky breath, lifting your hips weakly in an effort to get him to move. 

He laughed and grabbed your legs, starting to push in and out. Your eyes started to lose focus. 

“San, get over here.”

You weren’t even paying attention to how they were positioning themselves, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel a finger enter beside Jongho’s cock. 

The stretch was so good. It was intense, but you could handle it. You wanted more. You wanted both of them. 

“More.” You choked out. 

“Slut.” San bit out. “I’ll give you more.” He bypassed two fingers and skipped straight to three. “Good, taking it so well. You’re gonna need to be prepared if you want both of us.”

“Want both of you.”

San sighed. “So impatient.” You could feel something bigger pressing at your entrance, beside Jongho. San swore, Jongho made a high noise, and you panted as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. 

“Beautiful.” Jongho reached down to brush away a piece of your hair. “Beautiful girl.”

You made a pleased noise.

And then you couldn’t make any noise at all as they began to fuck you, alternating thrusts. First San’s cock, then Jongho’s, then San’s, then Jongho’s. It was so much, and the rhythm was uneven at the beginning, making it even nicer when they settled into it. You were overstimulated, your body trembling and leaking slick and taking it so well, as Jongho and San kept telling you.

The room had descended into debauchery. Hongjoong and Yeosang were still going at it, with Yunho stroking Yeosang’s cock. Seonghwa and Wooyoung had begun to fuck Mingi from both ends, and he looked like he was in heaven. And of course Jongho and San were both deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected your night to go like this, not even a little bit, but you were so glad for the turn it had taken.

Jongho groaned. “I’m gonna cum, Sannie.”

San sighed. “Ugh, fine.” He moved up towards your face and held his cock in front of your mouth. “Get me off, y/n.”

You practically started salivating at the sight of his cock, opening your mouth and starting to lick at his tip. 

Jongho gave a few more strong thrusts before his knot inflated. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he locked himself inside you and started to cum, weakly sucking on San. 

As your orgasm passed, you flopped on your back, completely exhausted. 

“It’s okay, baby, I can finish myself off.” San whispered, kissing your forehead. “You were so good for us.” 

You finally felt satiated for the night, satisfied, now that all eight of your boys had had the chance to take a turn with you. Your heat hadn’t broken yet, but you felt safe now. If you had them with you, everything would be okay.

And as the rest of them finished up and crawled on the bed to cuddle with you and the others, you thought that this was what a pack must feel like. 

[andivmg]

My experience with Luke (Punz)

CW: toxic relationship, racism, dubious consent

I know in the past i said that i would no longer speak about him publicly, and when talking about my experiences with abuse and emotional mistreatment i begged to keep it anonymous but after reflecting on this for a week and seeing so many incredibly smart and strong women tell their stories. they have given me the strength to say his name.

this is really scary to talk about because of the copious levels of harassment i have received from his fans in the past so if this spreads or gets out of hand i will simply log off.

If you read my last post, i nicknamed him 1.

So aside from everything i said there, there were a lot of things i didn’t include because they would’ve made it obvious that it was him and it could potentially backfire on me so, i’m very afraid to post this. but i’m going to do it scared anyway, because it’s not fair that he gets to just go and live his life worry-free as if he didn’t practically ruin mine.

Because I already made a very lengthy post about him, i won’t include everything i said last time to avoid being redundant but if i repeat myself, please bear with me.

In our year long relationship i had to endure emotional neglect, gaslighting, verbal abuse, one instance where there was dubious consent, and much more.

Starting off at the beginning of our relationship, that’s when i was getting copious amounts of hate and harassment from his fan base (warranted or not), he decided that our relationship must be kept private. he said it was to “protect” me from his fanbase when in reality it was to protect himself. it was so he wouldn’t get all the backlash i was getting. this is funny because one of the things i got called out for was saying the B slur (derogatory term used against mexicans/latinos). I won’t get into the nuances of if i could say it or not as a puertorican because that’s discourse that does not pertain to this specific situation. But you know who definitely can’t say it? A white boy from Massachusetts. When i was getting cancelled for this and getting thousands of tweets calling me names, he decided that was the perfect time to say “I mean you are a b***** aren’t you? my little b*****.” Now, he said this completely unprompted. I was in the process of writing my apology and he just said that. I tell you this because i immediately shut him down and told him that there was no universe in which it was okay for him to say that word and especially not one where he could just call me that. While i was reprimanding him, he was smiling and laughing. he apparently found it amusing to call me a slur. regardless, he gave me a half-assed apology and said he wouldn’t do it again. and he didn’t. but this wasn’t the only time he was weirdly racist to me. this was my first time being in an interracial relationship so i was led to believe that this was normal by all the white people around me at the time. But, sometimes my spanish accent would come out and he would make fun of me and the way i pronounced some words. He also refused to visit me in Puerto Rico when i lived there or come meet my family when i really wanted him to because he “didn’t like the heat” or “it’s dangerous there isn’t it?”. Once, while we were watching season 2 of Bridgerton, he implied that the Sharma sisters were “too dark” for him to be attracted to them. This hurt me because they are brown skinned girls. I am a brown skinned girl. Then this, combined with the fact that he told me once he wasn’t attracted to me made me feel like my skin color was unattractive. These are only a few examples i can think of at the moment, but i’m sure there were more. Our relationship ended in 2022 so some of my memory is a bit hazy. But, I do remember feeling inferior to him throughout the relationship because he was white and I was not. I chalk that up to all the micro aggressions i had to deal with because i had never felt that way around white people before.

Another thing i had to endure was him constantly making me feel like he was embarrassed to be with me. Because i was cancelled, he didn’t want to associate with me too much. He did defend me on multiple occasions, I’ll give him that. But, he only did it because his name was getting dragged in the mud along with mine. Excusing my actions made him look better for being around me. In reality he didn’t really care. Because he was such a big content creator and someone i looked up to professionally, I took his advice as law. He told me to tone down my personality, to keep a low profile, to change things about myself to be more palatable to his audience. The same audience that spoke about me like “The pussy can’t be that good punz please stop defending her”. So i changed a lot of things about myself and my content to better suit what his audience liked. He made me feel like if his audience liked me, he would be public about our relationship and stop hiding it. He told me the reason why he wanted to keep our relationship a secret was because he didn’t want to get hate for it. But this wasn’t true. On my 20th birthday he went to Las Vegas for a twitch rivals event. That night i asked to facetime him to say goodnight and he refused because he was at a hotel room with his friends and he didn’t want them to know that we were together. It was as if my mere presence or the utterance of my name was a source of embarrassment for him. And he didn’t let me forget it. It wasn’t just a public thing at that point. He didn’t want people to know we were together, period. This was devastating to me because I would talk to all my friends about him. I was so proud to be with him and I was just one more problem to him. He made me feel so small and insignificant just because his fans didn’t like me.

He would berate me a lot. Not just due to getting heat online, although he did do that a lot. But in general whenever we would get into an argument or a disagreement he would always call me names like annoying or weird or stupid. He would raise his voice at me if i did something he didn’t like and call me an idiot. And that really hurt, i felt like i couldn’t bring up anything or do anything without getting insulted. If I hadn’t seen him in a few days because he was too busy streaming and i asked to hang out he would call me needy, clingy, and annoying. Granted, he might not have been wrong, but that is not something you say to someone you claim to love. He also insulted me when i was in depressive episodes. I have BPD and at the time i was not being treated properly for it. So, I was all over the place emotionally and he was what i clung to for validation, reassurance, and love. I talked to him when we first started dating about my disorder and told him that if it seemed like something he couldn’t handle that he could opt out of the relationship. I guess he didn’t think it was that bad or something idk because whenever i had really bad depressive episodes, he would tell me I was too sad to hang out with. He said that my sadness was a burden to him. Which would be fair. But, once my mother had a conversation with him about me. She told him that i am someone who needs a lot of love and caring. She said that if he wasn’t willing to put in that kind of effort into a relationship to just leave me alone. He reassured her that he would be there for me no matter what. He told my mother that he would protect me and my heart. He did not. He took all the warnings I gave him and ignored them and then made me feel like I was the problem. And even worse, he would say that i was pretending to be sad to get his attention when he would neglect for days at a time.

There were also some smaller things like the fact that he made me feel really guilty whenever he would spend money on me. Also, he would be really mean about my eating habits. For context, i used to suffer from an eating disorder. I was anorexic and had a really unhealthy relationship with food during high school and my first year of uni. This relationship began when i was recovering from my ED. For me, eating was really hard. So i had certain comfort foods that, while sometimes unhealthy, at least it was something to eat when i didn’t feel like eating anything. He knew this. Yet, whenever i would crave some of these foods he would call me fat. Constantly told me I’d gain weight from eating all that junk food. Saying that to someone with an eating disorder is crazy. Other smaller things were that whenever I would post tiktoks where i was lip syncing or just looking good he would yell at me and say i was looking for attention. Same with Instagram or Twitter whenever i would post photos where I looked hot. He never planned out a single date for us. I would beg him to get me flowers and he did maybe once but i’ll get into that in a bit. He would make fun of me in front of his friends to make himself look better. He let his friends say really degrading things about me in his presence. For example, once when i was showering, i overheard him on a discord call with George and Sapnap and i heard George say “if you don’t go in the shower and have sex with Andi, i will”. Once, when i was really struggling with my legs (for those of you who don’t know, i have arthritis and it’s very painful. at the time i wasn’t diagnosed but i was in a lot of pain) I literally could not walk. I had to beg him to take me to the ER because i didn’t know what was wrong with me. He didn’t want to take me but eventually i convinced him, and while we were there all he did was complain about how long it was taking and that he would have rather been at home streaming. Whenever I would talk about my interests that i was excited about like shows or books he would be incredibly uninterested and say that those things were stupid and he didn’t want to hear about them. I know all of these seem very silly or superficial but cumulatively it was awful.

Now for arguably the most serious thing i’m going to talk about. I want to preface this by saying i am just telling my side of what happened. You can come to your own conclusions about this.

On April 25, 2022 it was our one year anniversary, and i had made a dinner reservation for us. I expected him to plan something throughout the day for us to do. He told me he was going to spend the whole day playing Valorant so I got upset and cancelled the reservation. After a very heated argument, we calmed down and i asked him to come over. He came over about an hour later with flowers and drinks (I was 20 at the time so I couldn’t buy the drinks myself). He brought Smirnoffs and Trulys. For context, I am a lightweight. I always have been. I literally get tipsy on half a cocktail. And that day, I hadn’t eaten anything because i was in distress over our argument. So we get to talking and drinking. I blacked out after my second Smirnoff. Apparently I drank 3 but I genuinely cannot remember anything after finishing the second one. The next morning i woke up naked in my bed. I woke him up and asked him “Luke, why am I naked?” and he said “Because you didn’t want to put your clothes back on.” When I clarified to him that that was not what I meant, he got defensive and said that he didn’t realize how drunk I was. He proceeded to tell me that I initiated sex with him and that i was very enthusiastic about it. He said he didn’t know i could black out on three smirnoffs. He made fun of me for being a lightweight and continued to make light of the situation. Then he mentioned that i fell off the bed at some point in the night and that it was funny how drunk I was. I then questioned him. Because if he thought that me tripping and falling off the bed because i was so drunk was funny, how did he not know that i was too drunk? He responded by saying that i fell off the bed only after we were done. That day I broke up with him. I’m still really confused about what happened that night. I don’t remember anything and all I have to go on is what he said to me. We were in a relationship at the time and he says he didn’t know how drunk I was so I’m not sure what to call what happened. A while after that day, his friend that hmu while we were broken up and I started talking again and i confided in him about that night. He told me to be careful saying things like that because they could get me into trouble. I spoke to some of our other friends about it and they told me it was no big deal and that it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know how drunk I really was. Because I don’t remember, I have been led to believe that this is not a serious matter. You can think what you want, come to whatever conclusions you want. That is just my side of the story.

I want to add that I’m not proud of how I acted after the relationship ended. I felt really angry at all the shit he put me through and I guess a part of me wanted him to hurt even a quarter of how I did. So I started talking to his friend and got involved with him. This backfired on me because his friend ended up really hurting me too so ig i got my karma. But the thing that hurt the most is that because of what I did, some of our friends took his side in the break up. I was told that I did something terrible by getting involved with his friend that he was already insecure about and that he didn’t deserve that. These are the same friends who were witness to the dumpster fire of a relationship we had and all the things he did to me. They turned their backs on me because of this one thing I did. But stood by and watched as he treated me like garbage for over a year.

I will conclude this by saying that while this relationship has been “over and done with” for almost two years now, I carry a lot of trauma from it still. I still talk about him in therapy and have had to put in a lot of work to heal from what he did and i still cannot say that i am okay. I am very blessed to now have a patient and understanding partner who has helped me heal from that trauma and i just want to quickly thank him for that. Nobody deserves to go through what I did. While yes, it was a toxic relationship, and I had a part in that, it does not excuse all the awful things he said and did to me. This is my truth, thank you for taking the time to read it.

[7-wonders]

Adventures in Babysitting

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: When an emergency leaves you strapped for a babysitter, there's only one option remaining for you: your eons-old, all-powerful boyfriend, who hasn't watched a child on his own for thousands of years. Maybe you should just stay home.

Word count: 4.6k

A note from the author: For plot purposes, you have a sister in this fic. My apologies if that's not the case in real life. I love writing not-the-step-dad-but-the-dad-who-stepped-up!Morpheus, and I'm so glad you guys love reading it. This is written in a pre-season 2 bubble at the moment, hence why Morpheus isn't as brooding and sad as we're currently seeing on our screens. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(This is an AU where you're a single parent to a four-year-old daughter and begin dating Morpheus, who can't not eventually become a father figure)

As a parent, you feel that there are few things worse than trying to find a babysitter at the last minute. Not only is it near-impossible to track down somebody who doesn’t have plans, but it also makes you feel like a terrible person who procrastinates—in this case, at least, you know that you’re not.

“I’m really sorry,” your teenage neighbor apologizes on the other end of the line, already halfway to her high school’s Friday night football game.

The smile that’s been plastered on your face to keep your panic from leaching into your voice falters. “No worries, Marissa, enjoy your night.” You hang up the phone and immediately let out a groan. “Fuck!”

There goes your last option. This is the first time you’ve ever tried to find a babysitter on the night of, and it’s a good exercise in always remembering to be prepared. But this isn’t for some last-minute date or night out with friends—no, your sister called you half an hour ago, fresh out of a car accident. The details she provided were haphazard at best, you assume due to the shock, but you know for certain that she’s on her way to the hospital and wants you by her side. While you’re never going to turn your sister down, especially in a crisis, you also can’t take a small child into that sort of environment. Hence, trying to find a babysitter who can be at your home within the hour.

Your mind races as you try to figure out what to do next. Daycare’s closed since it’s after five, and your normal babysitter rotation of Marissa, Tegan, Maggie, and (obviously) your sister are all unavailable. You can think of nobody else you know that you would trust with your own child for a few—

Wait. There is somebody whom you trust, somebody whom Caroline is already very comfortable with. Is he even going to feel capable of watching a child in the 21st century, though? It’s going to be a little embarrassing to ask, but you’re desperate at this point. Finding a small notepad and a pink Crayola marker (perks of having a kid), you scribble down one of your favorite names in the world, as instructed.

“Morpheus?” you call. “If you have time, I’d appreciate you swinging by for a bit.”

It takes him a whole thirty seconds to show up, eyes wide and almost frightened as he looks you up and down. “Beloved.”

“Hi. I’m alright, and so is Caroline,” you assure. “My, uh, my sister got into a car accident.”

“Is she injured?” he asks.

“She’s alright enough to have been able to call me from the back of the ambulance, but they’re taking her to the hospital, and I need to meet her there. Of course, it’s a Friday evening, which means that daycare is closed and all of our regular babysitters have plans and—” you cut yourself off with a deep breath in an attempt to stop spiraling. “What I’m trying to do is ask if you would watch Caroline?”

“Yes.”

You don’t hear him and continue pleading your case. “Just for a couple of hours! I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other option.”

Morpheus takes your hands right as you realize he’s already said yes. “I would be happy to watch Caroline so that you may attend to your sister.”

“Really?” You know that you sound surprised, and it’s for good reason; Morpheus has told you enough about what happened to his son, the mistakes that he feels he made during his parenting journey, that you thought he might be too scarred from that to feel capable of keeping another child in his sole care. 

He nods. “I simply ask that I might take her to the Dreaming?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You expected this amendment, expected that Morpheus would need to be in his realm to be comfortable watching your daughter, somebody not of his flesh and blood but whom he loves all the same, for the first time. “Let me put a bag together for her quickly.”

Morpheus follows you around your living room like a shadow as you begin to throw items that you think Caroline will need into a small purple duffel bag. Fruit snacks, a coloring book, a box of markers, a couple of her dolls—all go into the bag. All the while, you’re nervously chattering about the specifics that you would normally tell a babysitter.

“She hasn’t had dinner yet, but I can feed her before I leave—”

“Taramis would love the opportunity to cook for somebody,” Morpheus interrupts.

You nod, mind already on the next point. “Her bedtime is typically eight, but sometimes I let her stay up until eight thirty on the weekends. I’ll try to be back before she needs to go to bed so that I can—”

“I am the King of Dreams, my love. If anything, putting children to sleep is my specialty,” he assures. “You have nothing to worry about; we will be fine.”

“I know!” And you do. Trusting Morpheus is easy, especially when you know how much Caroline cares for him, and vice versa. You also know that you’re being a lot little overbearing, but you’re going to blame that on the stress of not knowing your sister’s current condition. “I’m going to let Caroline know that I’m leaving and what the plan is.”

You knock on her coloring sheet-adorned bedroom door before entering, forever an advocate for giving your daughter some privacy. Caroline’s lying on her stomach on the floor, finger tracing the illustrations on one of her board books. When she looks up, she grins. “Dream!”

Forcing a smile on your face, you go to your knees next to her. “I have to go somewhere for a bit, so you’re going to hang out with Dream!”

She looks up at you curiously, your empathetic girl always managing to read your emotions. “Are you okay?”

“Yep,” you assure her; not a lie, because you physically are okay. “Give me a hug before I leave?”

Caroline leaps into your outstretched arms and squeezes as hard as a four-year-old can. The hug is a balm for your heart, and you squeeze her back.

“Oh, that’s a good hug!” you commend, kissing her on the cheek. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon, alright?”

She kisses you on your own cheek before letting go. “Love you more!”

The typical ‘love you’ routine makes you smile despite the circumstances. “Love you most.”

After packing Caroline a pair of pajamas and her toothbrush and toothpaste, you zip up the duffel bag and place it on her bed. With that finished, there’s only one thing left to do. You take Morpheus’s hand and lead him just outside Caroline’s door to avoid any eavesdropping.

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say to Morpheus.

“It is no trouble. Go tend to your sister.”

You kiss him once, twice, and then you’re gone.

•••

Dream of the Endless watches the door close behind you, his mortal lover, and becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has just agreed to watch over a child for the first time in thousands of years. He does not regret saying yes to you; Caroline has become dear to him throughout the course of your relationship, and she is an easygoing child. But to be overseeing a child’s welfare once more brings to the surface feelings that he had long since buried, parental instincts that he thought lost to him. The Waking has too many variables that he can’t control if he is to be in charge of Caroline’s care. Best to spend the evening in his realm, so as to be sure that nothing can go wrong.

Morpheus steps back into Caroline’s bedroom, the small child looking up at him with your eyes. “Would you like to accompany me to the Dreaming this evening?” he asks. 

Caroline gasps, delight coloring her face. It was only three short weeks ago that you and he brought her to the Dreaming proper for the first time, and she was enthralled by all of the wonders surrounding her. According to you, she’s talked about it almost nonstop since then, prompting a conversation with her about how she couldn’t share this with any of her friends or peers at preschool.

“Yes!” she cheers. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He cannot help the way his lips twitch at her excitement. “We shall depart, then, if you have everything you need?” 

Morpheus takes hold of the bag that you packed while Caroline looks around her bedroom one last time before choosing a stuffed bear from her bed. “Okay, ready.”

It will be easier on Caroline to be held on the journey to the Dreaming, so Morpheus stoops down and easily picks the little girl up. She clings to him comfortably, used to this position since she first ‘conned’ him (your words) into doing so on Halloween night. He reaches into his pocket for his sand, and then they are away.

Caroline claps when they land in the Library of the Dreaming, enjoying traveling by sand much more than you do. “That was fun,” she says, eyes sparkling and grin stretching across her face.

“I am glad you thought so.” A flutter from the shelves above catches his eye, and his raven flies from his perch to land on the floor before him. 

“Wow, fast trip—” Matthew cuts himself off with an excited caw when he sees who Morpheus is holding. “Hey kiddo, how’s it hanging?”

Caroline reaches for Matthew until Morpheus sets her down on the ground so that she can crouch in front of the Dreamlord’s emissary and pet his head. “Good. How are you, Matty?” she asks politely.

If Matthew could smile, he would be beaming. “I’m great! Even better now that you’re here.”

Lucienne rounds a corner, having also sensed her lord’s return. “Lady Caroline!” Lucienne cannot help smiling. Though she had been wary when Morpheus began courting you (prior experience with, well, all of his former relationships), she always had a soft spot for the realm’s smallest dreamers. It certainly helps that you have managed to endear yourself to her as well. “How lovely to see you once more.”

Caroline giggles—you told Morpheus after your last visit that she was smitten with the title Lucienne insisted on calling her by, feeling ‘like a princess from one of her books’—and darts over to wrap her arms around Lucienne in a hug. “Hi, Lu.”

Lucienne’s eyes grow soft, both at the hug and the nickname (Caroline found it easier to amend her name rather than struggle through the three syllables), and she smoothes a hand over Caroline’s head before patting her back. “Where is—”

Morpheus looks at Lucienne to convey that he will tell her the story at a later time, a look that his trusted Librarian easily picks up on.

“No matter. Are you to spend the evening with us, then?” He can already see that Lucienne’s planning to steal the little girl away and show her more of the Library that had held her attention for at least an hour on her first visit. While he is sure that both would love that plan, he must first see to Caroline’s needs.

“Caroline requires dinner first, which I am hoping Taramis will be up for procuring.”

At the mention of her name, the Dreaming’s chef appears.

“You say that as though it is not my purpose,” she says dryly before smiling and holding her hand out. “Come along, little miss. Do you like cooking?”

Caroline eagerly takes her hand. “Uh huh! I help in the kitchen at home a lot!”

“Perfect, I’m in need of a good sous chef.” The great doors at the other end of the room open for the pair as they head to the kitchens, leaving Morpheus alone with two of his most trusted advisors.

Lucienne turns her gaze on him almost immediately, and Morpheus begins to fill her in. About your sister’s accident, about your worry and desperation, about how Caroline is now his charge for the time being. All the while she watches him, that imperceptible look of hers that says she has a lot of thoughts, but she will decide which she shares with him.

“Goodness, I do hope everything turns out alright,” she says. 

“I believe it will. It did not sound as serious as it could have been,” he responds, as though he has any idea of the injuries that human car accidents inflict on their victims. 

A beat. “So…you are watching Caroline?” Lucienne asks delicately.

Morpheus’s brow furrows. Had he not already said that? “I am.”

“And you are…alright with that?”

Suddenly, he understands what she is asking. Lucienne has been his Librarian for thousands upon thousands of years, the first (and, hopefully, only) to oversee the Library of the Dreaming. She has seen Morpheus at his best, as well as at his very worst. Has seen how much Morpheus loved his son, the mistakes made, and the remorse that he still carries, the way that losing Orpheus completely and utterly wrecked him. He once thought himself incapable of being around a child once more, for surely he must ruin the life of everyone he cares for.

And yet. Getting to love you, and by extension, Caroline, has started to heal parts of him he didn’t believe could ever be mended. With every smile your four-year-old gives him, every time she insists on holding his hand, or wanting to hear a story, bitter heartache is slowly replaced by growing affection.

“I am,” he affirms, softer than before.

Lucienne smiles at him, and, after a moment’s deliberation, touches his arm. “That makes me very happy to hear, my Lord.”

“I still have work to do, even while Caroline is here,” he insists quickly, both to Lucienne and himself. “Faerie requires a response to their petition, one that…will require some thought, to make sure it does not offend Titania or Oberon.” 

Titania and Oberon (mostly Titania, he knew) were eager to rid Faerie of the tithe that they were required to pay to Hell, and hoped yet again that the Dreaming might assist them in negotiations. This is the fifth time in as many centuries that the request has been made, and his answer would remain the same: no.

Lucienne knows exactly why the subject has been changed, but has the tact not to say anything and simply step back. “Quite the task. I will leave you to it.”

Where Morpheus would normally conduct such work in his private study, he makes sure it is already waiting for him at his seat in the dining room. Through the door leading into the kitchen, he can hear Caroline’s squeals of laughter as she helps Taramis cook whatever it is she has decided on for dinner. He has half a mind to join them, but he truly must finish this correspondence before long, lest his silence be seen as an unfavorable answer in and of itself. Instead, he settles himself in his usual seat at the end of the table and makes a quill, ink (he prefers the way that it writes better than that of a modern pen), and multiple sheets of paper appear at his place.

Taramis eventually appears from the kitchen holding a tray, Caroline trailing behind her. She prepares her charge’s spot at the other end of the table, setting down a plate and utensils, before pulling the chair out and helping her in. 

“There you are, my dear,” Taramis says warmly, the latest to fall victim to Caroline’s charms.

“Thank you!” You’ll be proud to know how well she minds her manners when not in your presence, and he makes a note to tell you of this when he sees you.

“Will you eat anything, my Lord?” Taramis asks before leaving.

“Not tonight, thank you,” he says without looking up from the work in front of him. He hears her take her leave, and then it is just he and Caroline.

Instead of beginning to eat, Morpheus feels Caroline peering at him from across the long table, and looks up from his writing only to see that she and her meal have disappeared from her seat. After a moment, she comes around the table, carrying her plate and utensils in his direction.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

“I wanna sit next to you!” she says, standing on her tiptoes to nudge the plate onto the corner beside him. 

He’s thoroughly amused at both her actions and her request, but indulges her nonetheless. When she turns, presumably to fetch the chair, she finds the chair already sliding in her direction and laughs at the sight. She climbs up into the chair, which then pushes her closer to the table. Instead of eating, as he expected, she watches him with a grin, pleased beyond measure to be next to him. 

“Eat your meal,” he gently urges, waiting until she grabs her fork and prepares her first bite—spaghetti, he notes—before turning back to the pages in front of him.

Morpheus makes it as far as “To the right and honorable Lord Oberon of Dom-Daniel and Lady Titania” before becoming stumped, and spends the ensuing minutes trying to figure out what he might say that won’t cause Faerie to overreact and shut their realm off from foreign kingdoms for another couple of centuries, as they are so fond of doing. It’s more challenging than he previously thought, and he quickly loses himself in wordsmithing.

“Done,” Caroline says after a while, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He curbs a smile at the spaghetti sauce ringing her lips, procuring a napkin and cleaning her face before he realizes he’s even done so.

“What would you like to do next?” Morpheus asks, assuming that Caroline will want to go and explore the Library more, and already halfway to summoning Lucienne, 

Instead, she surprises him by asking, “Can I stay here and color?”

“Of course.” 

With a wave of his hand, her plate is gone and replaced by the coloring book and markers you had packed for Caroline. The two work side by side, Morpheus trying to remain polite yet firm as he works his way through the letter, while Caroline does her best to translate the vision in her head to paper. The room remains comfortably silent, save for the popping of embers in the fireplace and the humming of a song from Caroline. 

“How do I spell my name?” she asks finally.

He tries to peek at what she’s working on, but she pulls the coloring book away from him and puts her arms over the page, apparently hiding a surprise. Carefully, he dictates each letter to her, watching her hand move across the paper.

“Okay, your name now,” she prompts.

That piques his curiosity, but he dutifully spells ‘Dream,’ the name she knows him as. Caroline nods, tongue poking out of her mouth just slightly as she focuses on writing. When she’s finished, she attempts to tear the page from the book. It’s a valiant effort, but when she realizes that she’s not going to be able to accomplish her goal, she looks up at Morpheus once more.

“Can you tear the page, please?” she asks. He pulls the book closer, only for her to squeal, “Don’t look at it!” right as he’s about to do so. Instead, he carefully looks at the table as he tears the paper along the perforation in the book before handing it to her.

Caroline, in return, slides it right back to him. 

“Here, it’s for you!”

“TO DREAM FROM CAROLINE,” the top of the sheet reads in childish script, Caroline having enough experience writing the words ‘to’ and ‘from’ not to need Morpheus’s assistance in spelling them. It’s an outline of a cat, now colored black and with blue eyes, sitting on a stack of orange, purple, and yellow books. The bookshop background is also decorated in various hues and shades, the young artist doing her best not to color outside of the lines.

Morpheus has seen every work of art as it was first dreamed of. He watched as Michelangelo toiled over how best to decorate the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, studied as Da Vinci began his earliest sketches, and walked the Impressionist landscape of France as Van Gogh transformed his view into a masterpiece. Yet somehow, this child’s scribble evokes the same feelings in him.

“Thank you very much,” he says earnestly. “I shall display it with honor.”

Caroline smiles before looking back down at the table and picking up another marker, praise making her shy. “How do I spell Lu’s name? I wanna color a picture for her too.”

As it turns out, the evening routine isn’t all that different when you’re not present. He has seen you in this exact position a number of times now, helping and encouraging as Caroline plays, creates, and explores. It is all too easy to assume that position, all too easy to take up the mantle of father once more to ensure that her needs are being met and that she is happy and entertained. She begins to yawn and rub her eyes shortly after finishing Lucienne’s drawing and starting on one for Matthew (she cared not that the bird had nowhere to keep such a gift, insisting that either Morpheus or Lucienne could keep it safe for him), and Morpheus procures a watch to see that it is a little before what would be eight in the evening at your home. That explains the fatigue, then.

“Shall we get ready for bed?” Morpheus asks, content to leave the letter with only a suitable conclusion left to be written.

Caroline shakes her head. “‘M not tired.”

“Your yawning says otherwise.”

Her mouth, which had been open in the middle of yet another yawn, snaps shut. When her eyes narrow in a glare, she looks just like you, and Morpheus has to stifle a laugh.

“Let us at least go and get your nightclothes on so that you may be comfortable,” he suggests. When her expression remains unchanged, he tries again. “You may rest in my bed.” 

After a moment of contemplation, she nods, much more amenable to this new plan. Morpheus stands from his own chair and helps Caroline out of hers before using his power to clean the table and send items back to their rightful places. Because the Dreaming bends to his whim, at this moment, his private chambers are through the doors that the kitchens were through a short while ago. Were she not tired, Morpheus believes that Caroline would be pleasantly bewildered at the layout of the palace changing. At present, she simply trudges along to where her bag sits on a small table and begins searching through it for her pajamas and toothbrush. 

“Do you need help?” Morpheus asks as he opens the door to the washroom that only exists when you, and now Caroline, are in his chambers.

Caroline shakes her head. “Uh-uh, I got it.”

Even with her reassurance, Morpheus stands sentry outside the door, just in case her mind changes. When she’s finished, she races for the large bed with onyx sheets and blanket, the main reason she agreed to get ready to sleep in the first place, and clambers up with surprising agility for one so small and tired. 

“Will you tell me a story?” Caroline asks, already snuggling under the covers in the very middle of the bed. 

A flash of deja vu hits him, and for a moment, Caroline is replaced by a little boy with curly hair and warm brown eyes, sitting comfortably in the same spot and asking him the same question. Just as quickly as Morpheus sees the ghost of his son, he’s gone once more, leaving only regrets and wishes behind.

“Yes.” The words nearly catch in his throat, and he has to uncharacteristically clear his throat before repeating himself. “Yes. Anything in particular, or shall I pick?”

After insisting that Morpheus sit on the bed with her and choosing to use him as a pillow, Caroline opts for the latter, Morpheus utilizing his ‘Prince of Stories’ title to tell her a tale of a princess in a castle made of dreams. She falls asleep quickly, as expected, but he cannot find it in himself to move her off of him so that he may have a productive evening. Be it nostalgia for a time long gone or his sense of duty that comes with you having trusted him with the person most precious to you, he foregoes finishing the letter to Faerie and allows Caroline to sleep soundly against him.

When Morpheus finally hears you call for him once more, he chooses to bring you to the Dreaming rather than wake Caroline and take her back to the Waking. You scowl when the cloud of sand disappears, vertigo overtaking you for a few moments, but your expression quickly changes when you see what’s in front of you.

“Well, hi,” you greet quietly, kissing Morpheus before reaching over him so that you can kiss Caroline’s forehead. “You two are a sight for sore eyes.”

Morpheus takes your hand and gently pulls you down next to him on the bed, noting your heavy sigh when you do so. “How is your sister?”

“The other driver t-boned her—hit her on her own driver’s side,” you translate, “so she has a lot of bruising, a concussion, and her arm is broken. She’s getting surgery on it in the morning, and then she’ll stay with me and Caroline for a few days while she adjusts to having a cast. But she’s alive, and mostly okay, which is what matters.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Your weary voice and the dried tear tracks on your face do not go unnoticed, even as you smile at him.

“How did your night go? Did she give you too much trouble?” you ask.

“None at all. We had a very enjoyable evening.” 

He raises his free hand, the one not being laid on by Caroline, and produces her artwork from thin air to hand to you. Your smile widens as you look over each one, carefully addressed to Morpheus, Lucienne, and Matthew.

“It was only a matter of time before you three got a Caroline original. You going to frame yours?”

Your tone conveys that you’re only teasing, but Morpheus is completely serious when he replies, “Yes.”

It seems like an easy conclusion to him, but your eyes still grow soft at his statement. “Thank you again,” you say. “I know you’re incredibly busy, so for you to drop everything to watch my daughter—”

“Your thanks are appreciated, but not necessary. Caroline is easy to care for, easy to entertain. I…enjoy…being in her, and your, presence,” he confesses.

“She thinks the world of you. We both do.” You open your mouth as though to say something else, but close it again upon further consideration. Finally, you settle on, “I should get Caroline back home. Tegan’s going to be at our place in the morning to babysit so that I can go back to the hospital, and I’m sure you have missed work to make up.”

While it’s true that he does, he’s also not willing to give up this moment of domesticity quite yet. “Stay,” he pleads. “The Waking will be there in the morning, and you both need rest.”

In a normal scenario, you would likely put up a bit of an argument. After the evening you’ve just had, though, you simply smile and ask, “You sure?”

“Yes,” he assures you.

That single word is all that it takes for you to relax onto Morpheus’s other side and begin going through the events of the evening. For the first time in a long time, Morpheus begins to feel as though he’s part of something he has forever longed for once more; he feels as though he’s part of a family.

[hugheswho]

Don't Wanna Say Goodnight

Summary: Luke gets a little too wasted on a boys’ night out and his only pre-hangover remedy is you. 

Pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

Warnings: Over consumption of alcohol, drunk Luke, swearing, fluff, use of y/n, like three lines of suggestive content, pet names, one vague mention of vomit but none happens 

Author’s Note: Parts of this I love entirely and other parts I absolutely hate <3

Word Count: 4k

Part 2

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Luke asks for the umpteenth time, lying on his bed watching you wash your face in the connected bathroom. 

The boys were going out tonight, and while it went without saying that you were invited, a quiet night by yourself sounded absolutely delightful. Living in a house with a revolving cast of rowdy characters for the summer was something that you hoped your young adult life would look like as a child. You were having the time of your life partying, wakeboarding, and spending time with some of your best friends. From early sunrises swims in the lake, to late night bonfires where Trevor told ghost stories he definitely stole from Goosebumps reruns, you were making memories to last a lifetime. 

You especially were cherishing every moment with Luke while the two of you were in the same place for longer than a week. Being able to wake up and fall asleep in his arms every single morning and night was all you could ever wish for during the season. But now, Luke was intent on spending as much time with you as physically possible. The two of you went on runs together. You grocery shopped together. You “accidently” got separated from the group during nights out and found yourself in a locked single stall bathroom together. Summer was truly a dream with him, but it was also fucking exhausting. There’s only so much a girl can do before she becomes bed ridden. 

Already in your pajamas and fuzzy socks, you had your tumbler full of ice water and a bowl of salty and sweet snacks waiting for you on the bedside table. You sneak a glance at Luke. He’s turned onto his back and stares at the ceiling while playing catch with a tennis ball, waiting for you to give into his pleas. Patting your face with the soft towel you reply, “I’m all good here Lu, I promise.” Strolling towards Luke, you grab his sweatshirt on the end of the bed before sitting down next to him and pulling it over your head.

Luke grabs a hold of the fabric that bunches at your chest and pulls it to fall to your hips, “I can stay with you.” It sounds more like a question than a suggestion. He wants to spend even more time with you and you would hate to deny him that, but you also know that he’s barely spent time with the guys without you there. They deserve a boys night, and you deserve some peace and quiet for the first time all Summer. It’s a win-win. 

“C’mon Luke, you guys have been talking about this all day. Don’t change your mind now just because of me.” You wrap your arm around the back of his neck and lay your other hand onto his chest. 

Your boyfriend squeezes his head into the crook of your neck, mumbling just barely coherently,“just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Letting out an amused sigh at his thoughtfulness, you run your fingers over his baseball cap. “I know, and I appreciate that baby. You’ll have a good night and I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. Plus,” you lean down to press a kiss upon his hat, “I’ve got a big fat date with Conrad Fisher.”

Luke’s head whips up at the speed of light, the brim of his Knicks hat knocking into your chin. “Who are you bringing into my house??” His brows are crinkling so close together they look as if they’ve formed into one. His mouth agape with offense painted all over his face. 

You can’t help but laugh at him, “My show, babe. You know this!” Luke rolls out of your arms and your hands move to rub his back as he sits up, his front facing away from you.

Grumbling something about being replaced, Luke leans over to get his shoes on. You crawl up behind him and settle on your knees, arms snaking around his waist as he comes back up. You place a sweet kiss to the side of his neck, “I’ll miss you every second you’re gone.” His hands find their way to cover yours, bringing your fingers up to his mouth and placing a kiss on them.

Jack calls Luke’s name from a distance to let him know they’re leaving. He turns his head to face you, merely inches away. “Last call.”

“Go have fun. I’ll be just fine.”

Reluctantly, Luke kisses you goodbye and tells you he loves you before walking out the door to meet the boys. You fall back into the pillows on the bed, turn the lamp off, and get your show queued up. Sighly contently, you’re grateful for a chill night in. 

───────────────────────

The bass of the music in the large bar matched the beat of Luke’s pulse as he swallowed the second shot. The earthy flavor of Tequila not complementing the bitter, hoppy taste of his previous beers. He grimaced at the taste of the liquid coating his throat, “Tequila sucks dude. Why did you pick this?” 

Jack shrugs and grabs the bartender’s attention to grab some vodka sodas, “Yeah but it feels good after, gets you all loose!” Sticking his tongue out, Jack shimmies his shoulders into Luke’s, the younger boy pushing him away.

“You’re a freak.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m a freak who still pays for your drinks so watch your mouth.” Jack reminds his brother before handing him his next drink. 

The bar is crowded with people, good music blasting, and scents that Luke never wants to smell again. Leaning against the bar, he bobs his head to the sounds and sips on his drink while taking the scene in. Luke laughs with Alex as they watch Trevor strike out with yet another girl. Quinn and Josh are arguing at the pool table about whether Quinn moved his ball or not. Jack and Cole are hanging off each other, dancing to the music. Luke’s having a great night and it’s nice to have some time with just the guys, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish you were here tucked into his arm right now. He is the first to admit he’s not a party animal, but if you were here with him, he’d stay out until morning celebrating nothing. 

“Luke! Odds you do a shot of Fireball right now?”

The mere mention of Fireball sent a shiver down Luke’s spine. Fireball is the drink for underage students. No one knows why. Luke thinks maybe it’s just so they can say they did it and show off that they were able to shoot the Cinnamon whiskey even as it burned their throats. But one thing he knows about the drink for sure is that everyone likes it, until they have an incident. And there’s always an incident. Once it happens, you never touch it again. Halloween 2022 still haunts Luke. 

With that being said, Luke is Luke, and he’s not going to back down. “50.” Cole smirks and makes serious eye contact with the defenseman. 

“3, 2, 1…29”

“29. Fuck.” 

“One shot of Fireball for Moose coming right up!” Cole retrieves the 1.5 ounces of liquor from the bartender and brings it up to his nose to get a whiff, “Oooooh baby! That’s the smell of college for you! Bring back memories, Lukey?” 

“Enough with the war flashbacks, okay? Just give it.”

Luke takes the shot glass that soon becomes completely dwarfed by his hand. Exhaling deeply, he downs the shot in one go and his eyes fly shut at the familiar foul taste. He chases the shot with his beer to rid his mouth of the flavor, trying his hardest not to gag. Cole and Alex laugh at Luke’s efforts and pat him on the back for being a good sport. 

───────────────────────

Another hour passes and several drinks later, Luke is too drunk to even realize he’s drunk. The thing about going out with a group is you can mingle with a bunch of different people. You can also have a new drink during every new interaction and no one would realize. Luke is feeling good. The alcohol hitting his blood stream rids him of his usual social anxiety. He’s chatting up all the guys and every stranger at the bar asking how their night is going, then losing his focus and walking away before they can fully reply. This is for sure, 100%, without a doubt the drunkest Quinn has ever seen his baby brother. Bumping into high top tables and patrons, his feet are dragging him to places his mind isn’t privy to. He’s living up to the name Moose right now. 

Quinn grabs Luke as he passes by and forces him to stop, “Lukey, how much have you had to drink?”

Luke’s eyes are glossed over, a dead stare pointed at his brother almost as if they’re meeting for the first time. He contemplates the question for a second before shrugging his shoulders, “alcohol.”

The older boy sighs, now knowing he’s responsible for his behemoth brother for the rest of the night, “Clearly,” turning to the group he asks, “okay who knows what he had?”

“He definitely had at least six beers,” Alex answers. 

Jack grimaces, “I made him do a tequila shot.”

Trevor ponders for a moment before adding, “I had like three vodka sodas with him,” the end of his sentence coming out in a higher tone as if he’s not sure if they had more than that. 

“Plus the shot we all did when we got here.”

“I also made him do a shot of whiskey.” Cole looks at everyone staring at him, “What? He lost odds.”

“That fucker! No wonder my tab was so high.” 

Quinn rolls his eyes, “Jack.”

“Sorry.” 

“Awesome,” Quinn looks at Luke swaying back and forth among the group, not realizing they’re all talking about him. “Fuck, okay. We have to get him home.” 

───────────────────────

Trevor, Alex, and Josh are settled into the Uber XL while Cole holds the passenger side door open for the three brothers. Quinn and Jack are dragging Luke by his arms, using every ounce of strength they’ve gained during their off season training to heave this 200 pound immovable object into the SUV. Luke had willingly followed his brothers out of the bar and into the parking lot when they said they were going to see you. In his drunken state he thought you’d be in the parking lot waiting for them, so when, much to his shock, he saw a middle aged bald man sitting in the driver's seat and not his beautiful girlfriend, he wanted no part of it, immediately digging his heels into the ground. 

“Where’s Y/N?!” Luke slurs again, as if he hasn’t been asking for the past five minutes.

Jack lets out the biggest sigh, “we’re going to see Y/N right now.”

“You said she’d be here!”

“You have to get in the car to see Y/N,” Cole places his hand on the back of Luke’s head, half a foot above his own, and tries to duck his dome and guide him inside the car. 

Luke easily evades Cole’s maneuver and, losing his own balance, manages to shove the Habs player into the front seat. “Nooo I want her here!”

“Holy shit I can’t do this,” Cole protests while repositioning himself, immediately washing his hands of any involvement. 

Quinn turns Luke towards him and puts on his best captain voice, “Luke. The only way to see her is to get in the car and go home. I need you to do that for me.”

Luke grumbles something unintelligible and moves his attention away from his brother. Quinn, exhaustedly, hangs his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fine, we’ll call her.”

A lazy smile appears on Luke’s face at the idea. Jack, on the other hand, can’t believe what he’s hearing, “you have to be fucking kidding me,” he grumbles to himself and then to the group, “dude, let’s just go. She’s probably already asleep.”

“Awww she’s so cute when she sleeps. She’s like sleeping beauty.” Luke gleams thinking about you. Cole bangs his head against the headrest repeatedly. 

Quinn fixes his middle brother a look, “Jack, just fucking call her, okay? It’s the only way to get him moving.”

Jack rolls his eyes but dials your number, wishing non-life or career threatening harm on his younger brother, maybe a small burn on his finger or slamming his funny bone against something. 

“Hello?” Having not heard from Luke in a while, a rare call from Jack did not fit the vibe of your cozy night in. 

“Your boyfriend is being a drunk menace and refuses to get in the Uber.” 

Luke rarely gets drunk to the point of rebellion so Jack’s accusation causes you to tilt your head in confusion. “Wait, what? He’s that drunk?”

Luke’s attention gets drawn to the lightning bug buzzing around him. His eyes follow the light, then lose it when it stops glowing, only for it to light back up two feet in the different direction with Luke’s body following it. He looks like a puppy trying to chase his own tail. 

“He wants you and is dodging all our attempts to get him into the car to see you.”

You sigh in response but your heart does skip a beat at the thought of Luke’s need to see you. Being at the top of his priority list, even when he can’t walk a straight line, does make you feel pretty damn good. Some drunk boyfriends cheat on their girlfriends, while yours rejects being in the presence of anyone that isn’t you. 

“Okay, let me talk to him.”

Jack shoves the phone into his brother’s chest, receiving a grumble from Luke who has seemingly forgotten that Jack was going to call you. “Huh?”

“Hi Lu.”

“Hi baby!!” Luke exclaims at the sound of your voice. He hates to be cliche, but it truly is his favorite thing to listen to. The only noise that can immediately ground him at any moment. Sometimes when he’s on a roadie, he’ll play back random voice memos of you talking about your day from months ago just so he can unwind after a grueling game. When he hears your tone, he knows he’s safe, supported, and loved. 

Though you can’t see him, you know his beautiful lopsided smile is stretched wide across his face. “You have fun tonight?”

“Never fun without you,” his smile immediately drops at the reminder of your absence. 

“I think your blood alcohol content might disagree with that.” 

Luke is way too drunk to understand your joke right now. “I missss you and I want to s-see you,” he drags out. It’s almost like you can smell the alcohol through the phone. 

“Bro, my Uber rating is gonna go down the fucking drain,” Josh mumbles to no one in particular. 

“You’ll see me when you get home. Baby, can you please get in the Uber with the guys?”

“But you’re not in there! An-and they’re not pretty like you and they don’t hold my hand,” Luke hiccups, “and they all smell really bad. Not like you. You smell like peaches!”

You close your eyes and exhale, trying not to let your own frustration fly through the phone at your sweet angel. “Luke, please. I am begging you.”

Luke’s lids go heavy and he smirks, “I love when you beg me.”

One thing about Luke, sober or not, he’s going to know how to get to you. Your face flushes at his suggestive words, suddenly wishing he wasn’t drunk for other reasons beyond his own health. 

“My man,” Trevor lifts his fist out of the car to give Luke some props. Instead, he gets hit upside the head by Quinn.

“Dude, really?”

“I’m just saying it must be nice! Live a little, Q! You must be in need of a nice girl to beg you.”

“God, you’ve been pissing me off all night.” 

And then, all hell breaks loose. Everyone just starts yelling at each other.

“He’s pissing you off?! What about your brother who is holding us hostage?!”

“None of this would’ve happened if you all didn’t force him to do shots!”

“What do you mean ‘all?’ Jack gave him the tequila and Cole gave him the whiskey!”

“HE LOST ODDS! HE HAD TO BE A MAN OF HIS WORD!”

“Oh my God, dude. I’m actually going to kill you.” 

Josh starts apologizing profusely to the Uber driver who looks like he wants to kill him, “Please give me at least three stars. I promise I’ll tip well.”

Jack throws his head back in desperation and notices the space behind him has gone eerily quiet. During the chaos, the group fails to observe Luke has taken off, Jack’s phone still against his ear, blabbing away to you. 

“Oh fuck,” Jack’s sprinting catches Quinn’s attention, “LUKE! GET BACK HERE!”

Though clearly inebriated, Luke’s height in comparison to his brothers still proves to be his strength. His tall, muscular legs are guiding him in long strides several feet in front of his siblings. Once Quinn and Jack finally catch up, both of them using their full strength to tackle their baby brother to the ground, they notice the Uber pulling out of the parking lot. 

“FUCK! Nice going Luke!” Jack slams his palm against the ground. 

Luke rolls onto his back and grabs his side, “Owwww shit that hurt!”

The phone had fallen out of Luke’s hand during the scuffle, leaving you pleading on the other end to find out what’s going on, only being met with the commotion of all three Hughes brothers. 

You’re finally met with Quinn’s exasperated but steady voice, “Hey, the Uber left without us.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Look, we have to order another one and my phone is dead, and there’s a fat chance I try to wrangle Luke’s from him, so I have to use Jack’s. We’ll see you at home?”

You sigh, no pity for your boyfriend for causing this mess, but sympathy for his brothers, “I’ll just come and get you guys.”

“It’s fine, Y/N, we’ll just get another one. There’s probably tons still out.”

“Do you think Luke will get in that one?”

There’s a pause on the other end. 

“…yeah you should probably get us.”

“I’ll be there in 15.”

After saying goodbye, Quinn turns to his brothers. Jack is still ripping into Luke, and Luke is staring straight through him, not comprehending a word. 

“Y/N is gonna come get us.”

Luke’s brain suddenly starts working again at the mention of your name, throwing his arms up in the air, he exclaims, “YES! THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND!”

───────────────────────

When you pull up to the bar, the sight makes you laugh to yourself. Jack is sitting on the curb several feet away from his siblings, he’s hugging his knees which are pulled to his chest, with a scowl stretching across his whole face. Quinn is leaning against a pole, eyes closed and head drooping, then snapping up when he feels himself fall asleep. And Luke, oh your sweet Luke, fully sprawled out on his back on the concrete parking lot, arm pointing up at the sky, which you can assume he’s pointing out some constellation or planet, being completely ignored by his brothers. 

The sound of the tires hitting the rocky lot grabs all their attention. Thanking whatever higher power above for your fast reflexes, you slam on the brakes once you see Luke springing towards you, possibly the fastest you’ve ever seen him move. Seemingly not even aware of the fact you were this close to running him over, Luke bangs his palms against the closed passenger side window and yells, “HI!” with his smile fighting through the fog left on the glass. 

“Oh….wow,” you mutter to yourself after finally seeing the man of the night. You knew he was drunk, you kind of assumed they were all exaggerating just how drunk he was. 

Quinn’s frustration with his youngest brother can only be mellowed by the look on Luke’s face when he finally gets to see you. Sure, Luke is on another planet right now, but that image of love transcends all galaxies. Quinn’s not sure if he truly knows what love feels like, but he knows what it looks like. It’s the way Luke looks at you when you answer his call to get him because he only feels safe with you. It’s the way you look at Luke in his obliterated state like he is still the most perfect human alive. And yeah, he’s pretty fucking pissed at Luke, but Quinn’s happy he’ll never have to worry about him again, because he has you to pick him up when he needs you most. 

Luke pulls, and pulls, and pulls on the door handle trying to get into the car, not understanding the car is locked and you can’t unlock it with him constantly trying to open it. After asking him to stop multiple times, and with Jack pulling Luke’s hand from the door, the boys finally climb in. Luke immediately crowds into your space to place kisses on your cheek. 

“Hi pretty,” another kiss, “I missed you sooooo much!” 

Eyes widening at your boyfriend’s slurred speech and loose body movements, you turn to his brothers with an aghast look on your face, “What the fuck did he drink?”

“Beer, shots, vodka sodas, more beer, more shots, more vodka sodas.”

“Haven’t you ever heard beer before liquor never been sicker, liquor before beer you’re in the clear?”

“W-what?” Luke garbles, thinking your question was directed towards him.

Turning to face the boy, all you notice is how his focus hasn’t left you since he entered the vehicle. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s your pain in the ass. “Oh honey.” You place your hand on Luke’s cheek and he melts into your touch. His half lidded eyes trying their hardest not to close from comfort. 

“God I need another drink if I’m gonna be forced to watch this.”

Luke, only catching the mention of another drink, raises his eyebrows and points towards Jack as if to say he could go for another one, too. Grabbing Luke’s hand, you pull it down and he intertwines your fingers. “No, no. Everyone’s had enough. Time for bed!”

Luke’s hand never left yours the entire car ride. Even when you had to bring it up to the steering wheel to turn left, his went with yours, causing his entire body to tip towards you and crash back into the window when you brought it back to the right. 

────────────​​───────────

Once everyone arrives home in one piece, you very slowly get Luke up the stairs and into his room. You settle his lanky body on his side before he immediately flops onto his back. 

“Oh no you don’t.” Grabbing Luke’s arm you pull him with all your strength to get him back on his side. 

Luke, minutes away from slumber, groans at you shaking his body. His bloodshot eyes find your clear ones once he’s returned to his side, “but I was comfyyyyy!” 

“If you lay on your side for me I’ll let you be the little spoon.” The grin that blossoms onto Luke’s face can’t be hidden by him biting his bottom lip. He flips to his other side so you can settle in behind him. 

You slip into bed next to Luke, arms wrapping around his brawny torso to hold him close and make sure he doesn’t end up in a different position. Luke thinks you want to cuddle, but you’re really making sure he’s in a good spot in case he gets sick. However, you’ll take any opportunity you can to snuggle your boy and keep him safe, just as he always does for you. 

“Goodnight Lu, I love you.” 

Luke hums and pushes his head back so it sits between your pillow and your neck, “love ya,” he mumbles with his eyes closed as you feel his breathing get heavier. He’s for sure going to be feeling this tomorrow, but he’d do it all again if it meant he found himself in your arms every night. 

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Morpheus making you ride him as punishment :(

Author’s note: oh my god the season 2 behind the scenes look has me screaming, I’m so excited. I need him back in my life.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, slight bondage

Morpheus is nothing if not an attentive lover, always putting your pleasure first. While you’re in his realm, you don’t have to lift a finger, don’t have to want for anything. He provides.

And while he spends long stretches ravaging you, of taking you apart piece by piece via his long fingers stroking your clit until you squirm and cry for him, or fingering you while your gush around his lithe digits, there’s occasionally times where he finds you…challenging.

That mouth of yours has a tendency to run rampant, undermining his authority. He is a king, a god…more than a god; an endless. And to think a bratty little mortal like you has the audacity to be in his domain, his kingdom, and demand more of his time and energy? Well, you simply need a correction. A simple reminder of your place.

So that’s why you find yourself straddling him, thighs burning as you move up and down. He looks every bit the king of dreams as he sits on his impressive throne, how high you both are allowing you to survey the room while you ride your lover to the best of your capabilities. An unseen force is keeping your hands pinned to the small of your back, not even giving you the slight relief of bracing your weight on his thighs or shoulders.

No, instead you simply have to rut against him, feeling every bit like a concubine, pleasing your ruler.

“Are you getting tired my love? That cannot be the case I’m sure, since you were so eager to have me earlier. Quite…insistent, were you not?”

You whine pitifully at his words, the ache of your limbs at the repetitive motions setting in. Morpheus doesn’t have quite the same need to cum that you do, after all you both are in the dreaming, as much a part of him as he is of it. He can withhold his orgasm for as long as needed, which seems to be long enough that you’re soaking his lap with your needy juices.

“Making a mess I see, so wanton.” He chastises, but still makes no effort to help you move.

“Please…”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, a neutral expression plastered on his regal features. “Is there something you need, dearest?”

God you just want to scream, but your outburst would most likely not help your situation, so you give him a particularly strong slam of your hips before batting your eyelashes. “Please just fuck me.”

Instead of your desired response, he simply tuts. “You misunderstand the situation. This is…correctional. Your penance if you will. After all, you were the one being especially mouthy while in my realm. So it’s only right you prove to me you’re worth the attentions of a king.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how reminding you of his status above you makes you whine and clench your pussy around him. Your body is an instrument he is especially well versed in playing.

“Perhaps I have been too accommodating to your every whim and desire. I have created a spoilt thing it seems, so used to not putting in the work to achieve what she wants. This lesson is needed.”

Knowing no other way, you fight against your bodies’ exhaustion to ride him with vigour, rolling your hips. Pleasant hums occasionally pass his lips, the minuscule praise like a drug as you move faster on his lap.

You must get too carried away, as he gives your hip a light slap. “Now now, do not allow yourself to get carried away. Remember, it’s rhythm that is important in sexual situations such as this. Not just how fast you can move your hips on me.”

At his reprimanding, you nod your understanding and mutter a soft apology, building a rhythm that works. The sheer fact you’re riding him on his throne, in his throne room, really settles in. Anyone could walk in, heaven forbid Matthew flies in and gets the shock of his (after)life.

But you can’t deny how much it turns you on, to be dream of the endless’s favourite mortal, his favourite little pet to entertain him. It’s almost power in a strange sort of way, but it thrills you nonetheless.

Eventually, your lover’s hips start to move up in time with your thrusts, causing the breath to leave your lungs quickly. Your hands are released, and you quickly move them to his shoulders, feeling the material of his black cloak under your fingertips.

“Touch yourself. Feel the pleasure that I allow you to take.”

You don’t need to be told twice, fingers hurriedly rubbing circles on your clit as he fucks up into you with tenacity. “Please…can I cum?”

“You can do better.”

A moan rips its way from your lips before you can stop it. “Please…please my king, I need to cum. Please let me cum, I won’t talk back again, I’ll be so good…please.”

A trace of a smirk tugs on his lips, and he gives a simple nod of his head. Blue eyes trace over your trembling form as you finish all over his lap. A few thrusts later, he’s buried to the hilt inside of your weeping cunt, filling you up. He allows you to slump against him, gentle fingers moving up and down your spine to soothe you, his release warm inside of your spent pussy.

“Was that to your enjoyment?” He mumbles lowly into your ear, and you can’t help the girlish giggle you make as you nod against him. His smirk is now transformed into a soft smile, not allowing you to see this moment of vulnerability as he presses kisses to your hairline.

“Do not make such demands of me again, unless you want your next punishment to not involve climax for you at all.”