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always-just-red · 1 month ago

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hii! i have a request!

the mc/reader has a pet cat and adores cats so rafayel will have to accept that his beloved bride has a furry little companion bc them and the cat are a 2 for 1 deal and the cat is basically their baby and there’ll alway probably be a cat in the home forever

ty!! adore ur writing!

Aww thank you anon!! As a devoted cat-person, I'm THRILLED to finally be sharing my vision of cat-dad Raf. 🙂‍↕️ This fic felt so personal in the end, I swear I can't write Raf without it accidentally becoming this window into all the intimacy I want but don't have 😭 Anyway!!! Dedicating this to my babies, Floof and Velcro!

Cat-Sitting

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: Was it really a good idea to leave Rafayel and your cat unsupervised?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship

| Word count: 2.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Captain Jenna indicates the large, glass monitor behind her— a finger dragging across it, zooming in on a smaller section of the virtual map. “There’s been an insurgence of Wanderer activity here, and—” another swipe of her finger— “here, so we’ll be increasing patrols in these districts. While public safety remains the priority, we should be investigating any unusual fluctuations of…”

You’re so, so tired. Your chin is resting on your hand and your leader’s briefing is starting to sound like a bedtime story. Sat beside you, Xavier is looking similarly uninspired. The blue of his eyes is glazing over. His eyelids are drooping. When he blinks, it’s slow and unfocused.

Your phone buzzes and it feels like you’ve been doused in cold water; your heart jumps. Glancing around, thankfully no-one but Xavier noticed. His gaze flits over to you with lazy interest as you reach into your pocket, checking your phone under the table. It’s a text from Rafayel: your cat is broken??

You frown, ever so slightly. Before your mind has any time to run away with that ominous message, another notification comes through:

[Silly fish <3 has sent an image]

With one more furtive check that no-one’s watching, you tap at the screen, opening up your messages. You squint down at the photo. It’s your cat, perched on the arm of your sofa. She looks perfectly content, and decidedly unbroken.

Rafayel texts: it had legs before, right?

Again: where

And again: where are they???

You have to consciously hold back your smile. Your cat’s legs are tucked away underneath her; you can’t see them in the photo. ��Loaf’, you surreptitiously text back.

Rafayel responds: ???????????

You close your phone as more messages come through. You don’t have to read them to know it’s the same emoji, over and over: artsy birb, lying in a puddle of tears. You’ve silenced your phone so it no longer buzzes. Jenna is drawing patrol routes on her map. Xavier leans over to you, whispering: “How’s the first-time cat-sitter?”

Without saying a word, you move your phone under the table so he can sneak a peek at it. There are now twenty-three unread messages. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Xavier chuckles under his breath, and this time, you can’t help but smile. Jenna turns, locking both of you in a steely-grey stare. Xavier gives her a grin, and you give her a double thumbs-up. With a sigh, she goes back to her presentation.

…

“So I said, ‘what am I supposed to do? Not kill the Wanderer? Y’know, the Wanderer tearing its way through a street full of people— just because it’s a tiiiiny bit different than normal?’ And get this! He says, ‘yes.’ He says, ‘you should have taken some time to study it, brought me data and samples.’ Can you believe that?”

You laugh quietly as you finish up typing your latest report. You can believe that, actually. If a Wanderer broke in through the window of this building right here, right now, you’re pretty sure Nero would be sat with a clipboard, taking notes. “C’mon, what did you expect?”

“Uh… some empathy, maybe?” your colleague frowns.

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Your phone rings in your pocket, and you whip it out with business-like efficiency. You’re on autopilot. “Hello?” you ask, opening up the next set of gloriously exciting blank text boxes on your screen.

“Cutie!”

It’s basically a yell. You narrow your eyes at your monitor, inputting your name, your badge number. “Raf,” you return apathetically. “What’s up?”

“Code red. Code red!”

“Mmhmm?” You don’t know what that means.

“You have to come home. Right now. It’s an emergency!”

“Is it, though?” Your keyboard clacks, only stopping when you have to check today’s date before filling it out on your form.

“Are you even listening? I said code red. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yup! Gold star for Rafayel.”

“Seriously?! I’m trying to tell you that your precious little angel’s in trouble.”

Was that supposed to be your voice? You don’t sound like that. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Raf.”

“No!” he squeaks. “Not me! The— oh for the love of the ocean, the lobsters, the sharks and the crabs— can you just get here? Please?!”

For the love of all of those things, hmm? You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Hang in there. Okay, angel? Little angel fishie. Ooh! Angelfish!”

There’s silence from the other end. “…You done?”

You hit enter on your keyboard. “Please, we both know you’re blushing right now.”

…

You stand at the door of your apartment— home early from work, courtesy of the old ‘family emergency!’ card. It’s sort of nice, honestly; you can’t remember the last time you got to play it. Family emergency… You think of you and Rafayel, your little cat, and Reddie. There’s a warm feeling in your heart as you open the door.

That feeling is gone when Rafayel snatches you by your arm.

“Quick,” he says, dragging you towards the lounge, “quick, quick, quick!”

No ‘welcome home’ kiss means something’s wrong. Actually wrong. Your bag tumbles from your shoulder; you have to skirt around the coffee table to keep from crashing into it. “Whoa,” you mumble, “Raf, slow down. What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“Look!”

At last, your arm is released. Your heart is in your throat as you do look, and—

You’ve got to be kidding.

Your cat has moved from the arm of the couch, but she didn’t make it far. She’s snuggled up like an adorable croissant— one paw over her face. You realise, fairly quickly, that the ‘emergency’ lies in what she’s found a nest in: a crumpled heap with a criss-cross pattern. Cream, navy, and red wool, all squished up beneath her. It’s Rafayel’s cardigan.

“Aww!” you coo.

“Aww?” Rafayel echoes. “That’s all you have to say— aww?”

You’re not listening. You crouch down beside the couch, leaning in close. “Hi baby,” you coo again, tickling at your cat’s paw gently. She lifts it, one eye half-opening. You smile, and the eye widens more— filling with your reflection. “Has the big, bad fishie been bullying you today?”

She makes a tiny chirp as she stretches her front legs.

“That’s a lie!” Rafayel snaps.

“Oh no!” you sympathise— pointedly not with the man behind you. “What did he do, huh? This is a safe space. You can tell me.”

Both of your cat’s eyes are open now, still heavy with sleep. She speaks back to you: matching your tone with a soft-spoken meow.

“I see,” you tut, nodding. “And then what?”

She meows again. You gasp.

Suddenly, Rafayel is on his knees beside you, jabbing a finger towards her face. “You traitor! We had a deal.”

Your cat stares at the finger. Yawns— briefly an eldritch horror: all sharp, shining teeth— before curling a paw over it. Rafayel goes still. His eyes shine with the quiet panic you see when you brush a hair away from his forehead, or sweep a tear from his cheek with your thumb. It’s so soft; he doesn’t know what to do with it. You smile knowingly. He sees you and clears his throat, his hand slinking back.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “I have an idea. Lemme just…”

He pinches an edge of the cardigan. “What’re you doing?” you ask.

“You ever seen that magic trick? With the tablecloth? I’ve just gotta…”

“No!”

He’s biting back a grin as he adds: “But if I’m fast enough—”

“No, Raf!” you giggle as you intercept him. He laughs in a small, genuine way too, his hands shooting back to the cardigan every time you manage to wrestle them off of it. You have to pry at his fingers. Catch them before he sends your cat on an unscheduled flight across your apartment.

Inches away, she watches your scrabbling hands, completely unperturbed. When Rafayel gives up— his fingers relaxing in their tangle with yours, his laughter dwindling— she blinks drowsily.

Time feels slower, and somehow forgiving. You lay your head down on the sofa. “Do you really want your cardigan back?” you murmur, because your cat is asleep again.

Rafayel slumps, mirroring you as he pulls your hand close to his lips. “Nah.” His voice is like warm, orange light, and he kisses the tip of your forefinger. “It’s okay. What’s mine is yours, cutie. And what’s yours is—” he falters, looking towards the bundle of fur beside you.

You hum appreciatively, letting him plant one, two more kisses before you pull your hand away. “Wait here,” you breathe, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

One expedition to the kitchen later, you return with a small bag of treats. You find your previous seat on the floor, then reach into the bag— pulling out a small, fish-shaped biscuit. “Look,” you chuckle, wiggling it through the air like it’s swimming, “it’s you.”

“Ha, ha.” Rafayel rolls his eyes, cheek still squished against the couch.

He needs more convincing, so you make the fish swim in his direction, stopping just short of his nose. It floats patiently before him, persisting even when his face wrinkles. You wiggle it one way. Then the other. This earns you another eyeroll, but he does at least smile.

You flick the fish over to your cat. She’s awake in an instant, mouth snatching it up: teeth splintering it with a crack. You swear you see the colour leave Rafayel’s face. You hand him the bag of treats, and with a pout, he starts to set up a trail of them: leading across the sofa. There’s a mournful sigh for each he lays down. Even the odd, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” you huff. “I watched you eat an entire seafood platter last night.”

He narrows his eyes at you, holding your gaze as he puts the next treat down deliberately slowly. Behind him, your cat has stood, stretched, and is now pottering along, crunching away without a care in the world. Rafayel reaches for his cardigan, giving it a shake before threading his arms through the sleeves.

When the crunching stops, he turns— another treat caught between two of his fingers. Your cat takes it carefully, delicately, and she chirps as those same fingers tickle the top of her head. A contented purr underscores the moment. Rafayel smiles as he plays with her ears.

Then he catches you watching him, your eyebrow raised. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

You scoff. “Code red my ass.”

…

Rafayel doesn’t really know when you fell asleep.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his pencil moves mindfully slowly: a quiet scratch, scratch as it waltzes over his sketchbook. The room has gone dark. Tangerine light has stopped spilling from the windows, and he can’t reach any light switch, so he settles for the bleedings of the TV. Cool blues. Pale greens. The space around him flickers, and there are voices, too: broadcasters, droning on.

He hears it, even though he’s trying not to. “Another Wanderer attack”, they report. “Indicative of a recent, worrying insurgence of incidents.” Updated statistics. Civilian casualties. Hunter casualties.

Rafayel’s pencil has stopped. After a moment, he sighs— pressing a kiss to the top of your head you don’t feel, and will never know the weight of. He forces himself to look back down. Draw the shapes and the lines of the things that distract him from that feeling in his chest.

Someone is watching him.

His gaze wanders up, finding eyes across the room. Your cat is studying him from afar, sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. He pokes his tongue out at her. She chirps back. He returns to his sketches, and half a minute later, she lands on the arm of the couch beside him, having pounced gracefully up. She doesn’t deserve any more of his attention. His pencil moves up and down, up and down, and she’s transfixed by the end of it. She lifts a paw, and—

“Nuh uh,” Rafayel warns, his eyes still on the page.

The paw waits. Rafayel chuckles. He raises the pencil, waggling it in the air between them, and her pupils go wide as she bats at it. With one sweep, she brings it closer to her mouth— bites down. Crunch.

Rafayel tuts: “Monster.”

Thankfully, she’s soon bored by the game. She sits, watching him expectantly, like he must have another one lined up for her. He doesn’t, so he turns his sketchbook towards her instead.

“What d’you think, little co-conspirator?”

The page is full of sketches, mostly of you. There’s one of you sat at your kitchen island, sipping some tea and looking like you wished you were back in bed; your hair was a mess. There’s also Reddie: soft, flowy lines and shimmering, monochrome scales. In one corner, your cat is sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her. ‘Loaf’ he’s written next to it, with a crude, tiny sketch of some bread.

Your cat isn’t looking; she’s staring past the page, at the real you. With a half-formed meow, she leaps onto his legs, making a beeline for yours. “Nope!” he says, blocking her path with the sketchbook. “Sorry, kitty, but our brave hunter needs to rest.”

She tries to get past him, but for her every movement, his sketchbook moves too: always one step ahead. With another, more indignant meow, she starts to tread circles on his lap. Then she kneads at his leg, claws sinking in. “Monster,” he whispers again, drawing air through his teeth. “Relax, will you? Jeez.”

His thighs are still being treated like pincushions, so he lifts her gently, his other hand reaching behind him. He knows what she wants. His cardigan is draped over the back of the sofa, and he drags it onto his lap—straightening it out as he grumbles, “this is extortion, you know.”

The cat is lowered back down, and she curls up in the wool of his cardigan, like that had always been the plan. A purr begins to rumble, deepening as Rafayel pets at her head, running fingers— aching from sketching— through the warmth of her fur. Her eyes are sleepy. Rafayel yawns, his head drooping to rest against yours.

His fingers move mindlessly, enjoying the softness while the television talks of tragedy, and he doesn’t notice.

#🖋rach is actually writing #rafayel x reader #rafayel #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #qi yu #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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thanksbutno98 · 3 months ago

Text

Stressed Out

Simon Riley x wife!reader OC

Summary: Simon and his wife try for a fourth child.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, p in v, dirty talk, rough sex, masturbation, talks of pregnancy, mentions of infertility, not edited.

——————

“Stop fidgeting.”

“Shh.” You shushed Simon aggressively.

“Dove-“

“I said shh.” You shushed your husband again.

The two of you were sitting in a stuffy doctor’s office. Simon sat in a chair next to yours and the only reason he knew you were fighting was because the leather whined every time you moved. You felt incredibly uncomfortable being here and you regretted going this medical route.

You see, you and Simon had been trying to get pregnant for eight months now and had no success. It left you worried you weren’t able to have any more children. Simon being the lovable oaf you saw him as, kept telling you nothing was wrong. That sometimes it takes longer than expected and you stressing about it wouldn’t help. You had already had a blood test last month that showed your hormone levels were normal, now you wanted to know next steps.

When you brought up the idea of getting tested further to make sure everything was working properly the doctor recommended Simon leave a sample before you went that route. The number of crass comments that were made had the doctor turning a shade of red you didn’t think humanly possible. When Simon went to leave the sample you had gotten a barrage of text messages telling you how awful the porn they had was. It devolved into you taking a picture of your breasts in the women’s washroom. He was done before you had even made it back to the waiting room.

Now the pair of you were sat here, a week later, waiting for the results. Simon complained the entire ride here that they could have told you two over the phone. He was right. This had you nervous because in your mind the fact you had to come in person meant one of you was the problem as to why you weren’t getting pregnant. So either they needed to run more tests on you or Simons sperm count was low.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Sorry to keep you waiting.” The same doctor from last time came into his office with a friendly smile.

He was a short man and built like a runner. His hair was grey but he didn’t appear to be that much older than you. He wore a bright white lab coat and had his hospital ID hooked to the pocket.

“Alright, get on with it.” Simon sounded bored out of his mind. He could be so immature in settings like this, it made you want to throttle him.

“You’re both perfectly healthy. In fact, he’s extremely fertile.” The doctor smiled at you and pointed to Simon. Simon immediately started flexing his biceps like Johnny always did when he bragged about his latest escapade.

“Wait, then why aren’t I getting pregnant?” You blurted out and swatted Simon to put his arms down.

“I believe you’ve just been unlucky. That’s why I had you come in. I wanted to make sure you’re having intercourse effectively. We don’t tend to worry until it’s been a year of trying.” The doctor started shuffling things around his desk and you felt Simon gearing up to be a smart ass.

“Oh, it’s affective.” The crass joke had you and the doctor looking at Simon unimpressed.

“I’ll need to know how often you two are having sex, if it’s during the time you’re ovulating, and if you know how to track your ovulation. Penetrative vaginal sex is the most affective way to get pregnant. I assume that what’s happening. I did-“

“We have sex as often as she lets me. . . Which is often and she has me finish in-” Simon was grinning like a fool. Something about hearing that he was extremely fertile made his ego grown twice in size.

“Simon.” You hissed before he could finish his sentence.

You talked to him about acting like a normal human when coming here. You made him promise no crude comments and he was breaking his promise.

“Look at her. You really think I’m not pawing at her every chance I get?” This was not the time or place for your husband to start flirting but he didn’t care.

“Simon, behave!” You hissed again.

“Well, Mr. Riley.” The doctor seemed to be getting fed up with your husband.

“Stress can hinder a woman’s ability to get pregnant. So, maybe some self reflection is in order and you try to not upset your wife so much. Considering how worked up you’ve gotten her in my office both times now, it doesn’t seem far fetched you do this at home.”

——————

“Guys a fuckin’ quack.” Simon growled.

You were now chasing after him in the car park while he stormed to the car. Simon had some choice words after the doctor accused him of stressing you out. You apologized profusely for Simon’s behavior, picked up the chair he flipped, and then thanked the man. He wished you a sarcastic ‘good luck’ which you weren’t sure was meant for getting pregnant or being married to Simon Riley.

“Simon, you’re acting like an ass.” You told him but he didn’t seem to care.

He was standing at the car holding your door open and looking angrier than ever.

“Bastard accuses me of stressing you out? What a fucking joke!” Simon then let out a loud dry laugh that echoed through the parking garage.

“You do stress me out.” You told him flatly.

“No I don’t.” He rebutted.

You stared at him silently. A moment passed before Simon spoke again.

“Okay, maybe I do sometimes. But enough that it’s affecting you getting pregnant? What’s load of rubbish.” Another sarcastic laugh echoed against the concrete as Simon waited for you to agree with him.

You continued to stare at him blankly. His face dropped and he seemed to get your point now.

“Fine. I stress you out. Now get in the car.” Simon ordered and aggressively motioned with his hand for you to get in.

“Simon Riley!” You snapped at him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll work on it. I’m sorry.” Simon pretended to wave a white flag of surrender to hopefully get you to lighten up.

“Thank you.” You sighed in relief. Finally getting into the car Simon left a sweet, tender kiss to your cheek.

“Now, c’mon. I’ll fuck that sour mood out of you as soon as we’re home.” He joked.

“You better.”

——————

“Girls, settle down.” Simon was attempting to clear the kitchen table after dinner while his two younger daughters, six and four, ran around screaming.

“Mel, go get your homework done please.” Your oldest daughter who was twelve, nodded and made her way upstairs.

“GRACIE!” Fae screeched in excitement while pushing Simon out of her way to keep running circles around the table.

“FAE!” Grace screamed her name back from under the round kitchen table.

“ENOUGH YELLING!” Simon was now the third person to raise his voice.

“I’ll stop when you stop.” Fae immediately bit back at her father. She was now climbing on top of the table and doing a silly dance.

“Yeah! What Fae said!” Grace stomped her foot and pointed her finger to her big sister. She too was now climbing on to the table to dance a silly dance with her sister.

“Simon.” You warned before he shouted again.

“What?” He asked defensively.

“The yelling’s stressing me out.” You told him off handedly.

You had your mind preoccupied with the school paper work in front of you. There was an incident report sent home with Fae for fighting. It wasn’t anything physical but she had cursed a little boy out for pushing her friend to the ground. Apparently she called him a ‘brainless twat’ among other things.

“No more yelling you two.” Simon pointed at Fae then to Grace. They paused in funky positions, looked at each other, then continued to do their weird little dances.

“Not their yelling. Your yelling.” You spoke forcefully.

“We’ll stop when you stop.” Grace sang. She jumped onto one of the chairs then to the floor and ran over to her father to sweetly hug Simon’s leg.

“Alright.” Simon didn’t argue back and bit his tongue.

It was dawning on him that he was really stressing you out, even when he wasn’t acting out of the ordinary. Having served along side each other in the military, Simon knew you handled stress well. You weren’t one to lose your cool or really complain about being stressed. The past week or so you had been. It was unintentionally making Simon reflect on his behavior. To him he wasn’t doing anything he didn’t normally do but maybe things had been getting to you easier because you wanted to be pregnant by now.

Taking the dinner plates and putting them in the sink Simon continued to glance between you and the dishes. He started washing them by hand and couldn’t keep himself from looking at you every so often.

“Stop staring at me. It’s stressing me out.” You warned him without looking up from the papers in front of you.

“We need to find something that doesn’t stress you out.” Simon grumbled.

“You not being in the same room.” Mel quipped as she came into the kitchen, grabbed her book bag, and then went back upstairs.

“Don’t be a smart ass.” Simon called after her.

“I’ll stop when you stop.” Mel shot back.

Simon turned to say something to you but you already had your hand up to quiet him.

“You’re stressing me out.” This time you lied. You just didn’t want to hear him complain about everyone in the house giving him a hard time.

Simon sighed heavily and silently did the dishes. Every once in a while you’d hear a giggle as he playfully tried to shake Grace off his leg. Fae soon joined and little giggles would ring out every so often.

“Fae, why’d you call this boy in your class a-“ you paused to read the incident report again.

“A ‘fuckin’ fridge?’” Your voice elevated on fridge to show your confusion.

“Cuz uncle John called dad that once. So it had to be mean.” You could barely hear Fae as Simon broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

You had heard both Simon and John Price insult each other on many occasions. Only they replaced ‘fridge’ with any inanimate object that popped into their head. Your favorite was while deployed together, Simon mouthed off and Price called him a ‘fuckin’ turnip’ and then proceeded to throw equipment in Simon’s direction. It made you wonder if Price’s kids got in as much trouble as yours did. Or if they were out there calling classmates muppets, turnips, fuck wits, or any other insult they heard from their father.

After getting your children tucked into bed you went and took a shower. They had terrorized Simon to the point he had to sit on the top stair to calm himself down. Fae and Grace threw their stuffed animals at him and then playfully screamed and ran when he gave them a menacing look.

They had no intention of listening to him if he was reasonable, sweet, or shouting. Nothing would get them to behave for him and you could tell the moment you saw him trying to wrangle them both into bed. So you took over and sent him to decompress. Only the girls kept calling for him every few minutes. You heard him start his show over countless times and wondered when he would finally get fed up.

You were now trying to destress. It was hard for you to tell if Simon was the one stressing you out or if life was getting to you. Either way you needed to get yourself back in order.

Simon was usually a sarcastic ass, but he was your sarcastic ass. You loved his smart ass comments and how socially inept he could be at times. It’s what made him charming. Not to everyone, but you found him charming. He was your big, lovable, dickish husband and you wouldn’t want him any different.

After some reasoning you decided you had been tougher on Simon than you liked. Yes, he needed a swift kick in the ass every so often to behave. But today you were starting to think you were a little too harsh by telling him he was stressing you out. So, you checked your calendar to see if you really needed to get over what you thought was misplaced annoyance and seduce your husband.

“Simon!” You called from your bedroom.

The frustration was building for Simon. This felt like the twentieth time he’d been interrupted while trying to watch his show. He had just gotten comfortable on the couch with his beer and crisps. With an angry huff Simons large hand grabbed the remote to pause his show. That’s when he saw he was four minutes and twenty two second into the episode. Five minutes, he couldn’t go five minutes in this house without someone needing him.

“What!” Simon barked back. There was a few seconds of dead air when Simon heard the bottom two stairs creak.

“Well, I was going to tell you I’m ovulating but never mind.” Your once sweet voice was now coated in disdain.

Turning quickly to look over his shoulder, Simon saw you, his beautiful wife who was clearly pissed off with him. You were standing in the doorway of the living room looking annoyed.

“Coming!” Simon was up and scrambling around the couch.

“Not after that reaction!” You snapped back and went back upstairs. Simon stopped for a second, grabbed his beer and chugged the entire glass in under ten seconds.

“Dove, wait up.” Simon was taking the stairs two at a time and caught up to you in your bedroom.

You were ready to lay into him. Forget, forgiveness or admitting you’d been snippy today. Now you were convinced he was being an ass and he was responsible for why you felt so stressed out. Turning around, you had your finger ready to be shoved into your husband face and tell him just what you thought about him barking at you.

Only he shut you up fast.

Before you knew it Simons thumb was in your mouth and pressing your tongue down so you couldn’t speak. His fingers curled around your jaw and held your face firmly like that. He had a wicked grin and eyes darker than usual.

“Shush. I’ve stressed you out, let me make it right.” Simon purred.

Your eyes went wide staring up at this massive man you called yours. With little hesitation you shook your head, not sure how your husband had tamed you so quickly.

“Bend over the bed.” Simon ordered and you obeyed.

On your way there Simon helped remove your shirt, pajama bottoms and panties. This left you completely bare and now bent over your bed with your face resting against the soft navy sheets. You could feel the massive presence of Simon looming behind you but weren’t sure what his next move was.

You sighed out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding when you felt his warm, rough hands on your ass. His thumbs lightly pressed into the muscles and massaged them. Slowly his hands slid to your lower back and dug out the knots from there to your shoulders. Simon took his time giving you a thorough back massage with his clothed crotched pressed against your rear, until he was back at your ass and kneading the fatty flesh.

You couldn’t see him but you knew he had a smirk on his handsome face as he pulled apart your cheeks to get a look at your pretty cunt. Simons thumbs started to massage up and down the crease of your thighs and then to your pretty lips. It felt amazing and you had to be dripping from how good and relaxed your body felt.

“Hm, so pretty.” Simon hummed before flattening his tongue and licking a firm stripe up your cunt.

You gasped at the light contact and then gasped again at Simon’s tongue expertly finding your clit and rolling it under the muscle.

“Hmm.” Simon hummed into your cunt right before his tongue started to thrust in and out of your perfect little hole.

Simon didn’t spend long on his knees. Soon he was stripping out of his clothes and positioning himself behind you. He slid his massive length between your cheeks a few times and groaned at the contact.

“Ready, dove?” It was a question that needed no answer and Simon didn’t wait for one.

Pushing his hips forward slowly, your gummy walls wrapped around him tightly until his hips were flush with your ass. Grinding his hips forward you could feel the head of his cock nudging at your cervix. Taking Simon always felt like playing a dangerous game because of his massive size. Each and every time, those first few minutes were spent adjusting and fighting against the sensation of being split in half.

“Just relax. I’ll knock you up, don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours.” That thick accent you loved so much purred in your ear.

Placing his hands on either side of your head you stared at the tattoos on his arm. A sweet kiss was then laid on your temple as Simon began to roll his hips. It was measured, patient, calculated thrusts to warm you up. Breathing deeply your eyes fluttered shut and you enjoyed the sensation of going from slightly uncomfortable at the stretch to mesmerized by the way he slid in and out of you.

You were ready for Simon, his gentle pace meant you were soaking his cock. Carefully your wrapped your fingers around each of Simon’s wrists so you would have something to help ground you. It was a silent sign you were ready for him, you had been doing this since you were dating.

With a wicked smile Simon paused his thrusts for a moment and leaned down with his mouth by your ear.

“Hold on tight.” Simon’s voice was like honey in your ears and you gripped his wrists harder in anticipation.

The first thrust was hard but not has hard as he could go. It was Simon testing the waters. The thrust after that was almost all of his strength and you reacted positively by burying your face in the comforter and muffling your moan. Feeling you grip his wrists for dear life was the last positive sign Simon needed to start laying into you.

Thank god the fan was going and the tv was playing to muffle out the sound of skin clapping skin. Simon’s eyes locked on your plump bottom jiggling with each and every thrust of his. Your moans were muffled but he knew you would be screaming if the house were empty.

With every thrust the bed creaked and mattress molded into the shape of your body getting pounded into the soft sheets. It was perfect because when Simon pulled back the mattress sprang back up in his direction and then he slammed you back into it.

The way Simon felt was all consuming. This position allowed him to throw his full body weight into it but only for so long. The last time he went in this position for too long your back had hurt for the next two days.

“Simon.” You whined, feeling your back start to ache.

That was all your husband needed to hear and he was pulling out of you. Shaking your hands off his wrists you took this moment to catch your breath. Simon grabbed your thigh and pulled so you spun around and were now lying on your back. He had done it so quickly it whipped you around. His cock was now resting on your belly showing off how deep he could reach. Tapping it a few times impatiently Simon waited for you to catch up.

“Trying to give me whiplash?” You joked but the words fell off at the end when you felt the blunt tip of your husband’s cock push into you.

Simon was holding your hips firmly and sinking into your tight heat. A new position meant waiting for the green light for the go ahead. A bit frazzled from how good it felt your fingers fumbled to find Simon’s wrists but once you did and gave him a squeeze he set off with his first few trial thrusts and then was pounding away.

“Your tits are fuckin’ gorgeous.” Simon growled, his eyes locked on to the way they bounced with each cruel slam of his hips.

“Simon, I-fuck. Rub my clit, I’m close.” You moaned softly, using all your willpower not to scream from the pleasure.

“Do it yourself.” Simon brushed you off and continued to focus on your tits bouncing and the way you were hugging him so tight.

Without thinking you pushed up with one hand behind your back and now propping you up. With the other it clapped against the back of Simons thick neck and roughly pulled him so he was now leaning down, nose to nose with you. The pure rage in your fiery eyes and the way it stung from how forcefully you grabbed his neck almost made Simon cum on the spot.

“Make me cum.” You ordered, teeth bared and a pissed off expression taking over your once blissed out face.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Simon sounded so in love in that moment, like he was in some daydream like state.

One hand left your hip while he continued his thrusts and began to play with your pretty little clit. His thumb bumped against it a few time before he truly got the digit over the bundle of nerves. You fell back into the sheets, back arching and pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Faster.” You ordered and Simons hips moved quicker making you squeak in surprise.

“Not-not your hips you idiot! Your thumb!” You sounded so frustrated with him and Simon never understood why that was such a turn on.

Simon didn’t bother slowing down on his brutal thrust but did speed up the rate he was rubbing at your cute little clit. That seemed to do it for you. Tossing your head back your fingers gripped the sheets and you gasped inaudibly. Seeing you cum and then a second later feeling you choke his cock from the base to tip drove Simon wild.

Waves of pleasure rocked your body and Simon worked you through the best of it. That was until now, as you laid on the bed sensitive and worn out and he was still going.

“Simon.” You whined, his brutal thrusts becoming too much in your blissed out state.

“Almost there.” He grunted, eyes focused on your tits until he felt your finger under his chin and tiling his head up to look at you.

“Cum.” You spoke sweetly, giving him that same smile you did back when you married him.

You joked about whiplash earlier but Simon felt he was the one truly experiencing it with your emotional back and forth. Going from being pissed off at him to now sweet as pie. And it worked. Because after a long deep moan Simon was shooting white ropes into your sore cunt. He stayed like that for a moment, deep inside you and catching his breath.

“You’re perfect.” You whispered to your hulking lover who was dwarfing you from above.

“Bed, I’m exhausted.” Pulling out and flopping on to the bed Simon shut his eyes and caught his breath.

“Easiest way to get you to sleep.” You giggled at how making Simon cum was a sure fire way to put him to sleep.

Ignoring the mess you crawled under the sheets and so did Simon. Curling up against his chest he was snoring a few minutes later. You tried to get up and clean yourself before you made the sheets messy. Only, Simon, even in his sleep, would not let go and thus you were stuck to his side. You truly didn’t mind and decided sleep was better, you’d have him change the sheets in the morning.

——————

The feeling of soft sheets and cool air greeted you this morning as your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you saw was hazel. God, how that had become your favorites color. Hazel eyes, crooked teeth, and a faded scar that hooked around the chin of pale skin of a prominent jaw.

Simons eyes were soft, drowsy, and stuck on you. That soft smile of his reminded you how he use to watch you sleep all those years ago when you served together. Some said they were unsettling but nothing settled you like his reassuring gaze. It said ‘I’ve got you.’

With gentleness that was once unknown to a man like Simon he brushed your messy bed head from your beautiful face. He didn’t have to speak a word for you to know he wanted to say he loved you. It was hard for him to say, no matter how many years had passed, but that didn’t matter. You’d hear him whisper in to you in the night when he thought you were asleep or when you were wrangling your kids and he assumed you were too distracted to hear.

“Thanks for last night.” You smiled at Simon in the early morning light. He shook his head, acknowledging your sweet words.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It made your heart stutter to see the way his eyes softened even more and lashes fluttered at your words. The warm lazy smiled soon revealed a toothy grin.

“Back at you, dove.” Simon returned your words with just as much gentleness. And just as easily as he laid here with you this lazy morning he shifted back into his brooding sarcastic self.

“Take a test, last night was the one.” He joked. Before you could even roll your eyes the covers were tossed off of you.

Simon dragged your naked body across the bed and kissed your belly all over. You broke out into a fit of laughter because his stubble was tickling your soft skin. Breaking free you scrambled out of bed and went straight for the bathroom.

“It won’t come out positive that fast.” You chuckled.

“Humor me.” Simon called to you and your response was to shut the bathroom door.

Shrugging you decided to take the test. It would only confirm what you already knew. You grabbed an old discarded shirt of Simon’s from the floor and put it on. Tapping your foot you scrolled on your phone until the timer went off. Barely looking at the plastic test you picked it up and headed for the bin to toss it out. You froze mid stride.

It was positive.

“No fucking wonder I can’t stand him right now.” You chuckled to yourself. This was so relieving.

Pregnancy test’s use to set your teeth on edge, now it brought joy. You wanted to holler and cheer that this had finally happened. But that wasn’t really like you. So with a huge smile you went to go get your pain in the of an ass husband.

“Oi, asshole.” You called to Simon as you exited the bathroom.

You were beaming and looking like you shallowed the sun. He was out of bed and pulling his sweatpants. Holding up the plastic test Simon stared at you with a crooked smile from across the room.

“I know. Makes sense why you’ve hated me the past week.” Simon spoke knowingly and gave you a wink.

“You knew?” You blurted out, arm falling to your side.

“Course. You haven’t been able to stand me being in the same room as you for more than ten minutes; and you know how you get mean when you’re pregnant. You ate half the trey of brownies last night-“

You opened your mouth to deny that but Simon pointed at you and gave you a stern look.

“Don’t deny it.” Then he continued. His words had your mouth clamping shut.

“And the biggest tell. . . Your tits are swollen. It’s why I was able to leave that sample so quick. You pregnant does it for me.” With a shrug Simon moved to go put on a shirt and go about his day before his hellions woke up.

“You ass. Why didn’t you ask me to take a test sooner?” Waltzing over you tossed the test at his head but he quickly ducked and started deeply laughing.

“Would you have listened?” Simon asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“No. Would’ve waited for my missed period.” You muttered. Crossing your arms over your chest you averted your gaze.

“That’s why.” Kissing your cheek Simon wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest.

“Congratulations, dove.” Simon spoke softly into the crown of your head.

“I’m so excited.” Melting into his embrace you felt your legs turn to jello as Simon said exactly what you needed to hear.

“Love you. Forever.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword @faceache111 @azu21 @thirstyb-ches @nini-11-08 @sgtgarricks @kiki-is-hyperfixating @mayflysdie @aliceinwonderland-5678 @blue096 @rip-cod-brainrot @saturnghost93 @somehopeatlast @thepowers-kat-be @tenko-nii @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @thraxpatty @mnsnp @faeriedust17 @livstablers @luvr4miya @phoenixhalliwell @maissalov3u @ellerdod @tizzywoowoo @himboelover @yehsehneeah @r0vena

#simon riley mw2 #cod simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon riley x oc #simon riley smut #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #Simon Riley x dove #cod ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley call of duty

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calder · 1 year ago

Text

please reblog for sample size.

edit

good job dude

edit 2

i have been permanently banned from nukapedia for this post

edit 3

the following posts were screencapped and posted to nukapedia as the other reason for upgrading my 1yr ban to permanent

several patrollers have resigned in solidarity or disgust

you can read the bans and see for yourself, where admins repeatedly vaguely accuse me of presenting these messages under false pretense.

i was also harassed by a nukapedia admin on tumblr who attempted to delete the message before i could engage with it. when i mentioned it to the other acting admin, i was told to re-read the harassment so i might be a better person in a year.

further, a channel was collectively scolded last month by an admin who had been triggered upon being compelled to review the messages of the anti-Woke mod. during an argument, the mod had compared transness to blackface in defense of JK Rowling, earning him a 3-day ban. when i said i was traumatized from dealing with his targeted harassment of myself and my queer peers throughout pride month, i was accused of "emotionally manipulating admins"

all of this had begun two months ago when someone shared a personal anecdote about a racial microaggression they had experienced and wrapped it up with "such a white thing to say." for weeks thereafter, this woman was namedropped by the mod whenever racism came up, as an example of a racist. he would ultimately accuse her of being no better than a holocaust denier because she said "the far left is not associated with mass murder and bigotry."

during the mod's three-day ban he participated in the coordinated monitoring and harassment of a minor. the user sent five replies to the effect of "you are never to contact me in private" and "stop talking to me" before the mod stopped messaging him. this was not addressed when the mod was unbanned. however, the morning before this, the woman mentioned above was banned for leaving an incredulous emoji react face on a backhanded admin post targeting her.

the mod believes he is protecting the community from "reverse racism." he has also asked me if i "think hostility towards white people is justice" and when i excused myself from the conversation he asked if i was "triggered"

at one point i announced i would be absent for several days to attend a funeral. the mod invoked me by name and characterized me as a bad person while i was attending my grandmother's service

he remains on-staff, surrounded by silence. my 1yr ban was prompted by my confronting the community with proof of him stalking a minor, but that incident did not come up at all in the text of my ban

please reblog for public awareness. please show this to every fallout fan you know.

#fallout 76 #fnv #fallout 4

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

Note

Remember that time I said last one? Oops...

What If 141...trying for baby. Rawr.

I remember when you said it would be your last one. And no "oops"! You know what you've done. And trying for baby? Are you trying to activate my breeding kink?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, established relationship, oral sex, fertility treatment, dirty talk, breeding, creampie, arranged marriage, Viking AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon (Ghost only), rough kissing, desk sex

Word Count: 4.6k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your foot tap tap taps against the linoleum floor.

Kyle is in another room—a private room. The reproductive endocrinologist you’re working with already ran your tests. Now it’s Kyle’s turn. They want a sample, but he’s been gone too long.

You’re no stranger to Kyle’s masturbation sessions. Rarely does he do it alone. He likes when you watch. But he never takes this long.

A buzzing comes from your purse. Retrieving your phone, you check the message.

It’s from Kyle.

I can’t do it.

Frowning, you stare at the text, confusing creeping in. Gripping the phone in your fist, you push up from your chair, and exit the small exam room.

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the nurses station. “Can you tell me what room my husband is in. He’s collecting a…sample.”

The two nurses exchange a knowing look.

“All the way down the hall. Last door on the left,” one of them directs, pointing.

“Thank you.”

You try not to rush, but your feet carry you swiftly and with purpose. Following the nurse’s direction, you come to a stop right outside the correct door.

“Kyle?” you call out, knocking.

There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens, and your husband stands there, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry, love,” shrugs Kyle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I come in?”

He glances back into the room and then steps aside, holding the door open.

You step into the small space. It’s clinical and cold. There is one window on the opposite side of the room with the blinds down. Next to the window is a lounge chair that looks completely uncomfortable. Next to it is a table of magazines with partially-nude women on the front. Beside that is a row of video selections if the magazines don’t seem to do the trick.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. Kyle slumps into the chair, clearly defeated. You place your purse on the hook and then kneel beside him. “Talk to me.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He nods toward his groin. “Doesn’t seem all that interested.”

Oh. Oh.

You glance around the room, and then turn back to him. “Let me help.”

The confusion on his face is entirely too funny. “Help me?”

Shifting on your knees, you settle between his legs. The confusion melts away, and Kyle leans back in the chair, his hips flexing slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

The front of his jeans is already loose, and it’s not difficult to ease them down a bit more. Your hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs. The moment your fingers wrap around him, Kyle softly groans, eyelids fluttering as you start to stroke him.

“Is the door locked?” he asks, voice already turning husky.

“Does that matter?” you counter. “Do you care that someone might walk in? That they’ll see me pleasuring my husband?”

His softened cock begins to harden, and your words only spur him on. With another few strokes, Kyle is rock hard and throbbing. Adjusting your position, you release his cock, and then grab hold of his boxer brief, yanking them down until he’s free of it.

Kyle’s heavy lids open at the same moment your mouth suctions around the head. Tongue swirling around the crown, you take a bit more of him into your mouth. Retreating, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning until you come off him with a wet pop.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Much better,” he replies, reaching for you.

Kyle’s hand finds the back of your head, and you grin as he urges you back.

Taking him into your mouth again, your throat him completely, bobbing up and down his cock with intention. You need him to come. Not in your mouth, but in the goddamn sample cup. If that means you need to suck him off to do it, you’ll happily do so.

While you’d love to give into to pleasing him utterly, you still have to focus on why you’re doing this. The cup is on the table beside him. The seal is unbroken. The lid still on.

Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck—hard—and then release him.

His breathing is heavy, and his thighs are tense. Kyle is close, and you’re not going to ruin this by having him come down your throat.

“The cup, Kyle.”

Kyle runs his hand over the top of his head, the lust-tinged haze retreating slightly as he reaches for it. He twists the lid, breaking the seal, and sets it aside, holding the plastic cup in a vice grip.

Returning to him, you throat him again, bringing your hand into the mix.

“Fuck,” whispers Kyle. Then, louder, “fuck.”

Saliva pools in your mouth and slips past your lips, dripping onto your hand as you continue your ministrations.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Back, love. Back off.”

You immediately release him, retreating.

Kyle grips his cock and aims it, bringing the cup in close. He strokes once. Twice. And then his entire body shakes as he explodes, emptying his release into the cup.

Wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you push up to standing using the armrest of the chair. Kyle is smiling—almost smug.

“Did I help?” you tease, and his grin only widens.

John Price

"What's wrong?" John's voice is laced with concern. You rarely come to see him at work. "Everything okay? The guard at the front gate paged me. Said you were here.”

Whenever you’re around him, John’s entire demeanor changes. It doesn’t matter that he’s at work. You’re here, and that takes priority.

As he approaches, John reaches out with both hands. They seek, grabbing hold of your upper arms just above the elbow. He draws you close, his head tilting forward slightly as his gaze intensifies, focusing on you.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” you ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

There are members of his team lingering in the background. Though they talk quietly with each other, they keep glancing this way.

“Of course,” murmurs John. Placing one arm over your shoulders, he turns back to the rest of his team. “Give me a few minutes,” he says to them, before leading you away.

The entire walk to his office, John keeps one hand on you at all times. He doesn’t say much, only stopping to briefly address others that pass.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks again once the door is shut.

“Is it locked?”

John blinks. “Is what locked?”

You reach past him and fiddle with the handle. Frowning, John gently grasps your wrist and locks the door. “What—”

But the question never comes. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him to your lips, claiming his mouth in desperation. John groans softly, returning your kisses with equal enthusiasm. His hands fall upon your hips, squeezing, drawing you closer.

“You didn’t come just to kiss me,” murmurs John, retreating just enough to allow a sliver of space.

“No,” you breathe. “I’m ovulating.”

“Is that what your app says?" he teases.

You hum an agreement and John pushes in, guiding you backward toward his desk. You don't feel the wood until he lifts, and places you atop it. Leaning back, you spread your legs and present yourself.

“Open your present,” you tease, nodding toward the length of your body.

You came prepared. The large coat is made to go down to your knees, hiding everything when buttoned and tied. John reaches out. Tugging, he releases the band, and then he goes for the buttons, popping them open one by one.

He pushes the coat wide, and a growl escapes him. “You’ve been walking around base in nothing but a bloody coat?”

“And boots,” you add, kicking your feet.

Grabbing your thighs, John drags you to the edge of the desk. You greedily shimmy the coat off your shoulders.

His fingers explore, trailing over inner thigh to exposed pussy. One finger parts you, and then sinks in easily.

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans as he inserts another finger. “Already so wet for me.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you moan as John’s thumb rubs softly against your clit.

Another pump and then his fingers are gone. Through the haze, you watch as John undoes the front of his pants. He pushes them down just enough for his thick cock to spring free. Reaching for him, you stroke his cock, only for John to drag you close and align himself.

With one sharp thrust, John enters to the hilt. Keeping one hand on your right thigh, and the other planted firmly on the desk, John begins to thrust. It’s not a soft, gentle rhythm, but sharp and heavy. Every time your pelvis makes contact with his abdomen, the desk squeaks loudly.

“So fucking wet,” mutters John, his eyelids closing slightly as he gives in to the pleasure. “When I come home tonight, you better be naked. On your back. And in our bed.”

With your elbows propping you up, your head falls back in ecstasy as John returns his attention to your clit, circling it in soft strokes that send ripples of pleasure outward.

"I needed you," you groan.

"Greedy thing," purrs John, slipping an arm behind your back and lifting.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, one hand grasping his neck as John adjusts you into a new position. At this angle, you're held tightly against him. John firmly squeezes your ass with both hands.

He drives into you, the legs of the desk scraping against the carpet. A curling, buzzing sensation bubbles up, twisting low in your belly. The orgasm creeps up quickly, surging forward. Your nails dig into John's neck, and a throat moan escapes you.

John silences you with a kiss, swallowing that sound for himself, his hands gripping you so tightly you're sure he'll leave bruises behind.

With a low grunt, John holds you to him, sealing your bodies together. A warmth floods your pussy, his cum coating your insides.

"Think we made a baby?" teases John, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Not sure."

"Better try again then." He rocks his hips, and you whimper.

"You told your team you'd only be a few minutes."

He shrugs. "They can wait."

John "Soap" MacTavish

The youth of maidenhood is shed.

Your kransen is delicately wrapped in cloth and tucked away for a future daughter. The bridal crown you wore during the ceremony is still on your head. A delicate thing made of interwoven bands of silver; its shine slightly eclipsed by flakes of dried goat blood upon the metal. The droplets that landed on your face are long gone, cleaned by cold water and cloth.

Belly full from feasting, and skin buzzing with the consumption of mead, there is nothing left of the evening but the small dark of your new home, of the bedroom you will now share with your husband.

Anticipation is like a hidden viper. The women of your family told you all that would happen after, explained it in detail so that you would understand. You are eager to experience the good, but also know that your new husband might be completely inept.

You don't believe that to be the case though. During the ceremony he appeared calm and kind. He led but was not overbearing, and during the feast, he made sure your plate and glass were full before he even thought of himself. If that is how the marriage starts, then that must be what it is to come.

You hear your name, and you turn.

Your husband stands in the doorway, still in his wedding attire. He softly shuts the door behind him and finds the nearest chair, sinking down into it to remove his boots. Once off, he groans softly, standing again, removing the fur cape and draping it over the back of the chair.

He removes a few other articles of clothing until he's in nothing but his tunic and trousers. He saunters over, fingers lightly brushing against the hemline of your dressing gown.

"There is still blood on your face," you observe. "Let me wash it away."

"No," he says. "Reminds me of a good fight. I can imagine that you’re my war prize."

You laugh, and he smiles. In a way, you are a war prize. Your two clans have been feuding for years. This marriage is a way to make peace.

"Is being your wife not enough?" you tease.

"It is."

His fingers catch on the neckline, pulling the loose fabric over one shoulder. Leaning forward, he places a kiss between neck and shoulder. You shiver, one hand reaching out for him.

"We don't,” he begins but you shake your head.

"It's fine. I... want to."

He cradles your cheek in his palm. It is warm. Comforting. You sigh and lean into it.

The kiss is soft and delicate. There is nothing demanding in it. It is simple and pure. Even in this, he is not pushing. You follow his lead, giving a little more each time until you're reaching for him, hands pressing firmly against his chest.

He sighs, and then the gentle softness recedes, and the kisses deepen. Both of his hands hold your face. You are trapped but it feels wonderful. You give in, pressing your bodies together beside the fire, only understanding and learning these things about one another.

He removes the crown from your head, gently placing it aside.

The dress falls away and you are left bare. His gaze observers but it's brief. John's hands rest on your hips. They squeeze gently, guiding you backward. The soft furs brush that backs of your legs, and then John guides you down onto the bed, relishing every touch and kiss until you're breathless.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Will it always be like this?

John gives you one last kiss before pulling away, standing at full height, towering over you. He removes the last of his garment, his gaze never leaving your prone form. And you are unable to look away either, everything about him an enticing offer you don't wish to walk away from.

All muscle. All strength.

You reach out, grasping the one thing that now belongs to you. John groans softly as you make contact, wrapping your fingers around it. This is new to you, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do with it.

You gently stroke, thumb gracing the underside. John makes another small sound and you know you're on the right path. You sit up a bit, questioning whether you should taste him. The urge is too strong. You lean in, the tip of your tongue swirling over the head.

"No," he growls, grasping the back of your neck. "I won't last if you do that."

He guides you back and then starts to kneel, covering your body with his. You're on your back and he drapes himself across, hands roaming, exploring. His mouth descends, and then it is you making little sounds of pleasure.

"You can know me that way," he murmurs. "But first." His mouth descends and licks between your thighs, teasing and tasting until you're undone with pleasure, hips bucking off the bed and pressing against his mouth.

His hand glides over your stomach. "But first," he repeats. "We have a son to make."

He slides between your legs, guiding your legs wide. The head of him enters, and then there is a quiet sting that shudders through you.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax."

You sigh, follow his instruction. The sting evaporates, and he retreats a bit before adding more. The stretch is tight but no longer painful. Each gentle thrusts gives you more before he's fully seated inside.

Your hands start at his waist and then explore to his back, down to just above his buttocks to ascend at his shoulders. John's forearms rest on either side of your head, his forehead coming to rest against your own. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, lips nearly touching as he rolls his hips, thrusting lightly.

"How long will it take?" he asks, rocking against, this time with a little more force. "If I keep you here, beneath me, full of my cock. How long?"

He thrusts again, and your whole body clings to him, the friction unbearably good. Your only response is a whimper.

His lips lightly brush over yours and then your chin.

"Should I tie you to this bed? Use the leathers that hold my armor together." He nips at your shoulder. "I can pretend you are my war prize."

"I am your war prize," you breathe, as he thrusts in earnest.

"Aye. You are. Separate clans. A marriage for peace. An enemy no longer."

Your arms tighten around him. You are pinned beneath him, unable to move, and yet completely willing in satiating both your desires.

You are lost to his movements, of the fullness, of the growing pleasure that is seconds from exploding outward. He rocks his hips forward, his pelvis pressing against that tender flesh.

You clench down, drowning in a wave that consumes.

You hear his inhalation, feel his muscles bunching under your hands, and then he's grinding forward, keeping still as he floods your womb with warmth.

But he does not pull out. Does not retreat. Instead, he kisses you softly, hips rocking before you feel that fullness blooming again.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The world is fractured. Broken.

And you have been thrust right into the thick of it. Taken by people unknown, signed off and given to a stranger.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Your new...what? Husband? Minder?

He stands before you, arms at his sides, observing but not speaking. As if pulled directly from duty, he's still in his all-black fatigues. The weapons are gone. They rest on the small table in the kitchen area of the tiny apartment.

But you smell blood on him. Musk. The dirt and grime of the brutality that is now home to the last remaining humans.

"What?" you snap, his gaze unnerving.

The defensiveness is just an illusion—a coping mechanism.

Simon wears a black balaclava, and all you can make out about him are his eyes. They are deep pools of dark brown that reflect the light like whiskey in a clear bottle. He is tall too and solid muscle.

The idea of him pinning you to the bed, of his weight keeping you in place as he has his way with you, makes your pussy clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t feel that way—to think of him as anything but your captor.

"You understand what's happened?" he asks.

Yes.

"I'm to be your whore."

You notice the slight twitch at the corner of Simon's eye at the word.

"Neither of us wanted this," he replies slowly, his gaze just as languid as it surveys your body.

"Winning me over with your charm," you mutter.

Simon grunts, and then brushes past you into the bathroom. He shuts the door and seconds later you hear the shower running.

Making a run for it isn't an option. The moment you leave, they'll be after you. Would they take you away from Simon? Give you to someone else? Or would they just think you're too much trouble and a bullet would be a mercy.

Your thoughts race, and when Simon emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you're momentarily stunned into silence. It is not just his body that is hard but everything about him. And now, you have a clear view of his face. He is handsome. Pleasing to the eye even with the scars.

Maybe it won't be all bad.

"It's all yours." He nods toward the bathroom where steam slowly rolls out through the crack in the door.

You follow suit, washing away the stress of the day.

Emerging is the hard part. There are no clothes for you to change in to, but that's the point. You are to remain in this apartment, stay in his bed, and allow Simon to breed you until there's no doubt you carry his child.

All the lights are off except for one. The bedroom isn't a separate room but an area sectioned off by a large curtain. From behind the curtain is a dim glow. You head for it, towel wrapped around body like armor. You push it back only to find Simon reclining, the top sheet covering his lower-half as he reads from a folder.

The rings on the curtain clink and he glances up. Simon closes the folder and tosses it off to the side.

That needy feeling returns. You shouldn’t indulge it or yourself, but it is there, lingering beneath the surface.

For a time, there is only silence, the two of you simply staring at each other.

"Are you joining me?" Simon finally asks.

You sigh. "I have to."

"You do," he agrees. You don't move closer. "I won't hurt you."

"Very reassuring,” you mutter, clutching the towel tighter.

Simon runs his hand through his hair. “Either we do this or you’re given to someone else. Did they tell you that?”

“I know the expectation.”

Simon leans forward into a more seated position. “Then you know I can keep you safe.”

It’s not untrue. You are his now.

You gaze narrows. “You don’t even know me.”

"I know you're going to carry my son or daughter. And that bloody well fucking matters to me."

"Will I?"

"You will."

You clutch the towel to you tighter, unable to part with it. Simon’s gaze remains unmoved. It is an intensity that worms its way inside, slithering beneath your skin to curl around your ribs. Every bit of him is on full display. Your mind drifts—imagining what might be underneath the sheet.

It’s not what you want for yourself, but there are worse men in this compound. There are worse fates. He’s not particularly happy about the arrangement either, something the two of you have in common. But he’s not ugly, and hasn’t been brutish.

Simon sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

He reaches across himself, turning off the small light next to the bed, plunging the two of into darkness.

“Better?”

You grumble but drop the towel. In the dark, your nakedness feels less isolating. As you step up to the bed, you glimpse Simon’s shadow as he draws the bedding back to give you space to slip in.

The bedsheets are cold, and as your grab them to cover yourself and create space, Simon’s hand comes down on your waist, dragging you close to him.

Your hand darts out, pressing against his chest.

Simon gently grasps your wrist and guides your hand away from his chest. "Said I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur.

He smells clean and fresh, not like the dirt and blood from earlier. And yet, he feels dangerous, his hold an intense grip that teases surrender and tells you to give in.

What will he do with you?

Will he simply put you on your back?

Will you just have to take it?

Simon lightly squeezes, and then his hand descends, exploring. It lingers on your upper thigh, and then travels upward, learning the curve of your hip and angles of your arm. Simon cups one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

A little shudder follows that stroke. A sigh passes your lips and Simon shifts closer.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs.

Simons’ teeth graze the hardening peak, as you groan loudly, surprised at how your body reacts to him. Answering with a groan of his own, Simon’s other hand delves between your thighs.

Exploring your sex, Simon’s fingers part your pussy, navigating and learning as much as he can. One finger plays with your clit as another teases your entrance, swirling the slickness around that blooms there with each stroke.

“But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that one admission, Simon rolls you onto your back. When he spreads your legs, he does not settle between. He drapes a leg over each of his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your pussy, licking ravenously. His large hands slide up your stomach to tenderly grasp and tease both breasts.

His mouth and hands are full of you, and there is only pleasure.

Simon is right.

He does not harm, but he is not gentle.

Each swirl and tease of his tongue is harsh, sending you quickly to your end. The orgasm is bright and bursting—consuming. Yet, Simon remains steadfast, tasting until the first becomes a second and your thighs shake against the sides of his head.

“They assigned you to me,” he growls, shifting position, settling his hips between your spread thighs. “Made it an order.” The head of his cock presses in, and in one movement, Simon slides home. “And I’ll follow that order.”

His breathing is ragged. Even in the dark, you notice the gentle swell of his chest as he takes in air. “But fuck,” he groans, testing with a steady roll of his hips. “I’m gonna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

Simon casts his full weight over you, and there is nothing left for you to do but cling to him. Your feet rest against the back of his calves, and your fingers dig into his lower back as Simon thrusts without mercy.

He is brutal in this—but it does not hurt. It’s only rough, and within you, some primal piece is fracturing, feeding into what he’s giving.

Simon’s hands descend to squeeze your ass. He holds firm, lifting your pelvis upward at the same moment he holds himself tightly to your body. Growling against your throat, he shudders, and you feel his release flood your pussy.

This one deed seals it.

You are forever his.

Even if you try to leave, he’s never letting you go.

Simon’s lips pause at the pulse in your throat. He lingers there and then lightly kisses the spot. It’s a tender, nearly intimate touch. He ascends to the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours in a gentle caress.

You part for him, and his tongue slides inside. With a low groan, Simon lightly thrusts, his hardness returning with each stroke. The kisses deepen, and Simon eases you back to the bed, his cock sliding out of your pussy.

“Simon,” you murmur, one hand stroking over his chest.

His hand goes around your throat while the other dips between your legs. He finds your pussy, two fingers pushing into the mess.

“Give me one more, love. Tonight. One more.”

Simon withdraws, and with one quick movement, he rolls you onto your stomach.

“Open,” he commands, and you do so.

His two fingers that were just in your pussy slide into your mouth. Guiding your legs wide, Simon enters you again. The stretch is perfect, and his thrusts only push your mouth further down his fingers.

His hand slips between your body and the bed, seeking until he finds what he's after. With a few quick swirls of Simon's fingers against your clit, you scream around the ones in your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

Your pussy squeezes around him and Simon moans his pleasure.

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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months ago

Note

ok but office supplier is even funnier if jason hasn't been declared legally alive again and danny starts dating him thus allowing him to both be and not be part of the wayne family

"I have a date," Danny says one random morning as he refills the office snack bar. Danny, in his own words, is one of the highest-paid employees. He has chosen to create a snack center for all Wayne employees. He has one on every three floors, filling it with fruits, chips, chocolate, pudding, and drinks.

And a cabinet with free samples of stationery supplies he thought more people should know about. Next to the supplies, he wrote the name of the product, where to buy, and even recommendations of

Everyone felt really touched by this and started bringing snacks and drinks to help him. Half the time, Danny only refilled the stationary since everyone was happy to have a community snack bar.

"A what!?" Jack from accounting gasped. Danny didn't pay him any mind; he was too busy picking between the flower and moon mini-planners.

Both were pocket-sized, but one had a workout addition, while the other had a section to track books for readers. He felt like there were more readers than gym goers, but he didn't want either to miss out if he picked one over the other.

"A date," he responded after placing both options inside the basket. He'll have to wait to introduce the amazing erasable pens he found, but he could make it up next month.

"With who?" Demanded Sara. She worked in PR and had been attempting to have him attend at least three parties with the Waynes in the past month alone.

"Peter. I met him a week ago at a street fair. One of the personal pen makers I follow would have a booth, and I was dying to see them." Danny pulls a box from his pocket, showcasing the fancy navy blue pen. "This is the George Washington Battle of Princeton edition. It has the painting of the battle wrapped around it, with careful silver-golden details on the cap to resemble the colonial era and a golden-edged nib; this is one fine fountain pen. It cost me five thousand and nine hundred dollars."

"Danny, please focus- five thousand? You spent five thousand on a pen!?"

Danny puffs out his chest, smiling broadly. "It was worth every penny!"

"That's-never mind. Are you sure Peter is a good person?" Jack pressed, "Because I know a great man. Mr. Drake-Wayne! Wouldn't you rather go on a date with him?"

"But Peter bought me easrsers that were shaped like fried chicken. They came in bucket. See." He ramages through his bag until he pulsl out a palm-szed bucket with chicken shaped earses inside. "Isn't it cool?"

"I'll admit that's pretty cool," Sara conceded but shared a quick glance with her coworkers. Danny wonders why they all look so worried. This wasn't that expensive. Peter only used ten dollars for it. "Do you like Peter?"

"I don't know. It's just a first date." He shrugs. "I don't usually have those. Not many people are willing to listen to me ramble about stationary."

"You know who would love to listen to you?" Jack throws an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Drake-Wayne!"

"Mr. Grasyon-Wayne!"

"Mis Wayne!"

"Mr. Wayne!" Everyone turns to stare at Gary, who flushes, "Bruce Wayne, not Damian!"

That caused some head nods and a few scattered comments about how the age gap was still alarmingly large, but if both were consenting adults, who were they to oppose it? Danny stared back as everyone debated whether Danny and Mr.Wayne should date.

He glances down at his heart-shaped notepads and figures they are right. It's not like he has any feelings about this date. He just agreed to get the passers.

Taking out his phone, he sends Peter a message to cancel their date. He should go out with someone because he likes them, not because they may allow him to discuss his interests.

Jason despairs somewhere on the other side of town as he reads the text for his second persona- a living citizen Peter Todd- from the guy who he saw at the street market going gaga over pens. The guy was so cute, too.

#dcxdpdabbles #Marriage trap the Office Supplier!#Part 2 #Danny doesn't care much for dating #The WE employees are losing thier minds #Jason will be so mad if he ever founds out they blocked him

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venusbyline · 5 months ago

Text

HEADCANON: Sugar Daddy!Aegon II

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x sugar baby!reader

— type: smut, fluff, modern AU

— tags/warnings: female!reader, sugar daddy!Aegon, age gap (older man/younger woman), class difference, family issues, vaginal sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, doggy style position, degradation, slight dumbification, limousine sex, spanking kink, butt slapping, creampie, exhibitionism, mentioned consensual underage sex, dom!Aegon, sub!reader, CEO!Aegon, college student!reader. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

❥ Aegon II masterlist • HOTD masterlist • ASOIAF headcanons

❥ about me • main masterlist

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who felt so lonely after taking over his father's company, even though he had a lot of money to keep supporting the luxurious life he had since his birth.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who listened to his close friends joking about this type of arrangement, and decided to try the luck on some app suitable for that.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who had no patience with most of the annoying girls on the site, who seemed more interested in just fucking with him than in his money and company. After all, even with an almost insatiable and unhealthy lust, he could fuck any girl he wanted without having to pay for them, so he put the idea aside for a while when he noticed so many messages there didn't correspond to what he was really looking for.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who was surprised seeing the description on your profile saying that you weren't interested in casual sex or sending nudes, and threatening to block anyone who pissed off you with harassment. Then he immediately texted you.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who became attached to your talks after the first moment. He listened to your story, listened to your limits and what you wanted in that arrangement, and that same night sent you a great amount of money as a "free sample" of what was coming.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who always likes to spoil you even more than what was agreed in the contract. It doesn't matter how many thousand dollars he sends you monthly or the credit cards he gave you. Did you simply texted saying that you saw a picture of a new Tiffany & Co bracelet? He'll buy it to you. Did Aegon smell a good Cartier fragrance on a secretary of his company? He'll immediately buy and send it to your home as a surprise, only to listened to your many audio messages thanking him for the "unexpected" gift.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who loves receiving your photos and videos wearing everything he bought you or showing how you're using the money. He doesn't really know how to react to your thanks, but you know he's happy when he sends you a cute emoji that's probably only used by older men. Noticing the age difference between you always makes both of you smile.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who loves to listen to you talk about your college matters, how your professors are being unfair or how some of your friends are annoying you. He even offers you a job at his company and you just chuckle, thinking he's joking. But he's never joking about that.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who sometimes manages to open up to you, exposing the issues he's facing running the company. How his father's death caused chaos in his family, breaking bonds. How he's sure that his half-sister is planning to take legal actions, how he believes that their father's will, in which she was left with just a small part of the inheritance, was forged or manipulated while Viserys was still alive, but ill. Sometimes Aegon also talks about his issues with his mother and grandfather, who thinks he's a terrible businessman and will sink the entire Hightowers empire in the not-so-distant future. You always understand Aegon and give him good advices, so he feels like he can open up to you more than anyone else in his life.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who only took three months to give in to his desire to see you face to face. He didn't wanna admit it, not even to himself, but he was so fucking nervous that you might reject the invite to the fanciest Italian Restaurant in the city. Aegon knew that you would've every right to deny him, as it wasn't an demand written in your contract. So as soon as you said yes, he was desperately excited, he went crazy thinking about how not to ruin it. He might be a disgusting womanizer when it came to other girls, but he really wanted to impress you, his Sugar Baby.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who was a complete disaster since the beginning of your "date", trying to impress you with anything fancy and expensive, but in the end he got so drunk on wine that you had to help his private driver put him inside the limousine. You even thought that you would've to go back to your modest house and wasted the debut of that fancy dress, heels and jewelery that he bought you the day before. However, Aegon even in his drunken state begged you to come with him to the mansion, saying he didn't wanna be alone and also needed to apologize.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who felt sucks when he woke up and saw you lying on the other large couch, asleep and looking kinda lost. That sight made him feel like the worst Sugar Daddy and the worst man too, so he admiring you sleeping for a while, being careful not to wake you and asking the mansion's cooks to make you the best breakfast possible, and asking two other employees to buy you more jewelry and flowers, as well as a new Prada bag.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who would wait for you to forgive him (which occurred without any resistance by your part) before finally kissing you, feeling much more hesitant and nervous than when he lost his virginity with his father's random secretary, when he was just a teenager with hormones raging.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who from that day on would start taking you on every trip. You might even miss some college classes, but who cares? Do you wanna know Greece? Do you wanna go to Venice? Spend the summer in Copacabana? Winter in Tokyo? Aegon will take you anywhere you want and fuck you in all those expensive hotels, even if that's not part of the original arrangement.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who doesn't wanna put a label on your situationship, because saying that you're his Sugar Baby sounds less complicated to him than admitting more feelings beyond that. However, when you mention being at a frat party with some people from your college, Aegon immediately goes after you, not caring about the confused looks from the young students when they saw an extremely rich older man coming towards you, picking you up as if you were a little child, throwing you into the limousine seat without his typical care, realizing that you did it all on purpose as soon as he saw your smug look afterwards.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who will order the driver to roll up the partition so he can climb up the tiny dress you were wearing at the party, slapping your ass several times, the expensive rings he wears on his hands making red marks on your soft flesh. He doesn't need to prepare you, the way you chose to dress the Victoria's Secret lingerie he bought you most recently sends his mind into a frenzy, and all the driver can hear as he drives are the muffled sounds of your loud moans and the sound of your skins hitting each other, plus Aegon growling and degrading you as if you were nothing but a brainless whore.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who will ask you to be his girlfriend during the following weekend, preparing a trip to Paris and spoiling you with a Birkin Bag, also making your relationship official with a Cartier ring made of gold and decorated with 72 white diamonds, which cost at least $7,000.

• Sugar Daddy!Aegon who even though he's your boyfriend, will still keeping spoil you as he did before, when the bond between the two of you was just the Sugar Daddy and Sugar Baby agreement. Actually... It will be much better, because the gifts will be even fancier and the fancy trips will be more expensive. Also... You'll be able to fuck with Aegon at his office whenever both of you want to, especially if you give in to his desires and drop out of college so you can just be his Sugar Baby during the day and his cockslut at night, not having to do anything but stay home and shop, or walk around the city, and then wait for your Sugar Daddy to fill you after he gets home from work, eager to feel his cock fucking your warm pussy while he presses you against the mansion's windows, already picturing the millionaire neighbors jerking off to the sight of your pretty breasts almost crushed against the glass and his cum dripping from your swollen and tight core.

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lilhwahwa · 2 years ago

Text

ATEEZ Reaction: You can't fall asleep (MATZ. ver)

★|•°∵ Scenario: Your boyfriend reacts to you not being able to fall asleep.

★|•°∵ Idolbf!matz x nonidol!reader

{PICS NOT MINE / FROM PINTEREST}

MASTERLIST

Hongjoong

Hongjoong wasn't expecting you to answer his message at this hour. He never really did. The good night messages with information about his well being was at this point nothing more than an automatic thing he'd do to remind you he was alive and well, even when buried in his dark studio, far away from the warm bed you were probably sleeping in.

Goosebumps spread over his skin at the thought of relaxing deep into your soft mattress. The scent of your detergent on your sheets would almost always knock him out, with the help of your warm body pressed to his of course. The company had been nice with letting him come over to your place, merely warning him to be cautious when staying over and thus far you hadn't gotten caught.

But the past few months had been more than hectic. With continuous trips in and out of Korea and a comeback, the only piece of your boyfriend that you got during this time was a text message or on rare occasions a video call. You knew of course, getting into the relationship what it would mean, but it is easier said than done. Once you got to have him in your bed, the greed inside you would never again let any sleep satisfy you unless you had him by your side and thus you developed irregular sleeping patterns.

The second Hongjoong sees the delivered receipt turn into read, his eyebrows furrowed. Had he woken you up?

"That's so cute:( I'm still awake though" you'd write.

You knew how he struggled with expressing his emotions sometimes and him having the safety of you being asleep somewhat eased his anxiety when sending you the good night texts. Tonight you were wide awake though.

"You're not asleep?"

"Nope..."

"Can I call?"

But before he could, you were already reaching to dial his number on video call.

When he picked up you were met with a barefaced Hongjoong, sitting back in his studio chair with an oversized shirt on. He smiles softly when he sees your poorly lit face in the darkness of your bedroom, making the large frames on his face shift. The only thing lighting your side of the call up was your phone screen.

"Can't sleep, baby?" he asks knowingly, looking over the way your eyes only managed to open half way, heavy with exhaustion yet your brain couldn't seem to shut off.

"Mhm" you hum, pouting slightly and although Hongjoong couldn't see it, he knew your every expression.

"Want to work with me?" he asked already knowing the answer, finding something to lean his phone against as he positioned the camera so you could see him well. The studio was dimly lit, giving Hongjoong's skin a soft glow. How you wish you'd be with him, even just sitting on the hard-cushioned couch in the corner of his studio would be enough. Maybe he'd let you sit on his lap if you complained about the couch hard enough. You sigh and imagine how warm his skin would be if he was sleeping next to you. Watching his eyes flicker to the computer you adjust your position, putting your phone against the pillow he would usually have if he was to sleep over.

He knows not to keep you talking, it would only disturb your sleep more. Instead he talks to himself in a soft voice as he tells you about what audio he needed for the section he was currently working on or randomly tell you something a member said. He didn’t expect an answer, your presence was good enough. The sound of his mouse clicking on multiple samples and his voice humming a melody he wanted to create soon became a soothing song for you to fall asleep to.

Even after you'd finally fall asleep, Hongjoong kept the video call on, glancing your direction here and there as an encouragement to finish work faster so he could get a day or two free for you.

Seonghwa

When your boyfriend invited you to sleep over for the first time, you were initially excited to finally spend such close time together. You had been dating for just over a month but with him having tight schedules you could never really catch him on a date. The thought of not ending your day together with a chaste kiss and goodbye made your cheeks warm up.

Your first concerns were whether he'd like the way you looked without makeup. What if you woke up with bad morning breath and messy hair? Would the food you ate on your date make you bloated and uncomfortable when you cuddle? He would want to cuddle...right?

All of your concerns were valid. It was after all your first time in this territory with Seonghwa. But you had forgotten one not so little detail of concern. You usually struggle with going to sleep. Normally it wouldn't be too bad. The energy left over from the day and your habit of procrastinating were the main culprits. But what you had not taken into account was just how nervous you were spending a night with Seonghwa. After he proudly got his own room and decorated it to his liking, he was eager to invite you. It had taken some time ot convince his housemates, seeing as you still weren't that familiar with them. Having a stranger, even if you were Seonghwa's girlfriend, in their home would probably mean they couldn't be fully comfortable.

After they finally agreed, Seonghwa softly began encouraging you to sleep over, never pushing you in case you didn't want to. He'd just send cute Tiktok's of fort building tutorials or cute couples wearing matching pyjamas.

That's how you ended up in Seonghwa's bed. It was not really made for two people but it only gave you the excuse to lay closer to him. Your eyes were trained on the movie playing on the computer in his lap. You were more comfortable than you thought you'd be, eyes growing heavier as the soft fabric of Seonghwa's hoodie comforted your cheek. It was soft and smelled clean, like him.

Seonghwa took notice of your sleepiness and assumed you were seconds form falling asleep. He smiled to himself, biting his lip as he admired the sight for a few seconds. He decided to stop the movie for now, switching to browsing his phone with your head comfortably on his shoulder. He shifted you both lower to lay down and you immediately open your eyes, snapping out of the short moment. The second your eyes open you feel a shock go through your body. It is as if somebody put eye drops in your eyes because they were wide awake and not clouding over with sleep. Seonghwa felt you jerk and looked over.

"Shh, go back to sleep" he hummed, reaching his hand over to stroke you hair, thinking it'd do the trick.

You sigh and turn onto your side, burying yourself deeper into his sweatshirt as you force your eyes shut. You did feel tired, but why is it your mind was suddenly running over a million thoughts. Was he comfortable? Did your hair smell good enough? Did he think your first sleep over was disappointing? You hadn't noticed how your body stiffened but Seonghwa had felt it. He put his phone down and looked down at you.

"You're not sleeping?" he whispered, just in case you were. You open your eyes when he addresses you and look up at him shyly, shaking your head.

"I always struggle a little with sleep and just us-" you want to tell him you were nervous, but would it sound stupid? You weren't a kid and should be able to tell him. But was the reason good enough?

"I get it, it's a new setting and this is first time for us. But it's just me, don't worry" Seonghwa hummed, putting his phone away to turn to his side and let you move into his embrace. His hand snaked over your back to stroke it gently, looking down at you with sleepy eyes. He hadn't noticed how sleepy he had gotten either.

"I am happy you're here with me, I'm happy to be like this with you" he reassures with a whisper. You didn't know how he always expressed himself easily but you're thankful for it in this moment, hiding your face away into his neck out of shyness. A familiar warm chuckle left Seonghwa as his hand tapped your back.

"Just let your head empty of thoughts, I'll be here to hold you" he murmured, closing his own eyes as his hand continued drawing figures on your back to soothe you. "I could always talk to you about star wars or something, I'm sure that'd make you fall asleep" he teased himself, which made you chuckle sleepily, already feeling how his warmth and comfort was lulling you.

And when you thought you could answer him, your lips never managed to move. The sentence full of gratitude for him stayed in your thoughts as you finally fell asleep, Seonghwa following closely behind you.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez reaction #ateez scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez x reader #matz #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fics #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez imagine

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clawsdevour · 11 months ago

Text

ᦈ｡ﾟosamu bf hcs

wc: 0.4k content warning: post-time skip, fluff, slight smut, marking, my booty writing

꩜ 。ﾟ🦊

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend who loves to watch you eat, especially his onigiri. He loves watching the enjoyment on your face as the flavor plays on in your mouth. Watching you eat makes him feel full and satisfied.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that enjoys listening to you talk whether or not you rant or ramble on about your interests. He thinks it's cute and sometimes would tease you about it.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that would brag about how amazing you are to Atsumu. He'd try to bring you up in a conversation whenever possible.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that would ask you if you've eaten. Whether or not when you meet, or through text messages.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend whose eyes light up when you walk through his onigiri shop doors. The aura you bring to his shop brightens up his mood

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that's able to earn your parents trust because of his hard-working, down-to-earth trait. He would cook dinner and do the chores around your parents like the perfect son-in-law.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that loves to eat you out. His big back can't resist the urge to put his strong hands behind your knees and start teasing your clit until you faint. He'd also like the idea of eating you out as you sit on his face with all your weight, his fingers bruising your thighs and forcing you down.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that would leave love marks everywhere. He'd love to sample every part of you whilst showing you that you're his property. This includes your tits, ass, and inner thighs coated with marks.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that would clean you with a warm washcloth before heading to bed. He'd play with your hair while holding you to sleep. He admires your gorgeous features and how they were able to change so drastically after cleaning up.

-Osamu, the type of boyfriend that comforts you in the morning. He'd bring you breakfast in bed and kiss your forehead while asking if your legs feel okay.

masterlist here

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #miya twins #miya osamu #osamu miya #osamu smut #osamu x reader #osamu headcanons #haikyuu miya osamu #osamu x y/n #haikyu fluff #osamu fluff

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pbaz7 · 5 months ago

Text

ONE SHOT: ART INSTALLATION

paige x azzi

word count: 4.5k

A/N: This one is short because I was about to crash out earlier and I didn’t want you guys to feel the effects of my own personal crash out so I wrote somethin short to keep it cute. I hope you enjoy 🥹🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Paige was the perfect girlfriend to Azzi. At least, she tried to be. Anything Azzi wanted—or even thought about wanting—Paige made sure she had it. Whether it was a rare pair of sneakers she mentioned in passing, a book collection, a favorite meal after a tough practice, or a night in when the weight of the world felt too heavy, Paige anticipated it all. It wasn’t just about being thoughtful; it was about proving, in every way she could, that Azzi was her priority.

Anytime Azzi needed help, needed support, needed anything, Paige was there. A bad game? Paige had a motivational playlist waiting and all the right words to get Azzi out of her head.. A bad day? Paige would drop everything to sit by her side, holding her hand until Azzi's world felt steady again. Paige prided herself on it. She knew how lucky she was to have someone like Azzi—brilliant, beautiful, and steady in a way that anchored her.

But more than that, Paige loved Azzi. She loved her so deeply it used to scare her sometimes. Paige would give her the world if she asked for it. And, truthfully, even if Azzi didn’t ask, Paige would find a way to give it to her. Azzi deserved everything good life had to offer, and Paige felt like it was her job to make sure she had it.

But Paige was also human. And everyone messes up sometimes.

Right now, Paige was with Ice and KK, headed to Crumbl to grab cookies; it had become their post-practice tradition during the summer session. The car was filled with laughter, teasing, and the playlist Paige had made for when she had the two of them in the car together.

When they pulled into the Crumbl parking lot, Paige left her phone behind as it was tucked in the center console. The device was still connected to the aux, as they hopped out of the car locking the door. She didn’t think twice about it—she was in the moment, caught up in Ice’s ongoing debate about which cookie flavor was best and KK’s roasting Ice about her questionable taste.

Inside the store, they spent too much time deliberating, as always. Ice insisted they try every new flavor, while Paige argued for sticking to the classics. KK suggested they just buy the entire menu and let the team fight over the leftovers. Paige rolled her eyes but laughed, knowing she was going to pay for whatever they decided on.

When they finally left, their arms full of the signature pink boxes, the energy carried back into the car. Paige slid into the driver’s seat, pushing the button to start the car, and let the music pick up right where they’d left off. Because of this she didn’t even glance at her phone. She didn’t know there was anything waiting for her.

What she didn’t see were the seven texts Azzi had sent her. Or the three missed calls.

Azzi’s messages had started casually enough:

Azzi 💗: Hey, where are you?

Azzi 💗: I miss you

Azzi 💗: We’re still going on our date tonight right?

But when Paige didn’t respond, the tone had shifted.

Azzi 💗: Everything okay baby?

Azzi 💗: Well I guess that’s a no to the date

Azzi 💗: I’ve been calling you.

The final text was the simplest but carried the weight of Azzi’s unease.

Azzi 💗: Paige?

Paige had no idea about any of this as she was sitting in the car with Ice and KK, parked outside Crumbl, sampling the cookies they’d just bought. KK had decided to go live on TikTok, propping her phone up in the center of the console so all three of them were visible. Paige and Ice were in the front, while KK sat in the back, leaning forward between their seats to give commentary on each flavor.

“Okay, y’all, this one’s chocolate peanut butter—Paige said she doesn’t like peanut butter, but she’s gonna try it anyway, so let’s see,” KK said into the camera, her energy always infectious.

“I’m not gonna like it, KK,” Paige replied, rolling her eyes but taking a bite. Ice snorted beside her, already digging into another cookie.

The live chat was buzzing with comments from fans, with people dropping in to talk about the team, tease KK, or ask random questions about their day. They scrolled by so quickly that it was impossible to catch all of them, but KK seemed to catch enough to keep her audience engaged as she responded to some of them.

Then, suddenly, something popped up on the screen that made KK’s eyes go wide.

“Oh my god,” KK gasped dramatically, smacking Paige’s shoulder. “It’s Azzi Fudd! We got a celebrity here y’all!”

Paige froze for a split second before a small, involuntary smile spread across her lips. Her girlfriend’s name sat at the bottom of the screen, her tiny profile picture next to it. Paige tried to play it cool, brushing off KK’s excitement with a casual shrug, but the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her.

“Oh my god, it’s really Azzi Fudd I feel so cool,” KK repeated, leaning closer to the camera. “Hey, Azzi! What’s up, girly pop?”

Ice chimed in, laughing. “Azzi, you better send us some cowboy hats or something. Donate to the cause!”

Paige chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on the screen. Seeing Azzi’s name made her heart flutter, but she kept her reaction subtle. She didn’t want to make it obvious—not on a live stream with fans watching.

“Hey, Az,” Paige said quietly, her tone soft but unmistakably fond. She didn’t say more, instead breaking off another piece of cookie to distract herself.

But just as quickly as Azzi’s name appeared, it was gone. She had left the live.

“Damn, she left already?” KK frowned, leaning closer to her phone. “Azzi, where’d you go?”

Before anyone could speculate further, the car’s music abruptly stopped, and Siri’s voice echoed through the speakers:

“Incoming call from Azzi.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and all three of them froze. Paige’s eyes went wide, and Ice’s head whipped toward her, her mouth dropping open.

KK, of course, was the first to react to not make it obvious. “Oh my god, Paige!” she yelled, grabbing Ice’s arm. “It’s Azzi Fudd calling!”

The live chat exploded. Comments started flooding in:

“AZZI IS CALLING HER OMG!!!”

“Paige’s girl is calling during the live? 👀”

“Not Siri exposing Paige rn 😭😭😭.”

Paige’s face turned bright red as she scrambled to unplug her phone from the aux cord. Trying to make Siri and the ringtone stop blaring through the car’s speakers.

“I’ll be right back,” Paige mumbled, grabbing her phone and quickly stepping out of the car.

As soon as the door shut behind her, KK leaned into the live, absolutely giddy. “Y’all, Paige just got a very important phone call. Like, the most important phone call ever.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

Ice burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Man, Siri really just put her on blast like that.”

The two of them were always bad at being subtle when it came to Paige and Azzi.

The moment Paige stepped out of the car, she pressed her phone to her ear, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Hey baby, what’s up?” she greeted, trying to sound casual, though her heart raced slightly.

“Don’t ‘hey baby’ me,” Azzi said, her tone a little sharper than it usually is with Paige.

Paige’s smile faltered as her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’d I do?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “What day is it?”

Paige froze, her stomach sinking as she tried to think about it. She pulled her phone away from her ear and glanced at the screen, her eyes locking on the date. Her heart dropped.

“Shit,” Paige muttered under her breath. Bringing the phone back to her ear, she spoke quickly, panic lacing her voice. “Baby, I’m so sorry—”

“What the hell, Paige?” Azzi cut her off, her voice reflecting her clear frustration. “We’ve had this planned for like two weeks!”

“I know, I know,” Paige stammered, running a hand through her hair. “I’m so sorry, Az. This week’s just been so hectic, I lost track of everything.”

“Yeah, clearly,” Azzi replied dryly. There was a pause before she added, her voice quieter but the hurt was still clear, “We talked about this, Paige. We’re supposed to be making time for stuff like this at least once a month.”

Paige closed her eyes, guilt washing over her. “Look, I know I messed up, but we can still do it. I can come back now, and we’ll make it work—”

“No,” Azzi interrupted. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Az, come on,” Paige pleaded, her voice softening. “You don’t wanna at least try?”

“No,” Azzi repeated, her tone a little colder. “I don’t really want to hang out with you anymore.”

Paige’s chest tightened at the words, her voice breaking slightly as she said, “Az, I’ll come back now, okay? We can at least grab some food, just—”

“I said no,” Azzi cut in again, her voice now tinged with exhaustion. “It’s fine. I think I’m just gonna go to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Paige blinked, disbelief and hurt mingling in her expression. “Are you for real, Az?”

“Yes,” Azzi replied simply.

Paige exhaled shakily, leaning against the car as she struggled to find the right words. Finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. I love you.”

There was a long pause on the other end before Azzi said quietly, “It’s whatever. I love you too.” And then the call ended.

Paige stared at her phone for a moment, the weight of Azzi’s tone settling in her chest. She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down her face before slowly making her way back to the car.

When Paige climbed back into the car, the energy inside was completely different from the heavy weight she felt in her chest. KK and Ice were still on live, chatting animatedly with the viewers, their excitement from the earlier interaction with Azzi carrying on.

“Y’all, these cookies are fire!” KK exclaimed, holding up a bitten piece of cookie to the phone camera. She leaned over the middle console so everyone could see her better. “This one tastes like a cinnamon roll! Oh, wait, let me show you the chocolate one!”

Ice laughed from the passenger seat, leaning her head back against the headrest. “You’re gonna eat all of them before we get back, KK.”

“Nah, I’m saving at least one for later,” KK replied, grinning. She glanced at Paige. “Right, P Boogers?”

But Paige didn’t answer. She quietly buckled her seatbelt, her eyes flicking to the live chat on KK’s phone. Comments were flying in.

“Paige doesn’t look as happy anymore.”

“What happened to P? She was smiling before she left.”

“Azzi called, right? She’s so quiet now.”

Paige quickly looked away, gripping the steering wheel tightly. She didn’t say a word as she started the car, her jaw clenched.

The mood in the car shifted slightly as KK and Ice exchanged a glance. They noticed Paige’s sudden change in demeanor, but with the live still running, they chose not to address it, not wanting to draw attention to her.

Instead, KK kept the conversation light, talking about the cookies and teasing Ice about stealing bites from the box. Paige barely registered any of it, her mind replaying Azzi’s voice over and over again. She had never done anything like this.

It wasn’t until Paige made an unexpected turn that KK finally spoke up. “Uh, where we going, P Boogers?” she asked, glancing at the unfamiliar road.

Paige shook her head and mumbled, “I just gotta pick something up real quick.”

KK furrowed her brows but didn’t push further, keeping the live running for a few more minutes as they joked about Ice trying to eat another cookie. But when they pulled up to a flower shop, the sign out front indicating it was about to close, KK finally ended the live.

“Yo, why are we here?” Ice asked, leaning forward to look out the window.

Paige didn’t respond, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out of the car. The florist inside looked up as Paige walked through the door, her face lighting up in recognition.

“Paige!” the woman greeted warmly. “You’re just in time. What can I get for you today?”

Paige managed a faint smile, her voice soft. “Hey Julia. Do you have any of those fresh lilies I like? And maybe some lavender?”

“Of course,” the florist replied, quickly gathering the requested flowers into a beautiful bouquet. Paige waited in silence, her hands stuffed into her pockets as she stared down at the counter.

Once she had the flowers, Paige thanked the florist and headed back to the car. The door shut behind her with a soft thud, and for a moment, the car was silent.

Now that the live was over, KK and Ice no longer held back. KK leaned forward between the seats, concern etched across her face. “Alright, P Boogers. What’s wrong?”

Paige shook her head, setting the bouquet gently on the console between her and Ice. “Nothing. I just... I forgot me and Azzi had plans to go see this art installation tonight,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with guilt.

“Oh,” KK said softly, sitting back. She exchanged a look with Ice, who frowned.

Paige sighed, gripping the steering wheel but not starting the car yet. “She’s mad. Like... really mad. I didn’t even realize what day it was.”

Ice placed a hand on Paige’s arm, her voice gentle. “P, it’s not the end of the world. She’ll understand.”

Paige shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line not really wanting to talk about it.

KK and Ice didn’t say anything else, choosing instead to give Paige a moment. The three of them sat in silence for a few beats before Paige finally started the car

When Paige got back to Azzi's dorm room, the weight of her guilt settled in her chest. The door creaked softly as she stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding Azzi lying on her bed, curled on her side, her face partially buried in her pillow. Paige’s heart sank when she noticed the faint redness around Azzi’s eyes, a clear sign she’d been crying. The sight was almost unbearable.

Paige hesitated for a moment before walking over to the bed. She crouched down in front of Azzi, holding the bouquet of flowers in one hand while reaching out with the other to brush a gentle thumb across Azzi’s cheek. But Azzi turned her head away from the touch, her silence speaking volumes. Paige’s throat tightened.

“Come on, baby,” Paige said softly, her voice almost pleading. “I’m sorry.”

When Azzi didn’t respond, Paige sighed deeply and stood up. She placed the flowers on Azzi’s desk, their vibrant colors a deep contrast to the heavy tension in the room. Paige lingered for a moment before deciding to climb onto the bed, trying to wrap an arm around Azzi, but the moment her hand brushed against her side, Azzi finally spoke, her tone low but firm.

“I wanna sleep alone tonight.”

Paige froze, her hand stilling mid-motion. She groaned softly, running a hand down her face. “Azzi, come on. I don’t know what else I can do. I promise I’ll make it up to you—”

“I don’t want it to be made up,” Azzi cut her off, her voice cracking just slightly at the end.

Paige swallowed hard, guilt stabbing at her again. She knew Azzi was hurt, but she also knew her girlfriend, the way her stubbornness could amplify her emotions. Azzi wasn’t usually like this, and Paige had never messed up like this, and that only made the situation worse. Paige sat back, unsure of what to say or do, feeling like she was failing in real-time.

Azzi rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her voice softened but still carried an edge. “Paige, you do so much for me. You really do, and I love you for it. But tonight wasn’t about flowers or gifts. It was supposed to be about us. Just us.” She paused, exhaling shakily. “And it feels like... like everything else in your life is more important than me.”

“That’s not true,” Paige said quickly, her voice tightening as she shook her head. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?” Azzi’s gaze finally met Paige’s, her eyes glistening. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

Paige’s jaw dropped slightly, incredulity flashing across her face. “Azzi, come on. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Azzi sat up abruptly, her eyebrows raising. “Don’t curse at me, Paige.”

Paige pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean it like that. But you’re not being reasonable right now.”

Azzi’s expression darkened as she folded her arms across her chest. “Excuse me?”

“I know I messed up, Az,” Paige said quickly, her voice softening again, trying to keep the situation from spiraling. “And I’m so, so sorry for that. I know I’m not usually like this. I know you count on me. But for you to say I don’t prioritize you?” Paige shook her head, her voice rising slightly. “That’s crazy.”

Azzi’s voice rose to match hers. “No, what’s crazy is you being on live with KK and Ice, laughing and eating cookies, when we were supposed to have our night. The one night we get every month, Paige.”

Paige stared at her, her frustration mounting. “Az, you act like I don’t care about us. I’m always thinking about you, no matter where I am. Do you know how many nights I’ve spent in hotel rooms, sending you flowers, texting you, calling you, because I’m trying to show you that I’m still here? That I love you?”

“And I appreciate that, Paige. I really do. But I don’t want flowers from across the country. I don’t want texts and calls while you’re in L.A. or New York or wherever the hell else you are. I want you. I want you here.”

Paige’s frustration boiled over, her voice breaking slightly. "I’m here right now, Az, and now you’re telling me you don’t want me here?"

Azzi, lying on the bed, didn’t even look at her as she replied, “Because I’m not really in the mood to be an afterthought right now.”

Paige stood, running her hands through her hair. “Are you serious, bro? You’re not an afterthought, you know that.”

Azzi let out a sharp laugh, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, what else do you call it when the only reason you’re here is because I pointed out that you forgot about tonight?”

“I forgot, Azzi! I forgot! Once in four years!” Paige’s voice cracked, exasperation bleeding through. “And you’re acting like it’s the end of the world, like I don’t love you. I promised I’d make it up to you—what more do you want from me?”

Azzi sat up slightly, her expression still cool but her words quieter. “I don’t want to argue, Paige. We don’t argue, we never have and we’re not about to start now. So just… come back tomorrow, okay?”

“Not okay, Paige!” Paige mimicked with frustration, pacing a few steps before stopping herself, taking a deep breath. “You clearly disagree, so just say that. Talk to me and tell me how you feel.”

Azzi shook her head, looking away. “I don’t want to argue with you. Just go for now. I need some space.”

Paige sighed deeply, rubbing at her temples before walking back to the bed. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s temple. Her voice softened, though still laced with frustration. “I love you. I’m sorry, Az. I really am.”

Azzi looked up at her briefly, her voice subdued. “I love you too… I’m just mad right now.”

Paige chuckled dryly, standing up. “Yeah, I got that.” As she walked to the door, she gestured lazily toward the flowers on the desk. “You should put those in water before they wilt.”

Azzi didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the wall as Paige stepped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Paige leaned against the door for a moment, exhaling deeply, before heading back to her own room.

…

When Azzi got back to her room after hanging out with Caroline the next day, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes going wide. The room was completely covered in flowers. Vases, bouquets—there were everywhere, sitting on her desk, lined up on the floor, spilling over onto her nightstand. The sight was so absurd that Azzi couldn’t help but laugh, her frustration from the night before melting away with each step she took into the floral jungle.

Shaking her head, she walked to her bed, where a single notecard sat propped up against one of the bouquets. She picked it up and immediately recognized the messy scrawl of her girlfriend’s handwriting:

Az, I’m so sorry. I really don’t know how else to show it besides this. Please just get ready and I’ll pick you up at 6. Wear the outfit I got you for yesterday.

Azzi stared at the note for a long moment, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. She ran her fingers over the paper, then glanced around the room again, still laughing softly at the overwhelming display of Paige’s apology.

“God, she’s so extra,” Azzi muttered to herself, but the fondness in her voice for the annoying girl she loved was there.

With a sigh, she set the card down and headed to her closet to find the outfit Paige had mentioned.

Later that night, Paige showed up at Azzi’s door with yet another bouquet of flowers in her hand—a massive arrangement of deep red roses. Azzi snorted as she opened the door, shaking her head.

“I really don’t have any more room,” she teased, stepping aside to let Paige in. “I’ve been giving them out all day.”

Paige chuckled, setting the flowers down before pulling Azzi into a hug, burying her face against her neck. “I’m sorry, Az,” she murmured, her voice full of regret. She squeezed her tightly, trying to convey just how much she meant it.

Azzi’s arms wrapped around Paige’s waist, and she whispered back, “It’s okay, baby.”

They pulled back just enough to share a gentle kiss before heading out together.

In the car, a comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only comes from knowing someone so completely. Soft music played in the background as Azzi absentmindedly toyed with Paige’s hand, which rested over her lap. Paige glanced at her every so often, her heart swelling at how content Azzi looked now, her earlier frustration with her nowhere in sight.

When they finally pulled up to the building where the art installation had been displayed, Azzi furrowed her brows in confusion. “What are we doing here,” she said, glancing at Paige with a questioning look.

Paige gave her that familiar toothless smile, the one that always made Azzi’s heart flutter. “Come on,” she said, hopping out of the car and quickly walking around to open Azzi’s door.

Hand in hand, they approached the entrance. A man in a suit opened the door for them without a word, simply smiling as they stepped inside.

Azzi froze the moment she entered, her jaw dropping as her eyes scanned the space. The installation was still there—all of it. Every piece of art she’d been so excited to see, now illuminated in the quiet, empty space.

Her gaze snapped to Paige, her expression filled with disbelief. “Paige what… how is this still here? They’re supposed to have everything at the next location already for tomorrow.”

Paige shrugged, her casual demeanor a stark contrast to the magnitude of what she’d done. That small, toothless grin reappeared as she said simply, “I rented it for you.”

Azzi blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “You rented the art installation?”

Paige nodded like it was nothing, like this wasn’t an extravagant, over-the-top, completely expensive gesture. “Yeah,” she said. “Figured we could have it all to ourselves.”

Azzi stared at her for a long moment, her heart full as she tried to find the words to respond. She didn’t need to, though, because the way Paige was looking at her—completely and utterly smitten—said everything that needed to be said.

“Paige,” Azzi finally managed, her voice soft, almost overwhelmed, “you’re insane, you know that?”

Paige laughed, tugging her further into the space. “I know. But I’m your kind of insane, right?”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “Unfortunately.”

Paige grinned, throwing an arm around Azzi’s shoulders as they began strolling through the exhibit. The space was quiet, just the hum of soft background music accompanying their footsteps.

As they stopped in front of a vivid painting, Azzi started explaining its history, rattling off random background knowledge with ease. Paige didn’t know how Azzi kept so much information tucked away in her head, but she didn’t care. She just watched her, smiling softly, soaking in the way Azzi lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about.

When Azzi finally noticed Paige’s gaze lingering on her, she smiled, nudging her gently. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige said as she shrugged playfully. “You’re just kinda cute when you’re being all smart and stuff.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her cheeks tinted pink. They kept moving through the space, stopping to admire sculptures and installations. Eventually, Azzi broke the silence, her tone soft and a little vulnerable.

“This is much better than yesterday would’ve been,” she admitted. “We wouldn’t have been able to be this close in a room filled with all of those people.” She glanced at Paige, her eyes warm but tinged with a little guilt. “I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.”

Paige stopped walking, turning to face her fully. Her hand cupped Azzi’s cheek, her thumb brushing gently along her skin. “You deserve everything and I’m the sorry one,” she said, her voice steady and filled with conviction.

Before Azzi could respond, Paige leaned in, pulling her into a slow, tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that spoke louder than any words ever could, filled with love, forgiveness, and a promise to always be there for one another.

When they finally pulled apart, Azzi let out a soft laugh, resting her forehead against Paige’s. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“Yet, here you are still my girlfriend after all these years.” Paige teased, smirking.

“Here I am,” Azzi echoed, smiling.

The two of them continued their private tour, hand in hand, stealing kisses between pieces of art and basking in the quiet intimacy of the night Paige had created just for them.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

399 notes · View notes

monzabee · 2 years ago

Text

bad idea right? – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where seeing Lando tonight is a bad idea, right?

Pairing: lando norris x ricciardo!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of breakups and also fighting, cursing, kind of a toxic relationship?, allusion to smut, it's criminal how long it took me to finish this fic

Request: this wasn’t requested, but the idea is veeery loosely from this tiktok right here! (i might def write the scenario in the tiktok in the future though)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! it has officially been a month since i started my master's programme and i have to say it is absolutely kicking my ass, but thank you all for bearing with me while i adjust! this song has been stuck in my head for the last two-three (?) months and i really wanted to write a fic based on it. i also wanted to say that i've received all of your guys' requests, and i'm working on those, but it's harder for me to get out a request than a fic that just popped in my head because i tend to be more of a perfectionist with those - so, those are definitely on the way, don't worry! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It’s not that you don’t like spending time with your brother and his girlfriend – because you do, but considering the fact that spending a mere hour with them causes you to suddenly question your life choices (of being single), you are very eager to leave them alone for the night. Which brings us to the current situation, with you standing in front of your brother’s apartment complex in one of the hoodies you stole from the sample boxes, waiting for someone you should’ve never hit up in the first place. It was probably not your brightest idea to message Lando to ask him if he wants to go for a ride, especially because a) the last time you saw him a year ago the two of you were yelling and throwing things at each other and b) you’re definitely buzzed from the bottle of wine you hogged upstairs. But you know what they say; absence makes the heart go fonder, right?

So there you are with your phone in your hand, texting Lily in hopes of getting the tiniest bit of reassurance about your decision.

To lily m: i texted lando To lily m: he’s gonna pick me up From lily m: WHAT? NO To lily m: seeing him tonight To lily m: it’s a bad idea, right? From lily m: YES From lily m: DO NOT GET INTO THAT CAR To lily m: yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?

Fuck it, it’s fine, you decide as you quickly delete the last two messages. With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around yourself to shield yourself from the cold air of the night. And while you could just wait for Lando inside the apartment building, you really don’t want to attract more attention to yourself. You can feel yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes pass by, and you even contemplate cancelling the whole thing and going upstairs to sleep. Just as you’re about to give up on the whole thing, a car honk grabs your attention. When turn to look at the source of the sound, you see Lando’s unamused face through the open window.

He motions you to get in with his head, his voice as equally detached as he calls out, “Get in.”

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you do as your told. But you tell yourself that it’s not because he told you to, but because you’re cold. And so you get in the car making sure you slam the door as hard as you can, which makes him scowl as a small smile forms on your lips. “You know, you could really try on being more polite.”

“I’m picking you up in the middle of the night,” he points out as he puts the car on drive and starts driving off, “and put your damn seatbelt on.”

You give him a sideway glance as you put on your seatbelt, letting out a sigh, “Are you okay? I’m sensing some serious undertone.”

Lando doesn’t answer you, mainly because he is smarter than he looks and he knows you’re trying to goad him into another fight. That’s what the two of you had always done, not that he hated you or vice versa, but the two of you mainly got along in fights which ended up in both of you twisted between the sheets of the whatever hotel you were currently staying in. And it had worked for a while, until of course it didn’t, and Lando was mature enough to admit that he had a huge role in fucking up your relationship.

“You changed your car,” you point out.

“Thought you’d appreciate a roof over your head this time,” he replies.

The car is silent as Lando drives down the now empty streets of Monte Carlo, and you find yourself involuntarily checking out his side profile because well, he always looked so good while driving. You suppose it’s only one of the things that didn’t change with time.

“So,” his voice draws you out from your thoughts, “why’d you call me tonight? Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “if you don’t feel like being here Lando, I can just get off and go home.”

“Now I didn’t say that, I simply asked a question.” He steals another glance at you, but this time a little smirk forms on his lips when your eyes meet and he sees your scowl. “It was a harmless question, really.”

Your voice comes off as clipped as you answer, “I’m not drunk.”

“Your cheeks are red,” Lando points out but the playfulness from mere seconds ago is gone, in fact, he’s more serious than you’ve probably ever seen him, “you either had wine or your rosacea is acting up.”

It takes a moment for you to take in his words, and there is no humour in his voice or on his face when you look at him to see whether he’s joking or not. “I had some wine,” you confess, voice much lower than before as you add, “but I’m not drunk.” One of his eyebrows rise up, and you find yourself mumbling, “Fine maybe a little bit, but not a lot.”

His jaw ticks as he mumbles, “Okay, whatever you say.” And as you try to assess whether his voice is cold or not, you see his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“What?” You ask, a bit quicker than necessary (in your opinion), “What did I say?”

Now it’s his turn for his voice to be clipped, and his eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Did you only call me because you’re drunk?”

“No,” your reply is truthful to some extent, you suppose, you would’ve texted him even if you had no alcohol in your system. “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a hum, “Why?”

It’s a hard question, and you contemplate not being a hundred percent honest – but deep down you know he deserves better, even if you had your differences. So, to reveal the truth, you turn your face away from him to look outside the window, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t turn to see what his reaction will be. Everything is peaceful for a moment.

He takes you to a hill, the very one he took you for your first date. Though, it doesn’t carry the same excitement this time around. The two of you remain in the car with the windows rolled down, but the colder air doesn’t make you chilly. It’s silent, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Neither of you make the first move to start a conversation, and you don’t know if that’s because you’re both obstinate or he doesn’t want to be there. Though, you suspect he would’ve told you ‘no’ if he didn’t want to be there – not that he could ever tell you ‘no’.

It's unnaturally hard, you realise, not looking at him on purpose when he’s seated so close to you. Especially because you haven’t seen him in months. Not that you’d confess that to him, or let yourself have another weak moment where you say you missed him. Because you can’t. Because it’s not the way the two of you operate. Because he broke your heart but you’re not strong enough to let him go. With that last thought, you take a sharp breath, undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean against the hood of the car and he soon follows suit. But where your hands are splayed behind your back, his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You’ve not been sleeping.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because he is not dumb (or blind enough) to let the circles under your eyes slide.

And it’s a statement that might be true. You only give him half of a shrug, “So?”

“It means that something is bothering you.” You’re about to object, but he quickly shuts you down, “I once drove you around for four hours so you could sleep in my car, honey,” his fingers move to gently turn your chin towards him so he can look into your eyes, “and that was because you forgot to bring me back junk food from Australia.”

Even if you’re taken aback by his physical touch, you don’t show it as you stubbornly maintain your eye contact. “It’s the jet lag, I haven’t travelled in a while.” You gulp down a breath as you gently push his hand away, “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He turns his body to face you, “You’re just as sweet, aren’t you?”

“Lando,” you warn him, “don’t.”

He raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends,” your response comes off in an instant, “I only see you as a friend.” The biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“Friends,” he repeats, tests out the word, then shrugs, “sure. Now tell me what happened tonight that made you call me. Did you and Daniel fight?”

“What?” an involuntary laugh leaves your lips, and you catch the corner of his lips turning upwards just the smallest bit. “No, we didn’t, it’s not about Daniel. Can we just not talk about it, please?”

He gives you a firm nod, and you catch his grimace as he turns his attention back to the view in front of you. “You can tell me, you know,” he mumbles, “you used to.”

He’s right, you realise. You used to tell him all the little thought that popped into your head, whether it was nice or not, and he’d accommodated your thoughts. It was easier to talk to him, once upon a time, and you’re not really sure why it hurts so much right now that you can’t.

“Why do you care?” The question comes out quickly, and your voice is not as strong as you’d like it to be. “After everything, why do you care?”

“We’re friends, right?” The words tastes unbelievably sour in his mouth, and he has to restrain himself from making any sort of face, but it seems harder than it actually is for him to do and he questions whether it is worth it to

“Friends,” this time it’s your turn to test out the word, and it tastes as bitter as they come, “sure, can we ride around a bit more?”

“Fine,” he gives you a nod and motions you to get in the car, “but I have to get gas first.”

The fluorescent lighting of the gas station is definitely not the most flattering thing. So much so that you’re sure the unflattering light outside is exaggerating the bags under your eyes. But that situation of course doesn’t apply to Lando because even under the harsh lighting, he looks too pretty. And compared to earlier in the night, you don’t try to hide the way your eyes focus on him while he’s driving, though you hope you do a much better job at hiding the thoughts that come to your mind. Even after he’s parked the car in the nearest pump, you find yourself staring at his side profile a bit too long, which earns you a sideway smirk and you try your hardest not to react, but the smile you keep trying to fight is too strong and eventually you find yourself with the tiniest smile playing on your lips.

Lando turns towards you, meets your eyes and leans over the console, “Do you want anything from the shop?”

You blink once, trying to come up with anything, twice, then “Can you get me those gummy bears that I like?”

He gives you another nod, reaches into his pocket and then hand you his phone. Ignoring your questioning stare, he explains, “So that you can play music or something, the password is still the same.” Before he gets out of the car, he does the unexpected and leans in just a little bit more to press a feather-light kiss to your temple.

You watch him get out of the car and walk away from you with your mouth slightly hanging open. You contemplate trying to unlock the phone, because why would he tell you that his password is the same? And why would he trust you with his phone when the two of you have been broken up for over a year? With shaky hands, your fingers put in the password, calling Lando’s bluff. Oh shit, you think when the phone unlocks, now what? Throwing the phone out of your hands onto the driver seat, you grab your own and quickly type a new message to Kika, who of course got the news from Lily and has been blowing up your phone, while ignoring her dozen other messages who went unread in your text thread.

To kika: this was a bad idea kika Tokika: a very *very* bad idea From kika: please tell me you’re going home To kika: um… To kika: sure From kika: GET OUT OF THAT CAR AND GET YOUR ASS HOME From kika: NOW!!

Chewing on your lower lip, your eyes linger on the messages spamming your phone, and you contemplate just getting out of the car and trying to find your way back home. But you also can’t help yourself but think… what’s the worst that could happen if you stayed? Clicking the button on the side of your phone, you place it face down on your lap after making sure you silence it for the rest of the night. With the reminder of the abandoned phone on the seat next to yours, you open your window to let some of the night air in. As your phone keeps buzzing on your lap, your eyes focus on the figure that comes out of the convenience store – and by some grace of God, he doesn’t realise the way your eyes basically undress him as he approaches his McLaren.

There’s no smile on his face, in fact, if you didn’t know Lando, you’d say he looks like an asshole; not that he occasionally doesn’t act like one. He gives you that boyish smirk when he’s next to your window, signalling you to roll it down by tapping on it twice. Lando leans against the car, his eyes locked onto yours. “Got your gummy bears,” he says, holding up the package and handing it to you once you roll it down. “It was the last one too, you’re lucky.”

Giving a tight lipped smile to the man looking expectantly at you, you accept the packet of gummy bears. “Thank you, Lando,” the softening look in his eyes is, ironically, strong enough for you to choke on the next words that are on the tip of your tongue. “I–”

“I’m sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?” A third voice interrupts you, and you find yourself moving your gaze from Lando to the woman who’s excitedly waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice polite but he’s also very annoyed at the same time – though the way he eyes up the stranger definitely makes your blood boil.

With his attention on the woman, you find yourself feel the tension in the air and quickly look down at the packet of gummy bears in your hands. You start absentmindedly picking at the wrapper, your mind racing with a mixture of emotions. As the conversation between Lando and the fan continues, you steal glances at them from the corner of your eye. She's gushing about a recent race, talking animatedly about the thrilling moments she witnessed. Lando, for his part, is gracious and engaged, taking the time to listen and respond. And despite the polite exchange, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It's a reminder of the world he's a part of, a world where fans approach him with admiration and excitement. A world you used to share, but now only observe from the sidelines.

You watch the woman place her hand on Lando’s bicep, laughing at a (rather mediocre) joke he made about the understeer of the car. It’s not a funny joke by any means, and you are not scared to admit that the woman’s laugh that fills your ears makes your insides twist uncomfortably. You remind yourself that you're here by choice. You could have left at any moment. But there's something about this night, about being with Lando again, that you can't quite let go of. It's a confusing mix of nostalgia and longing, wrapped in a blanket of uncertainty.

The woman’s voice hits your ears as you hear her ask, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Without letting them both know that you’re actively listening into their conversation, you attempt to subtly let out a warning cough, but Lando covertly smirks as he leans towards the car with his hand grabbing the lowered window – without caring about the possible finger prints he might leave behind, might you add. Without any hesitation, you let your fingers go of the packaging to thread your fingers with his.

While his thumb gently starts to draw circles on the knuckle of your thumb, he does his best to supress the chuckle building up in his throat. “That’s, um, very kind – but I’m with my girl, you see, and we are both pretty tired.”

Maybe you would’ve given her a friendly smile over a misunderstanding if you were in a better mood, but as the woman looks at you with wild eyes, all you can offer her is an annoyed pout, and soon after she leaves after apologising to you both for interrupting your plans. You watch her leave until there is a good enough distance for her to not hear you, and then turn to Lando and give him a glare as you hiss, “I am not ‘your girl’.”

He finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding as he watches you letting go of his hand with an exaggerated push, and then diverts his amused eyes towards you, “Sure, whatever you say, jealous girl.”

“I am not– I wasn’t jealous!” you exclaim, eyes narrowed. When he starts walking towards the driver’s side, you can’t help but call out, “I’m not jealous!”

Lando is still chuckling to himself when he gets in the car, and even as he starts driving, completely ignoring your whining complaints. “That’s alright, honey,” he says, voice full of condescension, “it was very cute.”

“You are an ass.” You roll your eyes as you cross your arms across your chest. “Maybe I should’ve gotten off when I had the chance, that way you could’ve fucked her in the back seat.”

“Bold of you assume she’s the one I’d want to fuck in my back seat,” he raises an eyebrow, then shrugs “but sure.”

Your face scrunches up in disgust, “You’re, ugh, you’re just the worst, Lando.” Shaking your head in disbelief, you add, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over you fucking girls in your car.”

Lando manages to get out a disapproving tut, and then contends, “I never said I’d fuck girls in my car, I’d said I’d rather fuck you in my car.”

Completely baffled by this revelation, not that you should’ve been, you turn to him in disgust, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs again, noncommittally, and without paying you any mind continues to focus on the road.

“Well,” you laugh, breathlessly, “good thing that’s never happening.” Gently clearing your throat, you later can’t help yourself but add a silent, “Again.”

“If you’d rather a bed, that could also be arranged, honey.” Lando assures you, and you realise the little fucker has a smirk growing on his face.

“As if I’d sleep with you willingly,” you scoff.

A boisterous laugh is what you get from Lando, who tilts his head towards you, “Come on, I’m a good-looking bloke.”

“And I’m sure I’ve seen much hotter man,” you sing, but you just can’t remember when. So deciding to block out what Lando is rambling about, you pull out your phone to message someone who has the answer for you.

To lily m + kika: can you tell me someone who is hotter than lando? From lily m: alex From kika: pierre To lily m + kika: ew, be serious please From kika: what about the guy with the accent, from hungary? From lily m: the doctor? To lily m + kika: i think she meant the reporter From lily m: god no he was a creep From lily m: what about the surfer? From kika: oh yeah he was cute too To lily m + kika: i need someone hot, pleaseee From lily m: THE MODEL FROM MILAN From kika: WITH THE ABS From kika: and also porche From lily m: BUT ALSO THE ABS To lily m + kika: okay thanks To lily m + kika: love you guys

Getting lost in the conversation, with the aid of your ambition to prove yourself right and, naturally, Lando wrong, you don’t realise that he’s actually driven you back to his apartment instead of a bar or literally some other place that sells alcohol in that ungodly hour.

“This isn’t a bar.” You point out, eyebrows furrowed.

Lando dignifies your comment with a scoff, “Well aren’t you quite the detective?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you basically hiss at him this time, “This is basically kidnapping.”

Lando glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Kidnapping? Really? I thought we were just catching up.”

You shoot him a sarcastic look, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, sure. Catching up in the middle of the night at your place.”

He parks the car and turns to face you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Well, here’s my proposal. I’ll go to my apartment and you’re free to either join me or drive my car back to Daniel’s – I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options as you watch Lando give you an assuring smile and handing you the keys before getting out of the car. Going back to your brother's place doesn't sound all that appealing, and Lando's offer, as questionable and a bad idea as it may be, seems like the lesser of two evils. Though, there is also the reality that if when you go up to his apartment, you’re probably going to do something that either you or your friends will regret tomorrow morning. Watching Lando’s retreating figure move further into the apartment building, you think, fuck it, it’s fine.

So, you wait for a few minutes, anxiously twirling the car keys in your hand to make him wait – but you’re pretty sure it makes you suffer just as much. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then climb out of the car. Locking it behind you, you follow Lando into the building. The familiar scent of his cologne hits you as you step into the elevator, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. The elevator ride going up to the second floor is pure torture, and it leaves you squirming in your place the whole time. Basically throwing yourself out of the elevator once it lands on the second floor, you realise that Lando has been waiting for you, standing and smiling at his door.

He gives you a teasing look as you approach, clearly amused by your slightly dishevelled state. “Took you long enough,” he remarks, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. But instead of saying anything or retorting back, you quietly follow him inside his apartment. Lando closes the door behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The dim lighting casts a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. The first thing that catches your eye is the helmet collection he keeps in the living room. Without saying anything, you quickly make your way over to the shelves that display the helmets, trying your best to avoid his approaching footsteps behind you. The familiar design of a particular helmet has you instinctively tracing the number at the top, and the arms that hug your waist from behind makes you freeze for a moment. Lando's touch is both familiar and foreign, stirring up a mix of emotions you thought were long buried.

“That's from Monza, 2021,” he says, his voice close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure. “I remember,” you reply, your fingers still lingering on the helmet.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the present hangs in the air. Lando breaks the silence, his voice low and measured. “I wasn't sure you'd actually come up.”

You turn to face him, meeting his gaze, but don’t attempt getting out of his arms. “I didn't think so either.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours. It's a tentative touch, a testing of waters, and you find yourself responding to the familiarity of the kiss. The taste of the past lingers, and for a moment, it's as if the years haven't passed. But reality crashes back in, and you pull away, the distance now a necessary boundary. Lando looks at you, a mix of emotions playing on his face. There's longing, regret, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that bind you.

“I thought we could just catch up,” he says, his tone a mix of apology and yearning.

You turn in your place, facing him. “Catching up was never our strong suit, was it?”

“Not really,” Lando shakes his head, “no.”

You bite down on the corner of your lip, threading your fingers through his curls as you pull his face down to meet yours as you rise on your tiptoes, “It’s a bad idea, right?”

Lando lets out a supportive hum as he lets his lips softly brush against yours, “The worst.” And maybe he should have been the gentleman and pull away, but when he sees your eyes closing, he just leans in further to press his lips against yours – and the way you respond to his kiss? It's as if the world outside ceases to exist. The kiss deepens, each brush of his lips against yours reigniting a long-buried flame. Lando's hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, erasing the physical space between you.

You don’t complain as he pulls you towards his bedroom, or when he gently throws you on his bed, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As he hovers over you, the weight of the past and the intensity of the present converge. His hands trace the contours of your face, memorizing every curve as if committing it to memory. And when the two of you get lost between each other within his sheets, the only thing that ends up coming from your mouth is either his name, or some sort of encouragement to keep him going. After he manages to wear you out, Lando decides that you’re definitely not going anywhere as he wraps you in his arms around you. The room is filled with the soft sounds of breaths syncing, hearts beating in tandem. Lando's fingers draw absent patterns on your skin while you check the messages that have accumulated in your phone. The glow of your phone illuminates the dim room, creating a subtle contrast to the warmth that envelops you. Lando's presence beside you adds an extra layer of comfort, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that unfolded moments ago.

From danny: please tell me you didn’t get kidnapped by the organ mafia From danny: wink twice if you’re alive From danny: this is not funny, where are you? From danny: fine i’ll ask alex to ask lily

Rolling your eyes before sending him a text to let your brother know you’re okay, you decide to turn your attention to the group chat with Lily and Kika.

From kika: did you get home safe? From lily m: daniel is pretty stressed about it From lily m: please for the love of god tell us you’re home and not with lando right now To lily m + kika: omg just calm down i’m in bed To lily m + kika: and i’m going to sleep To lily m + kika: love you guys

You catch a glimpse of Lando’s grin over your shoulder as you click your phone off, but he only chuckles as he buries his face into your neck as he leaves small kisses to the skin there. “Well, I’m not lying, I just didn’t specify where I was.”

“Or in whose sheets,” his laugher gets louder as you jokingly slap him on the arm, “go to sleep, honey, we’ll be tired in the morning.”

And it might’ve been a bad idea to message him in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

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