#there are cookies in the end if you read it ^^''

[swordgrace]

𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫. — bob reynolds.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “requesting 'keep reading, don't let me distract you.' for bob reynolds (or even floyd idc) please 👉🏽👈🏽”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bob reynolds x fem!reader. [2.3K]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with a slice of plot, needy bob, switch!bob, heavy making out, dry humping / grinding, begging, spit kink, thigh riding, breast play. male orgasm.

[ 4K CELEBRATION. — PROMPT LIST. ]

It’s late in the afternoon, peach-ripe sunlight casting the rooftop in a burnt glow, touching the slats of dark tile and tinted, half-ajar windows.

The Watchtower is unusually hushed, with a majority of the team sent away on different assignments. There’s a soft breeze floating through his nook, carrying the weight of summertime.

Bob sits comfortably on a low, cushioned sofa, brunette waves touched by hints of caramel when the light hits it just right.

The Goo Goo Dolls pour from his headphones, brows creased together in concentration, a book slotted firmly in one hand.

In the quiet, he finds a sense of peace, able to let himself relax, music drowning out the dismal hum of the New York cityscape. His breathing is even, steady; he looks tranquil.

Reading was partially self-taught, a pastime that he’d initially used as a form of escapism, back when he was younger. It’d stuck with him through the years, heightened everytime you bought him a new book.

He hears your footsteps vibrate through the floor, an involuntary side-effect of having superhuman senses.

Taking the serum had gifted him with a slew of inhuman attunements — hearing, taste, scent, his entire body altered to supernatural peak performance.

As he turns the page, your silhouette dances through the doorway, fringed by warmth, light that pools off of your body. Bob marks his spot with a creased corner and a smile.

“Whole tower to ourselves, and you’re hiding from me,” The teasing lilt of your voice makes his heart stutter, and he sits up a little straighter, too. “Must be a great book.”

“Sorry,” Bob apologizes without provocation, hands tightening around the hardback spine. “Think I got caught up in the plot. It’s really good.”

Content, you wander toward the couch, wearing linen shorts and one of his t-shirts, material slouched over your frame.

“Oh yeah? What’s the book about?” You hum, sitting on the end, and the distance you maintain is somewhat glaring.

His jaw slacks in surprise, gaze tracing across the shape of your legs, over the material of his shirt that blankets your frame. You smell nice, a concoction of sugar cookies and warm vanilla.

Bob clears his throat, lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes, owlishly blinking in your direction as if you’ve slighted him.

“Why are you over there?” He murmurs, momentarily placing his book aside. Warm hands find the muscle of your calf, steady and strong, coaxing you closer.

“I can be closer.” A laugh leaves you as Bob urges you inward, tugging you closer until your legs are draped over his lap.

Wedged against his side, you feel the taut heat of his musculature, bleeding through the loose button-up he wears. His lips smooth over your forehead, inhaling a gust of your scent.

It’s grounding; the gentle lull of your heartbeat, the saccharine haze of your smell, the way your skin tastes beneath his lips.

Bob exhales; a drawn-out, tranquil sound that indicates relaxation. He keeps you close, draping an arm over your thighs, the other reaching for his book again.

“What’s your book about?” Inquiring again, your fingers drift toward his crown, slipping through his hair, lightly tracing over his nape.

“It’s a mystery,” Most of what he’d been reading were philosophical books, with fiction sprinkled in. The genre change was something he sorely needed. “Murder-mystery.”

“I didn’t think you liked those types of books,” You point out, careening in to plant your chin against his shoulder, still toying with his tresses. “No Aristotle or Socrates?”

Bob’s mouth twitches into a threadbare smile, features painted with a delicate shade of rose. “I needed something different.” He replies, drawing circles on your thighs.

His focus shifts to you, a peculiar tenderness stirring within his gaze, countenance echoing with a veiled affection.

“You can keep reading,” Encouragingly, you don’t mind if he continues, even with you present. You’re content to simply bask within his presence, soak in the nook’s sunshine. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? Close to finishing a chapter,” Bob muses, awkwardly clearing his throat. It sounds silly, trying to read when your girlfriend is halfway sitting in your lap. “Then I’ll hold you.”

With a wrinkled nose, you quietly gesture for him to continue his book. However, you have other intentions, and none of them are wholesome.

Carrying on, he settles back into the velveteen and corduroy of the sofa, ringlets of brown framing his visage, brows furrowed together. His eyes shift over the pages, clearly concentrating.

Warm fingertips idly draw patterns over your thighs, goosebumps erupting in the wake of his embrace. A brief shiver grips you as you adjust your legs, sitting up a little higher.

A hush falls between, save for the gentle ambiance of the outdoors and the even exhales that escape through his nose.

Coiling closer, your lips press against his jaw, which breaks his concentration entirely, and quickly. The noise he makes is sharp and sudden, eyes fluttering in your direction.

Slowly, your mouth trails to his throat, planting warm, appreciative kisses to the exposed skin there, hand firm atop his thigh.

“What …” Bob sucks in a poignant breath, swallowing the lump in his throat when you begin to kiss every inch of his neck. “What are you doing?” He mumbles.

God, you make him break so easily; desire screams within him, sparking to life with little action, cock stirring within his lounge-pants. His hand is left to curl into a fist at his side.

Wordlessly, you don’t offer an answer right away, stringing kisses over warm skin, creeping along the stubble that clings to his jaw. It’s reverent, wanting; the way your mouth moves is tantalizing.

Absently, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he squirms again, concentration reduced to mere ashes. The words on the page become jumbled, his brain scrambled.

Your hand moves toward his inner thigh, resting over thick muscle, ghosting across the growing swell in his pants.

“Keep reading, don’t let me distract you,” Coyly, you press a lingering kiss beneath his jaw, pulling another low groan from his chest. “Pretend I’m not here.” You tease, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t,” Bob groans, attempting to stifle the sound with a dizzying inhale. “Can’t focus when you’re doing that, please.”

He’s sensitive to touch, especially yours, nerves set ablaze by your embrace. It’s as if liquid fire slithered over his bones, wrapping tightly, harsh and full of an unrestrained ardor.

Bob tries to keep reading, he really does, but he falters and suddenly, the book is horribly uninteresting. He shivers, Adam’s apple taut, feeling you knead at his erection.

Sluggishly, you crawl into his lap, slotting yourself against one of his thighs. Tilting your hips just right, you grind yourself into him, friction simmering, causing you to gasp.

The book falls by the wayside, unceremoniously dropping onto the nearest couch cushion. Bob’s hands find your hips, gripping you tightly, as if you might cease to exist.

He kisses you feverishly, open-mouthed as a strained whine splits his diaphragm. The pressure that pulses between your legs causes you to shudder, hips grinding over his.

“God, don’t stop,” Bob groans into your mouth, tongue lapping over your bottom lip. The kiss itself is sticky, wet — drool sticks to the corner of his mouth. “Please.”

Hot digits flex over the hem of your shirt, palm gliding underneath to cup your breast. When he finds that you aren’t wearing a bra, his pupils dilate, eclipsed with desperation.

“You’re so handsome,” Your voice is low, affectionate as it curls around him, cock pulsing beneath your hand. “So perfect, Bob.”

Another groan tumbles from his mouth, lips messily clashing with yours, kissing you desperately. Gentle fingers roll across your nipple, kneading at the pliant flesh of your chest.

Hips continue to grind over one another, rocking your clothed core into his thigh, sparks flying. His cock throbs incessantly, a wet patch forming against the front of his boxers.

Lips collide again, a heated exchange of tongue and saliva, pooling in your mouth as you kiss. A moan leaves you, pussy aching, clenching pathetically around nothing.

He’s not going to last long; he can feel it.

His chest stings with excitable pants, kissing you hard enough to make your belly churn with butterflies.

Bob squirms again, clinging to you, inhaling a gust of your scent. He can smell the arousal coalescing between your thighs. “You’re so beautiful.” He pants, visibly enamored.

A scarlet flush blankets his features, as if he’s been burning beneath the sun for too long. He continues to touch you, other hand tightly holding to your hip, rocking you forward.

Bob can feel the coil settle within his belly, a tangle of heat that’s pulled tight, something visceral and real. What he feels for you is overwhelming, raw and sheer want.

A muted buzz shoots through his cock as his hips jerk forward, hot air pushed out through his nose as he teases your breasts. “Can I have some?” He huffs into your lips.

A slick sheen of saliva glistens over your chin, your spit intermingled with his. You touch it with a wry smirk, head cocking to one side. “Yeah?”

He nods several times over, exhilarated and thrilled, pupils blown-out and black with desire. His cock strains against the front of his pants, and you continue to knead at it lovingly.

“Please.” Bob groans, hips helplessly rutting forward, crashing into your palm. You treat him to another careful swirl of your hand.

The wet tendril falls over your chin, a sheen of intermingled spit that Bob greedily covets. Your hand snakes toward his jaw, thumb sweeping over his bottom lip.

His lashes flutter in rapid succession, visibly dazed as he opens his mouth for you, heart stammering beneath his sternum. The hand that holds your hip squeezes again.

Saliva gathers in your mouth as you spit into his, watching it fall like sticky tendrils onto his tongue. His body shudders from the sight, eyes impossibly wide, shadowed by desire.

Bob groans, a breathy whine snaring within his throat as he swallows, blinking owlishly as he slams his lips against yours.

Irises sparkle with a flicker of gold, subtle and fleeting, letting you rock against him still, bodies flush and tight together. Even through clothes, the friction doesn’t die.

He ruts his hips into yours, lets you palm at his cock through his sweatpants, says your name again through clenched teeth.

The look he wears is one of bliss and desperation, all rolled together. Through pinched brows and parted lips, features washed in scarlet, he chases after his encroaching release.

His vision swims with stars, cock throbbing ceaselessly in his boxers, straining against the cotton fabric. Precum leaves behind a wet patch, and he’s nearly bursting at the seams.

You aren’t even touching his skin, and he’s burning for you anyway, collapsing on himself like the implosion of a star.

“You’re — Mm, so pretty,” Bob pants, chest stinging from labored sighs, burying his face beside your throat. He presses a messy string of kisses there, bucking into the friction. “M’close.”

There’s pleasure you gain in getting him to this point, twisted up into knots, treating him gently; when your fingers trace his crown, he pushes out another exhale.

Still, your hand flexes over his clothed cock, feeling the heat that seeps through, teasing his erection until he’s a mess. He trembles beneath you, feeling your hips tilt, knee beside his groin.

As he kisses your neck, he’s everywhere, one palm still pawing at your breasts, rubbing circles across your ribs. He sucks at a sensitive spot beneath your jaw, causing you to moan.

You let your hand drop, using the friction of your body, the both of you humping one another as if you might cease to exist.

He’s nearly there, feeling your hand lightly tug at his tresses. The pulsing of his cock is almost mind-numbing, and he can hear the uptick of your heartbeat.

“Want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” The sultry, affectionate lilt in your tone makes his brain go fuzzy, body humming with static.

The nickname catches him off-guard, but it isn’t unwelcome in the slightest. His insides flood with warmth, a muted buzz tingling his marrow, jaw slack, chest rumbling with a groan.

His hips stutter, grinding into you again and again, making your cunt ache, arousal slick over your core as he reaches his peak.

Bob nearly explodes, body a live wire, skin crawling with an excitable heat as he cums in his pants. It isn’t the first time it’s happened with you, but he’s still flushed and flustered from it all.

It’s sticky and messy over his groin, ruining his boxers, but he suspects it won’t be the last time.

He huffs, blinking a few times over, wetting his bottom lip as he fights for composure. You’re looking beautiful, smoothing a palm over his chest, cupping his jaw.

“You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?” You murmur, but he vehemently shakes his head, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“No, that was …” Bob swallows, briefly pressing a kiss to your neck before reclining. “A real page-turner.” He teases, and the corny joke causes the both of you to laugh.

“That’s good,” You muse, teeth idly catching on your lower lip, nose wrinkled. Your lips meet for a tender kiss, one that leaves him wanting more. “What does the next chapter look like?”

A flurry of confidence rouses within him, an assurance that he wants to be in-control this time; and he knows you won’t object.

Wordlessly, he lays you down on the sofa, atop plush velvet and corduroy, crawling to find his purchase between your thighs. You gasp, feeling his hands caress along your legs.

Whatever’s gotten into him, you’re thoroughly enjoying it.

As he sinks down to ease your shorts off, linen fabric kissing your knees, you catch the hint of a playful, adoring smile.

“Looks like I’ll have to show you.”

[bunni-v1]

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud.  It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

[darkmatilda]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the weight of distance presses heavier with each passing day, the ache of absence stitched together only by hour-long phone calls like a fragile sutures on a wound that refuses to close. so you choose his birthday — the perfect day to cross the miles in silence and secrecy, and surprise spencer on his special day.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses!reid x baufemale!reader, long distance relationship, early seasons team, so our queen elle is here, lots of team interactions overall, both reader and spencer's pov, height difference, kissing until his glasses fog up xx

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐚/𝐧: literally started writing this over two months ago so i hope the first half doesnt differ too much in quality from the second one :/ the soul who’s the first to catch the tiny subtle mr darcy reference gets a cookie!

You admitted it without a trace of embarrassment – every time you called your long-distance boyfriend, you waited for him to pick up with your forehead almost glued to the screen and your lips frozen in a half-smile, ready to bloom across half your face the moment you saw his face.

Automatically.

The word nonchalance wasn’t foreign to you, but you deeply despised it. You had no intention of pretending it didn’t matter whether he picked up or not, or that you hadn’t rearranged half of your quite busy day for that shared moment. You weren’t going to pretend that hearing his voice meant any less to you than it actually did, just to maintain some kind of image or out of fear of being too much.

No, that definitely wasn’t your case.

If anything, you leaned toward paranoia — that you weren’t doing enough to take care of your relationship stretched across nearly 4000 miles and separated by the Pacific. That you weren’t trying hard enough. You had a set time for one call a day; usually, by then, you were already comfortably tucked under the covers and reporting in for duty (though duty was a very poor comparison—unless we’re talking about the duty of petting small fluffy puppies. yes. kissing the heads of twenty fluffy puppies was almost exactly like your daily call with Spencer).

But that one daily call usually wasn’t the only one. You reached out to each other spontaneously throughout the day, depending on your schedules and the plans of that particular day. On weekends, you watched movies together, he read a book aloud and you exchanged thoughts only when his calm voice reached the end of a chapter, or you played chess online. The bare minimum to fill the void left behind by the distance.

A void that was, however, ravenous—and seemed to deepen with every passing day. It wasn’t a graph line with rises and dips. It kept steadily taking up more and more space inside you.

And that’s how you came to the conclusion that even hundreds of books read aloud by Spencer wouldn’t be enough to dissolve it.

Not when his voice came through a phone speaker.

Not when it wasn’t followed by his breath, tickling your ear.

And that realization pushed you toward a certain…spontaneous decision.

But more on that later.

Your call was finally answered, and a premature, involuntary soft smile curled your lips before his face even appeared on your screen.

“Hey, handsome…” you began with your usual line, fully prepared to relish the blush that would bloom on his cheeks like cupcakes with sweet cherries on top—

but instead of your favorite treat, you were met with something entirely different.

Seeing Derek’s face, clumsily close to the front-facing camera and moving in a way that strongly suggested he was fiercely struggling to keep hold of the phone, snapped you back to attention like an athlete catching their footing.

“Hello, conventionally handsome man, long time no see. Anyway, where’s my handsome man?”

“Morgan, I’m serious, give me—”

“Hey, kid, how many times have I told you women don’t like possessive men? Let me talk to her for a sec…”

“I’m not possessive, I just…”

“You’re right, long time no see,” Derek cut in, completely ignoring his friend—his words, his attempts to wrestle the phone back from his hand. You kept your gaze fixed on the corner of the screen where a part of Spencer’s face occasionally slipped into the frame. Your lips were still curved in a smile, but shifting your focus to Morgan took effort. “What’s up, former-new girl? Don’t look too happy to see me.”

“Oh, I’m very happy to see you. In fact, the sight of you has turned this rainy Amsterdam day well, not exactly sunny, but let’s say we’ve moved from a downpour to a drizzle.”

“You’re welcome—that’s what friends are for. So? You in the mood for a quick chat with me?”

“Morgan.”

“Hmm, gladly,” you replied, tapping your free lip in mock thoughtfulness. “Let me just check my schedule to see when I might be available. How about next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Morgan, I swear—”

“Oh my God, stop torturing them already,” cut in a woman’s voice you recognized instantly, and almost in the same moment, the phone moved from Morgan’s hand to your friend Elle’s.

She gave you a smile—a fleeting one, just a flash of sincerity—before replacing it with her trademark bossy expression. “Another second and they’ll both shrivel up from longing. Here you go.” She handed the phone back to its rightful owner. The first thing you saw were his eyes behind the glasses, aimed at her, full of grateful warmth. “You both owe me one. But since one of you is currently unavailable and clearly unable to repay it, you owe me two favors, Reid.”

A nod.

 “Goes without saying.”

You just managed to catch Morgan’s disappointed sigh at having his thoroughly entertaining game cut short, before you found yourself finally, completely one-on-one with your boyfriend.

He was watching the two of them—presumably leaving—until, at last, his gaze shifted to you. That tiny smile of yours finally bloomed into something fuller.

“Okay, I feel like I was interrupted earlier and I need to say this again, properly,” you said before he could get a word out. You took a breath, like you were about to cast a spell. “Good morning, handsome.”

You loved that kind of smile on his lips—the one that came with an involuntary tilt of the head, like its weight shifted evenly and pulled just enough to cause that barely noticeable movement.

“Finally. Good morning, angel.”

It warmed you every single time he used that phrase with you, and you couldn’t help but blink a little faster at the thought of hearing it in person after such a long time apart. But that was still the future, a vision. For now, there was the present, reality.

“Please, tell Morgan I didn’t brush him off because I didn’t want to talk to him,” you said. “But I literally have fifteen minutes before I have to leave and just wanted to call you real quick, because I won’t be very available later. I have a seminar.”

Spencer nodded because, of course, he remembered. But still, his brown eyes clouded slightly.

“You mentioned it. And well, of course I’ll tell Morgan you brushed him off because you didn’t want to talk to him.”

You almost snorted, but held it back.

“Hey, being my boyfriend doesn’t give you permission to use me for your personal revenge.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked with a face of innocence, fake curiosity, like he’d just come across a tiny footnote at the bottom of a page, an unknown piece of information.

“Well, usually no, but there are exceptions to that rule. For example, when the personal revenge might bring satisfaction to both of us. The second is when you ask nicely. Just please, don’t abuse that option.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d make you pinky-promise, but that wouldn’t really work in our current situation,” you said, glancing at your own raised pinkie, the corners of your mouth tugging downward.

Then suddenly, they parted, struck by a thought. “Oh, right. I just remembered. What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The usual, I guess? Go to work…”

“For your birthday, silly.”

This time, it was his lips that parted with a soft, dawning hiss of realization. You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Don’t even tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

Spencer shook his head distractedly.

“No, it’s not that I completely forgot. But if you think about it, it wouldn’t be that weird if I had. I don’t have any plans anyway, and it’s just going to be…you know, a totally normal day.”

You watched him for a moment in silence. You rarely faked emotions around him. But this time, you had to summon a thick mask of exaggerated disappointment—couldn’t let even the tiniest flicker of stinging excitement slip through.

“I wish I could be there for you so badly.”

That part didn’t need faking. The sincerity in those words rang clear. You saw your boyfriend’s jaw tighten slightly, and you wished you could reach out and rest your hand against it, letting your thumb brush toward his lips.

The silence that followed suddenly felt especially heavy. You knew Spencer was masking his sadness so you wouldn’t feel bad about not being there. He didn’t expect you to feel guilty—but he anticipated it. And, well, he’d be right. You would feel bad.

You forced a smile onto your lips—only because you wanted to see how, eyes fixed on your face, he’d unconsciously mirror the gesture. You’d learned that trick a long, long time ago.

“I have to run,” you announced with a sigh. “Seriously, I have to run. technically, I should already be out the door.”

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

“It’s not raining anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to start again right around the time you’ll be heading home. And there’s a cold front coming in from the North Sea, so maybe wear something warmer under your coat. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Spencer knew the weather in your city—on another continent—better than you did.

A moment of silence to let that fact settle. Thank you.

“If you’re right, I love you,” you said. “If you’re wrong, I still love you, but I’m also mad I had to lug around an umbrella all day.”

For a fleeting moment, he dipped his head, eyes squinting just slightly, a small smile on his lips.

“I love you too.”

*

Spencer had never been particularly fond of celebrating his birthday.

To him, birthdays were simply another way of measuring time like years, months, weeks, and days—only a little more brutal. They were like a mirror you woke up in front of one day, a moment of realization and reckoning—not so much with time moving forward, but with everything that had been left behind. The new year reflected what you had achieved and who you had become. Birthdays, on the other hand, felt like a celebration of missed chances, honored with the addition of yet another digit to your age.

Twenty-six. He could’ve done something far more impressive by now—and he didn’t mean that just as self-criticism. He was being objective. At twenty-six, Einstein had his Annus Mirabilis, his miraculous year, the year he developed the theory of mass–energy equivalence. With that knowledge in mind, Spencer had every right to feel a certain pressure.

But beyond all that, that day…he just wasn’t in the mood.

He had just been wondering what to eat for dinner when his phone started ringing.

A long-distance relationship had trained him to reach for it the exact second the ringtone sounded—and to experience that brief flicker of disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t the one he was hoping for. Just like this time.

“Oh, Reid, how wonderful that you picked up so fast,” came Penelope’s voice on the other end.

“Garcia, hey. Something’s wrong?”

“Yes. I mean—no. I need you to drop by for a moment, is that okay? I mean, even if it’s not okay, it’s still probably better if you come. Not that I’m forcing you, but—ugh, just come over.”

Spencer was standing in his kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, and as her explanation spilled out, a suspicion started blooming in him. He considered himself a fairly perceptive person—and Penelope a very open book. So it was no surprise that, almost immediately, he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He leaned his lower back against one of the cabinets, folding his free arm across his chest.

 “I’m not sure I can make it,” he said despite knowing full well that he could, and that he had the time. But he also knew that, on the other end, Garcia was probably exchanging panicked looks with the rest of the team, arguing about where exactly to hang the balloons in her apartment. And the image was amusing enough to drag out the moment. “For what?”

“I need your help. With something.”

“With what exactly?”

His friend let out something between a hum and a sigh—both thoughtful and panicked.

Meanwhile, Spencer waited patiently, smiling to himself and saying nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell him?!”Penelope’s voice came faintly from the speaker, as if she’d lowered the phone away from her mouth probably thinking that would keep him from hearing. It didn’t.

“I don’t know, make something up!” came a reply Spencer recognized instantly—Derek. A finger snap. “Lightbulb in the bathroom went out.”

“Oh, great! I love when your brain is the same size as your biceps.” She turned her attention back to the phone, voice suddenly loud and confident with her freshly invented excuse  “The lightbulb in my bathroom blew.”

Spencer wasn’t about to let it slide that easily.

“What wattage?”

“What?”

“What wattage is the bulb? LED or halogen?”

“Normal. It’s a normal lightbulb, Reid.”

“Are you sure it’s burnt out? Could be a wiring issue. Might be better to call a specialist to take a look. I’d rather not end up electrocuted. Especially on my birthday.”

“Jeez, tell him to stop being such a child.”

Penelope pulled the phone away again.

 “I can’t, then he won’t come at all!”

“I have an idea,” Spencer said suddenly, forcing her to scramble back to the call.

“Why don’t you ask Morgan to change it for you, since he’s already there?”

Garcia squeaked in panic. Then immediately broke into a cough, trying to mask the sound.

“There is no Derek Morgan here! Where would you even get that idea?” she squealed in a high voice. At the same time, a distinct snort of laughter echoed in the background. “That? That’s just the TV. Just…some dumb show with an annoying host. Ugh, I should really turn it off…”

The snort that echoed in the background this time didn’t belong to Morgan. It belonged to Elle. A quiet, distant argument broke out between all three of them, and Spencer didn’t understand a single word of it. He cut in at the moment he considered most appropriate.

“I’ll be at your place in 30 minutes.”

Complete silence.

“You’re coming? Seriously? Guys, he says that— I mean, ymm, great! See you!”

Before she hung up, he still managed to hear her deep sigh of relief that the conversation, in which she had to show off her conspiracy skills, was finally over.

Spencer slowly pulled the phone away from his ear, remaining for a moment in the silence that followed. Of course he had intended to show up from the very beginning. He might not have felt excited at the thought of his birthday, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the surprise his friends had put effort into preparing. It wasn’t his dream way of spending the day, but there was a reason that dream scenario remained in the realm of dreams—its realization was simply physically impossible. But a not-so-surprising surprise party ranked high on that list.

He hesitated over what to wear. In the end, his gaze settled on the shirt he'd gotten from no one other than you. You liked how that soft, muted pink color both slightly contrasted with his wardrobe and still somehow fit perfectly into it. You also used to say it brightened his face.

Spencer pulled it on, tied his tie, and sent you a photo. He wanted you to know that even though you were far away, he was still wearing your favorite clothes.mHe didn’t expect you to reply right away.You’d already had the birthday call, during which you gave him wishes you’d been crafting for two weeks. You delivered them at machine-gun speed with all your enthusiasm, then repeated them more slowly so he’d have a chance to actually understand anything.

Your reply came just as he was leaving his apartment.

my boyfriend sending me an outfit check??? never thought I’d live to see that day

He was just turning the key in the lock, the light from his phone casting a glow onto his face, letting the gentle smile on his lips break through the darkness slowly wrapping around the stairwell. He pressed the handle again to check whether being distracted had made him forget to lock it. Then he dropped the key into his pocket and slowly started down the stairs. 

Not quite an outfit check. Just tangible or well, virtual, proof that I really like this shirt and I’m not wearing it just because you told me to. The team’s throwing me a surprise party and I figured it’d be perfect…

here his fingers slowed

…it’s your favorite, and in its own not-quite-explainable way, it makes me feel like you’re here.

The reply probably came in before you even finished reading the whole message.

so an outfit check?

wait what kind of surprise party is it if you know about it??

u’re so sweet. also you look so good in that color.

He wanted to text back, to explain how he even knew about this surprise party, but another message came in.

sorry cant really text rn just getting off the tram :( hope u have fun at the party kisses call u later

He was a little surprised, since you usually took the later tram home, but maybe you just had your own reason for coming back earlier. Maybe he’d ask about it later, when the two of you called. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t be too tired after the party to talk to you.

So he replied simply

Got it. Please, be safe.

The way to Penelope’s apartment passed very quickly for him. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know who would even be there. Definitely Morgan, Elle, possibly JJ, but he doubted that everyone had shown up—like, everyone everyone.

And if it turned out he was right, he didn’t intend to be even slightly offended—after all, it was understandable they might’ve wanted to spend the evening in a different way. He knocked on the door and didn’t even call out to come in, even though as he was approaching them, he had clearly heard voices coming from inside, which suddenly, as if by magic, fell silent.

He felt like rolling his eyes—in a positive sense. It was predictable. Of course it was. But it also filled him with a certain warm feeling.

He opened the door and stepped into Garcia’s apartment, heading for the living room. And that’s exactly what he did when he saw the entire team gathered there. He rolled his eyes, though that warm feeling grew stronger and made the decision on its own to stretch his lips into a broad, broader smile when he realized they really were all there.

They were silent, eyes fixed on him, Elle and JJ both holding a tray with a birthday cake with lit candles, but for some reason not bringing it any closer to him.

“Sorry, but I have to say this,” he began. “You’re so predictable.”

“Are we?” came a voice directly behind his back.

He didn’t exactly freeze in place, like he’d been hit with liquid nitrogen. His body transitioned into that state gradually — starting with his shoulder blades instinctively drawing together, long before his mind fully processed the situation or registered that voice.

That voice.

The voice he heard every single day through his phone or laptop speaker, desecrated by the quality of the device — which, even if it were the most cutting-edge machine built by NASA, wouldn’t be able to truly convey the tone of her voice, let alone force him to feel the kind of emotions that now crashed into him like a wave, drowning him.

Water filling his ears.

No, that couldn’t be — they had literally exchanged texts just moments ago!

His eyes locked ahead, all the team’s gazes fixed on him, waiting, expectant. Penelope, her hands tightly clasped together, resting just beneath her chin.

Spencer, not breathing, turned around — and only then drew in a deep, vital breath.

Vital, because he knew he was about to pull her into an embrace so tight neither of them would get a taste of air for a very long time.

Your eyes locked onto each other like two powerful magnets, desperately seeking one another — an instant click. Another instant click when both your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, lifting her feet off the ground. Click when his hands gripped your waist firmly, steadying you. Click when his face found its place in the curve of your neck, burying itself there completely, disappearing, hiding, drawing the curtains so no one else could interrupt this moment.

Click, because you were together.

Spencer drew in a shaky breath, entirely filled with your scent — a scent he seemed to rediscover after months apart — occupying his mind so completely that the words he had intended to say slipped away from him entirely. You took over the role of speaker instead.

“Happy birthday,” you announced tearfully, sniffling and pulling your head away from his shoulder so the tear rolling down your cheek wouldn’t stain his shirt.

The pale pink shirt. Your favorite shirt.

You pouted your bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but you couldn’t. Now that you were finally with him, the full weight of maintaining a long-distance relationship — the weight you had been pushing away to avoid sinking into sadness — crashed down on you all at once. But it was wild, unrestrained, and yet instantly found comfort in his arms, his scent, his presence.

You felt his chest cave slightly as he took in a breath and lifted his head to look at you. In the process, his glasses had been pressed all the way up his nose from where they'd been crushed between your neck and his face — the frames practically touching his eyelids — but neither of you thought about how ridiculous that must've looked.

His eyes immediately locked onto the tear that had slipped from yours. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t want to let go of you either, so he settled for pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek, brushing it away with his lips instead.

It earned a muffled, quiet laugh from you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

You blinked and dipped your head slightly, letting the tears pool without falling, then tilted it back up so you could focus on his face. Immediately, you had the impulse to adjust his glasses, which you did.

“Attending my boyfriend’s surprise birthday party,” you replied, sliding your hand down his chest and rising onto your toes to kiss him — briefly, because you could feel the eyes of all your friends on you, patiently silent and giving you time.

It wasn’t a good idea. The moment your lips brushed his, Spencer froze for a second, only to lean in for more right after. You barely managed to pull away, ignoring his disgruntled hum of protest.

“But I guess I’m the only element of this whole thing that was actually a surprise…”

You shot a meaningful look at Penelope, fully aware Spencer had known about some kind of party happening. The blonde defensively waved her hands in front of her, brushing off the implied accusation.

“Oh, you don’t get it. I let it slip on purpose so your entrance would be more spectacular! Our genius boy thought he had outsmarted our whole plan and then…” she gestured between the two of you, still tangled together.

This time, it was Spencer who shot her a look, full of disbelief at her words and amused pity. And, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one — well over half of the people present mirrored his reaction.

To shake off all the attention suddenly weighing on her, Penelope snapped her fingers in the direction of Elle and JJ, who were holding the birthday cake.

"Those candles are practically melting! Don’t forget your wish, loverboy."

Your lips twitched the moment you heard that nickname, and you gave Spencer a light, urging pat on the arm still wrapped around you. You could still feel his hand gently tightening around your waist for a fleeting moment before he let go — his fingers performing a subtle flex before falling back to rest — and leaned down over the cake to blow out the candles shaped like the numbers 2 and 6.

He immediately tried to pull you back into his embrace, but you forced yourself to slip away, letting him get swept into the whirlwind of bear hugs from everyone else.

You stayed back, just slightly to the side, knowing you'd have time for just the two of you later. Your gaze lingered on his softly glowing brown eyes behind his glasses and the faint squint from the smile that simply refused to leave his face. The sounds of the room gradually faded away around you.

Surprisingly, you didn’t feel the slightest exhaustion after the long, connecting flights. And even if any fatigue dared creep its way into your body, it was instantly drowned out by what now burned in your chest — that warm, joyful feeling.

“Why did I even stress so much over picking a gift for him?” you heard from your left , Gideon muttering under his breath, but still loud enough for you to catch. He was staring in the same direction. “No matter what I gave him, the only thing he’ll remember from today is you.”

You exchanged a glance with him — the smile lingering only on your lips, but you could tell he shared it.

For the rest of the party, you and Spencer stayed within arm’s reach, always side by side, finally able to allow yourselves that closeness after so many months apart. Even later, as you made your way back to his apartment at night, hauling gift bags and a single box between you, he carried them all on one arm just so he could keep the other wrapped around you.

You clung to his pink shirt, occasionally rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his jaw or a smile, only to pull away again quickly — careful not to crash into a trash can or a lamp post along your path.

Clinging tightly to his side wasn’t exactly making it easier for either of you to walk. But Spencer didn’t complain. Even despite the fact that you were moving at the pace of a drunken turtle.

When his apartment building finally appeared within sight, you tilted your head back for a moment, breathing slower, more consciously.

“Tonight’s stars are so beautiful,” you remarked, staring at the faint, barely visible dots in the sky.

Spencer slowed his steps, lifting his gaze toward the sky, only to fully shift his attention to your face.

“Setting aside the fact that those are the same stars on the same day,” he started, in that scientific yet soft way of speaking of his, “which I’m quite sure you know…no, they’re not beautiful. Look again. You can barely see them.”

“They’re still beautiful,” you insisted.

You were two adults, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, loaded with birthday gift bags, arguing whether or not the stars were beautiful. Spencer stood firmly on the no side of that debate.

“Absolutely not. Artificial light sources in the city generate light pollution, which makes astronomical observation of the night sky difficult. If we were somewhere less urbanized—”

“But we’re here,” you cut in softly, your face still tilted toward the sky. “We’re here together, which makes them beautiful to me. Besides, beauty is a relative concept. Which I’m quite sure you know.”

His quiet sigh, the gesture of surrender. Instead of trying to convince you of something he simply couldn’t convince you of, he just pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Fine, you win, my little relative concept.”

Already on the staircase, your melancholic mood vanished entirely as you pulled him into a kiss he couldn’t escape from. Not that he wanted to, but he had to — if he actually wanted to dig the key out of his pocket and let you both inside. So while your hands clung to the back of his neck, his fumbled through his pockets — the same ones, because he was far too distracted to remember which ones he’d already checked and which he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

“Can’t—”

“Find—”

“The key—”

Slipped from his lips in the few short moments they weren’t covered by yours. You couldn’t care less about his key struggles — you’d been away from him for months, and you fully intended to kiss him for every single time you’d wanted nothing more than exactly that, but had an ocean between you instead.

Eventually, Spencer gave up and fell silent, returning your kiss with his entire being, both of his hands cradling your cheeks perfectly. You wished your skin was made of plaster, able to preserve the shape of them on you forever. You heard his short, muffled whimper and cracked your eyes open, just enough to notice that his glasses were completely fogged up.

His glasses fogged white, his cheeks flushed pink.

You giggled at the sight, making his face match the color palette of his shirt even more. One of his hands slid down from your cheek and drifted toward the small pocket on his chest. “Found the key,” he announced.

It immediately slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clatter.

His sigh, your next giggle, and both of you bending down at the same time.

A head collision and two groans.

You burst into open laughter and took full advantage of the fact that he was bent down, reaching for the key, to press a soft kiss to his hair—the very spot where you’d bumped heads. You left a trail of kisses along his head, wandering across his forehead, brushing the tip of his nose, slowly claiming his lips.

Meanwhile, he blindly fumbled with the key, trying to aim it at the lock without breaking the kiss for even a second.

You weren’t sure there’d be enough hours in the night to fully make up for all the time you’d been apart. Especially since you yourself still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. That you were seeing him again. Kissing him again.

Finally, after what felt like real, dragging hours and simultaneously exactly 4.24 light-years traveled in mere minutes—the sound of the lock turning.

[caffeineaddictedturtle]

Is this what you call self-care?

idol!Felix × afab!Reader genre: fluff, slice of life, established relationship warning(s): usage of curse words, no beta we die like man an: i explain it here

It was a regular Saturday for you, waking up at 6 AM and feeling your boyfriend's arm around you. After you turn your alarm off, you turn to look at him, smiling. His long, blond hair fell into his angelic face. It is so hard to not say fuck it and stay in bed with Felix, but you—with the smallest of movements to not wake him—get out of bed, making your way to the bathroom to get ready. After you get yourself into some comfy stay-at-home-and-study clothes, you brew yourself a cup of coffee with some coconut milk.

You've been researching for your midterm paper for a while now. It wasn't the worst topic, but selecting what's important and what isn't is where you were hopeless.

After restarting it for the hundredth time, you heard movements from your bedroom. You peeked out of the study/gaming room to see Felix's tired face, which filled your heart with warmth. "Good morning, love. How did you sleep?" He looked back at you while he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "I slept well until some gremlin left from next to me way too early this morning." A smile crept up his face, reaching out for your hand so he could pull you in for a hug. He kept you close with one hand, resting his face on your head while you hid in the crook of his neck. His sweet scent filling your nose. "How's your university work going?" you scrunch your face, not even wanting to think about the research and writing your essay. "Well, I read a lot, but I do not know where to begin or what things are the necessities to put into my paper." You felt yourself wanting to throw a tantrum like the 5-year-old who you are at heart. He kissed your forehead, then put his pinky out. "Okay, I have a trade offer; once you're halfway done, we can play on our farm together." Your eyes lit up. You've been pretty hooked on Stardew Valley for a while now, especially since the new update, and you got Felix to play with you on his days off. Sadly, they've been pretty busy with their comeback, so you couldn't hang out as much. He usually got home by the time you were asleep, and you went to class or to the library to learn before he woke up, since it was soon time for your final exams. You only have one year back from your university, and you don't want setbacks, so it is important to get a good grade. Your parents would be pleased as well since you flew to another city to learn specifically there, so you want to make them proud. You link your pinkies together to form an unbreakable promise. "Okay, but no distractions! If you want to play, please play in the living room; we both know I won't ever finish my assignment with you distracting me." He chuckles and nods his head in agreement. You happily made yourself another cup of coffee, then went back to the study to work on your task. You still cannot believe it that you somehow snagged such a perfect man: he is supportive, understands your concerns, and can always accept your compromises. He openly talks to you about how he feels and bravely tells you if something bothers or concerns him. You honestly can't believe these past couple years have been real.

You've made a bit of progress; it helped that you talked with your old dorm roommates—you moved in with Felix about half a year now; you two realized that it would be the easiest since you went over any given chance anyways. They gave some good suggestions. Once you caught up with each other, you four said your goodbyes, since all of you have a lot of work to get done by the end of this month. After some time, you smelled a sweet scent coming from the kitchen. The door opened before you could sneak out to have a peek. Felix brought in your favorite cookies; it was a mixture of his classic chocolate chip and your oatmeal cookies recipe. You two perfected it while he got some time off, and you didn't have school just yet. His brown eyes looked at you proudly behind the plate of cookies with milk in his other hand. "How's your progress, baby?" He bent down to give you a peck on the lips. You waited until he put the plate and the cup down, then patted the ground next to you, signaling for him to sit down. He didn't waste any seconds, and plopped right next to you, happy that he could sit beside his girlfriend. Felix didn't want to make you feel pressured; he just wants to spend as much time as possible with you before he has to go back to endless dance practice, content creation, etcetera. You both know he loves doing what he does, but it can get overwhelming sometimes. They got cussed out a lot for the smallest of things, getting bullied and going as far as getting death treats. He was grateful for being able to work his dream job, and he is also happy that you understand what this kind of life comes with.

Felix watched you type your thoughts out in your document and started to play with your hair, which made you relax instantly. You couldn't help but melt into his touch. You leaned onto his shoulder, feeling exhausted. "I am almost done with half of my assignment; I just need another page, but I feel like my brain cells are giving up on me." He chuckled, placing a kiss on your head. "You got this; I believe in you." He started giving kisses all around your face, which soothed your tired thoughts. Felix eventually kissed your lips; the kiss was sweet and made you feel like you're under the sun at the beginning of the spring. You reciprocated immediately, feeling as though time had stopped—no tasks, no school, no pressure—just you and him tangled together in a complete state of Nirvana. Before it could get heated, Lixie pulled away, holding you firmly, so he kept up his strenght to not distract you further. "Is it okay if I play Zelda while I lay in your lap?" You saw a hint of pink on his face, making you smile. "Well, I am close to finishing it, so why not? I don't think it can cause any harm." Felix got up excitedly to get his switch with his headphones. He laid down and got comfortable, then started playing his game. He has been quite into it lately. The game was beautiful, and there were a lot of things to do. The excitement in him got you into playing it, asking for his help in some harder situations.

When you got done with half of your paper, you looked down and saw a sleeping Felix with a gaming console on the ground next to him. He looked so peaceful like this: his pink lips parted, his eyelashes casting shadows on his face, and his freckles painting constellations onto his features. You can't help but start connecting the dots on his face with your fingers, making his eyes flutter as he awakens. "What are you doing, gorgeous?" You lean down to kiss him as a response. You feel like you're going to explode with all the feelings inside your chest. "I am done with half of my paper; I didn't want to wake you, sorry." You pout just a little, earning a smile as he reaches for your face to caress it. "That's my good girl. Are you ready for some farming time?" You nod, knowing that you're going to end up either playing until the sun gets up again or none at all and will end up cuddling in bed.

You two made some lunch and plopped down besides each other. Your desks have been set against one another, his PC taking up one desk while yours is cluttered by notes and books for your university courses; you just keep pushing it back each time you take your laptop out instead of organizing it. Felix tried to reason with you or help with that mess, but that's how you were, looking unorganized yet knowing exactly what is where, always on point. That's what your grades always reflect: perfect or almost perfect scores, even though you procrastinate until the last minute. He smiled to himself, knowing how he and the boys wished they had this superpower.

You put on your two's favorite chill playlist and booted up the game. We made a lot of progress, stopping to occasionally show physical affection for each other or taking a quick bathroom or snack break. I didn't even notice how the time flied until you looked down on your watch, seeing that it had passed five a.m. "Yongbok, we have a problem. Have you checked the time?" He has been so into the game that he almost looked up into the corner to see the in-game time, realizing that this might become a problem in the future. "Oh shit, I didn't notice when it got this late. I mean, I am going to be okay; I won't work for a couple of days now, but when do you need to send this assignment in?" he asked, knowing damn well that you have a habit of sending in your tasks with one minute left on the clock, giving him a scare. One time, Chan got to see your study progress and felt his soul leave his body. He still remembers how he and Han watched how their leader scolded you about your academics and your attitude towards your learning, painting a picture of an overworked father lecturing his rebellious daughter, who—no matter what she's doing—will always be his treasure. It never got said out loud, but you became the younger sister of the group, with all the older members looking out for your happiness and safety. And Felix isn't sure that if you two ever break up—which, let's face it, is highly unlikely—he wouldn't get the shorter stick and wouldn't get scolded.

Once you two saved and logged off for the day, got ready for bed, you snuggled close to each other leaving sweet kisses on one another, fighting the strong urge to sleep. When he heard your breathing change, he knew that you were fast asleep, what he waited for all along. It makes him happy and calm, knowing you are asleep. He pressed a light kiss on your forehead.

"Good night, my love," and with that, he dozed off to sleep as well.

masterlist ║request something

[vmlnrzmp4]

"NO BOYS!"

bonten executives + hanma

before we start, let's discuss. ive done a not so thorough research, i came to the conclusion that the daughters are not homeschooled. they go to rich private schools. and they have their papas kept a secret. i.e. no one knows what their papas do. the surname is not that big of an issue. the papas have appointed lower female members of bonten as their babysitter. or drivers or someone like them as the daughters' secret bodyguards. ran and rindou's daughters go to the same private school. with that being said, have a cookie 🍪 and let's start!

read blue lock version here.

sanzu haruchiyo

himari was sobbing as you held her, your shirt getting damp as her tears spill onto your shoulder. you whispered soothing words, telling her that she did nothing wrong. when she fell asleep, you placed her gently on her bed, tucking her in. you looked to see haru standing there, arms crossed. after his argument with himari, there was no happy ending. you walked passed him into the living room, he followed. "she's five," he mutters. "and that's why she's allowed to have silly crushes," you counter. he only exhales. like mentioned. no happy ending. no kissys. no cuddles till time passes when himari and haru miss each other.

haitani ran

yua was proud and giddy when she told you about the boy in her class. he gave her a purple crayon as a proposal for her to marry him. sounds good right? she said yes. you smiled as she excitedly tells more about him while you sat behind her, braiding her hair. little did you know, your husband heard it all. he walked in, sitting beside you, as he starts to braid the other section of her hair, "yua, spell marry," yes. haitani ran asked that, trying to check her rich private school english skills. "m-a-r-i!" he chuckled—which was more of a scoff, "exactly. you can't even spell marry and there you go wanting to m-a-r-i him," in short, ran simply did NOT give the permission to the already-engaged-with-a-purple-crayon yua.

haitani rindou

rina was a tomato. blushy blushy all day and would not say anything. so obviously rindou called ran. he asked his older brother to ask yua what happened at school. yua said that when rina fell and cried, a boy from her class helped her up, properly tying her shoe laces and kissed her booboo. later when rindou carried sleepy rina to her room, she admits, "papa...i like someone." "...i know," oh boy his tone was so soft, so heartbreaking, "i know you do," he exhales, "don't grow up too fast ok?"

kokonoi hajime

koko already knew when the female agent, also known as miyu's babysitter had informed him about this little crush of miyu's. the babysitter said that the boy is harmless and with a safe background as koko had ordered to check the boy and his family background. he told you about this little crush of miyu. "that's...sweet," you say. "it's not. she— god motherfucking damn it..." he looks at her from the hallway as she sat watching cartoon on the tv. he plops himself beside her. "papa..." miyu initiates, still focused on the tv, "will you still buy me dresses after i marry?" "...ofcourse," he exhales, "i'll buy you every single thing you point at. just don't forget your old man."

kakucho

hana's the sunshine. average-good in studies and excellent in sports. so when a boy complimented her during pe, he immediately became best friends with her. hana was simply happy to have a best friend. tho oblivious about the little boy's feelings for her. the whole day, she was like—him this, him that. kakucho runs his hand over his face when she asks if she could give this boy a friendship bracelet. "no." he declared. "why papa?" "because, sunshine, he has to earn it. and get approval from me."

hanma shuji

as rui rushed into the living room, a photograph in her hand as she giddily showed it to you and her papa. the class picture. there she was. grinning so wide even while having few teeth missing. but then shuji's smile disappeared when he looked at him. a boy standing next to rui. he wasn't staring at the camera. she was looking at rui fondly. like hana, rui too was oblivious. shuji asked rui who the hell was that. "my best friend!" she beamed. you already knew what was coming. you place your hand on his arm, "shuji dont—" "you never told me about it, you gremlin." "but i told mama about him!" you were in danger now. he looked at you, then back at rui, "so we're keeping secrets from papa now?" "hm? what, papa?" "nothing," nothing he says, already getting up, dialling a number on his phone. "shuji, what are you—" too late. oh shuji wanted that boy gone. "and rui," he looked back at her, "sign a contract. you're not allowed to have a boyfriend." "...not ever?" "not ever."

[ut-girl666]

Hc for Oplita about cookies

Ariel, her whole life, has always liked cookies the way they come store bought, or like from a bakery: solid, can be dipped in milk straight out of the box. Never liked them any other way. So she usually only buys her cookies, instead of making them or anything.

Orion, has always made cookies himself, whether from scratch or store bought cookie dough, he’s put them in the oven himself, and liked them the way they come out all mushy and soft, just about falling apart in your hands as you’re eating them. It’s the only way he’s ever made cookies.

When they started dating, this didn’t change. Orion made soft, falling apart in your hands cookies, and Ariel bought hers from a store most of the time.

But sometimes, in the dead of night, or after something thoroughly unpleasant/draining, Ariel would just eat the cookies he made, sometimes even ask for them specifically.

And slowly, slowly, but ever surely, eventually she started to fall away from her store bought cookies, and gradually began to prefer his homemade cookies. She never said it, and barely even acted differently beyond not buying cookies as often, but began to prefer them.

In the meantime, they have had a longstanding debate over the cookies, each staunchly insisting their preferred cookie is the best way for them to be made.

One day, in the tail end of the war. It’s a normal Tuesday for Optimus, until suddenly his beloved Elita One comes into his office, and there’s tears along the corners, and edges of her blue eyes, a few scant ones dripped down her cheeks, so very frustrated and upset.

He’s up in an instant to be at her side, to comfort her, to get a name of who made her cry, because she never cries, not even out of frustration. It’s so very rare for her to cry. He needs to make sure they know from here on that if they do it again, they’ll inspire something dark, maybe even corrupt, from him. From him, and a few other Autobots who love her so dearly.

And before he can even say anything, she just curls into him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace, that they both know is all for her in every way. And it shuts that fury down like pouring a bucket of water on a tiny starting flame, and reminds his subconscious- reminds her darling Orion: that’s not his job. His job as her conjux, is to patiently wait on her hand and foot, hang off her every word, and simply be there for her to come home to after a long day.*

So he does that. He just curls around her, and waits for her to tell him what he is to do for her.

After a long moment, he eventually breaks their silence. “Do you want me to do something?” He asks.

She says in a small, quiet voice. “I want cookies.”

“You don’t like the way I make cookies, you hate the way they fall apart in your hands, and think they’re too soft.”

“But they remind me of home.”

He doesn’t say anything in the moment about it, he just nods, and they begin to walk into his actual hab, attached right off his office.

He settles her on the couch, and goes to turn on the oven and lay out some dough - he made a while ago while they had an excess of energon to spare - on a tray, and then he just puts them in the oven.

He comes back over with a blanket for her to settle with, and they talk about what happened. They cuddle a little. The cookies are done, he brings them back, and a glass of coolant. It’s not quite like how things were before, but it’s close enough for how ravaged things are.

After a while of them sitting there, eventually Optimus gets up to get something to read, because even all these years later, he’s still a bookworm, and she holds no objection to listening to her Conjux read his novel out loud as she rests against him.

Ironhide comes in, the door to the habsuite was open, and so he figured that’s where Optimus was. He tells whoever is on the other end of the comm line that “there’s no need to tell Optimus, anymore”, and he’s “found her”.

The femmes realized she was missing, and started searching, and got the Autobot Command on the Ark to help as well.

Optimus comes back right as Ironhide asks why she’s eating cookies.

“Because she said they remind her of home.”

She suddenly realizes she actually said that. She just gave away how much she’s grown to love his cookies. She’s surrendered her ability to win any argument about the cookies anymore.

“Oh Primus, I actually said that.”

“Yes, you did.” Optimus says with a smile, having taken his mask off for a long while now. “I’m going to ride that high for the next six weeks.”

“I am actually going to kill myself.”

“Let’s not.” Ironhide interjects.

“I just lost every single argument about the cookies going forward.”

“Yes, you did. I will use that every time.”

“I hate myself so much right now.”

“Is it really that damn important, right now, you two?” Ironhide interrupts again. “It’s nice that the cookies remind ya of home, ‘Lita, but we gotta talk about you and your disappearin’ acts.”

Optimus just laughs. It’s all Orion. Elita sighs. It’s all Ariel.

“Don’t worry, you two can talk about it in the office there, and when you get back, Ariel, I’ll have some more of those horrible, awful, soft cookies that fall apart in your hands and remind you of home.”

“Don’t, Orion, you pain in the aft.”

They’re both smiling. It’s not their shared apartment, but the scent wafting through the air, and the pad on the makeshift end table makes it close enough, and for just a minute, they’re back home.

(* HC: They engage in a 24/7 domestic roleplay/dynamic, with Elita being the dominant one/“provider”, and Optimus being the submissive one/“homemaker”. Whether N/SFW, they usually engage in it most of the time when they’re together.)

[thg-rcg-simps]

Why Jacob was the worst possible option, after being the best

A Jacob Black (Twilight) rant, which is surprising coming from someone who would choose wolf's and wolf alike creatures every time without questions for any other possibilities, because i love them simply that much. Oh and Jacob was my favourite character for a while (till he became an ass)

Very opinionated and very long, and simpy at the start ^^''

(Art doesn't belong to me)

For starters I need to clarify that Jacob before turning is a completely different person and will be treated as a different entity, than the other one. Because my love only goes to the first and my hate only to the second. And also there is no way shape or form that Jacob from before would do all that crap he does in the series.

(My secret theory is he was abducted the night after the cinema (or Billy arranged it to happen) from aliens that then proceeded to replace him on Earth with a douchebag /lh )

Anyway, Jacob Black till the middle of New moon (aka turning) was an absolute sweetheart and deserves the world, moon and everything nice. He is amazing. His handling and treating of Bella are great and so cute. The fluff was really enjoyable and easily the best part of the whole book (or maybe even the whole series).

He didn't treat her like she was necessarily broken, he didn't even know what was wrong, yet thought trial and error (and empathy) he found a way to make their hang outs possible and enjoyable. Bella got triggered by even the radio? Okay, he shut off any. Bella dislikes touching? Okay, he didn't do it. Bella froze by the meer mentioning of the Cullen's? Okay, he never spoke of it again even when he was fuming that Edward did that to her. Bella dislikes anything with romance in it? Okay, they never watched those movies. Bella wanted him to repear two absolute beaten and unfunctional motorbikes? Okay, he did the impossible but also did it slowly so she would spend more time with him.

There are endless more examples to be honest. I'm kinda mad this part of the book is so short in the end, because needless to say, Jacob is great there. He is a good boy, someone who is clumsy regarding emotions and love, obviously crushing on Bella, yeah sure, but he would never do something to hurt her. He is the sole reason she got better in the first place. He knew he most likely didn't have any chances with her, but did it regardless. He wasn't nice as an upfront to get her in his bed, he was nice because he was a good person and also valued their friendship over his feelings. He treats her like a person, like a friend. Sure she is difficult sometimes, but that is just how she is, and he accepts it without questions. This is simply how he is.

(Maybe that's very personal, since his handling of her triggers and trauma is deeply satisfying for someone with PTSD and various strong triggers)

And even if Bella would reject him, he didn't become an ass about it. Ultimately, yeah he had a massive crush on her, but he didn't pressure her about his own feelings. So seeing what he does later in the series makes simply no sense coming from the same person. This Jacob would and could never. He would do and show that she is safe with him and he is always by her side.

But while I'm very fond of this version of him and think he deserves the best, I'm strictly the opinion that Bella on the other hand doesn't really deserve him. Bella is a problem there. On one hand she comes from the opposite of good reasons to him, it's absolutely selfish and she does use him for her own benefits, besides absolutely not being open for any romantic relationship (and was honestly a little unbearable at times). On the other hand, I'm pretty certain that if they'd had more time and better writing this could be a really fantastic slow burn friends to lovers story!

Before this starts to sound like a simp mantra, let's get back to the other side of this mess, also called the asshole Jacob Black is after turning.

Do you remember the sweet, caring, lovable, clumsy sweetheart? Yeah well forget him, because he was thrown in the trash, put in the mixer, got into Luna's tummy and was shitted out over some bridge. But hey, what we don't do for the sake of a conveniently attractive badboy Dude that treats everyone around him like crap and is insufferable -.-

While I would understand him for being extremely hateful and angry at everything and anything after his turning, due to hormonal changes, shattered worldviews, withheld information, the vampires/reasons for this, bodily changes and feelings of loneliness and freakiness beside having to side with someone he really dislikes, for like some weeks, maybe moths, but no whole fucking years. And not to Bella of all people. Billy? Sure. Sam? Probably. Vampires/Cullen's? Absolutely. But not Bella.

You love this girl, right? Why do you treat her so absolutely shitty then?? Like an object? Like you are entitled to her? Like she owes you something? You two weren't married, she didn't cheat on you. You had a crush and she chose someone else. Does this suck? Yeah of course, but it doesn't justify his fucked up logic.

There are other reasons why Eclipse is my leat favourite in the franchise but Jacob is a big ass reason in it. He has no right to act the way he does, to manipulate and threaten Bella. Do I like how Bella acts? Mostly not really, but that doesn't mean Jacob is at right there in any way.

Bella is not his property, if she chooses someone else (yeah even if this one is not the safe option, I mean he isn't either) it's not your place to complain like she did something wrong. You can be unhappy with her choice but you can't kiss her without consent (which is sexual harassment/assault by definition btw) or trick her into "consenting" for a kiss so you don't go kill yourself in a battle if she doesn't and then having the audacity to laugh at this to her face??

Leah gets so much hate for being "insufferable" and mean while Jacob is 30 times worse. I mean everybody is annoyed with Jacob but Leah is the most open about it and while I think she needs to do some growing, I could never hate her. Because in comparison, she actually did lose someone unless Jacob who only lost my respect and his reason to be an option in the beginning.

To be honest, I was so confused when I first looked online for others regarding Twilight and found out about Team Edward and Team Jacob, because it is...well it was honestly very clear it will be Edward since at least New moons epilogue.

I did like Jacobs POV in the fourth book but...well I didn't agree with him, I'm just a huge sucker for different perspectives and we got more wolf content. But then again, every time I hoped for some reason with the self proclaimed badboy who accidentally used Wattpad as a real life guide, my hopes were only shattered with the worst of the worst. By the end of it I was so unbelievably fed up that I wanted him to simply be gone.

And this is the reason why I hate the whole Renesmee thing. Not because it's "wrong", I'm too deep into wolf/werewolf lore there to think that because imprinting simply isn't something sexual or romantic for f sake, do research, it's simply a wolf thing that was poorly used, but because Jacob doesn't deserves anyone. He's so shitty, so bad, so insufferable annoying and creepy, he doesn't deserve the happy end. Which is why it's a bad happy end. It works with Quil and Claire because Quil is not an ass.

Like mentioned above, it is truly a statement of my hate towards Jacob because I love Wolfs, Wolfs are my life, I love werewolf stories, I love the lore, I basically live by it, I love lots of the other members of the pack, I write fanfics, heck I write Twilight FFs, I would choose wolves over everyone and anything. It's why I was so shattered with Jacob, why I was so disappointed (and still am). And it hurts even more because he was so sweet and great at the beginning. I love him there. And I never understood why it was important to change his core character for him simply being a stupid hot badboy...

While I agree with Jacob with his heart to heart with Edward that Bella and him would get together if they had more time, I also think it wouldn't work in the end because of his nature he developed after turning. Which is a thing not all boys go through because Quil, Embry, and Seth (+Leah) are still wonderful afterwards. So it's a Jacob thing, not a wolf thing.

I want my sweet boy back tho, not necessarily with Bella, but with someone sweet and caring just like him :(

(Art doesn't belong to me)

Anyways, thanks for reading this long very opinionated rant, here a cookie 🍪, have a wonderful day ^^

-RikkaCatGirl (Okami Imotō-chan)

[noornight]

Long distance besties. This definitely happened after the third movie (source: trust me bro)

Based on this

[starkid-smosh]

Idk man something's in the air recently.. Damien has always looked adoringly at her but it's even MORE so now. And Angela is looking so much fonder at him too. "Aww Damien's laugh is still kinda the same" *she says in the softest fondest voice while being the living embodiment of the 🥺🥰 emojis* lives RENT FREE in my head. I love seeing how much closer they keep getting. Idk what changed but I'm loving it

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THIS THING IS SCUUUFFED AS HELL & ITS ALSO THE BEST THING I HAVE ANIMATED THUS FAR. IM SO IN LOVE WITH EMIZEL. JUST WISH I GAVE HIM MORE STUPID TATTOOS. NEXT TIME THO. NEXT TIME. I ALSO LOVE VEX&VIV SOOOO MUCH. charlies flavor of Deranged is my FAVORITE!!

[limboni]

A fanart for chapter 2 of "The King of Beltane" by @crkfaeau !!

It's fantastic fic! Both fics of this author are fantastic!

I can express how much I love them!!

Recommend 100000%!!

P.s. tags won't let me add more tags for some reason, so just so you know - It's a rare instance of me not taking a whole year to post stuff… don't hold out hope on this for the future, I appear once in a blue moon

[awakeandlonely]

i may or may not have gotten obsessed with crk in the last week

[buttercupshands]

I've been thinking a lot lately

ref to the quote under the cut

under the cut for maybe some people that would like to try and guess *shruggs*

[paintpanic]

Res AU Joronia drawings. Character rambling and bonus doodles under cut.

This AU takes place a good while after the events of Triple Deluxe happened. Since then, Taranza's mostly recovered mentally from everything. He was able to move on from his grief and (somewhat) forgive himself. Now that Joronia's in his life again, seemingly back to her former self, some of those wounds he'd thought were fully healed have started to ache again. He still feels ultimately guilty for what happened to her.

He's thrilled that Joronia's been given a second chance at life, but is somewhat wary deep down. This feels to good to be true, that she's just back with seemingly no strings attached. The other shoe could drop any day now, and he could lose her all over again. Fearing this, he wants to make the most out of what could be a short time to be together again with his friend.

Joronia senses that there's a distance between the two of them now that wasn't there before. It shouldn't be surprising; he's probably still hurt from what she did. Other people definitely are. She's determined, though, to work hard to make it up to everyone she's hurt, and to prove to them (and herself) that she's not really like that, that she's capable of being better.

The Mirror's influence twisted her mind and her perception of reality. It made her feel like she was inadequate, and that everyone else were enemies to be subjugated. Now, she's supposed to be normal and better, but she still feels like there's something wrong with her head. She still doesn't feel good enough, and it still feels like everyone hates her. It's hard to trust herself. She's not sure if it's some lingering effect of the Mirror, or if there's just something inherently wrong with her now. She's scared.

She's afraid that something will happen, that she'll revert to how she was as Queen, and that she'll hurt Taranza again. Someone who'd always helped her, who'd stuck with her even when she was absolutely horrible to him, and who's kindness she's relying on again now, staying at his home as she worked on getting her life back together. She's a burden on him, and she always has been. She hates it.

Still, her deepest, most selfish wish is that they could be real friends again.

---

These two need to have a long, honest discussion about their feelings toward each other and themselves. Both of them are absolutely terrified about that prospect, though, because they each think that the other secretly resents them to some degree. If they actually talked through it, they'd quickly realize that they both want the same thing.

[crystalpallette]

I still can't believe they killed him like that

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

The world if people stopped applying their understanding of "conservatism" and "religion/christianity" through a very modern, deeply American view onto Death Note (a manga from the Early-mid 2000s which is very much set in the cultural and societal context of early-mid 2000s Japan and all that entails):