#we getting fancy with it we dropping the full name

[luxiowins]

[lov3lycosmos]

𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝐾𝑖𝑑𝑠 𝑆𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑁𝑜𝑛-𝑆𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑇𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑂𝑛𝑠 𐙚

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut MDNI

𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: where we talk about the sexual and non-sexual things that turn the stray kids members on (fem!reader)

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: praise, teasing, begging, oral, soft domination, brat taming, edging, overstimulation, corruption, innocence kink, thigh/voice/name fixations, control, messy kisses, pet names, and light degradation.

𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦!

Bang Chan's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Black lace lingerie — Something about delicate, see-through black lace clinging to your curves makes his brain short-circuit. He loves how sinful you look while trying to act innocent. Bonus points if you wear thigh-highs with garters. He’ll grip your waist and whisper, "You're really doing this to me right now?"

• Being called Daddy in a soft voice — He doesn’t always ask for it, but when you drop it in your breathy moans, he loses it. Especially when you’re being a good girl and looking up at him with those eyes. Yes, those eyes — you know the ones.

• When you’re already soaking before he even touches you — There’s a moment of stunned silence when he feels it. Then comes the low chuckle and the, "You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you, baby?"

• You riding him in a skirt with nothing underneath — He gets feral when you take control, especially if you lean in and whisper exactly how good he feels. Bonus: when you bounce and the little skirt keeps flipping up? Game over.

• Waking him up with head — It’s not even fair. He’s half-asleep, barely aware, and then your mouth is on him? Yeah, he’s moaning your name in under a minute. Will absolutely return the favor tenfold.

Bangchan's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• You in his oversized hoodie, hair messy, no pants — It’s not sexual... until it is. Something about that domestic image makes him want to ruin you on the kitchen counter.

• Watching you take care of yourself — Skin care, journaling, eating your vitamins — he’s genuinely turned on by how soft and healthy you are. Says it makes him want to protect you, then proceeds to pin you against the wall.

• When you defend him in arguments — He's used to defending you. But when you flip the script? Oh, he’s obsessed. Low-key looks at you like you just proposed.

• You humming while doing chores — He walks by, hears you humming, and suddenly he’s watching your every move like you’re the most fascinating creature alive.

• You resting your head on his lap — Soft touches to his thigh, a quiet little yawn, and your lips brushing his skin? He’ll be hard in 30 seconds and trying to hide it like a gentleman. Key word: trying.

Minho's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Breathless whimpers — Especially when you try to hide them. That quiet gasp when he fingers you just right? He leans in close, grinning like the smug menace he is, and whispers, "Don’t hold back. Let them hear."

• Overstimulation — There’s nothing he loves more than seeing your legs trembling and hearing you say "I can’t" — only for him to keep going until you cum again anyway. "One more," he says, every time. "For me."

• Bondage — He doesn’t even need fancy ropes. Just your hands tied with a scarf and that helpless look in your eyes. He lives for control.

• Calling him sir in public subtly — It’s a dangerous game, but when you pull it off in a whisper while keeping your face all innocent? His grip on your thigh tightens. That’s your only warning.

• Cockwarming — He doesn’t even care if you finish. He just wants you sitting on him, needy and stuffed full while he makes you wait. Like the teasing sadist he is.

Minho's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Playing with his cats — The way you baby Soonie, Doongie, and Dori? You’re basically proposing. He’s already imagining you living together.

• When you don’t take his sass and throw it right back — He’s a menace, but when you sass him back with a smirk? He short-circuits and considers proposing on the spot.

• Your back when you’re putting your hair up — That stretch. That sliver of skin. Every damn time. It’s like you do it on purpose.

• When you laugh at his dumb jokes even when they’re bad — He pretends to hate it. But he secretly thinks you're the only person who gets him.

• Your hands in his hair — Pet him. Scratch his scalp. Stroke the back of his neck. Just know you’re not getting up again until he's done using you as a pillow...or something else.

Changbin's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Praise kink — Call him a good boy and watch him melt. Say it while you're moaning, and he might cum on the spot.

• Thigh riding — He loves watching you grind against his thick thighs like you can’t help yourself. Bonus if you end up leaving a wet patch — he’ll tease you for it while looking so damn proud.

• Public teasing — Whisper something dirty in his ear at a restaurant and watch his face go red. He’ll get his revenge later — expect to be face-down in the sheets the moment you get home.

• Mirror sex — He’s obsessed with watching you watch yourselves. Especially when he’s got a hand around your throat and you’re whimpering his name. “Look how pretty you are when I ruin you.”

• Your mouth — Doesn’t matter where. Kisses, oral, whispering filthy things — if your mouth’s involved, he’s obsessed.

Changbin's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• When you get excited about your hobbies — He loves seeing you geek out about your passions. Will sit and listen with the dopiest grin like you’re the most interesting person on Earth.

• Wearing his gym shirts — They’re huge on you and smell like him, and the sight makes him feral. Don’t be surprised if you get pulled into his lap.

• When you compliment his body without being shy — You grabbing his arms like, “Damn, baby”? Instant ego boost. Instant hard-on.

• Cooking together — You’re just chopping veggies and he’s behind you grabbing your waist like, “God, I’m so in love with you.”

• Snuggling into his chest while he’s sweaty — He’ll pretend to complain but secretly loves that you find him comforting even when he’s all gross from a workout.

Hyunjin's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Slow, sensual makeouts that turn filthy — He loves building tension. Tongues, teeth, gasps — he’ll pin you against the wall mid-kiss just to see you breathless.

• Body worship — He wants to kiss and touch every inch of you, praising every curve and scar. "So pretty, baby. Mine. All mine."

• Choking kink (light) — He doesn’t do it too rough, but when he places a hand on your neck and you moan? It flips a switch.

• Being teased until he begs — Yes, he will beg. Tease him slow, whisper how desperate he is, and he’ll be whining your name like a prayer.

• Spit play — It’s filthy, it’s messy, and he loves it. You spitting into his mouth? Immediate collapse.

Hyunjin's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• You letting him paint or sketch you — You're lying there, bare or not, and he’s staring at you like you’re a masterpiece.

• Dancing for/with him — It could be goofy or seductive. Either way, he’s got heart eyes.

• When you touch his face gently — Stroking his cheek? Fixing his hair? Babying him? He melts.

• Back hugs while he’s lost in thought — Sneak up and wrap your arms around him. He’ll lean back into you with the softest smile.

• Wearing his jewelry — His rings, his chain — it makes him feel like you’re marked by him. You know what that leads to.

Jisung's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Dirty talk — from you — Whisper something filthy and watch him glitch. He tries to match your energy but usually ends up whimpering.

• Desperate kisses — The kind where your hands are in his hair and it feels like you’ll die if you don’t touch him. He gets off on the intensity.

• Messy blowjobs — The wetter the better. Tears, spit, your hands gripping his thighs — he might lose it before you even finish.

• Calling him your pretty boy — Stroke his ego while you ride him and he’ll literally cry.

• Your hands down his pants while cuddling — He loves sneaky touches. Gets flustered but never stops you.

Jisung's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Sharing food with him — Especially when you feed him bites from your fork. Boyfriend behavior.

• Laughing at his jokes — Whether they’re hilarious or awful, he thrives on your laughter.

• Playing with his hair — Scratch his scalp and he’ll purr. Literally.

• Matching pajamas — He acts like it’s silly but takes secret photos of you and stares at them when he’s stressed.

• When you fall asleep on his chest — He won’t move for hours. Claims he doesn’t care but will tweet “someone loves me fr” an hour later.

Felix's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Praise kink (giving) — “That’s it, sunshine. Just like that.” Felix lives to see you glow under his words. You moan louder when he praises you, and he absolutely takes advantage.

• Eye contact while you’re on your knees — His voice drops when he sees you looking up at him. “You’re so pretty down there,” he breathes, brushing your hair back to get a clearer view.

• Temperature play — He loves dragging an ice cube down your skin or warming his hands and resting them between your thighs just to see you squirm.

• Mutual teasing until someone snaps — He’ll flirt, you’ll flirt back, and the moment turns into a game of who can break first. Spoiler: it's usually him.

• When you moan his name — Something about you purring out “Lixie” in that soft voice? He goes feral. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it.

Felix's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• You calling him pet names in your sleepy voice — Baby, love, sweetheart — if you say it half-asleep while snuggled into him? He’s yours forever.

• When you bake for him and let him lick the spoon — Domestic Felix is activated. Bonus: if you let him smear chocolate on your lips just so he can kiss it off.

• You clinging to him when you’re scared or nervous — He puffs up like a protective guard dog. And afterward? He holds you tighter than usual.

• Soft humming while you do your skincare — It’s calming, cozy, and Felix will watch from the bed like he’s witnessing an angel.

• Cuddling with your legs tangled under a blanket — He rubs little circles into your calf and whispers about how much he loves your warmth.

Seungmin's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Power play (him being in control) — He looks soft, but the way he grabs your chin and says, “Use your words, or I’ll stop,” proves he’s anything but.

• When you whimper while trying to stay quiet — He’ll smirk and lean in, voice low: “Don’t hide from me, baby. Let me hear you.”

• You getting bratty — He loves a little challenge. You roll your eyes? He’ll have you begging in five minutes.

• Dry humping while fully clothed — There’s something about the friction, the teasing, the way you grind on him with all your clothes still on. Torture — delicious torture.

• Your hands clutching at him — His hair, his back, his shirt — any desperate grab is rewarded with a deeper thrust and a dark chuckle.

Seungmin's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Matching socks — You didn’t even do it on purpose, but when he notices? He files it under “reasons we should live together forever.”

• You roasting him back — He teases. You tease back. He gets fake-offended, but secretly he’s thrilled you can keep up.

• Your sleepy voice when you first wake up — It’s all raspy and soft and makes his heart clench and pants tighten.

• When you instinctively reach for his hand in public — He won’t say anything, but his thumb will rub slow circles over your knuckles for the rest of the walk.

• The way you fold his laundry without being asked — Domestic acts of love? They hit him right in the chest. And yeah, he absolutely rewards you later.

Jeongin's Sexual Turn-Ons:

• Innocent-looking lingerie — White lace, pastel sets, anything that looks soft and sweet? He’s drooling. The contrast between how you look and how filthy you get wrecks him.

• Topping from the bottom — You whine, “Please, Inn-ie,” while guiding his hands exactly where you want them? He shudders. Thinks about it for days.

• Being called “baby boy” during soft dom moments — It flips a switch in him. His eyes go wide, ears go red, and his hips start stuttering.

• When you gasp his name during foreplay — Not loud, not forced — just a soft, needy “Innie…” and he’s already tugging his shirt off.

• Your thighs wrapped around his waist — He holds on tighter, thrusts deeper, and kisses you like he’s starved.

Jeongin's Non-Sexual Turn-Ons:

• You being confident in yourself — Whether it’s how you dress, speak, or carry yourself, he looks at you like you hung the moon. “Damn. That’s my girl.”

• Cuddling while watching cartoons together — You fall asleep on his chest mid-episode? He’s not moving for hours.

• The way you baby him when he’s stressed — You stroke his hair, call him sweet names, kiss his forehead. He won’t admit it, but it makes him feel safe.

• You sharing your hoodie with him — Bonus if it smells like you. Double bonus if it’s oversized and he drowns in it.

• When you compliment his voice — Whether he’s singing or talking, your compliments make him shy — but they also make him want to sing you to sleep that night.

𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @heechwe @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @gncbnahc

(I'M STILL ADDING PEOPLE TO TAG! comment on any post, send an ask or a message if you want added!)

[spencerreidenjoyer]

lovebird | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's little girl sets you and her dad up.

wc: 3.3k, rating: teen

tags/warnings: 2+1, kindergarten teacher!reader, single girldad!spencer, fluff, meet-cute, implied sex, use of "Y/N" because this fic would've been impossible to write without it oops

a/n: not sure what possessed me to write this, but i finished writing this in about 2 days lmao. girldad!spencer loml. thank you to my lovely friends over on twitter who fuelled my insanity. for this fic i have season 10 spencer in mind/later seasons spencer who's just full on daddy at that point <3 (also crossposted on ao3!)

Sunday

You’re at the grocery store in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, picking out fucking cereal when you hear the pitter-patter of footsteps running towards you, and a sweet, high-pitched voice calling your name. 

It’s one of your students, Ellie Reid, holding a box of cereal that’s half her height, and she comes up to you in the aisle. 

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” You ask sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face before you squat down to meet Ellie’s height. 

“My daddy wanted to get groceries. He said we would go together. But he had to pick up the phone, and I wanted to help look for the things Daddy needs.”

Her dad, Dr. Spencer Reid, is an FBI agent and a single dad to Ellie. He’s one of the best parents you’ve had this year – the fancy kindergarten you teach at lends itself to spoiled brats and uptight parents, but Dr. Reid and Ellie are a welcome reprieve in a usually stuffy environment. You’re pleased to see her here, on a weekend, but less pleased with the fact that she’s alone. 

“Oh, wow! You’re so helpful, Ellie,” you say, holding her arm gently. “I’m sure your dad is really thankful. But you shouldn’t have walked off alone. I’m glad you found me.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s not safe for you to walk around alone in the grocery store, Ellie,” you smile. “Let’s go find your dad.”

Ellie nods, her cheeks ruddy and when you hold out your hand for her to hold, Ellie’s little hand wraps around two of your fingers. “Did you come to the grocery store alone? It’s not safe.”

“I did come alone. But I’m an adult, so it’s okay. You’re little, Ellie, so you should only walk around with your dad.” You lead Ellie down aisle after aisle, walking past canned food and bags of chips and walls lined with bottles of drinks. 

“But you shouldn’t walk around alone if it’s dangerous. When we find my daddy maybe he can protect you too!” Ellie says confidently. 

When did this grocery store feel so big? You can’t find Dr. Reid anywhere, and you feel a rising panic in your chest. You have half a mind to pull up the school’s contact information in your phone, but you hear Dr. Reid’s voice calling his daughter’s name, and both you and Ellie turn around.

“Daddy!” Ellie shrieks, almost dropping the box of cereal in her arms as she dashes toward her father. She almost trips as she closes the distance, thankfully landing in her father’s arms before she does fall. 

Dr. Reid scoops her up, holding her tightly. “You had me worried, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Ellie mumbles against her father’s shoulder. “But I found Miss Y/N and she helped me find you!”

“I told her not to run off alone in the future,” you say. “Right, Ellie?” 

The sweet girl nods. She giggles into Dr. Reid’s shoulder, and his hand comes up to pat her back, a soothing gesture.

“I’m glad it was you she bumped into,” Dr. Reid says, sighing with relief. “I wouldn’t know I would do with myself if–”

“It’s okay, Dr. Reid,” you assure him. “It’s not a problem at all. You’re– You’re doing a great job with her.”

“Thank you for saying that. I– I’ll see you at the parent-teacher meeting next Friday, right?”

“Yeah, next Friday.” You smile at him. “Have a good day, Dr. Reid. Bye, Ellie!”

“Bye!” Ellie, sweet girl, waves excitedly, her gummy smile overtaking her face. Dr. Reid walks toward the checkout, holding Ellie with one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other. 

You feel how warm your cheeks are when Dr. Reid and Ellie are finally out of sight, your hand clammy around the handle of your shopping basket. You slap your cheek lightly, willing yourself to pull yourself together.

The way your heart flutters whenever you see Dr. Reid is a cause for concern, and you wonder if you should see a doctor about it. 

Dr. Spencer Reid is a marvel. He’s admirable, juggling his job at the FBI with raising a little girl all on his own, and he’s both a great profiler and a great dad. He’s incredibly sweet with Ellie and incredibly kind to you, which you unfortunately don’t get a lot, especially with the kinds of parents you deal with. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome: his hair is slightly long, wavy and messy in a way that frames his face just right, not to mention the stubble that makes him look that much hotter.

Your little crush on Dr. Reid is certainly inappropriate, but over the parent-teacher meetings and interacting with him when he drops off and picks up his daughter from school, you can’t help yourself from falling for him. 

Tuesday

Ellie Reid is a smart girl, that you know, but you're blindsided by her genius one day at recess. You’re monitoring all the kids at the playground when Ellie comes up to you. She has a contorted look on her face but she says, “Miss Y/N, I fell.”

“You did? Are you feeling okay?” You ask, squatting down to match her height. You look at her knees – not a speck of dirt nor a red spot from falling down.

“My knee hurts. Can you call my daddy?”

“Does it hurt badly? I’ll take you to see the nurse if it does,” you say, not entirely understanding the situation. You’ve never met a four-year-old who wouldn’t be in tears over tripping and falling, even if the injury wasn’t severe. 

The look on Ellie’s face makes you think that she’s trying to match your expectations of what she should be feeling. “It doesn't hurt bad. I just want my daddy to come pick me up. Can you call him?”

You try not to furrow your brow at the strange request. You’re usually trusted to handle any little accidents and mishaps with the children, but at Ellie’s insistence of calling her father, you feel like you should. 

(It’s certainly not spurred on by seeing him at the grocery store last weekend.)

“Alright, Ellie. I’ll call your dad and see what he says, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Y/N,” Ellie says, smiling at you. You get her to sit down on the bench next to you and your co-teacher to oversee the kids before fish your phone out from your pocket to dial Dr. Reid’s number. As you wait for the call to go through, Ellie looks at you with wide, expectant eyes. You smile at her.

On the third ring, Dr. Reid picks up. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Miss Y/N from Ellie’s school. I’m calling to inform you that Ellie fell on the playground during recess.”

“Oh, my. Is she alright?” You hear Dr. Reid’s voice grow concerned. Ellie looks up at you, and you look the little girl up and down one more time just to be sure.

“Yes, she is. I checked and she doesn’t have any scrapes or bruises. She says her knee hurts, but that she’s also fine. Usually, we don’t call parents over small mishaps like this, but Ellie insisted that I call you.”

“I see,” Dr. Reid hums, his tone indecipherable. “Can I talk to her?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Reid,” you say. You hold the phone out to Ellie as you put the call on speakerphone and tell her, “Your dad wants to speak to you, Ellie.”

Ellie is polite, but clearly excited as she yells, “Hi, Daddy!” 

“Woah! Hi, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, his serious tone while he was speaking to you gone, talking to his daughter with a delightful whimsy. “Miss Y/N told me you fell on the playground today. Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ellie answers, but she looks up quickly at you. “I mean, yes. Just a little. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore.”

You hide your smile, and you think you can hear the smile in Dr. Reid’s voice as he says, “Okay, sweet girl, that’s good.”

“Can you come and pick me up right now, Daddy?” Ellie asks, a little whiny. It’s adorable, though. 

“Well, it’s only ten in the morning, honey,” Dr. Reid bargains. “And I know you have art class later, right? Don’t you want to stay around for that?”

“I do!” Ellie says eagerly. “Oh, I love art class!”

“I know you do, honey,” Dr. Reid assures. “So, do you feel okay enough to stick around in class until Daddy comes to pick you up at the end of the day?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Ellie nods, even though Dr. Reid can’t see her. “But you have to come pick me up!”

“I always do, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, making Ellie laugh along too. “Okay, honey. Go on and play with your friends. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay! Bye, Daddy! I love you!”

“Bye! I love you too, Ellie!” Dr. Reid matches Ellie’s excitable energy, and Ellie giggles before she runs off to play again. His voice returns to a calm but engaged sort of energy. “Well, that was something.”

“She seems fine,” you say, switching the speakerphone off as you hold your phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of your work day, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a bother at all,” Dr. Reid laughs gently. “I love talking to Ellie. She might miss me or something, if she had to fake a fall so you would call me.”

“Perhaps,” you say, slightly surprised that Dr. Reid would be so quick to call out his daughter’s bluff. Some of the other parents would rip your throat out if you even insinuated their child was in the wrong. “I’ll still keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid insists. “Besides, it’s always a pleasure getting a call from you.”

You don’t remember if you thank him before he hangs up, because all you can think about is Dr. Reid saying he enjoys talking to you.

After putting your phone away, you press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to calm yourself and your beating heart down. 

Dr. Reid is one of the last parents to come by during pickup. It’s a somewhat regular occurrence, with Dr. Reid’s busy and hectic job. You are never bothered by spending extra time with Ellie, and you know Dr. Reid always tries his best to pick Ellie up as soon as he can. He usually makes regular pickup so you never get to exchange more than a few words with him, but days like today aren’t necessarily rare either. But considering your interaction on Sunday, you’re secretly pleased with how it’s worked out. 

Only you and Ellie are left in the classroom, you having told your co-teacher to clock out first. You’re pleasantly surprised when there’s a knock on the door frame, Dr. Reid standing there in a cardigan and a button-up shirt with his dress pants. “Ellie!”

His hair is somehow more fluffy and messy than you’d seen him at the grocery store, but it just makes him look even more soft and domestic. You try not to look at Dr. Reid with hearts in your eyes as Ellie shrieks and runs towards him, Dr. Reid picking her up easily and swinging her around before he holds her tight. “Hi, sweet girl.”

“Daddy!” Ellie giggles. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, honey,” Dr. Reid coos, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s head. Your insides melt, gooey at the tooth-rottingly sweet display in front of you. “Were you a good girl for Miss Y/N today?”

“Uh-huh!” Ellie nods, her gummy smile absolutely adorable. 

“She was a pleasure,” you add. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

“Hello again.” Dr. Reid smiles. “It’s nice to see you. Are you doing well?”

“Yes, I am. Other than Ellie’s little incident, today was thankfully uneventful. Thank you for asking.”

Dr. Reid’s face scrunches up in an extremely endearing way, like it’s obvious that he’d want to know about… you. “Of course. I like to know you’re doing well. It’s great to hear.”

You feel like you don’t know what to say to that, perhaps a little too caught up in your little crush on him to come up with a coherent response. You laugh shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Dr. Reid has set Ellie down, and she wanders around the classroom, fidgeting with the pencils on the tables, but doesn’t stray too far from her dad. “Ellie seems to be fine from earlier, but you might want to check in with her again.”

“I will,” Dr. Reid says, nodding. “Oh! I almost forgot–”

You look on as Dr. Reid fumbles in his satchel, pulling a crumpled paper bag out. The paper bag looks bulky, oil stains seeped through on the sides and on the bottom. “Oh, it looks bad. It’s good, I promise– It’s a chocolate muffin from this really good bakery near my office. I just thought I’d get you one. Since you’re so helpful with Ellie. Especially today.”

Dr. Reid holds it out for you, and you scramble to step forward and take it. “Thank you, Dr. Reid, you- You didn’t have to. It’s my job to look after Ellie, after all. Not that it’s a burden, or just a job, I mean– Ellie’s great. She’s one of our brightest, but don’t tell any of the other parents that.”

Dr. Reid smiles so bright you feel like you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I won’t, if I bump into any of them at the parent-teacher meeting.”

You bite your lip, smiling, shy at the attention Dr. Reid gives you. You think he’s flirting(?) with you, but you try to remain professional. You clear your throat. “Thank you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Thank you again, Miss Y/N. I mean it.” Dr. Reid asserts, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Tonight is pizza night, so Ellie and I should be making our way home right about now.”

“Pizza!” Ellie yells, giddy, causing both you and Dr. Reid to laugh. She zooms past you to stand next to her dad. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. I’ll see you proper on Friday,” you say, nodding your head slightly. “And I’ll see you, Ellie, tomorrow, yeah?”

“Bye, Miss Y/N!” Ellie waves frantically. Dr. Reid joins her in her waving, equally silly. 

“I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Bye.”

“Bye!” you reply, trying not to sound too eager, and then Dr. Reid ducks out of the classroom with Ellie in hand. You feel like you’re swooning so hard you might faint.

Friday

Parent-teacher meetings go smoothly, thankfully. There are parents who only bother to hear the praise you give their children, so ignorant to the criticisms of their children that you try not to make too obvious. After seeing nineteen sets of parents, Dr. Spencer Reid is your last of the day. You don’t want to say you’ve been waiting for this all day, but checking off the nineteen sets of parents before this has only made you more and more excited. 

Dr. Reid finally enters the classroom, two minutes early for his slot, but he’s alone. 

“Where’s Ellie? She’s totally allowed to sit in for these meetings too.”

“She’s at my boss’ place for a playdate with his son,” Dr. Reid says. “Actually, that sounds pretty weird, doesn’t it? My daughter, having a playdate with my boss’ son?”

“Not at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I’m glad your colleagues are so helpful with Ellie.”

“They really are,” Dr. Reid asserts, smiling. “Hotch– My boss, I mean– offered, knowing I had this meeting.”

“That’s really nice of him,” you nod. “So, about Ellie…”

“Please tell me you only have good things to say,” Dr. Reid jokes, and you try very hard not to swoon. 

“Essentially, yes,” you nod. “Ellie is such a bright girl, and she’s so sweet. She’s always helpful with her classmates and polite to everyone and the teachers too. Again, don’t tell this to the other parents, but Ellie’s set high standards for the rest of the class.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot that I shouldn’t be telling the other parents,” Dr. Reid grins. “You sure you aren’t playing favourites?”

“You certainly are my favourite,” you say before you can catch yourself, and Dr. Reid looks at you with wide eyes. You imagine you look equally shocked. “I’m sorry, Dr. Reid, I didn't mean to say that.”

Dr. Reid cocks his head, a little smile toying on his lips. “Miss Y/N, did I ever tell you what I do for the FBI?”

You have no idea how this relates to how unprofessional and inappropriate you are being. You shake your head anyway, too afraid to say anything anymore before you say something even more embarrassing. 

“I’m a profiler, Miss Y/N. I use psychology and study behaviour to catch serial killers,” Dr. Reid explains, using his hands to articulate his point. Your eyes dart down to the motion; but your gaze quickly flits back up to his face. “In general, I’m good at reading people.”

“Is that so?” You gulp. Is he able to read you?

“I don’t mean to profile you, Miss Y/N, I mean it,” Dr. Reid sounds a little apologetic. “But I can’t help but notice the way you lean toward me when we’re speaking, the way you fidget with your hands a little, the way you can almost meet my eyes, but you still seem a little bashful about it. I either intimidate you, or…”

“Or..?” 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get dinner with me?”

“What?” You ask, disbelieving. “Dinner?”

“You- You’re interested in me too, aren’t you?”

“Too?” You gape, sounding like a parrot as you repeat his words, simply unable to wrap your head around the fact that Ellie Reid’s young, hot, genius father just asked you on a date. 

“I’m usually not too doubtful of my profiling skills, but beautiful women like you make me second-guess if I’m reading this right.” Dr. Reid laughs, avoiding looking at you. 

“Dr. Reid, I would love to get dinner with you,” You say, trying to sound confident. 

Dr. Reid beams as he meets your eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

“Cheesy that you’re calling me beautiful,” you laugh bashfully, waving him off. 

“I mean it!” Dr. Reid insists. “And, um– Would you want to do dinner after this? If you don’t have any other meetings, of course. Or any other plans– you’d probably have plans on a Friday night, right? Way to be presumptuous–”

“Dr. Reid! I don’t have plans tonight. A dinner date sounds great,” you laugh.

“Great! Great, good. I’m glad.” Dr. Reid says, looking a little giddy that you’d taken him up on it. “Also, um- I love when people call me Dr. Reid, but please just call me Spencer. Do you think people would get the wrong idea if you called me Dr. the whole time?” 

You cackle, Spencer looking thoroughly pleased at making you laugh. 

“Okay, Spencer,” you try his first name, and it rolls off your tongue with ease. “Let me pack up and then we can go get dinner.”

“I like when you say my name,” Spencer smiles. “What’re you feeling for dinner?”

If you and Spencer kiss at the end of your dinner date in front of your apartment door, that’s between you and him. 

You pulling Spencer into your apartment with your hands fisted in his hair should also stay between you and him. 

It doesn’t entirely stay between you and him, though, as Spencer calls his boss to turn Ellie’s playdate into a sleepover before he rolls over to kiss you and take you all over again. 

[a-bit-of-writing]

08/30 - Negotiate

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Characters: Astarion x Reader 

Words: 1,291

Summary: Astarion is used to giving… in exchange for something. Blood, pleasure, favors - everyone wants something. So when you do something kind with no strings attached, he’s suspicious. Then he’s confused. Then he’s undone. Because no one ever offers him company without a price….until now.

note: been wanting to do this for a while now - so I consider this the 1st chapter of my yet to be announced full story. For now, it serves as Day 8th of my fanfiction challenge,

Moonlight silvered every broken column around the camp, catching on pale birch trunks and the scattered shards of shattered statues. The others were asleep or on watch, their muted voices drifting somewhere beyond the ruined archway. Only Astarion remained in the central clearing, lounging with theatrical languor on a fallen pillar, crimson-lined cloak spread like spilled wine across the stone.

You approached with a small mending kit cradled in one hand. His white silk shirt - savaged by a ghoul’s claws earlier - gaped open at the shoulder, fraying threads fluttering against alabaster skin.

Astarion’s eyes flicked to the kit, then to you. One pale brow arched in lazy appraisal. “Darling, if you were desperate to get my clothes off again, you only had to ask.”

You ignored the bait, sinking to your knees beside him. “Hold still.”

“My favorite command,” he murmured, voice a purr shaped for dark corners and entanglements. “Though I usually prefer it whispered.”

You threaded the needle. “And I prefer my patients quiet.”

His lips parted in a small, delighted “ooh,” but he obeyed. Only the occasional hiss of thread sliding through cloth broke the hush. When your knuckles brushed his skin, cool as porcelain beneath moonlight, he glanced down, lashes half‑lidded.

“Must you be so gentle?” he asked, faux‑petulant. “I fear I’ll become accustomed to it.”

“You could learn to enjoy softness,” you said, tightening the final knot.

“Oh, I enjoy many soft things.” His gaze dipped, undeniably appreciative, before returning to your face. “But softness always comes with a bill.” He flashed teeth - not quite a smile, not quite a threat. “Shall we discuss payment?”

You finished snipping the thread. “There is none.”

A laugh burst from him, bright and brittle. “Adorable. Truly. But come now - everyone wants something.” He rose, looming above you, silk settling over lean muscle. “A kiss? A bite? A night tangled in sheets until dawn burns us both? Name it.”

You stood, brushing pine needles from your knees. “Not interested.”

“In me?” He pressed a hand theatrically to his chest. “Impossible. Or perhaps coin, then? Secrets? I have centuries’ worth - recipes for poison, noble scandals, the names of hidden vaults.”

You shook your head.

His smile thinned. “Power, maybe? A favor owed by a monster with sharp teeth. Very useful, our kind of favor.”

Still you said nothing.

Astarion’s mirth cooled into suspicion. He prowled a half‑circle around you, predator graceful despite the torn shirt. “Fine. We’ll drop the flirtation. What darkness do you hide, sweet thing? Are you planning to trade my gratitude for someone else’s misery?”

“Astarion—”

“Or do you fancy ensnaring me?” He leaned close, breath velvet and iron. “Make me yours the way Cazador made me his? I’ve worn chains before; I can spot new ones being forged.”

The hurt behind the venom stung more than the words. You inhaled, steadying your voice. “I don’t want chains. Not on you. Not on anyone.”

He scoffed, but the sound wavered. “Then what do you want?”

You hesitated. Because the truth felt too small, too fragile for a man who thought currency only came in blood or lust. Yet you spoke it anyway, quiet but unwavering.

“Your company,” you said. “Your presence. Sit with me awhile. Just talk. Nothing sexual, no favors owed.” You met his eyes. “That’s all.”

A bark of incredulous laughter escaped him. “That’s rich! You mend my shirt and ask for tea‑time conversation? Darling, is this some new kink I haven’t heard of?”

“I’m serious.”

“People do not help Astarion Ancunin for conversation. They help for pleasure, profit, or pity and I despise all three.”

“I’m not offering pity,” you answered. “And conversation is a pleasure, at least to me. If you’d rather walk away, you can.”

He opened his mouth - surely to deliver another teasing barb - but the words died. You watched his expression shift, glittery amusement draining until confusion sat naked on his features. It lasted only a heartbeat before he hid it behind a smirk, but you’d seen it: the startled child beneath the painted masque.

He licked his lips, voice softer. “You truly expect nothing else?”

“I expect you to keep the shirt intact,” you said, folding your kit. “Beyond that? No.”

Silence unfurled, heavy as velvet. The campfire popped; an ember drifted skyward. Somewhere distant, a nightjar called.

Finally, hesitantly, Astarion settled back on the pillar and patted the mossy stone beside him. “Well. If conversation is the price, it would be rude not to pay.” His tone aimed for flippant but landed shy of conviction.

You sat, leaving a respectful hand’s breadth between you. He glanced at the gap, then at your face, as though trying to discern an angle he could exploit. Finding none, he exhaled - a soft, bewildered sound.

“What would you have me speak about?” he asked. “I warn you, my tales skew toward decadence and gore.”

“Tell me what you miss,” you said, staring into the fire. “Before all this.”

He blinked. Perhaps no one had asked him that in two centuries. You could almost hear the rusty gears turning.

“I…miss flavor,” he said at last, voice contemplative. “Food was pointless after Cazador. Imagine recalling the taste of wine, but every sip now is ash unless it’s blood.” He forced a laugh. “That’s terribly morbid dinner chatter, isn’t it?”

You shrugged. “Dinner’s long over.”

He studied you. In the fire‑lit dark, his crimson eyes caught sparks of gold. “I used to love pastries,” he muttered, as if confessing sin. “Piled high with sugared berries. There was a bakery near the palace in Baldur’s Gate. Dawn‑rise steam in the windows, the scent of yeast and honey.” A wistful curl shaped his mouth, bruised by longing. “I would sneak out with friends after magistrate meetings. Ruin my appetite before banquets.” He huffed. “Petty rebellion, but mine.”

You listened, neither pitying nor prodding. The quiet between you carried no demand. He seemed to feel that difference - like cool water on burned skin.

“Your turn,” he said, after a while. “What do you miss?”

You told him: moonlit windows in a city far south, the hush right before summer rain, the way fresh parchment smells when you crack open a new journal. Small, human things - evenly traded.

Time blurred. He lounged with one knee drawn up, cloak draping elegant folds. Anecdotes slipped free - barbed jokes about Balduran nobles, sly impressions of Cazador’s fawning spawn. Each story left a little more daylight between him and his fear.

When the fire dwindled to a glowing heart, Astarion stretched lithely. “Look at that - we’ve nearly talked the poor flames to death.”

You offered him the blanket draped over your shoulders. “I’m heading to my bedroll. Keep warm.”

He accepted it, fingertips brushing yours - a touch light as breath, yet enough to raise gooseflesh. He noticed, of course; his lips tilted upward in the faintest, most genuine smile you’d seen.

“I’ll return it tomorrow,” he said. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

A pause. “For deciding I’m worth more than barter.”

You gave a small nod and started toward your corner of camp.

At your first step, his voice followed: dry, teasing again, yet threaded with something softer.

“Just so we’re clear,” he called, “if you ever want to renegotiate - say, trade polite company for a night tangled in scandalous positions - you have only to ask.”

You laughed, glancing back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He watched you until you vanished beyond the ruined archway. Only when the night quieted did Astarion glance at the neat stitches on his sleeve. He brushed them with one thumb, as if testing reality.

For the first time in two hundred years, someone had offered him kindness priced not in flesh, coin, or fear but in presence. A currency he scarcely believed existed.

And in the hush of crumbling moonlit stone, Astarion found himself strangely, achingly…rich.

[nocturnalcharm]

Faking It (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

𐙚 prompt: charles forces you and logan to do a mission together in order to help you bond. 𐙚 cw: enemies to lovers, one bed trope, if this does well i’ll do a part 2 w smut ;) cussing, 𐙚 a/n:  thanks to everyone who's sent me req's! this wasnt a req but id already started it haha if youve sent a req ill try to get to it asap.... also so many ppl wanted to be added to a taglist but for the nsfw alphabet post i dont think it tagged like half the ppl?? so im sorry if u dont get tagged, im trying to fix it :)

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

“Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“(Y/N), it’s not me you should be apologizing to. It’s your team. That’s who you both let down.” He eyes flick between you and Logan.

“I’ll go apologize to them now.” You turn to leave.

“You too Logan.” Charles says.

On this latest mission, you needed to sneak into a factory and take down all of the enemies— But you and Logan were arguing so loudly, you alerted all of the rivals, turning a few quick sneak attacks into full blown fights. No one was badly injured but you still felt horrible about it.

“This is all your fault.” You mumbled, just loud enough for Logan to hear.

“My fault? You’re kidding.” He huffs.

“Shut up.” You walk ahead of him, on the way to the common room to see your team.

Everyone was sitting there, talking amongst themselves. Once you and Logan entered, they all stopped their conversations and looked at you.

“Guys. I am so sorry about this mission.”

“I’m sorry, extremely sorry, and I apologize for my behavior.” Logan mocked your expression of regret.

“You are such a child, Logan! I’m trying to apologize!” You raised your voice.

“I am too!”

“Can you two just stop?” Hank stood up, silencing you both. “Your attitudes have been getting in the way of every mission. If you guys can’t get along then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh..” You didn’t know how to respond. You couldn’t believe you let your dislike for Logan get in the way of your job, so much that they thought you shouldn’t be an X-Man anymore.

They all left the room, leaving just you and Logan to culminate in your thoughts.

“I think it’s pretty obvious we’re not going to get along any time soon.” He broke the silence.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He walked out, as you sat in the empty room.

The next day, Xavier called you and Logan into his office yet again. You were concerned, worried he might be kicking you off the team. But instead, he said he had a mission for you two.

“I need you to pose as a couple. You’ll be going to an upscale hotel in Manhattan. It’s a cover for a drug smuggling ring. You two will stay as guests in order to collect information. I need everyone that is there, guests and workers alike, to think you two are madly in love. We don’t know who could be involved, so we can’t have them think anything suspicious.”

“Professor, is that the best idea? We just blew the last mission because we couldn’t stop arguing.”

“If you two fail this mission, I will have no choice but to replace both of you. You are amazing at what you do, but your arguing affects everyone. Not just yourselves.”

“Okay. We won’t let you down.” Logan speaks up.

***

The trip to the hotel was long and frustrating. You two couldn’t agree on anything the entire time. You criticized his driving, he criticized what you put on the radio, and how loud it was. You called him an old man, which just resulted in the radio being turned off and continuing the last hour drive there in silence.

When you arrived, it was late afternoon. Logan, pretending to be your fiance, grabbed all the bags by himself and walked inside. The hotel was huge. It was upscale, classy. So fancy you were afraid to touch anything, in fear it might break.

“Hi! Checking in for Anderson.” He greeted the front desk clerk, giving his forged name. He dropped the bags on the floor and you wrapped yourself around his now-free arm, squeezing it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.” She smiled back, “Let’s see. You had the penthouse, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re celebrating our engagement!” You beamed, holding out your hand, showing off your fake engagement ring.

“That’s lovely. Congratulations! We’ll have a bottle of champagne in your room for celebration.”

“Thank you so much!” You squeaked.

He finished the check-in process, then you headed to the top floor.

The penthouse was absolutely gorgeous. It was huge, the size of a decent apartment. Just like the lobby, you were afraid to break something.

“Wow.. This is amazing. Only time I’ll ever get to stay in a penthouse and it’s with you.” You said, as he shut the door.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Now, c’mon we gotta go to the pool. Get changed.” He handed you your bag.

You opened it, pulling out your bikini. It was the only one you had, admittedly from a few years ago. You didn’t have time anymore to relax by a pool or go swimming in the ocean, so this swimsuit had to do. It was a simple black string bikini.

You went inside the bathroom to change. Once you had your swimsuit on, you felt a little self conscious at the amount of skin showing, but figured it’d help with the whole ‘can’t keep your hands off your new fiance’ vibe you and Logan needed to exude for this mission.

You walked out of the bathroom, faking confidence you didn’t have. Logan had taken the opportunity to just change in the living space since he was alone. He was wearing black swim trunks. It was funny, it looked like you two had matched on purpose.

“Wow.” He said quietly, clearing his throat.

“What? You like what you see?” You joked at his clear uncomfortableness with seeing you in such little clothing.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” He spat, grabbing two towels, the key, and exiting the room.

The second you were out the door, you both had big smiles on your face. His arm was around you, holding your side as you headed to the pool.

It wasn’t too busy, just a few kids with their parents, and a bartender at the outdoor bar. You told him you wanted a drink, so that’s where you headed first.

“Hey, can I get two Mojitos?” Logan asked, handing him the room key “And can you just charge it to our room?”

“Of course,” He started working on the drinks immediately, while you two sat and people-watched. He finished the drinks, and gave you them and the room key back.

You said thank you as you walked off, hoping Logan would just follow. There was a small hot tub that was empty, so that’s where you went. You stepped in carefully, afraid of slipping, and sat down in the warm water.

“Really?” Logan whispered, a fake smile still adorned on his face.

“This is what couples do, Logan. And we’re a couple for this weekend. So sit down and act like you love me, sweetie.” Your grin was starting to hurt your cheeks.

He sat down across from you, and you mentally rolled your eyes. You got up, and repositioned yourself, sitting in his lap, “What part of ‘act like you love me’ are you not getting?” 

He was frozen for a moment, caught off guard but quickly acted like he was happy to have you there, to not draw suspicion. You both took sips of your drink, as you continued to nonchalantly looked around.

You two stayed at the pool for awhile, taking mental notes of the guests and employees you saw. Honestly, this hotel didn’t seem too strange. But Xavier said it was a front so you guessed that’s why it seemed so normal, for their cover.

Once your drinks were empty, and the sun had started to go down, you both decided to head back up to the room. He got out drying himself off before wrapping you up in your towel. He picked you up and carried you bridal-style to the penthouse.

“Logan!”

“What? Just acting like I love you.” He smirked.

Once inside the room, he set you down. “I’m gonna go shower.” You stated, not really knowing what to do. 

He just nodded, walking off to the kitchenette. You grabbed your bag and headed to the bathroom.

***

You mentally cursed yourself as you scrambled through your bag, searching for a pair of pajama shorts you thought you packed, but they were nowhere to be found. 

“This cannot be real.” You whispered. The only other clothes you brought were jean shorts, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sleep in those.

You pulled out your oversized sleepshirt, putting it on. The hem landed right above the middle of your thigh. It was a little shorter than the length of a nightgown, so you just hoped he wouldn’t notice. You slipped on a pair of panties, snatched up your things, and exited the bathroom.

You immediately bumped into Logan, who was standing right outside the door.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice, annoyed. “Why are you right outside the door?”

“I was about to knock. You’ve been in there for over an hour.”

“It’s all yours!” You sassed.

You walked over to the small kitchen, and see he had already opened up the champagne. You had a glass as you sat on a barstool, writing down some notes about the people you’d observed earlier. Pouring yourself another glass, you headed over to the bed.

Just as you made yourself comfortable, Logan came out of the washroom, in just a towel. You stared at his wet torso for a moment, hypnotized.

“My eyes are up here.” He laughed.

You looked up, embarrassed.

“Forgot my clothes. Hey, wait, why are you in the bed?”

“…Because I’m the girl?”

“You're also the short one. I can’t fit on that couch.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s a big bed. We can both fit just fine. Unless you’re nervous. Never slept with a girl before, Lo?”

He sighed, clearly not wanting to argue, before taking his clothes and escaping back to the bathroom. You silently celebrated your victory.

He came out a few moments later, turning off the lights, sliding under the blankets and getting comfortable. You both ended up facing the same direction. If he was any closer, he’d be the big spoon, but there was a few inches separating you.

You adjusted your body, and accidentally felt your ass rub against him. You went rigid from humiliation, before scooting away slightly, ignoring it since he didn’t say anything.

You tried to fall asleep, but it was difficult, for many reasons. One, you’re not used to having someone else in your bed. Two, he was breathing heavily. Three, you couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy he was.

Of course, you knew Logan was attractive, you’d thought that since the moment you first saw him. But today, probably because of the faux-gagement, the touching, the flirting, you saw him differently. He was still getting on your nerves, but the flames between you two… His body… It was unlike before.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You twiddled your feet, moving around your body nervously, before unintentionally grazing your ass against his crotch again.

“Y’know, if you keep rubbing your ass against my dick, I’m gonna do something about it.” His words sounded gruff in your ear, but they gave you butterflies.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Taglist:

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[moondustbaby]

Still So Pretty

ceo!Rafe x pregnant gf!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

cw: smut, oral (f rec), piv, unprotected sex, praise kink, insecurities and emotional reassurance

mdni 18+

summary: At eight months pregnant, you’re feeling uncomfortable in your skin—aching, stretched, and far from beautiful. Rafe notices the shift in you, and plans a quiet date night to remind you how deeply you’re loved.

⸻

You don’t say anything when you start crying in the closet.

It’s quiet—no sobbing, no theatrics. Just a soft, stinging blur behind your eyes as you stare down at the fourth dress in a row that doesn’t fit right. Everything clings in the wrong places. Your thighs, your belly, the way your once-soft curves have grown full and tight and foreign.

You’re 8 months pregnant.

And today, you feel like a stranger in your skin.

Rafe doesn’t say anything when he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed, eyes distant. He just kneels in front of you and kisses your knee.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Come out with me tonight.”

You blink. “Looking like this?”

“Looking like mine.”

You stare at him, heart pounding.

“I made a reservation,” he continues. “Just us. No meetings. No errands. Mason’s with Sarah. You don’t have to put on anything fancy. I just want to take my girl out.”

He says it so simply, so easily, like you’re not sitting here feeling utterly unrecognizable.

You nod slowly.

And he smiles like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love you exactly as you are.

⸻

Dinner is soft, candlelit, tucked in a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant. Rafe’s fingers trail your wrist the entire meal. His eyes never stray far from your face. He refills your water before you can ask and orders you dessert without needing to ask.

Even when your dress clings too tight over your stomach and your thighs rub uncomfortably under the table—you feel safe.

Rafe leans in over crème brûlée.

“You know you’re still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, right?”

You roll your eyes. “You have to say that. I’m carrying your child.”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

His fingers slide up your thigh under the table. “I’ve been hard since you walked down the stairs.”

You nearly drop your spoon.

⸻

The second the front door closes behind you, he presses you against it.

One hand on your lower back, the other cupping your jaw as he kisses you slow—slow like you’re made of something sacred. Like every inch of you deserves a moment of worship.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Not just your body. You. The way you touch me. The way you kiss me back.”

His hand glides over your stomach. “This—what we made together—doesn’t take anything away from that. It makes it more.”

You close your eyes.

“Let me show you,” he says. “Let me show you how I see you.”

He strips you in the bedroom like it’s a ritual.

One button at a time. One brush of his fingers at a time. His mouth trails every inch he reveals—your shoulders, your chest, the underside of your breasts, the soft swell of your belly.

You move to cover it instinctively.

He catches your wrists. “Don’t.”

“I just…” Your voice cracks. “I don’t feel—”

“You’re growing my baby,” he says, so low and firm it stops you cold. “You are everything.”

He guides you in front of the mirror and stands behind you, both of you bare now, your body lit golden in the soft bedroom light.

“You see that?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “That’s what I see. Soft hips. Full breasts. The curve of your belly where she kicks when I say your name.”

His hand drifts down between your legs, cupping you gently.

“And this,” he breathes, “has never been more perfect.”

He lowers you to the bed, but not before dragging the mirror closer—angling it so you can see yourself the entire time.

“I want you to see what I see.”

He kisses his way down your body—slow, wet, worshipful.

And when he gets to your thighs, he spreads them gently, hands anchoring you in place.

“Watch me,” he says, eyes burning. “Watch what you do to me.”

Then he goes down on you like he’s starving.

His mouth is all heat and pressure and slow circles, sucking and lapping with precision, his nose brushing your clit while his tongue works deeper. You arch off the bed, moaning his name, your thighs trembling under his hold.

He groans against you when you cry out.

“Rafe—please—”

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Take what you need.”

You come hard, voice breaking, body shuddering. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, begging, eyes glassy from overstimulation.

⸻

He kneels between your legs and strokes himself once—just once—before pressing into you.

You gasp.

“Still so fucking tight,” he groans. “Still made for me.”

You clutch the sheets. “Go slow.”

“Always.”

He slides in inch by inch, kissing your jaw, your shoulder, your chest, his hands braced on either side of your belly.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “So full. So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror and nearly fall apart all over again.

He rocks into you slow and deep, each thrust dragging delicious pressure through your core, your clit brushing his pelvis just enough to make your toes curl.

“You’re glowing,” he pants. “You’re glowing and I’m losing my mind.”

You pull him closer, one hand in his hair, the other digging into his back.

“I love you,” you cry. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

He makes you come again with his hand between you, circling your clit until your whole body clenches around him.

“Fuck—baby, that’s it—”

He groans, low and broken, as he spills inside you, forehead pressed to yours, hands shaking where they hold your hips like he never wants to let go.

⸻

After, he helps you shower. Washes your hair. Dries every inch of your skin like you’re something precious.

And when he tucks you into bed, he kisses your belly and whispers, “You gave me everything I ever wanted.”

You fall asleep smiling.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: rafe said “you’re glowing” and then proceeded to prove it with his whole chest. this one’s for the girlies who want to feel wanted even when they don’t feel like themselves.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@maybankslover @lolabunnyworldss @drewstarkeyspecs @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx @raineshua

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Marzipan Boy part 1

Tim shot a quick message to Tam, letting her know that he would be busy for a while, and then he shoved his headphones on and pushed the button to darken the windows of his office.

Tam thought he was taking a nap, and encouraged his daily hour of “dark time”.

Tim was NOT taking a nap, he was watching the love of his life play video games (sue him, he might doze off once or twice during the stream, but it wasn’t on purpose.)

“Good afternoon, gamers. It’s NightenGames here, and I have not had enough coffee.”

Chuckling at the semi-regular intro, Tim took a sip of his dark roast and settled back into his desk chair.

“Today we’re playing Elder Ring- My friend PharaohTuck finally finished setting up my mods.”

Tim wasn’t entirely sure what exactly the mods NightenGames used did, but apparently they were necessary for him to play. The Yeddit threads were full of speculation- from control mods meant for metahumans/aliens, to cheats to make the games easier.

Very few fans believed that one- Nighten died too many times to be cheating with his mods.

“Ooooh, what a fancy character creator! Alright, folks- who should we mock this time? I’m seeing a lot of votes for Lex Luthor in the chat, a few for Bruce Wayne- which, let me remind you, I’ve already done both Wayne and Luthor in the last month, so they’re out.”

This was why Tim had originally followed NightenGames- the streamer would pick a rich person and then pretend to be them for the entire stream, as if they were playing the game. Yeddit had checked- most of the quotes Nighten used were straight from public videos of the target.

“Tim Drake, huh? CEO of Wayne Industries? Isn’t he, like, the same age as me? I dunno, guys- like, nepo baby for suresies, but…”

Tim startled at the sound of his own name, and swooned a little at the way it rang out in Nighten’s rich baritone.

“You’re right, BarleyWater32, I have not picked on Tim Drake yet. In my defense… I have no defense. He’s hot and I’d smash. Don’t want to spoil my minuscule chances, right? Right. Anyways. Oh! Oliver Queen, I can do him. Well, not DO him, but- make me shut up.”

Blinking at his computer, Tim couldn’t help but flush at the knowledge that his internet crush thought he was “hot and would smash”.

Tim would smash too, honestly. He’d done his research. Daniel ‘Danny’ Nightengale was VERY attractive behind the virtual avatars he used.

“Let me pull up Ollie-boy’s avatar- ah ha! Can’t miss that mustache anywhere.”

The avatar finally popped up in the video- Nighten didn’t usually have one up until the chat had chosen a victim, even if he did have a standard avatar for after he was done gaming.

If he had to pick, Tim liked the avatar for Queen the best. He wore a silly pair of green sunglasses, and his matching green mustache twirled far beyond his face- the real Oliver would never, but the mockery was funny.

“Ahem. Yes. Hello. My name is Ollie Queen and I’m richer than anyone else in this city. Let’s get this bread!”

Elder Ring went well- through some chance Nighten picked an archery build for his run through, which Tim thought was quite ironic- and the stream went on for a whole hour before Nighten switched to his standard avatar.

“Okay, folks, I’m going to shut down now- and Tim Drake? If you’re watching? DM me.”

Nighten chuckled a little, like he’d made an impossible request, but Tim was vibrating in his seat, reaching for his phone to DM the streamer.

The video ended abruptly, and Tim’s autotimer on the darkened windows ran out.

Tam was standing expectantly outside of the door, smiling serenely in- but her arms were full of folders that she undoubtedly need signatures on.

With a sigh, Tim took off his headphones, dropped his cell on his desk, and waved her in. Work waited for no man.

~~~

“Danny, are you sure you don’t want me to make you an avatar for one Tim Drake?”

“Positive, Tuck.”

Tucker pouted and draped himself over the back of the couch, leaning his head into Danny’s space as he worked on his essay.

“It would give you an excuse to watch videos of your cruuuuush!”

Danny felt his face go hot, and he shoved Tucker’s face away from his ear.

“Get off, man. I have to finish this paper before midnight.”

His friend stood straight, presumably looking at the clock on the oven.

“Oof, bro.”

10:30PM wasn’t a great time to be writing an essay. Danny knew he should have done it earlier, but, well. He had to film and edit a video for his second channel. UTube wasn’t earning him money yet, but hopefully soon?

Who was he kidding? He would probably have to go back to Vlad for money soon, and he hated the thought of it.

It was hard enough to live in this ramshackle Gotham apartment with both Tucker and Sam, keep up with UTube and streaming, and get through school, without having to cater to Vlad’s whims on top of it.

Sam had only promised to help with his portion of rent for two years, and he was almost hitting that deadline. He hated taking advantage of her guilt for getting him killed in the first place, but she had insisted, even if she couldn’t sustain it for their whole college career.

Danny groaned and turned his attention back to his paper.

11:15 rolled around, and Danny finished checking his paper for mistakes before sending it in. He shut his laptop, planning to brush his teeth before crashing out on the couch.

Tucker had already gone to bed, and Sam was out on an internship trip for the week, so he didn’t have to worry too much about being disturbed after he fell asleep.

His phone chimed with a donation notification and he lazily opened the message.

Tucker came running out of his and Sam’s bedroom, wrapped in a bathrobe and wielding a Creep Stick at Danny’s resulting screech.

“TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS? FROM TIMOTHY DRAKE-WAYNE?”

[cvnntagious]

＃┆father’s day 〟 babydaddy matt sturniolo

“bein’… s- so good to me,” he managed out between broken moans, head tipping back as yours bobbed up and down on his cock.

matt knew he was whimpering and whining like a bitch, but he didn’t stop himself. i mean, it was rare for you to be taking care of him like this, so why not just enjoy it? his fingers thread through your hair as his abs tense, resisting the urge to thrust up into your warm mouth.

you had spoiled him all day for the first time in years. waking him up to breakfast in bed, playing his favourite music while he ate, your daughter waiting to finish patiently beside him before pulling out a neatly wrapped gift you two had gotten for him. it was a fancy watch — especially sweet considering he’d been complaining about needing to get one for the past few months — but it also had mazzy, his pride and joy’s name etched into the frame of it. then, you two had taken him out to the park for a nice picnic a few hours later, and from then on, even after dropping mazzy off so you two could go out to dinner, he really didn’t think the day could get any better.

but it did. your tongue flicked over his tip, a stark contrast to the way you were practically swallowing him whole just moments before. he jolted at the sensation, groaning out a quiet ‘oh’ as his back straightened, dropping his head back down to look at you kneeling between his parted legs, a hand grabbing onto the waistband of the dress slacks you’d pulled down mid thigh.

you looked at him through your lashes before taking him in your mouth again, cheeks hallowing to slurp him up nice. his brows furrowed, and he seemed to struggle to keep still, another whine falling from between his pink lips. “please, baby, m’gonna c-um,” he warned, voice cracking when a loud slurping sound filled his ears just as he tried to say ‘cum’.

and his warning was just in time, too, a string of moans and pants escaped him as he fell back onto his elbows, shooting ropes of salty cum right down your throat. you gargled around him at the taste, only contributing to the sensitivities of his high crashing down on him.

“u-uhn, fuck, y’so good— so nice t’me,” he babbled, chest heaving as he thanked you in so many words. your guys’ reservation was now long forgotten, but matt didn’t mind. it seemed you were getting more full eating him up, anyway.

a/n. okay so everyone’s faves are back 🙂‍↕️ lmk how we feel ab this one

[solxamber]

Hello! I humbly request Skully J. Graves for the spooky season, please and thank you! (Ps, I LOVE YOUR VILLIANESS SERIES SO MUCH. if you put him in the series, I would love it. Thank you.

Frights and Fancies - Skully J. Graves x reader

I've finally finished the first part of the Halloween event story and here we go! Skully J. Graves for the spooky season!

(this was written before part 2 of the event was out so it might be ooc)

It was almost Halloween, and the Ramshackle Dorm looked like it had exploded in pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons. Well, not fake enough for Skully, who was currently trying to rearrange a skeleton to perfectly mimic Jack Skellington’s iconic pose.

“This is it! This is exactly how Jack looked when he stood atop Spiral Hill!” Skully beamed, leaning back with a gleeful twirl. “I could cry!”

“Please don’t,” Grim muttered, slumped on the couch like a cat who’d had enough of life. “I’ve seen way too much Halloween today. I’m exhausted.”

You stifled a laugh as Skully pranced across the room, his long coat flowing behind him dramatically. He stopped by a cobweb you’d just hung, delicately adjusting it with reverence. “Ah, this is a masterpiece! The precision, the artistry—oh, Jack would be proud!”

“I bet Jack has a restraining order,” Grim mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Skully didn’t seem to notice the sass. “You don’t understand, Grim! Jack Skellington is the Pumpkin King! He is the very soul of Halloween! Imagine... if I could bring him here, right to this very dorm... oh, we would throw the greatest Halloween party the world has ever seen!”

“You’re throwing it right now, and I hate it,” Grim muttered, pulling a pillow over his head.

Skully, undeterred, rushed over to the pile of pumpkins by the door, holding up the largest one like a trophy. “This one’s going to be the pièce de résistance! I’m going to carve Jack’s face into it—oh, the precision, the skill! It’ll be a tribute!”

You were barely able to stop yourself from laughing as Skully started sketching an intricate face into the pumpkin. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, even if it was a little... obsessive.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t we maybe, I don’t know, check the snacks or something?” you suggested, trying to save Grim from further mental collapse. “We’ve got a whole room full of sweets to prepare.”

“Oh! Of course!” Skully jumped to his feet, pumpkin forgotten. “We must create a feast worthy of Halloween Town itself! Grim, you’ll love this—there will be so many sweets, you won’t be able to handle it!”

“Sounds like my personal hell,” Grim groaned, finally sitting up. “Do we have to? I was kinda hoping to nap.”

Skully was already halfway to the kitchen, humming some eerie tune under his breath. You shot Grim an apologetic look, but he was too busy glaring at the ceiling like he was making a pact with some unseen force to end Halloween forever.

The kitchen was soon filled with the smells of spiced pumpkin and sugary treats. Skully was in his element, flitting around like a Halloween-obsessed ghost, talking nonstop about Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King, and all the Halloween traditions from his foggy village.

“And no one here at school even knows about Jack!” Skully was saying for probably the twentieth time. “Can you believe that? It’s like they’ve never even heard of Halloween!”

“Maybe they’re lucky,” Grim grumbled, stuffing his face with a pumpkin tart.

Skully either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He had already moved on to decorating cookies, carefully icing tiny skeleton faces onto each one. “Jack’s elegance, his charisma! He’s the epitome of what Halloween should be.”

“Jack this, Jack that...” Grim sighed dramatically. “If I hear that name one more time—”

“I could name the pumpkin Jack,” Skully suggested, completely serious.

“No!” Grim snapped. “Let the pumpkin live its own life! Let it be free!”

You snorted, almost dropping the tray of cupcakes you were setting out. Skully blinked, confused for just a moment, before smiling his usual charming smile. “Ah, Grim, you always know how to liven things up.”

“I’m this close to being a ghost myself,” Grim muttered.

By the time the evening rolled around, Ramshackle Dorm had been transformed into a veritable Halloween haven. Cobwebs draped across the walls, pumpkins lined every surface, and the faint glow of eerie lights filled the air. Skully stood in the center of it all, arms wide open as he surveyed his masterpiece.

“This... this is the Halloween of my dreams,” Skully said softly, his voice full of awe. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

Grim gave a halfhearted wave from his spot on the couch, already half-asleep again, but Skully’s gratitude was genuine. You smiled, watching as he twirled around one more time, completely in his element.

“Well,” you said, “if Jack Skellington could see this, I’m sure he’d be impressed.”

Skully’s face lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, adjusting a crooked pumpkin. “You’ve done Halloween proud.”

Skully gave a deep bow, flourishing his coat as if he were addressing royalty. “Then, in Jack’s name, I thank you both!”

From the couch, Grim groaned. “I’m gonna need a vacation after this…”

As Skully danced around the room, humming Halloween tunes and praising Jack Skellington, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, it had been a lot of work, but seeing Skully so happy—and hearing Grim’s constant complaints—made it all worth it.

This was going to be a Halloween to remember.

Masterlist

Also I'd love to add him the the villainess series, but I'll wait till atleast part 2 of the Halloween event to completely understand him before I do!

[theemporium]

just a little idea for a wee smut blurb:

lando getting to fuck you without a condom for the first time and him just being so overwhelmed by the feeling 😩

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

Lando Norris was a pretty guy.

There were plenty of words to compliment his looks. He was beautiful when he smiled, those big smiles that take over his face and make his eyes crinkle. He was hot, especially in the relentless photo dumps he posted innocently like he didn’t know what they did to people. He was handsome, all dressed up in those suits he wears to fancy events that fit him like a glove. He was gorgeous, especially when he climbed out of the car after a good race and threw himself onto his team.

But your favourite word to describe your boyfriend was pretty.

And, fuck, you didn’t think he ever looked as pretty as he does right now.

He was above you, one arm supporting his body weight and the other squeezing your hip as his thumb traced over your skin. His curls were a mess from you running your hands through it, his cheeks were flushed pink, his lips red and swollen. But it was his eyes.

It was his eyes that fucking got you.

Wide and glossy and eager and so full of emotion as he slid into you, as he guided his cock inside you—no barriers, nothing. Just him and you and, fuck, it just felt so overwhelming.

“Fuck,” it was a low and guttural groan as he pushed inside, as he felt your walls squeeze aroukd every inch of him until your hips were pressed together.

And then you clenched around him and he fucking whined.

“Shit, baby, that feels—” A choked noise left his lips. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good. Fuck, we can’t ever go back. Never again.”

“Lando—”

“God, baby,” and he was rambling now, you knew as much. But you couldn’t help but let his words wash over you, your stomach twisting in desire as his head dropped to your shoulder as he pressed one, two, three kisses against your skin. “Feel fucking perfect, like fucking heaven.”

The noise that left your lips sounded like something straight out of a porno as he pulled out, feeling every inch of his cock slide out before he thrusted back in with a noise of appreciation.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to fill you up,” he groaned against your neck, his hips moving as his hand moved down, wrapping around your knee and hooking your leg over his waist as he continued to fuck you deeper. “Best fucking thing you’ve ever let me do, baby.”

“Oh shit,” you whined, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he let out a hiss. “Lando—”

“Atta girl,” he groaned, each word punctuated with a thrust of his hips. “Say my fucking name for me, baby. Want everyone to hear who’s fucking you.”

.

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 8

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: omg first I love you!!! New characters just dropped.... hi Lotte!! Y/n being away from Kyra for the first time <3

Word count: 6.2k

MASTERLIST

notes: This was my biggest chapter so far <3 yay

You can read part 1 here and part 9 here

..

“Did you pack everything?” Y/n asked for what felt like the millionth time. “Extra socks, extra shirts, extra–”

Kyra silenced her with a kiss. “The only thing missing from my suitcase is you,” she said, stepping back– just far enough to discreetly stuff two more pairs of socks into her bag; because yes, she had forgotten.

Y/n pretended she didn’t see it for the sake of her mental well-being. 

“Relax, it’s not the first time I travel, you know,” Kyra said, closing her suitcase.

“I know! I just don’t want you to forget important stuff!”

“If I forget anything I’ll just take Steph’s,” Kyra shrugged.

I don’t think Steph would like that.”

“I'll gaslight her into thinking everything I take is actually mine,” Kyra said.

“Have you ever played mind games with me?”

“Nope, when it comes to you, I just let myself be manipulated.”

“Me? manipulate you?” Y/n asked. “You’re the one who manipulated me into adopting a cat.”

“Footy,” Kyra said seriously. “Call him by his name, please, it’s the first time he’ll be away from me.” Kyra took Footy, who was sleeping on the bed and kissed him on the head. “He’s gonna need your support, my poor little–”

“Ouch!” Footy scratched Kyra’s face and jumped off her arms, getting out of the room. 

“Little traitor,” Kyra muttered, narrowing her eyes. “I was going to bring him back some American cat food, but now? No chance.”

“American cat food?” Y/n snorted. “What, hamburger-flavored, Coca-cola?”

Kyra shook her head.

“No, it’s, like… tuna-flavored. Very epicure. Gourmet even.”

“Gourmet my ass. That’s just fancy sardines, babe”

“I was gonna bring him back a souvenir, but fine.” Kyra pouted. “Maybe I'll save it for some Australian cat with actual manners.”

“Meow.”

“I won't accept your apologise, Footy, you w–”

“Please, stop talking to the cat and pack your stuff.”

Kyra didn't want to pack, not now, not later.

“You completely ignored how my face is all bruised, though ” Kyra pointed at a very small scratch on her cheek, trying to save some time.

“Oh my god baby! How will you ever survive!” Y/n gasped, mock horror in her voice as she grabbed as she grabbed some wipes from the bathroom. “They’ll have to bench you for sure.”

Kyra rolled her eyes. “You’re so funny.”

Y/n sat on the bed by Kyra’s side, wipes in hand.

“And you are dramatic, very dramatic,” Y/n said, carefully holding Kyra’s jaw as she cleaned the small droplets of blood from her scratch. “There, all done.”

“Kiss it better,” Kyra demanded.

Y/n rolled her eyes but gave in, kissing Kyra’s cheeks.

“My lips hurt too,” Kyra said.

Y/n smiled against Kyra’s face and slowly found her lips, kissing her slowly.

“Do you know what else hurts?” Kyra whispered

“What?” Y/n asked, gently sucking Kyra's lower lips

“Guess,” 

Y/n smiled mischievously at Kyra, their mouths meeting again. Y/n's hands were under Kyra's shirt, touching the soft skin of her stomach.

“Steph and Caitlin won’t be here for, like, five more minutes” Y/n murmured, rolling Kyra’s already-hard nipples between her fingers.

“Then we have plenty of time.” 

Kyra arched her back slightly, giving Y/n even more access to her chest.

Y/n leaned her torso and kissed Kyra's neck. The girl moaned and responded. “More.” 

Y/n obeyed And sucked just under her ear, it was probably going to leave a mark, maybe not a full-on purple hickey, but it would leave the skin slightly reddish.

“People will see it” Kyra whined, eyes closed.

“I want them to see it,” Y/n said, sucking another mark, now on the back of Kyra's neck, more private.

“They’ll tease me,” Kyra whined as Y/n pressed her nipples harder, with more aggression. “Fuck, um, more.”

But then a loud noise filled the room. A honk coming from the Streets.

“Fuck,” Y/n said staying still for A minute before realising that the honk meant Kyra had to get and look decent again.

“Yeah, fuck,” Kyra agreed.

She gently took Y/n's arms in Her hand, making the girl let go of her breasts. “And that's Steph and Caitlin.” 

Kyra sighed, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead. “Sorry, they have the worst timing, I swear.”

“It's alright,” Y/n murmured, slightly. “We can finish this when I take the cast off.”

Kyra got up and Y/n watched as Kyra got her suitcase and put on her shoes.

"Did they give you a real date for the cast Removal?” Kyra asked, knowing well that the last time Y/n asked her physiotherapist this question they gave her a very vague response.

“No, same answer,” Y/n said. “Maybe in three weeks, but we aren't sure, Y/n, is up to your bone” Y/n made quotation marks and a very bad imitation of the physiotherapist's voice.

Kyra giggled while putting a cap on the mirror “Don't give the woman a hard time, c’mon.”

“She's the one denying me freedom!”

Kyra opened the wardrobe and picked A hoodie, a yellow one with small flowers on it.

“That's so cute, I'm gonna take it!” Kyra said happily. 

“No, you're not!” Y/n said, furrowing her eyebrows. “That's mine.”

“So?” Kyra asked deadpan. “I need something warm to wear on the flight.”

Y/n pointed at the right side of the wardrobe. Kyra's side. “Pick something of your own.”

“But I don't have anything yellow.” she pouted.

“I'll buy You something yellow when you get back.”

“But I want something yellow to take on the Plane,” Kyra argued back. 

“No, put it back.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like sharing!”

“That's not very nice of you,” Kyra said. “I'm so good to you,  we share each other's clothes, you know, it's cute.”

”it's not fair that you’re already leaving me here for two whole weeks,” Y/n argued. “Now you want to leave me here AND steal my clothes?”

“Any clothes? Baby I want to take one hoodie,”

“Yep but–”

Another honk. Caitlin and Steph were getting impatient. And with a reason.

“Okay whatever,” Y/n said. “Take the hoodie, but don't lose it, ok?”

Kyra smiled and held the hoodie closer. “Thank you!”

Kyra put the hoodie on and Y/n had to say it. It looked way better on Kyra than it did on her, but she wasn’t going to say that. 

Suddenly, it hit Y/n. Kyra was really leaving–14 whole days–to another continent.

“I’ll miss you,” Y/n confessed, watching Kyra. 

She looked extra cute wearing the hoodie, maybe You would put it in her part of the wardrobe when Kyra gets back. A subtle message of, it's yours if you want. 

Damn, she was down bad.

“I’ll miss you too,” Kyra said softly, bending down and kissing Y/n. “A lot.”

It was the first time Kyra was going to leave You alone–full-time. She was trying not to make a fuss about it, to act cool and collected so Y/n wouldn't get upset or angry.

Kyra was well aware that Y/n could take care of herself. She learned to take a bath all by herself during the last few days; Y/n and Kyra meal prepped for the last two weeks so Y/n wouldn't have to cook--they had a whole fight about it, but Kyra won–.

Overall, they had everything organized so that Y/n’s routine wouldn't change a lot for those two weeks. Beth and Lotto, who had small injuries and didn't make it to the squad, were excited when Kyra asked if they could keep an eye on Y/n--of course she didn't tell Y/n that.

Beth even said she could drive Y/n to the physiotherapy. 

Kyra wasn't worried about Y/n. She just…didn't want her to bite more than she could chew. God forbid she tried to take a walk without her crutches or something like that.

Kyra's nervousness was more about herself than Y/n. She didn't want to come back and find out Y/n broke her other leg trying to move furniture around.

“I’ll call every night, alright?” Kyra promised. “We'll figure out the time difference– it’s only five hours, way easier than when I was in Australia.”

“Yep, we can do video calls too,” Y/n nodded. “But I guess Steph won't like trying to go to bed while you talk to me.”

“She won't mind,” Kyra said, “I have to put up with her and her ex-finaceé during the matildas camp, trust me I've been to war.”

“Does Steph even know we're together?” Y/n asked. Kyra and she had been living in their bubble that they forgot not all their teammates knew about it.

“Oh, Beth probably told her already,” Kyra said, bringing her finger to her mouth and biting her nails “But I'll see if Steph mentions anything… It would be okay, right? If she and the others knew.”

“Yeah, baby, of course,” Y/n said, holding Kyra's wrists and taking it off her mouth. “Don't do that, it'll hurt your fingers.”

Kyra always bit her nails when she is anxious. She did it so much that sometimes it would bleed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Okay, if she doesn't know I'll tell her. I'm sure the news will make it to the Matilda group chat in a minute.”

“I think you need to pray so a picture of us does not end up on the matildas Instagram, baby.” Y/n teased.

“Oh shut up,” Kyra clicked her tongue. “That won't happen…right?”

Y/n just shrugged. “I don't know, you're pretty much everyone's little pest, I'm sure the media team would have a blast.”

“Oh I so much hope Beth didn't tell Steph,” Kyra said.

Another honk filled the room.

Oh yeah. Steph and Caitlin.

“I'm like the worst person to give a ride to,” Kyra mumbled. “Steph will never pick me up again.”

Kyra got her suitcase and helped Y/n downstairs. 

Footy, sensing the urgency around, came running down the stairs.

“Oh, I want you to do proof of life with Footy all the time,” Kyra said, looking at the cat running. “Wanna make sure my son is alive and well.”

“I won’t kill the cat, c’mon,” Y/n said. “I’ll keep it fed, happy and clean for when you get back.

“Oh baby when I get back Footy will be the last thing on my mind,” Kyra said mischievously. “But keep him alive, nonetheless, I like him.”

They reached the front door, Footy watching them from the sofa.

“Guess I’ll go then,” Kyra said, smiling sadly.

“You have a safe trip, ok?” Y/n kissed Kyra. “Tell me when you get to the airport and when you land.”

“Ok, ma’am,” Kyra said. “Bye, see you in two weeks, okay?

“Okay,” Y/n said awkwardly, changing her weight between her feet and watching as Kyra put her hand on the doorknob. 

Was this the time? Y/n wasn't sure if there was a good time to say something like that. She never got to the point. Kyra was leaving, foot already out the door. Maybe she should say it.

Yeah, she would say it.

“Hmm–I love… you?” Y/n blurted out, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying not to see Kyra’s reaction. Her ears burned. This was it. She was going to die. Death by embarrassment.

Some people died of a broken heart. Y/n died of saying I love you.

Kyra stopped with her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned, a smirk on her face. “What?”

“what what?” Y/n said, did she not understand? Y/n wasn't going to say it again anytime soon, it was too embarrassing… and now she was nervous and sweating, great.

She had never told that–romantically– to anyone. It felt weird, although it was true. She wasn't expecting Kyra to day it back, although she wished she would.

“You love me?” Kyra asked, eyebrows raised. “But it took you five business days just to let me borrow a hoodie?”

Y/n opened her mouth, but no words came out, so she just shyly nodded.

In a swift movement, Kyra was hugging her and kissing her face. 

Y/n looked cute just standing there not knowing what to say. She was clueless when it came to talking about feelings. 

Cute.

“I.” Kiss. 

“Love.” Kiss. 

“You.” Kiss

Kyra kissed Y/n in between every word, a grin on her face. “A lot, yeah?”

“Yeah? Okay. That’s good, um, that we’re both in a… relationship? And– we both like—love each other,” Y/n said, playing with her fingers nervously. “I mean—”

Steph honked again.

Now the honk saved Y/n from further embarrassing herself.

“Okay, now I really need to go or else Steph will leave me,” Kyra said

“Off you go, baby.”

They shared a last kiss before Kyra was out the door.

As Kyra walked to the car, she glanced back one last time, shaking her head with a ridiculous grin.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the second the door shut behind her, she let herself smile too.

..

The first day alone wasn’t as easy as Y/n thought it would be. She and Kyra had organised everything so Y/n wouldn't struggle with day-to-day activities, but as long as she had the cast on, she still needed  Kyra’s help. 

That became even more obvious when she tried to cook.

They had meal-prepped in advance, and the freezer was full of ready-to-eat lunches and dinners, but Y/n wanted to cook something herself:  cream coconut beef and pumpkin curry.

But in the middle of cooking, she dropped the coconut she was going to use for the cream, and since she couldn't bend down to pick it up, she had to change the recipe: beef and pumpkin curry.

And yeah, she did kick the coconut out of frustration. Which meant Kyra would have to crawl under the counter to retrieve it when she got back.

Then, as she started cooking the curry, she realised she had run out of curry powder. And she couldn't exactly drive to the store.

In the end, her dinner was beef and pumpkin. It was a little plain but still good.

As Y/n sat at the table, her phone buzzed with a message from Kyra, saying they had arrived safely in the U.S. and that she was going straight to bed as soon as they got to the hotel.

It was 8 p.m. in London, which meant it was 3 p.m. for Kyra, Caitlin, and Steph. They were probably jet-lagged, but if you played for the Matildas, dealing with jet lag was practically a requirement.

Still, Y/n hoped Kyra would get a full night’s sleep so she could adjust quickly—otherwise, Steph and Caitlin would have to deal with a very grumpy Kyra.

Later that night, Y/n stretched out on the couch—her new setup, since she couldn’t go upstairs without Kyra’s help. Footy was sprawled on her stomach, purring softly.

She took a picture and sent it to Kyra.

"Proof of life 🙄."

Kyra would probably only reply in the morning.

Y/n flipped through the TV channels, but nothing caught her attention—until a notification popped up on her phone.

Leah: Hi.

Y/n: hi

Leah: How are you?

Y/n: good, you?

Leah: Fine. Just landed in Portugal.

Y/n: cool

Leah: yeah. Facetime me if you want to talk. Bye. Y/n: you too, bye

That was Leah’s way of saying “I love you, I’m here if you need me.” And that was Y/n’s way of saying “Thank you. Hope you have a good camp.”

On the second day without Kyra, Y/n went over to Mrs. Petunia’s house for a tea party in the old lady’s garden. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and despite her injury, Y/n didn’t struggle as much as she had expected to cross the street. Though, of course, Mrs Petunia did offer to let her use her wheelchair, which Y/n declined with a polite smile.

“Isn’t football too brute of a sport, sweetheart?” Mrs Petunia asked, taking a bite of her cookie. “In my time, we ladies weren’t allowed to do anything too rough. A shame.”

“It’s a bit physical sometimes,” Y/n admitted, sipping her chamomile tea. “I’m a defender, so my position is part of why football can get rough, but it’s not as bad as people think.”

“You say it’s not that bad, yet you broke a whole bone, silly girl.” Mrs. Petunia chuckled.

Y/n paused mid-sip, looking down at her arm. She had completely forgotten about the cast during their conversation. That was the first time that had happened.

“Oh, yeah—this was just bad luck,” Y/n said, tapping her cast. “The other player, Bright, stepped on my leg while trying to win the ball, and I landed awkwardly.”

“Bright as Millie Bright?” Petunias asked. “She plays for England, right? She’s a tigress.”

“Hm—technically a Lioness, yeah. She’s part of England’s main squad. She’s playing for them right now, actually, with some of my friends.”

“Oh, and your friends are…” Mrs. Petunia tapped a finger against her temple as if trying to remember. “Beth, Leah…Alessia, and Kyra, right? They play on your team.”

It was adorable that Mrs. Petunia remembered their previous conversations.

“Almost! Yeah, we all play together—except for Bright. But Beth is injured, so she’s not playing for the Lionesses. She’s coming over later to take me to physio. And Kyra is Australian, so she’s not with the other girls. She’s in the U.S. right now, while Leah and Less are in Portugal.”

Do you miss her? That girl, Kyra?” Petunia asked, taking another cookie.

Y/n hesitated. Of course, she missed Kyra. A lot.

She had thought the time apart would be good for her, and make her feel more independent. But maybe—just maybe—it felt nice to be taken care of. Y/n had never let herself have that before. She had always assumed she didn’t need it, that she could handle everything on her own. And yeah, she could.

But there was something… comforting about being vulnerable with someone she loved.

“Yeah,” Y/n admitted, staring into her teacup. “It’s weird having the house be so quiet. Kyra’s always talking, always playing music. And now it’s just… silent.”

“Oh, I know that feeling,” Mrs. Petunia said, a nostalgic smile on her face. “My house used to be loud too. I had a very dear friend who lived with me—she was a pianist. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to her playing.”

“Oh… I don’t think I ever saw your friend,” Y/n said, frowning as she tried to recall.

“You wouldn’t have, sweetheart.” Petunia’s smile softened. “She passed away ten years ago, my lovely Edith. But it was peaceful. No pain.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Petunia seemed sad, but also… happy. As if talking about Edith was a warm memory, not just a painful one.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Y/n said softly, placing a hand over Petunia’s. “I wish I had met her.”

“It’s alright. It’s the cycle of life,” Petunia said, squeezing Y/n’s hand. “Just promise me you’ll hold your girl extra tight when she gets back.”

Y/n smiled. “I will. I sure will.”

“Now, let me tell you about Edith,” Petunia said, eyes twinkling. “We met at a concert, and…”

 ..

Beth came to pick her up and take her to physio a few hours later.

Y/n was already waiting by the door when Beth parked the car. To her surprise, there was someone in the passenger seat.

“Lotte!” Y/n cheered, putting her crutches to the side and buckling up. “How are you, babe? Are you feeling better?”

She had been texting Lotte over the past few days, checking in on her injury.

Both Lotte and Beth were out of the Lionesses squad for this call-up due to injuries. Beth’s was minor, and she would be back as soon as the international break was over.

Lotte, on the other hand, was a different story.

“They still aren’t sure about the diagnosis,” Lotte said. “But I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon. In the meantime, at least we get to do physio together.”

“You’re gonna be better soon. We all will,” Beth said as she started the car, a random song playing on the radio.

Lotte had a smile on her face—she always did. She was the kind of person people wished they could be friends with, or even have as a sibling. She was positive, even when things weren’t looking great.

Y/n had handled her injury in a much worse way than Lotte, and she didn’t even have a diagnosis yet. The physiotherapists and orthopedists still couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her knee.

“Yeah, I’m sure everything will work out just fine,” Y/n said, rubbing Lotte’s arm supportively.

Physio with Lotte was way better than doing it alone. Beth sat in one of the chairs talking endlessly as Lotte and Y/n just laughed at one of her stories. It was good to be surrounded by friends, especially ones who were in the same position as Y/n.

Of course, she didn’t wish any injury on any of the girls, and she wasn't happy that they had gotten hurt, but she did feel less lonely this time around.

Kyra, Leah and Less were great, supporting her in their own, unique way, but it still didn’t have the same weight as talking with someone who was struggling with the same problems as you.

“I get scared sometimes,” Lotte confessed out of the blue.

The three girls were sitting on one of the benches by the pitch of the Arsenal training grounds after their therapy sessions. 

The air was cold and the Center was empty, but the smell of grass was comforting, the coffee they held in their hand was the only source of warmth.

“Oh what, Lotte?” Beth asked, wrapping an arm around Lotte’s shoulder.

“That I’ll heal and then get injured again.”

Y/n nodded empathetically. She felt the same.

Her mind was a constant storm. At the same time, she wanted to take the cast off quickly and move on with her life, she also wanted to keep it longer–scared that her bone wouldn't have healed properly. Scared that her bone would never heal.

Scared that the doctor would take it off only to find the bones in the same position as they were months ago when Millie had stepped on it. The truth was, no one could tell how good she was healing if she still had the cast on, sometimes she wished she didn’t have to take it off because…what if it wasn’t healed? Then what?

It wasn’t a very rational feeling of course. Y/n couldn't think of any case of it happening in football–but she could always be the first.

“I’m scared that I’m too old for football,” Beth sighed. “And that’ll come back from this injury just to be benched till my contract is over.”

Lotte and Beth looked at Y/n with expectation on their faces.

“What?” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, and burning her tongue.

“It’s your time,” Beth said, rolling her eyes and waving her hands dismissively. “Go on, share sometimes you’re scared.”

“I don’t wanna share anything.” Y/n leaned further from them. “This is no–hm– an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.”

“No, this is an injuries-athlete-who-are-out-of-their-squad meeting,” Beth clicked her tongue. “Spill it.”

“Fine,” Y/n groaned. “I’m scared that I won’t ever get back to the pitch and that I didn’t get to enjoy my last time on it.”

Lotte made a sad, empathetic face to Y/n, placing a hand on her tight. “Oh sweet–” 

Y/n shook her head and put Lotte’s hand away from her  “No comforting, no pity, we just shared, we don’t talk about it.”

Lotte and Beth stared at her, then stared at each other before shrugging.

“You really are emotionally unavailable, huh?” Lotte said, smiling teasingly. “I never noticed it before, but Beth was right about it.”

“She’s only available to Kyra,” Beth grinned, nudging Y/n. “How’s it going being away from her? I’ve been dying without Viv.”

“Uhm–it’s been ok-ish,” Y/n said, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Okay-ish?” Beth repeated, eyebrows rising. “Don’t you miss her?”

“Of course I miss her!” Y/n said defensively. “I just don’t like talking about it–It makes me feel, ugh,” she fumbled over her words, a mix of emotions on her chest. “I just feel…”

“Sad?” Lotted suggested, giving her a wide smile.

Y/n looked at her and nodded.

“Yeah, she–Kyra puts socks on my feet when I get cold, she reminds me to take my meds,” Y/n said. “She paints my nails when I get too frustrated because I want to do it without making a mess, she’s very good to me.”

“I just feel—ugh." Y/n trailed off, staring at the ground.

Beth raised an eyebrow. "You feel what?"

"I feel…this is stupid." Y/n sighed, staring down at her coffee, and swirling the liquid inside. "Fine. I miss her, okay? I miss Ky."

Y/n felt proud, and a little bit embarrassed.

She was able to tell somebody else how much Kyra meant to her and she did it well. She used words and everything…Leah would never.

Y/n was pulled from her thoughts when Beth nudged her with her elbow.

“You made Lotte cry,” Beth said as she consoled Lotte. “I bet it was the first time you made someone cry out of something other than sadness, huh?”

“Hm…What? Lotte, what happened?” Y/n asked, completely ignoring Beth’s accusation of her being an insensitive monster to other people.

“You guys are just so cute,” Lotte cried. “I just love love.”

“Oh,” Y/n said, not sure of what to say. “Hm–well, thank you and I’m—sorry?” 

“You can leave the comforting to me, kiddo,” Beth said. "You just sit there and keep pretending you're not soft."

Y/n mouthed a thank you to Beth and continued to drink her coffee awkwardly as Beth let Lotte cry on her shoulder.

..

“You did what!?” Y/n asked, mouth agape as she stared at the screen on her phone.

“It wasn’t a fire, it was just the fire alarm,” Kyra said, her face filling the whole screen with how close she was. “I don’t even understand why–”

“Yes, you do!” Y/n heard a voice say, seconds later all she could see was Steph’s face. “They explained to us exactly what happened!”

“Hi! So Kyra here,” Steph turned the phone to Kyra, who was sitting on a very messy bed, she had a pout on her face, arms crossed. “Took a very hot shower, it was so hot inside the bathroom that I activated the fire alarm.”

“They aren’t a hundred per cent sure about it, Steph! It could have come from any other room.’ Kyra whined and stretched her hand. “Now give me the phone, let me talk to her.”

“No,” Steph said. “So, Y/n how have you been? Oh and I just want to let you know I’m so happy you and Kyra are dating, I was so shocked when she told me I absolutely did not know–”

“Beth told you, right?” Y/n asked deadpan.

“Yes.”

“Don’t mess with Kya too much,” Y/n asked. “You can tease me all you want when you get back, but let her live.”

Y/n knew how much the matildas could be annoying and extremely teasing with each other, especially to Kyra, maybe it was an Australian thing?

“Aww look at you trying to protect her from us,” Steph said smiling. “So cute, you two!”

Suddenly the scream moved and Y/n was face to face, or better, face to screen, with Caitlin.

“Girl! Hi,” She said, waving. “Steph didn't want to pass me the phone so I had to take it from her,” Caitlin explained as it wasn’t a big deal. “But it’s whatever, tell me how have you been?”

“I’m alright, really,” Y/n said, fixing the earbud on her ear. “Beth picks Lotte and me up for physio every day, and we get coffee and something sweet after. It’s nice.”

“Oh you guys should totally go to that one café near Arsenal,” Caitlin said. “The one with the–”

“Give. Me. The. Phone.”

Y/n thought it was Kyra who said that, but the audio was very unclear.

“Learn how to share!” 

Caitlin had probably put the phone down, because Y/n was staring at, what she thought to be the ceiling.

“You did that last time I talked to Katie! I’m just doing the same to you.”

Y/n was confused, the sound was bad, she couldn’t see anything, and the voices in the background were getting mixed. Was that Caitlin? Or Steph? Well, Y/n thought she heard the name ‘Katie’ so it was probably…

“So? Aren't you too old to wish revenge over a young couple?”

“Hmm, hi?” Y/n said, as the screen was white, she couldn't understand anything now.

No one answered her

“Don’t call Cait old, you pest, we are the same age! Think of another insult.” 

They continued with their bickering. 

When Y/n thought of hanging up she saw a pillow flying through the screen and then…a foot? The screen was shaking, very abruptly now as if someone had grabbed ahold of the phone and started to shake it violently.

Y/n was dizzy.

She was never Facetime Kyra ever again. 

Maybe she could send letters like they were a hundred years old. She could ask Mrs Petunia for some stamps…

“Hi, sorry about that,” Kyra’s face appeared on the screen again, a sweet smile on her face. 

Y/n heard a sound that looked like a door being locked.

“Have you locked yourself in the bathroom? Y/n asked.

“It was the only choice I had,” Kyra said.

“Fair enough,” Y/n nodded. “So what news do you have for me?”

“Caitlin said she was going to hack my phone and find a picture of us and sell it to the admin of Matilda's Instagram,” Kyra said. “She’s just a joy to be around.”

“Don't worry, don’t you remember what we know about her, Katie and the changing room?” Y/n said, wiggling her eyebrows. “That’s more shocking than a picture of us, if she tried anything, we are ready.”

Y/n felt like she and Kyra were partners in crime.

“Oh god, I forgot that!” Kyra laughed. “I'm so going to tease her tomorrow at breakfast”

“Tomorrow? Why not now?” Y/na asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I want the whole team to be present.” Kyra grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“You’re evil,” Y/n teased

“You like it,” Kyra shot back.

“Yes, I do.

“How 's my son?” Kyra asked, changing the subjects with a sudden shift in tone.

Y/n rolled her eyes, changing the camera to focus on Footy, who was playing with his toy rat on the living room rug. The cat would take the toy in his mouth just to drop it mid-air and pick it up again.

“Look at him!” Kyra said, putting her face even closer to the screen as if she could get closer to the cat that way. “Evolving his hunting abilities!”

“This is his second rat of the day. The first one got stuck under the TV stand,” Y/n explained. “Neither of us could get it out, so that’s officially your job when you get back. Oh, and—also—you might need to grab a coconut from under the kitchen cabinet too.”

“A coconut?” Kyra’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell are you doing in my absence?”

“I was… experimenting.” Y/n tried to sound convincing.

“Experimenting? With a coconut?”

“It was for a recipe, don’t make it weird!” Y/n defended herself. “I was trying to cook and–”

“Trying to cook?” Kyra whined and out of hand dramatically on her face. “Come on, I didn't spend two whole days stuck in a kitchen meal prepping for you to go and try to cook alone.”

Y/n winced. She shouldn't have mentioned the coconut or the cooking. Was this the part where she said sike and moved on without receiving an earful?

“Ky, it was just that one time! I wanted to eat something different,” Y/n defended herself. “Lotte gave me one of the yummiest recipes on the planet, and I had to try it—or else I would die.”

“And you have the guts to say I’m the dramatic one, huh?” Kyra said, her voice deadpan. 

“Do you promise it was only one time? Kyra continued, worry on her face.”You know you can get easily hurt in the kitchen, it’s too much time standing on just your crutches.”

“Yes, it was only this one, darling.” Y/n lied, trying to ‘darling’ to soften Kyra up a bit. 

It didn’t work.

“You swear over Footyt?” Kyra asked, lifting one eyebrow. “Over our own child?”

Y/n opened her mouth to answer, but then Footy stopped playing with his mouse and just stared at her with his big, green eyes.

“I–hm,” Y/n mumbled. Come on this was ridiculous. He was just a cat and–

“Do you swear or not?”

Oh, fuck it.

“I’m sorry, okay,” Y/n finally admitted. “I did like, twice or…three times, but it was fine, I didn’t get hurt or anything.”

“But you could’ve!”

“Kyra, come on, we’ve barely talked all day. Don’t turn this into a lecture, please,” Y/n pleaded, even pulling out a pout.

Yeah, a pout. She wasn’t a pouty person, this was Kyra, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyra was silent for a moment, her face slightly softening.

“Ugh, fine,” Kyra said, not sounding fine at all. “Just take care, okay? I don’t want to come back to you on another cast.”

“Yep, you don’t have to worry about it,” Y/n said. “I’m doing good by myself. Plus, If I need anything Beth, Lotto and Mrs Petunia are here for me.

“But tell me about your day,” Y/n asked, her enthusiasm returning. She was desperate to change the subject, but also wanted to hear about Kyra’s day; they hadn’t had a proper conversation since she left. “How’s Houston?”

Kyra propped the phone up against the sink so she didn’t have to hold it anymore, and now her whole torso was visible on the screen. She was wearing Y/n’s hoodie, the one she had ‘borrowed’. It looks pretty on her, maybe Y/n should let her wear her clothes more often.

“It’s very hot– but not as hot as Australia,” Kyra said, her voice muffled slightly but the toothbrush she just put on her mouth. “But it's pretty, we should make a trip here sometime, without football and all that.”

Kyra casually dropping a trip to another country made her feel all warm inside. They were really in a relationship. They lived together, had a cat, and were making plans that involved each other.

It was great, really great.

“We should definitely do that next time we have a break,” Y/n agreed. “We could go to Australia too, and–you could go to… hmm, my country, if you want to, of course.”

“I would love to go to your home country,” Kyra smiled at her, mouth filled with toothpaste. 

“Good, that's great!” Y/n blushed. “You’ll love the…culture and food, and–maybe my parents, if you want to meet them but you absolutely don’t have to! I totally understand and–”

“You’re cute when you are nervous,” Kyra teased, noticing how flustered Y/n was, and just as she said it, a click came through the screen.

“You better not have screenshotted me,” Y/n warmed, her voice suddenly serious. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Sorry!” Kyra said with an innocent smile. “But don’t worry, I won’t let Caitlin see it. Your vulnerable moments are safe with me,” she teased.

“Actually, I’m uninviting you to meet my parents,” Y/n said

“Oh come on,” Kyra whined. “But I’m dying to meet the woman who raised you like…that.” She placed her hands over her chest. “I need to know what made you the way you are.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows, her curiosity piqued. “Raised me like what?”

“In such a…peculiar way! I mean, look at you, all cute and grumpy and antisocial. Kyra leaned in closer to the screen, looking more dramatic “There must be some secret family recipe or ancient tradition behind that. I want to know your roots, Y/n!” 

“Alright, enough, I’m done,” Y/n said with a smirk, clearly done with the conversation. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Don’t hang up, come on!”

“Bye! Love you.” Y/n clicked the red button before Kyra could reply, but she was sure Kyra heard the last sentence because Y/n saw the goofy grin on her face.

Idiots in love. That’s what they were.

..

|PART 9 HERE|

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Notes//2: Sorry, this chapter was more like a filler!! I have so much fun with this universe that I just want to write very domestic scenes without a lot of drama in it etc but I hope you guys like it!!

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[getouyuri]

r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — a satoru gojo fic preview

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, mlw, fem! reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder

author's note — this is just a preview of a fic i’m releasing tomorrow :3 if you want to be tagged for the full thing feel free to reply!!

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter. “… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kentooo! Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk. “Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby.”

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

Woof, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Reader freaking out because Bucky comes home smelling like perfume, so he must be cheating on her, right?

So she goes and FaceTimes Sam to ask if he has any idea what happened while he was out (while Bucky takes a shower to get the cacophony of scents off of his body).

Apparently, Bucky wanted to get her this fancy perfume at this fancy department store that Sam took him to. She loves the fancy perfume so much, he knows that— but he couldn’t remember the fancy name or what the fancy bottle looked like.

Sam saw an opportunity to spray his coworker with a variety of perfumes until they found the right one.

Bucky comes out of the shower hearing two laughing voices and the reader in a somewhat dirty shirt of his.

Sam and the reader hang up, and reader realizes that Bucky’s finished his shower. She immediately goes to hug him and tells him that she doesn’t want to smell like a perfume when she could smell like him.

🩵🩵

Would Never Cheat On You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You accuse Bucky of cheating when you smell perfume on him and you get the full story from Sam and Bucky assures you that he would never cheat on you.

Warnings: Fluff, implied Smut ending (18+), language, assumptions of cheating, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

“Doll, I’m home!” Bucky announces, his voice echoing through yours and his apartment.

You walk up to him and greet him with a hug and kiss. You furrowed your eyebrows when you smelled perfume on Bucky that wasn’t yours. You felt your heart drop. You moved back slightly to look up at him.

“Why do you smell like another girl?” You asked.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Don’t play fucking dumb! You were with another girl!” You say, accusing him of cheating.

“Babydoll, I would never cheat on you.” He says.

“That’s what all guys say when they cheat.” You say.

You walked away from him and went to yours and his bedroom. Bucky sighs and smelled his shirt, smelling the perfume. He groans loudly and went to the bathroom to take a shower to wash off the scent.

Meanwhile, you changed into one of Bucky’s shirts that you found on the floor by the laundry basket and grabbed your phone to FaceTime Sam. The phone rang a few minutes before he answered.

“Hey Y/N! What’s up?” Sam says with a smile.

“I think Bucky is cheating on me.” You say.

“What makes you think that?” He asks.

“He came home smelling like another girl.” You answered.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Bucky isn’t cheating on you.” He says.

“How would you know that?” You asked.

“He asked me to help him find a fancy perfume for you so we went to the mall to look for it and I thought it would be funny to spray perfume on him when he wasn’t paying attention.” He explains.

“Oh.” You blinked a couple times. “OH.” You say.

You started laughing uncontrollably. Sam laughed with you. Bucky got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. He felt like he was in the shower forever, trying to get the smell of the perfume off of him. He opened the bathroom door, immediately hearing yours and Sam’s laughter. Bucky noticed the bedroom door open and walked towards the bedroom. He seen that you were on the phone with Sam and leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the two of you to finish your phone call. Bucky smiles to himself when he seen you wearing his shirt.

As yours and Sam’s laughter died down, you began to feel bad for accusing Bucky of cheating. That’s what you immediately thought when you smelled the perfume on him.

“Now I feel bad for accusing him of cheating.” You say.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Sam says, sounding hopeful.

“I’m going to do that right now.” You said. “Thanks for clearing everything up, Sam.” You say with a smile.

“No problem, Y/N. Talk to you later.” He says.

“Talk to you later.” You say before hanging up.

You put your phone on the nightstand and sat up on the bed. You turned around, quickly noticing Bucky was standing in the doorway of yours and his bedroom. You got off the bed and walked over to him, hugging him immediately. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, hugging you back.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” You apologized, your voice muffled against his bare chest.

“It’s ok, doll. You don’t have anything to apologize for. It was just a little misunderstanding.” Bucky says, kissing the top of your head.

“Yes I do.” You looked up at him. “I accused you of cheating and I feel bad for it.” You say.

“It’s alright. I should’ve explained myself.” He says softly.

Bucky cupped your cheeks and leaned his head down, kissing you passionately. He pulled away from your lips, looking deep in your eyes.

“I wanted you to understand something.” He starts. “I would never and I mean never would cheat on you. I love you too much to do that.” He softly says.

“I love you too, Buck.” You say, almost whispering.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his lips sweetly and softly. Bucky’s hands found their place on your waist.

“I’d much rather smell like you than some fancy perfume.” You tell him.

“Oh yea?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow seductively.

“Mhmm.” You hummed in response. “It tells everyone who I belong to, especially other men.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

“Damn right you belong to me.” He says, his hands tightening their grip on your waist.

Bucky picked you up, making you giggle and squeal. He walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it. He got on top of you, hovering over you.

“How about I get you to smell like me right now, doll face.” He suggests huskily.

“Mmm, yes please.” You replied, rubbing your hands against his chest.

“You’re in for a long night, babydoll.” He says with a smirk.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

[blubunz]

LOST

— leon s. kennedy x f! bunny hybrid! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: pet name, spanking, praise kink, reader calls leon "sir" a few times, slight violence/degrading thoughts from reader.

A/N: hi happy val ♡

Leon always told you that you're not ready to go outside. He's protecting you, don't you see that? Yet, you've been missing the fresh air lately, to feel the breeze through your frilly dress, to hear the chirping in your ears.

You're too innocent, Leon thinks, and stubborn.

He accepts, however, to let you hang out with him outside, cause it'sValentine's Day. You're ecstatic! Obviously, curiousity bubbling up inside you, you're practically skipping — hopping? — with every step towards the front door. You're wearing a cute little dress that Leon bought for you, with a trench coat and a hat and scarf to try and hide your ears.

Leon gives you a once over, adjusting the outfit before guiding you outside.

“Where are we going first, Leon?” You ask and keep tiptoeing to look over his shoulder as he locks the front door.

“Just a walk down the central part of the city.” He says. “Lots of malls and shops there, I'll buy whatever catches your eyes, sweetie.”

You gasp, asking again to confirm and he confirms indeed.

“It's a special day for lovers like us. Feel free to go all out, honey.”

You squealed, tail swishing beneath your poofy dress as you ran to the sideline in front of your home.

“One rule, sweetheart.” Leon quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you close. “Stay close to me, alright? Wouldn't want to lose a precious girl like you, my sweet.”

You nod, squeezing his hand and he rewards you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Good girl.”

First, he treats you to a fancy restaurant at the central area of the city, smiling with content when he sees your eyes sparkled and your mouth just couldn't stop putting food in, feasting the meal with little manner. Leon doesn't complain if a little bit of sauce drips down on the table, too lost in the glow you radiate. Somehow, you're the most beautiful angel ever. So what if you make an ugly face now and then? He gets to see many sides of you. He sighs, brushing your hair out of the way on your cheek.

“Careful, don't stain yourself.”

And by now, Leon's gotten his hands full of your bags as you two walk around, you tried to hold one to offer help, but he insisted, not letting you lift a finger, except to point at things you want to get.

You're too lost in the luxury, you've never been outside when Leon started taking you in. Not complaining, but this environment is a stark contrast, blinding you with lights and sparkly garments.

You turn your head, about to ask Leon to enter yet another shop with you only to see a crowd of unfamiliar faces. Your smile quickly drops, your ears standing up in alert. You whip your head frantically, digging through the crowd to search for your owner.

Where is he?

Panic sets in. Sure, crowds are nice, they transfer the festivity to you with your joy, too energized for this trip, you're completely forgotten the soothing voice of Leon's. And then you realised, fuck, it's too overwhelming. Things are getting too loud, your heart beating fast. Where is Leon? Where is he? Did he just leave you here?!

You're getting paranoid, for sure. Never been in a state like this, you're struggling with what to do, just froze a little, letting yourself get pushed and pulled as they walked by.

Subconsciously emitting a quiet whimper, you find yourself tearing up in fear.

Luckily, your anxiety was short-lived, as you hear the familiar footsteps rushing to you.

Leon calls your name and your ears perk up, quickly picking your feet towards him and hugging him tight, fingers digging in his back as you let your tears flow.

“I don't want to go out anymore!”

“Shh, shh, bunny...” Leon rubs your back, as you press yourself against him more, kissing his face all over and even grinding a bit on him just from how excited you are. “Don't cry.”

Leon kisses your cheek, hand pressed to your lower back.

“Let's go home, okay? You must be very frightened.” Leon whispers, pretending not to notice you grind up to him, seeking his touch deeper.

You nod, following him back to the car.

He glances over at you on the passenger seat, curled up and eyes gazing out the window. He touches your thigh gently, rubbing your skin under the dress. He sees your tail wag in content, and you raise your thigh up a bit further.

“Calm down, bun.” He says. “We're almost home.”

Parking by your home, Leon carries you properly inside first, before going out to take the bags along too.

He sets them down and locks the front door, finding you pressed up against his back before he could even turn around.

“Yes, bunny?” He pats your head, guiding you back in with his arm perfectly wrapped around your waist, squeezing the fat on your stomach.

“'m scared...” You murmured, ears flopping downward and looking away from him. Leon kisses the spot between your ears before whispering into one of them.

“Well, I suppose it's my job to help you with that.”

Leon scoops you up, kissing your lips deeply and pressing you against a nearby wall behind the couch. He feels your tongue entering him desperately, needing more of him. You sure are acting so needy when he was gone for just a bit back there.

“Don't ever wanna go out there...”

"Mhm?" He kisses you again. “And why is that, princess?”

“It's... scary.”

“Yeah?” He grins triumphantly, giving you a quick taste of fear seems enough to make you rooted with him forever. “So I was right, hm? Say it, baby, say I'm right.”

You hug him tighter, making him lean closer to you so you wouldn't have to speak so loudly.

“You're right...” You admit quietly, your nose nuzzling under his ear. “'m sorry for thinking otherwise.”

“That's a good girl.” Leon praises, cupping your ass under the dress. “But, before anything. I think it's obligated that I punish you. After all, it was you who walked away from me earlier.”

Your eyes move away from his stare in shame, biting your lip nervously. You hate punishments, and above that, you hate that your pussy throbs when you hear that word. Getting spanked soon becomes a pleasure rather than a punishment, and you sometimes fantasize about Leon being so violent to you sometimes.

He'd never, obviously, giving you a few love marks here and there. And his gentle hands are for love making, not beating up loved ones.

Those same hands travel down your thighs snapping your stockings and going up to your panties to tug it down.

He licks his lip, flicking your clit and making you cry out suddenly. You feel your knees weak, and he gets you right at that moment, bending you over the couch, face pressed on the cushion with ass rising high.

He spreads your cheeks, kissing your tail, to your rim and your dripping pussy.

You whine out in need, wiggling under his grip.

“Now, now. You don't want me to get rougher, do ya?”

“Mm...no...” You shake your head, voice muffled by being pushed into the cushion.

Your heart races in strange anticipation when you hear his belt buckle, swiftly sliding it off and rolling the leather around his fingers.

“Count f' me, yeah?”

You nod, and Leon instantly strikes. You yelp, tail twitching as your skin is stained with a straight red mark.

“Mngh—”

“Come on.” He tuts.

“One...” You sigh out, already feeling slick building up even more in your pussy, your body reacts to the pain like it's a sex toy.

He murmurs a quick praise before striking another one, making you jolt again and your ears standing straight and pointing back behind.

“Guh— t-two...”

You can feel your own voice shaking, you haven't realised how much you want this, you're not scared, you're waiting for more impatiently. And Leon catches it with the way your hips wiggle.

“You like this, princess?”

“Mhm...”

SMACK! “Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah...”

“Keep counting, sweetie.” Leon smiles wide, rubbing your ass cheeks soothingly and listening to your shaky voice pronouncing a simple "three".

The leather face of the belt makes contact with your tingling skin, goosebumps ripple through your body. Your fists tighten, digging into the cushion with tears slowly building up when you get to the fourth strike, and then it keeps coming.

SMACK!

“Five—ughn!” Tears building up, so is your arousal.

SMACK!

“S-Six—! Hah!” You're crying, juices leaking between your thighs.

SMACK!

“S-Seven-Seven—” You stammer, your tail twitching in need.

SMACK!

“Ngh, eight...” Your voice quiets down, you're not sure if you can handle ten.

“What was that, sweetie?” Leon gives you another smack, and the belt actually makes your cheeks stinging hot, you're scared your skin might break soon.

“Eight!” You cry out, eyes rolling up when Leon instantly slaps you numerous times without stopping, your words fall, and you can only moan and cry, taking what he's giving you.

Leon bites his lower lip, watching as your ass gets redder, he stops when he gets to twenty, and you collapse on the couch, crying and sobbing. He places his palm on your bruised cheek, and you flinch.

Leon sighs with a small smile, feeling how hot your skin is under his palm.

He kisses the spot between your ears, whispering praises into your big, furry ears. How good you were for him, and now Leon's going to pamper you whole.

He rubs the lotion on your ass, kneading it like dough.

“Did so good, my pretty bunny.” He kisses your shoulder while you're still sobbing, albeit not as intense. “Gonna give this pussy what she wants, yeah? I'll fuck her good, hm? You want it, sweetie?”

“Mm...mhm...” You sniffle. Leon tentatively put a box of tissue next to you on the couch, wiping your snots and tears off.

“Good girl.” He kissed your cheek, easing his cock through your leaking folds. God, you're making a puddle with how much fluids you're letting out and how you secretly enjoy the pain.

He groans, his pelvis presses against your hot cheeks and he holds your hips steady, stopping you from shaking too much.

“Easy, hm? Take a deep breath, baby. You've done sooooo good.” His back presses up to yours, hot breath fanning over your neck. His lips find your skin and he kisses up to your cheek.

He pauses a little, his cock throbs impatiently, but he lets you calm down first before moving. Leon takes the time to smell your shampoo, kissing your hair, and up to your ears.

“See? You know I punish you is because I have to, baby. Just want you with me, where you belong. Only I can protect you, yeah?” He murmurs, breathing in the scent with his nose brushing firmly against your neck. “Just don't ever go away like that anymore, okay?”

“Yes, sir...” You hoarsely speak, puffy eyes glancing back at him.

He smiles.

“Good girl. Now, want me to move, baby?”

“Mhm.”

Nodding, Leon starts to pull his hips back slowly and gently, rubbing circles on your hips while kissing your back. He rolls his hips up, easily reaching your good spot that makes you see stars.

When a small moan escapes your lips, he takes it as a sign and increases the pace, rhythmically thrusting into you, slowly building up libido and ready to take the lid off.

Sobs turn into moans, eyes rolling up and your walls are getting tighter. He knows you're starting to enjoy this, he continues praising you, turning your head to kiss your lips. It's odd, but Leon loves the sound of your moan getting cut off as he kisses you, it shows just how much he can dominate you, taking you into his arms and just pound you into oblivion.

He's reaching that point, knees digging on the couch now, back hunches over you form as his cock rams inside you, making your inside ache with need.

Your moans are getting louder, signaling your impending orgasm. He reaches over, rubbing your clit skillfully, rolling around it and pressing down. It always makes your pussy so tight, milking him further.

“Leon—!”

You let out a silent scream, jaw hangs open with your eyes half lidded, pointing up the ceiling. Leon grunts right after, hugging you tight while he pumps his cum into you, hips rolling to push it deeper.

“Good girl. Such a good girl. Did you enjoy your Valentine, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, busy panting and Leon kisses your head to soothe you down.

“Mhm.”

“Use your big girl voice, sweetie.”

“I enjoyed it a lot, sir...” You smile, and he laughs, kissing you a few more times before picking you up to clean both of you.

“That's my girl.”

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

By the time Lizzie heard the knock on her door, she was almost regretting inviting Lando over.

Not because she didn’t want to see him—she did. But because she was still exhausted, her limbs felt like lead, and she hadn’t had the energy to change into anything more presentable than this.

Which was how she found herself standing in front of her door, dressed in sweatpants and a vintage Ferrari hoodie that was older than both of them, trying to summon the will to care.

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Lando Norris, grinning at her like she hadn’t texted him less than 6 hours ago to say, Hey, I had a seizure, so can we not do the fancy restaurant thing?

“Hey,” he said, then his eyes dropped to her hoodie. His expression morphed into pure betrayal. “You—Lizzie.” He pointed. “Is that—is that a Ferrari hoodie?”

She crossed her arms, ignoring the amusement bubbling in her chest. “It was my dad’s.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Lando said, still staring at it like it personally offended him. “It makes it worse. It’s, like, vintage blasphemy.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him in. “You’re in my apartment. You don’t get to insult my clothes.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You really don’t.”

"You literally live in Woking," Lando said darkly as he stepped into her apartment. "A stone throw away from the MTC!"

Lizzie rolled her eyes once more, closing the door behind him. "And I'm still a Ferrari girl at heart."

Lando groaned, shaking his head. "You're breaking my heart here, you know that?"

"Is now the time to mention that Mara is also named after Ferrari?" she asked with a grin, as he followed her into the kitchen and sat down a grocery bag on the counter.

Lando blinked. "How is Mara named after Ferrari?" he asked her.

"Well, Mara is short for Maranello," Lizzie said brightly.

Lando's mouth fell open. "You have got to be kidding me," he said, staring at her. "Your dog is named after Ferrari headquarters?"

Lizzie just smiled, not even trying to hold back her amusement. "Yep," she said, popping the p on the word.

"First the hoodie, then the dog... what's next, a Vettel tattoo?" Lando asked her with a sigh.

"I mean, I was considering it," Lizzie said, completely deadpan.

For a moment, Lando actually looked worried. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

Lizzie cackled, a deep, full-belly laugh. "Relax, Lando. I'm kidding."

His shoulders sagged. "You're an evil woman. An actual evil woman."

"What is even in there?" she asked with a nod to the grocery bags.

Lando smirked. “Backup nuggets.”

Lizzie frowned. “Backup nuggets?”

“In case yours suck.”

Lizzie snorted. “Wow. True trust issues.”

Lando grinned, but there was something softer behind it. She felt it when he looked at her for just a second too long.

She shoved the nuggets into the oven before he could say anything annoying about it.

"I also brought ice cream. I didn't know what you like..."

"Vanilla," she said immediately.

"Vanilla it is," he agreed. "Where's Mara by the way?"

Lizzie's eyes darted down the hallway. "She's probably passed out in the living room, honestly," she said. "Dad said she barely left my side last night, poor thing. Probably wore herself out."

Lando winced. "I can imagine. Must've been pretty freaked out, huh?"

Lizzie nodded. "She kept licking my face. Apparently they do that to wake you up when you have a seizure."

For a moment, his gaze softened, and he looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't get hurt, right? When you have a seizure, I mean."

"Generally, no," Lizzie said, "I might accidentally bite my tongue, and I'm usually sore and tired after, but I don't get hurt."

Lando nodded, but she could see the concern still lingering on his face. "But you're okay now?" he asked quietly.

Lizzie managed to bite back her smile. "I'm fine, Lando. I promise. This really is normal for me."

His head dipped. "You're sure?"

She softened, touched by the worry in his voice. "I'm sure," she said gently. "No need to look so serious, pretty boy."

“Excuse me, I’m not pretty.” He objected with a disgusted expression.

Lizzie snorted. “Yeah, you aren’t if you pull a face like that.” She shot back immediately.

“Excuse me, that’s not very nice!”

“Mate, make up your mind,” Lizzie said with a snort. “I say you are pretty, you disagree. I say you aren’t, you also disagree. What are you then?”

“I am ruggedly handsome,” he told her seriously.

She could only stare at him.

“If you somehow manage to grow a beard, then, maybe. But with that clean-shaven look you have going on right now? Not in a million years. You’re pretty, and that’s that.”

Lando's eyes widened, taken aback. "Did you just—" he spluttered. "Did you just insult my ability to grow facial hair and then go and call me pretty in the same breath?"

"I absolutely did," Lizzie said, barely able to hold back her grin. "What are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?"

What she hadn't expected was for him to advance and corner her against her kitchen counter.

She froze, eyes wide, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest. Lando planted one hand on either side of the counter, caging her in.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, expression still tinged with faux offense.

And his eyes...she could spent a whole book describing their colour and Lizzie was quite sure that it was going to fall short. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, they shifted from blue to green and back.

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable. Lizzie's mind went completely blank, and she found herself staring at him, a flutter of nervous energy coursing through her like electricity.

Lando was so close now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body, like this new, intimate proximity had set her senses on fire.

Lizzie wasn't even sure who moved first.

All she knew was that suddenly, his lips were on hers. The kiss started gently, almost tentatively. But something shifted in an instant.

It became hungrier, more desperate, like a dam had burst. Lizzie couldn't help herself; her arms wrapped around Lando's shoulders and pulled him closer, every part of her body pressed against his.

One of his hands threaded into her hair, angling her head to get better access, and she made a small, needy sound in the back of her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt, clutching at it as she kissed him back, dizzy with the feel of him.

Oh. 

Oh. 

Lando groaned, the sound reverberating through her. His free hand slid beneath her hoodie, seeking out the bare skin of her waist.

Her own hands moved over his back, desperate and urgent. The kiss turned hotter, less controlled as her world narrowed to this, to him, to the intoxicating feeling of his body against hers.

And then the sound of the oven timer beeped. Loudly. She jerked in his grasp, managing to make one of her cookbooks clatter down onto the floor.

A second later, Mara was barelling into the room, clearly thinking that she had had a seizure and destroyed her house.

Lizzie and Lando sprung apart, both of them flushed and more than a little breathless.

Lizzie couldn’t help it; she burst into a fit of giggles, watching Mara skid across the linoleum.

"I'm fine, Mara," she said through her laughter. Her dog whined, clearly not convinced.

Lando was looking like a deer in headlights, his cheeks flushed and his hair messed up from her fingers. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she bit her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

"We should rescue the dino nuggets," Lizzie suggested.

Lando still looked stunned. "Right - yeah - nuggets-" he said, blinking.

Lizzie chuckled and knelt down to pat Mara to reassure her. The dog was practically whining with worry, licking her face and nudging her. Lizzie gently pushed her back in an attempt to give herself some space.

"I think you traumatized my dog," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his head, still endearingly awkward. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I wasn't exactly...thinking when..."

She just shook her head, grinning. "Maybe we should focus on rescuing those dino nuggets, don't you think, pretty boy?"

He swallowed, glancing at her briefly before nodding. "Yeah. Nuggets."

Lizzie pushed herself off the floor, giving Mara's head a final pat before she headed over to the oven. Lando joined her in the kitchen, his gaze flickering to her every other second. Lizzie took the plate from the oven, setting it down on the stove top.

"They look fine," she said, inspecting the slightly-singed edges of the nuggets. "All things considered."

Lando leaned against the counter beside her. "Great," he said, but his voice was still a little unsteady.

She shot him a sideways glance, amused by the way his gaze kept dropping to her mouth.

"Was that..." he trailed off and she watched to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

"What?" she asked, hiding a smile. He was even more adorable when he was embarrassed.

He cleared his throat, looking vaguely flustered. "That was okay, right?"

And just like that, her own cheeks grew warm. They'd just made out in her kitchen, and now he was asking her if... if it was okay?

She studied him, taking in the pink hue on his face. There was something so vulnerable about the way he was looking at her. It was like he couldn't believe it had happened, and now he was scared he had overstepped.

"It was..." she began, only stopping to consider her words."...pretty incredible."

Relief flickered across Lando's face. "Yeah?" he said, a hint of the cocky demeanor returning. "You liked it, then?"

In response, Lizzie just rolled her eyes, pushing the plate of dino nuggets towards him to end the conversation before he could say anything else.

"Try a damn nugget."

Lando raised an eyebrow, but his smile grew even wider as he picked up a nugget from the plate. "Bossy."

She just rolled her eyes again, biting back a laugh. "Eat your nugget before I regret telling you that I liked it."

He chuckled and popped the nugget into his mouth. "Not bad," he said, still grinning.

Lizzie found herself returning the smile. He was impossible.

But then again, she thought as she looked at him, she supposed she wouldn't want him any other way.

"Let's take this to the living room," she suggested.

"So is there even more Ferrari merch there?" Lando asked her. She just rolled her eyes.

"Not Ferrari merch, no," she said drily. “I keep that in the bedroom.” Lando gave a squawk in response. She just laughed. 

Did her living room kinda look like the set of a fantasy movie had thrown up all over it? Yes. 

She had a near life size portrait of Astrid and Ciaran, the main characters of her book series hung over her fireplace, which an amazingly talented fan artist had painted and she had purchased.

Lando was staring at the portrait with something close to amusement. He turned to her, eyebrow raised. "Okay, so who is that guy, and why does he have bat wings?"

Lizzie sighed, taking a seat on the large couch that dominated the room. "That would be Ciaran. Bat wings and all."

Lando took a seat beside her, still eyeing the portrait suspiciously. "And who exactly is Ciaran supposed to be?"

"He is the Dark Prince...The Heir to the throne of the land of Kasharia," she said with a wave of her hand. "He's the love interest in the Seasons of Fate Series."

Lando's eyebrows shot up, turning back to the portrait, studying it with more interest this time. "And the Wings are his thing, I'm guessing? Makes him the 'Dark Prince'?"

Lizzie bit her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. "Basically."

"Right, right." He was nodding now. "What about the woman, then? Blondie with the dagger?"

Lizzie found herself smiling, remembering the story behind that particular piece of art. "That would be Astrid," she said.

Lando looked like he was starting to put pieces together. He leaned back on the couch, eyes on the portrait once more. "And Astrid is, what? The princess or something?"

"She's a handmaiden of the Princess of another kingdom he's supposed to marry," she explained with a wave of her hand. "She ends up married to Ciaran instead."

Lando was nodding along as Lizzie described it, a look of fascination on his face. "Oh, so it's like one of those forbidden romance deals, huh?" he asked, sounding surprisingly invested.

"In a sense, yeah," she agreed, finding herself amused by his interest. "You seem surprisingly interested in this, considering you thought the wings were over the top a minute ago."

Lando shot her a look, his eyes twinkling. "Hey, I can appreciate a good love story, can't I? Besides, million of people adore your books. There must be something pretty special about them."

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

Lizzie felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. It still surprised her, at times, how much her books meant to people.

"I don't know about that, but people seem to enjoy them," she said lightly. "Still thinking you are going to pick one up?" she teased him with a grin.

"It’s probably gonna take me two months to get through the first book, between my schedule and my dyslexia, but the bat wings have totally sold it," Lando told her seriously.

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. The idea of Lando, who was about as far from a fantasy fan as you could get, actually trying to read one of her books was too absurd. "You are absolutely not going to read one of my books," she said, grinning.

"Hey, I could!" he objected with mock offense. "Don't underestimate me."

Lizzie shook her head, still laughing. "I'm not underestimating you. But let's be honest, you've got better things to do with your time than read about bat winged princes and handmaiden."

"Don't you have better things to do than too watch 20 men in their cars drive around in wobbly circles?" he shot right back. "You created these books. You poured your time and energy into them. I don't think there are many things that are more important than that." 

Lizzie fell silent, taken off guard by his words. He had a point, she thought.

"I suppose you have a point there," she admitted quietly.

Lando seemed pleased with himself, his cocky demeanor falling back into place. "See? I do have some smarts in there."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "You are insufferable, you know that? Besides, what's with your job," she teased him. "Isn't Miami coming up?"

Lando just snorted. "Yeah, we are all looking forward to hear the Dutch national anthem. Again."

Lizzie chuckled, picturing the familiar sight of the podium at a Grand Prix - the winning driver and the Dutch and Austrian anthems playing. "You are so dramatic. Maybe you'll win in Miami."

He gave her a look, his expression clearly communicating that he thought her words were ridiculous. "Uh-huh. You obviously don't know my luck. Second place is basically my second name."

Lizzie laughed, finding his complaining endearing despite herself. "You sound like Mara when I have a treat, but don't give it to her. Stop whining. Second place is still impressive as all hell, you know that right?"

Mara perked up at the mention of her name and took that moment to jump up on the couch, and once again, not caring at all about personal space, just drape herself all over Lando.

Lando looked startled, his gaze flying down to where Mara was settling onto his lap. "Uh..." he said, his voice full of confusion.

Lizzie tried not to crack a smile at the way he looked like he'd never encountered a dog before. Mara, meanwhile, looked incredibly pleased with herself.

Lando looked up at Lizzie, his expression a comical mix of disbelief and alarm. "What...what is she doing?" he asked, clearly bewildered.

Lizzie couldn't help herself; she burst out laughing. "She likes you," she managed to say through her mirth. "Clearly a woman of excellent taste."

Lando gave her a dubious look, clearly not sure if he was being insulted or not. Then Mara shifted in his lap and let out a happy sigh, and he looked back down at her. Lizzie could see the exact moment he melted. No man was immune to dogs.

"I'll go against my core beliefs and root for the ugly orange car with your number on it if you promise me that you'll believe that you have a chance of winning."

Lando shot her a look, a little surprised at her request. Then his familiar cocky smirk spread across his face.

"You'll root for papaya? Over Ferrari?"

Lizzie just nodded. "As long as that big ego of yours lets you believe you can win," she said dryly.

[john-get-the-salt]

Packed Lunch (w/spencer reid)

Imagine: One morning Spence is in a rush to leave for work and forgets his lunch. You know he gets cranky when he gets hungry, so that only leaves one option.

Contains: secret relationship becoming not so secret anymore, funny Rossi, cute domestic Reid

It'd been exactly 39 minutes since Spencer left for work and you hadn't moved a muscle, standing and glaring at the bag sitting on the counter. It wasn't that the bag itself had offended you, as it was in fact just a harmless brown paper bag. What did offend you, was that it wasn't with Spencer like it should be. The packed lunch was no good if Spencer didn't pack it with him to work.

He'd been in such a rush leaving that morning that he zipped out the door without it. Whenever he stayed the night at your place you made sure to pack him a lunch, knowing that he wasn’t always the best at caring for himself.

Forgetting to bring lunch wasn't usually a big deal for most people. You knew that the federal building where he worked had a cafeteria.

But this was Spencer Reid you were talking about. And Spence hated the cafeteria food. On the occasion he forgot his lunch he'd just go the entire day living off coffee and whatever snacks were hidden in his desk. Then he’d go back to either his apartment or yours, starving and with a nasty headache.

This meant without his lunch he would most likely not be eating today. And as you thought about how stressed and overworked he'd been lately, that did not sit well with you.

So it was decided. You would drop his food off.

He was just in the office for the day as far as you knew, so you were moderately sure you could just leave it with the front desk or something and have them take it up to him.

The two of you had been dating for several months but agreed to keep it secret from his coworkers for now. Spencer was adamant that in his line of work he could never have any secrets, and for once he wanted to have something all to himself. You couldn't even begin to understand how he did what he did, so that was an easy request to grant.

You had since then discussed telling his co-workers about your relationship as you two became more serious, but the right time hadn't come up yet. Plus it made you giggle when he told you the tales of his co-workers trying to set him up or making fun of his lack of romantic life.

This all meant you couldn't just stroll into the building and announce to everyone that you were dropping food off for your boyfriend, Spencer Reid. You would need to quickly and discretely drop the food off and then be gone without a trace.

No harm in that at all. Right?

You quickly got dressed and grabbed the lunch. Living within walking distance of the BAU headquarters was extremely handy, especially today. It was a nice day and you enjoyed the weather as you walked.

It only took about 15 minutes before you were pulling the doors to the government building open, immediately being hit with a rush of cool air. The inside was full of people who looked like they really meant business in their fancy suits and stern faces. You sudden felt self conscious in your normal ‘civilian’ attire, and scurried up to the front desk to get this over with.

The lady at the front desk seemed disinterested, and barely looked up when you stopped in front of her.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, yes. I was hoping I could drop off this food for my boyfriend. He works here and forgot it this morning and he always gets cranky when he's hungry and-"

"Ma'am we don't deliver food."

"I know I just-he's going to be hungry and I can tell you what department he works for and maybe someone could run it up to him real quick."

She pulled open a binder from her desk, sighing heavily. "Can I get his name and your name?"

"Oh, um, his name is Spencer Reid, and mine is but I don't work here I'm-"

"Here. You're already a registered visitor."

She handed you a clip on badge with Visitor printed on it in big bold letters. "Give that to security, then elevators are to the left and there's a directory on the wall. Have a good day."

Before you could even argue she was dismissing you and addressing the person in line behind you. So you forced your feet to move and head towards security. You felt like a fraud walking amongst agents and other government workers, and you kept your gaze down to avoid eye contact. After your purse got checked and your visitor badge got scanned you shuffled to the elevators.

You paused in front of the directory on the wall, squinting at the dozens of names listed. Where the fuck was the BAU?

You must've looked as confused as you felt, as someone stopped beside you.

“Ma'am? Do you need help finding something?"

You turned towards the voice, coming face to face with a kind-looking older man.

"Oh! I do actually, if you wouldn't mind."

"Of course, what department are you looking for?"

"Um, the BAU?"

"Well I can definitely help you there."

He pressed the elevator button and the two of you waited for a moment before the doors opened and the elevator emptied. He gestured forward and you gave him an appreciative smile before stepping in. He followed along with a few other people. It remained quiet as the elevator rose and stopped at occasional floors, people getting in and out.

Eventually it stopped at floor 6 (totally making this up idk) and the man announced this was the stop.

You followed him off the elevator and onto a floor that was still busy, but nearly as much as the lobby. Straight ahead, down a little hall, were a set of glass doors with BAU printed on the front. You chewed on your lip as you stared the door down, contemplating.

How were you going to casually drop Spence's lunch off without creating suspicion? You couldn't exactly just walk right in and hand it to him without people questioning who you were.

"Can I help you find anyone in particular?"

"Oh no that's okay, you've helped plenty. I don't want to keep you from your business."

"Please, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't help?"

This was so not the plan. But what other option did you have? You hadn't accounted for this scenario, you were positive you wouldn't make it past the front desk. But now here you were, and you needed to make sure this food got to Spence. Plus it probably wasn't smart to aimlessly wander around an FBI building. With your luck someone would think you were a terrorist or something. And you were not a terrorist.

"I didn't think you were, but my confidence in that is now wavering."

Oh my god. You said that last part out loud. To an FBI agent.

“Oh god I’m so sorry, I did not mean to say that out loud. I swear I’m not a terrorist. I have this terrible habit of saying dumb things when I’m nervous.”

Could this get any worse? All you wanted to do was drop your boyfriends lunch off and now you were talking about terrorism with an FBI agent.

To your relief, the man just chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve heard plenty worse. Now who are you looking for?”

At this point you were ready for the earth to just swallow you whole and you were deeply regretting ever leaving the apartment.

“Spencer Reid,” you said simply as you held up the bag in hand. “I have his lunch.”

“Spencer? He’s just through these glass doors, follow me.”

At this point, you didn’t care who saw you. You didn’t care that it sounded like this man knew Spence, and may or may not think you are a terrorist.

You just wanted fo give Spence his lunch and get the fuck out of dodge.

Following the stranger through the glass doors, you found yourself in a much quieter area. The entrance led out onto a catwalk from where you could see clusters of desks below you and a little coffee bar against the wall.

"I'll just set the lunch over here-"

"(Y/N)?"

You looked up at the voice and found your boyfriend standing below you at a desk, a concerned look on his face. He left the group of people he was standing with and jogged up the steps towards you.

"Hey, is everything ok? Did something happen? Are you ok?" His eyes were wide with concern, words coming out fast as he glanced over you. His hands automatically reached for yours, something the two of you did without thought.

"I'm fine, my love. You just forgot your lunch," you held up the paper bag. "I tried to drop it off at the front desk but the lady just gave me this pass and told me to bring it up. Then I almost got lost but this nice guy stopped and helped but I was so nervous I accidentally said something about terrorism and I know I shouldn't drop by unannounced but I also know how cranky you get when you're hungry and I-"

"(Y/n)," he cut your anxious rambling off, smiling in relief that everything was ok. "Thank you."

You smiled back up at him, relieved he wasn’t upset. "You're quite welcome. And I must say I feel so official with my badge even though I absolutely do not belong here."

He laughed. "I think you fit right in."

"Well I-"

"Reid?"

You both froze and became suddenly re-aware of the current setting. You looked up at your boyfriend with wide, worried eyes.

Spencer sighed, though that dopey smile of his remained on his face. "I think our secret is out."

He intertwined his hand in yours and together you turned towards the voice. Standing with varying looks of confusion and smugness were a group of people you recognized as his co-workers.

"Who's this?"

Spencer cleared his throat. "Um, guys this is… my girlfriend."

You gave a hesitant wave, trying not to shrink under the intimidating gazes. The office was quiet for a moment, before someone else burst into the room

"Did Reid just say girlfriend?!"

"That's correct, babygirl," one of them spoke up. "Pretty boys got himself a girlfriend."

The blonde gasped, before rushing forward and grabbing you into a hug.

"It is SO nice to meet you!"

You laughed as you hugged her back.

“It's lovely to meet you too, Penelope. All of you.”

She released you and you turned towards the rest of the team.

“Spence is always showing me pictures and talking about you guys, I hope you understand us wanting to keep it quiet for a while. But I've been really looking forward to meeting you."

A man with a stern look in his eye stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Aaron Hotchner," his eyes seemed to soften as you shook his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

That broke the rest of the team out of this trance and they all gathered forward to formally introduce themselves. You shook everyone's hands and giggled as they ogled at the fact that Spencer had caught himself a girlfriend.

You learned, with a laugh, that the man who'd helped you find your way was in fact David Rossi, one of Spence's coworkers. I’m your anxious mess you hadn’t recognized the man.

You explain to everyone that you were just dropping off Spencer's lunch, but you weren't getting away that easily.

Penelope and JJ convinced you to stay, and you all spent the lunch break sitting around a conference table chatting. Hearing stories about Spence on the job had you cry laughing and you happily indulged his friends in some stories of your own.

The entire time Spencer kept a tight hold of your hand, smile never wavering as he watched his favorite people laugh together.

His family.