#More Tangle Patterns

[antiquepearlss]

I love how my fics thus far are

Varian dies slowly and painfully of hypothermia Eurydice style

haha funny heist fic with Team Awesome. Silly brothers, so wholesome! (Which is almost at 1k reads let’s go!!!!!)

omg another comedic Team Awesome fic? Wow Varian is such a silly little guy.

The depressing and gut wrenching point of view of a child realizing they were mentally, emotionally, and physically abused by a terrorist and their relationship was a lie used to manipulate him.

Awe New Dream what cuties! Eugene is trying so hard to be a good boyfriend good for him!

Ooh a 1950’s au about New Dream and the Tangled found family? Sign me up this will be fun and silly!

West Side Story AU. Eugene is dead. Hugo killed him. Varian is still in love with Hugo. Rapunzel is heartbroken and angry with Varian. They’re singing at eachother. I wrote this in an hour and want to delete it.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Urgent Call

"I need your phone."

Tim looks up from his laptop. The boy in front of him looks like he's been dragged to Hell a week ago and just made it back: smudges of soot on his face, his not-so-white t-shirt smelling of smoke, and a nasty looking burn on his hand that he somehow doesn't even pay attention to. Tim thinks back to his mental list of 'Rogues currently on the loose', but it's only Ivy and Harley (who don't even count anymore), and Penguin, who is not known for setting things on fire.

"I can call 911 for you, if you want?" He offers, because this is still Gotham. Despite the fact that a slightly scorched guy casually walking into a coffee shop is not something out of the ordinary here, he's not giving his phone to strangers.

The guy grimaces and starts aggressively rummaging through his pockets.

"No, thanks, ACAB and all that, and they won't do shit here anyway," he says, and then pulls a handful of tangled golden jewelry — rings, chains, necklaces with various gems in them — from his pocket and places it on the table in front of Tim. "I need your phone," he repeats.

Tim stares. First, at the gold — these things look antique, and his parents were archeologists, he knows what he's talking about — then, back at the guy. He looks... ordinary, sans the dirt and smell.

But the burn on his hand looks significantly more healed than it did just a minute ago.

Thankfully, Tim has already had his cup of morning coffee. Which means he is thinking very rationally when he does get his phone out of his pocket and hands it to the guy, just to see what he does next.

"Thanks," the guy grins at him, plucking the phone out of Tim's hand and unlocking it. Tim's eyebrows shoot up — there's a password there! — but the stranger is already dialing in a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

It takes less than a second before someone evidently picks up, and the guy starts talking.

"I have less than three minutes before the phone dies, so listen very carefully. Etrigan is fine, Jason is not, Klarion is still being a bitch. Dora won't help anymore, so you're on your own until Sam makes it there with the staff. I'm in Gotham because, apparently, mazes and I don't mix well together, so if you could summon me back, that'd be cool," he says, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

Tim is back to staring at him. He recognizes some of the names, and, well, one could have been an oddity, two a coincidence, but three is a pattern.

"The fuck you mean you can't, I gave you the incantation two months ago!" The guy raises his voice, his foot tapping on the floor in frustration. "Do you think I just go around giving my summons to people for shits and giggles? Like, yeah, have a spell that unleashes a cosmic being of immeasurable power, use it as a bookmark!"

This interaction, despite Tim only hearing one side of it, gets more and more alarming with every word.

But then, the boy suddenly straightens up and stills, his eyes flashing bright, unpleasantly familiar green.

"You what?" He asks, his voice slipping from just angry to quietly enraged hiss, "Sold it to whom?!" But, before he gets an answer, Tim's phone makes a thin, tiny buzzing sound, and the guy takes it off his ear, looking at the screen.

"No, no-no-no," he mutters, shaking it like that would make it work. To no avail, though: the phone screen flashes a few times and goes black. The guy curses. At least Tim thinks it's a curse because he doesn't understand a word, but the stranger's face and intonation are telling.

"Useless fucking moron of a human, I swear I'm going to drown you in cow shit once this is over," he switches to English, dropping the phone on the table right by the small pile of gold, "I'll bargain your pathetic soul from everyone you've ever dealt with and give it to the Observants, and maybe, after a few millenia of endless Council paperwork, I'll have mercy and sell it back to Lucifer and watch him fry you on a skillet."

...Whoever the boy is, Tim absolutely refuses to ever piss him off, okay. That's an impressive threat to even make, not to mention being able to go through with it.

"Do you need help?" He asks cautiously. If he is getting his context clues right, this is something that involves JLD, and maybe John Constantine specifically since Tim doesn't know any other man who is a magic user, sold his soul numerous times, would care about Etrigan's wellbeing, and could invoke this kind of murderous intent.

The boy looks back at him, his eyes back to normal blue.

"Huh? Oh, no, I doubt this can be helped," he waves Tim off and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Sorry about the phone, but, unless you have a way to yeet me across the globe so I end up in London in the next twenty minutes..." he shrugs, smiling in that helpless 'nothing you can do here' way.

Tim picks up his phone. It's dead, wholly and completely, won't even turn on when he tries.

He really, really shouldn't do that. This is definitely none of his business, and very much out of his capabilities and area of expertise.

But he thinks about the zeta-tube in the Cave.

"Actually," he says, and the guy's eyes snap back to him, a bewildered sort of surprise on his face.

[goyardgoyangi]

planting evidence in street racer! sukuna's car

Sukuna’s car has always been untouchable—immaculate, brutal, fast. The kind of machine that mirrors him: sharp edges, no softness, no room for anyone else.

Until you.

Now there’s lip gloss in the cupholder and a scrunchie looped around his gear shift like some kind of silk flag staked in his territory. You started leaving little things behind, quietly, like you were planting evidence. Gum wrappers, a clip from your hair, even your iced coffee straw one day—left right in the side door pocket.

You expected him to toss it all back at you. Maybe with a grunt. Maybe with an eye roll and a muttered “keep your shit out of my car.”

But he didn’t.

He kept them there. Because you and Sukuna… you weren’t dating. No one had asked. There was no talk, no label. Just a long night that turned into a few more, then a pattern.

You, on the other hand, are more strategic. Conniving, even.

You don’t ask to be his girl. You don’t cling. You just leave marks. Subtle things. Things a hookup wouldn’t ever have time to leave behind. So that maybe—just maybe—if someone else ever got in the passenger seat, they’d know instantly: they’re not the first, and they’re definitely not the only one who rides here.

But no one else has. Sukuna hasn’t touched another girl since the first night he had you spread out across his sheets—back arched, lips parted, absolutely wrecked from round four. You were limp and glowing in the aftermath, falling asleep on his chest like you belonged there. And maybe you did.

He hadn’t cared to look at anyone else since.

That car used to be built for speed, for control, for the kind of thrill that made his blood rush. It was never about comfort.

But now? It’s starting to literally feel like a second bedroom. Like an extension of you—your perfume clinging to the seatbelt, a receipt from your favorite café crumpled in the passenger door, your earrings slipped into the little tray under the dash.

The backseat holds the imprint of your body, the curve of your hips pressed into the leather, a reminder of all the times he’s fucked you in his car—your legs spread wide as he drove you to the edge with each brutal, deep thrust.

Even the front, where your hand wraps around his arm as his fingers make you come undone, hitting a spot that drives you wild in ways only he knows, still carries the unmistakable mark that this seat—this car—belongs to someone else.

So when Sukuna rolls into the garage late one night—hair still damp from a shower, muscles loose from hours tangled up inside you, still half hard just remembering how you moaned his name—his fellow mechanics clock it instantly.

“Yo,” Mahito says, glancing up from under the hood of a stripped RX-7. “You have a girlfriend or somethin’? Your car smells like vanilla.”

Sukuna just grunts, shoving his keys in his pocket.

He leans against the hood, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he’s not thinking about you sleeping in his bed right now, curled up under his sheets in that oversized tee you always steal from him.

They take his silence as confirmation.

“You hear that, Suguru?” Mahito continues to instigate, smirking. “Sukuna’s got gloss on the gearshift.”

Suguru raises a brow from where he’s cataloging parts. “Damn. Didn’t think anyone could turn Sukuna into a personal Uber.”

That earns a laugh from the group. Sukuna doesn’t say anything, just lazily flicks his middle finger their way. But he doesn't deny it either.

“No wonder you leave work early so often,” another mechanic mutters, elbowing Uraume. “He used to hang around, talk engines, grab beers.”

They shrug. “Guess he’s got better company these days.”

Sukuna barely hears his coworkers gossip over the echo of your moans still ringing in his head. Because they’re not wrong—he has been slipping out early, ditching post-race drinks just to pick you up from work. Just to get you back in his car, where your legs fold up sweet and tight in the passenger seat and your hand always finds his without a word.

It’s routine now—his hand on your thigh the second the engine starts. He doesn’t even think about it. Just needs it. Needs the feel of you under his fingers, to squeeze the thighs he’s bruised a dozen times with his mouth.

And when you finally fall asleep, innocent and warm, lips parted just slightly?

He drives slower than he ever has in his life. Because the longer he keeps you next to him like this, the longer he gets to pretend you’re already his girl.

And he knows—he knows—you’re testing him with the things you leave behind. Waiting to see if he’ll clean them out. Waiting to see if he’ll hand you your lip gloss and tell you to stop marking your territory.

But he won’t.

Not when the vanilla scent lingers in the air. Not when the other mechanics glance at the cupholder and trade knowing looks because even they can see it—

The car’s not just his anymore.

[missdynamighttt]

↳ ❝ FAT ASS LIKE HERS NEEDS A REAL MAN TO FUCK IT. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you get tangled up with your boyfriend's arrogant, infuriating, and devastatingly hot rival, katsuki bakugou and ended up fucking... one too many times.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x enemy's girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: cheating on yo shindo, cheating with katsuki bakugo, body worship, implied mentions of anal sex, oral sex (f! receiving, face riding), manhandling, penetrative / p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

note: usage of "sweetheart", "pretty", "pretty girl", "sweets", fem reader, implied plus size! reader, mean! katsuki, katsuki calls reader fat but not really (specifically, reader's ass), (hopefully) promoting body positivity. really thought this song gave katsuki vibes and havent seen a fic based off of it yet. reminds me of that montoya guy watching his girl fuck someone on camera lmao😭. time to give back to my community, hope you guys enjoy💜

╰┈➤ [katsuki bakugo was an asshole.] everyone knew that. and when it came to shindo yo, he was even worse. the two had never gotten along—never would. 

which was exactly why, when katsuki walked into the bar and spotted you, nursing a drink, frustration etched across your face, he couldn’t help but smirk.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. probably your boyfriend getting a little too damn close to another "friend" again. just like always. this wasn’t the first time, and knowing him, it wouldn’t be the last.

this was the kind of moment he lived for, a rare opportunity to get under shindo’s skin. sure, maybe katsuki didn’t hate shindo that much, but you? you were a different story.

he sauntered over, leaning an arm against the counter, eyes never leaving you. "rough night?"

you glanced up, instantly recognizing the pro hero standing beside you. with a sigh, you swirled your drink in its glass. “you could say that.”

“lemme guess... your idiot boyfriend givin’ you trouble again?”

“…something like that.”

“don’t know why you put up with him, honestly," he chuckled, the sound low and knowing. he tipped his drink toward you, watching your reaction carefully. "you deserve better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”

your lips quirked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “and you think you can appreciate me?”

katsuki had no shame, never did. so he grinned, a flicker of something dangerous in his crimson gaze.

"want me to show you, sweetheart?"

one thing led to another and soon enough— you were in his bed, limbs tangled, gasping his name, making sure you see the stars in the sky as he fucked the frustration right out of you.

and after that night, fucking you became katsuki's favorite way to piss shindo off.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what this was. but did you care? not one damn bit. he had you in his bed more than your shitty boyfriend ever did. and yeah, maybe it started as a way to get under shindo’s skin, but somewhere along the way, it became something neither of you wanted to stop.

because katsuki? he was fucking obsessed with you.  

some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, hands splayed over your hips as he buried his face in your neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

“fuck, i missed you,” he groaned, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. his grip tighten, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. “shouldn’t let you leave my bed, y’know that?”

you chuckled, tilting your head back as his lips trailed lower. “you’re never satisfied, huh?”

“so what?” he nipped at your skin, making you squeak. “i like my woman soft. more of you for me to grab.”

and grab he did. he was clingy in the worst way—always needing to have a hand on you, whether it was squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, or just absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh while you laid in bed together.

katsuki just loved how you felt in his hands.

then there are the nights when he'd lie with his head on your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair, one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

his eyes were shut, his expression relaxed, but every so often, his brows furrowed as he grumbled about his day.

like now.

“dumbass intern nearly blew up my whole damn office,” he muttered, eyes closed. “and kirishima kept laughin’ like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.”

you hummed, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “i mean… you do blow things up all the time. bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

his eyes cracked open, leveling you with a glare. “tch. ain’t funny.”

you bit back a smile. “a little funny.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. he never really did when you played with his hair. it was his weakness, and he hated that you knew it.

your fingers trailed down to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge. he leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

“you’re really pretty, you know that?” you murmured.

his eyes flickered open again, red irises locking onto yours. there was something unreadable in his gaze—something so raw and vulnerable.

“oi,” he muttered, shifting slightly, ears turning pink. “quit it.”

you grinned. “quit what?”

“saying dumb shit like that.”

“but it’s true.”

katsuki scowled, but the way he pressed his cheek into your palm gave him away. he huffed, eyes slipping shut again.

“…whatever.”

and he loved it. the times he's spent with you, whether he was fucking you or just talking about each other's day, he loved all of it. not just because it was a middle finger to shindo, but because katsuki got to have you all to himself. 

honestly? it stopped being about shindo a long time ago. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rub it in the bastard’s face.

"she was beggin’ me to keep goin’ last night," katsuki bragged, arm slung lazily around your waist, knowing full well that shindō was fuming. his hand drifted lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass. “bet you don’t even know how to handle all this ass, huh? shame. guess that’s why she keeps crawlin’ back to me.”

shindo clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what katsuki was implying. he knew. knew there was truth in katsuki’s words. knew that every time he and you argued, you’d disappear for a while, only to return looking a little too satisfied. "you really think you're some upgrade?"  

"she does. especially when she’s whining my name into the sheets.”  

"shut the fuck up, bakugo."  

katsuki barked a laugh, shameless and sharp. he was pissed, good. that was the reaction he wanted. but he wasn’t done yet.

“she’s a greedy lil’ thing, too. always wantin’ more," he grinned, eyes flicking over to him before locking back at yours. "but look at her. how could i say no? she looks so fuckin’ perfect under me."

your face burns, heat creeping up your neck before he scoffs and turns back to grilling your ex, like you weren’t just standing there, completely flustered.

"did she ever tell you how much she loves it when i grab these—" his fingers trailed down your side, giving a firm squeeze and earning a small yelp from you. "—and i slam my dick into her? fuck her real nice and deep? moans so pretty for me, too. you ever heard it?"

and if shindo so much as opened his mouth, katsuki would throw in another dig.

"nah. probably not. bet she asked you if it was in yet.”  

"well, she's all yours," shindo said, fists clenching, clearly seconds away from punching him. and katsuki lived for it.  

"yeah, figured you’d say that," katsuki taunted. "she’s been stress eatin’ too much to deal with a weak-ass like you."  

and then, just because he was an absolute bastard, he'd go in for the kill.

"fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it."  

shindo looked about ready to swing, but you pulled katsuki away before things got too messy.  you could still feel the heat of shindo’s rage burning through the air. it thrilled you more than it should have. 

but behind closed doors? the same man who ran his mouth would spend hours pressed against you, whispering things he’d never admit to anyone else.

"c’mere," katsuki grumbled, tugging you onto the bed after another long day of antagonizing your ex. his arms wrapped around your waist, face immediately pressing into your soft stomach.

he worshipped you—every inch, every soft curve, but nothing captivated him more than your stomach.

he was obsessed, utterly entranced. he’d bury his face against it, his hands kneaded your sides, gripping, squeezing—memorizing, pressing lazy kisses to every dip and curve. he held your body with a reverence that bordered on possessive, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

"fuck, baby," he groaned, nuzzling into you like he wanted to disappear into your skin. “love your body so goddamn much. s’perfect.”

you chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. "thought you said i was stress-eating."  

"yeah, stress-eatin’ on my dick," he muttered, pressing kisses against your tummy. "he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“then why do you still do it, hmm?”

he looked up at you, red eyes dark with something almost desperate as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

"tch, you know why i do that. pisses him off. makes him realize he ain't shit. ‘cause he ain't."  

you shivered at the heat of his lips against your skin, biting back a smile as you run your fingers through his hair. so that’s what this was about. "you sure you’re not just obsessed with him at this point?”

he scoffed against your stomach, his grip on your waist tightening. “the hell i am. only thing i’m obsessed with is you.”

it was the side of him no one else got to see— the way he nuzzled into you, the way he pressed his lips to your skin over and over, like he couldn’t get enough. he'd grumble if you tried to move, holding you tighter to keep you in bed, murmuring "stay here. wanna hold ya."  

he loved how soft you were, how warm—how no matter how much he grabbed, squeezed, or traced his fingers over you, it was never enough. he needed you. it was like he was drunk on the feel of you, the scent of you. and truthfully, he was.

"love this shit,” he admitted lowly, voice thick with something almost vulnerable. he nuzzled into your tummy again, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "could live here."

you raised a brow, fighting back a grin as you looked down at him. “oh? you wanna live on my stomach now?”

“yes, baby,” he muttered almost desperately, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction while pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “soft. warm. smells like you.”

you laughed, dragging your fingers through his hair. “so what, you’re gonna quit being a hero and move in here?”

he let out a gruff chuckle, turning his head to rest his cheek against you. “tch. would if i could. wouldn’t need a bed, a couch, nothin’. just this perfect spot.”

“oh yeah?” you hummed, tilting your head. “should i start charging you rent?”

he huffed against your skin. “tch. smartass.”

you giggled, brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “i mean, if you’re gonna move in, might as well contribute. utilities, groceries… maybe even a tummy tax.”

his red eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. “the fuck is a tummy tax?”

you grinned. “unlimited kisses. daily.”

he snorts, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “already payin’ for that, pretty."

and you laughed, because for all his big talk, katsuki bakugo adored you. as long as he had you, nothing else mattered.

and despite the way he ran his mouth, he never let you feel insecure. if he ever caught you looking at yourself too long in the mirror, he’d grab you and pull you onto the bed, hovering over you with that intense, fiery gaze.  

"the fuck are you thinkin’ about?" he’d demand, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing, leaving marks. "you’re mine. this body? all mine. and i fuckin’ love every inch of you. don’t ever fuckin’ doubt how much i want you."

and god, did he prove it.

he didn't just tolerate your body—he adored it. and thats why you found yourself looking down at him lying comfortably on his back, eyes dark with anticipation. he was waiting—no, expecting—you to sit on his face.

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. "i can just lay down, 'suki..."

katsuki scoffs, sitting up slightly, his hands already reaching for your thighs, clearly impatient. "tch. and deny me a great view? cut the crap and get up here, sweets."

you shake your head again. "i just- what if i’m too heavy?"

he lets out a sharp, exasperated scoff. "for who? me? well that’s rude."

"it’s not..." you hesitate for half a second, but that’s all the time he gives you. 

he yanks you down onto his face with a low growl, his mouth immediately sealing over your cunt. "stop stallin’ and just give me what i want..."

you hesitate, subtly hovering just above him instead of lowering yourself onto his face, holding onto the headboard for support. his eyes flick up to yours, and the second he realizes what you're doing, his expression darkens.

"the fuck do you think you’re doin’?" his grip on your thighs tightens, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

“i don’t want to crush you—”

“are you fuckin’ serious?” his voice drips with pure offense, like you just insulted his entire existence. "you really think i can't handle you? think you're doin’ me a favor by holdin’ back?"

you try to protest, but he’s already yanking you down on his face, forcing you to sit properly. his growl vibrates against you as he buries his face between your thighs. the way he looked up at you—pissed off and starving—sent a shiver down your spine.

your face burned, heart pounding in your chest. "i just— i don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

katsuki let out a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your folds, lifting you by your hips to give him room to speak from time to time. 

"uncomfortable? sweetheart, the only thing makin’ me uncomfortable right now is you not sittin’ on my goddamn face like i told you to."

your lips parted in protest, but a startled moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and demanding. his grip on your thighs is punishing, locking you in place as he devours you with obscene hunger.

"katsuki—" you try to lift yourself, but his hands hold you firm.

"nah. shut up," he murmurs burying his tongue between your thighs without warning. a moan escapes you as he groans against your heat, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. 

"fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters between licks, voice muffled. "ain’t takin’ this disrespect. you ain't doin’ me no favors by holdin’ back. told ya before— i want you—every fuckin’ inch of you." 

your breath hitches, and katsuki smirks like he knows he’s got you. his crimson eyes flicked up at you, glinting with mischief as he devoured the fuck out of your pretty little cunt, tongue glazed with his spit and your slick. 

"so don't you ever pull that hoverin’ shit again,” he warns, his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds "or i swear to god, i'll make you sit here all fuckin' night—"

his words were cut off by the way he devoured you, lips and tongue working so hungrily that your legs nearly gave out then and there. his crimson eyes burned into you, daring you to try that shit again.

you whimper, thighs trembling, and he doubles down, tongue curling inside you before dragging back up to your clit, sucking just to hear you whine.

"fuck, baby," he groans against you, his voice thick with need. "taste so fuckin’ good."

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the soft strands, but it only spurs him on. his hands slide to your ass, forcing you to take everything he gave you. he’s lost in it, completely drowning in you, and he likes it. loves it. wants more. 

"you drive me fuckin’ insane," he murmured, sucking your clit into his mouth with a filthy slurp. "you’re too damn perfect, and it pisses me off."  

your fingers tightened around the headboard, thighs trembling around his head. “how is that my fault? you're the one who—"

katsuki let out a frustrated growl against your cunt, cutting you off before you could finish. without warning, he flattened his tongue and dragged a slow, deliberate lick through your folds, making you gasp.

"its your fucking fault," he went on like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to act so damn innocent.

his lips brush against your pussy as your legs threatened to close around his head, but his grip was firm, keeping you spread open for him. "prancin’ around, bein’ so goddamn pretty. takin’ up space in my head. gettin’ under my fuckin' skin and you expect me to act normal?"

you tried to answer, but he didn’t give you the chance. a sharp suck on your clit had your head tipping back, a needy whine escaping before you could stop it. his tongue slid through your folds again, swirling around your clit, and the sudden sensation made you choke on your words.

"katsuki—"

"nah. told you to shut up." he cut you off, voice muffled against your dripping cunt. "if you're gonna talk, you can fuckin’ moan."

your noises only spurred him on. your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as pleasure pooled in your stomach. his tongue worked you over with precision, switching between sucking and licking until your hips were rolling into his face, chasing more. 

"that's it," he muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth again, hard, and the moan that tore from your throat was anything but coherent, fucking you with his tongue. "you wanna run your mouth? do it like this." 

you could barely form a response, your mind going blank as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue relentless. the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, broken moan.

"fuckin' knew it," he groaned, his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. "knew you’d sound so fuckin' pretty when you just shut the fuck up while riding my face. could watch you like this all fuckin’ day."

you let out a shaky breath, barely able to focus as his tongue flicked over your clit again. katsuki pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, his lips slick and glistening with your arousal. his crimson eyes burned into you, half-lidded and desperate, but still sharp with command.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “touch yourself, pretty girl. play with those pretty tits for me.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated, already feeling overwhelmed by the way he was devouring you. but his grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh in warning.

“c’mon, sweets,” he rasped, his tongue flicking out to tease your clit before pulling back again. his eyes dragged up your body, the heat in them making you dizzy. “be a good girl and gimme a show, yeah?"

with trembling hands, you reached up, cupping your tits, teasing your own nipples the way you knew he liked. you kneaded them softly at first, rolling your thumbs over your nipples, but the second you pinched them, katsuki groaned, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing in existence.

“fuck yeah,” he muttered, running his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “just like that, baby. play with those tits— keep puttin’ on a show for me while i eat this pretty little pussy.”

his tongue worked you over with hungry, unrelenting strokes, the obscene slurps and groans vibrating against you as he devoured you like a man starved.

you tugged at your nipples, your head falling back as pleasure rippled through you. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your nipples as the combination of your own hands on your body and his mouth wrecking you from below had your head spinning.

“katsuki—” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. “i’m— i’m close.”

that was all it took. katsuki groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your cunt as his grip on your thighs tightened. his tongue worked even faster, flicking and circling your clit with devastating precision, like he needed you to fall apart for him or he'd die.

"yeah?" he rasped between licks, his voice thick and wrecked. "then fuckin’ give it to me, sweets. wanna feel you cum on my face."

he didn’t slow down, didn’t let up for even a second. his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to really sit on his face, and the pressure—his tongue, his mouth, the way he sucked on your clit—sent you careening straight into your orgasm.

your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. katsuki groaned against you like he felt it, like he was the one cumming, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop devouring you, even as you trembled above him.

he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your slick as he sucked in a breath, eyes dark with hunger. he gave your thighs one last squeeze before gripping your waist.

“get up."

you blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “what?”

“i said, get up,” he growled. "need to be inside you. now.”

you whined, shaking your head weakly. “katsuki, i just— i just came…”

“and?” he scoffed, sitting up slightly. “the fuck that got to do with me?”

before you could protest again, his strong arms moved, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. a surprised yelp left your lips, but katsuki was already on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, his body burning hot against yours with his lips on yours.

"don't care if you just came," he muttered against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before sucking it into his mouth. "wanna feel you squeeze the cum outta me this time."

your head spun as he hovered over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. his hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading—like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

"katsuki—"

"shut up," he growled, shoving your legs open with his knee. "you think i’m lettin’ you off that easy? nah. you got one, and now i’m gettin’ mine.”

you gasped as his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, his cock already hard and leaking against your folds. he positioned himself at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against you.

"look at you," he murmured, rubbing his throbbing tip through your slick folds. "all fuckin’ messy for me already."

you gasped, legs twitching from overstimulation. “i— i need a second—”

“the fuck you do,” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. you’re fine.”

and before you could say another word, he thrusted into you, stretching you open in one slow, deep stroke.

"don't care what the fuck you say," he rasps. "bein’ so fuckin’ sweet, it makes me wanna ruin you."

your hands scrambled against his shoulders, nails digging in as you let out a choked sob, overwhelmed, tears pricking at your eyes as he kept moving, his cock dragging against your already-sensitive walls. “k-katsuki—'s too much—”

he didn't stop. didn't even hesitate. he knew better. knew you. if it was really too much, if you truly couldn’t take it, you would’ve said the safe word. and since you hadn’t? that meant you loved this—loved how he was using you, pushing you past your limits, making you take every inch of him.

“yeah? then why’s this pussy still fuckin’ suckin’ me in, huh?” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you know what to say if you really wanted me to stop, sweets.”

you whimpered, blinking up at him, your face hot and damp with tears. your breath hitched when he rolled his hips deeper, making your back arch off the bed.

“you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your cheek, tasting the tears running down your face. his hands pinned your wrists down beside your head, locking you in place beneath him. “fuckin’ cryin’ and takin’ my dick so good anyway. knew you’d let me use this sweet little pussy however the fuck i wanted.”

your body shook with every thrust, overstimulated and overwhelmed, but the pleasure was so sharp and dizzying, that all you could do was moan through the tears. you sobbed, back arching, hands clutching at the sheets. it was too much, but it felt too good. 

 his thumb swiped at your tear-streaked cheek, his other hand pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling the way he stretched you open. 

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice husky as he fucked into you harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch. “be good for me. just take it. let me use you, yeah?”

you could barely think, barely breathe, and yet you nodded. and that was all he needed before his grip on your hips tightened, his cock stretching you wide, and he really started fucking you.

his hips snapped forward, burying himself deeper inside you, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still fluttering. his hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“look at you,” he murmured, taking in the sight of you, tears spilling down your cheeks, the way your lips trembled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. cryin’ for me. takin’ me like a good fuckin’ girl, squeezin’ me so tight, shit—”

your body trembled beneath him, your sobs mixing with broken moans as he fucked into you relentlessly. your arms struggled against his grip, desperate to reach for him, but he only pressed you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. “please—kiss me—”

he should’ve been satisfied with how wrecked you already were, with the way your body clenched around him so tight—but fuck, hearing you beg for his kisses?

that only made him worse.

“tch. still so fuckin’ needy, even when i’m ruining you.” 

his grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to reach up. the second your hands touched him, you yanked him down, crashing your lips against his, desperate for the closeness, for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

katsuki groaned into the kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing your cries as he kissed you hard. his tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you just as much as his cock did. his thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t soften—if anything, he fucked you harder, like he wanted to ruin you completely.

“that what you needed, pretty girl?” he murmured against your lips, his breath heavy, your sobs melting into whimpers. “that why you’re cryin’? ‘cause you needed me to kiss you while i fuck you?”

you nodded frantically, another broken whimper slipping past your lips. “y-yeah—needed you—”

“yeah?” he smirked against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again—sloppier, deeper, making sure you’d never forget exactly who you belonged to.

his rhythm starts to stutter, hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, and you felt the way his body tensed, the way his grip on your hips turned bruising. he forced another helpless cry from you, and he groaned against your lips, drinking in every sound.

"fuck—fuck," katsuki whined, voice raw and desperate as he buried himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing against your own as he lost himself in you. "you feel so goddamn good—s'fuckin’ tight, baby—"

you knew that tone—knew the way his voice cracked when he felt needy, when he was so fucking close to cumming. you loved when he got like this, when all his control slipped away and he was nothing but whiny, desperate need.

"katsuki—" you gasped, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "i'm—i'm close, i'm so close, wanna cum together—"

his grip tightened, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he snapped his hips into you, his pace turning desperate chasing both of your highs. "fuck, yeah? c'mon, baby— wanna feel you cum, wanna fuckin' feel you all over my cock—"

his next thrust sent you over, body locking up as the heat coiled tight in your belly and snapped all at once. your moan shattered into a cry as your whole body trembled, clenching around him so hard its about to break him.

“oh, fuck—” katsuki choked, eyes rolling back as he lost it completely, slamming into you one last time before burying himself into your warm, wet pussy. his whole body shook, breath stuttering as he spilled inside you, groaning out your name like a prayer.

he kept thrusting—shallow, drawn-out rolls of his hips, like he never wanted to stop feeling you, even as he came down from his high. his forehead pressed against yours again, his breath heavy, his body spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths, your bodies still tangled, clinging to each other as you both came down from your highs. katsuki was still holding you, his grip tight but no longer desperate—just grounding. 

then, with a deep exhale, katsuki finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and gathering you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you securely, his large hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. you felt his eyes scan over you with something softer than before—something almost tender.

“you alright, sweets?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but the way your body trembled slightly didn’t escape him. he scoffs, sitting up just enough to lean over and press soft kisses to your damp forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“liar,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. only warmth. “you cried, y’know.”

you let out a breathy laugh, snuggling closer. “you were relentless.”

he clicked his tongue, one of his hands finding the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, the other resting on the small of your back, holding you close.

you melted into his chest, sighing against his skin. “you’re so warm…”

he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “duh. i’m literally made of explosions, dumbass.”

you lightly smacked his chest, making him chuckle. but his teasing quickly faded as he tilted your chin up, crimson eyes searching yours. his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your overstimulated tears.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, quieter now. “you okay?”

your heart squeezed at how gentle he was being. how, despite how rough he could be, how demanding, he never once forgot to take care of you afterward. you leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

“i’m perfect,” you smiled sleepily. “because of you.”

“tch. sappy little shit," katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. his ears definitely got redder.  “you sure, though? i didn’t—y’know… go too hard?”

you hummed, tilting your head to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. “i'm fine, katsuki. i promise." 

he just huffed, shifting to grab a towel from the nightstand. “yeah, well, you better be. was holdin’ back just for you.”

you snorted. “that was you holding back?”

katsuki shot you a look but didn’t argue. instead, he started cleaning you up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. he was quiet as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“…was it really okay?” his voice was quieter now, hesitant in a way he rarely was.

you cupped his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp line of his jaw. “yes. i’d tell you if it wasn’t, katsuki.”

his crimson eyes searched yours for a long moment before he finally exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. “good.”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips, lingering there as if he never wanted to pull away.

“cause next time, i’m makin’ you cry even harder.”

you groaned, shoving his face away as he laughed, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

katsuki didn’t say anything for a moment after—just stared at you, his expression completely unguarded. no sharp smirks, no cocky grins—just raw, unfiltered devotion.

he stared at you like you’d just hung the damn moon. like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.  

you reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, and he caught your wrist midair, holding it for just a second before bringing it to his lips. the kiss he pressed against your palm was barely there, but it sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“you’re lookin’ at me funny,” you murmured, voice drowsy.

katsuki huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look away. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled lazily back at him. “like i just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building or something."

his smirk was faint, more of a ghost of amusement than anything. he pressing lazy kisses along your wrist, trailing them down to the inside of your palm. “you didn’t save a bunch of kids. you’re just—you. and i dunno what the hell i’d do without that."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice, but before you could say anything, katsuki pulled you in even closer, pressing his face against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide.

“go to sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “say any dumb shit about it, and i’ll smother you.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you curled against him, feeling the way his arms locked around you just a little tighter. “mhm. goodnight, katsuki.”

and then you smiled—sleepy, content, completely at ease in his arms.

katsuki stiffened. just for a second. just enough for you to feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened like he was trying to keep himself together.

fuck.

that damn smile. that look on your face. like he was your whole world. like you trusted him. like you loved him.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose, like that would do anything to calm the way his heart was fucking pounding.

"goodnight." 

he was fucked. absolutely, completely, and hopelessly fucked.

because thats when katsuki bakugo realized he was in love with you. and he couldn't do anything about it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags: ˚⋆ @kalulakunundrum @ch3rryjampi3 @lotusstarr @aranikai @emmab3mma @yannvi @gabby-ha @twoplayergaymers @xanneeeyyyy @akiii143 @ceeriusly-dumb @beabamboo @butlereyepatchbunny @qyuin @ocharavitys @dragonscribble @jimabbenamara @g0dawnlita @sourgrapesthings @seraphiicallyy @aawwq @kaybug88

[littlelamy]

sleeping with rafe

Rafe couldn’t sleep without you. Whether it was his bed, your bed, or even the couch, he needed you beside him, wrapped up tight, grounding him in a way only you could. Tonight was no different. The moment you slipped under the covers, he pulled you into his arms, sighing deeply as he buried his face against your chest. After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to be tangled up with you.

Usually, he preferred to be the big spoon, wrapping you up in his embrace like a protective barrier against the world. But tonight, he craved your warmth more than ever. He nestled his way down, resting his head on your chest, sighing contentedly as he felt your soft skin under his cheek, the rhythm of your heartbeat lulling him. His hand drifted beneath your shirt, fingers gliding over your bare skin, sending tingles through you.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses against the delicate skin just above your heart. His lips traveled slowly across your chest, savoring each inch, each gentle curve. When he finally reached your nipple, he paused, eyes fluttering shut as he closed his lips around it, sucking softly, his tongue flicking teasingly against the sensitive skin. (rafe having an oral fixation > )

A shiver ran through you, and your breath hitched as you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling the heat pool low in your stomach. Rafe smiled against you, clearly enjoying your reactions as he took his time, lost in the warmth of you. Each slow pull of his mouth was both possessive and adoring, a perfect blend that made you feel cherished.

“God, you’re so soft… so perfect,” he whispered, pulling back for a moment to watch your face, relishing the flush on your cheeks. He pressed his cheek against your chest again, listening to your heartbeat, tracing gentle patterns across your waist with his fingers.

But as the moments stretched on, you felt that familiar pressure building in your bladder, and you knew you’d have to get up. You tried to shift out of his hold, but Rafe wasn’t having it. Even as you tried to ease your way out from beneath him, his grip tightened, instinctively, possessively and with a sleepy groan.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his arms looping around you like a vice.

“I… I have to get up,” you whispered, trying not to disturb him too much. He just groaned, shaking his head as he snuggled even closer, tightening his hold like he thought you might just disappear if he let go.

“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, pressing a sleepy kiss to your collarbone, his face still buried against your chest. “Stay.”

You chuckled softly, heart warming at how attached he was, even if it meant you were stuck for the time being. But eventually, nature’s call grew too insistent, and you had to put your foot down.

“Rafe, I really have to go,” you said, a bit more firmly this time. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at you, pouting slightly, as if to say how could you leave me like this?

With a defeated sigh, he finally relented, loosening his grip just enough to let you slip out of bed. But as you padded to the bathroom, you felt his presence right behind you, half-awake yet determined to stay close. You glanced over your shoulder to find him trailing you, eyes half-lidded and hair tousled, his expression one of pure sleep-addled stubbornness.

He leaned against the doorframe as you entered the bathroom, his gaze unwavering even as you went about your business. You shot him a look, but he only grinned, sliding down to sit by the door, resting his head against the wall with a lazy smile, as if this was perfectly normal behavior.

When you finally returned to bed, he wasted no time in gathering you back into his arms, settling back into his preferred spot on your chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he sighed in satisfaction.

“You’re not allowed to leave me again,” he muttered, voice muffled against you.

You chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that promise, he relaxed completely, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep, held securely in the warmth of your embrace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[chastiefoul]

nanami's favorite part about his morning is probably how you choose a tie every day for him to wear.

he adores the way your face scrunched up in focus, tackling the simple task with such seriousness. oblivious to the fact that even if you picked the ugliest patterned tie known to mankind he will still flaunt it proudly in front of a crowd.

he loves it even more when you decided to help him did his tie, though he didn't need it the assistance whatsoever. it's not even about the damn tie, nanami would never find himself complaining in finding yet another excuse to stick near you, his hands found your waist like an anchor to the land. such small moments he found himself cherishing.

although when he did this you often huffed, only because he was standing so close! how were you supposed to tie the thing properly? "ken, stay still," you fumed, having to start over once more because the love of your life could not keep his hands off you for a second.

a laugh escaped him.

so lovely, so endearing, he thought as he kissed the pout away from your lips.

and he kept doing that, surprising each part of your face with a kiss as your hands diligently move; you just look so beautiful. sprouts of fondness grow in his chest with each peck, tangling away without any sign of stopping.

with a crooked tie and all, nanami is the happiest man in the world.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[becertainlust]

INTENSE | Katsuki Bakugo

synopsis: There is no shame in curiosity.

content: smut. shameless smut. mirror sex, multiple orgasm, dumbification, hickies, praising, fingering.

You were tangled up in Katsuki’s sheets, his arm draped possessively over your waist, your head tucked beneath his chin. The room was quiet—only the soft hum of the bedside lamp casting a dim, golden glow against the far wall. It was warm here. Safe. That rare kind of peace that came from being skin-to-skin, every slow breath shared like a secret, every lazy touch a quiet promise.

He was tracing slow, aimless patterns on your bare skin under your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your back, when you spoke.

“…Have you ever thought about doing it in front of a mirror?”

His fingers stopped.

Your heart dropped straight to the floor.

“Wait—never mind.” You winced, pulling the blanket up to your face. “That sounded way weirder out loud.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brows raised. “What?”

“I was just—” You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Nothing. Ignore me.”

He huffed. Not annoyed—amused. “Tch. The hell it was.” His fingers curled into your hair, gently tugging to tilt your head back. “You talkin’ about mirror sex?”

You groaned into his chest again, trying to vanish. “Please don’t say it like that.”

He was grinning now. You could hear it in his voice. “Damn, babe. Didn’t know you were into that.”

“I’m not—! I mean. I don’t know if I’m into it.” You peeked up at him, flustered. “I just think about it sometimes. Like… I wonder what it looks like when you touch me. What you see.”

For a moment, he was quiet.

And then, with a soft kiss to your forehead, he eased you onto your back, gazing down at you like you’d just handed him the world.

“I’ll show you,” he murmured. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wanting to see what I see.”

You were sitting between his thighs now, back against his chest, legs spread open and trembling slightly. The mirror across from the bed reflected everything—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the soft roll of your stomach as you breathed hard against his touch. His arm was locked snug around your waist, anchoring you to him, his other hand already sliding under the waistband of your panties.

The first brush of his fingers against your folds made you jolt. His breath hit your ear.

“Fuck,” he groaned, low and reverent. “You’re soaked.”

“Katsuki,” you gasped, hips twitching.

“Look,” he murmured, fingers moving slowly—teasing, testing. “You wanted to know what I see? Look, baby.”

You tried, eyes locking onto the mirror even as yours fluttered half-closed. It was overwhelming. The sight of his fingers curling into you, the way your own mouth parted with each moan. You were flushed all over, chest heaving, body soft and open under his touch.

“You see that?” His voice dropped another octave, thick with desire. “How fuckin’ pretty you look, takin’ my fingers like that?”

Your thighs trembled as he pushed in deeper, his palm pressed flat against your lower belly to hold you steady.

“So sensitive,” he muttered, dragging his thumb across your clit in lazy circles. “Is it the mirror, baby? Or is it just me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not with the way your body was burning—alive under every slow stroke, every word he breathed into your ear.

Then, just when you were balancing on the edge of release, he pulled his fingers away.

You whimpered, hips chasing the heat, but he only chuckled darkly. “Told you. You take what I give you.”

And he gave you a sharp slap between the legs—just enough to sting, to light up every nerve ending. You gasped, back arching against him.

“That’s it,” he growled, dragging his tongue along your neck, nipping just beneath your ear. “You’re mine, yeah? This pretty little body—fuck—it’s mine.”

You barely had time to nod before his fingers were back, sliding inside with an ease that only made it more unbearable. You were too wet, too sensitive—each curl of his fingers felt like it rewired your whole body.

He kept your gaze on the mirror, whispering praises and filth in equal measure, until your body couldn’t take it anymore.

"Katsuki" you whispered, hiding your face in his bicep. Your head light and warm when he sped up the pace the wet sounds drowning out in your moans that you tried to stop, every sound spilling from your lips. You kept calling him like prayer and he'd hum in recognition.

"Why you not looking" He paused his thrust, slipping his fingers, slipping his arm from your face fixing it on the mirror.

He stayed buried in you for a moment, breathing hard against your neck, then slowly pulled out, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder.

“Get up,” he said, voice low but firm. “Off the bed. Now.”

You blinked, still dazed, legs a little shaky. “Katsuki—”

“I said up,” he repeated, smacking your thigh lightly. Not hard, just enough to jolt you back into your body.

You stumbled up, heart pounding, breath uneven. He was already standing behind you, guiding you toward the dresser across the room. The cool air hit your skin, and your body was still humming from how close you'd come.

Once there, he bent you forward over the edge, palms flat against the wood. The surface was cool under your chest, grounding in the most jarring way. You tried to shift your weight, to find balance—but then he stepped closer and pulled your hips back just enough so your feet had to work to stay planted.

And then he did nothing.

No touch. No words. Just stood behind you, letting you feel how empty you were, how exposed.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He raised a brow, voice calm. Too calm. “You weren’t lookin’ earlier. What, you get to come whenever you want now? You don’t listen, you don’t get anything.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to plead—but his hand came down, steady on your lower back.

“Don’t move. You hold that position, yeah? You don’t get my help this time.”

And gods, your legs were already trembling. The angle was brutal—your body aching for relief, for something to hold onto—but you obeyed. You stayed just like that: bent over the dresser, weight barely supported by your legs, thighs clenching.

You felt him behind you—close enough that his heat kissed your skin, but still not touching. He watched. You could hear the breath he took, slow and controlled, like this was a test for him too.

“You wanna come that badly?” he finally asked, voice filled with amusement

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, I—Katsuki, please—”

He smirked, but his voice was like ice water. “Then earn it.”

He stepped in behind you, cock heavy against your thigh, and guided the tip to your entrance—just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You want it?” he asked, voice rough but steady.

“Yes,” you whispered, already trying to push back onto him, but he held your hip still.

“Then earn it.”

He slid in slowly, letting you take him inch by inch until you were full and shaking. But instead of thrusting, instead of holding you like before, he reached up and grabbed your face. His palm cupped your jaw, thumb resting beneath your chin as he forced your gaze up toward the mirror.

“You fuck yourself,” he said, lips brushing your ear. “Not gonna carry you through it. You want to come? Then move.”

With his hand still cradling your face, his other arm slid across your lower stomach, keeping you in place but not helping you move. You had no leverage—just your own will to roll your hips, to pull back and push forward, using him the way he told you to.

You started slow, the stretch making your knees weak. You were already tired, body wrung out from the way he teased you earlier. Your thighs trembled with each movement, but you obeyed—watching your reflection as you tried to ride him while standing, your lips parted, breath shaky.

Bakugo watched too, eyes glued to your face in the mirror. Your eyes roll, and a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, voice thick with amusement. “What happened to all that defiance? Now you’re whining and barely movin’. Lazy little thing.”

You whimpered, hips stuttering. “I—I’m trying—”

“Not hard enough,” he growled, grip on your face tightening just enough to make your head tilt further, exposing your throat to his mouth. He dragged his lips down to your neck, biting lightly. “You were real mouthy earlier. What, all it takes is a little work to break you down?”

Your legs buckled slightly, and you let out a soft sob of frustration, the movement stalling.

“heh,” he clicked his tongue. “Always so dramatic.” Then, leaning in, lips against your ear: “But I’ll help you. Just this once.”

And then he gripped your hips hard, pulling you back onto him as he thrust forward, deep and punishing. You gasped, your body jolting forward, only for him to catch you again by the jaw.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he hissed.

Your gaze flicked up just in time to see the next thrust—your mouth dropping open, a broken moan spilling from your lips as your body jolted. The mirror didn’t lie. There was no hiding from it. Not the flush climbing up your neck, not the tears welling in your lashes, not the way your thighs quivered with every punishing roll of his hips.

Bakugo was watching too—his eyes glued to your reflection, hungry, dark, possessive. His jaw was tight, teeth grit like he was holding back from completely ruining you.

“You see that?” he rasped, voice rough with control. “That’s what you wanted, yeah? Wanted to see how you fall apart for me?”

You whimpered something close to a yes, but it barely made it past your lips. Your body was wrung out, caught between pleasure and exhaustion, overstimulated from earlier. But that didn’t stop him.

He reached down, fingertips brushing over your clit again, and your whole body jerked.

“Katsuki—” you gasped, legs shaking. He circled over it oh so slowly but enough for you eyes to roll to a close. He slapped the side of your hip,a soft groan, low, the sound vibrating against your back as he leaned in. “Gotta hold still, baby. Don’t wanna miss the fuckin’ show.”

And god, you were a mess. He made sure of it. Your face—your eyes—looked hazy in the mirror, mouth open, trying to form words but too lost in the feeling. He hadn't even touched you like this before—not with this level of control, like every move was calculated to make you come undone slow.

“You wanted to see what I see?” he breathed against your ear, thrusts getting rougher now. “I see the prettiest fuckin’ girl losin’ her mind ‘cause she can’t take a little attention.”

“A little—” you sob-laughed through a moan. “You call this a little?”

He chuckled darkly, biting at your neck again. “You’re still on your feet, aren’t you?”

That was a blessing and a threat, because a second later he yanked your hips back harder, angling his thrusts deeper—and that was it. Your knees buckled completely. "shit-ah"

“Uh-uh,” he caught you with one arm around your waist, the other sliding under your chest to lift you back up. “You’re not tappin’ out yet. C’mon, baby. Show me how bad you want it.”

You moaned something desperate, reaching back to grab at him, your fingers digging into his forearm just to ground yourself.

“Please—Katsuki, please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can,” he snapped, voice harsh but not unkind. “You will. You wanna come? Do it looking at me. Do it knowing I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

His words crashed over you like a wave, and with a final roll of his hips, stuttering with a soft groan, his dick twitching within your spasming pussy, you shattered. "fuck" he moaned.

Your body convulsed, thighs shaking, muscles locking as your orgasm hit like a lightning strike. Your vision blurred, your cry muffled by the way you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming his name.

Through it all, he held you—steady, unyielding—as he helped ride it out.

“Good girl,” he growled, hips slowing but never stopping. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You could barely breathe, slumped against him as he finally pulled out, letting you collapse gently onto the dresser. He rubbed your back in slow circles, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice smug, “you ask me somethin’ like that again, say it with your chest. Don’t go hidin’ in my sheets.” he littered kisses over your back.

You groaned, barely coherent. “m' didn’t know it’d turn into—that…”

He grinned, kissing your temple as he scooped you into his arms. “That was me holding back.”

Now, you lay against him, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, your skin still buzzing.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice scratchy with leftover heat.

You nodded, too tired to speak.

He gathered you closer, laying you down gently before grabbing a warm towel and a bottle of water. “Here. Sip it, yeah?”

You obeyed, blinking up at him with glossy eyes. “Thanks.”

He climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket over both of you, cradling you against him. You laid your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Craving You | LN4

✩‧₊˚ summary ━━━━━━━ Pregnant and aching with need, Y/N finds herself craving sex with Lando after weeks without it, though their attempts are humorously awkward due to her baby bump and slipping pillows. 

✩‧₊˚ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

✩‧₊˚ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.5k

✩‧₊˚ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, creampie?, slow sex, pregnancy sex, nipples play?, multiple positions

Based on this request.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably on the bed, her back propped up against a mountain of pillows. Her hands rested on the swell of her belly, the baby within kicking softly as if sensing her restlessness. She glanced over at Lando, who was lying beside her, his head resting on one hand, the other tracing absent patterns on her thigh. His eyes were half-lidded, that familiar teasing glint shining through.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, like honey dripping over velvet. “Thinking about something… or someone?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, someone is definitely on my mind,” she quipped, her tone playful yet laced with a deeper undertone she didn’t bother hiding. She’d been feeling it all evening—that restless, electric energy buzzing under her skin. It had been weeks since they’d been intimate, and though she’d been the one to hesitate at first, now the craving was undeniable.

Lando’s eyebrows shot up, and he shifted closer, his hand sliding up her thigh to rest on her hip. “Care to share your thoughts?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, the teasing replaced by something far more serious.

She bit her lip, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her oversized t-shirt. “Maybe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not sure I can… say it.”

His gaze softened, and he moved even closer, his chest brushing against her arm. “You can tell me anything, you know that,” he said, his voice gentle but insistent. “Anything at all.”

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “I… I want to… be with you,” she finally admitted, her cheeks flushing as she spoke. “But… it’s been so long, and I’m just… I don’t know how we’d…”

Her words trailed off, but Lando didn’t need her to finish. He understood. His hand moved from her hip to her belly, his touch tender as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll take it slow, just like we always do.”

She nodded, her breath catching as he brushed his lips against her temple, then her cheek, before finally capturing her mouth in a kiss that was both sweet and searing. His hand slid under her t-shirt, his fingers skimming over her skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re so beautiful,” Lando whispered, his voice rough with desire. His fingers traced the curve of her belly, his touch reverent. “I don’t know how you do it, but you just keep getting more and more stunning.”

She laughed softly despite herself, her cheeks flushing even darker. “You’re such a charmer,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Always know the right thing to say.”

He grinned, his dimples flashing. “Can’t help it if it’s true,” he said. “Now… let’s see if I can remember how to do this.”

His hand began to move with purpose, fingers trailing a slow, deliberate path downward. His touch was electric, every inch of her skin buzzing as he traced the curve of her waist, down to the soft swell of her belly. He paused there for a moment, his palm resting protectively over the life growing inside her.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe and desire. “Every part of you. Every inch.” His hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her sleep shorts. She bit her lip, her breath hitching as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric, teasingly slow, as if he was savoring every second of this.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and desperation. Her body tensed, her hips lifting slightly off the mattress, as if urging him to take what she was so clearly offering. His hand stilled for a moment, his eyes locking with hers, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none—only need, raw and unfiltered, burning in her gaze.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with an intensity that made her stomach flip. She nodded, her hands gripping the sheets as she whispered, “Yes. I want you. I need you.”

Her words were all the encouragement he needed. His fingers slid lower, brushing against the warmth between her thighs, and she gasped, her back arching as he found her most sensitive spot. His touch was light at first, a gentle exploration that made her toes curl and her breath catch in her throat. But then he pressed deeper, his fingers circling in a way that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her body.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire as he leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His other hand cradled her belly protectively, his touch a grounding contrast to the fire he was igniting between her legs. She moaned into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace.

“The baby…” she murmured against his lips, her voice wavering despite the ache coursing through her.

“We’re fine,” he assured her, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’ve got you. Both of you.” His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her shudder. “Just let me take care of you.”

And she did. With every touch, every kiss, every whispered word, he reminded her why she’d waited for him, why she’d let herself fall so completely. Because when it came to Lando, it wasn’t just about the physical—it was about the way he made her feel, the way he cherished her, even in moments like this when the world felt too big and their bodies felt too small.

“I need you,” she whispered again, her voice breaking as his fingers curled inside her, sending a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath. And he didn’t hesitate. He never did. Because when it came to her, Lando was always ready to give her everything.

“Stop,” she gasped, her voice breaking as his fingers curled inside her again and again, sending a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath. But it wasn’t enough—not anymore. She needed more. She needed him. “Lando, please… I need you. Your fingers… they’re not enough.” Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she pulled him closer, her hips arching off the mattress in a desperate plea. “I need your cock. Please, I need to feel you inside me.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, desire blazing in them as he looked down at her, his chest heaving. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough, strained with restraint. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby.”

She shook her head, her hands moving to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You won’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “I need you, Lando. Please… fuck me. I’ve been waiting… dreaming about this. I need to feel you, all of you.”

His jaw tightened, a low groan escaping him as he leaned down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “God, Y/N… you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against her mouth, his hands moving to grip her hips. 

“I’ll give you everything. Always,” Lando whispered, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent shivers down her spine. He leaned down to press a searing kiss to her lips before pulling back, his eyes locked on hers as he slowly, deliberately reached for the waistband of his boxers. He tugged them down, his gaze never leaving hers, the heat in his eyes enough to make her heart race and her breath catch.

She lay there, watching him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he moved closer, his hands now on her pajama bottoms. “Let’s get these off,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His fingers brushed against her skin as he slid the fabric down her legs, his touch deliberate and teasing, sending waves of anticipation coursing through her. She lifted her hips to help him, her body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

Once she was bare before him, Lando’s hands moved to her hips, his touch both possessive and tender. “Turn on your side for me, love,” he said softly, his voice gentle but laced with urgency. She nodded, her breath hitching as she shifted onto her side, her back now pressed against his chest. His hand rested on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, maddening circles as he adjusted behind her, his hips aligning with hers.

His hard length pressed against her entrance, and she gasped, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through her body. His hand tightened on her thigh as he rocked his hips forward, rubbing himself against her, the friction teasing and torturous all at once. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice roughened with need. His breath was hot against her neck, his lips grazing her skin.

But then—“Ow—wait, wait, babe—cramp!” she gasped, her body tensing as she reached for his hand to stop him.

He froze instantly, pulling back slightly. “Shit, sorry! Is it your leg or…?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

“No, no—it’s the bump,” she explained, grimacing slightly. “It’s just squished.”

They paused for a moment, their heavy breaths filling the room as they both laughed softly, the tension easing for a second. “Okay, okay,” Lando said with a grin, his hands moving to help her shift onto her back.

“Okay, let’s try something different,” she suggested, her breath still uneven as she pushed herself up from the pillows. Her hands slid over Lando’s shoulders, her touch lingering as she shifted her weight, her movements slow and deliberate. She swung one leg over him, her belly pressing gently against his thighs as she positioned herself above him, facing away. Her back was to him now, the curve of her spine and the swell of her bump exposed, the dim light of the room casting soft shadows over her skin.

Lando’s hands immediately found her hips, his fingers gripping her possessively as she lowered herself onto him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire as he felt her warmth hovering just above him. His cock strained against her, hard and aching, and he couldn’t help but rock his hips upward, a silent plea for her to take him in.

She felt him nudge against her, the tip of him brushing against her entrance, and she shuddered, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she sank down, inch by inch, her body stretching to accommodate him. The sensation was overwhelming—warm, tight, and electric, a mix of pleasure and a deep, aching fullness that made her toes curl. She gasped, her hands gripping his thighs for support as she felt him fill her completely, the pressure and heat of him sending sparks of pleasure radiating through her body.

For Lando, it was pure bliss. Her wetness enveloped him, her warmth wrapping around his cock in a way that made his head spin. The tightness of her, the way her body seemed to cling to him, was almost too much to bear. He let out a low, guttural groan, his hands tightening on her hips as he fought the urge to thrust up into her. “You feel fucking incredible,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “So tight, so warm… like you were made for me.”

She moaned softly, her hips rocking slightly as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her. But then, the strain in her thighs became impossible to ignore, and the weight of her belly pressed uncomfortably against her lungs. “Oh god,” she wheezed, her hands trembling as she tried to hold herself up. “Lando, I’m either going to pass out or fall over.”

He chuckled, though his voice was thick with lust. “Let’s not have that happen,” he said, his hands moving to help her shift her weight. Gently, he helped her move off from on top of him, guiding her down until she was lying back on the bed. He grabbed every pillow within reach, stacking them beneath her hips as she lay back. The angle was better this way—less strain, more focus on them. His hands lingered on her thighs, his touch possessive but tender, as he positioned himself between her legs.

She could feel the heat of him against her, the tip of his cock brushing her entrance, and a shiver ran through her. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, thick with desire. She nodded, biting her lip as he pushed into her slowly, inch by torturous inch.

He felt divine. The way her body welcomed him, warm and wet, was almost overwhelming. She gasped, her hands gripping the sheets as he filled her completely, the stretch and fullness sending sparks of pleasure radiating through her core. His name spilled from her lips in a breathy moan, and he groaned in response, his hands tightening on her hips.

But then—of course—the pillows began to shift. She felt herself sliding down awkwardly, the angle changing as gravity betrayed them. “Okay, so gravity is not on our side tonight,” she mumbled, her voice tinged with both amusement and frustration.

Before she could adjust, Lando’s cock slipped out of her, leaving her feeling strangely empty. She let out a soft whine, her body craving the heat of him again. He chuckled, his hands moving to steady her hips. “Let’s try that again,” he said, his voice rough with need.

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He guided himself back to her entrance, the tip nudging against her folds. She gasped as he pushed in again, the sensation of him sliding inside her for the second time even more intense. The initial stretch was sharp, almost too much, but then it melted into a deep, aching pleasure that spread through her entire body. Her walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a low, guttural groan from his throat.

For Lando, it was pure bliss. Her tightness enveloped him, her warmth wrapping around his cock in a way that made his head spin. The wetness of her, the way her body seemed to cling to him, was almost too much to bear. He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping her thighs as he fought the urge to thrust into her with all the pent-up desire he’d been holding back. “You feel fucking incredible,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “So tight, so warm… like you were made for me.”

She moaned softly, her hips shifting slightly to take him deeper. The sensation of him filling her completely, the pressure and heat of him, was overwhelming. It was as if every nerve in her body was on fire, every touch, every movement, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You’re so perfect, Y/N. Every part of you.” His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one drawing another gasp from her lips. She could feel the rhythm building between them, the tension tightening like a coil ready to snap.

But then—again—the pillows slipped, and she felt herself sliding down. Lando cursed under his breath, his hips stalling as he tried to adjust. She let out a frustrated laugh, her body trembling with the effort to hold itself up. “Okay, so maybe this isn’t going to work,” she said, her voice breathless.

Lando chuckled, though his voice was thick with lust and a hint of exasperation. “Let’s not give up yet,” he said, his hands moving to help her shift her weight. But as she tried to prop herself up again, the pillows beneath her slid completely out of place, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a frustrated groan.

They both froze for a moment, staring at each other, before bursting into laughter. His deep, resonant laugh mingled with her breathless giggles, the sound filling the room and easing the tension that had been building between them.

Lando leaned down, his forehead resting against hers as he caught his breath. “It’s not about the sex anyway,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, his thumb brushing her cheek. His tone was sincere, but the teasing glint in his eyes betrayed him.

She rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched into a smile. “Speak for yourself,” she grumbled, already leaning in to kiss his jaw, her lips brushing against the stubble there. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers tracing the firm muscles beneath his skin. “I’m the one who’s been craving you all night,” she murmured against his neck, her voice low and needy. “I’m desperate, Lando. I need you. I need your dick.”

He groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as she shifted closer, her belly pressing against his side. “Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “You’re killing me here.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes filled with want. “Then stop teasing me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Lando. I can’t wait anymore. I need you inside me.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before letting out a shaky breath. “Okay, okay,” he said, his voice gentle but laced with urgency. “Let’s try this again. Slowly. Just… let me take care of you.”

She nodded, her breath hitching as he moved back between her legs, his hands guiding her hips into a more comfortable position. Their laughter had eased the tension, but now, as his cock brushed against her entrance, the urgency returned full force. She whimpered, her hips lifting slightly, silently begging him to take her. “Please,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “I need you so much.”

And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed into her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as the overwhelming sensation of him filled her completely. For a moment, they both just stayed like that, suspended in the intensity of the moment, before he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, drawing gasps and moans from her lips.

But then—again—the pillows slipped, and they both collapsed onto the bed, tangled in each other and laughing breathlessly. Lando shook his head, his chest heaving as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’re a mess,” he murmured, his voice warm with affection.

She grinned, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “Yeah, but we’re our mess,” she whispered, already feeling the warmth of his body seeping into hers. 

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, her hands tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt she was still wearing. “This fucking thing,” she muttered, her voice laced with irritation as she tried to adjust it for the umpteenth time. It was bunched up awkwardly around her belly, the fabric clinging in all the wrong places. She glanced over at Lando, who was watching her with a mixture of amusement and desire in his eyes. “What?” she snapped, though there was no real bite to her tone.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You’re just… adorable when you’re annoyed.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. “Help me get this off,” she said, tugging at the shirt again. “It’s driving me insane.”

Lando didn’t need to be asked twice. He leaned in, his hands sliding up her sides under the fabric, his touch warm and electric against her skin. Slowly, he pulled the shirt up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor beside the bed. And there she was—finally completely naked, her pregnant body bathed in the soft glow of the lamplight.

Lando’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in, his eyes roaming over her with a hunger that made her shiver. Her breasts were fuller now, her nipples peaked and sensitive, and her belly was a beautiful, rounded curve that he couldn’t resist touching. His hand rested gently on her bump, his fingers tracing the smooth skin there before moving lower, teasingly close to where she needed him most.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. Her hands reached for him, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his shoulders as she kissed him hungrily. “Please,” she murmured against his lips. “I need you. I need you so bad.”

He groaned, his cock twitching in response to her desperation. “Let’s try this,” he said, his voice rough with desire. He helped her shift to the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide to accommodate him. He stood between her legs, his hands gripping her hips to steady her as he positioned himself at her entrance.

For her, the sensation of his cock brushing against her was almost too much to bear. She was wet—achingly so—and the thought of him filling her again sent a wave of anticipation crashing through her. When he finally pushed inside her, the sensation was electric. The initial stretch was sharp, almost overwhelming, but then it melted into a deep, aching pleasure that spread through her entire body. God, he felt so good. Her walls clenched around him instinctively, drawing a low, guttural groan from his throat.

For Lando, it was pure bliss. Her tightness enveloped him, her warmth wrapping around his cock in a way that made his head spin. The wetness of her, the way her body seemed to cling to him, was almost too much to bear. He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping her hips as he fought the urge to thrust into her with all the pent-up desire he’d been holding back. “You feel fucking incredible,” he gritted out, his voice strained. 

She moaned softly, her hips shifting slightly to take him deeper. The sensation of him filling her completely, the pressure and heat of him, was overwhelming. It was as if every nerve in her body was on fire, every touch, every movement, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You’re so perfect, Y/N. Every part of you.” His thrusts were slow and deliberate, each one drawing another gasp from her lips. She could feel the rhythm building between them, the tension tightening like a coil ready to snap.

She was desperate for him, her body trembling with the need to feel more of him, to be closer to him. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed, her nails digging into the mattress as she arched her back, offering herself to him completely. “Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t stop. I need you so much.”

He groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent as he felt her desperation. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “I’ll always take care of you.” His hands moved to her breasts, his fingers brushing over her nipples, sending shivers of pleasure through her. She gasped, her head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed her.

“Your tits,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he leaned down to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She moaned, her hands tangling in his hair as he suckled gently, his tongue teasing her sensitive skin. The combination of his cock filling her and his mouth on her breast was almost too much to bear. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building to a crescendo.

“Lando, I’m close,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Please… I’m so close.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with hers as he continued to thrust into her, his movements steady and deliberate. “Come for me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice laced with urgency. “Let go. I want to feel you come around me.”

His words were all it took. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling as pleasure radiated through her. Her walls clenched around him, milking his cock as she moaned his name, her voice breaking with the intensity of it.

For Lando, it was too much. The feeling of her pussy squeezing his cock, pulling him deeper into her, was unbearable. He let out a low, guttural groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he felt his own release building. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gritted out, his voice rough. “I’m going to… I’m going to come.”

She moaned softly, her body still quivering with the lingering waves of her climax as she felt Lando’s thrusts grow erratic, each one driving deeper into her. His hands—which had been gripping her hips with such possessive intensity—now roamed over her body, one sliding up to cup her breast while the other traced the curve of her belly. His fingers moved with a mix of reverence and desperation, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, even now.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groaned, his voice ragged and thick with need. “You feel… so fucking good.” His thumb brushed over her nipple, the touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her already oversensitive body. She gasped, arching into his hand as he leaned down to capture her lips in a messy, heated kiss.

She could feel him trembling above her, his control slipping as his thrusts became shallow and unsteady. “I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice low and gravelly, his breath hot against her skin. His hips stuttered, and then he was spilling inside her, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his warmth. The sensation was overwhelming—intimate, possessive, and so fucking good. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt, his release flooding her completely.

“Fuck, fuck,” he panted, his forehead resting against hers as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm. His hands roamed over her body, one cupping her breast while the other slid down to her hip, his touch grounding and possessive. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough and awed. “Every inch of you… I can’t get enough.”

She felt him softening inside her, but he didn’t pull away, instead staying connected to her, his hands continuing to explore her body with a tenderness that made her heart swell. His fingers traced the swell of her belly, then slid up to graze her nipple again, his touch feather-light and teasing. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple. “I love you so fucking much.”

She sighed, her hands moving to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft but filled with the same intensity that had been between them all night. She pulled him closer, her lips brushing against his in a slow, tender kiss that spoke of everything they’d just shared—and everything they still had yet to discover.

[push-the-heartbrake]

𝘼𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚𝙨 // 𝙎.𝙍

𝘗𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥, 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺.

Third instalment | Series masterlist

Summary: “Look at the poor boy, he’s got the unscratchable itch.” — or the one where you're overwhelmed and Spencer discovers he's an absolute munch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 13.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI♡ Virgin!Spencer is back and hornier than ever. Cums in his pants, again. Oral and fingering (fem! receiving). Slight discussion about reader having mommy issues and her past (read the prior parts and it'll make sense).

A/N: It took me forever but here's the third part to the 'Home For You' Universe! English is not my first language and this is not yet fully proof read! Please tell me what you think and if you have ideas or thoughts about the future of these two lovebirds. ♡

It had been raining when you woke up.

The soft, whispery kind. The kind that worked as a lullaby. The kind that made the whole city feel like it had collectively decided to sleep in.

The only reason you’d even stirred was because Spencer had moved—just enough to pull the blanket up over your bare shoulders sometime around 8 a.m. He hadn’t been fully awake either, just instinctively attuned to your comfort. You’d watched him through slitted eyes as he settled again, his profile soft in the dull morning light. 

Neither of you had said a word.

Instead, you’d nestled closer, one leg tangled between his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. He’d made a little noise—one he always seemed to make when you burrowed in—a little half-asleep sigh out of pure contentment. 

And that’s how most of the day had gone.

The rain hadn’t let up, and neither had you. No alarms. No responsibilities. Just a tangle of sheets, long-winded conversations about nothing, and the kind of kisses that made no sound from how gentle they were. 

By the time afternoon rolled around, you’d only gotten out of bed three times—once to use the bathroom and get dressed, once for a late breakfast, and once more for another bathroom trip. Spencer had gotten up four times, the extra one to grab the Sunday newspaper from his mailbox.

You were draped across him like a sleepy cat, the sheets twisted around your legs, your chin resting on his chest. His fingers traced mindless patterns on your back, barely there, a touch just shy of tickling.

“Molecules move randomly, right?” you murmured suddenly, voice low from not having spoken in a while. 

The glow of a lamp flickered against the spines of his current bedside reads, casting their titles in blurry shadows. One book was yours, obnoxiously pink, wedged between dense academic texts like it belonged there. Like you belonged there. Spencer thought so, anyway. You watched his eyes linger on it for a second before he looked back at you, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. You infiltrated more of his life and home each day that passed. Even if it was as simple as an extra toothbrush on the sink or your Converse placed next to his in the entryway. 

“Yes, they do,” he answered softly. “Is there something on your mind?” 

You shrugged, shifting so that your cheek lay flat against him now, ear to his heartbeat. “Just something stupid a school class discussed when they visited the library.”

He didn’t press you. Just waited for you to say something. Like he always did.

You absentmindedly rubbed your leg against his, your toes brushing against his calf as you talked. “There was a kid—one of those annoying twelve-year-old dweebs with a Justin Bieber haircut and permanent marinara sauce in the corners of his mouth—you know the type?” 

Spencer laughed, nodding in agreement. 

“And he tried to scare one of the girls by saying that since they move randomly, oxygen molecules could spontaneously assimilate in a singular spot in a room, suffocating anyone outside of it.” 

His brow lifted, bemused. “Were you the girl he tried to scare?” 

“No, no,” you defended, grinning,“I just thought you could maybe rationalize it for me.” 

Spencer wanted to reach out and grab you. Bite you, even.

Because he’d never seen anything as beautiful as you, lying there on his chest, curiosity burning in your eyes, waiting for him to ramble on about something that you knew got the gears in his brain turning. 

He’d thought you were pretty since the first time he saw you at the checkout counter at the library. But it had been fleeting, simply registering another beautiful human in passing. 

It was different now. So very different. Because he knew you, and he could read your behavior, your quirks and traits. The way your mind worked. The strange little questions and facts you collected—like air molecules grouping together to suffocate you. 

He knew that you had different laughs for different situations. He cherished them all and cataloged them like rare editions. 

1. The little snorts that would come out of your nose when he said something silly, usually a pun that bordered on criminally bad. 

2. The high-pitched giggles that wriggled out when his fingers skimmed over your sides, late at night when you were half-straddling him in bed and desperately trying not to wake the neighbors, making the giggles even more squeaky-sounding. 

3. The loud, from-the-stomach kind of laughter—the kind you couldn’t hold back even if you tried—just because something was so genuinely funny. Like when he accidentally turned all his white shirts a soft pink thanks to a rogue red sock, or when he tried to surprise you with breakfast in bed but ended up spilling orange juice all over the bedroom floor.

You let out one of the first snorts now as he explained, nose scrunching up adorably. Spencer was fairly certain you didn’t even notice you did it.

“It is possible, though,” he said, tone casual, trying not to sound too eager. “In theory at least. In a system of random motion, any arrangement of particles is technically possible, including extremely unlikely ones.” 

You squinted up at him, suspicious. “So… I could suffocate?”

“You can calculate the number of oxygen molecules and then find out the statistical probability, but I’m assuming you don’t really want to learn that?” Spencer suggested, his hand moving to his hair, shoving curls off his forehead. 

You found his hand as it landed back down on the bed, lifting it to lay next to you on his chest, your fingers intertwining with his own. 

You shook your head, and he felt your hair rustle, telling him that his assumption was right. “No… I just want to sleep at night without having nightmares about suffocating.”  

He gently squeezed your hand, looking down at you reassuringly. “We’re talking about hundreds of septillions of molecules that would have to randomly gather together.” 

Spencer knew you had a tough time sleeping already. Falling asleep wasn’t the issue; instead it was staying asleep. You would fall asleep at a reasonable hour (for someone who mostly worked late or even night shifts), but then after a while, you’d wake up and just lay there. You didn’t need the added stress of silly nightmares, but he sometimes got the feeling they already haunted you. 

“So the chance is, like, microscopically small?” 

“A septillion is a quadrillion billions.” 

You stared at him for a beat, eyes slightly wide as you tried to comprehend the number. You weren’t even sure what a quadrillion was. Occasionally you got the zeros confused even at a billion. The number was huge, at least. And that was comforting. 

Spencer watched as you thought about it, wanting to take a picture of your puzzled expression. “You’re more likely to shuffle a deck of cards and get them in a perfect order millions of times in a row than for all oxygen to group in one spot.”

You huffed out a little laugh before you mumbled, “I can’t even shuffle a deck of cards.” 

“That I can teach you. Much easier than Avogadro’s number.” 

“Avocado who?” 

“Amedeo Avogadro,” he corrected, laughing out loud. “Italian physicist. He’s the namesake for the constant used to calculate the number of particles in one mole.” 

With a slight head shake and a scrunch of your nose, you declared that math and physics weren’t something for you. “I’d rather learn how to shuffle cards and play strip poker with you.” 

You pressed a kiss to his neck before he even had a chance to react, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips.

Spencer was blushing—because of course he was. You always knew when you got to him. When your dirty words made his IQ split in half. You’d said it was one of your favorite things—the stupid and surprised look on his face whenever it happened. Spencer was on board with agreeing, even if the blush made his cheeks hurt. 

Your lips brushed the edge of his jaw, and he let out a small, stunned huff. His hand instinctively rubbed your shoulder, your knitted cardigan slipping down from the motion, exposing the strap of your tank top—and the soft, maddening curve of your cleavage beneath it.

One (equally horrifying and fascinating) thing that Spencer had discovered about himself since being with you was that he was a boob guy. He hated to admit it—that something so primitively sexual appealed to him. But he was just a man at the end of the day. 

Since seeing and touching them for the first time, he’d become obsessed.

Maybe it was the fact that you’d sometimes let him sleep on your chest, and he could unabashedly feel them as he nuzzled closer. Maybe it was the fact that your skin was impossibly soft and that your breast were somehow the softest part, squeezable and malleable, cupped in the palms of his hands. Maybe it was the way they bounced when you were sat in his lap, your hips grinding down onto his clothed cock. 

Maybe that was it.

He was a boob guy. And not afraid to let his eyes linger as your cardigan fell down and your top got exposed as you pressed into the side of him. 

Your tank tops were his undoing. It was simply sadistic—the way that whatever clothing brand had designed most of the tops you wore. Thin and soft to the material, a lace trim along the square neckline, and, worst of all, a little silk bow placed right in the middle. It was an evil trick, Spencer was sure of it, to make him stare down the valley of your tits. 

Which he did. A lot.

He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed his little fixation, but you sure didn’t do anything to stop him from looking, almost on purpose making the tank top slide down a little as you lay on top of him, the cups of your bra now peeking out. 

The ample skin moved as you pushed yourself against him, your breasts bubbling out of their confinement. Perfectly biteable bubbles. Spencer imagined putting his fingertip to the swell, just to watch the skin jiggle.

Oh Lord. This was the kind of greed they warned about in the Bible. 

Despite all of this—despite Spencer staring you down like he wanted to eat you alive—you hadn’t had sex. Not yet. Spencer told himself it was a “yet.” Clung to that word like a little life raft. But he wasn’t sure how true it was.

Because you had a tendency to push him away. 

It wasn’t necessarily on purpose, which Spencer had noticed. You made out a lot, kissed him whenever you got the chance, usually for hours on end. Like horny teenagers, he assumed. It was routine at this point—to watch a movie, or read together, maybe have a lazy conversation in bed after a long day—and then by the end of it, you’d end up in his lap, hands in his hair and tongue down his throat. 

Spencer had gotten braver with how he dared to touch you, not always keeping his hand stiffly glued to his side. He loved to feel your skin between his fingers, whether it was your plush thighs or your soft waist. Boobs too, of course. 

If he was capable of keeping it together, he’d wait for some time alone to sort himself out in the bathroom afterwards. But on more occasions than one (five times and counting), you’d made him bust in his pants. And no matter how many times you said it was the hottest thing ever, Spencer still couldn’t help but feel embarrassed to the point of no return. 

And you… He’d only made you finish once. That first time on your couch on Valentine’s Day—when he’d rubbed your soaking clit with his fingers until you collapsed in his embrace. Only touched, not tasted, not penetrated. 

Spencer couldn’t help but want more. And it wasn’t because of his lack of experience or lack of willingness that it hadn’t happened again. 

You simply just didn’t let him close enough to even try. You didn’t show any signs of wanting him to help you out, and he was too scared to ask. 

Can I go down on you? or Do you want me to finger you? were not questions that Spencer had in his vocabulary. Although he thought about saying them more than what was probably healthy. He didn’t know if it was fear from your side, or guilt, or something darker, and he wasn’t going to push.

You would only smile like you’d accomplished what you wanted when he was a panting and blushing mess with a spreading stain on his trousers, and then you’d continue on with your evening like nothing was different. 

And you smiled in the same way now when you followed his eyesight straight to your cleavage. 

“Any plans for next week?” you asked, almost nonchalantly. 

“We’re consulting in California.” Spencer swallowed, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling. “Cold case that’s been reopened, something from when Rossi started out.” 

You hummed and nuzzled just a little closer, your nose brushing the edge of his shirt. If he hadn’t been wearing one, your lips would’ve been right over his heart. The little sound made his stomach flip, which was ridiculous because you did things like this all the time. Making sounds, that is. The very human thing that was noisemaking. 

“How long?” 

“Flying out tomorrow morning, then we’ll see. Maybe a week?”

A week. Seven days. Possibly more. He really should be used to this by now, but the idea of not seeing you for that long made something inside him wilt.

You exhaled through your nose—soft, but unmistakably disappointed—and your fingers loosened from his hand. They disappeared beneath the blanket instead, toying with the hem of his worn-out t-shirt. It had the Caltech logo on it and was slightly too tight on him. You’d jokingly called it a crop top once, and Spencer thought about tossing it out until you said it was sexy. A personal milestone since it was the first time he’d ever been called that. 

“What about you?” he asked, voice low. “Do you have anything planned while I’m gone?”

Now, your fingers brushed against the bare skin of his stomach. Just a featherlight touch. He tensed—he always tensed—but not out of discomfort. No, it was the opposite. It was the unbearable pleasure of being seen and wanted by you, and the helplessness of not knowing what to do with that feeling.

“Work. Sleep. Work some more,” you said, stretching your legs with a lazy yawn. “Help Edith set up her new TV. Maybe catch up with friends. Oh—and uh… lunch with my mother on Thursday.”

Spencer blinked, tilting his head. “She’s in town?”

“She technically lives here,” you said, pushing yourself up onto one elbow. “Unless she sold the place and moved full-time to Baltimore with her new man without telling me.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a strange ache creeping in at the edges of his laugh. You hadn’t let him meet her yet. You hadn’t let him meet anyone yet.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

He sometimes worried he had yet to meet the real you even. 

You fit in perfectly when he introduced you to the team. Socially adaptable was what Emily had called you, like she could somewhat see through that you were nervous and uncomfortable, but still doing your best to be likable. And they did like you, a lot, it seemed. Soon you’d be off on girls’ nights with them, leaving Spencer behind. He knew it. 

You sat up suddenly, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. Spencer looked at you like you’d gone mad. Until you pointed at the alarm clock on his bedside table and he read the time. 

“3 o’clock,” you simply said. “I have to get to my place and get ready for work.” 

“Why?”

The question left Spencer like an exhale. He could already feel a coldness spread in his body from where your contact was now missing. You’d made him hate the laws of time. Every time he was alone with you, he dreaded the moment you’d be apart. And every time you were apart, he counted the hours until he would next see you. 

You laughed, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “You’re asking why I have to work?”

“No, I mean—” he floundered, “Why this late?” 

“Because the library is open at night?” you teased. “Where else would geeks like you spend their time?” 

“But there have to be other people available for the late shifts as well.” 

“I got hired because I like working nights,” you said, standing and stretching, tugging your cardigan back over your shoulders. “The qualified librarians signed up for nine-to-fives. They’ve got spouses and kids waiting for them.”

“You’ve got me,” he said, almost too quickly.

You paused mid-movement, glancing back over your shoulder at him. “Sometimes,” you said quietly. “Other times, you’re on the opposite side of the country.”

He winced. He didn’t mean to guilt you. That wasn’t fair. But you weren’t wrong.

Spencer stayed in his spot as you started to move around his bedroom, padding across the floor to his dresser where your bag and clothes were. He only shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The pajama pants you were wearing slipped off in one easy movement, exchanged for a pair of dark-wash jeans. You didn’t seem to care that he was watching, which somehow made it worse. That he could spot the see-through material of your underwear as you tugged the denim over your hips—doing that awkward (yet attractive) little jumping motion to get them on—made him wonder all over again about why you didn’t let him close. 

Since this didn’t seem to bother you, that is. 

Were you waiting for him to make a move?

He hated that his mind did that. He hated that he still didn’t know and that he was too scared to ask. 

“And I have picked up earlier shifts when I know you’re going to be in town. I’ve done it so much that Elizabeth complained,” you continued, arguing your case even though you had already won. 

You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, as you headed back to the bed to sit down to put on socks. Little white socks with lace trims. No one would see them, but he knew the mere fact of wearing them made you happy—how the lace peeked out from the top of your shoes. 

“Is Elizabeth the scary one with the owl necklace?” Spencer questioned, turning to you now that you were next to him. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. 

You smiled faintly and turned to pick something up from your bag. A tangle of headphones. An essential for you together with your iPod. You couldn’t go on a walk without them, needing the distraction of music blasting. 

Spencer watched as you struggled to untangle them, wordlessly reaching out to do it for you. Not because he thought you were incapable of doing it yourself, but because you’d asked him for help multiple times before and seemed to like the gesture of him helping you. 

He was more efficient with his fingers, anyway. 

“Hey,” you said, glancing down at him, “why don’t you enjoy being alone for the evening? Watch some foreign movie without having to translate it to me.”

“I was going to suggest Bergman’s Autumn Sonata,” he murmured, handing you the untangled headphones. 

Spencer watched your mouth press into a thin line, eyes flickering just slightly away from him. He didn’t understand why he mentioned the damn movie—like it would miraculously stop you from having work to do? No, it was just stupid.

He knew you loved Bergman. You talked about his work with the same kind of reverence he had for Russian literature. But you hadn’t seen Autumn Sonata. He hadn’t asked why. Not yet. But he made a mental note of it, filing it away in the ever-growing, completely normal, and definitely not obsessive folder of things about you that fascinated him.

Your fingers tightened around the headphone cord, twirling it between them as you quietly said, “I haven’t seen that one. And it’s got subtitles.” 

“I know, that’s why I wanted us to see it together.” 

You shook your head a little. “No, you can watch it and tell me what you think.” 

“You say that like you don’t already know that you’ll love it.” 

“…There’s a reason I haven’t seen that one, Spence.” 

His lips parted, a question already forming—but you kissed him before he could speak. It was soft but lingering, and he felt your fingers curl slightly against the back of his neck. His brain short-circuited because kissing was still something he was getting used to. He was very aware of every single movement, every shift of pressure, every tilt of your head. Was he doing it right? Was he too stiff? Should he be—oh, your tongue—

And then you pulled away, smiling at his dazed expression.

“Will you call me before the flight tomorrow?” you asked, your voice quieter now, stripped of any teasing edge. 

You simply wanted to hear from him. Like that wasn’t a totally insane thing to say. He couldn’t believe you expected him to behave normally in front of you. Or maybe you didn’t expect it, but it would get old quite quickly if he verbally, as well as mentally, freaked out every time you showed him affection—a certain need for him that you actually had and he still couldn’t grasp. 

But still—

“Of course,” he said, embarrassingly quick. 

You smiled, lingering just long enough to memorize the way he felt beneath you, before you straightened up again.

“Be safe. Have fun,” Spencer said, sitting up after you, closing the space you’d created. 

“Fun? At work?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“I have fun at the library all the time,” he teased, so close that you felt his lips against yours.

“Shut up.” You laughed into the kiss he pulled you back into, fingers curling into his hair, warmth spreading through his chest.

Seconds later you were gone. The door clicked softly shut behind you. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment like a pin dropped. 

Spencer stared at the space where you’d been, his hands still half-curled, like he was holding onto the shape of you in the air. His shirt smelled like your skin—soft and floral, and a little like the soap he had in his shower. The sheets were still warm where you’d laid, rumpled and twisted, half falling off the bed.

He let himself collapse back against the mattress with a sigh, one arm thrown over his eyes. Your absence was growing inside of him, starting from his chest and spidering out like a nervous system drawn in light. A slow, luminous burn.

And he was terrified—utterly terrified—that this feeling consumed him far more than it ever would you.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

The case in California was… a weird one, and not the usual type of weird. Because that was a measurable thing for the team. A normal amount of weird, an abnormal amount of weird, and then thirdly—the weird kind they’d never encountered before. 

This was the third kind. Not because of blood, death, and gore. It was stranger than that. Stranger because it was stale.

A forgotten cold case dumped on their laps like an aging puzzle missing half the pieces. Files yellowed with time, reports handwritten in blue ink fading under the fluorescent lights. Evidence stuffed in mismatched cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly in a converted conference room at the local PD—each one covered in decades worth of dust. 

If this was one of those TV series about agents solving crimes and catching killers in the act, this would be the episode where everyone unanimously decided to stop watching because the show wasn’t worth it anymore. 

No progress was being made. At all. 

It was partly because the old detective was territorial and proud—only really letting in the help from Rossi—and partly because the leads went nowhere anyway. 

They were most likely dealing with a copycat. It was one singular murder that had a slight connection to a series of murders committed in the eighties. The connection was: same small town in California that didn’t see many murders and the same M.O. used. Asphyxiation with a barbed wire. 

They hadn’t had any reasonable suspects in the eighties, and the pool of people to look into now was even smaller. Or way too big, depending on how you looked at it. People handling barbed wire in a small farming town was a large amount. 

When Thursday rolled around, they’d spent four days with this going-nowhere thing. Stuck in the conference room with their boxes, pestering old witnesses and relatives by bringing up bad memories, and at the M.E., looking at the new corpse for too long. 

Maybe they would have to give up. 

It was far more usual than what Spencer wanted to admit, but they couldn’t spend forever on one case when they had other ones waiting. 

Rossi had gone with the detective to look at the crime scene once more. Hotch was outside of the conference room, possibly speaking with Strauss by the strained look on his face. Derek and JJ had gone on a coffee run, and Spencer and Emily were left in the conference room. 

He wasn’t sure if Emily was even awake—sat quiet and still in a corner with her file covering her face for over half an hour. 

Spencer had gone from standing to sitting to standing again. 

He flipped open yet another file, scanning the interview transcript, but his eyes weren’t really absorbing it. Not fully. Not when his phone was sitting face-up on the table beside him, untouched since breakfast. The screen annoyingly black and the sound eerily silent. 

You were supposed to have called by now.

Lunch with your mother couldn’t be a simple thing—he knew that much. He’d heard the tone in your voice whenever you mentioned her. A tightness that suggested years of subtle warfare and passive aggressiveness layered under polite smiles. Still, even the most drawn-out emotional lunches didn’t usually last past two o’clock. Unless things had gone wrong, and you were currently trapped in some kind of emotional gladiator battle over a Caesar salad.

Spencer checked his watch. 2:14 p.m.

You were never late without saying something. Not unless something had gone wrong. Which meant something had to have gone wrong. 

The door creaked open, and he looked up automatically. Derek stepped in, carrying coffee and a half-eaten bagel. JJ trailed behind him, flipping through a folder.

Derek clocked Spencer’s expression immediately. “Look at the poor boy,” he muttered to JJ. “He’s got the unscratchable itch.”

Spencer froze mid-step. He’d been pacing, subconsciously. He whirled around. “I’m not in love with her.”

Derek smirked, taking a seat in his chair, leaning back. The exact kind of smirk that let Spencer know he had walked into a trap. “I wasn’t talking about love, pretty boy. But it’s very telling that you think I was.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. His face burned. Heat crawled up his neck and pooled somewhere just under his collarbone.

JJ gave him a soft, knowing look. “Then what’s wrong, Spencer?”

He inhaled sharply. “She’s not answering her phone.”

There. Said out loud, it sounded ridiculous. But now he was committed. He pressed on, pacing again.

“She said she would call me after she had lunch with her mother, and it’s now 2:16 p.m. That’s a reasonable time for lunch to be over, right? I mean, unless they got a twelve-course tasting menu at a Michelin-starred restaurant, in which case I would understand the delay, but they didn’t! Because they go to the same café every time, and it’s not a place that serves twelve-course meals, unless you count uncomfortable conversations as a course, which, in that case, I’d argue that—” 

JJ cut in gently, “Maybe they just lost track of time? Had a lot to talk about?”

“But she doesn’t like her mother. Or maybe she does. It’s complicated—”

Emily, who’d been eavesdropping at the far end of the room, didn’t even glance up from her file as she interrupted, “No girl likes their mother.” 

Spencer stopped mid-ramble. “That’s not true. I mean, statistically—”

Emily held up a finger, ticking off points as she spoke. “They might love their mothers. Unconditionally, even. But like? Like requires compatibility. And most mothers either carry a sadness that their daughters became something they never did, or they carry disappointment that their daughters became less than they expected.”

Spencer was momentarily thrown. He had a degree in psychology. He had read hundreds of case studies on maternal relationships. And yet, somehow, Emily Prentiss casually dropping this into the conversation like it was an immutable law of the universe had his brain short-circuiting.

The conference room went silent. A metaphorical tumbleweed rolled by.

Spencer stared.

JJ blinked. “Jesus, Emily.”

Emily took a sip of her coffee, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s not rocket science. It’s like if the Electra complex was actually useful and not just about male-centered attention. There’s a rivalry between mothers and daughters over everything.”

Spencer opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

“But,” he managed after a moment, “that still doesn’t explain why she won’t answer her phone.”

JJ muttered under her breath, “Who would’ve guessed boy genius’s kryptonite would be love?”

“I already said I’m not—”

“Reid, take a breather,” Hotch’s voice cut in from the doorway, sharp as ever. “The rest of you, back to work. We need someone to go to the crime scene again. ”

Spencer huffed, reluctantly collapsing into his seat. He stared down at his phone, holding it between both hands like it might sprout legs and run off. His knee bounced under the table. He tried to focus—on witness statements, on timeline inconsistencies, anything—but his mind kept looping back to one thing:

You hadn’t called.

Logically, he knew there were perfectly rational explanations for why you hadn’t called. But his gut—which had been trained by years of profiling and reinforced by knowing you—was telling him something wasn’t right.

He hadn’t ever thought of it like that, the simplicity in the words. How like could be stronger than love—because you choose what you like, and you are somewhat predestined to love. At least when it came to family. 

Gathering their things, Spencer and Derek got ready to leave the conference room and join Rossi at the crime scene. 

He heard Derek mutter something under his breath about how they possibly couldn’t gather any more information from looking at the same bloody barn again. Spencer wasn’t unusually cynical, but with this case, it was growing on him like moss. 

At 2:21 p.m. his phone rang. A quick beeping tone, signaling a text message. It wasn’t often he received those. Everyone stopped in their tracks when they heard it. 

Spencer’s eyes hesitantly scanned the screen. 

He was right; it was a text. A short one too. 

That was it? No Sorry, I forgot; no Lunch was a nightmare, please send a SWAT team, just a quick, impersonal abbreviation. Spencer squinted at the letters, blurring together. He still wasn’t entirely confident about texting as a method of communication. He had once typed out ’See you later’in a message, and somehow autocorrect had changed it to ’Seal utters’. He did not trust this medium, nor his ability to decipher abbreviations. 

Across the table, Derek raised an eyebrow. His voice was lower now, as if he suspected Hotch to still be in the hallway listening. “So… did she answer?”

“No, but she sent a text,” Spencer muttered, “Got called in to work, ttyl.”

“Talk to you later,” JJ translated. “See? It wasn’t something worth getting upset over.”

Spencer slumped, staring at the message like it personally offended him. You weren’t supposed to work until 9 tonight. You had a night shift. You couldn’t possibly work from 2 p.m. all through the night. You were… lying. 

“I still feel like something’s wrong,” he said under his breath as he put his phone in his pocket. Biting his lip, forcing him to not think of why you were lying. He had to focus on other things now. Such as… a bloody barn. 

Emily, yet again, didn’t look up from her notes as she spoke, “Well, the faster that big brain of yours helps us solve this case, the faster you’ll find out if you’re right.”

Spencer sighed. She wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean he could stop worrying.

. . . . . . 

The bloody barn didn’t tell them anything new. As evening fell over the little town, it had been decided that they were going home. The old murders would remain cold and the new case would be handled by the local police. It could probably lead to something. It just wasn’t enough to grant them being there for longer. 

Spencer was torn inside if it was the right or wrong thing to do. But there would always be another case, always be another murder. They couldn’t get them all. 

The team boarded the jet in silence. None of them had anything left to say. 

On the plane ride home, Spencer did something he maybe shouldn’t have done. Or maybe this was exactly what you had wanted. He borrowed Emily’s laptop and downloaded Autumn Sonata, watching it all in one sweep, not taking his eyes off the screen for even a second. Emily had looked at him with worry—calling it ’Mommy issues, the movie’. 

And that was what it was. Autumn Sonata unfolded like a violin string pulled taut over the little laptop screen. A mother and daughter dissecting decades of buried wounds in soft lighting and whispered monologues. It was 93 minutes of waiting for a rubber band to snap—either breaking clean or lashing back hard enough to scar.

“The mother’s injuries are to be handed down to the daughter. The mother’s failures are to be paid for by the daughter. The mother’s unhappiness is to be the daughter’s unhappiness—it’s as if the umbilical cord had never been cut.” 

When it ended, Spencer sat very still, the cabin quiet except for the low hum of the engines. He understood why you hadn’t called. 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

It hadn’t stopped raining for almost a week.

From the Sunday morning Spencer left for California to this very moment—early Friday at six in the morning, with your shoes squelching every other step and the sky still weeping as if the clouds had lost the will to hold anything back.

You had lost that will too.

You usually liked rain. Found it calming. Romantic, even. But right now? Your socks were soaked through your Converse, the sleeves of your coat clung cold and damp against your arms, and your jeans had turned several shades darker than when you'd left the apartment last night. Rain was not romantic. Rain was not poetic. Rain was miserable.

You looked like something dragged from a pond. Not a lot of people were awake to see you in this state, which was a saving grace of working the graveyard shift. That, and the fact that most of your mascara had been rubbed off by staying awake at the checkout desk all night, so you didn’t have to worry about looking like a melting member of the band KISS. Everything else was still miserable, though. 

You climbed the stairs, keys jangling, counting each tired breath. All you wanted was to crawl into bed, cocoon yourself in something dry, and sleep until the world stopped being soggy.

It was all you had wanted to do since 2 p.m. yesterday—when you had gotten home from lunch with your mother, lied to Spencer about why you hadn’t called, and then fallen asleep until your night shift. 

You had wanted to call in sick. But you weren’t sick. Just tired. 

So you suffered through it. Helping a few stressed students, organizing the current popular books, and drinking so much tea your taste buds still felt burned. 

But now, you were seconds from falling asleep on your welcome mat, even just seeing it outside your front door. A little bristly thing saying ’come back with a warrant’ in Pinterest-esque cursive writing. You had told yourself it was funny when you bought it. 

However, the moment you unlocked the door and stepped inside, you stopped dead in your tracks, your cocoon of blankets having to wait just a little longer. 

Because there was a light on.

The vintage Tiffany lamp on your hallway table, seeping light through its stained glass. You definitely hadn’t left it on before leaving yesterday. 

With a quick turn of your head, you saw the shape of a man sitting on your couch. Alone there in the darkness. 

“Spencer?” 

He stood up quickly, startled.

“What are you—” 

Your words got stuck in your throat at the sight of him. The man in front of you looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Spencer’s shoulders slumped forward, the crisp lines of his usual attire replaced with something wrinkled and weary—his sweater and tie gone, shirt half-untucked. Disheveled curls clung to his forehead. And his eyes… His eyes flicked from the floor to your face like they couldn’t decide what was safer.

“Edith let me in,” he said hurriedly, like he’d rehearsed it. “I—she had the spare key you gave her, and I just… I needed to see you.”

You placed your soaked bag by the door, the water from your coat already beginning to drop onto the floor. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tonight.”

“I understand if you don’t want me here—” he said quietly, eyes lowered, “Actually, I do not understand, not fully, because you won’t tell me anything.”

You blinked at him, shivering now that you were standing still. “How long have you been here?”

“We landed around midnight. I took a cab straight here.” His voice cracked at the edges. “I thought maybe if I saw you in person, you'd actually talk to me instead of… abbreviating everything.”

A pause.

“T-T-Y-L,” he repeated bitterly, “Is that really how we communicate now?”

You winced. “Spencer…”

He didn’t flinch exactly, but his shoulders rose—defensive, folded in. “You can throw me out headfirst if that’s what you want, but you should know that’s the opposite of what I want.” 

For a moment, just a flicker, he laughed—something small and tired and helpless. But it disappeared fast. His face crumpled into something far too raw for someone trying to act composed. A dull, terrified shine behind his eyes. Like he was seconds from breaking again. Like he'd been bracing for you to become the next person to walk out on him.

You should’ve known he would catch you in your lie. He wasn’t easy to fool. It wasn’t that you had wanted to lie to him. You just hadn’t wanted to talk about…it. About anything, really. You couldn’t face yourself, let alone him. And you knew that Spencer could force it out of you by just looking at you in the right way, the walls of your façade coming crumbling down. 

That was a terrifying thing. 

“I’m just…” you exhaled, bringing the sleeve of your coat up to your cheek to wipe lingering raindrops away. “I’m so tired, Spencer.” 

A similar little helpless laugh escaped your lips. Spencer dared to step closer to you. 

“I can see that,” he said with a slight smile, just inches away. 

But when his hand came forward to touch your arm, you tensed up, unthinking. It wasn’t that you had wanted to shy away. It just…happened. 

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his hand suspended in the space between you, looking at you with a perplexed expression. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even frustrated. He asked it like someone who was hurting—like someone who’d been waiting far too long to understand why they were being kept at arm’s length.

“Because I—” you faltered. The words had come so easily to the front of your mind, but saying them out loud was a different thing. 

“Because I’m terrified, Spencer,” you finally whispered. “I’m terrified of being too much for you and making you uncomfortable. Because if we start, I’m scared of taking it too far. I always do.” 

Spencer’s brows pulled together. 

You’d had this discussion before. You thought you were too much; he didn’t realize that he was enough. An evil spiral of sorts. Maybe he’d thought you’d gotten out of it, hence the confusion. But you hadn’t. Or it had at least returned, in full force, like a hurricane sweeping by and taking everything with it. 

“When are you going to realize that I will tell you if I am uncomfortable?” 

The look in Spencer’s eyes was now the closest thing you’d seen to anger. It frustrated him. The walls you put up around yourself, thinking you were protecting him, hindering him from being close to you—they frustrated him. Because now he knew the reason. 

And quite frankly, the reason was stupid. You both knew it. 

You couldn’t hide from affection in a relationship. Because you were terrified of it leading somewhere further? That defied the entire purpose of your relationship. It was a support system, a center of gravity. It couldn’t develop if you were scared of that exact thing. 

Spencer exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “You always just… assume that I’m uncomfortable. For once, let me make up my own mind. ” 

“You sort of… look uncomfortable.” You twisted, arms coming up to fold over your chest. 

“I think that’s just my face,” he deadpanned. 

You huffed a quiet laugh—half relief, half disbelief.

“But you never make the first move,” you said softly. “You’re never the one to kiss me first. Never the one to—” 

He moved.

Quick, certain, finally—he closed the last of the space between you, and before you could get another word out, you felt your back hit the door. Not hard, just enough to steal your breath. And then his mouth was on yours.

His hands braced beside your head, then slipped down, anchoring you at your waist. It wasn’t rushed or messy. Just certain. Very certain that this was what you both wanted. Needed. 

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer and not caring if you got him wet. You could taste the coffee he must’ve had hours ago. The slight salt of your own skin where the rain had dried between your lips. His breath shook when he finally pulled away just enough to speak.

“Is that better?” Spencer whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what you want,” he explained. 

You should’ve caught on to what he was doing. For him to suddenly become all confident in matters of… love (?) was something you simply dreamt of. Maybe you needed to help him along the way, even though your stupid brain kept telling you that it would make him view you as a burden. As someone too much, too eager, too loud with feelings he hadn’t asked for.

Yet here he was… actually asking for it. 

“What I want…” Your hands slid up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm, ticking impossibly fast. That gave you courage. “…is for you to want me.” 

“I do want you,” he said. “Painfully so.” 

“I need to hear you say it,” you whispered. Then, a small smile. “Or show it. Pushing me against the wall is… a good start.”

“I believe we’ve established precedent,” he said, returning the smile. 

You laughed, light but wrecked, and for a second everything felt okay again. And then you shivered. A cold, involuntary tremble you couldn’t hide. The wetness of your coat and jeans clinging to your skin returned to the forefront of your mind. 

Spencer noticed it too. You couldn’t help the way your teeth chattered. He smoothed a hand gently down your arm, concern flitting through his features. “Why don’t you go get out of these wet clothes and lie on the bed for me?” 

In seconds you saw the fear in his eyes, noticing what he’d actually said out loud. Intended innuendo or not. Spencer stumbled over his next words, hurried and ashamed. “If that’s okay, I mean—” 

You continued to smile. An awfully content smile, like you were just waiting for him to notice that he’d done exactly what you wished for.

With a loud thud, you had shaken your coat off your shoulders, sneaking past him further down the hallway, saying a little sing-song, “Already on my way, Spence.” 

You didn’t look back as you walked toward your bedroom. But you could hear him exhale—something long and full of relief. 

Your bedroom was a sanctuary, always had been. Peeling off your soaked socks with your toes, you moved through the dim space, switching on the bedside lamp and the soft glow of fairy lights tracing the ceiling’s edge.

You sat down on your bed as you got there, struggling with the button of your jeans. It got even worse as you dragged the denim down your legs, the wet material sticking to your skin as your hands tried their best to get a good grip.

It wasn’t the rain slicking your hands anymore. It was a nervous sweat. 

“You got here too quick,” you said as you heard his footsteps near the door. “I’m not done yet.” 

Spencer lingered in the doorway, simply observing you on the bed, jeans pooling around your ankles. 

“Jeans are difficult to get off when they’re wet.” You huffed out a little laughter as you pulled them off completely, tossing them to your hamper, landing on the floor. You should’ve hung them to dry immediately. But Spencer was more important. 

Pantless, you realized your state of undress, reminding yourself that it was what he’d asked for. He wouldn’t be standing in the doorway if he didn’t want to see it. 

You tried to decipher his expression. Soft smile, even softer eyes. 

“Is that my shirt?” he quietly asked, walking into the room. His feet stopped when he was standing plainly in front of you. 

You looked down at what you were wearing. Peeking out from your sweater were the edges of a pink dress shirt. One that he’d accidentally dyed pink in the wash. Spencer had wanted to throw them all out until you said that you liked the color pink. In general, but especially on him. 

You could only nod at his question. There was no denying it. Looking back up, you caught a glimpse of an uncontrollable smile, where he had to fight the corners of his mouth from perking upwards too much, too noticeable. 

“You wore my shirt all day? To work? To lunch with your mom?” Spencer asked. 

You shrugged, lifting your rain-soaked sweater over your head, messing up your wet hair even further in the process. Spencer took it in his hands, throwing it over to where the jeans had landed. 

“It smells like you,” you said, lifting the pink poplin to your nose. “Or it used to. I’m afraid it smells like me now.” 

It was a comfort thing, you realized as you did it. Why you had worn it. Wanting a part of him near you, even subconsciously. 

Spencer’s gaze moved slowly across your body, not greedy. Your thighs flattened out against the mattress, the skin in contrast to the rose-colored shirt. You felt his eyes on you as he took you in. He was good at watching, bad at talking—you concluded. 

“Stand up?” he asked softly.

A little surprised, you obeyed, rising slowly from the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath you. Spencer stepped a little closer and let his hands rest gently on your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of the shirt—his shirt. His warm palms wandered down to your hips, brushing the hem of the fabric and the tops of your thighs in an easy movement. 

He didn’t rush. Not even a little. 

Not even as his fingers started to unbutton the shirt. He could’ve ripped it open in seconds, but he began gently with the lowest button. 

You could feel his breath on your skin as he leaned in, eyes still focused on the buttons up the center of your stomach. His fingers moved with quiet precision, undoing one, then another, then another—his knuckles grazing your skin, warm and steady.

When he reached the last few buttons, right over your breasts, he looked up at you. Waiting for something. Your nod. Something saying yes, yes, yes. 

With the last button undone, you let the shirt fall to the floor.

Stood there on bare feet in nothing but your underwear—your worn-out, simple white bra and a pair of cotton panties where the elastic had started to fray—you couldn’t help but feel the nerves settling in again. Steady and heavy, like a weight on your chest. 

The air was still cold on your damp skin, but his hands were warm when they skimmed your sides. Spencer snuck his arms behind you, fingers ghosting over the clasp of your bra, waiting again, always waiting for the yes without asking it aloud.

And then, with two quick movements…

“Do I ask how you did that so well?” you asked, blinking as the straps slipped off your shoulders.

“I’m efficient with my fingers,” he said absentmindedly, still focused, eyes gentle but studious. 

You blinked once, bit your lip. He didn’t even realize the double meaning—of course he didn’t. In his mind, “efficient with his fingers” meant things like… moving chess pieces or untangling cords.

But the way Spencer’s knuckles dragged along your arms as he slid your bra down made you sure that he wasn’t completely innocent or unaware of his actions. He caught the garment in his hands before tossing it on the floor too, his hands quickly back holding your hips.

You reached up and touched the side of his face. “Come closer.”

Spencer looked at you briefly. You knew the spots where his eyes wanted to linger. Then, he pulled his own shirt over his head, putting it aside. You weren’t entirely used to him shirtless yet, his pale, lean yet strong build hypnotizing to you. His arms wrapped around you, skin to skin, almost pulling your feet off the floor as he embraced you. His chest was warm against yours, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

“You still smell like you, at least,” you whispered.

Spencer smiled against your hair. “That’s good.”

He was gentle as he led you towards the bed, the back of your knees bucking as you hit the mattress. In a brief moment of disconnect, you shuffled to lie on the bed, sighing as your head hit your mountain of pillows. 

With one leg propped onto the bed, Spencer waited a moment before he joined you. He loved seeing your skin. As simple as it was. He could get lost as his eyes trailed the texture of it. Scars, bumps, bruises, and birthmarks. Almost completely naked too. He wasn’t just a boob guy—he was a you guy. That was easier to get on board with than the simple stereotype that boobs were just great. 

Spencer got in beside you, a slight touch of his fingers all the way from your ankle up to your shoulder as he settled on top of the covers. On his side, his body cradling yours. 

His palm rested flatly on your stomach, moving with your heavy breathing up and down. You didn’t say anything but turned your head to meet his, lazily adjusting forward to kiss him. Kissing him was all you needed to feel safe. To feel that it was true. 

With a soft, open-mouthed trail, Spencer left kisses all over your face, down your neck, and chest. His hands started to roam as well, carefully gripping at your skin. 

“Let me take care of you, angel,” he whispered as his mouth landed in the valley between your breasts. He looked up at you with golden warm eyes. 

“Angel? That’s new,” you whispered back. Once his fingers dared to wander so low that he could run them over the fabric of your panties, feeling your arousal that had soaked through, you audibly hitched your breath. “I— I like it.” 

Spencer moved his body to hover over you, lowering down between your legs as you purposefully spread them apart. He was a scrawny mess of limbs most of the time, but somehow felt natural crouching together at the edge of your bed to face your most desperate parts. 

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer said, his hands touching over the soft swell of your stomach, down to your hips, but hesitant when they came back up, nudging the underside of your breasts. His nerves were finally showing. “And I’ll do my best.”  

You intertwined your fingers with him, making sure to have eye contact as you teased, “All bark, no bite, huh?” 

Spencer was flustered. You’d seen through his confident act since it began, but you enjoyed watching him try. He opened his mouth to say something, shutting it just as fast as he overthought. It was like you could see his decision-making happening, the signals connecting in his brain. 

“Do you want me to explore instead? Trial and error?” he finally asked, tilting his head slightly with a boyish grin. He took small breaths that you could feel against your stomach, waiting for an answer. “Because I have a few ideas I’d like to try.” 

You couldn’t wait to pick his brain, wondering exactly where he had gotten his ideas from. He was an anomaly as is. It wouldn’t be from an adult film or magazine. Knowing Spencer, it was something scientifically proven or from literature written centuries ago. 

“You—you can try,” you breathed out, running a hand over your face, feeling the warmth from your own cheeks. He could fluster you too. “Y’know that you don’t have to, like—you can stop immediately if you don’t like it—” 

He cut you off. “Let me try before you decide for me.”

Assertive. That was new. 

With the same warm eyes from before, he sought you out as his fingers found the hem of your underwear. You nodded eagerly, lower lip lodged between your teeth. 

You wanted to help him—rip the fabric off in seconds. But he took his time. Agonizingly slow as he bunched the sides up between his hands and started to pull them down your legs, shifting your hips slightly upwards to ease the process. 

You kicked them onto the floor with the help of your foot as soon as you were able. There was something desperate growing inside of you as Spencer found his place between your legs again. 

He was big with his movements first, heating your skin up—your stomach and thighs—using the warmth from his palms. Softly cupping your boobs, he pushed them together as his thumbs toyed with the nipples. Then he was gentle, with smaller movements. As Spencer’s fingers slid all the way to your pussy, slowly spreading your lips apart with pressure on each side. 

His thumb was first to touch your clit. Barely any pressure, just to watch your reaction to it. He pulled away, to see your wetness cling to his skin, before he gently swiped over it again. 

Spencer looked at you in a way you weren’t sure you’d experienced before—with a certain awe or fascination. Really took in the view of you naked, like he had all the time in the world. It felt intimate in a weird way. But not necessarily uncomfortable. You cursed yourself for being used to guys who fucked you with the lights turned off or under blankets, not someone who would drink in the sight of you aroused. 

On Valentine’s Day, when the first piece of your sexual puzzle together had been laid, you almost hadn’t had the time to feel nervous. You’d been too focused on Spencer and on his pleasure. When he had wanted to get you off with his fingers after your little dry humping session, you’d let him do it in a (desperate) heartbeat. That you hadn’t shaved or that no one had seen you naked in close to three years wasn’t at the forefront of your mind then. 

It was painfully obvious to you now, though. An outgrown little thatch of hair, your leaking entrance clenching around nothing, and your skin… flawed. 

Resting his cheek on your thigh, Spencer tilted his head to look up at you, his finger inches away from tapping your clit again. 

“I don’t tell you enough how pretty you are.” 

He said it simply. Easy. No qualms. 

Your brain shut off for a moment when you saw him lick his lips as he touched your pussy again, your eyes squeezing shut at the tingling pleasure. 

You truly did look pretty through Spencer’s eyes. Angelic even, the accidental pet name he had used suited you perfectly. With your damp hair clinging to you, your skin still slightly cold to the touch, your nipples pebbled like peaks.

“Can I—” 

Spencer couldn’t finish the question, the words stuck in his throat. Slightly mesmerized by the view in front of him, he teased the pad of his index finger around your clit, down towards the entrance, gathering your wetness along his digit. 

“You can finger me—yes, Spencer.” 

With a low groan, you hummed in agreement as he began to push the finger inside of you.

It slipped in easily, even though it was noticeably bigger than what you were used to. Your own fingers would do nothing after this. He was tentative at first, like he took in the feeling of your cunt, warm and tight, around his finger.

“Is this—Am I doing it right?” 

He sounded slightly worried but just as he asked it, he curled his finger upward, touching a spot deep inside of you. 

“Oh, uhmf—” you gasped. “Right-fucking-there. You’re good at this.” 

“I’m a virgin, not a monk.” 

“Could’ve fooled me—”

With the building wetness, Spencer slipped his ring finger inside of you too, catching you off guard. He never took his eyes off of you, though, in case you would change your mind. But you didn’t. You couldn’t when it felt this good. A surprised curse left your already open mouth together with a ringing laughter, “Oh f-fuck you.”  

Just the thought of you made his painfully hard cock leak in his boxers. Your taste, however, would send Spencer over the moon. You reached down to push the curls off his forehead as he finally delved in, leaving a series of kisses and nibbles on your inner thighs before you felt his tongue between your folds, his hands helping your legs up to spread apart even further. 

“You’re sweet,” he mumbled. Just as quickly as he had said it, his mouth was back on you. 

Tentative, again. But observing. Tuned into your body. Your reactions, your sounds. To every little touch he made. He tried out different methods, switching from gentle kissing and sucking of your clit to using all of his tongue to lap you up. 

Your thighs closed around his head when he did it, your cunt tightening around his fingers as he continued to work them in and out of you, sucking even harder and longer on your clit. Spencer could easily piece together that it was your favorite part—the long, repetitive suckling. Together with his fingers touching that special spot deep inside of you. That was what brought the most mind-blowing little moans from your mouth, staggered and breathy. His observing nature made him a natural… and a mess, face glistening from your slick. 

Spencer’s hair felt silky in your grip, tugging slightly as you settled into the pleasure he was giving you. You couldn’t help it as you started to rock your hips against his mouth, his nose pressing at your most sensitive part. Spencer choked out a groan as he realized what you were doing, the vibrations from it going straight into you. 

Disguised behind your own cries, you heard him time and time again. Spencer’s sounds vibrated against your skin, sending jolts of added stimulation. He was moaning into you, clearly lost in the moment, just as much as you were. When you looked down, his hips were rutting hard into the mattress, desperate to rub his aching cock against anything, desperate for relief as he ate you like he was losing control.

“I’m close, Spence,” you gasped, shuddering, the grip his hands had on your hips only getting tighter. “That’s—right there, please, I’m gonna cum.” 

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you closer than you thought was possible, continuing to whisper sweet nothings into your cunt, telling you to let it all go. 

With one last curl inside of you and a couple of lazy kisses to your clit, stars began to form behind your eyelids as Spencer held you down by your hips. Your hands flew from his hair to your face, covering your cheeks as you came. 

Spencer had noticed, even in non-sexual situations, that you were innocently shy about your own pleasure. Shy of taking, shy of enjoying. You probably always had been. But as he slid his fingers slowly out of you as you climaxed all up in his face, you were everything but shy. Your stomach tensing, your breathing stopping—and the sound, god what a sound. Deep from your throat, louder than he’d ever heard you. 

With a curious gaze, he watched your pussy clench around nothing, twitching as you rode the very last second of your orgasm out. Slowly licking, he cleaned the slick from between your folds, around your cunt, before returning his focus to your face. 

“Y’know, the  female orgasm can last for up to 60 seconds, sometimes even longer.” 

With your hands still glued to your cheeks, feeling nothing but burning heat, you malfunctioned a little as he spoke. “Why are you—oh my god, Spence. ” 

He came up to lie beside you as you were still nothing but a panting mess. Of course that would be the first thing he’d say to you. 

“Explains the aftershocks.” 

You guessed it did. You’d be reeling from this feeling for days. 

Spencer’s non-sticky hand gently took one of yours, removing it so you couldn’t hide your face. Intertwined, they rested on your stomach, still heaving irrationally from your breathing. You looked down at yourself, and at Spencer. Lovingly, almost. There were crescent-shaped indents on your thighs from his fingernails, your soft skin having spilled out between his fingers as he had pressed close to you. 

He breathed heavily beside you too, still catching his breath. You had almost expected it to happen, but you still smiled like a fool when you realized it. The dark stain on his soft gray trousers. His bulge not so prominent, but still a sign of what had happened. 

“Don’t mention it,” Spencer said, like through closed lips. 

Catching his sight, you shook your head with a little laughter, “I’ll take it as compliment.” 

And it was. Truly. To not always be the giver, but the receiver. And to have someone enjoy you receiving pleasure so much that it ends up bringing them their own pleasure. Again, you were ruined by men (boys, really) who were so focused on their own cocks reaching the final destination that you were only really there as a vessel for their own orgasms. You didn’t know the last time someone offered to go down on you, and for it not to be the result of you asking, making you feel like a burden for wanting it.  

Turning to your side, you laid your head on Spencer’s chest, letting out a breath that felt like it’d been lodged in your ribs for hours. Your legs tangled with his instinctively, and you sank into the heat of him, body finally relaxing in the aftermath. It took about five seconds for the awareness to hit: you, naked, skin to his still clothed legs, with nothing but the slight stick of sweat and something more lingering between you. 

One of Spencer’s arms curled around you automatically. The other hovered awkwardly in the air, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it—just a few inches above the sheets.

“Sticky fingers?” you asked, amused. 

“Y’know, it’s not as sticky as I first thought it would be. It’s more… wet—” 

As Spencer explained, you grabbed his hand without thinking, looking up into his eyes for any sort of intel but being met with a mostly blank stare as you guided the two fingers he’d used into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them slowly. Lazily, curious if it would short-circuit his brain as easily as you suspected.

You were not disappointed.

“Jesus C-Christ—” Spencer’s whole body tensed beneath you, mouth parting in a sharp gasp.

A slight giggle was your only response. Lifting your head, your cheek had left a faint pink imprint across his chest. Truth be told, the entirety of Spencer was flushed. Face, neck, stomach. He was a study in pale skin turned soft rose. 

“It’s like I can hear you overthinking,” you murmured, your voice rough around the edges, the way it always was when you were soft and…coming down.“And you really don’t have to.”

He hesitated, then shyly whispered, “Was I… Was that any good?” 

The corners of your mouth lifted, lazy and genuine. “It was really good, Spence. Did you enjoy it?” 

You felt him tense beneath your fingertips. He didn’t answer right away, too busy internally dissecting the phrasing—really good? As opposed to just good? Or better than expected? But before his thoughts could spiral, you kept talking. Doing what you always did: catching him before he fell too far into his own head, usually with something crude. 

“You’re better than most men by principle,” you said, casual and completely sincere. “You know where the clit is.”

Spencer groaned, dragging his arm over his face. “You really have no filter, do you?”

You laughed—low, warm, the kind that curled around his mind and stayed there. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice came muffled through the crook of his elbow. “No. I love you for it.”

You stilled—just for a second. You didn’t say anything, but he felt the shift. The way your breath caught. The way your eyes lifted to look at him again, just to make sure you’d heard him right.

“You love me… for it?” 

It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about what this was, what it meant. Part of you had worried once that maybe Spencer only loved you because he could. Because you were the first person to touch him like this, see him like this. That he was falling in love with the intimacy itself—not with you.

But that fear didn’t live here. Not in the quiet way he touched you. Not in the way he listened. Not in the way he waited—for you, for your pace, for your yes.

You knew, somewhere deeper than your mind, that this wasn’t a performance. Not a conquest. Not the story of the virgin who loved the first person who said “stay.” The stupid virgin who fell in love with the person they had given up everything to. (It wasn’t everything. Far from it, actually).

As you had grown to know him, you realized how foolish you’d been to ever think that. He’d never wanted this to be one-sided. He was doing it all for you. The two of you. The us. Because if it wasn’t mutual, it wouldn’t be worth it to him at all.

“Mhm,” Spencer answered seconds later, muffled but still easily understood. Then, after a breath, “Should we take a shower?” 

Smoothly swerving the subject. 

Your head tilted slightly. “Like…together?” 

He nodded like it was obvious. “Yes, is that so weird?” 

You grinned. “I’ve never seen you naked.”

Spencer blinked. “I—yes, that’s true. Technically. That feels… unbalanced.”

“Let’s even the playing field then.”

You pulled the sheet with you as you sat up, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. Spencer groaned under his breath—somewhere between overwhelmed and entirely thrilled, watching as your naked body slipped out of the room. 

And in the quiet trail of your footsteps heading toward the bathroom, he found himself smiling so hard it almost hurt.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

The water had already begun to fog the mirror by the time you stepped in, first wiping off the last of your makeup and letting Spencer quietly undress. 

He stood beneath the showerhead, letting the stream beat down on his back and shoulders. His hair, flattened against his forehead, dripped steadily along his jaw. He’d slicked it back once, instinctively, and now little rivulets trailed down the line of his spine. The tips had already begun to curl again, wet and weightless, plastered to the nape of his neck. 

Spencer wasn’t cold—he didn’t think he could be, not with the heat of the water and the anticipation of you coming in behind him. 

Not nervous. Not exactly.

Just… aware. Aware of what this meant. Of how rare it felt to be so bare in front of someone and not feel the instinct to cover up.

He didn’t turn around when he heard the glass door open. Not right away. He just felt it—the slight change in the air, the extra warmth, the soft whisper of your breath as you stepped in behind him, saying a little hi.

Then your forehead pressed gently against his back.

That broke him a little.

Because it wasn’t a sexy thing, or even a performative one. It was grounding. A small gesture of trust. Your skin was slick against his, arms resting loosely at your sides, the crown of your head nestled between his shoulder blades like you belonged there.

Maybe you did. 

He turned around slowly, and you looked at him like you’d been looking all along.

Maybe you had. 

Your body was graceful in the low light, water gleaming as it slipped across your collarbones and traced down the dip of your stomach. Steam clung to your lashes, droplets staying on your cheeks. Spencer couldn’t decide what part of you to look at first. Your eyes always won.

He reached for the soap absently, trying not to fumble it. Jasmine.

The scent brought something up in him—unexpected and nostalgic. A low green bush outside his childhood home in Nevada. White, almost yellowing little flowers. His mother’s garden, where she’d hum Debussy and dig her hands into the dirt, fingers stained and nails wrecked but proud all the same. He remembered helping her water the jasmine in the summer, his small hands never quite strong enough to carry the big watering cans. 

Now, years later, that same scent lingered in your hair. On your skin. Tied to you. Beneath his hands as he lathered the soap over your shoulders and along your upper back. He worked slowly, deliberately. Partly because he didn’t know what to do, partly because he wanted to feel all of you against his hands. 

“That feels good,” you said, voice quiet with his hands running over your shoulder blades. 

“Efficient fingers,” he said without a hint of irony.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his chest, water cascading down between you. “You still don’t realize how that sounds.”

He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “How what sounds?”

You didn’t explain. You just kissed the spot over his heart.

The water pelted the top of your head gently as silence filled the gaps between words. It wasn’t awkward. Not at all. Domestic, even. He thought maybe this was what safety felt like. This quiet comfort. 

Spencer washed your back with care like you were something delicate and revered, and when he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle, you leaned into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Eventually, though, the quiet gave way.

His voice was soft against your temple. “Do you want to talk about why you shut me out yesterday?” 

A pause. Seconds long. 

“No,” you admitted. “Not really.” 

“That’s okay.” He tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing a droplet from your cheek. “I just… I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. For not answering me. Or for being short.”

You met his gaze. “How you made me feel isn’t the issue.”

“Okay,” he said, carefully. “Then what is?”

Your eyes flicked toward the fogged glass of the shower door. You watched a droplet race another down the pane. “The younger version of myself still stuck inside. Constantly screaming that I don’t deserve this.”

Spencer’s face softened, his breath catching in his chest. “Deserve what?” 

“Being with you,” you shrugged. You tried to make it feel simple. “Being loved by you. Being in love with you.” 

He wasn’t worried that you hadn’t said it back in the bedroom, because he deep down knew—past his own insecurities—that you loved him back. But he hadn’t thought about your insecurities in the same way, how they formed like thick brick walls in front of you and hindered your capability of showing affection. 

Spencer’s throat tightened. “Did your mother bring out these thoughts? That you’re not deserving of love?” 

You didn’t answer, not with words. But your silence thudded between you.

“She’s a…” you started, then bit the words off in frustration.

“You’re allowed to say it.” 

“A bitch, Spencer,” you whispered, uncharacteristic of you to care about cursing. “She’s like comically bad.” 

He didn’t laugh, even though he knew you meant to ease the weight. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. The water streamed around you, washing the ache away in some way. 

“You are deserving of love,” he murmured. “It would be terrible if you weren’t. Because I love loving you. And I honestly don’t know what I’d do with all of this love if you didn’t let me in to show it to you.”

Your fingertips curled at his chest, right where his heart lived. Then, you reached up to kiss him. Softly, sweetly. Your inhale was shaky as you pulled away, but your voice was clear. 

“I love being in love with you too.” 

After a few more minutes under the spray, you turned the water off, steam wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket. The silence that followed was almost startling—thick and filled with your shared breathing, the kind of quiet that felt sacred.

Spencer moved first, reaching for one of the larger towels hanging on the hook. You didn’t even bother drying off fully before wrapping it around your chest like a makeshift dress.

He grabbed another towel and rubbed it through his hair—quick, automatic motions. But his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You wiped at the foggy mirror with the flat of your hand, revealing just enough to see the two of you reflected back— naked, wet, soft around the edges with fluffy towels in the low light of your bathroom.

Spencer stood there for a moment, drying himself with his towel, just looking at you. Damp hair, glowing cheeks, a surprisingly big smile. 

“I know we’re having a sweet and sappy moment right now,” you began, trying to keep your tone even, “but I have to say—” 

He squinted, seeing mischief in your eyes. “Oh no.”

“You were lying when you said it was five inches soft, Spencer.” 

“Oh my—” He made an absolutely strangled sound—halfway between a laugh and a groan—burying his face in the towel while simultaneously trying to shield what was more than five inches, apparently. Maybe he’d been humble. “Don’t ever change.” 

You grinned into the mirror, entirely smug and still somehow the softest thing in the world.

In a moment of courage, and maybe as a slight comeback, he reached for your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and tugged you gently toward the bedroom.

The bedroom was dim, the morning sun barely sneaking in through the slats of the blinds, casting golden lines across the unmade bed. The covers were still tangled where you'd left them, half-slipped onto the floor.

You paused near the edge of the bed, still towel-wrapped, while Spencer rummaged through his travel bag. He emerged with a button-down and a pair of boxers in hand, the shirt rumpled from being folded too long. It was another pink one. You could tell without smelling it that it hadn’t been washed since he wore it last. California, probably.

“Here,” he said, holding it up. “Arms out.”

You blinked. “You’re dressing me now?”

He gave a small shrug, lips twitching. “If you want me to.”

You rolled your eyes, but they softened as you raised your arms. The towel dropped silently to the floor, pooling at your feet like a sigh. Spencer didn’t react—didn’t flinch or look away.

Spencer stepped in close, his own towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. The shirt slid down over your arms slowly, the fabric catching slightly on damp skin. The hem fell mid-thigh. He only buttoned two buttons, in the middle of your stomach, leaving the rest undone and revealing most of what was underneath anyway. 

But it smelled like him, and that was the sole purpose. You pressed your nose to the collar without even thinking.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, towel abandoned, bare thighs brushing the soft sheets. Spencer stood in front of you, pulling his boxers on beneath his towel before he too abandoned his in the pile of laundry gathered on the floor. 

He didn’t say anything as he moved to your closet, opening a drawer you always kept a little messily organized. Underwear. You wondered if he panicked over the selection—if you would’ve judged him for grabbing a hot pink lace thong or the floral granny panties. 

He settled on a safe pair in black cotton, just cheeky enough. Spencer handed them to you, and you giggled as you slipped them on. It seemed you still had to dress some parts of yourself. 

Spencer then knelt slightly, just enough to be level with you, and placed one warm hand on your bare knee. “Now,” he said softly, “do we eat breakfast, or do we go back to bed?”

You looked toward the window, then back at him with a raised brow. “Spence, it’s 8 a.m.”

He just shrugged. “There are no rules. If you’re hungry, we eat. If you’re tired, we sleep.”

You considered it for half a breath, then leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Both,” you said into his shoulder. “I wanna do both.”

“Then we’ll do both, angel.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡ Title and lyrics are from Ankles by Lucy Dacus.

౨ৎ [ masterlist ]

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗠𝗘 lando norris x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary , Lando usually pays for food, take out or groceries. today you decide to pay yourself since it was easier and Lando did not like that (0.4k)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

You were curled into Lando’s side like you belonged there, limbs tangled, the TV playing some show neither of you were really watching. It was all warmth and lazy affection—his fingers drawing patterns on your arm, your cheek pressed to his chest, his heart beating slow and steady beneath your ear.

"I'm gonna change the order," you murmured, scrolling through the food app.

"Again?" he chuckled, head tilting to peek over your phone. “Didn’t you already pick, like, five different things?”

“I had a vision,” you said dramatically, tapping at the screen like it held secrets only you could decode. “I want dumplings instead of sushi. It’s a craving emergency.”

Lando grinned, nudging his nose into your hair. “Whatever you want, love.”

A few minutes passed, the air syrupy with comfort, until you hit place order and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Alright,” he said, untangling himself from your hold. “Let me grab my wallet—”

“No need.” You were already settling back into his side. “It’s done. It’ll be here in twenty.”

Lando blinked. “Wait—what?”

You turned your face up toward him, blinking back just as innocently. “It’s already on its way. I used my card.”

“…Excuse me?”

He looked personally offended, hand still frozen mid-reach. The drama in his expression was Oscar-worthy.

“I had Apple Pay ready, and it was faster,” you explained with a little shrug.

He stared at you, betrayal written in every line of his face. “You paid?”

“I did.”

“With your money?”

“…That’s how paying works, yeah.”

Lando gasped, flopping back onto the couch like you'd broken his heart. “Why would you do that? I always pay for food.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic,” you laughed, shifting to face him fully. His bottom lip was sticking out, puppy-like and tragic.

“I always pay,” he repeated, grabbing his phone. “I’ll transfer it right now.”

“Lando,” you scolded, stealing his phone from his hand and dropping it onto the coffee table.

“I’m paying you back.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I can’t let you spend your money on me!”

“Too late,” you Hhum, pressing a kiss to the corner of his pouty mouth. “I did.”

He tried not to smile, tried to hold onto the sadness like a martyr. “You’re evil.”

You kissed him again. “You love it.”

“I do,” he mumbled, kissing you this time, once, then again, softer. “But I’m still gonna feel bad about it.”

“Guess I’ll have to kiss the guilt away.”

“Might take a lot of kisses,” he said, nuzzling into you like a big sulky bear.

“Then lucky for you, I’m rich in affection.”

“You’re rich because I’m not letting you pay again.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re too good to me.”

You just kissed him again, warm and giggly as he tried to snatch back his phone like a man on a mission. But even with all the fuss, he never pulled away from you. Not even a little.

[nebularsung]

⭑ you're jeno's favourite gift ﹙+18﹚

all that could be heard from that bedroom was soft, breathless whines, muffled moans, the sharp rhythm of skin meeting skin, and the sound of jeno’s voice—low, sweet, and full of reverent praise.

it was jeno’s birthday, and—true to the quiet, homebody heart he had—he wanted nothing more than to stay where he felt most at peace: at home, wrapped in your arms, spoiled by your attention, and fed by your hands. you had made his favorite dishes, laughed with him over wine, curled up in his lap while the candles burned low… but as night fell, his desire shifted.

he wanted his favorite gift of all.

you.

and how could you possibly deny him?

“fuck, baby…” he groaned, voice dropping deeper as he watched the way your body gave in to him. his fingers pressed tighter into the curve of your hips, guiding you back to meet his every thrust, relentless and hungry. “so fuckin’ good to me… always ready for me… mine.”

your face was buried in the pillows, your ass arched high in the air—just how he liked it. the angle let him hit that perfect spot over and over again, and your moans were so high and sweet they came out broken and muffled into the sheets. he’d be smug about it if he weren’t so utterly ruined by the way your body gripped him like a vice, so warm and wet and perfect just for him.

you were going for the fourth round already, but jeno didn’t seem any near to finish what he had started.

he leaned over you, his chest flush against your back for a moment as he kissed your shoulder, then your spine. “can’t believe i get to have you like this…” he whispered, almost to himself. “you make me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

you let out a choked sob of pleasure, and jeno only chuckled softly, hand sliding along your waist, gripping you tighter. “that feel good, baby? you’re doing so well… taking me so good, just like i knew you would. such a good girl for me, even on my birthday…”

you nodded desperately into the pillow, fingers clutching at the sheets as he kept rocking into you with deep, measured strokes now—less frantic, more intense, like he wanted to feel every second of it, draw it out. worship you.

“wanna hear you,” he muttered. “just a little. let me hear my pretty girl.”

you turned your head, gasping, your voice breathy and wrecked. “jeno—feels so good—i love you, love you so much—”

“yeah?” he breathed, hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your voice. “love you too, angel. gonna make you cum so hard. gonna have you creaming all over my cock, just the way i like it.”

and you did.

with a loud, trembling moan of his name, your body tensed beneath him, walls clenching, thighs shaking as the orgasm tore through you. jeno cursed under his breath, hips losing rhythm as he chased his own release, groaning into your back when he finally buried himself deep and filled you up, both of you panting and trembling, tangled in each other’s warmth.

he stayed inside you for a moment longer, letting your bodies breathe in sync, your skin slick and flushed, your heartbeats loud in your ears. then, with a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, he slowly pulled out—watching his seed leaking from you from the previous orgasms—grabbing a warm towel from the nearby dresser to clean you up with the same tender care he always showed.

you whimpered softly, still sensitive, and he murmured a quiet, “sorry, baby,” as he wiped your thighs gently. his hands lingered longer than necessary, though—you could feel how much he loved touching you, even in the smallest ways.

you weren’t sure how long you laid there in jeno’s arms, your limbs tangled, hearts still fluttering from everything you’d just shared. his warmth surrounded you, grounding and intoxicating all at once. you could’ve fallen asleep like that—completely satisfied, safe.

but then you felt it.

a subtle shift in his breathing. the way his hand, which had been resting innocently on your waist, slowly trailed downward, fingers stroking lazy patterns across your hip. his lips were brushing against your shoulder again, softer this time, more tender—like he was savoring every inch of your skin.

you stirred gently, turning in his arms to face him. the look in his eyes made your breath hitch.

“still hungry, birthday boy?” you teased, voice barely above a whisper.

he chuckled, low and warm, but there was heat behind his smile now. “i can’t help it,” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you make it impossible to get enough of you…”

before you could respond, his lips were on yours again—slow and unhurried, like he wanted to memorize your taste. he kissed you with reverence, taking his time, tongues barely brushing, the heat building all over again with every slow pull of your lips.

his hand found your thigh, slipping beneath the covers, tracing up until his fingers were skimming the sensitive skin between your legs. you were still warm, still wet, and his breath caught at the feel of you.

“so ready for me,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “even after all that…”

you nodded, heart thudding. “only for you, jen.”

that’s all he needed to hear.

he guided you onto your back, kissing down your collarbone, then your chest—worshipping every part of you with gentle bites and licks, his name whispered from your lips like a prayer. his hand stayed between your thighs, slowly working you open again, fingers curling just enough to make you gasp.

“you’re perfect,” he breathed against your breast, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “i could do this forever. just touch you, taste you… make you feel good.”

you whimpered softly, arching into his touch, hips rolling instinctively into his hand. “please… want you again.”

he looked up at you from between your breasts, hair slightly messy, lips kiss-swollen. “then take me, baby,” he said, voice thick with affection. “i’m all yours.”

and he meant it.

he slid into you with a deep, slow stroke—your legs wrapped around his waist instantly, pulling him as close as he could possibly get. this wasn’t like the last round. this time, he moved slow, savoring the way your body clenched around him. every roll of his hips was steady, deep, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered praise between kisses.

“so beautiful… god, you feel so good around me…”

“you’re doing so good for me… fuck, i love being inside you…”

“you were made for me, weren’t you?”

each thrust drew soft moans from your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing down his back. the tension built gradually—less explosive, more consuming. it spread like fire under your skin, until you were trembling beneath him, whispering his name like a promise.

jeno’s hands gripped yours, fingers laced tight as he stared down at you, flushed and breathless. “cum for me again,” he murmured. “just one more, baby. wanna feel you around me one more time.”

you couldn’t even respond. you were already there.

your body locked up beneath him, waves of pleasure crashing through your core as you cried out his name, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming emotion of it all. jeno kissed them away, hips stuttering, then slowing as he came with a deep, ragged moan, burying himself inside you completely, like he needed to mark every inch of you as his.

he didn’t pull away immediately.

instead, he stayed nestled against you, his body heavy and warm, his breath evening out against your neck. your fingers traced along his spine, feeling his heart still racing.

“that,” he mumbled, voice hoarse but full of affection, “was the best birthday gift i’ve ever gotten.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “i’m happy i’m the one who can give you the best gift ever.” he let out a soft laugh, nuzzling his face onto your neck. “happy birthday, baby. i love you.”

he pulled away, looking up at you, soft and glowing, like you’d hung the stars for him.

“i love you too,” he whispered. “so much.”

｜ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𖹭 have i ever said how much i love jen and how much i fucking wanna sit on his nose??? like, respectfully, but how is this man built like that?? his body proportions are insane and his face fuckk his face man..........

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire

[aetherraeys]

visual learner

poly!marauder x inexperienced!reader ⊹ 5.1k

for this request!

cw ⟢ suggestive, first kisses, nervous!reader, tension, teasing, slightly domestic, newly established relationship, lots of kissing!

being a late-bloomer was never really an issue for you, until you're faced with figuring out how to go about kissing not just one boy, but three.

a/n: yes this is 5000 words of kissing and what? not proofread

If you were to think back, it honestly never bothered you much, you’d come to terms with it quite well—you were a late bloomer.

Sure, it meant that you didn’t have the exact same experiences as most of your peers when growing up, making those late nights in the dorms when the voices of all your friends danced around the room, feet kicking giddily as they shared which boy they’d gone to Hogsmead with that weekend. Or when they detailed the innocent lingering touches and fleeting eye contact they’d made with their crush—in person demonstrations and all. Of course, those nights were fun, playful girls nights, but it more listening than reenacting for you.

Even as you progressed further, graduating and starting univerisity, it didn’t bug you like your friends had assumed it would—’it’ being your lack of experience.

And it wasn’t that you were undesirable, far from it, opportunity isn’t an issue—you just weren’t in a rush. It also didn’t make you any more eager to speed things along after hearing countless disappointing and awkward recounts of your friends experiences.

Quite frankly, it just wasn’t the be-all and end-all of your youth, you had plenty of other things to worry about, plenty of other things that kept your mind comfortably occupied. And you were still young, there was still time for you to play catch-up, if and when you decided you wanted to.

The thing is, you were under the impression had a say in it in the first place—when in reality, the universe had other plans for you.

And those plans?

As it turned out, took form in the shape of three boys.

You’d thought they were a bit strange at orientation, their dynamic an interesting sight to say the least. But it wasn’t very long before you were sucked into their orbit, well and truly in the thick of it—completely out of your depth.

Because you’d yet to have a boyfriend, let alone three, but alas—you found yourself unable to deny them.

Falling into place with them relatively seemlessly, although the boys had been dating long before you came into the picture and have known each other longer, that wasn’t why you kept finding yourself picking at the skin around your nails, knawing at the flesh on the inside of your mouth, frequently lost in deep thought.

Granted, most of this was fairly new.

Welcomed, wanted, loved—you should be perfectly content right now, but there was small looming inkling of something in the back of your mind every time you saw them.

They were so comfortable together, in complete and almost constant harmony with each other—and it was a sight to behold, perfect and cozy as they lounged around Sirius’ thankfully large flat.

Both him and James lying on one end of the settee, tangled together in an obsure pile of limbs. Sirius had his hands underneath James’ shirt—baring the bottom of his stomach and pretty brown happy trail out in the open, fingers tracing soft and small patterns onto his skin. James’ hand carding and threading through his curls while mindlessly scrolling on his phone, occassional content hums leaving his mouth. Remus—he was sat on the floor resting his back against the sofa, pressed against James’ leg, head leaning on his knee, book in hand.

The epitome of domesticity.

All so very intune with each other, and then there was you.

Sat at the other end of the couch, just over an arms length away from them, scrunched into the corner covered in a blanket—trying to reach the word count for a project and failing miserably to focus on the screen in front of you.

It’s simple, you could go, scoot over and join them in their comfortable bliss, but it seemed just that bit too hard—where would you start?

Until now you never considered being inexperienced a bad thing, but you couldn’t help but wonder how if just a bit of knowhow would’ve make you less shy to join.

Navigating the mass of bodies should really be at the bottom of your to-do list, so taking a deep breath, you force your attention to the painstakingly boring work on your lap, once again starting to type. You’d built up a good rhythm, the words flowing easier as the time went by, and even though your legs had gone numb a while ago, it seemed like a good idea to ride the wave of concentration while you still had it.

So much so that you didn’t notice the shuffling sounds of movement going on a meer meter away. James had made his way up and off the couch, padding into the kitchen, switching on the radio upon entry—a telltale sign he’d about to start cooking.

The space James had left on couch was still hot from his residual heat when, on cue, Sirius reach his hand over to Remus’ shoulder, pouting dramatically, patting the still-warm space on the couch. “You’re not coming up?”

Remus, his neck tilted back slightly to look at Sirius, exhaled through his nose. He hesitated for half a second before shifting to stand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

As he moved past you, his fingertips brushed against your leg—so lightly, so fleetingly that you barely registered the touch, too engrossed in your project to notice. If you had noticed, you might’ve seen the way he glanced at you, how his gaze lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

By the time he plopped down onto the couch, Sirius wasted no time crawling onto him, sprawling across his lap like a cat seeking warmth. Remus just huffed out a light chuckle as Sirius melted against him, pressing his face into his shoulder and humming contentedly. Instinctively, Remus’ hand came up to his hair, fingers tangling in soft curls, stroking without thought.

But even as he did, his eyes flickered back to you—quick, searching glances that went unnoticed. He can imagine it to be overwhelming, entering an already established relationship—still so many things unspoken, still so much to learn. And Remus ever the watcher, had noticed how your little habits—your tendencies to take up as little space as possible, shrinking slightly under the pressure of intimacy.

It’s not that you’re afraid of it—affection, intimacy—it was that you were just genuinely clueless, there’s not exactly a manual on how to do all; something that they already do so well, so intuitively between themselves.

It made you nervous is all, unable to imagine how awkward it would be if you’d done the wrong thing, put yourself in the wrong place—the room for mistakes seemed endless.

Still, Remus wasn’t going to push, or pry. Not until he was sure, sure that the way your fingers twitch by your side was with the desire to join, sure that your not so discrete hesitant glances were of a longing nature.

All his thoughts were about you, that was until Sirius distracted him in the best way he knew how.

Soft, light kisses pressed against his collarbone, trailing up to his neck, his jaw. His lips warm delicately working his way up until he was scattering pecks across Remus’ face—his nose, the tops of his freckled cheekbones, his temple—Remus was still slightly spying on you despite Sirius’ playful assault.

And, of course just moments before this your concentration had finally faltered, the smell of whatever James was cooking breaking your focus ever so slightly.

His eyes flicked toward where you sat—shoulders hunched ever so slightly forward, brows furrowed in that way they always did when you were deep in concentration. He wondered if you even realized the way you bit at your lip, the way your fingers twitched ever so slightly like they wanted to fidget, to reach out.

Sirius barely registered the amused hum from him before the next kiss landed, this time firmer against the corner of his mouth. Then another—this one lingering, coaxing, before Sirius finally pressed their lips together properly, letting it stretch just long enough for Remus to forget what he was doing.

You blinked, taking in the scene, your eyes widening slightly before flitting away, your fingers pausing over your keyboard. Lips pursing together slightly before your teeth peaked out and took hold of the corner of your mouth.

Sirius felt the way the corners of Remus’ lips spread into a smirk before he pulled away from him, just long enough to whispered to him, breath tickling the shell of his ear, “Watch her,”

Pulling them both onto their side, stealing small looks in your direction as he kissed Remus again—this time deeper, more obnoxious, more deliberate—sighs and hums of contentment bouncing between them.

Naturally, your eyes drifted to the source of the noise, body stilling as though unsure whether to look away or keep watching.

They found it quite cute, the way you eyes darted around the room frantically, trying hard to not stare despite being helplessly drawn to look at the cause of sounds. Teeth mercilessly taking refuge in your cheek, forcing your lips in to a pout that bordered bashful.

Curious thing, you were.

Satisfied with the effect, he exhaled a quiet laugh against Sirius’ lips and decided to stop tormenting you—for now. With a final squeeze to Sirius’ waist, Remus stood, making his way over towering tall over you and, without hesitation, shut your laptop with a soft click.

Whipping your head to find him, brows arched up, a light smirk twitching at his lips as he looked down at you—gaze so intense you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at whatever was causing the sofa to dip beside you.

Only breaking when you felt his hot breath skim along the edge of your earlobe—spine immediately becoming taut, skin prickling down the back of your neck. Sirius was so close and you didn’t need to look at him to know he had a mischievous smirk playing on his lips—“I think you’ve worked hard enough, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth radiating from them both, of the weight of their gazes—teasing, expectant, knowing. You weren’t completely unfamilar with their touch, James loved to press obnoxious wet kisses on your cheeks. Remus was also very well versed in the language of forehead kisses and hand holding—Sirius had even gone as far to occassionally sneak dangerous little pecks onto the thin skin behind your ear when you cuddled.

Alert, and flickering panicked looks between them, the tips of your ears felt hot as you stammered out the words, “uh—everything okay?”

Your hands were in your lap clasped together tightly—thumb unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails when Sirius came impossibly closer to you, a small huffed chuckle leaving as he neared. Fingertips brushing a few stray hairs behind your ears, voice low and smooth— “Mmmm, everything’s fine—Moony’s just got a question,”

He could feel the slight shudder that ran through your body, gaze shifting to Remus, hands stuffed into his pockets, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned down over you—very clearly entertained by your reactions. His eyes darted around your face, scanning, observing your wide-eyed expression, how you sunk into the soft cushion, trying to put space between you.

The corner of his lips quirked up into a crooked smile, tilting his head as he asked;

“Would you like one?”

The warmth of Sirius’ fingertips trailing light ghostly touches down the side of your neck was so distracting, making your mouth painfully dry, air catching in your throat as your opened and closed your lips repeatedly. Wracking your brain for a response, words, anything—but it felt annoyingly blank, sucking in a shaky breath, your words came out pinched and meek—breathy on the exhale.

Sirius snickered under his breath, barely containing his delight at your reaction, and Remus exhaled a soft chuckle of his own.

“One what?”

Even if you tried to push yourself any further into the couch, practically willing yourself to become one with the fabric—anything to escape this awful flipping feeling at the pits of your stomach—you couldn’t. And it only got worse when Remus leaned in further, precariously close, the tip of his nose just barely grazing the skin of your cheekbones, Sirius could see the way your shoulders inched up and up, closer to your ears as your virtually shrunk into yourself.

Remus’ voice was rough and teasing, making the heat that resided in the tips of your ear spread invasively under the skin of your cheeks. “I saw you—it’s okay to be curious, my love, ” He took his hands from his pockets and brought one to the arm of the sofa, the other resting on the ball of Sirius’ knee, that was flush against yours. He leaned back as he continued, capturing your gaze, “You don’t have to be so shy about it.”

His words were low, steady, laced with that quiet knowing that made your stomach tighten. He was close—too close, and Sirius wasn’t any better, his fingertips still ghosting along your jaw, trailing up toward your ear, his shoulders brushing against yours.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe properly, heat blooming in your chest—radiating outwards, the close proximity, it all just had your head feeling rattled. “I—” You started, but the words immediately died in your throat, and Sirius huffed dramatically, shifting even nearer.

“C’mon, love, we won’t bite.” His breath was warm against your skin. “Unless you want us to.”

Your inhale was sharp, and Sirius grinned, practically preening at your reaction.

But Remus—Remus remained still, observing, reading for any flicker of hesitation, every small tell you didn’t even realize you were giving away. He tilted his head slightly, watching the way your hands curled into your lap, the way your breath hitched when Sirius’ fingers traced your pulse.

And then, his voice dropped even lower, softer—”So would you like one?” The back of his fingers came lightly over the curve of your jaw, lips brushing the bottom of your earlobes when he finally whispered,

“A kiss.”

Your stomach flipped violently, breath hitching and as a light shudder passed over your body—Remus must have noticed, because he smiled—soft and knowing, tilting his head slightly, giving you space, waiting. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding—just offering.

And somehow, that was even more overwhelming.

Lips parted slightly, words failing you completely, barely forcing out the start of a sentence, “B—” When his voice rang just behind you, dripping with amusement; “Have I walked into an ambush?” You hadn’t even noticed James entering the room.

But that was exactly how you felt, ambushed—trapped like a lamb in the midst of a group of lions, chest skipping out of its rhythmic rise and fall when James’ hand slid gently over your shoulder, your lips were still parted, holding the remains of your unfinished sentence. Sirius spoke, turning his head to look at James, smirk taking on a wolfish quality—”Just seeing if our girl would like a kiss,” As the last word left his lips, he was facing you again, head tilting to fit into the dip of your neck, lips almost gliding over the skin.

No where to run, the combined weight of their gaze made you awfully aware of your racing heartbeat, sounding loud between your ears, riccocheting off the empty space in your brain—only able to blink-up at Remus, mouth agape.

Sirius made an amused little noise in the back of his throat. “She’s thinking too hard again,” he murmured, his fingertips moving from their place on your collarbone, to travel down the curve of your skin—fighting every urge in your body to not arch away from his touch. His palm stopped and rest in the small of your back, hot and anchoring.

“Darling, it’s a yes or no question.” The words were still soft, still pressure-less, leaving you all the room in the world to stop this.

Your fingers twitched slightly, curling into the fabric of your sweater, throat suddenly unbearably dry—still completely entrapped under Remus’ watchful eye.

“I’ve never—” You swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

It was more breath than words, was barely a whisper, almost inaudible, but they all heard it.

Sirius exhaled sharply through his nose, amused, James’ palm soothed comfortingly over you shoulder, while Remus’ smile softened further, something impossibly tender flashing across his face.

“That’s alright,” he murmured, voice quiet, patient. His hand lifted slightly, fingers hovering near your cheek but barely touching, waiting for any sign, any indication from you. “I could show you.”

Sirius hummed lightly beside you, clearly pleased with where this was going. “Mmm, yeah, Moons is an excellent teacher.”

Your gaze flickered between them, caught between the heat of Sirius’ mischief and the warmth of Remus’ patience, the quiet promise in his eyes.

Your heart was pounding.

Opening your mouth, but nothing came out, your throat tight—only able to nod shyly. Sirius took pity on you, grinning as he shifted back and patted his lap invitingly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he purred. “Front row seat for the lesson.”

You blinked at him, completely dumbfounded,

“What?”

Remus, ever patient, gave Sirius a look, but there was amusement there, too. “We’ll give you a demonstration.”

Sirius patted his thigh again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, love, don’t be shy.”

You hesitated for a long moment, but Sirius just raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly, his fingers tapping against his leg. James had already made his way around the sofa, and looked just entirely too pleased at the idea.

Eventually, you sighed, heat creeping along the back of your neck as you shuffled over, hesitantly perching yourself on Sirius’ lap. His arms immediately wound around your waist, back flush against his chest, keeping you snug against him as he leaned in, breath tickling your ear.

Remus huffed out a quiet laugh, already reaching for James' collar, tugging him forward until their lips met in an easy, practiced rhythm. Practically melting into each others touch.

It was undemanding, natural. And unconsciously, your eyes darted away from the scene, flickering down onto your hands that still endlessly fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. But, against your luck, Sirius caught you.

“No no no, keep looking,” His voice was gentle, no traces of reprimand, he could feel stiff you were—breath shallow, shoulders tense. Pulling you in further against him, hand moving from your waist to settle on the round of your thighs—thumb stroking in a soothing pattern. Along with the way his voice rumbled of his voice in chest against your back and the velvety hum of his words, “Relax, love,” purged some of the nervous tension that had settled in your bones away.

It wasn’t just that they were kissing—it was how. The effortless way James’ hands slid into Remus’ hair, the way Remus exhaled softly into it, melting just a bit. The way their noses brushed, the way Remus tilted his head slightly to deepen it, slow and unhurried, languid in a way that sent something strange and warm curling in your stomach.

It was so fluid, second-nature.

James made a quiet noise in the back of his throat when Remus bit at his bottom lip, and Sirius hummed behind you.

“See that?” he murmured against your ear. “Slow, but firm. It’s not a race, love. It’s about feeling it, letting it happen.”

Your breath was shallow, completely entranced, and James—who had definitely caught the way your fingers curled against Sirius’ hands your thighs—broke the kiss just long enough to grin at you.

“You taking notes, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sirius chuckled, chin propped on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Prongs, I think she’s getting the idea.”

Your entire body was on fire.

And he could feel it, the heat radiating off your body against his, trying not fidget in his lap, and he didn’t help your case. Opting to torture you more with his low teasing cadance and lips dangerously close to your pulse, whispering; “Think you’re ready to try?”

You swallowed thickly, pulse hammering in your throat. Ready to try? That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because in theory, you knew what kissing was supposed to be. You’d seen it a thousand times—in movies, in books, in passing glances stolen between strangers. But knowing wasn’t feeling, and feeling was something else entirely.

Especially when three sets of eyes were locked onto you, waiting.

You wet your lips unconsciously, and Sirius made a pleased little sound behind you, his hands settling more firmly, squeezing lightly against your thighs. “That’s a good start,” he murmured. “Mmm, maybe she’s a natural, Moons.”

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head slightly to catch Remus’ expression. He was still watching you, his gaze steady, unreadable. You searched for impatience there, for amusement, for any sign of frustration—but there was none. Only quiet, open curiosity, waiting for you to make the call.

Inhaling deeply though your nose, a light wave of hesitance flickering through you.

“I…” You trailed off, glancing over at James, who had since leaned back against the couch, all easy confidence, his head tilting slightly to the side. “With…who?”

The second the words left your mouth, Sirius laughed, delighted.

“Oh, love,” he purred, adjusting his wide legged position even wider, causing your hips to fall further into his middle—sinking into his touch. “That’s the best part.”

James smirked at that, hazel eyes flashing. “Mmm, guess it’s only fair we let you pick,” he mused. “We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Liar.

You didn’t believe that for a second, not when Sirius was grinning like the cat that got the cream, and certainly not when Remus had the nerve to sit beside James, looking at you like he was already in your head, reading your thoughts before you could even think them.

Your heart was racing so fast you were surprised they couldn’t hear it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to—you did. But what if you messed it up? What if you got the angle wrong, or forgot to breathe, or—

“Darling.” Remus’ voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, quiet but firm. You snapped your gaze to him automatically, fingers twitching, picking at the jean fabric of by Sirius’ hands. “There’s nothing to get wrong.”

You barely had time to react before he leaned in—slow, deliberate—just close enough that the warmth of him made your breath stutter.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

You hesitated, but after a beat, you did.

The next thing you felt was the feather-light brush of his lips against your cheek—not quite a kiss, not really, just the barest ghost of contact. Lips parting, letting a shallow hitching breath pass.

“There,” he murmured. “Easy, isn’t it?”

His lips brushed another kiss over the curve of your jaw, still unbearably gentle, giving you time, giving you space. You inhale shakily, body still burning against Sirius, Remus just hummed, trailing the kisses just slightly lower. There was barely any time for you to respond before he finally—finally—pressed his lips against yours

It was so much softer than you’d expected, warm and welcoming. Not demanding, not urgent—just there, patient, waiting for you to catch up.

Your stomach flipped, and Sirius hummed his approval against your ear, his hands rubbing absent, slow circles into your sides. James, let out a quiet exhale, watching intently from beside Remus—hands twitching almost in efforts to stay put.

Trying your best to stay out of your head, focus on the kiss but not too hard, pace yourself, enjoy the moment—your hands curling into themselves at your sides. But when Remus hummed, a small pleased sound into the kiss, the tension building in you slipped away. Further and further into the back of your mind.

He kissed you like it was the easiest thing in the world, like he wanted to be kissing you, and your brain was getting more mushy as the contact continued. Your hands twitched again, and this time, you actually moved, leaning slightly into the kiss—one of them hesitantly lifting to rest against the front of his shirt.

Sirius, sensing the change immediately, grinned, chin still propped on your shoulder.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

James hummed in agreement, eyes dark with interest. “Looks like she’s a fast learner.”

Remus, still entirely too composed, simply smiled into the kiss, his hands finally moving to cradle your jaw, holding you there as he deepened it just slightly.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, cheeks flushed—lips wet and reddened.

James, evidently unable to contain himself, turned your chin slightly toward him, eyes practically shining with mischief.

“My turn.”

His lips were on yours, and if Remus was patient and careful, James was the opposite.

Kissing you like he was playing—feverish and teasing, like he knew exactly how new it was for you, how you were still unsure, and he was more than content in exploring.

Initially he let you take the lead, barely pressing into you, lips moving slowly, teasingly, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your jaw as if coaxing you forward. But as he leaned further into you, hands planting themselves firmly on your thighs—parting his lips against yours.

You were vaguely aware of the sound of Sirius humming in approval somewhere behind you, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as James’ tongue flicked playfully against your bottom lip. Your breath caught in your throat, and he grinned against your mouth, clearly pleased with your reaction.

James littered more kisses onto your skin, starting at the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, bringing the exposed skin of your collarbone gently between his lips—nipping and sucking softly. Earning him a breathy whimper, exhaling “Jamie,” as you craned your neck into him more, hands jumping to find purchase on his arms.

Remus’ hand inched up James’ spine, almost as a reminder that said, don’t be greedy. Withdrawing, he allowed the other a better look at your expression—half lidded, satified hums leaving your still kiss-flushed lips, unbareably pretty.

Sirius let out a low, appreciative whistle behind you, a low “Damn,” passing into the air, breath skimming over the back of your neck.

“Ready for round two?”

You hadn’t had time to come back down into the room fully before Sirius’ hands came down to your hips—the words barely proccessing in your mind as you spun on his lap. Positioning you so your legs split across his thighs. His hands settled on your waist, warm and steady, fingers splayed just under the hem of your shirt, grounding you.

Sirius was still watching you, that signature smirk playing at his lips, but there was something softer in his expression now—something reassuring, like he was making sure you weren’t too overwhelmed.

But how could you not be?

You could still feel the lingering warmth of Remus’ kiss on your lips, still taste James’ breath against yours. And now planted on Sirius’ lap, he was moving closer, eyes flicking over your face, searching for hesitation.

You didn’t even realize you’d clenched your hands into nervous fists until Sirius made a small noise of amusement and pried one open, lacing his fingers through yours. “Breath, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. “You’re in good hands.”

Unlike Remus’ patience or James’ teasing, Sirius kissed you like he was yearning.

its like a torch had been lit, your body was set even further ablaze when Sirius pressed his lips firmly against yours, immediately tightening his hold on your waist. Pads of his fingers grasping almost desperately onto the flesh trying to pull you closer than you already were—shifting his hips upwards into you. Your voice trembled in your throat, failing to make it to your lips as muffled moan threatened to leave you. Hands coming up to his neck, fingers threading and tugging at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking hell, you two,” sounded from beside you, but it felt so far away, dulled by the thumping echo of your pulse in your ears and the soft hums and mewls leaving the both of you.

He kissed like he meant it, like he wanted you to feel all of it, tongue just barely teasing against the seam of your lips, making you gasp out a whine. He took full advantage of the sound, his hands squeezing at your curve of your hips before he pulled back just enough to grin against your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat down your spine, it had you arching into him against you will, rocking involuntarily into him, and Sirius let out a delighted little laugh. Head falling into the crook of his neck, slightly embarrassed by the reactions he so easily compelled from you.

“Ohh, Pads,” James drawled, chin resting on his shoulder, breath warm against his ear. “You’re gonna break her.”

Sirius hummed, utterly unbothered. “Dunno, Jamie—” his lips ghosted against your neck again, just barely touching, a tease, “—she seems to be holding up just fine.”

You weren’t.

Your thoughts were scrambled, body thrumming, your hands clutching onto Sirius as if he were the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And when you brought your head out of its hiding spot, Remus’ could barely contain the laugh that bubbled in his chest, musing with a tilting his head. “Mmm, think she likes it.” Your parted lips, chest heaving trying to catch your breath—pupils blown and hazy expression Remus was more than convinced you liked it.

Sirius, still curled up comfortably beneath you, pressed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice was teasing, syrupy sweet, lips dragging up to your jaw, inching up to the corners of your mouth—almost kisses—then trailing back away. And you could only melt into them, breathless and dizzy and completely, utterly lost in it all.

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

this is my first time writing poly! so pls be kind x

part 2 - hands-on lesson!

[orphicmusings]

viktor taking lab assistant!reader as his plus one to a fancy academy gathering so he can have some comfort and solace amidst the clinking glasses and overlapping conversations. his face immediately flushes when you meet him there, wearing your nicest dress and hair done up in a way he wasn’t sure was possible. you aren’t faring so well either, with the top two buttons of his white shirt open, leaving a taunting glimpse of his collarbone (another place one of his moles reside, you learn.) just the picture of him, leisurely leaning on his cane with one hand adorned with a silver ring in the shape of a gear, a wine glass in the other. amber eyes catch yours in the act. fuck, you’re staring. with your cheeks flushed, you quickly look away as the orchestra reaches the climax of the song. between the volume, the wine, and the tension between you, your head is starting to hurt. you turn away from him and rub your temple with one hand, the other blindly reaching behind for your pins. “let me.” you hear his honey-coated accent above the music and god, you want to melt in it. his skilled hands try to make quick work of undoing your hair in the dim lighting of the corner of the room but to no avail. “come with me.” he holds his hand out, leading you to a more crowded part of the room, but one where the chandelier reaches the glint in his eye. “and sit.” he all but commands as he moves behind you again, gently taking the intricate braids and patterns out of your hair, and all you can think of is his fingers tangled in it. if you had this room to yourself, would he use it as leverage to lift your lips to his? your breath hitches very obviously in your throat, and you cover it with a cough. would he grip it greedily to touch and take as much of you as he can? you squirmed in your seat, readjusting your position. or would he tsk and tug on it gently, and tell you how bad of a girl you are for even thinking about this in front of him, in public, no less? you inhale shakily, fidgeting with your hands. he finishes his work, eyeing your flushed face and heaving chest. and then the bastard chuckles. “what?” you bite out of pent-up frustration. he shakes his head with an easy smile. “nothing. you are just adorable when you are trying to restrain yourself.”

[kryptonitejelly]

draco malfoy x reader (female)

the one where Blaise notices the Malfoy signet ring on your finger.

send draco requests.

-

The air smells like a combination of Draco and yourself, but mostly Draco - notes of citrus overlaid with the scent of tea and smoky wood. His sheets are cool against the surface of your skin, a sensation which lends a sharp contrast to the warmth of his bare chest against your cheek. You can feel one of his hands tracing patterns onto the skin of your back, as he other hand fiddles absently with your fingers which you have splayed out across his chest, a lazy post-coital haze surrounding you both.

“Who knew the Draco Malfoy would be one for cuddling,” you say teasingly your fingers tugging lightly on the long slender digits which are still tangled with yours. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here, your naked form flush against Draco’s in the same bed in which he had you legs hooked over his shoulder, his name a litany on your lips just mere moments ago.

“I’m not,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as he manages to squeeze your fingers in his, a subtle battle for dominance among you both.

“Alright then,” you say both suddenly and with a calculated carelessness as you push your hands, fingers still tangled in his against his chest as you make a move to sit up. The covers slip easily down your skin with no clothes to act as friction. It exposes you, your nipples hardening upon contact with the cool air. You’e barely managed to get up when you feel the arm wrapped around you shift, fingers pressing more firmly into your hip to pull you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Draco questions. He keeps his tone indifferent but the arm which has tightened around your body tells a different story.

“I’m sure Theo likes to cuddle,” you express matter of factly, keeping your expression innocent and it earns you an icy gaze from the blonde, cool grey boring in you. Draco observes you for almost a full minute before speaking.

“I’m sure he does not,” is what he finally says as a retort, his tone more disgruntled this time.

You open your mouth to disagree only to feel your back pressed flat into the mattress, Draco’s body now covering yours, his movements swift. You see the glint in his eyes as he lowers his head towards yours.

“Draco,” you breathe his name out. He doesn’t respond but presses his lips to yours. His hands find yours, fingers tangling together, pinning your hands above your head. You kiss him back, teeth nipping his lip lightly which earns your a low growl from the back of his throat. You can feel Draco hardening, his length pressed against your stomach. Your almost miss it with the competing sensations overtaking your body - lips, hands, skin, but your brain manages to register the feeling of Draco slipping cool metal from the signet ring on his last finger onto your index.

-

“Well, well, well - look who decided to join us,” Blaise calls out too cheerily, taking in the sight of you and Draco walking into the small sitting room in what had come to be Draco’s side of the Malfoy manor.

“It is surprising that I’m joining you in the sitting room of the Malfoy manor,” comes Draco’s reply which earns a good natured chortle from Theo and an eye roll from Pansy.

“Well, you can’t blame us for thinking that you two would be,” Blaise pauses for dramatic effect, “…otherwise occupied.” His unsaid words clear.

As with the rest, you and Draco had been childhood friends. However, years of tension that neither of you had acted upon had only cumulated more recently, and with Pansy’s blessing, into this, whatever it was. You both hadn’t yet spoken about it, the touching, sleepovers, sex, and there had been no outward proclamations to the world at large that either of you was anything other than single, and yet - it was no secret among anyone who knew either of you that you were both very unavailable.

“You mean book club?” You managed to keep a straight face as you question Blaise too innocently. It earns you a smirk from Draco and an amused chuckle from Pansy, your joke clear as you stop by the table facing the floor to ceiling windows which they are sitting by.

You reach across the table for a handful of blueberries from a bowl beside Theo’s elbow when you feel Blaise grab your wrist lightly, his fingers curling around, as he holds your wrist up in triumph, brandishing it around. You place your free hand flat down on the surface of the table, stabilising yourself as you lean forward into Blaise’s pull.

“I didn’t know book club members were all given the Malfoy signet ring,” he grins wildly at the discovery. The group’s gaze flickers to Draco’s hand, noticing the lack of the ring, usually a mainstay, on his the last finger of his left hand.

“If I join book club could I get one too?” Theo quips cheekily as you feel your cheeks start to heat both at your current plight as well as with recollection of what had been a subtle act of possessive on Draco’s part earlier.

“Zabini,” Draco says, tone still even as he reaches over, his hand curling around your forearm, tugging you out of Blaise’s grip, while ignoring Theo, “if she’s wearing the Malfoy signet ring don’t you think you should think twice before manhandling her?”

“Is she yours Draco,” Pansy adds to the chaos, an equally wide smirk on her face as Blaise lets your wrist slip out from his hold with ease while throwing you a wink.

“If you thought otherwise then you lot must be more dim than I thought ,” is all Draco says as he sits down. He lets you drop onto the chair beside him before reaching over to pull the piece of furniture and you closer to his side, the drag of it on the floor audible.

It earns him a whoop from Blaise, two hands thrown up in the air from Theo as he yells “finally”, and a laugh from Pansy who blows a kiss at you.

Draco slides his arm across the back of the chair, before looking at you brows lifted slightly, but his question is clear, you’ve never spoke about this and Draco wants to know - are you okay with this?

“I am,” you say as you lean forward to press your lips briefly against his. It only causes a louder ruckus at the table.

[teaboot]

Teaboot what trans man pipeline did you go down (if any)?

Did you go thru the fujoshi—>i like men in a gay way—> oh shit im a man pipeline or?

Wait do u even like men

My parents didn’t do the whole pink or blue thing when I was a kid, so I never really felt any pressure about it till like. Puberty.

Then I spent so much time in the woods that my hair would get matted and tangled in sticks and junk, so I cut it all off and people started mistaking me for a boy. Which made me really happy for reasons I couldn’t articulate, and it annoyed the shit out of me when people “corrected” them on my behalf

THEN I saw a Tumblr post mentioning the term genderfluid when I was like 15 and thought HOLY SHIT THAT’S AN OPTION?

I’ve never felt like I fit in with any gender or group of any kind, but I assumed that was probably just part of the whole mental health dealie I was working with. Y’know?

I didn’t really care about pronouns till a colleague at work mentioned we had new uniform badges with a pronoun option and I jokingly complained that I’d have to buckle down and pick some.

Then I went by all pronouns, and slowly narrowed it down to what felt best by eliminating what didn’t sound right.

If you had to ask me now, I’d say I’m probably genderfluid or a gender or genderqueer or whatever, like still not solidly one thing or another, but he/him still feels best as far as pronouns go.

And attraction doesn’t take up much brain space for me one way or another, so like. Meh?

The pattern seems to be “anyone who can suplex me is hot but I don’t wanna fuck” so. Pretty solidly asexual, and I say I’m bi or pan or whatever but it doesn’t come up much. Probably aromantic too.

My gender is Guy, my sexual orientation is I’d Rather Be Doing Art Right Now, and my romantic preference is This Would Be More Interesting If It Was Happening In A Book To Someone Else.

IDK, kinda just going with the flow here