#These two being absolute menaces as kids

[masquenoire]

no but roman being so used to mary and how she operates that he's the one person she hasn't yet managed to pickpocket successfully, he ALWAYS catches her and it makes her so feral asklaldka

WOULD HE EVER!!! I'm so sorry for the late reply but this headcanon right here?? It's perfect and absolutely true, Mary being such a conniving little shit who can pickpocket just about anyone EXCEPT him. He knows what you're like, Mary. Go ahead and flutter those baby blue peepers all you want, you ain't getting shit from him. Bet it would be a fun little game between them though, keeping each other on their toes so to say.

[forever-eternal]

I need to introduce you to The Babies

[ikkaku-of-heart]

❝ Fuckin' hell, no wonder yer obsessed with me. ❞

Ikkaku just looks Kid dead in the eye. "I don't fuck clowns. Especially not psycho ones."

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[itneverendshere]

school spirit and all! - soccer!frat!rafe cameron blurb (+18)

warnings: smart!reader (doesn't take shit) x bimbo!rafe <3; pope being an absolute menace; mentions of sex but no actual p in v okay; this shit is football and y'all can argue with a wall <3 IT PAINS ME TO WRITE SOCCER Y'ALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT !!!

ps: this is just for fun cause someone asked me to post it (it was just a draft😬)

you’ve never been one for academic sports spirit.

what’s the point? okay, your school has incredible athletes, that’s good, but why the fuck would you kiss and praise the ground they walk on? you’re a fantastic student and no one gives a shit. why do they get all the glory while brainiacs get zilch?

the double standards piss you off. somehow academics always take the backseat to sports. maybe that explained your dislike towards jocks like rafe cameron.

up until sophomore year, you’d only heard about him, saw him occasionally around school. it was understandable why people talked about him so often. he looked like he’d just been ripped off a page of an abercrombie and fitch catalog, and apparently – you’d never attended a game to check – he was the best player on the team, playing forward. but, unlike many, you didn’t form an opinion about him until you met him.

the verdict? total pain in your fucking ass.

ever since you two were paired in a class project together, an annual class at that, he suddenly took an interest in you, like you were some sort of exotic animal he’d never encountered in his life, only because you wouldn’t flirt with him.

outrageous, never done before.

for the first four months, it was just him laying on the cheesy pickup lines and you rolling your eyes so hard you thought they'd pop out of your head. eventually, rafe dialed it down and you were able to be civil, perhaps friends. if you could call it that.

wich is why, as his friend, you’re starting to lose your fucking patience. the season was not going well for his team. at all. there’s little to no chance they’re going to be able to win the championship.

not that you care, but apparently the whole school does. everyone seems to be on the verge of a meltdown.

“i swear to god if they lose to standford next week–“

“pope, will you kindly shut the fuck up? it’s just soccer.”

“just soccer?”

you let out an exasperated sigh, glancing over at pope who looks at you like you’ve just shot someone, “can we study? peacefully?”

"it’s not just soccer! it's about school spirit, camaraderie, y’know?"

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "camaraderie? please. more like a bunch of testosterone-fueled egos chasing after a ball," you retort, disdain evident in your tone.

“you don't know what you're talking about. and i'm being dead serious, cameron’s been on edge lately. never seen him like this."

you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. "yeah, well, losing does that to people. don't why you're complaining soooo much" you sigh, "i’m the one who has to put up with all the brooding and pouting.”

pope’s quiet. too quiet. you can picture the gears turning in his brain as he blankly stares at you. nothing good ever comes out of that.

“what?” you press, wondering if you have to break the school spirit out of him.

“you should fuck him. after or before, don't care. but you should."

you recoil, nearly tumbling out of your chair at pope's suggestion.

your eyes widen in disbelief, your mind struggling to process what he just said. for a moment, the room spins around you, and you feel like you’ve been thrust into some surreal alternate universe.

“what?! pope?" you finally manage to sputter, acting like you're about to go into cardiac arrest, "the fuck's wrong with you?"

“don’t look at me like that,” he merely shrugs, “that man is depressed. he needs to get laid if he’s going to win something.“

you hardly think a guy like rafe is not getting laid every other day, but that’s irrelevant. your jaw drops, stunned by his audacity. "are you kidding me? you don’t even like him!”

“but i like winning!” he whines, all but pushing his books aside to place in his elbows on the table, “and he’s so obsessed with you it hurts watching. he’s like one of those little crusty white dogs always running after you.”

you shake your head in disbelief, "he does it to be funny, okay? he’s not actually interested.. t's just a joke”

your best friend only laughs, a raucous, almost maniacal sound that echoes through the room. he clutches his stomach, "just joking?" pope gasps out, his laughter still bubbling to the surface. "oh man. you're hilarious, honestly, wow."

you stare at him, lips set in a straight line, feeling like you missed the entire joke. "what's so funny?"

pope wipes away a fake tear, trying to compose himself. "he almost ripped a new one to jj after he pulled that stunt last semester.”

your eyebrows knit together in skepticism. “and? i still don’t follow.”

rafe and jj couldn’t stand each other. both are incredible athletes and everyone always gushes about how great they are together on the field. outside, however? not so much. they don't mix. ever.

“and?! why do you think jj randomly talked about you in the locker room?”

“because he’s a horny creep and got a kink for fist fights with undressed men?”

you love jj. really, you do. but sometimes he’d win a lot more if he just kept his mouth shut or thought before speaking. you've lost count of how many times that boy has been suspended.

pope leans in, his tone low and conspiratorial, “cameron practically threatened to rearrange jj's face if he ever mentioned you again.”

you narrow your eyes, “nop. you’re making that up.”

pope shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. "nah, i'm dead serious.”

your mind races, trying to piece it all together. while your brain always clicks instantly in class, feelings...emotions are a little more complicated to grasp sometimes.

"wait, so you're saying he actually cares about me?"

he nods, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "yep.”

“seriously?”

pope chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "head over heels. you’re our school’s only hope.”

your brain's on overdrive trying to process pope's bombshell revelation. rafe cameron, the big-shot jock, actually giving a fuck about you? it's like some twisted plot line from a teen drama. you didn’t see this one coming. but then again, you hardly pay attention to anything outside academics.

“so what? ’m supposed to fuck the mediocrity out of him?”

he grins, clapping you on the shoulder, “there’s that school spirit!”

you slap his hand away, “oh fuck off. ‘m being serious.”

he’s still grinning like he just cracked the code to life. "come on, hear me out. it's like a strategic move, y’ know? boost his morale, boost the team's performance. win-win."

you roll your eyes, not buying into his scheme. "yeah, because my sex habilities are definitely the key to winning soccer games."

he shrugs, undeterred. "it's not like you'd be doing it for him. it's all about the greater good."

you scoff, rearranging your notes for the millionth time, "this isn't some feel-good sports movie."

it’s not like you never thought about rafe. sure, he's a yapping idiot around you most of the time, but every time you need help or an extra hand, he’s always the first one to offer. that has to count for something, right?

“the ball’s in your court.”

yeah it is.

truth to be told, you’ve been sick and tired of rafe acting like a loser over soccer. what was the point in whining about it if he wasn’t going to try and do better? god, you'd never seen him like this before and it's been irking you to beyond. even more now that pope mentioned it again.

at this point, you just want to march up to him, shake him and make it come to his senses. you can’t even remember that last time he tried to hit on you. that’s how bad it is! the memory is buried under the weight of his brooding.

so maybe….maybe pope's onto something, y'know? maybe there's more to it than just you and rafe. and yeah, okay, you're not exactly thrilled about the idea of hopping into bed with him, but only because you’d hate the attention that comes along with his name.

but...a part of you is weirdly intrigued. not because you're dying to be his next conquest, but because you're just done with watching him drown in his own misery. maybe this could be the wake-up call he needs. a swift kick in the ass to snap him out of his funk.

you wouldn’t be doing out of selfish reasons! school spirit and all. you’d be doing everyone a favor. and you wouldn't need to blame it on yourself if things went downhill.

you had pope for that.

which is why you’re standing in front of rafe's room in his frat.

a jock and a frat boy? charming. you’ve certainly hit the jackass lottery. but you’ve been here before. he always saved the day when the library was packed or when your roommate was too busy fucking her boyfriend in your dorm room. this was weirdly your safe place to work.

taking a deep breath, you rap your knuckles against the door, trying to ignore the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. it's not about you! get a grip.

the door swings open, and there's the fucker, all brooding and rugged, like he just walked off the set of a sports movie. you roll your eyes at the cliché, but there's something weird about the way he looks at you. or maybe the tight wife-beater is doing a number on you.

you still notice the bags underneath his swollen eyes.

there's a flicker of surprise in him, like he wasn't expecting to see you, out of everyone in this school, standing there and you can't blame him; after all, you're not exactly a regular visitor to the frat house, only when your academic needs force you to.

“hey?”

“you look like shit, cameron.”

rafe's eyebrows raise in surprise at your blunt remark, “uh, what?”

you roll your eyes resisting the urge to scoff. "can i come in or are you going to stand there looking like an idiot all day?”

rafe chuckles, stepping aside to let you into his room, “come on in.”

you step inside, taking in the cluttered room with a mixture of amusement and mild disgust. it was never this bad before, you know rafe’s a clean freak and this? this is not him. but it is exactly how you imagined a frat boy's room would look like—dirty.

there’s laundry strewn across the floor, empty beer cans littering the desk, and a distinct musky smell lingering in the air. you shake your head in disbelief, shooting rafe a disapproving look.

"what are you? a divorced forty-five-year-old man?”

rafe laughs at your comment, though there's a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he scratches the back of his neck. "yeah, i know. sorry about that."

he’s doing worse than what you realized and it tugs a little at your heartstrings.

you raise an eyebrow, unconvinced by his apology. "sorry doesn't cut it, cameron. you should be ashamed of yourself.”

"okay, fair point. i'll clean up, promise."

“not just your stupid room. i mean your whole attitude. you've been moping around like a loser!”

rafe's expression shifts, defensiveness crossing his features. "hey, ‘m not—"

"don't even try to deny it," you interrupt, not backing down. "everyone’s noticed. you’re pissing me off.”

you don’t know why you’re suddenly so tempted to give him the scolding of a lifetime, but there’s just something about seeing someone with so much potential and drive wasting it all away without a fight. it’s not like him.

and by the kicked-puppy look on his face, you can tell he's not used to being called out so openly. but you're dead set on breaking through to him, no matter how awkward it gets.

“see! you’re just staring at me like—like, a fucking idiot!”, you fire off, frustration lacing your tone. the irony of the situation isn't lost on you. “will you speak for gods sake? for more than five seconds? i spent months trying to get you to shut up and now you do?”

rafe's stunned expression makes you second guess your approach for a moment, but you push the feeling aside, knowing you can't afford to let sympathy cloud your purpose here.

“why are you mad at me?”

you can't believe he's still clueless after all this time.

"why am i mad at you?" you repeat incredulously, feeling the irritation rising your my chest. "seriously, rafe? have you even looked in the mirror lately?"

he blinks at you, his confusion evident, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"you've been moping around like the world's about to end.”

rafe's brows furrow even further, and for a moment, you wonder if he's playing dumb or if he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. "i don't—uh, i don't understand," he finally stammers out, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

that’s it.

you’re gonna pull the feelings card and hope it doesn’t backfire.

“do you like me?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

rafe snorts as he lifts his finger to scratch his face, “course i do. pretty obvious.”

for a second you get a glimpse of the real rafe and it soothes you inside.

“and you want to fuck me?”

you’ve never seen him look so gobsmacked in his life, you’d laugh in his face if it wasn’t such a serious matter.

“what?” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. you can’t believe the rafe cameron is blushing. over you.

you let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "do you want to fuck me? do i need to spell it out for you?”

he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and you can't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at finally catching him off guard, “’m sorry? is this—are you…is this for punk’d?”

"punk'd? seriously, rafe?" you snap, incredulous that he would think this is some sort of prank, “it’s 2024.”

rafe's cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, and he stammers again "no, i mean— i just...didn't expect you to— uhh”

“yes or no.”

rafe blinks at you before breathing out, “yes.”

“okay. so win your next match and you will.”

he looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, exhaling through his nose, trying to keep his agitation to a minimum. “what?”

“i’m sick and tired of this version of you. i need you to win, and if this” you gesture to the both of you with your hand, “is your motivation, then we’re doing it.”

"y’serious?" he takes a step closer, his demeanor suddenly more serious, “me and you?”

you nod firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you tilt your head up to look at his features, “dead serious. and it’s not just you and me. it’s for the team, and for the school spirit or whatever nonsense pope keeps going on about."

rafe lets out a small chuckle, a hint of his usual cocky confident demeanor returning. "is that so? can't say no to that kind of motivation."

“i figured.”

he reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly grazing the strands of your hair, eyes fixed on your lips. "are there any rules?”

you swallow hard, feeling your heart race at his touch. “no, just win.”

rafe's lips curl into a playful smirk— the money-making smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him, not necessarily in that order — as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"never would've guessed you'd be the one to offer yourself as my motivation, though," he murmurs, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, "i'm surprised."

you try to maintain your composure, but his proximity is making it increasingly difficult to think straight. "just doing what needs to be done," you manage to stammer out, trying to sound perfectly unaffected by his words.

rafe chuckles softly, his hand still lingering in your hair as he leans back slightly to look at you. "my pretty prize, huh?" he says, his tone teasing as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you feel a flush spread across your features at his boldness. you blame him entirely for this side of you. without thinking, you reach up to brush your fingers against his cheek, tips pressings against his skin lightly.

“just win the fucking match, cameron."

rafe's nasty smirk widens into a heart-stopping, soul-gripping grin as he leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

"consider it done."

[dear-ao3]

hey wait im also new to f1 but i saw the other ask and i was curious abt what you meant when you said no one will ever do it like nico rosberg?? also retiring after your first championship win is insane lmao what a power move

nico rosberg is just. he’s insane. he’s cunty. he’s wonderful. he possesses sass and audacity unlike any other. we unfortunately do not have time to get into his whole story (my lunch break is only so long) but here’s some highlights:

-technically he’s a nepo baby. his dad, keke rosberg, won the world championship in 1982 and they remain one of the Few father son duos to both win a world championship (don’t ask me who the others are idk but i know they exist)

-he and lewis hamilton met when they were kids in the late 90s sometime and were gokarting teammates at some point in i think the early 2000s? (not fact checking i don’t have the time rn) and they were Besties. they’ve talked about this before, mostly in older interviews, but the gist is that both of them were outcasts from the other karting kid in opposite ways (nico was the son of a champion and rich and lewis was from nothing and pretty much the only poc most of the time) and that drew them together and they were Menaces according to legend. everything was a competition and they trashed hotel rooms and ate pizza and ice cream and kellogg frosties and went to greece and dreamed of being in f1 together

-nico signed with williams in 2006. his teammate was mark webber. and nico had long flowing blonde hair (this is important). he crashed at one race and mark webber said “britney’s in the wall” cementing the nickname britney, like britney spears. jenson button (another driver) said later on that they called nico britney because he was “very pretty” (do with that what you will)

-he was just. insane. cunty. constantly looked like a european bond villain. wore god awful shoes. whole bit. once he stayed in his car when it got craned off the track cause he didn’t want his hair to get wet. which is insane cause he’s wearing a helmet it would have gotten equally as not wet had he gotten out.

-anyway, lewis made it to f1 in 2007 and they had their first podium together i think that year (?) and it’s cute and fun and oh boy you’re not ready for what these two have coming

-lewis won the championship in 2008 (but he almost won in 2007, his rookie year) at mclaren.

-nico went to mercedes when they recentered the grid in 2010. his teammate was michael schumacher, who was fresh out of retirement. (yes the michael schumacher, 7x world champion). michael fucked with nico endlessly according to legend, including making him piss in a bucket pre race because he would hog the bathroom until the last possible second. nico still out preformed him most of the time, and the car was mid as hell.

-michael retired part 2 at the end of 2012. and who replaced him but lewis hamilton

-so the two of them were teammates again. the cards were absolute Stacked against them. because yes they were besties yes they’d known eachother forever but the first person you’re judged against is your teammate. and you’re trying to beat your teammate. and lewis already had a championship. nico wanted a championship.

-2013 was relatively chill. the car was kinda mid. they did well but not fantastic and did some fuck ass pr (highly reccomend looking those videos up)

-2014 they had a car that could win. and they started fighting eachother for wins. they played all kinds of mind games against eachother and withheld stats and nico ran illegal engine modes (supposedly) and lewis said they were no longer friends after nico supposedly wrecked his monaco qualifying one year but they claimed they still supported eachother and were friends off track. lewis won in 2014 and in 2015. but nico was right behind him and he wanted to win a championship, he didn’t want to be a number 2 driver

-so in 2016 nico did some insane shit. he stopped sleeping with his wife so that he could get better sleep or something, he did weird things to cut weight, he basically did everything and then some to win. and then he did. he won the championship and then at the prize giving ceremony announced he was retiring. he didn’t tell lewis this.

more after i get off work :)

[nyctoaerah]

yandere satosugu x female reader? can you do jealousy headcanons (like what makes them jealous and/or what they do when they get jealous)? sorry if that wasn’t specific enough!

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere behavior (duh) murder, possessiveness, gore. (Ooc maybe) satoru being an oa little shit. Poly relationship.

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Satosugu x Fem! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: WHAHAHA i didn’t knew if you wanted it to be separate or not anon, you said satosugu so i immediately assumed that it was a threesome. But heree, some hc’s:33 sorry pookie, i got lazy on suguru’s part:< SJAKEKSKA i did this first cause hc’s are the easiest to write💀💀💀

Masterlist

🔪Satoru struggles with pervasive jealousy issues, particularly when it comes to you and Suguru.

🔪This dude is like the embodiment of jealousy. he’s so envious he’s practically green with it. Hell he’s even jealous of himself. There was this one time he bet he could pull off dressing up as a girl for a dare, and oh boy, did he go all out. But then he got all pouty when you gushed all over him and got all touchy, something that you don’t really do often. And his reason of getting jealous with himself? He thought that you prefer him as a girl, like hello? you were supposed to prefer the original satoru and not his genderbent!

🔪But seriously, this guy’s jealousy knows no bounds. If Suguru flashes a flirty grin at someone else, bam, jealousy strikes. And if you dare compliment another soul? Jealousy overload. You hugged another man that isn’t suguru? He’s trying to force himself not to throw hands. This dude craves all the attention, all the affection, like a toddler hoarding toys in a playgroup. He’s aware he’s selfish, probably knows it’s not the best look, but he’s powerless against the possessiveness that overtakes him when it comes to you and Suguru. You both have this unique power to bring out the best and worst in him, after all, you two were the only one who sees him as “Satoru” and not as the “Strongest.”

🔪Satoru’s neurotic tendencies and jealousy issues stemmed from his messed-up childhood. The poor guy got stripped of his carefree youth and was thrust into the adult world way before his time after all. the jealousy bug bit him hard when he saw other kids having the time of their lives, while he was stuck with grown-ups fawning over him and expecting way too much and pressuring him. That childhood envy stuck to him like glue, and it grew into a full-blown mess when you, him, and Suguru became an item.

🔪The thing that grinds Satoru’s gears the most and the absolute worst, is when you and Suguru says something about other people’s eyes like; “Their eyes is so pretty” Blah, blah, blah, bullshit like that. It kills him inside that you don’t shower the same love on his eyes. His eyes are prettier, more powerful, and literally very unique, and you hardly ever mention how beautiful it is.

🔪Satoru absolutely loathes it when you’re completely oblivious to someone flirting with you. He’ll shoot menacing glares at the culprit when you’re not paying attention, as if daring them to keep it up, and he would end up threatening them.

🔪Satoru doesn’t bother in hiding his emotions, he’ll whimper, pout, and stick to you and Suguru like glue. And would play the melodramatic card, guilt tripping you. Or he’ll just straight up threaten you or tell suguru about how naughty you are.

🔪🔪🔪

Satoru’s head rested delicately upon your lap as your dexterous fingers ran through his snow white tresses. He gazed at you upward, sky blue eyes peeking from beneath his snowy eyelashes.

“Can you give me your phone for a minute baby? I just wanna do something”

Without pause for consideration, you obliged his request and gave the phone into his outstretched hand.

“Yeah, sure, here.” You responded with a hum.

“What are you gonna do with it, anyways?” You questioned, before your eyes widened as you saw how satoru’s digits hastened across the interface, focused intently on blocking specific contacts from further reaching your line.

“Huh, ‘Toru, what the hell?”

“Wait—why are you blocking them? Those are my—” Your words faded as Satoru lifted his head from your lap and moves away from you, his piercing gaze fixed on yours as he gently grasped your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“Why do you always insist on conversing with them, hmm? Do you like them?”

“What— no! It’s not like that, what the fuck?”

“If you really love me and Suguru, then you have to sever ties with that girl/guy and keep your distance, okay?”

🔪Suguru really isn’t the jealous type, because he’s all about trust and loyalty when it comes to you and Satoru—He trusts you two.

🔪But, every now and then, a feeling of jealousy creep up inside him when he sees you and Satoru hanging out and having fun without him. He tries to brush it off though, understanding that you two are really close. He just wants to see his pretty lovers smiling, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

🔪When Suguru starts feeling jealous, it’s not a pretty sight. Beneath that kind and laid-back exterior lies a man who doesn’t really forgive that much. Suguru doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget.

🔪Suguru may be a master at concealing his jealousy, but when it does surface, it’s like a storm crashing down. Picture this: you innocently text someone he’s really jealous of, and before you know it, your phone is pulled from your hands and tossed across the room while he summons a cursed spirit to destroy it completely, only to be replaced with a brand-new one moments later. Oh, and that person you were casually chatting with? It’s either you can consider them ghosted or consider them dead.

🔪Mentioning your ex around him was a big no-no. Because it immediately triggers him. can’t you just keep the spotlight on him and Satoru? One tiny mention of your ex’s name or Satoru reminiscing about his past flings, and Suguru’s mood immediately becomes sour.

🔪In stark comparison to Satoru, Suguru remains nonchalant about compliments being thrown around. He’s all for lifting people up until those compliments take a flirtatious turn. If that line is crossed, however, his cursed spirits will have its new meal.

🔪If Suguru was jealous and it led to an argument between you two, he would turn on his ultimate weapon—the silent treatment. He’d nonchalantly start hanging out with other people, making sure you noticed just to annoy you and make you jealous. He was well aware of his petty tendencies, but deep down, he simply wished for you to drop the bratty act and apologize.

🔪If you don’t really apologize and just pushed him over the edge... Well, you’ll have to say goodbye to your sanity because suguru is brutal as fuck when it comes to giving punishment.

🔪Unlike Satoru, who would guilt trip and manipulate you, Suguru would take it up a notch on the intensity scale. He wouldn’t shy away from using violence after all. And that doesn’t only apply to the person that he’s envious of, that applies to you too, and satoru. But that’s the difference, Satoru is a good boy, and you’re not.

🔪Suguru would be more than glad to kill someone in front of you and force you to watch it after all. He’ll hurt you too if you thrash and scream instead of being a good girl.

And you can’t really escape the both of them, after all, their love is like a noose.♡

🔪🔪🔪

Suguru’s hand forcefully clamped over your quivering lips, stifling any cries that tried to escape. His breath was hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your flesh with an iron grip, rendering you immobile. The metallic tang of blood invaded your nostrils. Your eyes were wide with terror, pupils shrinking, and your pulse quickening. A sickening view of gore played out before your horrified gaze, crimson splattering the walls, each nauseating squelch echoing through the room.

“I told you to stay away from them and you didn’t listen...” Suguru whispers, his breath hot against your neck, his delicate mouth parting to suck hard upon your pulsing skin, his mouth works its way slowly along your skin. And you shudder involuntarily beneath his touch, fear coursing through you as his lips close around a patch of flesh, sucking hard.

“See...? This is what happens when you disobey.”

The sharp prick of his teeth sends bolts of pain ricocheting through your body. Your already unsettled stomach lurches violently at the sight that greets you as you raise your head, struggling against his grip.

Before you, bound fast to a wooden chair, was the friend you had jokingly flirted with. Tears stream unchecked down their pallid cheeks, mingling with traces of dried blood, as their cries continue to ring in your ears.

Every limb was callously severed, Their bones was protruding out—the metacarpal bones, the carpal bones, the humerus, the ulna, the fibula, and other bones,  Their arms and legs are covered in long, vivid scarlet lines that are three inches wide, intersecting each other in a crisscross pattern and the wounds appear to have breached the surface of their skin, While suguru’s cursed spirits feeds on their severed flesh.

With a low, self-satisfied hum, Satoru drags the tip of the scalpel upwards your friend’s cheek, cutting them and the skin opens, revealing their inner facial muscle. He then reaches out to grasp a fistful of your friend’s hair, yanking their head back sharply to force clouded eyes up to meet your own.

“Suguruuuu, what do i do next? Do we gouge their eyes out for looking at our pretty girl that way?” 

“Do it. She said that she likes their eyes anyways... She’s probably implying that she prefers their eyes over yours.” Suguru smirks, humming as he pressed his body against yours, enjoying the way satoru’s face suddenly fell.

“Haah... Looks like i’ll be enjoying gouging their eyes then.”

[swiftlyinlove]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

summary: You and Spencer are best friends, but there's always been a little spark between you. When he cancels your plans for Christmas, you're determined to prove that you know him better than anyone else.

warnings: idiots in love, christmas fluff, a little angst if you squint??

word count: approximately 4.5k

a/n: Hi! It's been a long time since I wrote much of anything, but writing this for Christmas has been an absolute joy. I love Spencer so much, and this poor boy just suffers... I wanted to give him a happy ending for Christmas - or a happy beginning. I hope you like it.

The first thing you realized after the beep signaled the end of the phone call was how weird Spencer was acting lately.

To be fair, you two had an unconventional friendship. Due to the nature of his job, Spencer was often busy and therefore you couldn’t communicate as much as you'd like to, but you'd set up a base rule to make sure you never lost touch with one another: mandatory Friday night video call.

Every Friday, without fail, you would Facetime. Spencer wasn’t fond of technology, you were aware, but he’d gladly face his prejudice and lack of knowledge of anything digital if it meant talking to you. It didn't matter if he was home or if he was in another state for a case; come nine pm on a Friday, you two would be catching up about your lives.

That, of course, meant that you'd grasp at every opportunity you could to be with each other. He was in town for a case? You would meet up and have dinner if he had time; if he was doing something important and couldn’t finish it in time for dinner, he would drop by your place at the craziest hour in the morning and lie down next to you, gently shaking you awake to reveal he had gotten take out from your favorite restaurant.

Despite being awakened from your slumber, you would greet him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen - well, after letting out a little shriek of surprise, to which Spencer would respond with an “It’s me, little menace” and a chuckle that would make your heart flutter every time. 

The nickname had originated from your childhood. Spencer didn’t have many friends in middle school, and the fact that he was much smarter than kids his age didn’t help. His classmates either made fun of him or avoided him altogether, but you were… different. 

When you first moved into town, you were very nervous for your first day of school. Making friends was never easy for you, as your peers would deem you rather weird for always having your nose stuck in books. However, you quickly realized you had nothing to worry about - it took one look at little Spencer Reid, reading Crime and Punishment at the lunch table, for you to know you had found your place.

You sat next to him, ignoring the snickers from the so-called “popular kids”. He hesitantly lifted his gaze from the wrinkled pages - you reckoned he had probably read that book many times before -, expecting to see someone with a mean scowl ready to taunt him.

Instead, his wide eyes were met with your bright smile, your rosy cheeks, and your adorable ponytails, and he frowned in confusion. “Hello…?”

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You greeted him excitedly. There was something about him that made you feel confident, so you continued. “I’m new here and I noticed you were sitting alone. And that seems like a really cool book if you don’t mind me saying, and I just thought you-”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. You could feel your cheeks warming up, and you were sure you looked as flustered as you were feeling. Before you could even dwell on how embarrassed you felt, Spencer’s lips broke into a smile. 

And that was it. From that moment on, you had been inseparable. Well, perhaps not physically; after all, he was academically way ahead of you and everyone else, and he even managed to graduate from high school at only twelve years old. 

That didn’t stop you from hanging out every moment you could, nor from exchanging letters every single day when he went to college. To this day, you still had those letters, safely tucked into a charming wooden box you kept on your bookshelf, but you’d never tell him that (although you were sure he knew, as the great profiler he was).

So, despite being separated due to your busy jobs - his more than yours - and living in different states, it wasn’t a surprise when you started arranging to spend the holidays together.

Since his mother was still institutionalized, Spencer didn't really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with and therefore didn't care much for the traditions. You, on the other hand, loved the holidays, but since your parents had passed away when you were in college, you were also alone during the season.

Thus, you cut a deal. Every year, he would use his extra vacation days to take a week off around Christmas and you would take turns visiting each other. Usually, you were both very excited about this occasion – it was one of the rare opportunities you had to be together in person, and you missed each other terribly.

This year, though... You had just called Spencer to confirm the date so you could book your flight to Quantico, and he had simply managed to say he couldn’t take time off before hanging up on you.

You were confused by this but chalked it up to it being one of those days for him. Working at the BAU, Spencer had to deal with a lot of gruesome cases often and, after a really bad one, he didn't find any energy to do much of anything.

While he'd never avoided you per se, when those days coincided with your phone calls, you would try to comfort him the best you could, and sometimes even managed to cheer him up a little. 

This time, you didn't even have the chance to, and that threw you off. Still, if Spencer was in a bad mood, maybe he just didn't feel like talking. Not even to you.

Deciding to not push it any further, it's only a few days later that you brought up your trip to Quantico, this time via text. You spent the entire day nearly jumping at your phone each time it vibrated, expecting a notification with his name on it.

It was only later that night that you'd get your answer in the form of an ‘I can't this year’. You read the text over and over again, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking, but you had hoped that, once he was in a better mood, he would be just as eager as you for your shared holiday season. 

It occurred to you that perhaps something happened, perhaps he couldn't file for a vacation because he had a big case that he couldn't step away from.

But if that were the case, he would've told you so. He would've explained, apologized even, and tried to schedule another date for your trip to make it up to you. So, you concluded, he just didn't want to see you.

That thought haunted you for the entire week.

Finally having enough of feeling blue and not getting any work done, you decided to go straight to the source in search of answers. Well, source adjacent - Spencer was still replying rather coldly to your texts, so you couldn’t ask him directly. Penelope Garcia was the next best thing.

You had met the members of the BAU after a particularly successful case in your city. Their flight would only leave in the morning and Spencer thought he could take the opportunity to take you to the cinema for a late-night movie, just like the good old days of your adolescence.

However, Penelope and Rossi had other plans. To properly celebrate their hard work that led to saving multiple women who had been kidnapped a few weeks prior, they decided to take the team out for dinner in a nice restaurant.

“And it’s mandatory. It’s not like we have anything else to do tonight, so no excuses.” She had warned in a playfully threatening tone. 

Spencer shifted in his spot while putting away his things in his satchel. After all the years he worked at the BAU, he still hadn’t told his coworkers - his found family, really - about you. It was the one thing he kept close to his chest, the one secret he wanted to keep forever.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brushed his hair behind his ears, not daring to turn and face the team while he spoke. “I sort of already have plans.”

His voice was so quiet that the team wasn’t sure they had heard him correctly. After a moment of silence, Derek’s lips curled into his (in)famous smirk and he gently nudged Spencer’s side, making the lanky boy turn around to face his friends.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed and he kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to face the curious expressions on their faces. But when Derek nudged him again, asking him “Who’s the girl?” with such a teasing tone, he couldn’t help but look up.

“She’s just a friend.” He blurted out, eyes immediately widening upon the realization of what he admitted.

While the rest of the team just shrugged it off and dived into their conversations, Derek patted him on the back - the force of which sent Spencer stumbling a few feet forward -, and Penelope lit up like he had just told her that he won the lottery.

“You have to bring her!” Penelope begged, grabbing his arm as they walked towards the door of the local precinct they had been working on for the case. “I want to meet this mystery woman.”

Penelope didn’t say it to him then, but she was sure you weren’t ‘just a friend’. She might’ve not been a profiler, but the look in his eyes when he spoke about you and his hesitation to cancel your plans for the sake of the team made her think that perhaps you were much more special to him than he realized.

Her suspicions were, of course, confirmed when he showed up at the restaurant a few hours later with you in his arms, wearing an elegant black dress and a radiant smile on your face as you whispered something to him, immediately breaking into a fit of giggles.

Spencer tried to feign indignation at your comment, but he couldn’t help but smile as he led you to his friends, who were all watching the interaction with surprise and disbelief. Your laughter calmed when you reached the table, but the smile never fell from your face as Spencer introduced you, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That’s when Penelope knew.

You clicked rather well with his friends. They were, naturally, very curious about you, and you did your best to answer all their questions. Meanwhile, Spencer, who was sitting next to you, placed a hand on your lower back, making sure you didn’t feel overwhelmed under the attentive eyes of his friends.

Penelope and you were a match made in heaven, Spencer reckoned. You quipped back and forth the entire night, even swapping numbers by the end of it, and Spencer even joked that you had found a new favorite FBI agent as you made your way to his car.

Chuckling at his statement, you stopped in your tracks, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite. But she’s a close second.”

Spencer was sure his heart had stopped right then and there and that he had gone to heaven.

Since that night, you frequently called Penelope to talk about numerous things - from the latest TV shows you were both hooked on to recipes for dessert -, but you rarely talked about Spencer. Until today.

“Penny, I need your help.” You blurted out as soon as the blonde answered your call. 

“Woah, woah, calm down my friend,” Penelope answered, amused and slightly worried about the urgency in your tone. “What’s on your pretty little mind?”

All it took for Penelope to know something was wrong was two words. “It’s Spencer.”

“What about boy wonder?” The technical analyst questioned, trying to make sense of what you were saying.

“He’s been acting so cold lately.” You explained, sighing in exhaustion as you plopped down on your couch. “Well, you know how we always arrange to spend the holidays together?”

Penelope hummed in agreement - every year when Spencer would put in a request to take time off during the holidays, she would make sure it was at the top of Strauss’ paperwork, knowing he was doing it for you.

At her approval, you continued. “This year I was supposed to come to Quantico, but every time I try to bring it up, he shuts me down and just says that he can’t. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this and it's been driving me nuts all week.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at your image on the phone. 

“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person? Because he seemed pretty excited last week. He wouldn’t shut up about how he found the perfect gift for you and how he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.”

This confused you even more, and you frowned as you processed her words. “Yeah, well, this week he can barely text me back. I don’t want anything crazy, Penny, I just want to be with him for Christmas.”

“I don’t know what happened. As far as I can tell, he did put in the request for a vacation.” Penelope replied. Then, her face lit up in realization and she cursed under her breath. “Morgan.”

“Morgan? What does Derek have to do with this?” You asked, more disoriented than ever.

“Wait here,” Penelope said, quickly getting up from her chair and leaving you to stare at her empty office. She returns a few minutes later, looking pretty annoyed, to see you making a cup of coffee in your kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweet cheeks.” The blonde said apologetically, making your gaze return to your phone, forgotten on the counter as you waited for her.

You quickly picked it up, registering her distressed expression. “What happened?”

“I found out why Reid’s acting like an ass to you.” She replied, her voice softening as she saw the glimmer of worry in your eyes. “It seems like Morgan has done quite a number on him.”

“What do you mean Morgan has done a number on him? What did he do?” You questioned, growing irritated by Penelope’s ability to beat around the bush. You loved her, you really did, but you just wanted to know what happened.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but since you’re so upset…” Penelope trailed off, pursing her lips. “Morgan better pay me back.”

“Penelope, just spit it out.” You interrupted, your impatience reflected in your tone.

“Fine. I told you Reid wouldn’t shut up about you, and Morgan may or may not have teased him about his feelings for you and it may or may not have caused Spencer to clam up in his shell.” Penelope rushed through her words and you blinked, unsure you had heard her correctly.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as you asked her, “Spencer… Has feelings for me?”

Penelope looked reluctant to answer your questions, clearly not wanting to violate Spencer’s privacy. Ever since she met you, she knew you and the resident FBI genius were destined for each other, but she wanted you to discover on your terms.

“Penny, please.” You sounded out of breath, and it cleared any sign of hesitation on Penelope’s mind. 

“Baby girl, I can’t be the one to tell you that. You have to ask him.” She responded, her voice full of empathy. “But between me and you, I’m pretty sure you know what the answer is.”

Spencer was certain that he was in the 9th circle of hell. 

Ever since Morgan’s comment, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always knew what you two had was special.  You knew how to make him laugh; Spencer didn’t consider himself to be difficult to entertain, but he could be quite oblivious to his coworkers' jokes sometimes, especially if they were about him. But you? Oh, you managed to make him laugh hysterically with a simple comment, and it endeared him. 

You had been with him through the good and the bad, after all. You were there at his graduation, celebrating his first Ph.D. - and the two that came after that, too - and you were right there by his side when he watched his mother be dragged away to a mental institution, holding his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

That was what he loved most about you. He could always count on you to be there for him. He recalled the first moment he realized you were much more than a friend to him.

It had been after the Tobias Hankel case. Spencer slipped in and out of consciousness as the doctors dragged him through the hospital, murmuring to themselves about testing the drugs in his system and checking his vitals.

His life wasn’t in danger anymore, but he was oh so tired. He had spent days upon days of captivity without a wink of sleep, locked in an empty cabin where he was tortured by two of Tobias’ personalities, and all he could think about between getting tormented and getting drugged was you.

He was sure he was going to die then, and his main concern was that he wouldn’t be able to see your pretty smile again. He would tell you this when you appeared at his bedside a few hours later, claiming that you received a call from the hospital - unsurprisingly, you were each other’s emergency contacts - and had threatened a stewardess to get a ticket to the next plane to Virginia, and you would call him ridiculous for it.

It was only when you were sitting next to him on his hospital bed, his head leaning against your chest as you combed your hands through his hair, that he allowed himself to cry, to reveal how truly scared he had been under Tobias’ hands.

You whispered sweet nothings in his ear as you softly lifted his head, making sure he was looking at you when you softly kissed his tears away. His arms had tightened around you, a silent sign of his gratitude, and he knew then, he knew, you were everything to him.

How could he have not fallen for you after all that? 

But he could never tell you. He had been rejected many times in his life, but if he was to get rejected by you? He was sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

So he tried to bury his feelings deep inside him, keeping you a secret from the people who knew him best and, when the time came, introduced you to them. As a friend. Because that’s all that you were. Friends.

When Morgan teased him about his feelings for you, Spencer entered panic mode. If Morgan could see Spencer was madly in love with you, then you could see it too - you could always read him like a book, after all.

And if you hadn’t brought it up… You didn’t want to. He knew you’d never want to hurt him, so the only logical conclusion he could reach was: you don’t feel the same.

He tried his best to avoid you. Cutting you off whenever you brought up your plans for the holidays, replying to your texts with short answers, and even refraining from watching Doctor Who in his free time, because it only reminded him of how you two used to lie on your couch during summer break and watch it together. 

What he didn’t count on was opening his door in mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve and seeing you standing in front of him, coat covered in the snow that was falling outside the comfort of his building and a small smile on your face.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.” You said bashfully, not sure how he would react to your presence. 

“Merry Christmas.” He replied, his breath knocked out of his lungs at how beautiful you looked standing there. He might have fallen in love with you all over again. 

After a beat of silence, he wet his lips, looking at you with the same wide-eyed gaze he greeted you with when you were kids. “What... What are you doing here?”

Your lips curled into a sheepish smile. “What, you thought I was gonna miss Christmas?”

Seeing you in front of him, hearing your voice without the faint static of the phone for the first time in a while… it was surreal to him. He couldn’t help but cave in and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer into a tight hug.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders just as tightly, your body finally relaxing against his. You could feel his nose nuzzled into your neck, and you smiled against his shoulder.

“I missed you.” You whispered, letting your words linger between the two of you.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back, and you knew he was sincere. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I know.” You breathed in his scent, pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder before pulling away. He reluctantly let you go, a remorseful smile on his lips.

Spencer guided you into his apartment, and you took note of how he put up your usual Christmas decorations. “You managed to set up the tree by yourself?” You teased him.

He chuckled, watching as you settled on his couch and patted the space next to you. He promptly followed your lead, sitting down beside you. “Yeah, it was a real challenge.”

Before you could even reply, Spencer reached out to grab your hand, his thumb softly caressing your knuckles to calm his racing mind.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I’ve been stuck in my head lately, and it’s not fair that I treated you like that. We’ve had this tradition forever and I feel like I disrespected it and-” Spencer rambled, and you pressed your lips against his to shut him up.

Your sudden action stunned him, and he couldn’t help but succumb to your spell. Placing his hands on both sides of your face and closing his eyes, he kissed you back as gently and tenderly as he could, feeling you melt against him.

Once you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a lovestruck, surprised gaze. He seemed to be speechless, which made you giggle.

“I hope that was on your wishlist this Christmas.” You joked, leaning your forehead against his. 

Your gaze softened as you took in his expression. “Penny told me everything. In all seriousness, I understand why you did it.  I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me.”

He gulped, feeling vulnerable under your loving stare. He always got the impression that you could see right through him.

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been in love with you almost my entire life, and when I finally realized it, I was afraid that if I acted on them, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.” He murmured, his tone growing sadder.

“And when Morgan joked about my feelings for you, I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought and perhaps you already knew and didn’t talk about it so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He continued, closing his eyes again as if the mere thought was too painful to bear. 

He took a deep breath, his thumbs starting to slowly brush against your cheekbones. “I didn’t want to face you and find out if it was true, because… Because my heart couldn’t take it.”

You listened quietly to his words, his touch on your skin grounding you and sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It broke your heart to hear him speak like that, as if the mere thought of you feeling the same never crossed his mind, as if it was absurd. 

You knew he had low self-esteem, a permanent scar from all the times he was bullied throughout his life, but his self-deprecating view never ceased to shock you.

“Spencer…” You whispered his name like it was sacred, like he was something to be worshipped, and it made his heart skip a beat. “I know all your favorite songs, how you take your coffee, and your favorite books. In order. I know you. I’d be crazy not to love you.”

You could feel him exhale in relief at your quiet confession, his racing mind finding solace in your words. “Really?”

“Of course.” You replied with a chuckle, leaning forward to press a feather-light peck against his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since we were, like, sixteen. All I ever wanted was to be the one to give you everything you want.”

He smiled as you pulled away once again, thinking about how much time you two had lost while dancing around your feelings. Although, he supposed, it wasn’t lost time - you had spent those years giving each other love, even if it wasn’t necessarily romantic.

“We’re both idiots.” He replied, making you laugh once more. You stood up, grabbing both of his hands and guiding him to the kitchen. He followed you with a bright smile on his face; he would follow you anywhere, he suspected.

“I was thinking I could make those cookies you like and, afterward, we could perhaps… snuggle by the fireplace?” You suggested, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

He pretended to think for a moment, before he finally gave in, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. “Anything you want, little menace.”

Spencer hummed, burying his face further into his neck. “I was thinking of reading a few books. Santa was going to keep me company.”

Later that night, when you were both snuggled up against each other in front of his fireplace while eating the gingerbread cookies you both made, you asked him curiously, “What were you planning to do for Christmas, if I hadn’t shown up?”

You laughed quietly at his admission. “Well, Santa doesn’t know you like I do.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Your genius agreed, peppering little kisses onto your skin. “You’re the best Christmas present ever, do you know that?”

“Yeah? Wait until you see what I actually bought for you.” You replied, a playful smile on your face. “Besides, a little birdie told me you got me the perfect Christmas gift.”

“I’m gonna kill Penelope.” He muttered under his breath, sending you into a fit of laughter. 

Well, maybe this Christmas time

You'll finally realize

That I could be the one

To give you everything you want

[melodrangea]

Nicknames Soul Eaters Boys call their S/O

———————

Soul “Eater” Evans

sweetheart

he says this extremely sarcastically, especially during training

“C’mon sweetheart, is that all you got? I saw you lift twice as much yesterday.”

doll

often uses it in a more formal setting or when he’s trying to tease

“What’s the matter doll? Cat got your tongue?”

He’s a little menace but he’s our menace <3

babe

most common out of the three

you name DOES NOT exist to this man

no name, no nickname, nothing

“Babe can I borrow your notes. Babe where do you wanna go later? BABE”

———————

Black Star

n/n or another variation of you name

doesn’t really use pet names much (sorry babes)

why words words on pet names? he’s way too blunt and if he’s feeling something he’ll just say it, not waste time on fancy words or pet names

(that’s what he tells himself being fr he’s not creative enough as much as I love him)

babe

mostly used around friends (this dumbass thinks he’s being smug)

“hey babe wasn’t going out yesterday awesome? I mean since we’re so inlove and everything.”

the little shit would make your relationship EVERYONE ELSE’S problem (no one is safe 😭)

———————

Death the Kid

Darling

this pretentious hipster

is fairly consistent with the pet names he uses but darling is his favorite

“Darling can you please pass me that book there?”

“Are you alright darling?”

my dear

uses this one without realizing it most of the time

will be chilling in the library studying and will half-consciously call for you

“are you almost done?”

“just a few minutes more my dear, then we can go”

you chuckled, “what did you call me”

“what do you mean, what did I call you?”

love

Kid is a romantic at heart, very classy as well

he would stare into your eyes and call you love

“my love you have no clue how much I love you.”

———————

Crona Gorgon

honey

you would call him honey bunny as a joke and he loved it so he started calling you honey

would always have the cutest blush in his face when he said it too

“o-oh thank you honey :)” (cutie patootie 💋)

dear

would definitely take him a while to start calling this, but when he does 🤌💋

“are you alright if we stay a little longer dear? It’s been a while since we’ve seen the others”

being fr this poor soul would be TERRIFIED to call you something other than your name or a variation for A WHILE

his brains running six times the speed 🏃🏼

———————

Professor Stein

this sadistic mf

i pray for anyone dating this man

but we can be delulu for a few

dove

would absolutely call you dove or some other kind of bird

reminds him of how he protects you like your a delicate bird (and he likes experimenting on birds if yk what i mean 😏)

angel

TELL ME HE WOULDN’T

ngl he only calls you angel when he’s horny asf in a good mood

“hey angel, can you come here for a bit?”

NONE OF YOUR HOLES ARE SAFE RIP

honey

only time your safe if when he calls you honey

mostly calls you this when you’re having a bad day

BUT HE STILL MANAGES TO SOUND SARCASTIC ASF

this is a warning, this man will accidentally hurt your feelings 24/7

“You doing alright there honey? You want to talk about it?”

———————

Kilik Rung

fuck not being allowed to have favorites I LOVE THIS BITCH

only fully green flag in the show i stg (except Marie ofc)

lovebug

he will call you every single pet name he can come up with, but love bug is his favorite

neither of you know how it started but you’re not complaining

“You’re too sweet for me lovebug” <33

sweets

ya see what i did there? ofc he combines his two favorite things: you and those damn candy bars

“This class is so boring, right sweets?”

will calls you sweets often to express thanks kinda like a “thanks toots”

getting more into that

toots

he thinks he’s funny (and he is)

will say this very ironically and usually infront of friends to make everyone laugh

the only slightly annoying quality abt Kilik is his inability to take anything other than combat seriously

“hey toots, how’s it goin’?”

hon

I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST ONE!

but you cannot tell me this man is not from New Orleans or some other adjacent

and the hon with the southern-ish accent

being so fr he will call you hon all the time and it will fluster tf out of you (he’s smug abt it, just a little 🤏

“You look nice, who are you all dressed up for hun?”

———————————————————————————

woo hoo first post!

anyways hope y’all are doing great

any comments, questions, requests or concerns feel free to DM me!

-Melodrangea <3

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

Jotaro Kujo — kakyoin's amusement

cw: nothing rlly, jotaro kujo is bad at feelings tag

an: inspired by that tiktok audio of when he sees me lol

Always being on the move with barely any breaks and with enemies at every turn has left Kakyoin with little to no entertainment. Of course, he doesn't mind, even if he's already starting to miss his NES.

Fortunately for the red-head teenager, it seems that the Gods have heard his prayers and have blessed him with a new source of entertainment, exclusive front-row seats that only he is the audience of, said entertainment being the hidden feelings between you and Jotaro.

Well, it's not really hidden—you're both aware of your feelings, just not each other's. And being the only other teenager left, the two of you ran to Kakyoin to rant about your feelings. 

And just the admissions alone was already absolutely amusing.

You were the first to admit your feelings. 

It was still early on the journey, and Kakyoin was tasked to retrieve tickets with Jotaro, but he found that the teen had already gone on without him. Shrugging it off, Kakyoin opted to enjoy his stay and make the most of the hotel amenities instead. 

He found himself in the pool area, and much to his surprise, he caught you in one of the beach chairs on the poolside. Feeling his eyes on you, you wave him over, and he approaches you to sit on the beach chair adjacent to yours. 

It was quiet, and Kakyoin racked his brain for anything to say. Eventually, he opens up the conversation with one of the obscure facts he knows off the top of his head. 

Thankfully, you responded in kind, and the conversation flowed easily from there. Your conversation bounced from one thing to another before eventually, the both of you settled in comfortable silence while laying back on your respective beach chairs. 

It was a bit sudden for Kakyoin, but he'd be lying if he said he was surprised when you suddenly admitted it. 

"I think I like him...." You spoke, suddenly breaking the silence between you and the red-headed teen. Kakyoin glances at you, and he can see you feeling a bit embarrassed to say it out loud. 

"Hm..." Kakyoin hums in response before adding with a noticeable teasing lilt in his voice. "Who? Polnareff?"

"Yes, of course. Because I want a grown man." You respond sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you look at him, watching his lips turn up to an amused smirk. "I'm talking about Mr. Joestar, obviously."

"Right, my mistake." Kakyoin matched your energy, the both of you sharing a chuckle, before he turns to look at you, meeting your gaze. 

"So, Jotaro, huh?" 

Kakyoin's smirk widens at the sudden smitten look on your face just from the mention of the name, and he's 99% positive that you don't even realize it. 

"Yeah..." You sigh, one that reminds him of a hopeless romantic protagonist of romcoms he's seen his parents watch before. "I mean, can you blame me? Going through all these troubles just for his mom? How he jumped to save that kid without hesitation? And that face of his isn't helping."

"Honestly? I can't say I'm surprised." Kakyoin responds to your small rant, his voice soft and comforting. He sees your lips part, looking at him in slight panic, and he cuts you off before you can even speak. 

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks, Kakyoin."

"Mhm. Thank you for trusting me with this."

On the other hand, it took Jotaro quite a while before he admitted it—both to himself and to his friend. 

After a long day of fighting the menace that was Steely Dan and a long day of traveling, they ended up in another hotel. As usual, Jotaro and Kakyoin ended up sharing a room, and you ended up getting separated from them with your very own room. 

It was a really long day for both teenagers; both were drained and worn out, with Kakyoin mentally exhausted from exerting the effort to manifest his stand in a much smaller form and Jotaro both mentally and physically drained after all the beating he took earlier in the day. 

"I should've beaten him up more." Jotaro groans from his bed, making Kakyoin turn to look at him, a brow raised. 

"Steely Dan? You ended up hating him that much?" Kakyoin responds before leaning on his elbows, still lying on the bed. "How bad are the things he did to you when we left you with him?"

"That's not the issue. I've already made him pay for what he did to me." Jotaro responds, before shooting up from his bed, removing his hat, and placing it on the shared nightstand between their beds, running a hand through his hair. 

"But...." Jotaro trails off, and Kakyoin sits up on his bed as well, raising his brow even more. 

Jotaro grumbled something under his breath, and Kakyoin could swear he heard your name amongst the words the other teen grumbled. 

Kakyoin repeats your name, and Jotaro faces Kakyoin, his gaze hardened. 

"What about them?" Kakyoin asks curiously. 

"I can't easily forgive him for the shit he did to them."

Kakyoin is quite surprised by his words and how genuine they sound. His gaze darts to his friend's face, his scowl deeper than usual, a vein almost popping on his temple. Jotaro's exhaustion must be making him slip his composure, his emotions taking hold of his exhausted mind. 

"What did he do?" 

"He grabbed them. Right. in front. of. me." Jotaro scowls, his jaw clenched tightly. "Grabbed onto their arm so tightly like they were his."

Kakyoin blinks at that, his eyes widening slightly. No.. that expression on Jotaro's face.. it wasn't annoyance. Not completely...

"Held their chin to make them look at him. His face was so damn close to theirs, I would've punched him right then and there if it wasn't for the old man."

Definitely not annoyance. It's jealousy.

"I could feel Star Platinum just about ready to make him regret being born, and I had to actively hold him back." Jotaro finishes his mini-rant with a deep, annoyed sigh, his eyes darting over to look at Kakyoin. 

It was Jotaro's turn to look confused at the amused grin on Kakyoin's face, a knowing look in his lavender gaze, making Jotaro's brows scrunch in confusion as he looks at his friend. 

"The hell are you smiling about?" Jotaro asks bluntly with a deep scowl, "Didn't you hear a thing I just said?"

"I think you're the one who didn't hear what you just said, Jotaro." Kakyoin responds amusedly, his grin not faltering even under the scrutinizing gaze of Jotaro Kujo. 

"What are you blabbering about?"

"Think back to your words, Jotaro. You're not stupid."

Jotaro paused for a while, running a hand through his already messy hair at his friend's cryptic behavior. He was already exhausted and pissed off; he didn't need any more of Kakyoin's bullshit—still, curiously, Jotaro did as he was asked. 

Kakyoin's amused smile slowly widens along with Jotaro's eyes slowly widening in realization as he plays his own words back in his mind. His surprised gaze turned to look at Kakyoin. 

"Are you suggesting....?" Jotaro trails off with a hiss. "Fuck off."

"I'm not even saying anything."

"Don't think about it. I'd rather eat my socks."

"Oh?"

"Don't look at me like—" Jotaro sighs. "It's not like that,"

"But it is," Kakyoin insists with a raised brow and a smirk, "Isn't it?"

Jotaro didn't even respond this time, looking away from his friend's teasing gaze as his own landed on his bed sheets. Kakyoin could see the dust of pink on the other teen's cheeks the more he remained silent, and that was already enough of a response to him. 

"God fucking damnit." Jotaro curses under his breath at the realization, letting out a deep sigh as he glares at his sheets. Kakyoin remained silent as he let Jotaro think about his newfound feelings. 

Eventually, Jotaro turns his head to look at Kakyoin, the usual calm, cold, neutral look on his face as his ocean gaze stares through his lavender ones. 

"Turn away for a bit." Was all Jotaro said. Confused, Kakyoin did as he was told, turning his back to Jotaro and looking at the wall beside his bed. 

Suddenly, Kakyoin jumps slightly in surprise. 

Jotaro is screaming.

It's muffled, probably by his pillows and his sheets, and it probably wasn't loud enough to be heard outside their room, but loud enough to surprise Kakyoin.

It didn't take long before he heard a deep breath and then silence.

"Good night," Jotaro spoke nonchalantly, and Kakyoin swiftly turned, but Jotaro was already on his side, back turned towards the red-head who was only blinking at him in a mix of amusement and surprise. 

"Also, don't tell anyone about this."

"Aye, aye, captain."

[mera-mera-simp]

OP Character's Love Languages

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Ussop, Ace and Law

Content Warning: fluff. Some angst (Sanji, Ace and Law)

Pt. 2

Luffy:

Absolutely physical touch. There is no debate on this.

He can and will cling to you with no hesitation. Man doesn't know personal space<3

But you and most of the Strawhats don't mind it. It's sweet.

Though you do have to gently remind him sometimes that not everybody he knows likes it when he does that</3

Definitely a words of affirmation kinda guy too.

This one isn't as often but he loves making you smile.

Constantly telling you how funny you are and how much he loves you. He is a sweet baby even if he's a menace sometimes<3

Sometimes, you'll get a combo of the two. He'll wrap his arms around a multitude of times and tell you all kinds of sweet things just to see you smile.

Gift. Giving.

Please give this sweet baby gifts it will make his eyes light up like stars and he'll treasure it forever.

You could get him the silliest thing and he'll be so happy. You'll have his stretchy arms wrapped around you and multiple kisses on your face while he's yelling 'thank you' multiple times within an instant.

Zoro:

Quality time.

He's not much of a touchy guy and he's not the greatest with words.

But he actively seeks you out on the Sunny. He just wants to be by you<3

He's not great at words, so just being by you is enough for him

He will make you take naps with him<3

He likes to sit by you when he's cleaning his swords.

Please just chill with him while he trains. He likes being in your presence.

This goes both ways low-key. He knows that you love him so he doesn't need to be reminded. And as mentioned earlier, he's not really a touchy feely guy.

So just spending time with you is enough.

Bro loves you so much, he'll chill by you while you're talking to the other strawhats. He doesn't need to involved in the conversation. He'll just sit by you (he'll take a nap depending on where you are on the ship)

Maybe a small bit of gift giving?

Only if he finds it useful though probably.

Get him stuff to clean his swords with and he'll be happy.

Send him over the moon with alcohol.

But definitely quality time for the most part.

Dude just wants to be by you<3

Sanji:

Is it absurd to say that it's everything? (Because I feel like it is but thats cause I'm in love with him and delulu)

He'll match to whatever your love language is babes<3

Gift giving? He'll spoil you

Quality time? Just hang out with him in the kitchen while he cooks

Words of affirmation? He'll tell you a thousand times a day that he loves you

Acts of service? Say the word and your wish is his command.

Physical touch? He'll be all over you.

He'll match your energy.

Sometimes you'll get the buy 1 get 4 free combo.

He bends over backwards for you.

And it's all super sweet. He'll cook for you, buy you some cute trinkets that you like, spend time with you while you're doing something, tell you all kinds of romantic things, and he'll hold your hand at all times

Bro is such a sweet guy<3

Please tell him that you love him. Reassure him for the love of god

He didn't get it a lot as a kid after Sola died so whenever you do, he really appreciates it <3 (Sanji my sad chef, my beloved I love him so much)

Nami:

Look me in the eye and tell me that her loves languages aren't gift giving and acts of service.

She'll be over the moon if you buy her stuff

Specially if it's expensive <3

Bake something for her, Sanji will help you if you ask him to!

She'll give you a bunch of kisses for it. It's her way of say thank you.

You're the only one who doesn't owe her a single berri. Cause why would she charge the love of her life?

She gets a little jealous super easily though. She'll pout at you. Just laugh at her and tell her she's cute. Kiss her cheek, forehead or tip of her nose if you want to make her melt.

Sometimes she'll indulge in physical touch, only for you though.

She'll hold your hand when strolling through a town on a new island. And then persuade you to buy something she likes by acting cute.

She's super appreciative if you do though

She'll hug you and kiss you with a big grin on her face

It makes her feel important

She likes to make you feel important too. She'll actually go out of her way to buy you stuff sometimes. She teases about an interest fee but if you actually try to pay it, it's the only time she refuses

Ussop:

Words of affirmation

My guy needs a lot of reassurance so he appreciates it

Tell him that he's brave and he'll be absolutely smitten

He also likes physical touch

He'll hold you as he tells his stories

Talk to him about the world. You both love being out on the Grandline and seeing how big the world is. It's one your 'late night can't sleep' topics.

Hangout on the deck of the Sunny and look at stars together. He'll hold your hand and point out the constellations to you. (He learned them from Robin, he just wants to impress you<3)

If you hug him from behind randomly, he'll swoon.

He'll let you stay like that too. He thinks it's sweet. He'll just casually talk to you about his day so far.

He's constantly telling you how much he loves you.

You make him feel strong and brave so of course he's going to return the favor.

Overall, Ussop is just a sweet guy. He likes holding your hand and making you smile<3

Ace:

Oh my beloved sad himbo

Please hold him and reassure him.

He's definitely a physical touch and words of affirmation kinda guy too.

Trace the freckles on his face (he'll melt in your arms with a blushing face if you call them mini constellations<3)

He likes to hold you yeah but please hold him. He needs it.

He likes to be in your embrace but he'll only let you do it when you guys aren't in sight of the crew, he's afraid that Marco and Thatch will tease him for a life time. (They wouldn't)

Pepper his face in kisses

This poor cowboy is so sad please tell him all of the things you love about him

Tell him he's worth everything in the world (Ace was the One Piece</3\hj)

Whisper sweet nothings to him as you guys try to fall asleep at night, that's when his head tries to attack him the most.

He appreciates it all and he'll definitely return the favor.

He constantly has you wrapped in his arms.

He'll kiss the top of your head and nuzzle his face into your hair.

He'll purposely act stupid just to see you laugh.

Please just make him happy. He is so sad

He will deny though.

"Me? Sad? Blasphemy."

Law:

Another quality time kinda guy

He doesn't like physical touch

Or words of affirmation

Please don't openly say you love him or promise him anything, the last person who did both those things died almost immediately after (he's traumatized </3)

Just spend some time with him, that's all he asks. You don't have to say anything he just wants to he by you.

He doesn't know how to accept gifts so that's also kinda out of the question

If you do something for him though, he'll be appreciative. In his own way

Just quality time for the most part.

Just sit by him while he reads or looks over some notes he has.

He's comforted by your presence, you make him happy even if he never outwardly shows it

[bowdownperv]

doctors appointment

rafe takes nervous reader to her yearly checkup a/n: fluff, mentions of smut

going to the doctors office always terrified you since your were a child. your parents always had to drag you to your appointments, kicking and screaming, and reward you with vanilla ice cream afterwards despite you being an absolute menace. you would yell so loud that patients in the waiting room had to cover their ears. the nurses would often left the room with your tiny footprints on their white scrubs after giving you your yearly vaccinations.

❊ ❊ ❊

well, your parents had decided now that you were an adult, it was up to you to be a "big girl" and go to your appointments by yourself. your appointment was booked a month in advance, and every day leading up to it you spent worried with nightmares about evil doctors and giant needles. the stress had become too much and as your scary day grew closer, you surrendered your independence and decided you needed one special person to go with you.

rafe was someone you grew up with and who knew you better than anyone else. he was a few years older than you, and as a kid you looked up to him as he was much wiser and had more experience with things. he was the one who taught you many life lessons such as how to defend yourself, driving, and even sex. he would eventually become your first, and only, and ever since you'd been addicted and would always run to him like an eager puppy whenever you had desires, despite not being in an official relationship.

you called rafe and asked him to come over to hangout with you, which was nothing out of the unordinary. once you heard his knock on your front the door, you giddily ran down the stairs to greet the smiling, handsome boy on your front porch. he was wearing a navy polo with the first two buttons undone and beige khakis with grass stains on his knees. you could tell he had come straight from golfing.

"hey, beautiful," he said grinning cheerfully with his hands in his pockets. the simple word already made your cheeks glow pink matching the lace embroidery on your vintage skirt.

"hi rarefy," you said with an unconscious smile. "come," you commanded with a grabby hand, waiting for his larger hand to engulf it.

upon pulling him inside, you dragged him straight upstairs to your bedroom. rafe immediately made himself comfortable and sprawled out on your mattress, laughing at your whines about him being on your clean bed with his shoes on. when you walked over to take them off for him, he took the opportunity to grab you and throw you on top of him.

"rafe!" you yelped placing your hand on his chest for support. rafe looked at you with a devilish smile and combed the hair out of your face with his fingers. you could feel his rough callouses brush up against your forehead which made your insides tickle for some reason.

rafe's face displayed a beaming white grin until he looked into your eyes and saw little teardrops beginning to form. his curious stare intimidated you causing your to nuzzle your face into his chest

"what's going on, huh?" he said rubbing your back extremely gently like you were a delicate little flower. you cried into his cotton polo, letting all the built up stress of this stupid doctors appointment soak into the fabric.

"it's embarassing," you whined.

"just tell me, ok?" rafe begged. you unattached yourself from his chest and wiped your face with both hands.

"will you come with me to my check up tomorrow?" you said shyly, playing with his hand to relax you. "im so scared," you whined pathetically.

"shit. all this over a stupid doctors appointment? course ill take you kid. 'ts no big deal at all."

you hugged him with a grip so tight his eyes nearly popped out of his skull and laid on his chest as he slowly rubbed your back letting you sleep soundly for the first time in a month. he waited to sneak out until he was sure you were in a deep sleep, carefully replacing your arms around him with a pillow.

❊ ❊ ❊

the dreaded day arrived and rafe arrived promptly at your doorstep to escort you to your personal hell. your legs shook like tree branches so much so that you had to lean on rafe just to walk to his car. he couldn't help but hide a smirk from how pathetic you were over a stupid doctors check up, but he found your over-dramatization cute.

once rafe was finally able to get you into the office, he handled all the professional stuff for you, checking you in, filling out your paperwork, you were shocked by how much he knew about you and you face lit up when he put his name and phone number down as your emergency contact information.

the nurse finally called your name and you went completely frozen. rafe gave her an apologetic smile as he pulled you from you chair and had to drag you into the appointment room like you were a mannequin.

every time the nurse asked you a basic question, your heart dropped deeper into your chest. somehow you forgot when your birthday was and if you were on any medication. luckily rafe was there to do most of the work for you.

his palm met his forehead with an eye roll when she put the blood pressure cuff around your arm and you turned your head as far away from it as possible wrinkling your face. rafe thought it was silly but at the same time had the desire to swoop in and rescue you, even though he knew you were perfectly safe. the nurse swiftly finished up her duties and left allowing the doctor to complete your check up.

"so miss," the doctor asked, "any general pain or discomfort?"

you looked over to rafe clueless and he shook his head.

"no, sir," you stuttered.

"smoking or any use of drugs?"

once again, your head tilted towards rafe for guidance who shook his head firmer this time.

"no, sir."

"and are you at all sexually active?"

your face turned the brightest pink ever imaginable and rafe couldn't help but smirk seeing your reaction. you turned to him for directions of what to say, but for the first time all day, he was of no help as his eyes wandered up at the ceiling.

you swore to yourself that you would keep the dirty activities between you and rafe a secret, as you had a girl next door reputation attactched to your name. but the doctor was here to help you right? you were never good at lying and you knew he would be smart enough to detect it.

"uhm." you mumbled, looking down at your lap. "yes, sir."

the doctor then went into a complete rant about STD's and the risk of not using protection, but all you could do was glow like a pink lightbulb.

"so, are you using protection?" he asked sternly.

"yes, I am, sir."

the doctor quickly wrapped things up, needing to get to his next patient, but assured you that your health was in great condition and there was nothing to worry about. you didn't feel that way, however.

before rafe could finish thanking the staff, you dragged him out of the building as fast as possible, nearly giving him whiplash. you hopped into his passenger seat and immediately started bawling.

"hey, what's a matter? you did great kid. all good and healthy. know it was tough but I'm proud of you."

"he thinks I'm a slut!" you cried out with tears dampening your dress.

"what!?" rafe said shocked. "look kid, people have sex, okay? completely normal. how you think any of us got here, huh?"

you continued to wheeze into your skirt.

"he kept goin' and goin' about STD's, and condoms, and-" your own cries interrupted you. "he thinks I'm a dirty whore!"

"that's part of his job, baby. he's gotta say that whole spiel to everyone that comes in, probably has it all memorized. nothin' to do with you."

all you could do was look up at him with wet, Bambi eyes.

"now lemme get you some ice cream, yea? that'll make you feel better. no one thinks you're dirty, you're a good girl, okay?"

you nodded your head.

rafe spent the rest of the day driving you around and getting you whatever you wanted. his friends were not happy as they had planned on going golfing again today, but he would do anything and everything he could to get his happy girl back.

[macfrog]

mile high sex on fire chapter three

we're going overseas baby! (this is gonna be a three-parter cause i hyperfixated and couldn't stop myself so BUCKLE UP) author's note: i absolutely do NOT condone the use of private jets. they are GROSS and terrible for the environment and just fucking fly commerical ok? but in this ceo!joel ficland, private jets are fuelled by delusion and emit only clean, pure oxygen. thank you for reading. now, with that in mind, please enjoy reader being railed in a plane cabin. i love u all to paris n back 🤍🥐

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you accompany joel on a work trip to paris, to eat good food, drink expensive wine, and…get to know each other a little better

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) environmental crime, plane sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, daddy kink, joel being a fucking exhibitionist menace, creampie, more gf representation, showering together, softdom!joel, sugardaddy!joel, heavy on the flirting, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, very ridiculous spending on very ridiculous things, workplace relationship and therefore odd power dynamic yadda yadda yadda

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.” “They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.” “Who?” Joel asks. He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes. “Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

You’ve never been on a work trip with Joel. Usually, he likes to take them alone. Martha told you once about a time a couple years before you started when Joel took an intern to a conference in Canada, and the kid spent the entire first night in the hotel bar, missed the conference the next day, and only just made the flight home, scruff of his neck between Joel’s knuckles.

He racked up a bill of nearly a thousand dollars just on liqueur and finger food. Joel had sworn he’d never take anybody anywhere with him again.

But there’s this client over in Europe he’s due to meet – an annual thing where they sit on the terrace of some luxurious hotel, drink expensive wine that tastes like piss, according to Joel, and have a cock-off over their money and status.

Sounds like fun, right?

You’ve a pretty good idea why he asked you. And he made a pretty convincing pitch: he’d promised you a relaxing weekend. You didn’t have to sit in on any meetings, he’d let you amble around the city by day, take you for a fancy dinner or two at night. All expenses paid. You barely had to lift a finger.

As per the deal, Martha organized the travel documents. Printed them, collated them, handed them to you in a neat little folder with a paperclip on top and a Post-It note with Have fun! written in red ink. You’d slipped it into your bag and followed Joel to his car, nodding to Rand as you ducked under the starlit ceiling.

Joel’s left hand sits around your thigh – because where else would it be? – his right clutching his phone, thumb scrolling as he absentmindedly reads some document. You’re watching the city soar by from behind tinted glass. Before long, it’s the dark green of trees flickering by, and then, canvased by the clear blue sky, an air traffic control tower in the distance.

The Rolls saunters past the main entrance to the airport. You watch it roll by, leaning forward in your seat.

“Wait, what…?”

“What, baby?” Joel asks, looking up from his phone.

You usually knew every fine detail of the plan by heart. It was your job to. But with Martha being in charge of arranging your flight, you’d missed one crucial speck of information this time. And that is –

You’re travelling by private fucking jet.

The car drives across smooth tarmac toward a pointed white plane, bold against the brilliant blue sky behind it. There are four people standing at the bottom of the steps leading into it; what you assume are the two pilots, and two smartly dressed flight attendants.

“How did I never know you had a…?”

Joel smirks. “Never showed you it. C’mon.”

He gets out, strolls around to your door and opens it for you. You’re still gawking at the jet.

“Jeez…” you whisper, hopping out of the car.

“What is it?” he says through a chuckle, leading you across the tarmac.

“I feel so…Everyone looks so…I’m in my fucking sweatpants, Joel.”

He looks at you under low brows, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like he doesn’t want to hear one more word of it. He holds an arm out; his pinkie bumps into your tummy.

“I think you look beautiful, darlin’.”

It might’ve stopped you in your tracks. Might’ve crumbled the entire airport to dust. Might’ve made the sun drop out of the sky. You’re not sure. You wouldn’t notice if you dropped dead right now.

His words, his soft voice when he says them, send a pang of white noise through your ears, echoing around and bouncing off the walls of your head.

You swallow. Digest what he just said. And do your best to forget all about it.

Joel takes your hand and leads you to the plane steps, helping you up. He follows at your heels. “Thanks, Jerry, Lisa,” he says. You give both pilots a nervous smile as you pass.

The airconditioned cabin chills your arms when you reach the top, twisting around to look back to Joel.

“Go on.” Joel nods, palm ushering you inside.

You step forward and turn right, standing in the doorway to a pristine, white-walled, wooden interior cabin, leather seats dotted against the walls, dark brown glassy tables between them, soft gray carpet at your feet, vacuum cleaner lines still visible. There’s a long plush couch on the left wall, today’s newspaper on the side table next to it.

You feel Joel’s body shell around yours, his chin dips against your ear.

“Like it?”

“Not really. Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution.”

“How many trees you want me to plant to make up for it?”

You tut. “What are you doin’ in business? You’re so funny.”

You wander off without looking back, heading for one of the window seats.

“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “there’s a separate cabin up back, too, if you want it.”

“Separate cabin?”

He nods. “’s got a bed. It’s cozy.”

A bed. Of course this asshole has a fucking bed in his private jet.

The pilots file in behind him, dipping into the cockpit. The flight attendants follow, and begin preparing for takeoff. Joel strolls over to the seat opposite yours, giving your legs a nudge under the varnished table when he sits down.

You both click your seatbelts into place, relax, and look out the window as the jet rolls by the airport, heading for the runway. The engine fires up properly, a deep hum you feel rattling up your spine, and then you’re pulled forward, body pushing heavily into the soft leather of your seat.

The plane races down the runway, the grass and trees blurring into a mix of dark and light green, before you’re lifting off the tarmac and into the air, your tummy flipping a little from excitement and maybe some nerves, and…Joel’s gaze on you.

When your eyes meet his, he scans down. Your little black t-shirt, skin tight. The way your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. Down to the waist of your sweatpants, then further down your legs. You know exactly what’s going through his mind.

And, honestly…being on a private jet on your way to a free weekend in Paris, accompanied by the best sex you’ve ever had…? Goes against a couple of your core beliefs about the world, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t on your mind, too.

The flight attendants let you guys know you can unbuckle your belts now, and, like a hive mind, you both unclip them and stand.

“Was gonna go check out that, uh–”

“I’ll show you to it,” Joel cuts in, taking your bag and leading you down the aircraft. He dips his head as he walks, the cabin too small for him to stand straight. You follow like a fucking dog, trying to hide the spring in your step.

Through a door concealed to look like part of the wall is a small room with a double bed, soft white sheets untouched. There’s a little TV on the wall opposite, a small table with another comfy chair by one of the windows, and a rail for hanging up clothes. The shades over the windows are pulled almost all the way down, sunlight splintering through and lining the soft carpet.

Joel wasn’t wrong. It is cozy.

He sets your bag down on the floor and closes the door behind you. You notice he locks it.

The corners of your lips tug, your eyebrows raise. “Might be classier than my bedroom.”

He scoffs, and you turn, falling back onto the bed and kicking your shoes off.

“Alright,” you announce, flat-out on the sheets, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Joel looks surprised. Almost – offended. “Sh…You’re gonna sleep?”

“’s why you got a bed, ain’t it?”

He narrows his eyes, runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. Steps forward. Sticks a knee between yours. “Not exactly.”

You smile up at him. He’s pulling the jacket from his shoulders, plain white tee underneath. He looks so fucking good. The man always looks so fucking good. He tosses the jacket to the floor and bends down over you. Hands pressing deep into the bed either side of your head, torso hovering over yours. Hips just too far away for you to lift yours up to meet them.

You take hold of his wrists. “Then…show me what it’s for.”

Joel looks from your lips to your chest, then back up to your eyes, grinning like a devil. He lifts one hand and his fingers come down to play with the drawstring of your sweatpants, tugging painfully slow on them. You want to whine, but that’d be letting him win too easily.

He loosens the waist and his fingers find the hem of your tee tucked beneath.

“You gonna show me those pretty tits, baby?”

You nod, biting your lip as he peels your top from your body, your back arching, arms splaying out on the bed. Joel uncovers your chest and slips the top over your head, discarding it to the side and leaning back to take the view in.

You didn’t wear a bra today. Wanted to travel in as much comfort as possible.

One of your wiser choices.

“Fuck, darlin’…” he breathes, eyes set on your perky tits, your round, hardened nipples. His reaction sends a fleet of electricity down to your core.

“C’mere,” you whisper, taking his shirt in your fists and dragging him down against your naked torso. And then his hips are there, right against yours, and you grind up into him, feeling his bulging crotch between your legs.

Your fingers dance along the hem of his shirt and he lifts off of you, letting you tug it over his head before his chest is pressed back against yours. You part your lips and he fills your mouth with his tongue, hands in your hair, body grinding against your own. He’s pushing you further up the mattress until you’re both in the center, disturbing the sheets and shifting the cushions decorating the bed.

Joel’s hand trails down your naked stomach and under your pants, cutting past the lace of your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger daring ever lower. You moan and drag your hips forward to edge his fingers further, until they’re dipping between your folds and your body’s rolling with pleasure.

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, “that’s it, huh? That’s what you want?”

“Uhuh,” you nod, bottom lip between your teeth, eyelashes batting in a plea for him to keep going. Keep fucking going.

His mouth dips between your jaw and your shoulder, teeth picking up your hot skin to suck a bruise while two fingers push inside of you, lifting your back from the mattress and into Joel’s rock-solid body. Some noise escapes his lips, something caught between a laugh and a groan.

“So tight, baby,” he murmurs, drawing a smile across your face.

And then your hands are messing around at his waistband, fingers fumbling with the button. Wanting him in your hands as much as he has you around his own. Needing to feel what you’re doing to him, since he’s well aware of what he’s done to you.

Joel’s hand slips gently out from under your pants and his weight lifts off of you. In the slivers of light streaming through the cabin windows, his silhouette steps back off the bed and shoves the denim down his thighs. His jeans hit the floor and as quick as he left you, he’s back pressing into you again, hard outline of his length nudging against the top of your thigh.

You slip a hand under the elastic of his underwear and take hold of his cock, while he picks up where he left off between your legs. Your lips connect, breathing laughs and pants and desperate moans into each other, hands working to push each other closer and closer…

Joel’s fingers pump in and out, curling just enough to hit your G-spot every time. His thumb’s bumping at your clit, pushing waves of pleasure with each circle. He adds a third finger when you start to gasp, the movement of your fist around his shaft becoming messy and staggered. You’re trying to focus on him, trying to get him there as fast as he’s getting you, but he’s so fucking good at it, and you’re starting to fade out of the cabin.

Your eyes roll shut; head falls back against the bed. You’re still trying to fucking jack him off, as if he’d even let himself cum in your hands before he’s been inside you. But you’re desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of having you unfold on his hand less than ten minutes into this. Desperately trying not to give in to him and his stupid private jet.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel whispers in your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your hair, “you can cum. Do it for me.”

“F-uck you,” you whisper, and you cave.

Let’s put it down to the air pressure when you’re this high up. In fact, let’s just say: you’re on a plane, and you’ve never had anything remotely close to sex on a plane before, and that’s why, when your orgasm bursts through, you cum harder than you think you’ve ever done before. It’s because of how fucking insane this is.

Let’s just say.

You come to with your face buried in the crook of Joel’s neck. His chest is vibrating, Adam’s apple bobbing. You pull back and notice the dimples in his swollen cheeks, the crow’s feet by his eyes, and then…the wide smile spread across his lips.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he asks through a laugh.

You curse at him again, eyes screwing shut. His hand’s still between your legs, slowly moving in and out, lulling you through the tail end of your orgasm. Your hands have deserted their original job; they’re clutching Joel’s shoulders. You don’t even remember grabbing onto him.

“Got somethin’ that’ll make you feel even better,” he breathes, and before you’re fully awake, his hands are on your hips, flipping you over. He drags your pants down your legs, discarding them to the floor beside his.

You sigh when he pulls your ass up into the air, resting your ear on your folded arms. Accepting defeat, or maybe just…letting him do what he does best.

Joel slips your panties to the side and runs his cock up and down your dripping cunt. You flinch, still sensitive, and feel him slow down.

“Gonna make you feel real good, alright?”

“Mhm,” you reply, eyes closing again as he lines up.

It sounds like a bit of a dumb thing to say. Joel makes you feel good every time his hands are on you, without question. Even that first night, in that dive bar, before he’d ever really done anything. His hands sent electricity through your body that you failed all weekend to rid yourself of. But you hear what he’s really saying.

You haven’t had each other yet without someone on the other side of the wall, waiting for one of you. It’s always been a rush, always been about that race to the finish line just to satisfy your needs, and then return to Earth as soon as you’re done.

There’s no need to rush to that finish line this time around. Nobody’s waiting. Joel can do whatever he wants, can fuck you however he likes, and have you under his hand for as long as he wants. As long as you both last.

The bed makes sense now, doesn’t it?

He pushes inside you, thick, hard, full. You gasp, face burying into the comforter, legs spreading to accommodate his size. Your fingers grasp onto the sheets, nails digging into the soft fabric as he fills you up, pulls halfway out, and rocks back in.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cry, and his hips slam into yours.

“Huh?” he asks.

“Daddy,” you correct yourself, still gasping.

“Better.”

Joel pounds into you, strong grip on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock at a punishing pace. His grunts match your whines. Your hand stretches out to grab something – anything – to hold onto, to steady yourself as your body begins to collapse.

“Daddy,” you mewl again, muffled by the cotton of the sheets, like it’s the only word coming to mind. “So – fuckin’ – good.”

“Louder, baby,” he replies, groaning when you tighten around him.

You whimper. “F-fuck, daddy.”

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.”

“They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.”

“Who?” Joel asks.

He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes.

“Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

His hips crack into yours again once, and then halt. You cry out, the sudden feeling of him in his entirety, filling you up, pushing right up against your cervix, too much to bear. Too much to be muffled by the mattress beneath you.

“Let – them,” Joel’s hips drag back, slow, leaving you empty, “hear – you.”

He thrusts forward again, painfully, and you moan. Loud. “Ah, daddy,” you cry out again, and you swear Joel’s chest rumbles behind you with a laugh.

“That’s it, good girl. Tell ‘em how good it feels.”

You feel your mind start to slip, the cabin going with it. Your eyes roll closed, your mouth falls open. The only sound escaping your lips a whine, over and over, shaped just like the word daddy, daddy, daddy.

Joel’s forehead rests on the crown of yours, his voice a soft hum at the nape of your neck.

“See? Sound way too pretty to keep quiet, darlin’.”

He’s panting, words spilling out of his mouth between gasps and grunts. Hips are snapping at a grueling pace. You reach for his wrists again, planted in the bed either side of your head, and squeeze as if it might relieve the building tension in the pit of your stomach.

But he’s going so fast, so hard, fucking you dumb. And you can feel him start to falter, when your walls hold him snug, tightening around him as you reach your high.

He cums when you do. You feel him empty inside you as you hurtle through your own orgasm, rippling bliss all around your body. You both cry out, filling the tiny room with groans of pleasure and release together.

Your hips give, fall flat to the mattress, Joel still inside, slowly rocking back and forth, pushing his cum deeper and deeper inside you.

His elbows sink into the bed at your shoulders, caging you under his body as the remnants of your highs wash away. He’s running soft, wet kisses from your neck down the top of your spine. When your body stills, the pulsing of your cunt a mere flutter, he slips out from between your legs and pushes up off of your body.

Joel collapses alongside you atop the tangle of sheets and pillows, skin sticking, bodies thrumming with energy. You roll over to lie next to him. Chests rising and falling in unison, fingers intertwining at your sides. You’re staring at the ceiling, head tilting to rest on Joel’s shoulder, and he places a soft kiss to your hair.

You glance up to look into his brown eyes, lit by the thin rays of bursting sunlight seeping through the windows. The way the light moves across him as the plane turns, brilliant rays sweeping over the horizon and reflecting every angle of his face.

When he notices you, he dips his chin, and you prop yourself up, pressing your lips to his. Joel holds your jaw softly, thumb grazing over your cheekbone. His other hand scoops around your back, holding your body close to his.

“Sleepy,” you mutter, and he nods.

“Get some rest,” he tells you, but you’re already laying your head down on his chest.

Your heavy eyes blink the jet out of view; Joel’s hand stroking your hair sends you off to sleep.

----------

You wake under the white sheets, still wrapped up in Joel’s arms, to the sound of voices on the TV. Some comedy movie. Sounds like Adam Sandler. Joel mutes it when he notices you stirring.

“Afternoon,” he mutters, voice husky.

“Hi,” you reply softly, and his hand runs through your hair. “How long was I out?”

“Only a little while. They’re probably getting ready for lunch. You want me to head out first?”

You nod, suddenly feeling ashamed…and hungry. “Yeah. ‘n can you…make sure they don’t ask?”

“They ain’t gonna ask,” he groans, laughing as you roll off his body and let him up.

You watch as he dresses himself, toned arms pulling his tee over broad shoulders; tan legs slipping back into neat jeans. He slings his jacket over his arm and bends back down over you to let you kiss him again – slow, deep. Something of a thanks, a you’re welcome, maybe. A marker, anyway. A prelude to this weekend.

And then he slips out front. You lock the door behind him and start collecting your clothes, hopping around the cabin as you pull them on.

Before you leave, you grab a hoodie from your bag, feeling a little more exposed than you did when you first boarded. You toss it over your shoulders and open the door.

“Couple more hours,” Joel tells you as you sit opposite him, propping your ankles on his lap. His hands run over your socks, brows furrowing when he notices the pattern. “Bart Simpson?”

“Comfiest socks I own. Good plane socks.”

“Alright.”

“Go on. Make fun of ‘em.”

“I didn’t say anything. You want somethin’ to eat?”

You smirk. “Sure.”

He pours you a glass of water from the metal jug on the table between you both, and one of the attendants appears as if by magic on your right.

“Got you gluten free stuff,” Joel says as you gulp at the ice water.

You almost choke. “Seriously?”

His face twists, confused. Mirroring your astonishment. “Yeah. You think I’d let you starve?”

You almost laugh before you hear it, and realize how sweet it is. You didn’t even know Joel noticed this stuff. Didn’t think it’d be on his radar.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your glass to mask the blush burning across your cheeks.

Joel nods once. Then turns to the attendant and asks for a burger, side of fries, side of onion rings. “We got sweet potato fries, Len?” he asks.

“Think so,” Len replies. “Want them instead? Or both?”

Joel thinks it over for probably two seconds, before he shrugs and says, “Both. Thanks, man.”

Len turns to you, but you’re still staring at Joel. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Joel holds his hands out. “I’m hungry.”

You give Len a smile. “What’s…What can I have?”

“We got gluten free flour, bread, pasta, uh…garlic bread for sides, too. And a couple desserts.”

“What the f…?” You stare at Joel. “You didn’t have to–”

“Just order, baby,” Joel says, palm facing you, stopping you from going on.

“I’ll, uh…You do fried chicken?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll have fried chicken, side of fries, and coleslaw, if you have it, please.”

Len nods curtly and heads back up front, leaving you and Joel on your own again. You finish your thought.

“What the fuck?”

He’s chuckling. “What?”

“You…This is…Nothing, you just…you blow my mind, every time.”

Joel shrugs, grinning. “Blow your back out, ‘n all.”

“Alright.” You snatch your ankles from his grasp – Bart’s toothy smirk slipping from between Joel’s fingers – and sit up straight, looking out of the window to the dazzling sky; bright blue on top and fluffy white clouds beneath.

Your food arrives shortly after and the pair of you eat in comfortable silence. Joel checks through his emails, you sit back in your seat with your headphones in. It’s nice, not having a phone to answer or Joel’s schedule to fix. Nicer, still, having him feet away from you, giving you all the attention you could possibly want at the drop of a hat.

You land in Paris at 10PM local time. Straight off the plane and into another sleek, black car, driven by a gray-haired, sharp-suited man named Denis whose hand Joel shakes before climbing in beside you. He slides into the leather seat and you fall against one another, your head on his shoulder. Partition wound up, though neither of you feel much like doing anything that’d require privacy. Your eyes are tired, heavy, you smell like eight hours’ worth of plane, and you’re basically salivating at the thought of collapsing into a huge, soft, clean bed.

Which is exactly what the pair of you do when you reach the hotel. You’re in some extravagant suite picked by Joel; you manage two glances around the dark place before he’s leading you by hand off to the bedroom, cases still parked at the front door.

And before you know it, you’re sinking into the plush sheets of a king-size bed, limbs entangled with Joel’s, city lights twinkling through the window into your sleep-glazed eyes as you drift off.

----------

Day breaks across Paris around seven in the morning. You wake with the blue glow of the sky, dusty pink on the horizon bleeding upward as the sun rises higher. When your eyes open and adjust to the light, you glance over Joel’s still sleeping body and notice the view behind him, split in half by the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.

The curtains are still pulled back – neither of you noticed nor had the energy to shut them when you arrived. You’re both still in your clothes from yesterday, too. Joel managed to kick off his shoes, and you remember him pulling yours off before he fell into the bed next to you. You didn’t even sleep under the bedsheets.

You push yourself up off the bed, stretching your back and glancing around. This room is fucking nuts. Gold accented – gold handles, gold light switches, gold frames. Pretentious modern art decorating each wall, an upholstered headboard that almost touches the ceiling in front of you. Marble-topped nightstands with spotless silver lamps, glinting in the light.

You roll off of the bed, Bart Simpson socks landing on soft carpet, though his face has been awkwardly twisted around your ankle in your sleep. You shuffle off to a door on the left, leading down a small hallway – past some fancy ornate vase – to the living room: a wide, open space with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the bedroom, looking out to the same view.

Two velvet couches sit opposite one another, a white marble coffee table sat between. Behind them, a dining table with eight chairs. Gleaming varnished wood. And then, through a couple more doors, a kitchenette with modern white cabinets, a coffee machine, a microwave.

Fucking. Nuts.

You hear Joel stirring in the bedroom and wander back through, dazed with sleep and amazement at this place. He’s rubbing his eyes when you walk in and spring down on top of him on the bed.

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, voice thick and husky. His hands fall onto your thighs, sat either side of his waist, and his eyes flutter open. “You’re energetic.”

“Have you fucking seen this place?”

“I have. Stay here every year.”

You press further into him, feeling a swell in his jeans and doing your best to ignore it.

“Can we go explore?”

“Outside?”

You nod eagerly, despite the way his face screws up.

“Baby,” he sighs, “I’m still in my damn jeans.”

“So, go shower. Get dressed.”

He’s not done protesting. “We travelled for, like, nine hours straight yesterday.”

“’n now we’re here and we ain’t here long, so let’s go do something. C’mon.”

You lace your fingers through Joel’s and pull him up toward you, sitting in his lap on the bed. He buries his face in your chest, mumbling something incoherent into the cotton of your shirt.

You giggle. “Huh? Can’t hear you.”

Joel pulls back with a sigh and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Alright,” he says, “go get ready.”

You leap off of him with a quiet squeal of glee.

As you pace around the suite, dragging your case into the bedroom, fishing some clean clothes and your toothbrush out, practically skipping into the marble-tiled shower room, Joel lays back in bed watching your every move. Smiling, eyebrows lifting with encouragement anytime you look over to him. Head resting back in the crook of his arm, sleepy eyes taking in all of your excitement.

You’re rinsing shampoo out of your hair when he slides into the shower behind you, a quick kiss to your shoulder.

“No sex,” you tell him with a pointed finger, squeezing the lemon scented gel into the palm of your hand.

“No, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, dipping his head to let you lather up the suds in his salt and pepper hair. “So, where we goin’?”

You shrug. “Wherever. Lots to do in Paris.”

“Wanna get you somethin’ nice,” he says, eyes screwed shut as he runs his head under the flow of water, “a thanks for comin’ with me.”

“I think maybe the private jet, the hotel room, plus the free trip in itself is thanks enough, Joel.”

But Joel disagrees. Heartily, apparently.

He takes your hand and helps you out of the car on a tree-lined street, tall cream buildings on either side. It looks like a movie set. You’re following Joel’s lead, spending more time craning your neck to look up at the huge, ornate windows guarded by black balconettes while he guides you across cobblestone toward the smoothly paved sidewalk.

You’re not even paying attention to where he’s taking you until you’re stood in the middle of a glistening store, plush rug under your feet, lavish chairs in the center of the room, a rainbow of fashion surrounding you.

“What…? No, Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes scanning the room. He takes a step, and you tug on his arm.

“I can’t fucking afford Gucci,” you whisper, pulling his body back against yours.

He hands you a bemused smile, eyebrows low, corners of his lips pulled. “All expenses paid, baby.”

Your arm falls limp and he drags you through the store, past mannequins in patterned gowns and silk shirts, past shelves of obnoxiously huge purses and accessories gleaming in the spotlights from above.

Your fingers stay locked around Joel’s hand, your head swiveling so much you worry it might fall off, looking from the vibrant floral wallpaper down to the spotless tiled floor, glancing politely at attendants and then dipping your head and wandering by them behind Joel.

“See anything?” he asks, turning to you at the opposite end of the store.

It’s ridiculous. This entire trip…is ridiculous, and you’ve only been here twelve hours. Following around at Joel’s heels like a puppy, watching as he clicks his fingers – no, before he even gets the chance to click his fingers – and everything and anything either of you could dream up just…happens. Right in front of you.

He won’t let up. You know him. If you tried to pull him back outside onto the street, he’d buy you something for the hell of it.

You know him. So, you decide to use that to your advantage.

“Gucci…I dunno…” you muse, squinting at him.

“Not your thing?” he asks, and he seems curious, but – you know him. You know that behind that polite mask is a smirk thick enough to make your knees wobble. He knows what you’re doing. “Where to, angel?”

You lead him out of the store. Feel his shadow behind you, watching as you thank the doorman and take a left around the corner, passing under the shade of the gently rustling trees. Arm in arm, you arrive before a huge archway, pristine windows surrounding the door to…

“Dolce & Gabbana…” Joel looks up at the stone writing atop the arch. “Alright. Classy girl.”

You giggle, pulling him past the wrought-iron fence and inside.

It’s sleeker, moodier. Less in your face. Suits you a bit better, though you can’t quite swallow back the guilt that sticks in your throat as you saunter around, Joel right behind you. It catches you when an assistant touches your arm, snapping you out of your daze, and asks if you need anything.

“No, thank you,” you reply, mirroring her smile. “Thank you.”

She nods and floats off.

Joel’s frame shells around yours, dipping his jaw to lean against your shoulder. “What about that one?” His eyes flit up to a mannequin just past a lit table of purses.

“The black one?”

“Mhm.”

“You like that?”

He repeats, a little more exaggerated: “Mhm.”

You shrug. “I do look good in black.”

“Look better in nothin’.” Joel steps forward and takes the tag between two delicate fingers, deliberately hiding it from you. He turns back, lifts his eyebrows in question. “Buy you it if you promise to wear it tonight.”

You smile. This man knows how to barter. And you take no convincing at all.

“Alright,” you accept, “deal.”

----------

Three hours later, you’re strolling down another cobbled street with an ice cream in your hand. And not much else, by the way. Joel’s taken all the shopping bags back to the hotel. He slapped your hand away when you tried to lift one of them from his clutches.

The wind sifts gently through your hair, cooling your face and neck, toying with the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It flutters the French flags overhead, red, white and blue blowing in the breeze. Cars roll by, engines humming as they weave in and out between one another, horns calling out in the distance.

Joel hadn’t let you come up to the counter to pay with him, had insisted you stay right where you were standing, and when he finished up and laced his fingers through yours, it was like a surge of energy had shot through him.

He led you out of the store and into another, and another, and another…until his hands were wrapped around, what, six bags? All carrying different components of your outfit for tonight.

And then he’d noticed the time – unlocked his phone with a curse under his breath, and kissed your temple. Midday. He was meeting Jean-Marc in an hour.

“You wanna come back with me? Chill at the hotel?” he’d asked, dialing his chauffeur’s number.

“I’m good,” you said, smiling sweetly as he squeezed your shoulder. Then, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you his card.

“’case you see anything else you want.”

“Joel,” you protested, but he’d shut you up by clicking his teeth and walking off, leaving you to follow after him, shamelessly beaming.

He’d apologized another three times before Denis had pulled up, then once more as he loaded the trunk with your bags.

“See you later. Enjoy your meeting,” you teased, laughing at the way his face twisted into a grimace as the car rolled off.

It’d been a pretty nice afternoon. You’d dipped into a couple more stores – though, without Joel to impress, the low-cut dresses and short miniskirts were somewhat less exciting.

That is, until you passed by a lingerie store. You stood outside for a second, peering by your reflection in the window to study what lay behind. Suddenly lace and satin – and the idea of Joel seeing you in them – seemed a lot more enticing.

You’d pieced together an entire getup: bra, panties, garter belt, even a pair of stockings, and a silk robe to go over the top. You handed over Joel’s card, ignoring the way your cheeks began to heat and focusing instead on how smug you felt, and skipped out of the store, bag in hand.

You’d called Denis five minutes ago to ask for a ride back to the hotel. He called you Madame, he said Nonono every time you apologized for bothering him again, and he promised he’d be there in less than ten minutes.

You pace back and forth along the curb, waiting for the shiny black Maybach to pull up. You’ve checked your phone, like, five times already, kinda hoping there’ll be a text from Joel. You swing the bag between your fingers.

A door swings open behind you, giggles filter out into the street, and you turn to see a couple bounding out of a jewelers, hand in hand. She flicks her left wrist up, tilts it in the sun. It’s hard to ignore the light bouncing off of her ring finger. You feel nauseous at the sight.

Suddenly the Parisian street dissolves, and what sweeps over in replacement is a long, empty lawn, maple trees swaying menacingly in the distance. There’s a blur of bright blue sky, sunrays bursting across your vision. Your hand comes up to shield your eyes, and there he is. There he was.

He was on the grass. You told him to stand up; his suit trousers would be stained green. He did it anyway. Trembling hands, expectant stare. You stuttered and stammered your way through a sentence fueled by shock and horror and…resentment.

And then you did it anyway, too.

The crackle of tires coming to a stop on the road in front drags your fraught gaze from the couple, now strutting off down the avenue. You reach for the door handle, but Denis is already out of the car and leaning down, hand on your back as you duck into the backseat.

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[neoarchipelago]

Cotton candy pacifier

A/N: Was this scheduled? No. Did I wrote it? Yes. I have a blank page problem right now and went out to an amusement park last weekend. My own hormones have made me fantasize and throw together this shit. Please have mercy on me at this point.

Warnings: (f! Reader x Simon) ADULT CONTENT. 18+ pregancy talk, breeding kink, cursing, p in v. Oral receiving. Slight blood, biting.

Simon never wanted to be a father. Too much baggage and trauma, too much fear of never having a good role model to be a good father. You had talked about it. You had long conversations. And even if you were understanding, accepted this fate, saying that he was all you could ever wish for, words hitting him like a mix of pain and pleasure, he saw the hint of sadness behind your eyes. 

He had tried to be extremely soft, and passionate for months after those discussions, trying to show you how much he loved you. 

So here he was. Black t-shirt tight around his torso, mask on and black cargo pants. Looking at the large group of recruits in front of him. Price Laswell and another higher up beside him as the last warnings were given. 

Soldiers and their families had been offered a full day at an amusement park the military had privatized for the occasion. 

As much as he tried to remain professional, his eyes often turned to you, pretty little excitement sprawled across your face, almost jumping in place. Jeans shorts and tank top with your little backpack, hair messily tied up. Soap was a menace next to you, already giving him a headache. But you were such a lovely sight. 

When finally, the briefing was over and everyone made their merry way into the park, Price, Laswell and Ghost walked towards the group. Laswell joined her wife and so did Price, the two little munchkins jumping at the sight of their dad. You immediately rushed to Ghost's side as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Soap was practically bursting at the seams with excitement, gaz not too far behind causing Price's kids to be overexcited. Ghost sent them a warning look before everyone headed for the first attraction. 

The morning went smoothly, Soap and Gaz betting on who would handle the worst roller coasters while Price and his wife indulged in some of them, as you accepted to look over the kids during the ride time. The kids were thrilled to simply spend time with their Uncle Ghost, sometimes joined by Soap and Gaz, for small carousels or mild roller coasters. The parents were thankful and indulged in some time without taking care of the kids too much. 

It was what first started bugging him. The way you were happily cleaning up Kyle's chin as ice cream had dripped down. The look in your eyes made something burn in him. Or the way the little Lily munched on a few fries in your arms while you made sure her little hat was secured and her skin hadn't been too touched by the sun. 

He didn't mind at all John's kids. He even liked spending time and taking care of them, feeling a sense of protectiveness over the small cute beings. He sometimes grumbled that Soap and Gaz were even harder to take care of than John's well behaved kids. 

Something else bothered him. Not the little heart strings being pulled when he saw you smiled at him when he won two plushies for the kids. He was almost sure you looked at him with something between happiness, adoration and pure fucking need. He was almost taken aback by it but also by the way he absolutely adored seeing that look on your face. That same look that seemed to show up more and more through the day, as he held Kyle on his shoulders, or held Lily as she fed on her bottle.

But it vanished quite quickly. When another recruit whispered to you that the lieutenant seemed to be the perfect dad and you two would be amazing parents. He had heard. Of course he did. He was a trained soldier with years of experience and trauma. 

After that, you had avoided eye contact when he held up the kid unless it was a polite smile or kind smile. You'd turn to the child in his hold for something but ignore his gaze on you. You weren't exactly sad. Something else was laced with your new avoidance. It was growing on his nerves. That and the new intrusive thoughts of you, holding a child. The image far in his mind, a high resemblance with you and a mix of him. 

He could feel his fists clench as the images rushed through his mind. You, glowing under the sun, swollen with his child. The idea mixed with his fear. He tried to pull you closer to him as you held the little girl, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest as the little girl reached for his mask without an ounce of fear in her eyes. He could feel your breath hitch and the shiver that ran through you. His hand reached for the little girl's cheek, barely pinching, making the girl giggle. The soft skin against rough calloused one, hands that saw more horrors than the child would ever witness. 

"S..Simon?" You stuttered, turning your head to send a questioning look. 

He didn't answer, only dropping a kiss on your head through the mask. The idea crept in his mind, nesting there and haunting his mind. Price noticed. Of course he did. He knew Simon all too well, even through the mask. 

"Ghost. What's on your mind?" He asked, sitting on the bench next to him. 

Simon remained silent, eyes looking at you as you ate the soft cloudy pink thing in your hand. 

"If you keep looking at her like that she'll notice." He teased. 

"She wants kids." Simon blurted out. 

"And you don't.." Price deduced. Simon groaned, closing his eyes. "Simon. Talk to me." Price added. 

"I… shit." Simon felt the frustration grow. "I'll never be a good father. Fuck. I don't know what's a good father." 

"Now you're hurting my pride and feelings." Price added. 

Simon's head snapped towards the man who arbourded one of his signature smiles. 

"I didn't mean… Price, you're an amazing father." Simon caught himself. 

"I wouldn't say amazing. No one's perfect." He clarified, straightening himself. "But I try." He smirked. "Simon. It is your decision whether or not you want to have kids, and her decisions to accept it or not. But don't take that decision based on your past. You are not that man." He said, eyes locking into Simon's one. "I'd like to think, I raised you all to be better than that." He joked. 

He was right. Price was the closest thing to a father he ever had. The best role model he could think of. It didn't erase the fear of it all. But a tiny part of his brain was unlocked, one that might see himself with a baby later on. Price patted his back, smiling again before getting up to join his wife. Simon tried to look at you, falling into your pretty eyes. He frowned at the worried look on your features. He straightened himself, subtly patting his thigh. He cursed under his breath watching you obediently skip to him to sit on his lap. 

"Are you.. ok, Simon?" You asked, a low voice. 

"I'm ok baby. Are you ok love? " he asked as well. You looked away for a second, making him slightly squeeze your thigh. "Talk to me Y/N." He insisted. 

You bit your lip before looking up at him with your pretty soft eyes. 

"I'm sorry…" you whispered. 

"You're sorry baby?" He frowned. "Tell me why." 

"For.. I mean.. I've been with the kids all day so far.." you stumbled on your explanation. 

"Yes. You have, why are you apologizing about that?" He was confused. 

"I know… you don't want kids… we've talked about it. I don't want to annoy you by playing mama-" 

He groaned, eyes shutting closed. Images of you playing 'mama' making his cock twitch in his pants. Now where did this new attraction come from? 

"I'm sorry Simon!" You whined. His eyes snapped open.

"No baby. I'm not mad. I'm not annoyed.. don't think that." He reassured, his hand leaving your thigh to softly caress your cheek. 

"You're… not?" You asked, a slight hint of relief in your voice. 

"Of course not baby. Shit… you've been.. beautiful, playing mama.." he hissed. 

He watched you blink, with a little shocked expression on your face. You tilted your head slightly. 

"What..?" You asked. 

"So fucking pretty… with Lily at your hip.." Simon groaned again, face burying in your neck, his pants getting uncomfortable. You shivered slightly. 

"S-simon…" you whined a bit. "There's… people…" 

As if on cue with your words, his hand caressed your thighs, featherlight fingers up and down your skin, sometimes too close to the burning heat growing in between your legs. He was supposed to behave. Just like he had instructed the recruits this morning at the briefing. But you looked tempting. And the new images in his head, him fucking his seed deep in you, with the slight possibility of watching you later on with your own baby. He was a pleaser after all. Your hands squeezed slightly his shoulders, trying to squirm nearer to him. 

"Fuck.." he cursed against your neck. "Need you baby.." he growled against your ear. 

"We… the car.." you tried, making him grin at your already hazy mind, just from the thought of him fucking you. 

"No. Too long." He shook his head. He tapped your thigh lightly to make you stand, as you looked at him with a questioning look. He intertwined the tip of your fingers with his, barely pulling you forwards in front of him, your obvious compliance making him eager. He made you walk, sending a last glance to the group as Price caught his eye, shaking his head playfully at him. 

His hand on the small of your back as he guided you towards the nearest 'staff only' door. 

"S..sir, you can't-" 

Simon threw a death glare to the poor employee who simply walked away, pretending not to have seen anything. You were softly pushed inside, the door closing behind the both of you.

"Simon-" 

He had already lifted his mask above his nose, hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed your lips softly. A sigh escaped him, as if he finally felt the tension release from his muscles. You stepped closer to him, hands on his chest, a burning touch that made him crave more. Perhaps you were the sun, burning brightly for him, and he was Icarus, with the only goal to fly to you, no matter if you burn down his wings. He made sure to wrap his arm around your waist, the other hand cupping the back of your head as he pushed you back against the wall. Once he was sure you were safely against the wall, his hands now caressed your body freely, pushing and pulling at your clothes, only aching to feel your skin against his. 

You were already whimpering, your hands slipping under his shirt, nails softly scratching his lower back giving him goosebumps. He ached for more. Needed to feel you. His hand pulled on your top with a rougher pull, freeing your perky breast. 

"Simon! Someone could… walk in-" your complaints turned into a moan as his mouth found your sensitive nipple. You pushed forward your chest, giving him more access. 

"So willing for me princess…" he groaned against your skin. You whined, hand at the back of his neck, trying your best to stifle your moan. His cock was painfully hard, images of you pregnant with his child only bringing him over the edge of control. He kneeled suddenly as you gasped, his hands undoing your short's button and zipper with expertise before pulling them down with your panties. He lifted one of your legs making you grab onto his shoulders to keep balance. 

"Need to taste you.." 

His hands hooked under your legs, wrapping around your ass before he planted a soft kiss on your naked lips. He could almost make such a sinful act look like the purest of them all. His eyes looked up at you, the sight of him down on his knees, mouth against your already soaked pussy made you whine pornographicly. His eyes were firmly planted into yours as his tongue slowly darted out, almost lazily, licking a stripe across your folds, not dipping in. You whimpered at the sight, your hands meeting the side of his face as you looked down at him lovingly, abandon written all over your gaze. 

He groaned, closing his eyes, feeling unworthy of such dedication. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you as he groaned, feeling the wetness of his boxers as his cock leaked precum. He swirled the tip of his tongue on your puffy clit a few times, delicately before losing once again all control. He ate you like his life depended on it, his hips thrusting forwards slightly at a higher moan from you. 

"Simon!" You hissed, scolding him from making you be so loud. 

You weren't truly mad. How could you when his tongue was dragging you to the pits of hell where he sat on his throne ready to fuck you just like you like it. He was your devil, your beast, the one you'd happily sin for, give in your soul and life to. You shut your eyes, feeling the familiar high approaching. You whined his name, but he knew. Of course he knew. One would say you were an open book to him. He'd say you were a holy scripture. You'd say that he was the only one able to decipher you. 

When you felt your body shake, stars behind your eyelids from pleasure and your hand hitting the wall behind, Simon's grip tightened on you, making sure to hold you up. You were panting when he pulled back, licking his lips greedily. He let his forehead fall against your stomach as his fingers traced down lazily to your still pulsating pussy. Two fingers at your entrance, toying with you before slowly pushing inside. 

"Simon… ah.. please.." you moaned, unable to keep your level down. 

He thrusted slowly, making sure to stretch you slightly, preparing your tightness to him. The impatience was killing him. Now was too much. His fingers left your heat, his tongue lapping at his fingers as he moaned against them. He got up, kissing you again, tongue demanding and dominating. His hand flew to his belt unbuckling it single handedly without breaking the kiss. Your breath hitched at the sound of it. 

"Need to have you now… need to fuck you.." he said, his voice deeper and tone darker. The heavy contrast with the screams and laughter from outside of the door. Yes. Your devil. 

But as he lifted you up, hands hooking underneath your knees, his tip at your entrance- when did he even?!- you snapped into reality. 

"Simon wait! We don't have any condoms!" You yelped. 

Condoms? Ah yes… you had stopped the pill two months ago for some hormonal problem. Shit… his mind went blank, neurons gone to play cards or something while the little naughty thoughts of his newly found kinks spurred his nerves. He bottomed out in one thrust, your wetness helping but the stretch and burn still present as you yelped. 

"Si.." you tried to shake him out of his trance. 

"Shh.. baby, let go… it's ok…" he shushed, hips thrusting up into slow movements, easing the burn and letting his fat cock rub against your walls the way he knows you like it. You were trying to keep a stern face, trying to scold him, but you'd lie if you'd say his behavior didn't truly turn you on. The position only helped him grind your clit, sending little electricity waves up your spine. When he finally had your brain into a cockdrunk mush, he grinned, picking up the pace. Your hands holding on to dear life around his shoulders as you whined and moaned loudly, eyes glossy and brows furrowed in a little pout. 

"That's it baby… good girl… god you look so pretty, fuck, look so pretty taking this fat cock…" he groaned, making you squeeze around him, second orgasm way too close already. How did he even get you there so fast? He was damned skilled but shit… the way he looked at you. Logic gone, pupils dilated, muscles flexing underneath your palms. He looked ready to devour you… or devote himself to you. At this point you were sure both were knotted into a messy curse. What had happened to have him completely lose himself? Risk it all for a wild fuck? 

A ping sadness coursed through you, probably flashing through your eyes as he thrusted deeper once to grab your attention. 

"What's wrong baby?" He panted, slowing down his pace to slow, longing thrusts. 

"You're… ah…Si… you're risking.. a lot…" you whined, trying to focus through the pleasure. He was. He definitely was. And he loved it. Loved the idea to fill you up with his seed and pump you full until he was sure to see you round with his- 

"God.. fuck." He cursed loudly, craving giving him goosebumps as he slammed roughly into you. His mind was dirty talking him into a mess. "Yes. Shit. I'm risking it. I want it. Fuck. I need it." He chanted. 

The heat rose to your cheeks, you didn't know if his words did something, but you came hard, unable to keep the loud moan echoing through the room. 

"Wh..what..? Simon!" You tried to gather your thoughts. 

A little tsk escaped him. Now that wouldn't do. He needed to up his game. You were thinking too much. His face was close to yours. Eyes boring into your very soul that you knew he had a chokehold on. 

"Did I fucking stutter? You've been so pretty today…" he growled. "Acting like a mama with the kids… shit… been trying to stop myself from bending you over the, fuuuck… nearest surface just to breed this pretty little cunt.." you were going to talk. Say something but he cut you off. "We'll talk… not now… focus on me. Let me make you feel good… enjoy the feeling… the idea of me stuffing you full of my cum.." he rasped against the skin of your neck. 

A curse, a jinx. Perhaps a devil but also some old god that came to ensnare you. You obeyed. Willingly give in. Entrusting him. The idea blooming in your mind, his eyes trapping you in that familiar feeling of no one else in the world but the two of you. No more laughs and screaming from outside. Nothing more but the two of you, the feeling of his length splitting you open at a reckless pace. 

"Good girl… there you go.." he praised, feeling you relax in his arms, finally unable to think of anything else but him. Your legs were shaking from the overstimulation, the grinding of your clit making you jolt slightly, tears overwhelming you. 

"S'good.. so… good…" you whined, tears running down your cheeks now. 

"Yes baby… shit, so fucking good… you're doing good." His thrusts were sloppier, the sound of skin slapping and the sound of wetness filled the air. You were going to cum again, that one would wreck you. But wasn't this Simon's favorite pastime? Wreck you. Ruin you until the only thing on your mind is him. 

"Si-" you moaned hiding in his neck. 

"I know baby… I know… me too… s'close.." he moaned as he let his head back, giving you access to his neck. You nudged the fabric of the mask with your nose, just enough to show skin you could sink your teeth into as he made you bounce on his cock like you weighed nothing. 

"You gonna cum for me? Milk my cock deep in you?" You moaned pitifully as an answer. "Yes you are mama… make me so proud of how well you're taking me…" 

His new found nickname he found for you made something in you snap. You sank your teeth into his neck, the pain making him groan and jolt his hips up, hitting that sweet spot of yours. Now he was focused. Had a goal. His hips slamming into you at the perfect angle to make you crumble. And you were going to. He could feel it. His own high dangerously close. 

"Cum with me mama… milk daddy and keep it all inside baby…" he cooed with a hiss as you bit another spot on his neck. 

You shuddered around him, hips trembling trying to meet his thrusts, not that you needed it. The next wave of pleasure was blinding, your whines lost in sobs, nails digging into his back through the shirt, teeth drawing tiny droplets of blood on his neck. The loud curse, followed by moans as his sticky warm cum filled you up so deeply made your mind dizzy, your hearing gone for a few seconds. 

He remained like this as you both tried to breathe the same air. His cock deep in you, plugging you full.

"Simon.." you sobbed. 

He shushed you, lulled you in his arms, rocking left and right. 

"Did so good baby… proud of you." He kissed your hair, slipping out of you before quickly putting you down on your feet, helping you stand before kneeling to help you slip back your panties and shorts back on. He zipped them up and buttoned the jean fabric. 

"Darling… I'm still dripping with your cum…" you whined through a hiccup. 

He let you slowly back against the wall just enough to shove his cock back in his briefs, closing his cargo pants. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. He looked around the room, now taking in your surroundings, some kind of storage rooms for props. An old couch in a fairy tale against a wall. He picked you up bridal style, walking to the piece of furniture before sitting down, cradling you in his lap. He hugged you tight, praises kissing your skin. 

"Simon… where did that come from…" you tried making him look at you. 

"I…" he tried, clearing his voice. The reality of what he did hit him. "I've been watching you with the kids all day… don't know, what came over me…" he said, in some sort of apology. 

"It's.. I'll get a plan B…" you mumbled. 

"No-" he hurried. You looked at him in shock. "Listen… we'll talk about this… I, need to talk about this again. I don't know if I changed my mind, but I definitely… like, the idea of you bearing my child." He spoke, voice strained, unsure of his own words, feelings running across his mind at full speed. 

"We'll talk about it then… but.. this" you blushed, squeezing your thighs together, feeling the way your panties were soaked with a mix of the both of you. "It happened…" 

"Yeah… it did. I think… we still have a bit of time to think about it… doesn't have to be now. We'll talk at home. Just.. sorry I lost my shit." He apologized. 

"I like it…" you whispered. His heart jumped. 

"Oh mama… don't make me bend you over the couch…" he warned. 

You giggled. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, your nose, nuzzled against your neck. Yes. You'd talk about it. You had to. He had to face every possible consequence of his actions. And make up his mind. He kept you in his arms for a long half an hour, making you giggle and cuddling you close to him. When he finally stood up with you, watching close your eyes and bite your lip, probably at the sensation of his seed dripping into your panties, he fought the need to simply fuck you again, or put you in his car and drive home to keep you in bed for the rest of the weekend. 

"Simon! No!" You scolded. 

You had seen his gaze. You knew that burning gaze. He smirked before pulling down his mask, walking to the door with you. The sun was blinding, the noise of the park bringing you back to the real world. Simon glared again at the poor employee who immediately looked away. He held your hand as you both walked through the park, looking for the rest of the group. Soap was the first one to notice you, loudly calling you, bringing your attention to the group. 

"Hey! Where have you guys been?! Ghost you gotta ride that roller coaster with me!" He excitedly blurted out. Ghost sighed, making Soap roll his eyes with an overdramatic groan. 

"Come on Y/N! You're coming then! You splash in the water after" He smirked at you. 

Ghost tightened his hold on you, hand swiftly wrapping around your waist. 

"I think Y/N needs a moment of rest. I think she's wet enough…" John's wife said, a teasing look towards you, making you blush madly. 

"What are you talking about? She's totally dry…" Soap argued with a frown, looking at her and then at you and your blushing face. His eyes widened when his mind snapped things together. He stepped back, widening his stance to point a finger at Ghost. 

"You naughty rascal! In an amusement park?! After telling us to behave?!" He almost yelled. 

You hid your face in your hands. Little Kyle turned his attention to Soap while Lily giggled in her mom's arms. 

"Soap…" Ghost warned. 

"You're an animal." Soap shook his head, emphasizing the last word. 

Ghost smirked underneath his mask. Lily leaned forward, grabby hands towards Ghost. His eyes softened picking up the girl in his arms, slowly rocking her. Soap had gone from his rant to being scolded by Price for being so loud as Gaz laughed and John's wife tended to her son. Simon looked down at you, freezing on the spot. The look of lust, craving and desire in your eyes. Perhaps… This was getting interesting. 

[romanoffsbish]

Carved With Love

Natasha Romanoff x Wife!R

Yelena Belova x Fem!R (The true love story 🥹)

Yelena’s in town for the holiday season, and who would she be if not wreaking havoc? | WC: 1,986

Warnings: Mentions of Neglectful Past | Siblings

Yelena was a menace; you knew that from the insight your wife gave you before she introduced you to her.

“Y/N, she literally blew herself up and said it was fun,” your wife had reiterated her stance, that being: Yelena was a complete and total maniac. “Sounds like she’d fit right in with you and your band of superheroes,” was all you’d said back while adding pasta to your cart.

The two of you had been together for nearly a decade when they found each other again, and though the blonde was wary of a meeting she quickly agreed after hearing that the two of you were married with kids.

——

You couldn't really blame her for wanting to meet them more, especially your daughter, the eldest, who shared a name with her. They clicked instantly. Then there were your sons that you carried back to back, Andrei and Aleksander, who were bonded like twins. It was like they gained a triplet with their aunt. Then there’s the latest, Flora, who was just turning six months old and who was absolutely in love with the blonde.

The group were nothing but trouble, you adored that.

When you met her, your heart had doubled in size as you realized she was just trying to forget, to be a kid. Something you knew she never got to be, so just like with your own children, you let her get away with it all.

Natasha didn't much appreciate that, well, truthfully she adored just how much you already loved her sister. But, she was a bit jealous that you were so lenient with her, even if she knew you weren’t with her because she needed the structure and redirection you provided her.

As of right now, she thought you were also insane, "Detka, I don't think you thought this through..." Natasha mumbled against your temple from behind, where she stood with you securely in her arms, and you shook your head and softly chuckled. "It's fine baby."

Natasha currently feared for everyone's safety as her sister held one of those little orange carving knives.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N Romanoff, look!" Yelena shrieked, and your wife sighed when she felt your body relax. There was no hope left, you were at her sister's mercy. Yelena held up a stencil and you smiled. "It's cute."

"No, it is badass!" Yelena corrected, only to be met with a glare from her sister. "Watch your language."

"Natasha," you scolded instantaneously, "Lighten up."

"But she —," Natasha went to defend her decisions but quickly cut herself off when you turned with a glare.

Everyone got away with murder, except Natasha. (Well, in this symbolic context that is…)

Yelena smiled smugly at her sister, she even stuck her tongue out to mock her as you weren't looking. The redhead flipped her off, and your daughter gasped. "Mama! That's the bad finger!" Your eyes widened. "Natasha! What are you now? Some sort of hypocrite?"

"Predateli'," Natasha grumbled, making your daughter laugh alongside her aunt who was taping the ghost cat on a zombie dog's head stencil to her large pumpkin.

(Traitors)

"You all behave," you scolded the entire room before leaving to the kitchen to collect the cookies. Natasha tried to follow you, like a hurt puppy, but you made her stay behind to make sure nobody had a carving crisis. 

Which was in vain because when you came back in the room you found Yelena had upgraded to your sharp carving knife, and you nearly dropped your plate.

"Yelena honey, that's too dangerous," you practically shrieked, but not really to avoid her hand slipping. Not that you didn't have faith in her trained hands, but you knew accidents could happen regardless of skillsets. The blonde pouted up at you, and Natasha watched you once again melt into her little sister's charm.

"I can't use the little orange one," she pleaded for your understanding, "It is too tiny and ineffective."

"Okay," you folded instantly and your wife's eyes widened with flashes of shock and betrayal. The one time Natasha had done the same thing years back, before your kids, you'd given her a safety lesson.

“This isn’t fair,” she grumbled to herself, but she also let it go when she saw you sitting with her sister, eyes focused in on the way she carved the pumpkin and mouth at the ready to give her advice or a light scold.

Natasha let her festering resentments go, and shortly after joined you all at the table so that the youngest member of the house could play with the guts. It was a perfect moment of domesticated bliss, and the redhead couldn’t help but to feel at peace in current company.

Then the following morning came, and you learned a few things. Yelena had a new favorite holiday, and in turn a hobby, carving, which piggybacked right off of her other, bugging her older sister as if it was her job.

"Natasha," you tried to calm her, your hands on her tense shoulder as you kept her from lunging at the blonde. "You need to calm down my love, I can..."

"No!" Natasha cut you off, "She will do it, not you."

"She's our guest," you reminder her, but she merely rolled her eyes—something she never did towards you. "More like a pest, Y/N/N, make her leave before I do."

Your eyes narrowed fast, and your wife cowered at the sheer intensity. "Apologize to her, right now Natalia."

The redhead held back a scoff. Yelena had carved a face only a mother could love into her favorite fall leather jacket, yet she was the one who had to apologize here.

"I'm sorry, parshivets," she begrudgingly spat at the grinning blonde across the room. "I accept, cyka."

(Brat / Bitch)

You sighed, and regretfully turned to face the smug blonde. This was partially your fault too for having let the girl get away with murder up until this point.

"Yelena, now it's your turn." Yelena frowned, but then she nodded and relaxed her features. "Sorry sestra," her tone was genuine, "I will buy you another one."

"No, you don't have to," you let the girl off the hook. "Yes she does." Natasha rebuked your words in a flash, then she intelligently rephrased, "No you don't."

You smirked and rewarded her with a kiss that she tried to melt into, but once again Yelena interrupted with a rumbling stomach. "Can we make pancakes?"

Natasha's hands harshly gripped your hips, and you smiled at her in understanding, she missed you. "How about you go get the kids up while we make breakfast?"

The redhead reluctantly let you go with a nod, but before she got too far you pulled her in for another kiss. "I'll be all yours soon, just have some patience."

Yelena was leaving after the holiday's event, and the kids were going to Wanda's for a spooky sleepover. You'd planned accordingly, and your wife smirked at the reminder, chastely pecked your lips then ran up the stairs with a reinvigorated pep in her once glum step.

"Get the chocolate chips," you instructed your sous chef, and she did so with a smile. Yelena was learning to cook from you, you never outright said it, but you worried about her eating habits. All she could make was mac and cheese and that was artery clogging if not met with a balance of other things besides takeout.

Yelena appreciated your concern, it was clear to her that you were the perfect match for Natasha, because you were an even better platonic match for her. The way you let her just be who she was, who she was discovering herself to be with her newfound freedom, meant the absolute world to her. You were a light that she found comfort in, and would never let go of.

Once you showed Yelena how to make the batter you let her ladle it onto the griddle. "Don't flip it yet," you instructed, your back was turned but you were aware of her piqued curiosity and she was enamored by your spy like skills. "You're like a super mom or something."

"It's nice to see my skillset is appreciated," you teased the younger girl as you returned to her side and gently bumped her hip. "I appreciate all of you, sestra."

It took you a second to reel in your emotions, you'd only been hoping that she wouldn't hate you, but it turned out that she actually liked you, and you didn't want to cry and make her reevaluate that judgement.

Instead you settled on hugging her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake as you showed her the indicators for flipping before finally letting her flip the pancake.

Just as you settled a pancake on the plate you heard an obnoxious scraping on the glass. "What the—." There before you was a focused blonde, the tip of her tongue rested on her lower lip as she carved your perfectly round pancake into a ghost cat. You shook your head with a fond smile, "You really love knives, don't you?" Yelena mirrored your expression and nodded as she now carved an eye into a pumpkin. "They are so cool."

"Natasha loves her guns the same." Yelena flinched, "Guns are too rigid, and loud. Knives are fun, you can do flip tricks with them and they're just as lethal."

You noted her clear discomfort with firearms, and filed it away in your mind as a later topic of discussion, and fortunately the kids came barreling into the kitchen. Yelena dropped the knife and, just like every morning, she greeted the little boys with the tickle monster.

Then came your daughter’s greeting, “Yelena Belova!"

Yelena then followed her lead, “Yelena Romanoff!"

You shook your head at their antics, then you returned to your task at hand, and began to set the table. You placed the blondes masterpieces in their designated spots, a pumpkin for each boy, the cat for her parrot, and the torn to bits pieces went to the toothless baby.

You were gifted two perfectly sized hearts, topped with fruit and whipped cream. Natasha got zero change to the shape, but instead, she was gifted icing words.

“I’m not eating that,” Natasha growled, and you bit back a laugh as you saw the script. “What’s it say?”

Natasha shook her head at you, and glared in her sister’s direction as you attempted to read the Russian out loud, “Tvoya zhena lyubit menya bol'she.”

(Your wife loves me more)

“Damn right,” Yelena teased as she sat in front of her own pancake, “Don’t worry sestra, she loves you too.”

“You two, knock it off and eat your breakfast,” your mom voice came out, and everyone was suddenly sat. You nibbled on your food while making sure your baby didn’t choke on hers as she gobbled it down like a cat (Liho and Bob) being fed at the normal time everyday.

Once breakfast was finished you sent the kids to the living room with their aunt to watch cartoons while you and your wife cleaned up the mess left behind.

As you were packing up the fruit you felt two arms snake around your waist, and a kiss placed on your neck that you instantly melted into. You felt her smirk but ignored her smugness as you lazily cleaned up.

"You're spoiling her," Natasha groaned, you shrugged and turned around to face her with a genuine smile. "I'm just giving her the same chances I did you."

Natasha frowned, "I hope it's not exactly the same."

"That’s disgusting!" Yelena groaned from the couch and you giggled into your wife's shoulder. Avoiding the question in your kids eyes, and leaving Natasha to answer it. The redhead smirked, throwing her sister a wink before she completely pulled you out of the room.

Two could play at this game…

—

[notjustjavierpena]

Where I'm Supposed To Be, a husband!Javier Christmas fic

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here’s my Christmas present for you all. I wrote this with blood, sweat and tears. I love you. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful opportunity to make myself, and everyone who reads my work, happy due to a silly, little, fictional family. Thanks to @javiscigarette and @joels-shitty-puns for being amazing and caring ❤️ and obviously thank you @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for being my sweet Spanish tutor 😭🙏

Summary: Just Christmas morning with the Peñas. Lots of chaotic and sweet children but also some alone time between you and your husband who very much has a present for you this morning.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, domestic life, three children being cute, unwrapping of gifts on Christmas morning, dancing to the radio, butterflies, being courted by javi, some rough pussy eating (javi is a cunning linguist and a fucking menace), nose riding, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praises and pet names, rough sex, kitchen sex, lactation kink, tit play, bit of breeding kink. creampie, they are gross and in love, absolutely married to each other

Word count: 7.1k!!!!!

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52364101

Where I’m Supposed To Be

Your eyes open wide as soon as you feel the weight of two children in your bed, and the realization of what day it is comes to mind. Since you are lying on your side, facing your husband, you watch the same shock settle in him as his own slumber is interrupted. Javier is lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow tightly, and when Inés starts jumping up and down at the foot of the bed, he shoots up to look around with a confused expression. You smile as he catches your eye. He yawns back at you. 

“Wake up! Wake up!” Inés’ squeaky voice announces. She sounds out of breath from jumping continuously, “It’s Christmas!”

The whole bed shakes. Lucas has joined in on the jumping, a contrast to his usually so well-behaved and calm manner, but you remember the magic excitement that Christmas brought along when you were a kid yourself. 

You yawn loudly to tease, turning onto your back. Inés barely survives the way you drag out waking up properly.

“Alright!” You sit up in bed with a little smile, letting your hands come down on top of the covers, “We’re up.”

“I’m not,” Javier grumbles into his pillow. Inés takes it as an opportunity to jump on her father’s back, sitting down on him with a knee on either side of his torso. You can hear the air being knocked from Javier’s lungs and can’t help but smile fully now, fighting a belly laugh as your insistent daughter starts tugging at his hair and shoulders.

“Come on, Mom!” Lucas begs too but without bordering on violence. He grabs at your hand to pull it, and you throw the covers to the side to let him lead you out of bed. 

“I’m coming, mijo (my son),” you say and slip on a t-shirt that you have laid out the day before; there’s been a fair amount of Christmas mornings at this point but with Inés getting older, and thus more steadfast in her personality, you have resorted to creating a system that you hope neither of your kids has realized exists. 

When Inés sees you out of bed, she quickly abandons her father at the realization of your willingness. Javier takes in a deep breath as he loses her weight on top of himself, imitating the sound of someone falling asleep again. You’ll let him for now; after all, he’s been the one up all night to arrange the presents so it looks like Santa came to visit. 

“I have to check on Seb first,” you inform their hopeful faces. Inés groans and even Lucas looks like he might join in but you don’t give in to being rushed, simply shrugging, “If you are quiet, he won’t wake up and it’ll be quicker.”

You grab the baby monitor from your nightstand and then your kids follow you down the hallway of family photos to Sebastian’s nursery. Your baby is sleeping soundly when all three of you enter ever so quietly, a sign of contentment and feeling safe, and you don’t dare reach out to touch him in case he is disturbed from his sleep, even despite him being the easiest one of all three, so often off to dreamland that you have had Javier needing to reassure you.

You stare down at Sebastian for a few moments. He has his arms above his head, hands squeezed into fists and his little mouth slightly agape. You can feel yourself being overcome with emotion as both Lucas and Inés observe their little brother’s slumber with you, and with such understanding in their eyes that you wish you could take a picture of them. They have all of their hands clutched around the railing of the crib to peek down at the baby. 

“Mom,” Lucas whispers without taking his eyes off Sebastian, “Can we please go see our presents?”

“Pleeeeease,” Inés follows.

“Okaaaay, let’s go,” you whisper back.

You leave the bedroom with the baby monitor in your hand and Inés hand clutched in your other, only to hold her in place in case she wants to run down the stairs. 

Both your kids’ eyes go wide as they enter the living room. There are several differently sized and shaped presents underneath the lit-up Christmas tree, sporting extravagant bows and wrapping paper designs. You know that none of them are for you but you’ll relish in your children’s faces as they run towards the pile. 

“Steady now,” you say as you place the baby monitor on the coffee table, “Everything has led up to this, I know, but we don’t want it to be over in a few minutes, do we? Let’s do one at a t—“

“But Santa’s been!” Inés shrieks in delight. Lucas looks at you, only seven years old and not convinced, and you wink at him only to receive a little smile. He looks pleased with himself, sharing a secret with his mother.

“Really? How do you know he has?” You say animatedly. It’s obvious, she tells you, look at the presents, but you distract her from ripping each of them open by walking up to gape at the empty plate and glass that are on the coffee table, gasping for show as if to imitate your daughter, “Inés! You’re right! Look!”

Inés whips around, darting towards you. She stares in shock. Lucas seems a little impatient, hovering around a big present that is for him, so you hold out your hand and call him over to look at the Santa-evidence too. 

He walks around the coffee table to lean against you instead, and you rest a hand on the back of his neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, whispering to him as Inés lifts the plate to look underneath it.

“You’re the best big brother, sweetie,” you mutter and repeat the move, smoothing his bed hair. He leans into you further. 

“Look! All gone!” Inés parrots as she stares at the cookies that are nowhere to be found. Neither on or under the plate. 

Lucas still doesn’t look very convinced. In the future, you’ll tell him about the sugary kiss his father planted on your cheek when crawling into bed after eating cookies and drinking milk at three in the morning - and his preteen self will crinkle his nose in disgust.

Speaking of your husband, Javier enters the living room silently so as to not disturb Inés’ hunt for clues. He has put on a t-shirt that hangs over his boxers, looking beautifully disheveled, and you smile like a schoolgirl when he looks at you happily. 

“Is there anything else? Did he just leave behind all those great big presents?” You still talk excitedly, grinning as your daughter’s eyes scan the floor and ceiling. 

She continues to the fireplace, pointing out the small amount of soot mixed with glitter that you’ve spread out on the wooden floor, “He’s been! Look, Mommy!”

“Wow!” Javier now chimes in. Inés recognises his voice instantly and she runs to her father the second that she hears him. Javier picks her up from the ground with the groan of a father to settle her on his hip. He kisses her cheek repeatedly until he blows a raspberry, “He did all that for you?” 

Inés giggles like only a child can. You want to melt. She claps excitedly, “All for me.”

“You must’ve been very good this year, mija (my daughter),” he says, ruffling her already messy hair. She shies away from it but throws her arms around his neck as soon as he has stopped, burying her head in his shoulder. 

Lucas shifts impatiently but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You want to open a present?” You whisper to him. 

“Can I?” He whispers back with wide eyes.

“They still have a few clues to go through, outside even,” you crouch down to kiss his cheek from behind, hugging him close to you, “If you want to, I’ll let you. I’ll choose though.”

In the background, Javier catches on. He places Inés back down on the floor, holding out his hand for her and winking at his son whilst talking to his daughter, “Do you want to see if Rudolph ate the carrots you laid out for him on the doorstep?”

Inés, completely ignoring the offered hand, starts running towards the front door whilst naming other reindeer too. It’s Texan Christmas, so there’s no point in putting on a jacket for going outside, and the sudden silence of the front door closing behind her and Javier makes you strike.

You let go of Lucas to get his present from under the tree, searching only briefly as if you’re choosing something random. There’s a point to this but you don’t want to take out the magic of the moment.

Lucas sits down on the floor as he is handed the gift. He doesn’t hesitate to tear its wrappings off, and when he throws it to the side, he gasps at the sight of his very own brand new Game Boy that you have wrapped along with a few games. It’s a strategic move to let him open it now; Inés won’t try to steal it in the middle of Christmas family time if she isn’t aware of him getting it. 

“No way!” Lucas’ eyes are wide. He holds the Game Boy in its packaging in front of himself, not taking his eyes off of it in case it might disappear if he looks away, “Mom!”

“It’s the one you wanted, right?” You ask, rubbing his back and looking down at the cover over his shoulder, “Lord knows if I have a clue about what it does.”

“This is so cool,” he says, mostly to himself, and then looks up at you with a wide grin that reminds you that he is his father’s son, “Thanks, Mom!” 

“But I need you to wait to use it till after Inés is done with her presents, okay? I know you’re excited but you’ll have the whole day, no?”

“Entiendo, (I understand),” he nods, getting up from the floor very carefully as he still has the Game Boy in his hands, “¿ Lo tengo que compartir? (do I have to share it?)

“You might have to share it sometimes but it’s yours first and foremost,” you say with a little smile, “I think Inés might just want to see you play and then you can let her try it a few times. If it’s too much, we’ll figure something out.”

Lucas hugs you then, tightly and lovingly. He buries his head in your stomach and he doesn’t have to say anything because you know exactly what he wants to say with his embrace. It’s enough to make you choke up a second time today. 

When Javier and Inés return back inside the living room, Inés talking loudly, Javier gets a pair of scissors and a bag for the wrappings from the kitchen. You quickly add Lucas’ gift wrap to it to conceal any evidence of having started without Inés.

“Mom! Rudolph ate the carrots we laid out!” She beams. 

“He didn’t!” You walk up to her to make it seem like you are listening even more actively. You lean down over her with your hands on your thighs, feeling Javier’s eyes on you as you bend over, “Oh boy, I’m glad you remembered to feed them so Santa could reach all the kids without them getting tired and hungry.”

“Can we open presents now?” She inquires, falling to her knees in front of the Christmas tree. She looks back at you, suddenly very serious, “Are there any presents for Sebastian?” 

“Yes, Sebastian has a few presents too,” you reply.

It takes her a moment to think this fact over. She furrows her brow in concentration, going over the logistics of an infant opening Christmas gifts. Eventually, she stares at you and places a hand on her chest, “I— I will open Sebastian’s presents.”

You want to laugh and in the background, Javier actually does, “You can help Lucas open the presents for him.”

Lucas sits on the floor beside Inés but closer to the tree. He seems less anxious to begin now that he’s had a head start on his little sister so he reaches under the tree to find a present with her name on it, checking in with his father who nods and lets him proceed.

Inés eyes go wide as the gift is put down on the floor in front of her, and Javier moves to help her with cutting the ribbon. You take a seat on the couch to watch the scene unfold, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement as receives her first Christmas gift; a stuffed toy resembling a dinosaur that she keeps tucked under her arm during the whole thing. 

The rest of the unwrapping session goes with you letting out a series of oohs and aahs as each toy, which you have picked out yourself at the toy store, is revealed. It’s all a blur of plastic and noises, cries for batteries and Javier shushing his daughter when her pitch climbs a little too high. 

Lucas is in charge of handing out gifts, and you praise him for each card that he reads out loud successfully. Whenever he tries reaching for a certain gift for Inés, Javier shakes his head, and he moves on to the next despite the curiosity nearly killing him. 

Steadily, both Inés and Lucas each have a growing pile of toys, clothes, and snacks beside them. 

Lucas receives, amongst other things, a pair of light-up shoes that he has begged for months to get. He also gets a wooden tow truck with four magnetic cars and an unbelievable stack of Pokemon cards. 

Inés gets a few puzzles, markers, a microphone that makes an echo when you speak into it (a toy that might just disappear out of the blue with no explanation), and a collection of animal stickers. 

Lucas looks overwhelmed by the end. Inés looks far from done, so she is the one who gets to unwrap Sebastian’s new mobile with small UFOs and cows on it, a pair of cute shoes, and a hat to match.

Finally, Lucas gets the green light from his father to grab the mysterious present. He looks like someone who wants to tear off the paper so he can satisfy his curiosity but Inés is already beating him to it. There’s an anticipation of it being the final stages of the unwrapping process that hangs in the air, and everything is going well until your daughter crinkles her nose at the sight of what she has received from Santa.

“Mom,” she starts to say, cogs turning in her head. She turns to you, looking skeptical. Inside the package is a helmet, more specifically a bike helmet, in a soft green color with daisies painted onto it in a pattern not too harsh on the eyes. 

Lucas catches on a little quicker, “She’s getting a bike?!”

“A bike!” Inés yells out, standing up quickly, “Where? Wherewherewhere?”

“Inés, por favor (please),” you can’t help but laugh at her excited shock, “Let Papá get it for you.”

And moments later, Javier wheels a bike, so tiny that it is cute, into the living room. Its color matches the green on her new helmet, and on the handles hang white tassels with yellow flecks of glitter in them. The also has training wheels on it but with the amount of unrelenting bravery and determination that Inés has for new things, you doubt that she will be needing them for long.

Inés has gone quiet as she stares at her new bicycle which is very much not like the one without pedals she has. She gapes at it and it makes you and Javier exchange looks. Javier shrugs.

“Inés,” you start but you are interrupted by your daughter’s infectious laughter. She jumps on the spot, yanking at the handle and pulling it towards herself. You let out a sigh of relief, warmth flooding your heart at hearing her.

“I want to try it now!” She demands, giggling happily as she runs her hands through the tassels. 

“We can do it after breakfast, Daddy will take you out for a test drive,” you say, getting up from the couch to crouch down beside her. You admire the bike with her, continuing your reasoning when she starts to protest, “One should never try to learn how to ride a bike without having breakfast. Not even the coolest girls can do that.”

“I can!” She argues. In the background, Lucas turns his back to the three of you to sneak a peek at his Game Boy. 

“Actually, mija (my daughter),” Javier interjects. He opens the box containing the biking helmet, pulls it out, and walks over to his daughter, “Bike racers need to try out their helmets for at least an hour or two to break them in and to make sure they fit. Imagine if you got onto the bike and your helmet wouldn’t let you ride it.”

Inés furrows her brow but doesn’t look like she’s about to argue with her father’s logic. She glances at the bike and then at the helmet in Javier’s hands, quickly coming to a decision.

“I want to wear the helmet!” She says. 

“Excellent choice,” he replies and you snort.

Inés proudly wears the helmet a few seconds later. You wonder how you are going to get her dressed for going outside with it on her head but you suppose you’ll pass the task to Javier.

“Wait,” Lucas says suddenly, crawling underneath the tree to reach far underneath it. A small present rests along the foot of the tree, and he pulls it out only to find that there’s no card on it. He furrows his brow, “There’s one left.”

Inés looks nearly hungry for more.

Javier turns, obviously not expecting this.

“Actually,” you say and make Lucas hand it over. Holding the gift close to your chest, you walk up to Javier, “This one is for Daddy.” 

“Me?” Javier looks puzzled but then he smirks, as if he has decided something that you aren’t a part of yet. You feel your heart skip a beat as all three of you catch onto the mischief in his eyes. If only you knew that mischief is just for you. He snatches the present from you and shakes it. 

“It’s just something silly,” you say, “But it’s for work!”

Inés and Lucas are watching curiously, standing on their toes so they don’t miss anything. 

“Rip it, Dad,” Lucas encourages.

“Yeah!” Inés chimes in, holding onto her helmet as she tips her head. You’ll have to adjust it.

“Alright, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” he does as he is told, letting the wrapping paper fall into a pile on the floor, beside the garbage bag that he has brought himself, and reveals a hideous, rolled-up tie with a Christmas theme. It is dark red with tiny cartoon Christmas lights and trees, crisscrossing across the silky fabric. It’s ugly, for sure, but it makes Javier’s face light up like he can’t quite believe that he has reached this destination; a life of kids and silly Christmas presents, and exactly where he is supposed to be.

“That’s boring!” Inés complains. 

“Mija (My daughter), that’s not very nice,” Javi tuts, smoothing a thumb over his present. He grins boyishly at you, and when he approaches you, he wraps an arm around your waist to give you a squeeze, “I love it.”

“You don’t have to wear it,” you reassure.

“I might just. The guys know I’m happily married to a catch like you so why shouldn’t I show it off?” He holds it up in front of himself, “How do I look?”

“Silly,” Inés argues. Lucas grimaces behind her.

You raise a brow, biting your lower lip as you grin, “You wouldn’t.”

“Sí. Gracias, mi amor (yes. Thank you, my love),” he kisses you in front of your kids, and both of them make disgusted faces. Inés even adds a gagging noise, saying something about cooties. 

Javier doesn’t let go of you when he turns his head towards them. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, ���Hey, you behave or I might do it again.”

“No!” They shout in unison.

“I should’ve gotten you something,” Javier says as he turns towards you again. You shake your head but then you feel his hand on your back travel down, “Maybe later.”

Quickly, you pull back. 

“Right,” you say, clasping your hands together and trying not to sound flustered, “Let’s say two hours tops. Then we’ll have breakfast together. Hot chocolate and all.”

When the gift rush comes to an end, Javier starts carrying all of the shiny new toys upstairs with a groan. He scolds gently as he has two tiny and enthusiastic humans bounding up the stairs, telling them to be careful. 

Meanwhile, you head to the kitchen and turn on the radio. You place the baby monitor on the counter, humming along as you prepare a sugary breakfast that you always regret afterward when you have to endure two sugar-high children. 

As you are toasting bread and filling bowls with candy canes and marshmallows, Javier enters the kitchen. You smile to yourself as he wraps his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on your neck, “Morning. I put a movie on, so they’ll be occupied by that and their presents for a while now. Checked on Seb too, he’s fine.”

“That went well,” you say genuinely, “Don’t you think?”

“Mhm, the unwrapping? Definitely,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his forehead on your shoulder, “They didn’t even notice how I was staring at you.”

“How were you staring at me?” You ask, your heart fluttering in your chest.

“No particular way,” he teases and you try to concentrate on cutting fruit into smaller pieces. 

In the background, a slow melody hums through the kitchen. Javier’s hands wander down to settle on your hips, and you finally allow yourself to let go of the knife, give in, and turn around in his arms. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile.

“Dance with me,” he replies. 

You walk further into his embrace, linking your arm around his waist and resting your chin on his shoulder. He entwines your fingers and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb as he sways with you in time with the song on the radio. 

As he moves you, your heads lean together, cheeks touching gently, and he radiates warmth and security. It makes you close your eyes and sigh softly, allowing yourself to be transported into a fantasy where you aren’t just wearing your underwear and a washed-out t-shirt. 

The hand that isn’t holding yours rests on your lower back, pulling you in after he twirls you once. You giggle when he beams at you but then you resume the first position, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, slowly turning, whilst Javier’s mouth rests just below your temple. 

And then you feel his nose brush against the side of your face as if he is starting to pull away, and a desperate voice inside of you wants to protest but the logical one tells you to go with the flow. The tip of his nose is warm even against your flushing skin, and by instinct, you pull away slightly to admire the gorgeous curve of it up close. Javier interrupts by kissing you instead. He captures your lips in the most drawn-out hot kiss, pouring with desire and devotion. 

“Tell me you love me like I love you,” you plea breathlessly. 

“I love you like you love me,” he tells you without hesitation, squeezing your hand, “Y  les quiero a Lucas y Inés y Sebastian (and I love Lucas and Inés and Sebastian).”

You respond by kissing him again, just about to slide your tongue across his lips and into his mouth when the song ends. 

He reluctantly lets go of you. However, instead of helping you cook breakfast, he starts moving things from one side of the kitchen table to the other; out of your reach. 

“Javi, what are you doing?” You start to protest.

“Let’s make another,” he suddenly says.

“Another?” You furrow your brow in confusion.

“A fourth one,” he explains as he stands in front of you, making you bump into the counter, “Un bebito (a little baby). Right now.” 

“Jesus, Javi,” you can feel his fingers dig into the waistband of your underwear. Blood goes to your core incredibly fast, “Sebastian is four months old.”

“If we start trying now…” His fingers start dragging the fabric down over your ass and thighs, “We’ll have one by next Christmas.”

“We can’t go at it right here,” you scold but don’t try to stop him. Instead, you step out of your underwear as they pool around your feet. 

“I told you,” he reminds you, already sinking to his knees with a self-satisfied look on his face, “That I put on a movie. They won’t even hear you.”

You lean your ass against the counter and then dare to hook a leg over his shoulder whilst balancing on the other. One hand grips the edge of the counter and the other rests on top of his hair, fingers threading through it as you wait patiently for him to put his mouth on you. 

“This your present then?” You tease him, yanking to make him look up at you.

“I think we’re both getting too much out of it to call it your present,” he points out. His eyes go down to stare right between your thighs and you find yourself clenching around nothing as arousal threatens to drip down your thighs, “Joder (fuck), look at you. Can I have it now?”

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Your teasing has ceased after hearing him swear from just watching your quivering pussy. You swallow thickly, a breath hitching in your throat as Javier’s hand slides up the back of the leg you are standing on until it rests on the back of your thigh. He squeezes and you hold your breath, “Please.” 

He looks up at you through his lashes, no mischief to be found but rather absolute worship, as he closes his mouth around you, velvety tongue sliding between your folds to lap at your clit. You tighten the grip on his hair as heat flows through your lower body, your mouth falling open in a soft gasp. 

“I can’t stand still,” you half-laugh whilst he eats you. Each pulse of your heart can be felt in your clit, which he sucks and laps at until you can’t breathe. He knows how to make you come so fast that blood drains from your head to your cunt and thighs and makes you keen.

“Then don’t, mi amor (my love),” he says matter-of-factly as he pulls back to breathe, hair a mess and chin shiny with your slick, “Fuck yourself onto me, Momma, I know you love that.”

You instantly curl your toes at the suggestion. Javier dives back in, lowers his head slightly to tease your slit with the tip of his filthy tongue. God, the way he can roll those Rs, calling you his love in his mother tongue, translates so well into this. Coming on his face from your own doing? Yes, that’s exactly what you want. 

Without thinking it over much more, you tighten the leg that you slung over Javier’s shoulder earlier around him. With a hand in his hair and the other one tightly around the edge of the kitchen table, you move until Javier’s tongue is sliding inside of you and his nose catches your clit. It sends pleasure rocking down your spine, your pulse spiking instantly as you start working yourself toward orgasm.

“Fuck,” you groan while moving on him, rolling your hips. Your balance is off like this but Javier slides the hand on your thigh up to splay his palm across your side. You lean your body’s weight into his hand and use the support to press harder into his nose, feeling the flutters of an orgasm approaching as the curve of it slides up and down your clit just as you would do it if you were touching yourself, “I’m gonna- ah, gonna come. Fuck, you make me come so hard! Ah–”

Javier makes a satisfied noise against you, stiffening his tongue to let you use it even more. You don’t even need to have him speaking, know that he would tell you to give it to me, and when you finally tip over the edge, you feel him pulling your hand from the kitchen table to entwine your fingers. 

“Fuck, Javi, fuckfuckfuck, baby, don’t stop,” you pant, squeezing his hand so hard that a fleeting thought makes you worry if you might break bone. You ride his tongue, his nose, and come so hard that you make him whimper as you pull at his hair. 

He doesn’t let you go when it dies down. Instead, he slowly rises from the floor and lifts you along with him due to your leg still being slung over his shoulder and back. His mouth doesn’t leave you, even when he falters briefly, as he settles you down on the counter. 

You want to scream but even a movie cannot drown out the noise building in your throat, so you cover your mouth with your free hand. Something besides you falls over, you knock your head into the kitchen cabinets and whereas Javier would’ve checked in on you, he eats your cunt so enthusiastically that you can feel your body wanting to come again.

The whine you let out is sinful with how much you struggle to muffle it. You reach for Javier’s hair but he catches your wrist and pins it down against the tabletop. When you try to reach for it again, this time with your other hand, he does the same until you can’t take the slightest bit of control. 

He makes you come again in less than a minute. It is earth-shattering, causing you to throw your head back and bump it into the cabinet once more. You thrash and cry, burning with pleasure as he hollows his cheeks from sucking your clit.

You start giggling from the dopamine, knowing it’s a better way to get out noise than crying for him. Your legs twitch as he devours the wetness you spill into his mouth.

Finally, he removes his mouth from your sticky mess of a cunt and kisses up under your loose t-shirt until you can’t see his face anymore. He smears your slick across your belly, resting his head just above your belly button, and chuckles. 

“You’re so,” you begin but you don’t know how to finish the sentence. He lets you move your hands again and you proceed to pet the top of his head through the fabric of your shirt.

“Sexy? Devoted? ¿Loco por ti (crazy about you)?” His breathing is uneven.

“I was going to call you a goof,” you correct him, lifting the shirt up to reveal him again. When he lifts his head to roll his eyes at you, you use the hem of your shirt to wipe his mouth and thus make him grimace. 

“What a mom-move,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

“I did mean it,” he adds, stretching and placing a palm on the counter on either side of your body, “I’ll cut down on work. I’ll be home more with you and the kids. Just until everything falls into place. We could get a babysitter.”

“Javi—“ 

“I think it could work,” he interrupts, “And if we want any more - kids, I mean - I feel like we should do it now and not wait.”

“Javi,” you reach up to cup his face gently. There’s no need for this conversation now, and there’s no doubt that you want to give him many more children if he wants. Technicalities can be discussed further down the road, and Inés is somewhat already counting for two kids so how should you not be able to handle a fourth? You kiss his lips, keeping your noses touching when you pull back again, “Just fuck me, baby. We can talk about it later.”

“Right,” he blinks his puppy eyes away.

You hungrily watch him pull his cock free from his boxers before stepping between your legs which you wrap around his waist, pulling him closer and moving yourself forward to the edge of the kitchen table. You are itching to feel him inside of you, your body feeling like it is missing something after going this long since you started to feel turned on. 

“Please,” you whine. 

“Relax,” he orders simply as he aligns his hips with yours. The sweet voice from before is gone and there’s no doubt that he’ll start speaking filth soon. You obey and go back to leaning against the cabinets, eyes half-lidded with lust as he runs the head of his cock through your folds in a way that has you whimpering with how sensitive you are.

When you get impatient, you reach down to guide the tip where you want it and shudder as he dips inside of you. He holds your gaze but as you want to look down at where the two of you are connected, he reaches for your chin with a shaky hand. You pant, eyes looking up as he forces your head up again. 

“That’s it,” he praises, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger while moving forward and pushing into you. Your brows furrow at the stretch of your sensitive cunt but you still manage to hold his gaze despite wanting to close your eyes, and it earns you another praise, “Good girl, thaaat’s it, you focus on me, focus right here.”

When you smile sweetly at his words, he starts moving inside of you. The first roll of his hips makes your mind go blank and your noises climb in pitch. He fucks you against the counter, broad hands sliding up the back of your thighs to rest against the small of your back. It’s relentless, it’s desperate and it’s incredibly hot.

You settle your hands on his biceps, holding on for dear life as he thrusts hard enough to make your touching skin smack with each movement. You look up at the ceiling briefly, wondering if the moans you are letting out can be heard by your kids because Javier’s cock is hitting something inside of you that makes you want to sob. 

“El ruido (the noise)— shit, d-don’t worry about it,” Javier notices your mind drifting to concern, and so he slows down slightly to catch your attention. He kisses your lips between each word and drinks each noise you make from your mouth, “You sound so beautiful for me, amor. Forget about them, they’re fine.”

You nod repeatedly, whining feeble okays when he goes back to the harder thrusts from before, making you grab at his muscles until it’s not enough anymore and you have to dig your nails into them. His harshness makes your full tits bounce underneath the t-shirt too, and you let them until you know what’s coming; the happy chemicals in your body provoke it so often this time around. 

You cover your breasts with your palms and squeeze until you feel your pussy flutter, somehow creating a direct line to your pulsing, untouched clit. You follow it up by tugging slightly on your nipples too, all the while you repeat Javier’s name as if to get his attention, as if to say it in prayer. His gaze drops and his eyes nearly roll back into his skull as you start soaking through your shirt with milk. 

“You filthy girl,” he growls, “Pull it up for me. Lemme see.”

“Fuck, I— I think I’m close,” you half-moan and half-giggle, yanking your t-shirt up and watching the steady trickle of your milk. The way that Javier watches makes your cunt want to pull him in further but you don’t think he can go any deeper, so instead you hold him tightly with your legs so he can only grind roughly into you. 

Your stomach flips as Javier’s expert tongue laps at a trail of milk. He sucks along the streak it has already made until he can close his lips, swollen from kisses, around your nipple. When he sucks, you almost cry for your maker and you swear that you can hear how much wetter you get. 

“Where was this for my cookies last night, huh, Momma?” He asks with milk-stained lips and a smirk, cock touching inside of you just how you want it. 

“You’re so - fuck, baby, I’m gonna come soon - you’re so gross,” your eyes close, your belly tightens and so you concentrate to get there, “What wouldn’t Santa think? Cookies and breast milk?”

Javier laughs genuinely at that and you moan at the feeling of him being inside of you whilst doing it. He shifts so that his hands end up flat against the counter, underneath your knees, and he can lean into you further, “Watch it. Maybe Santa’s a kinky fucker like your husband.”

“My husband,” you repeat as if it’s turning you on just to refer to him like that. Even after years.

“Fuck yes, I’m your husband. Wife,” Javier aims to kiss you hard but the strain on his body to make you come makes him press his lips to your jaw. He continues upwards, mouthing along your chin and cheek. He speaks with ragged breath into the corner of your open mouth.

“Listen to you,” he pants as you reel with pleasure, sweat collecting at his brow. He is concentrating too but he still manages to tease, “Who are you making those pretty noises for?”

“Para tí (for you),” you moan with furrowed eyebrows, “Sólo  para tí, Javi (only for you, Javi).”

“I know— fuck, I know, baby, oh fuck, I can feel you,” he gasps as you clench around him without warning. Everything snaps and then launches into overwhelming spasms that overtake your whole lower body, clenching and unclenching in waves of pleasure. You sob as you come a third time this morning, arms falling to the counter and thighs trembling as you ride it out.

Javier looks like he is in awe as he always does. His pace picks up to near his own peak, and he kisses your mouth before going down your chin, neck, and shoulder, “You’re going to be the death of me, mi amor. You and this pretty pussy… So good at taking my come and making me a Papá.”

You can only cry feebly as he drives his cock in and out of you. The sound sends him into a frenzy, and he makes you whimper at the feeling of him coming inside of your cunt. He twitches with oversensitivity and pulses with each spurt of his warm seed, his breath is shaky and his forehead is against yours. His skin is burning hot, flushing with the way that his heart is hammering in his chest as he contorts his face with a groan of pleasure. It goes on for a moment until he slumps, head falling to your shoulder instead. 

Javier chuckles against the damp and hot skin of your neck from dopamine, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss to it and glancing down at your chest that still heaves for breath. Your gray shirt still sits above your tits and it clings to your body from how it’s been soaked through by your milk. Javier reaches out to circle a flushed nipple with the pad of his thumb, causing your body to shiver. 

“Stop,” you moan through post-coital bliss, not able to do much but rest against the kitchen cabinets. It almost feels like you want to cry in his arms, “Too sensitive.”

Javier removes his hand, “Sorry, mi vida (my life). You okay?”

“Mejoramos cada vez, ¿no? (We get better each time, no?)” You smile lazily. 

He hums in response, agreeing. With his palms flat on the counter, he catches your mouth in a long kiss and you reach up to cup the back of his head. The hair there is sweaty, creating a patch on his shirt right around his neck. 

You want to drown in him, not letting him pull all the way back when he breaks the kiss for air. He rests his nose against your cheek and exhales deeply, “We can’t stay here forever. I gotta fucking sit down too.”

“I need to finish breakfast,” you mumble with your eyes closed as if you’re in the state of being able to do that.

“What you need is a shower,” Javier laughs, kissing the corner of your mouth. He sighs deeply as he stretches to his full height, stepping away from you to let you jump down, “I’ll finish up here. Disinfect the counter, maybe. Then I’ll shower after you.” 

You look at the clock on the kitchen wall before hopping down, “We have a little more than an hour.”

“Think we can manage,” he shrugs. 

You put on the underwear that Javier discarded you of earlier, snapping the elastic as you pull them up over your hips. Javier grins at you, not hiding the way that he is eyeing you up as he puts on his own underwear.

“Wash your hands too, yes?” You tease, leaving him in the kitchen to watch your ass when your back is turned.

“Yes, Mom,” he calls after you.

You try to ignore the feeling of come dripping into your panties as you walk up the stairs, grimacing to yourself and quickly throwing them in the wash along with your shirt when you get into the bathroom. 

The shower spray feels amazing against your skin but nothing feels as good as when you hear Javier talking to Sebastian further down the hall as he gets him out of bed. Even better when you hear him burst the door open to the kids’ playroom, Inés giggling and Lucas following behind as he makes a remark about them being up to something. 

“Who wants to help me and Sebastian make pancakes?” Javier asks. When you close your eyes, you can see Inés and Lucas’ hands shoot up and then you hurry to finish so you can join them as soon as possible. You’ve never given it any real thought but you find that you, too, are exactly where you’re supposed to be.

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