#and be soft. was very insistent this draw had to be soft.

[dead-dove-orchid]

Declawed!AU Venny & Sabre

“Oh, Venny.. I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay, papa! I’ll heal, like I always do.”

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ virgin!reader who's concocted this whole narrative about fratboy!satoru taking some bizarre vow of celibacy. ridiculous, maybe – but honestly, his pre-you life felt like a completely different era. no hookups. no casual encounters. didn't that violate some unspoken rule in the frat bible?

"where are your notes?" he asks, the mattress dipping as he sprawls out.

you swivel from your spot at the desk, a genuine "huh?" escaping.

"your notes, cherry," he repeats, a teasing lift to his eyebrow. "you said you needed study help."

a slow blink. you pretend to search your memory. "oh. right. notes. actually… i think i'm good."

satoru's brow furrows. "then why the invite?"

"what? a girlfriend can't just want her boyfriend over?"

"cherry," he corrects, a pointed look in his eyes, "i'm not your boyfriend."

"yet," you hum, amending his correction with a sly smile. "either way, my roommate's out."

he blows out a breath, a slow nod. "perfect. peaceful study session. never did like her anyway."

"please tell me you weren't actually expecting only studying," you say, a playful challenge in your tone. "empty dorm. just us. alone."

satoru's frown deepens, and you deploy your most pathetic puppy-dog eyes. his don't even flicker.

"we're not having sex," he states flatly, crossing his impressive arms. big, strong, very noticeable arms.

"yet," you echo, a hopeful lilt in your voice.

"right," he sighs, a hint of amusement in his exasperation, "yet." satoru had this thing about taking it slow, like a time-traveling puritan.

"we aren't there yet, though," he adds, a subtle shift in his gaze. no intercourse, he'd declared. but he'd conveniently omitted any mention of what didn't count as intercourse. a loophole you were currently exploiting, straddling his lap, your lips throbbing from his kisses, your teeth nipping and tangling.

your skirt has crept far, far up, panties a damp second skin plastered against his boxers, the evidence of your arousal mingling with his pre-cum in the increasingly sodden fabric between you.

satoru's hands are firm on your hips, anchoring you. you already feel the telltale spasms against your core twice, milking his thick length through the barrier of his jeans just by the friction of your slick heat against his bulge. a low groan rumbles in his chest, his head falling back, eyes momentarily glazed.

you have to give him credit; amish commitment or not, he's putting up one hell of a fight against actual penetration. you almost admire his self-control. almost. except for the fact that it's really eating at yours.

his hips buck against yours, a desperate, involuntary movement that draws a moan from your throat. "god, cherry," he mumbles into the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. you press down, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his thighs, effectively pinning him. if he won't fuck you, you'll damn well make the most of what he will do.

the waves of your own pleasure blur together, a relentless tide washing over you. nonetheless, that insistent heat low in your belly coils tighter, one again, every rigid inch of him a focused pressure against your clit through the layers of fabric, a desperate ache building. when the next shared orgasm rips through you both, a strangled whine escapes your lips against his soft, white hair.

yeah. turns out, "taking it slow" has a very different meaning in practice.

[paperbackribs]

What i f I told Tommy to fuck off?

"Hey," Steve's head lolls onto Eddie's lap with a thump, "what do you think if I told Tommy to fuck off?"

Eddie thinks he might dance a jig, take a shot of tequila, and then blow Steve if he'd let him near him. But that's not in the cards. They've been roommates for four years now, the two years they'd lived in and out of the Harrington House and the Munson Trailer before then notwithstanding.

"I think that you're full of shit," Eddie retorts, ignoring the warmth of Steve's head in his lap. Ignoring how easily his stupid head turns to lustful images of shoving his palm against Steve's cheeks and turning him face-down to use his mouth in a way that Eddie can only dream of on the most holy of nights.

"No, really," Steve insists, hazel eyes earnest and staring up at Eddie. "You keep telling me that I'm worth more--"

"More than a bastard that fucks everthing that walks and then comes begging back to you? Yeah, sure. I have some standards."

Steve scowls up at him, eyes squinted, "I have standards."

Eddie stares right back, unwilling to back down, "Sure you do, sweetheart." He sinks enough scorn into the last word to push Steve away but Steve continues to squint back. He stares at Eddie with such unwavering certitude that it's Eddie who wavers.

"Robin told me something," Steve says calmly. Head still in Eddie's goddamn lap.

Eddie hums, looking away from the intent gaze. Ignoring it. Ignoring every moment he thought was more over the past six years.

"She told me that I'm not imagining things. That I'm not stupid--"

Eddie interrupts, exasperated after all this time that Steve still thinks so low of himself, "Of course you're not stupid. You have to stop listening to Tommy - he's full of shit and talks you down so that he's bigger. But you're bigger, Steve. You're a whole shitting statue looming above the teeny tiny human he pretends that he is. Just forget him for Christ's sake."

"Not that you will," Eddie mutters even as he's annoyed that he had spoken so candidly.

"So you're saying that I should trust my instincts?" Steve asks, eyes burning and frame oddly taut against Eddie's legs. The television flickers in the background, casting blue shadows against the planes of Steve's face and all Eddie can hopelessly think is how desperately he wants to lick the sharp lines of it.

Before he can sink into the moroseness of it all, Steve scrambles up and Eddie grunts at the unexpected force as elbows poke at sensitive parts only for Steve's sweet, sincere face to be hovering over his.

Eddie stares up, lacking understanding and any idea of what to do next. The beautiful eyes staring back down at him are captivating, the pretty marks against the canvas of his skin enthralling and, in that very moment, Eddie's head is so blank that he can't be counted on to make a decision or recall one past decisive thought.

"Kiss me," Steve demands and an arrow pierces Eddie's chest so cleanly that he thinks he'll never breathe easily again.

"What?" he wheezes, but Steve simply nods resolutely.

"Kiss me if you feel anything for me."

Steve's jaw is clenched, Eddie can see, in the way he does when vulnerable and sad. It makes something in Eddie's gut tighten in sympathy. Because all he has wanted for years is for Steve to kiss him. To want to kiss him. But here Steve is, looking for all the world like he expects Eddie to push him away.

He'd never.

Palm raising shakily, Eddie cups Steve's jaw, bringing their lips together in a union that is soft and unsure.

Just as shakily, Steve exhales, brow furrowed and lips pursing in distress. "That's it?" he sighs heavily, sadly. Looking away and nodding to himself as if he understands a terrible truth, "I get it. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you to--"

Consumed by a sudden fierceness, Eddie surges forward, taking Steve's beautiful face in his hands and his lips in a passionate fusion. Their lips merge in a slick embrace while breaths combine, becoming one.

Drawing back with a wet schlick, a translucent ribbon connects their mouths before snapping away. Steve looks as dazed as Eddie, the both of them reminiscent of cartoon characters whacked over the head with rolling pins.

"I should..." Steve stutters.

The whole of Eddie's body softens, sure in that this is the moment. This is his moment and it's Steve's too. It's their moment to make a future worthwhile.

"You should tell Tommy to fuck off," Eddie says, hoping against all hope that Steve will meet him beat for beat.

Steve licks his lips, a smirk spreading across his delectable face, "Because you feel something for me."

Confidence fills Eddie and he smirks right back, "Because I feel everything, sweetheart." Steve's face brightens as Eddie repeats, "Everything."

[katiekatdragon27]

Hello Dandy's World fans.

I've recently been playing the game on Roblox with my friends and sibling, and it's been a ton of fun! Sure, I'm horrible at it, but it's the thought that counts ig.

And don't worry, I draw normal things too.

Like these things.

But it's mostly angst and unhinged things lol.

Below is a silly goofy Shiny Shrimp (that's the ship name I made up for Glisten x Shrimpo lol) AU that's just angst and tragedy and bullying Shrimpo emotionally lol:

OKAY SO CONTEXT: I thought it would be funny if Shrimpo had to keep Glisten company while exploring the floors but was also the one to witness his change into his full twisted form and almost die lol.

SO, I'd imagine it going down like this.

Basically, during one of the missions below, Glisten doesn't make it to the elevator in time. Shrimpo gets wind of this and gets very pissed. Despite everyone's protests, Shrimpo decides to join on of their runs to gain iquor, but mostly to fine Glisten.

And boy does he find him and all his shattered face glory.

Glisten: "Shrimpo!?" Shrimpo: "G-Glisten?" Glisten: "I knew you'd come back for me!"

Shrimpo attempts to leave the situation, seeing that Glisten is indeed twisted, despite Glisten's insistence that he is not. As Shrimpo tries to leave, Glisten gets more attached, constantly asking Shrimpo to not leave and to stay with him. Another person in the party (haven't decided who yet), tells Shrimpo to stay with Glisten and keep him company until all the machines are done. Shrimpo reluctantly agrees (and says "I HATE YOU" a couple times) and spends the rest of the round with Glisten.

However, the whole time Shrimpo's trying not to get attached because deep down, he knows it's too late for Glisten.

At the end of the round, everyone is called to go to the elevator. Shrimpo goes to leave. Glisten tries to block him off. Shimpo forces his way through. Glisten gets pissed and rips off his ribbons in anger, letting the infection take over his whole body. As Glisten's shifting, Shrimpo grabs one of his discarded ribbon pieces and beelines it to the elevator (as fast as Shrimpo can run). However, it is not fast enough, and Glisten easily catches up. He knocked over Shrimpo and lunges at him, ready take him out.

That's when Goob comes in. While everyone is trying to get the elevator to close faster, Goob grabs Shrimpo from below Glisten and pulls him into the elevator. Glisten hits the floor and breaks his face even more. As he gets up, he shouts at Shrimpo, who is shaking in Goob's arms watch Glisten break down.

Glisten: "YOU PROMISED YOU'D STAY WITH ME-- YOU PROMISED!"

Then, the doors close. Glisten is gone, and Shrimpo is angry and traumatized. How fun.

Shrimpo does not do well after the whole incident. He is much more reserved, but still just as angry. Except to Goob. Goob saving him gave Shrimpo a soft spot for the guy. Also, Goob let's Shrimpo vent to him like the supportive icon he is.

Shrimpo: I think I miss my partner, Goob.

But he's not the only toon Shrimpo talks to.

Vee: "Geez. This crying is ruining your "tough guy" persona."

My sibling gave me the silly idea to have Shrimpo and Vee be "friends" in this bc Shrimp hates Dandy waaaaaaaaaay more after the Glisten incident. And Vee hates Dandy in general, so boom, situation friendship. However, Vee sucks at being a supportive friend.

And some silly stuff my friends requested. Shrimpo chucking Dandy into the stratosphere and Goob being Goob. Healing the world one crappy doodle at a time.

Thank you for looking at the dooles and mindless rant of a grown adult about a Roblox horror game for 9-year-olds. You're a real one. Have a good day broksies.

[rafeysbangs]

⋅˚₊୨୧↷ bf!rafe loves your lingerie sets

warnings ; suggestive !, pretty fluffy - nothing else, rafe refers to reader as baby :)

notes ; i bought new lingerie today so here's a fic based on how my very real boyfriend rafe cameron acted when i showed him ( i'm gonna go touch grass now xo )

"raaafe, i've got a surprise for you..."

you sang as you walked through the door of your shared condo, trillions of bags in hand. he mumbled something in response from the bedroom, distracted by something on his phone - probably work related - so you snuck into the bathroom, plotting to grasp his attention.

the door creaked open as you stepped into the bedroom, the soft click of your heels against the hardwood floor drawing rafe’s attention from where he was sprawled lazily across the bed. his phone slipped from his hand onto the mattress, forgotten the second his eyes landed on you. his gaze swept over you slowly, taking in every detail of the lace hugging your curves, every inch of skin it left exposed.

he froze, his mouth slightly open, the corners tugging into a faint, incredulous smile. “what-” he started, his voice rasping, but the words caught in his throat.

you shifted under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the delicate fabric even though it did nothing to cover you. “stop staring,” you muttered, your face burning as you glanced away.

“stop staring?” he repeated, pushing himself up from the bed so quickly it startled you. his eyes stayed locked on you, wide with disbelief. “baby, how am i supposed to stop staring when you walk in here looking like this?”

“it’s just lingerie, rafe,” you mumbled, trying to play it off even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“no,” he said, shaking his head as he crossed the room, his bare feet padding against the floor. his hands found your waist without hesitation, his fingers firm but gentle, his touch warm against your skin. “it’s you in lingerie. don’t downplay it.”

you laughed nervously, trying to step back, but his grip held you in place - not forceful, just steady, grounding. “you’re being dramatic.”

he tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “dramatic? baby, i’m not even playing it up enough.” he leaned in closer, his breath brushing over your ear. “do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”

your breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. his thumbs brushed over the lace, and he shook his head, his eyes softening as they roamed your face.

“don’t hide from me,” he said when you started to glance away again, his voice quiet but commanding. he cupped your chin, tilting your face back toward his. “you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, and i’m not just saying that.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, your cheeks flaming, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible not to believe him.

“i’m not,” he insisted, his voice firm but full of affection. “you walk in here looking like an actual dream, and you think i’m gonna let you downplay it? not a chance.”

he bent down slightly, his forehead brushing yours as his fingers traced idle patterns over your sides. “you don’t even need this stuff to have me losing my mind over you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “but this? this just isn’t fair.”

you laughed despite yourself, your nervousness melting under his touch. he pulled back enough to catch your eyes, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “there’s that smile,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “that’s my girl.”

before you could respond, his lips found yours, the kiss slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to savor you. his hands slid up your back, skimming over the lace, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

“you’re staying in this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dropping lower. “because we’re not leaving this room for a while.”

his words sent a shiver through you, and you barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands roaming like he couldn’t get enough of you.

and from the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire world, you were starting to think maybe he couldn’t.

taglist ;  @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy ( feel free to ask to be added! idm! )

[suhtorus]

mama's day. gojo satoru

fluff. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ parents au, non sorcerer au, mom!reader, family fluff, two unnamed sons and one baby girl. a little gift for myself ! ᡣ𐭩

little sunshines au

satoru has a plan for your birthday—a very detailed one.

step one. wake up the nuggets

it takes him less than two minutes to get the oldest out of bed, and there's really no point in waking up his baby girl since there's not much an eight-month-old can do.

the problem is your toddler.

"c'moooon, don't you wanna give mama her gifts?"

satoru's tone grows exasperated the longer his son refuses to cooperate, kicking his legs and throwing his nemo plushie at his face.

"no!"

the five-year-old immediately shushes his baby brother, only making the latter whine even more, tears now running down his chubby cheeks.

satoru feels his face fall upon seeing his son so upset, he should've expected the little ones not to take it too well to be woken up at six in the morning.

"hey," he tries softly this time, caressing the soft blond hairs of his toddler, "I'm sorry, mochi. can you forgive papa? go back to sleep, I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready, okay?"

the sobs end and now there's only small sniffles coming from the sleepy kid.

"oki."

step two. make breakfast

"like this?"

satoru leans down to inspect his son's work, brows furrowing as he tries, and fails, to read whatever gibberish his son tried to spell on top of the freshly made waffles.

with a loud smooch on the kid's cheek, satoru squeezes him in a tight hug, grinning proudly the way a father would. "a masterpiece. mama's gonna love it."

dad and son work surprisingly silent, focused on their own tasks. it doesn't take them long to have plates full of food and fruits, as well as freshly made juice.

"why don't you grab these," satoru hands his son two bags with the names of expensive brands on them, "while I go get your siblings. okay?"

"on it!"

step three. gifts

"happy birthday, mama~"

"ma-ma!"

you wake up with a start, surrounded by four pairs of blue eyes staring down at you.

"happy birthday, love of my life, mother of my kids, my one and only!"

satoru pecks your mouth as your brain processes the beaming faces of your three nuggets. your boys sit next to you, one on each side, while satoru holds the baby in the air right above your face.

your confused face finally eases into one of happiness (and relief).

"thank you, my little babies!" you smile drowsily, urging yourself to blink the sleep away as you smooch the faces of all three of your children. "mwah, mwah, mwahhh–"

your husband can't help but smile upon seeing you smothering the kids with kisses. and with his hold still on his baby girl, satoru tugs her away from you and nods at your lap.

"open your gifts, baby. we got you aaaall of your favorites." he winks at his son and the little one covers his mouth behind his tiny hand, giggling. "and we also made breakfast for mama, right?"

with a pointed look from satoru, your toddler remembers the plate of food on his lap.

"eat waffu, baby." your two-year-old offers you the plate full of waffles, pushing it towards your mouth, insistent. "eat it."

step four. spoil her rotten

your two boys happily run across the gardens while your baby girl crawls on the grass, squealing right behind her brothers.

"liked the surprise?"

your husband's arms wrap around your middle from behind. his hold is the greatest comfort you could've asked for.

"you mean waking up with three of your clones staring down at me while I sleep?" you snort, but there's no real bite in your tone. "I loved it. especially their drawing of me surrounded by blue-eyed mochi."

your eldest had insisted on drawing their little family—with you right in the center—and satoru thought it'd be funny to add the mochi instead of the kids.

"oh, but I'm not done yet, sweetheart." he spins you around in his arms, now grinning at you. "an entire weekend. you and me. what do you say?"

a groan slips past your lips and he immediately frowns, indignation clear on his face.

"c'mon, pretty. it's been a while since it was just the two of us." satoru goes for the puppy eyes, knowing that by doing so he already has a fifty percent of chance of winning. "you're not only a mother, but also a wife. let your doting husband pamper you."

"and who's watching over the kids? the baby??" you try to reason, glancing at your nuggets as they giggle their little hearts out as they play together. "satoru, we can't just leave."

"sweetheart, relaaaaax. ijichi got us covered."

oh, that poor man.

you make a mental note to give nanami a call.

[lvmimis]

cw: senku accidentally makes an aphrodisiac and fem!reader helps him out... minors dni! smut but no penetration. american colony au.

Senku rarely makes mistakes, ever, but as Gen has so often pointed out, luck is very often not on the young man’s side - in fact, luck seems to avoid him as though punishing him for refusing to leave his life up to fate. 

Minutes after he’s taken the potion that had been designated by the village doctor as an analgesic, he realizes quickly he’s made a grave one. Sweat beads on his forehead as he breathes in, the very action of drawing in a breath serving to increase the deafening drumbeat in his ears. Thump, thump, thump. The heat clouding his mind right now as he tries to remember where exactly he went wrong, what could have possibly happened to have him in fetal position, tensed up everywhere but especially in the space in between his legs.

Top shelf, to the right. A small vial stopped up with a cork.

Cork. It shouldn’t be a cork, he remembers suddenly. She had said the bottle might be hard to twist open. He must have taken something else. What else could explain the fact that all the blood coursing through his body seems to have collected to one place only, giving him the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life?

The scientist can’t claim to never have thought about sex. After all, he’s young and healthy and as curious about his body as anyone else, even if he’s not so easily persuaded by the prospect of soft round breasts or plush thighs as others, and he prides himself in knowing the basic workings of everything including that particular type of recreation. 

Now it’s all he can think about as he shivers and flushes, blood gorged cock throbbing and desperate to be touched in any way, shape or form.

He’s initially thankful that he was struck by this affliction while hiding away in the lookout tower  in the middle of the night because of its privacy and the ability to rub one or ten out and hopefully turn into a logical human once again, but once he can hear the familiar soft pad of your footsteps approaching up the stairs, he’s repetitively cursing his rotten luck under his strangled breath. 

Scrambling from his position sat in the corner, back against the wall, he quickly finds his way onto a chair, but stumbles, and when your eyes fall onto him, he’s practically face down. 

“Senku?” 

Your voice is soft as usual, not completely sure it’s him in the dim light. Moonlight illuminates part of the wide room, and when he finally rolls over to a cross-legged position, doing his best to hide the embarrassing bump in his clothes, you look at him quizzically.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Senku exclaims. There’s an uncharacteristic upturn to his voice that is a cause for concern.

“You mean, in the tower you supposedly made for me?” you ask. Senku pales, but you’re already sliding down to sit cross-legged next to him. 

“Are you doing okay?” you ask. Leaning over to press a hand to his forehead, you frown at the dampness, while a shudder passes through Senku’s entire body the moment the back of your hand grazes him.

“I’m fine,” he says, coughing to cover up the strain in his voice. His body language is slightly turned away, and so is his face, because he can’t look at you, not like this. Desire pools in his chest heavily, so thick he can barely breathe, and your sweet voice is like water dripping onto an already overfilled cup.

“You don’t sound fine,” you muse. You think of yourself just weeks ago insisting on being left alone despite a raging pneumonia, and move in closer, a move that has him retreat like a trapped mouse. “Did you take the medicine for your headache like you were supposed to?”

Senku would roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fact that an accidental brush of your hand against his could make them roll into the back of his head.

“Your friend might be a quack,” he says, but then quickly adds in fairness, “...the truth is I think I might have picked up something I wasn’t supposed to.”

He laughs, and then feels his cock jump and scrambles to his feet to stand further away. You’re troubled by his anxiety and his refusal to look you in the eye and after a few more questions about his mental and physical state, you decide you’re tired of his dodging questions.

“Senku, what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing,” he lies. He’s thinking of a way to escape without you noticing, but you’ve moved now, and are standing right in front of him, far too close, and your upset look is simply too pretty, and he looks at you almost fearfully.

“I need to go,” he says, and tries to move past you, but you immediately block his path. 

“Senku.”

It only takes one look at the knit in your eyebrows to realize he’s not going to make out of this without the truth. He’s still flushing intermittently, and can feel the tip of his dick more exquisitely than any other part of his body. It takes him a moment to decide, but eventually he realizes he can approach this embarrassing predicament in the best way he can think of.

Logically.

“Whatever I took… I think might be having aphrodisiacal effects on me.”

You blink, bright eyes wide with every bat of your lashes, and he feels the genuine pull of yearning in his loins.

“Oh.”

Senku blushes, the warmth spreading throughout his whole body this time as you finally look down then quickly avert your gaze. In a flash, he wonders for the first time how much you know about sex. Are you a virgin? When was your first time? With who? Would you do it again? With him?

The last thought he immediately banishes from his mind, telling himself that it’s likely the effects of whatever potent concoction is clouding his rationale. Not now. If ever, not this way.

“I… I can help, you know,” you offer. Your voice is quiet, gentle and steady, the same way you speak when you talk to the animals when they misbehave, when you want to reassure without controlling. “Platonically, of course,” you quickly add.

Platonically. Of course. It’s just an urge, and you understand those animalistic urges pretty well, given your breadth of experience in the natural sciences. Just a want. It wouldn’t be a crime if…

You move in close, your hand hovering over his crotch but not touching him. You then look at him, asking with your pupils, and he can swear he can feel his dilate. He nods, and you let your fingers slip beneath the layers of fabric until they reach the slightly coarse grain of his pubes. Your lips part slightly as you move slowly; he’s holding his breath but the moment your finger grazes the skin of his firm shaft, he lets out a moan, covering his mouth immediately to shut himself up.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. He’s embarrassed, suppressing pants, but you press forward, letting your fingers close around his shaft, one by one. Grip still awkward, Senku shifts, pulling down his pants further, and you pull your lower lip before your teeth briefly before you tug smoothly for the first time. He gasps, and you press your thumb on the tip, right at the orifice of his urethra.

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, wondering if you should have asked earlier. The small talk is meant to make it more casual, less intimate, but he’s quick to shake his head and say no, breathily.

“Not by anyone who mattered.”

Your heart flutters and you move just a bit faster. Senku moans, throwing his head back, and you keep your pace.

“Is that enough? Are you feeling good?” You slip. You mean better. You’re not trying to pleasure him, you’re trying to help him. 

“Fuck, can you… more… can you-” he stops, then bites his lip. He’s breathing heavier now, the expansion of his chest much more noticeable. He glances at you for a moment, then quickly looks away. If he were to do what he wants to do, ask you for more, press his lips onto yours, would it be using you? Is he allowed to ask that of you? Is it just this… or something else?

Your hand has stopped but he’s whining now, bucking his hips into the base of your fist almost subconsciously. You grip tighter, then slide up and down his shaft again, pressing against the darkened tip more, now slippery with treacherous precum. It occurs to you for a moment that maybe, maybe just a bit more friction would help, and you take the initiative of spitting on your hand, then resuming and he moans, fingers pressed to the floor beside him tensing and tightening as he accepts your onslaught.

Straggled groans escaping his throat, his eyes close, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows spit and desire. He’s thirsty, needy, unsure if this is making it better or worse.

And just at that moment, you ask, “Are you feeling better, Senku?”

Oh, the way you say his name, he practically spills into your hand. 

“D-don’t talk…” he begs, and your face flinches with hurt, but you remember that you are only helping.

“Mm.”

Your hand keeps moving, and you watch his cock throb and twitch in its grasp. It’s a pretty thing, you let yourself consider for a moment, pretty like the rest of him, eager, greedy… it has been a while, you think, since you’ve been so intimate with someone.

Not intimate. That’s not what this is. You’re helping a friend.

Senku grits his teeth as you spit on your hand again and your moistened palm swirls around his cock. 

There’s no reason for you to be so good at touching him like this. He exhales.

“I’d be a real piece of shit if I asked you for more, wouldn’t I right now?” he finally asks. He’s looking at the ceiling now, trying to contain himself, but how can he when you’re touching him like this and he feels better than he’s ever felt in his life. He’s only mildly coherent at this point, perhaps he should count backwards, perhaps…

“Tell me what you want, Senku, I’ll do my best.”

He turns, and you look at him in just that moment, but you don’t let go of him. 

His hand goes to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and he stops quickly, inches apart. 

You’ve closed your eyes, and you’ve puckered your lips just so. Senku swallows hard, wondering how he could have ever stopped but he knows why.

“It’s not the drugs,” he’s able to eke out. Your eyes open, gentle as they look into his, your lips still parted. Your hand shifts, palm rested on the edge of his warm length. 

“It’s not the drugs,” you repeat.

“I’d feel like this anyway, in this moment,” Senku says. A moment passes. Your tongues passes over your dry lips.

“Do you mean it?” 

Senku doesn’t hesitate, before saying yes.

You press your lips to his first, letting him press his way in and explore, letting him bite your lip and suck, and pass his tongue against your teeth, letting him tip your neck backwards and deepen the kiss. You kiss, and you move your hands and your lips part, and you dip lower, to make him feel pleasure like he’s never seen.

[blahblahblees]

ヽ｀、☁ヽ｀─── fantasize ミ rodrick heffley

✎ ·˚ ༘ ─── after some “fun in the sun” the heffley’s catch a side of rodrick that they rarely see.

wc: 785

movie!rodrick heffley x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns)

tw: kissing/making out (?) mentioned

a/n: this was a reblog request :)

RODRICK HAD been known by his to be this “rockstar” who didn’t have much care in the world. He cared more so about his band than his schoolwork and his music more than the chore list that had been miles and miles long that he always made Greg do with the help of Rowley.

But somehow, someway, Rodrick had a small soft spot in his heart for his family and his girlfriend. That spot, though small, could hold the weights of the world and they all knew that in their very special way.

And if girlfriend knew that Rodrick loved her in his own special way.

He wrote songs about her, he invited her to his gigs, he sat around while she study, they made out in the back of his van… all love in his own very special way.

Even now.

It was dark and late into the night when Rodrick had invited her over. She didn’t plan on staying long, not because she didn’t want to, it was because she didn’t want to intrude on the Heffley family dinner, but he, along with Susan, insisted that she was no bother.

But she’d been over for hours and had been cooped up in Rodrick’s room the entire time.

They’d listen to music, they listened to his music, they jumped up and down and called it dancing. They were with each other and this was a side that many people didn’t see of Rodrick, not even his family.

After that, the two of flopped down on Rodrick’s bed. She held her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter but Rodrick propped himself on his elbow and took his free hand to remove her hands from her mouth.

She continued to stifle her laughs as Rodrick smiled down at her, drawing closer and closer to her lips and gently placed them on top of hers, which quickly made her laughs disappear and more so focus on him.

It was a gentle, exploratory kiss, with Rodrick's lips moving slowly against hers as they both savored the moment. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth along her skin.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. She ran her fingers through his tousled hair, enjoying the feel of it under her fingertips.

As the kiss continued, she felt her heartbeat quicken and her breathing grow shallow. She was completely lost in the moment, her whole being focused on the sensation of his lips on hers.

Rodrick's hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head, deepening the kiss even further.

It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and she never wanted it to end.

THERE WAS a gentle knock on Rodrick’s door and on the other side of it had been his little brother Greg. It wasn’t often that the boy knocked, but he knew that his girlfriend was over and from the previous time… he knew to knock.

But Rodrick nor his girlfriend made any noise on the other side of the door. He continue to knock to let them know that dinner had been ready and they needed to come down to each per Susan’s request.

But again, nothing had been heard on the other side, so he shrugged his shoulders and made his way back downstairs to let his mother know that Rodrick wasn’t answering to his knock.

Susan gently put down her napkin and made her way upstairs into Rodrick’s room. And for Greg? This was gold and was something that could only happen once in his lifetime.

Though he knew that he wouldn’t get into too much trouble by skipping out on dinner, it was enough trouble for Greg to grab his camera and prepare for Rodrick to be completely embarrassed in front of his girlfriend.

So, as soon as Susan knocked on Rodrick’s door, Greg hit record.

“Rodrick, sweetie.” Susan called. “It’s time for dinner.”

But once more, absolutely nothing.

So Susan gently grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open. And inside laid Rodrick and his girlfriend laying in his bed with their eyes shut. Rodrick’s arm draped over her as her hand laid gently interlocked with his.

Her shirt had been swapped with one of Rodrick’s Löded Diper shirt that neither Greg nor Susan commented on.

Greg groaned, cutting his camera off and making their way back downstairs to eat his dinner with his father and little brother, Manny.

Susan held a small smile on her face, her hand over her heart as she gently shut the door behind her, making note to save some of the dinner for the two of them.

— lucy has something to say !!

i feel as if this is short and i’m sad about it sadge

my request are opened! check out my rules and such before request and check out my masterlist to see who i write for!

[ggukivrse]

henna kisses | jjk

summary. in which you're stuck waiting for your henna to dry, and jungkook takes full advantage to pepper you with kisses

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

word count: 0.6k

genre/warnings: established relationship au, FLUFF, they’re just very much in love it’s sick

notes: first of all, TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS OMG :0 i literally started this acc 3 weeks ago so this is wild to me, but genuinely, thank you so so much ☹️ i wrote this drabble as a baby army so it’s very self indulgent loll, but some of you wanted to read it when i mentioned it here, so here it is :> likes, comments, reblogs, asks & feedback are very appreciated! enjoy reading <33

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

Your hands are frozen in mid-air, fingers spread, palms facing the ceiling like you're offering up something delicate to the universe. The henna glistens wetly against your skin, intricate patterns looping and curling over your fingers and wrists.

You can't move. You can't touch anything. You can't even scratch the itch teasing the inside of your elbow. And Jungkook knows it.

He's sitting cross-legged in front of you, chin resting on one hand. He looks far too pleased with himself, far too comfortable.

"You know," you say, careful not to shift too much, "this is your fault."

"My fault?" he echoes, all fake innocence, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You're the one who wanted henna."

"You're the one who did the henna," you argue, looking down at the designs blooming over your skin. Tiny flowers, delicate vines, little stars tucked into the spaces between your knuckles. "And you made it so pretty. I didn't know you could even draw like this."

He beams, the kind of smile that makes your stomach flip even though you're firmly planted on the couch. "I had good inspiration."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are heating up. You can't even hide it; your hands are too occupied to pull a pillow over your face or smack him playfully like you usually would.

And Jungkook knows. He scoots closer, the couch cushions dipping under his weight. You narrow your eyes at him.

"Kook," you warn. "Don't you dare."

He grins, devilish, and before you can do anything, he's leaning in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, feather-light. You squeak, trying to recoil, but you can't do much without ruining the henna.

"You're defenseless," he singsongs, poking at your cheek with the gentlest tap of his finger. You jerk your head away instinctively and he laughs, low and breathy, the sound vibrating right into your chest.

"I hate you," you mutter, glaring.

"You love me," he corrects, like it's the simplest truth in the world.

And he doesn't give you a chance to argue, swooping in to press a kiss to your forehead. Another to your temple. One to the tip of your nose. He's quick about it, peppering kisses wherever he can reach, giggling when you try to dodge.

"Jungkook," you whine, laughing despite yourself. "You're going to make me mess it up!"

"I'm helping," he insists, kissing the corner of your mouth, so soft and sweet it makes your heart ache a little. "Distractions make time go faster."

You groan, slumping against the couch, careful to keep your hands up. "You're impossible."

"You picked me," he reminds you smugly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingertips are warm and careful, like he knows you can't retaliate and is being extra gentle to compensate. "You and your pretty hands."

Your voice is small when you say it, but it slips out anyway. "You really did a good job."

Jungkook's smile softens. He leans back just enough to look at your hands, admiration flickering across his face like he's proud of the art and proud of you just for trusting him with it.

"You look beautiful," he says simply, no teasing now, just honest, overwhelming affection. "Hands and all."

You can't hug him. You can't kiss him back. All you can do is sit there, heart pounding out a rhythm that's almost as intricate as the designs he drew on you, and wait for the henna — and maybe your own overwhelming feelings — to dry.

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo @minghaosimp @dark-enigma1806 @yooniepot @levisnumber1 @blueofocean @oumy221 @uarmygguk @libra04 @parkinglot-nights @jungkook1love @eyesforjungkook @ronyiboniyy @sebastianlover @nikkinikj @kenzierj11 @bugbxte @operation-619 @gguklovrr @annyeongbitch7 @sheshya @mswannadiesworld @yunhoswrldddd @myenergyandstuff @stardustbaee

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, more angst (IM SORRY IT'LL GET BETTER SOON I PROMISE).

Notes — Welcome to Oracle Red Bull Racing, Amelia Brown.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2020

The office was quiet in the way only offices designed for genius could be; not sterile, but reverent. Drafting boards and CAD monitors hummed quietly in the background, interrupted only by the soft tick of a mechanical clock that someone had insisted on keeping analogue.

Amelia sat stiffly in the chair opposite Adrian Newey.

He was perched on a stool beside a massive whiteboard, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained faintly with pen ink, as though he’d been sketching ideas directly into the fabric of his shirt. His presence was oddly... nerve-racking. 

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.

Amelia rolled her golf ball between her hands in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee. Adrian made a few marks on a fresh sheet of paper, muttering under his breath. It sounded like a stream of formulaic gibberish to anyone else. To her, it was almost a lullaby.

He paused. Looked at her. “Do you have any thoughts?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear them.”

Adrian hummed, and then there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will always listen. I will also always tell you when you are wrong.”

She swallowed, then nodded. Then she gestured to his paper pad. “You’re already sketching the '21 nosecone?”

“Yes. The frontal vortex targets under the new regs are… absolutely maddening. They’ll make cooling a nightmare.” He muttered. 

She shifted forward, almost involuntarily. “Mm. Not if you separate the low-pressure bleed early and feed it into the underside of the side-pod. It could trick the wake into thinking it’s interacting with a full-body airflow.”

He went very still. 

“Interesting,” he said slowly, standing and crossing to the nearest drafting board. He didn’t ask her to explain it again. He just started drawing. She stood too, walking around the conference table in order to stand at his side. Without looking at her, he handed her a pen. 

She made a face at it. “I like red.” 

He didn’t say anything. Just took the black pen back and found her a red one. 

By the time lunchtime rolled around, they had filled three boards, made seven sketches, and the early formation of a concept that wouldn’t just survive under the 2021 regs; it would thrive.

They hadn’t spoken much, not conversationally. Just fragments.

“This doesn’t breathe well at speed.”

“What if we taper the upper control arm here instead?”

“Why does this remind me of the '98 car?”

But somehow, it worked.

By mid-afternoon, Adrian glanced up at her from the schematic they were both hunched over.

“You think in shapes,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You think in sound.”

He smiled, and it was full of promise. “We will make a wonderful pair, Miss Brown.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Oh. Good. I was afraid that you would regret spending three million pounds on me.”

He stared at her for a long moment before laughing shortly. “No regret, Miss Brown. Not a single one.” 

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel anxious. Or lonely. Or burning with the guilt of abandoning McLaren, the team that was synonymous with her family name. 

She tucked the golf ball back into her pocket. “I’ll draw up a more formal aero flow map tonight.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, flipping to a new page. “We’ll build it first. Then reverse-engineer the explanation.”

She grinned, sharp and fast and excited. “We can do that?”

“We can do anything we want.” He told her. 

— 

Christian pushed open the door to the technical office with the kind of hesitant curiosity reserved for someone who was pretty sure they’d told everyone to go home six hours ago.

The light was still on.

At first, he thought maybe the cleaners had left it by mistake. But as he stepped inside, the faint scratch of pencil on paper, the rustle of blueprints, and the hum of two very intense brains in quiet dialogue stopped him dead in his tracks.

Adrian was barefoot now, barefoot, perched on a wheeled chair with one leg pulled up under him like some kind of engineering gremlin, holding a scale model in one hand and gesturing toward it with the other, mid-monologue.

Amelia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a yellow golf ball tucked beneath her heel, grease-smudged notebook balanced on her knee, jotting notes at lightning speed while murmuring confirmations like, “Yeah, but the boundary layer separation’s going to collapse here—unless we change the outwash angle…”

Neither of them noticed Christian standing in the doorway.

The room was covered in paper. The whiteboards had no white left. Someone, probably Adrian, had scrawled equations on the glass wall. There was a half-eaten croissant on the radiator. Half of the work was done in black ink. The other half was done in red. 

He took one silent step backward.

Paused.

Then slowly, quietly, pulled the door closed behind him.

From inside, he could just barely hear Adrian’s voice, “Did I ever tell you about the time I built a full wind tunnel model out of my wife’s hairdryer and a vacuum tube?”

Amelia sucked in a breath. “Did it work?”

“It blew the roof off my shed.”

She laughed, genuinely, full of lightness.

Christian exhaled and reached for his phone.

—

iMessage — 00:45am

Christian Horner

We are going to become world champions. 

Helmut Marko

How can you know?

Christian Horner

Newey is barefoot. His intern is laughing. 

Helmut Marko

Mein Gott.

— 

The drive home from Milton Keynes had been quiet; just the low hiss of the car heater and the soft murmur of the radio.

It had been her first week working at Red Bull Racing. She’d stayed in Max’s flat, the one he kept in Milton Keynes but only used when he was in town for sim sessions. 

The high of her first week was still humming under her skin; the buzz of purpose, of being understood, but underneath that, exhaustion tugged at her bones. She felt stretched thin. Too much stimulus, too many new faces. 

But the moment she stepped through the front door, into the warm, lemon-honey air of the house she’d grown up in, none of that mattered.

Her mum was in the kitchen, back turned, humming softly to the radio.

Amelia didn’t say anything.

She dropped her bag quietly, kicked off her shoes, walked straight over and folded herself into her mother’s arms from behind, pressing her forehead between her shoulder blades, breathing her in.

Tracy stilled. Just for a moment. Then she reached back, tugging Amelia around until she could hold her properly; one hand at the back of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders, thumb rubbing slow circles into her jumper.

“Hello, darling,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

Amelia pressed closer, her cheek against her mum’s collarbone. “I missed you too.”

They stood there like that for a long time, the hum of the radio filling the silence between them, a wooden spoon tapping gently against the edge of a pan.

“I saw the article,” Tracy said eventually, voice soft. “And the photos.”

Amelia tensed.

Another piece had gone live, following the Motorsport.com exclusive. Red Bull had shared her official announcement — complete with photographs of her in team gear, standing in the middle of Max and Alex. 

Tracy didn’t let her pull away. “You looked very professional. And happy.” 

“I am,” she said, too fast. Then again, slower. “I am. I just… I’m wishing that he wouldn’t make it so hard.”

Tracy sighed into her hair. “Your father’s not angry with you, love. Not really. He’s angry with himself. He had no idea that you were even receiving offers, let alone considering any.”

Amelia swallowed. Shrugged. “He didn’t want me at McLaren. He never offered. I gave him every chance to.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Tracy pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “And you were right not to wait forever. You did the brave thing. You put yourself first. I’m proud of you.”

Amelia blinked fast. “I’m not used to that,” she admitted. “Putting myself first. It feels… selfish.”

Tracy brushed a strand of damp hair from her face. “No. Not selfish. It’s how you grow. You’re building race cars with Adrian bloody Newey. That’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

Amelia smiled, weakly. “They call me Mini Newey. All of the engineers. Christian. Max thinks that it’s funny.”

Tracy chuckled, pulling her into a tight squeeze again. “They should call you Better Newey.”

That pulled a real laugh out of her, small and sore and soft.

“Now,” Tracy said, letting her go, “go change into your favourite pyjamas and let me feed you. I bet you haven’t eaten a real meal all week.”

“I’ve been living on machine coffee and stale pastries,” Amelia admitted, already peeling off her jumper. 

Tracy shuddered. “Criminal behaviour. Go on, love. I’ll have dinner on the table in ten.”

As Amelia padded toward the stairs, warmth blooming in her chest, she heard her mum call gently after her. “He’ll come around. He loves you too much not to.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded once, before disappearing up the stairs.

— 

iMessage — 01:43am

Lando Norris did u leave bc of me like. mclaren it’s okay if u did i just. i just need to know feels like maybe u did and idk. i feel shit also this is prob a bad time. i had like 5 beers and a shot of smth blue was v blue. tasted like acid

Amelia Brown No. Not because of you. You don’t matter to me that much.

Lando Norris ouch ok but like partly bc of me?

Amelia Brown Not everything is about you, Lando.

Lando Norris but some things are

Amelia Brown You started ignoring me. For no reason. Then I got a job designing a future championship-winning car. Those two things are unrelated.

Lando Norris when did u become so meannnn :(

Amelia Brown I’m not being mean. You’re just used to me being quiet when people treat me badly.

Lando Norris i didn’t mean to treat u badly i just panicked everything was getting weird and real and i didn’t know what to say

Amelia Brown So you said nothing. That’s still a choice.

Lando Norris yeah. i know. i’m sorry i miss u sometimes just thought u should know that

Amelia Brown That doesn’t change anything.

Lando Norris yeah i figured ok

Amelia Brown Go home. You are going to feel terrible tomorrow morning. 

Lando Norris already do thanks i guess goodnight mini newey 

Amelia Brown Don’t call me that 

— 

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop open in front of her, the Red Bull Racing CAD interface glowing on the screen. Max was half-stretched out on the couch behind her, a bowl of strawberries balanced on his stomach and a bottle of Heineken in hand.

“Okay,” Amelia said, tapping the trackpad. “Front wing redesign is about eighty percent locked. We’re still playing with DRS and airflow under braking, but I think what we’ve got is going to make the car ridiculously sharp into corners.”

Max took a sip of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Ridiculously sharp sounds nice.” He noted. 

“It’ll bite if you get lazy,” she warned him.

He shrugged. “So, just like you.”

Amelia didn’t even look up at him. Over the past few weeks of working with him, she’d learned how to decipher his tones — he was teasing her. “I’m not lazy. You’d die without me.”

He tossed a strawberry at her. She caught it and took a bite.

She turned back to her laptop, sighed, and opened up the email thread that she and Adrian had going. 

Max cleared his throat. “Ah, have you talked to your dad yet?”

Amelia’s fingers froze over the trackpad. “No.”

Max nodded. “He’s still not talking to you?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’. 

“Your mom?” He questioned. 

“She’s trying. He’s just… stubborn. You know what he’s like.” Amelia exhaled. “He thinks I betrayed him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know that now.” She rubbed her temple, leaned her head back against the couch. “But I also think I became inconvenient. It was easier when I was just the kid who wanted to build toy cars in the corner. Now I’m—”

“Mini Newey,” Max offered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She groaned. “Max, stop.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are, though. And you’re building my car, so I’m not complaining.” A pause. “Have you talked to Norris?”

Amelia blinked slowly, then shut her laptop with a quiet snap. “He messaged me two weeks ago. Drunk. Asked if I left McLaren because of him.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. “He just… doesn’t get it. He thinks that everything is about him.”

Max laughed. “He’s nineteen. His brain is still soft.”

“I’m also nineteen,” she muttered, tipping her head back against the couch to look up at him. “I think he’s just emotionally illiterate.”

Max blinked, then grinned. “Tell him that to his face. I’d pay to see it.”

“You’re not a world champion yet,” she shot back. “You don’t get to make demands like that.”

He leaned in, until their faces were almost level. “I will be. And when I am, I’ll buy you a stupidly expensive watch for every podium we get.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that now.”

“Mark my words,” he said, puffing his chest in mock pride.

They sat there for a while — not quite friends, not just colleagues. Something in-between. Teammates in the truest sense. Bound by a shared obsession: a championship. A car so fast it betrayed the law of physics.

“I miss him,” she said quietly.

Max exhaled through his nose, slow and even. “He’s a nice boy. Stupid, but nice.”

“I know.” Her voice was barely a breath.

— 

iMessage — 18:15

Fernando Alonso How has your first month at RB been? Do I need to make any angry phone calls?

Amelia Brown It’s been great. Everything’s going better than I could’ve imagined. I’m already making progress. Adrian and I work really well together.

Fernando Alonso I told you so, did I not? You two are very alike!

Amelia Brown It’s a perfect fit, actually. I feel like I’m finally being heard.

Fernando Alonso Good, good. I knew it. You made the right choice. And now, you’re three million pounds richer. That helps too.

Amelia Brown Haha, yes. Very much. I would've probably taken £5, so, thank you for handling the negotiation for me.

Fernando Alonso Mi Nina, for your talents, they would have paid three billion.

Amelia Brown I miss you so much. When are you coming to visit?

Fernando Alonso Soon. I’ve got some meetings in London next month.

Amelia Brown Anything exciting?

Fernando Alonso You’ll be the first to know if there is.

Amelia Brown :)

— 

Lando stood with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched, posture defensive. Across the polished meeting table, Zak leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor like it might offer him an answer he hadn’t already lost.

The silence had stretched too long. 

“She’s really gone, huh?” Lando finally muttered.

Zak didn’t look up. “Yes.”

Lando blinked hard. He wasn’t sure what he expected; some kind of denial, maybe. Some reassurance that there was still a version of this where she came back. That maybe Red Bull was just a phase. A test. Something to prove a point.

“She left a hole here,” Zak said eventually. “Not just in the team. In the culture. She was…” he paused, trying to find a word that wouldn’t sound too sentimental. “I didn’t realise how important she was to the team. How much she was involved in.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. “We all let her down.”

Zak looked at him then. Really looked at him. “You liked her.”

It wasn’t a question. Not judgment, either. Just a fact. Like pointing out a flat tire or a burning building.

Lando flinched. “Yeah. I really liked her.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to us,” Zak said quietly. “Any of us. You should’ve fought for her.”

“I couldn’t.” Lando’s voice was sharp, brittle. “I was scared. And stupid.”

Zak let out a rough, humourless laugh. “And I was selfish. I never gave her the recognition she deserved.” He paused. “She was the brain behind the Mercedes deal.”

Lando’s head jerked up, eyes wide.

Zak’s voice dropped, heavy with something close to guilt. “She pulled it all together, handed it to me in a file with start-to-finish instruction. Never asked for credit. I knew she wanted more, deserved more, but I didn’t give it to her. Not because she wasn’t ready. Because I wasn’t brave enough.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I didn’t want to be the one who gave her a shot, because I knew what people would say. Nepotism. Favouritism. They’d talk about her name before they ever looked at her work. And I thought I was protecting her from that.” He shook his head. “But I wasn’t. I was just holding her back.”

Lando stared at him. Silent.

There it was.

The ugly truth of it all.

Lando swallowed thickly. “She was never going to stay.”

“No,” Zak said. “No. I don’t think so.” 

Lando ran a hand over his face. 

She had belonged here once. She had. And they’d both let her feel like she didn’t.

Now she was designing the future with the enemy.

And they just had to sit back and watch it happen.

— 

The paddock buzzed with the usual pre-season chaos; the rhythmic whirr of engines, the sharp sound of tires scraping against the asphalt, and the chatter of team members huddled in tight circles. 

Amelia stood near the Red Bull garage, her posture stiff but her eyes alert, scanning the familiar sea of cars and faces.

It was the start of the 2020 season, and everything felt both familiar and brand new. The sharp smell of fuel lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of freshly waxed cars. But this time, she wasn’t in McLaren orange or one of her father’s old team shirts; this time, she was in Red Bull team gear. Black and dark blue with that iconic bull on her chest, the Red Bull Racing logo proud on her back.

And tucked around her neck, a pair of navy blue Red Bull ear defenders. 

She glanced to her left. Max was chatting animatedly with Christian, the two of them gesturing towards the car as the crew worked around it. Adrian was nearby, bent over a laptop, his face creased in concentration. Amelia would soon be next to him, diving into the data and throwing out her ideas. But for a moment, she lingered at the edge of the paddock, trying to ease herself into this new, new, new. 

Amelia’s gaze drifted toward the McLaren garage, even though she knew she shouldn’t be looking. There was Lando, standing with her dad, his usual smile present but different. Amelia tried not to flinch.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her ear defenders, the cool plastic grounding her, just a little. She had left her golf ball in her office, determined not to need it. 

Her eyes flicked back to the Red Bull car, sleek and aggressive in its design. It was more than just metal and carbon fiber. It was partly her work, her heart and soul poured into something tangible. 

And then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a camera crew approaching her.

Her stomach dropped. 

The journalist’s voice reached her first, though she barely registered the words. “Amelia, first season with Red Bull Racing. You’ve been working behind the scenes for a while, but now you're here, in the paddock, in full Red Bull gear. How does it feel to be wearing navy blue now, after spending so much time with your father’s team, McLaren?”

Before she could formulate any kind of response, a familiar presence appeared beside her. Max.

He stepped in without hesitation, his body language calm and protective as he leaned slightly into her space. His gaze shifted to the interviewer, who looked briefly excited at the new addition. 

"Need an out?" Max asked her, his voice low enough only for her to hear. His stance was relaxed, but there was something in the way he held himself; a quiet assurance that, if she needed him to, he would get her away. 

The camera crew hovered expectantly, but Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t let the pressure reach her. He stayed right there, like a grounding force beside her.

"Amelia?" The interviewer prompted, waiting for her response.

Max’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. “Say whatever feels right,” he murmured, offering her a smile that was small but understanding. “You don’t owe them anything.”

For a moment, Amelia felt the tension drain from her. This wasn’t a performance. She didn’t have to give them the perfect soundbite. She could speak her truth, on her own terms.

She took a deep breath and, feeling Max still there, solid and supportive beside her, looked directly at the interviewer.

“It feels powerful,” she said simply, her voice steady but soft. It was the truth. For the first time, it felt like she was owning her decisions, not just navigating them. Powerful because this was her journey now. Because, despite everything, she was in total control.

The interviewer didn’t push for more, probably sensing the finality in her words. But the moment lingered for a second longer, like they were all collectively taking a breath.

Max gave her a subtle nod of approval, his lips twitching into a smirk. 

And, just as quickly, the two of them turned and started walking away, the cameras still rolling behind them, but it didn’t matter. Amelia’s shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting, and her feet carried her toward the garage.

— 

iMessage — 19:51

Lando Norris I’m sorry. I know that’s not good enough but I am I’m really sorry. And I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I’m not being sarcastic. You looked beautiful on camera. I’m glad Max was there with you. I wish it had been me.

Amelia Brown Congratulations on the podium finish, Lando.

— 

The morning sun was bright over the circuit as Max and Amelia walked into the F3 paddock. Amelia was wearing a denim dress. Max, in his typical laid-back skinny jeans and plain shirt, had his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap perched low over his eyes. He was always eager to watch the younger drivers, always curious about who might be the next big thing in motorsport.

She was more used to the engineering side of things, but she’d been a fan of motorsport in general since she was a child. The thrill of being here just to watch was amazing. 

They settled into the VIP viewing platform. The race kicked off with an energy that seemed to buzz in the air. Engines roared and the young drivers raced past, navigating the tight turns and high-speed straights with a determination that made Amelia feel the thrill of the sport she’d always loved.

As the race unfolded, Amelia’s eyes were drawn to car 81; Oscar Piastri. The young Australian was carving through the field with an almost eerie calm, moving up with a precision that belied his years. He raced like someone who had been here for ages, his every move instinctive yet calculated, as though he had been born for this.

Amelia felt that familiar pull. It was the same feeling she had gotten watching Lando in Formula Renault all those years ago — a sense that she was witnessing something special. Piastri surged ahead, eventually crossing the line first, claiming the win in the season opener.

“Damn,” Max muttered, impressed. “Kid’s fast.”

Amelia leaned in closer to the barrier, watching as Piastri celebrated with his team, their joy radiating from every hug and high-five. She turned to Max, who was watching her closely, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t get too attached,” he teased. “He’s not yours to claim yet.”

“I’m not trying to claim him,” she replied, her tone steady, though there was an undeniable certainty in her voice. “But I will. When the time comes. And I think...” She trailed off, watching Piastri for a moment longer. “It will come for him very soon.”

Max grinned, shaking his head fondly. “Always thinking ahead, kleine zus.”

Amelia’s eyes remained on the Australian driver, a quiet feeling settling deep in her chest. She couldn’t quite place it.

“His manager?” she asked, her gaze still on Oscar as he laughed with his team, the world around him seeming to pause for a moment.

“Mark Webber,” Max replied, his voice neutral, but his expression unreadable.

“Ah.” Amelia’s lips tipped upward into an amused smile. Mark Webber, who had been central to Red Bull's rise in the sport. She glanced sideways at Max, then back at Oscar. “Mark Webber,” she repeated, her voice soft. “It’s strange, isn't it? Fernando and Mark; rivals. And now, I’m working at Red Bull thanks to Fernando, and Oscar is under Mark’s wing.” She looked at Max, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Formula One is a funny place.”

Max grinned, clearly entertained by the thought. “You can make connections out of anything, can’t you?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the young driver in the distance. “I guess I do,” she said, her voice quieter now, a subtle sense of realisation setting in. “And somehow, they always seem to circle back to Red Bull.”

It was funny how Formula 1 worked that way: legacies, rivalries, and new beginnings always intertwined.

—

iMessage — 00:42am

Amelia Brown

Are you in Woking?

Lando Norris

Yes…?

Amelia Brown

I’m home alone. Come over. I am still angry at you, but I’m ready to talk to you now.

Lando Norris

Ok im omw like right now

NEXT CHAPTER

[societyfolklore]

Until I’m Full, You Stay

Title: Until I’m Full, You Stay

Pairing: Thor x Asgardian!Female Reader

Summary: The golden halls of Asgard echo with drunken songs and overflowing goblets. Their future king reclines at the head of the feasting table- sated with victory, indulgent with wine… and utterly buried inside you.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Cockwarming, Public sex, risk of discovery, power imbalance, Size kink, mention of overstimulation, Thor being a tease, Loki being very aware, Dirty talk, pet names, light humiliation.

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo Square: B3- Cockwarming Card Number: KB003 The golden halls of Asgard roared with celebration.

Gleaming goblets clinked, the scent of roasted meats and sweet wines thick in the air. Music swelled beneath the vaulted ceiling, echoing with the drunken songs of warriors. Odin and Frigga, ever dignified, had long since retired, leaving their sons to reign over the revelry- Thor's clothes rumpled from combat and wine, his tunic askew, and a smirk that promised indulgence.

Thor lounged at the head of the long feasting table, legs spread wide, his tunic open just enough to expose the swell of his chest. His palm rested low on your back, guiding you with gentle insistence. The revelers barely noticed- their future king, their hero, just victorious in battle, seated like any other warrior at the head of the table. No one questioned it when you settled into his lap, cloaked in the haze of wine and celebration.

But only you felt it- his cock, thick and half-hard beneath the ceremonial robes, pressing up against you.

He nudged you forward, guiding you subtly with one hand at your lower back until you sat perched on his knees. Your body shielded his movements. You barely registered the soft shift in fabric until you felt him- hard and proud- being pulled free beneath the table.

Then, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice like honey poured over hot coals.

"Sit on it, little one. You’ll stay there until I’m finished eating."

"Yes, my lord," you whispered, barely audible, your breath trembling as you obeyed.

Thor's hands gripped your hips, lifting you with effortless strength until the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Your breath stuttered as he held you there, poised- teasing- before easing you down, slow and merciless.

The stretch was immediate. Obscene.

He split you open inch by inch, your slick walls forced to accommodate his sheer size. Your gown draped elegantly around you, concealing nothing of the way your thighs shook, how your belly tensed. A soft, broken sound caught in your throat as the head pushed past your entrance, and then more- thicker, hotter- until you were nearly seated.

Each breath came shorter, sharper, as your body clenched around him, fluttering helplessly.

By the time he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, your pulse was roaring in your ears. You were so full it felt like he had stolen the air from your lungs.

And still, he held you there- deep and unyielding.

You couldn’t take a full breath. Not without clenching.

Not without whining.

Thor feigned indifference, plucking a fig with lazy precision in one hand, then drawing the stem across your collarbone before setting it down to reach for a goblet of wine. The other hand remained at your waist, anchoring you with quiet authority, his touch steady and grounding. He leaned in slightly, brushing your hair away from your neck, hooking it behind your ear with a tenderness that made your stomach twist. As your back settled against his chest, his lips grazed the shell of your ear again.

"You’re squeezing me like you want everyone to know," he murmured, low and filthy.

"My ah-apologies... I c-can’t help it," you breathed, your voice barely audible, ragged from restraint.

Thor’s lips brushed your temple, deceptively tender as his words curved darker.

"I think it might serve you better to stay silent, my treasure," he said low enough only you could hear, the possessiveness in his tone wrapping around you like iron. "Your voice gives you away- and I quite like keeping you to myself."  He took a long drink, before he plucked another honeyed fig from the silver tray beside him, and smiled.

"Open," he murmured.

You parted your lips, cheeks flushed. He pressed the fruit in, slow, and then offered his fingers- slick and glistening. You sucked them clean, obedient and dazed, your eyes fluttering shut as he rumbled his approval. 

The minutes passed in a blur of overstimulation. Every twitch of his thigh beneath you sent aftershocks of pleasure up your spine. He filled you so completely it felt like he was pressed into your very stomach, stretching you in ways that defied reason. The heaviness of him pulsed inside you, a constant presence you could neither ignore nor endure.

Occasionally, Thor rocked his hips ever so slightly- just enough to feel the ripple it caused through your body. Just enough to make your hand fly to his forearm and squeeze. It earned you a quiet chuckle, his mouth full of roasted meat as though nothing were amiss.

When the musicians struck up a rowdy chorus, he tapped his heel in time beneath the table. The subtle bounce of his leg jostled you, made you sink down that impossible inch deeper with every beat. Each bounce, each movement, sent you careening toward the edge again. It was all so much.

Every shift made you swear it was harder not to whine or moan. 

The court roared with laughter and slurred songs, but you could barely hear it over the thunder of your heartbeat. You sat perfectly still, trembling, your fingers curled into the folds of his robe.

Then-

Boots scuffed against the stone floor as someone returned to the head table. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Loki, tousled and far too smug. His green and gold tunic was half-laced, his hair disheveled in the way it only got when he'd had company.

He sauntered to his seat with lazy grace, goblet already in hand, and collapsed into his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"I do hope the food hasn't gone cold," he drawled, eyes glittering as he glanced up- right at you.

Thor didn’t flinch.

He leaned back in his seat,  sated by war, wine, and the warm, trembling cunt squeezing around him. You weren’t fast enough this time- your moan slipped out, soft and breathless, before you could catch it. 

"Quiet now," Thor's voice came through a playful warning. "Or I’ll take you properly, right here at the table."

Loki tilted his head, swirling his drink thoughtfully before smirking over the rim of his goblet, his eyes taking in your current state. 

"Careful, brother. Keep this game up and you'll break your little darling right here in front of us all," he drawled though only loud enough to reach Thor's ears- and yours.

You swallowed hard, choking down the soft gasp that threatened to rise. Your teeth sank into your lip, biting the tender flesh hard enough to bruise. Thor let out a low, amused bark of laughter, his chest rumbling against your back.

"But she warms me so sweetly, brother," he replied, his tone indulgent. "Would you fault a king for keeping his throne just so?"

Loki gave a lazy shrug, his gaze never leaving your flushed face. "Not at all. Only wondering how long she can keep from crying out. Her eyes are already starting to roll back," he said with a smirk that bordered on wicked delight. "One more little nudge and I daresay she'll melt in your lap."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling, humiliation blooming beneath the heat of it all. Every inch of you ached, stretched taut and throbbing, your own body a betrayer to your dignity. You gave a quiet shudder, wriggling subtly on his lap in a futile attempt to ease the ache your lover was causing in your cunt- only to make things worse. The motion sent him grinding deeper, pressing against that unbearable sweet spot, and your breath hitched hard.

"Still so needy? I thought I told you to behave tonight," he murmured against your ear, the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek. His voice had dropped lower now, dark and smooth, curling down your spine like velvet-wrapped steel. The weight of it made your thighs tense, your heart pound, and your breath stutter in your throat. Still, you whimpered- just a little- in answer, shame and pleasure warring as your fingers squeezed his forearm.

He hummed around a mouthful of food, not even pausing as his grip anchored you.

Your head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching the table, your body spasming quietly around him.

"Now, now."  Thor pulled you back up against his chest. "Told you, keep fluttering like that and I’ll make a show of you, sweetling."

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your gown. Calloused fingers trailed slowly between your thighs, and then- his thumb found your pulsing clit.

The blonde rubbed slow, lazy circles, as if he had all the time in the world. As if no one was watching. As if you weren’t already breaking apart from just the stretch of him alone. Your thighs trembled, your breath hitching in your throat as Thor  continued to converse with Loki like you weren’t there at all.

"You spoil her," Loki commented dryly, raising his brows. "A whole feast laid before you and still you gorge yourself on her."

"She is my favorite dish," Thor said with a grin, taking another bite of meat.

Then-

He shifted beneath you, his arm coiling tightly around your waist as he rocked his hips up once, slow and deliberate. His cock dragged along that devastatingly sensitive spot high inside you, the one that made your toes curl and stars burst behind your eyelids. The blunt head of him kissed it directly, and the jolt of pleasure it sent through your body.

That was all it took.

You came- silently, pathetically, squirming against his massive frame as he kept you still. Your inner muscles fluttered helplessly, spasming around his cock, your body no longer able to obey your will. Your fingers dug into the meat of his forearm where it wrapped around your waist, the only anchor you had in the torrent crashing through you. One hand slipped to grip the edge of the chair, nails biting into the carved wood as you trembled through the waves of release. Tears prickled in your lashes from the overwhelming sensation, from the ache that never faded.

Your head dropped back to his shoulder, your cheek turning to bury itself in the crook of his neck, where his skin was warm and smelled faintly of spice and smoke. You struggled to catch your breath, your entire body still trembling.

"Couldn’t wait, could you?"

He simply shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement as his fingers lifted to stroke the column of your neck. The gesture was deceptively tender, grounding, as though he hadn’t just undone you in full view of a feasting hall. Then he took another sip of wine, resuming his meal like nothing had happened.

Like he wasn't still buried deep inside you, thick and pulsing, as if he hadn't just pulled you apart without ever thrusting.

Loki huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he raised his goblet.

"And they call me the cruel one," Loki muttered, the curl of his lips turning dark as he took a long sip of wine. His gaze drifted to the visible tremble still rippling through your limbs. 

Thor gave your thigh a possessive squeeze before lifting his goblet again. You sat up, just enough to accept the offering as he guided it to your lips. You drank obediently.

"Drink, sweetling," he murmured, his tone like warm smoke. "Not cruel to you, am I?"

You shook your head, unable to form words, your body still fluttering helplessly around him. You were a mess- wrecked and shaking- but no more than many others scattered across the feast. Still, none of them knew what it meant to be Thor’s. Not like this.

"Said you'd break her, didn’t I?" Loki added with a dry smile, swirling his cup lazily before taking another sip.

Thor hummed in amusement, lips brushing your temple as he smoothed your hair back once more. "You worry for nothing, brother. She’ll last many an hour." That idea alone made your body seize up again, your muscles fluttering helplessly around him. Hours? The word echoed in your skull like a drumbeat- part thrill, part dread. You weren’t sure if you could endure minutes more, let alone hours. And yet, some wicked part of you clenched tighter at the thought, your body aching for what it couldn’t handle. Your eyes fluttered closed, the thought both terrifying and electrifying.

Thor’s hand returned to your hip, firm and steady. He gave one last, deliberate roll of his hips, a subtle warning of what was to come- later, when the hall quieted and no eyes lingered. You bit your lip, barely swallowing the sound that rose in your throat.

He smiled, pleased.

“Now remember- be still,” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “The night’s only just begun.”

[enwoso]

oopsies | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request!

grumpy masterlist

alessia though she had been careful. she really did.

it wasn’t like she or leah had put a name to whatever was going on between them yet. it was still uncertain, still new and they were still figuring it out.

but when leah had came over for dinner that night, it felt.. easy. too easy and too natural for it to be a one off thing.

you had been your usual self throughout the evening, not thinking anything different about leah being over for dinner. you just chatted away about your day at nursery, showing off your newest drawing - a very abstract depiction of a cat is what you insisted it was, and giggling anytime leah made a funny face at you across the dinner table.

so by the time bedtime rolled around, you’d gotten through your usual routine of stalling - asking for five more minutes, for one more bedtime story, then one more sip of water then claiming you were too comfy to sleep and then finally after what felt like an eternity to alessia she was able to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.

the house was quiet. or at least it should have been.

you had been lying in your bed, tossing and turning as you held your esme the elephant close to you as you could hear the soft murmur of voices downstairs.

you knew you were supposed to be asleep. but curiosity got the better of you

so as you slid out from beneath your bed, padding quietly out of your room, careful to not make any noise as you avoid the squeaky floor boards.

the landing was dimly lit by the glow from downstairs, and as you reached the top of the stairs. sitting down on the very top step, hugging your knees tightly into your chest.

and from your spot through the gaps in the banister you could see the front door where your mummy and leah were standing.

leah with her coat on, keys jangling in her hand by her side as she was clearly about to leave.

but instead of just saying the usual goodbye, leah hesitated and smiled in a way you couldn’t quite place.

then to your surprise as a small gasp fell quietly from your lips, leah leaned in and kissed your mummy.

it wasn’t a long kiss. just a short, soft press of the lips. but your little brows furrowed deep as you watched, confused.

you didn’t say anything, didn’t even make a sound. you just stayed curled up on the top step, watching as your mummy let out a quiet giggle, nudging leah towards the door

“go,” your mummy murmured, still smiling, “before you convince me to make you stay.”

leah grinned, “i’ll text you when im home.”

with one last glance, she slipped out of the door, the lock clicking softly behind her.

you waited. staying still for a few minutes, just to be sure leah was really fine before you slowly made your way down the stairs.

your mummy, now tidying the living room moving the empty glasses from the coffee table looking up in surprise when she saw you.

“lovie?” her brow furrowed, “what are you doing up, baby? you should be asleep.”

you rubbed at your eyes, playing up your usual tired look, “i-i can’t sleep.”

alessia just sighed, placing a hand on her hip, “you’ve been in bed for ages, lovie. what’s keeping you up?”

you just shrugged tiredly, “dunno, my eyes won’t go to sleep.”

alessia gave you a knowing look before walking closer to you and bending down to scoop you up in her arms. “alright, sleepyhead. let’s get you back to bed ey?”

you rested your head on your mummy’s shoulder, letting yourself be carried back upstairs, all while keeping your little secret tucked away.

you didn’t ask about the kiss. didn’t say anything at all. not to your mummy. not to leah.

instead, three days later, you told beth and lia

—

it was a quiet afternoon at the arsenal training ground.

beth and lia were lounging in the players’ lounge, chatting away over a cup of coffee while you were sat on the floor, entirely focused on the colouring book in front of you - your mummy busy getting some treatment.

you had a rainbow of crayons spread out across the floor, your tiny hands busy as you filled in the picture of the under water world with bright blue scribbles.

the room was calm, peaceful. until out of nowhere, you looked up and announced, “mummy kissed someone”

beth and lia both froze.

lia blinked, her coffee cup halfway to her lips, “you what?”

you, still colouring, repeated matter of facts, “my mummy kissed someone.”

beth, always the one for the gossip, immediately leaned forward, eyes alight with interest, “who?”

“the pretty one with the yellow hair,” you said, still focused on your drawing, as if this wasn’t an absolute bombshell of information.

beth and lia exchanged a glance. “do you mean—” beth started, then cut herself off as realisation dawned on her who you were talking about.

you finally looked up, tilting your head like they were being very slow to understand, “leah.”

lia choked on her drink. beth, stunned into silence for all of two seconds, suddenly grinned. “wait, what?”

you just nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i wasn’t supposed to see.”

beth turned to lia, barely able to contain her excitement. “did you know about this?”

lia shook her head, still looking mildly bewildered. “no. did you?”

“nope.” beth turned back to you as you were still busy colouring in. “when did this happen?”

you just shrugged. “i was supposed to be sleeping.”

beth bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “and why are you telling us?”

you looked confused. “‘cause you didn’t know.”

beth did laugh then, ruffling your hair as you pouted as she made you go slightly out the lines on your picture. “you definitely are your mother’s daughter.”

you just beamed. beth and lia, meanwhile, had some investigating to do.

—

beth caught alessia at training not long after, practically vibrating with excitement.

“so…” she started, dragging out the word. “are you seeing anyone?”

alessia frowned, tugging off her warm-up jacket, wondering where the sudden randomness of the question had came from. “uh… why?”

beth bit back a grin. “no reason.” lia standing just behind beth, snorted. “that’s a lie.”

beth ignored her. “just curious, less.”

alessia looked between them, her stomach twisting with something suspiciously close to dread. “you don’t—why are you asking?”

lia finally took pity on her. “because your daughter told us she saw you kissing someone.”

alessia’s stomach dropped as she stared at them trying to see if they were just joking - they didn’t look like they were though. “she what?”

beth was grinning now, looking like she was having the time of her life. “yep. tiny just came right up to us and said, ‘mummy kissed someone, but I wasn’t supposed to see.’”

lia nodded, clearly amused as well by the situation. “and when we asked who, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”

alessia groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “oh my god.”

beth practically cackled. “so, just imagine our surprise when we realized she meant leah.”

alessia wanted the ground to swallow her, right there in the middle of the training pitch.

“so how long have you two been sneaking around?” lia asked casually, far too entertained by alessia’s clear discomfort of the conversation.

“we haven’t—we’re not—we’re just—” alessia stumbled over her words, her face burning bright red.

beth cut in gleefully, “oh my god, you are sneaking around.”

“i hate both of you,” alessia muttered, dragging her hands down her face as she groaned.

beth slung an arm around her, barely holding in her laughter. “listen, I think it’s great. you and lee. you just might want to be a bit more careful.”

lia nodded, biting back a smirk. “you know. before you traumatize your child.”

beth snickered. “or before she spills the beans to someone else. beady little eyes, less. they see everything!”

alessia just groaned again, shoving beth off her as the other woman cackled. and, just as if things couldn’t get worse, leah walked up.

beth and lia smirked at each other, the same knowing look on their faces. “oh,” beth murmured, low enough for only alessia to hear, “this is gonna be fun.”

alessia barely had time to compose herself before leah joined them, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead from the warm-up drills. she glanced between them, brows raised.

“right, what’s going on?” she asked, instantly suspicious. “why are you all looking at me like that?”

beth grinned, brushing off leah’s words casually as alessia tried and failed to get a word out “oh, no reason.”

leah narrowed her eyes. “i don’t believe you.”

alessia could already feel the heat creeping up her neck as she avoided leah’s gaze entirely, focusing intently on tying and re-tying the lace of her boot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

lia was the first to break. “we were just telling lee the very interesting story that tiny told us today!”

leah frowned. “tiny?”

beth hummed, practically vibrating with excitement. “yeo. she told us she saw her mummy kissing someone the other night.”

leah went still as if time had just stopped entirely as alessia squeezed her eyes shut.

beth, loving every second of this, continued, “and when we asked who it was, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”

leah’s mouth fell open slightly. “she what?” alessia groaned. “oh my god, please stop.”

beth cackled. “absolutely not.”

leah blinked, trying to process, then turned to alessia. “wait—so she saw?” alessia buried her face in her hands. “apparently.”

leah let out a breath, running a hand through her hair before chuckling. “i mean… i thought we were being careful.”

lia smirked. “clearly not careful enough.”

beth, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, wiggled her brows. “you two have been sneaking around, haven’t you?”

leah smirked. “and what if we have?”

alessia groaned again. “le, please don’t encourage them.”

leah just laughed, bumping her shoulder against alessia’s. “well, i guess now that we’ve been exposed by tiny, we don’t have to keep sneaking around anymore.”

alessia peeked up at her. “you’re way too calm about this.”

leah grinned. “i just think it’s funny.”

beth nodded enthusiastically agreeing with leah. “oh, it’s hilarious.”

lia snorted. “especially since tiny told us like she was giving us the most casual piece of information in the world.”

alessia let out a long, suffering sigh. “of course she did”

beth leaned in, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “i hope you two realise we’re never letting you live this down.”

leah threw an arm around alessia’s shoulders, grinning. “oh, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you beth!”

alessia just shook her head, knowing this was going to haunt her forever. but when leah squeezed her shoulder, sending her a small smile, she couldn’t help but smile back.

maybe being caught wasn’t all bad.

—

that night, after training, alessia coming home from having dinner at her parents house. you seeing your grandparents and getting rid of some extra energy, alessia got you home and into your pyjamas, letting you pick out a bedtime story and tucked you in as usual.

just as your mummy was about to stand up and leave, you grabbed her hand.

“mummy?” alessia sat back down. “yeah, baby?”

you looked at her with wide, sleepy eyes. “are you and lele girlfriends now?”

your mummy just blinked wide, surprised at your question, “why do you ask that?”

you yawned, snuggling deeper under your cozy covers. “‘cause you kiss her and you always smile when she’s here.”

alessia felt something warm settle in her chest. she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “i don’t know yet, lovie. we’re still figuring it out.”

you considered your mummy’s words for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“okay,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. “i like her.”

alessia smiled. “i know you do.” she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “now go to sleep, you little troublemaker.”

you giggled, eyes already fluttering shut as alessia stood up and turned off the lamp making sure to put your night light on, she shook her head to herself.

beady little eyes, indeed.

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

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

Bonus Chapter: Alejandro Vargas

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

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower

@sageyxbabey @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @daemondoll @iloveslasher @yawning-grave81

@sammysinger04 @jackrabbitem @statixx-x @xxkay15xx @lxblm

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @azkza @ash-tarte @certainlygay

@hantheconqueror @dakotakazansky @jaggersinclair @suhmie @kidd3ath

@lovely-ateez @thewulf @coffeecaketornado @glassgulls @beebeechaos

[starsforxavi]

all your firsts

·······•✦ description: In which Xavier hid the fact that he hated hearing about your first kiss or your past relationship, the thoughts of someone else touching you how he wanted to touch you making him clench his jaw. But you can read him like a book... And you know something is up with him...

·······•✦ pairing: virgin!xavier x afab!reader ·······•✦ word count: 10.1k ·······•✦ genre: smut, porn with plot, fluff ·······•✦ general tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Some spoilers for Xavier's Anecdotes, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Virgin!Xavier, First Time Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Sex, Premature Ejaculation, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Creampie, Jealousy, Awkward First Times, just kinda awkward, Overstimulation, Aftercare, Multiple Orgasms, Missionary Position

·······•✦ posted on: ao3

The sun sat low over the buildings, casting a warm orange glow over the group of people who walked down the sidewalk. Laughter echoed through the streets, bars lit up with music already, and cars stuck in traffic as they tried to get home. Footsteps melded together as you all walked in sync, the destination already determined.

“You have to tell me what it was like!” Tara’s voice carried towards your ears, her mouth nearly next to your ear as she tried to speak over the loud music coming from the bars. When she got into the mood to talk about something, she didn’t let it go. So even though you felt Xavier’s hand tighten in your own, you continued, your eyebrows raised as you recalled.

“It wasn’t great. Neither of us knew what we were doing.” You shrugged, internally cringing as you thought back to the moment ages ago. The awkward feeling made you shiver as you walked, and Xavier’s hand had to steady you so you didn’t trip over a crack in the pavement.

“Oh my god, same here! He tried to shove his tongue down my throat.” Tara squealed, some of your coworkers looking back and laughing as you got closer to the restaurant. 

Of course, Tara suggested having dinner with coworkers as a part of a ‘bonding experience’ once a month. While Xavier didn’t really entertain the thought, his soft voice getting ready to decline, you cut him off, insisting that you and he would be tagging along.

“That sounds horrible. Your’s was way worse!” Becoming too caught up in the conversation, your grip on Xavier’s hand loosened, and you leaned closer to her. “Mine missed my lips at first and kissed my cheek… It was cute for how young we were, but not a great first kiss.”

The topic of first kisses spread throughout the group, with people recounting their experiences as they waited in line for the restaurant. Yvonne laughed and talked about her first kiss nearly head-butting her in grade school, and some of the male coworkers blushed, realizing that their first kiss probably went very similar. 

“Mine was just pressing our lips together, and his eyes were wide open!” The image made you double over laughing, Xavier’s hand loosening its grip on yours. He didn’t want to hear it, knowing that other people touched you just as he had or wanted to .

The line got smaller, and people went around telling their stories. By the time the table was ready, Xavier’s palm was drenched in sweat. You could tell he was uncomfortable, his eyes that so often focused on yours now drifting to the street. He lead you to the table, pulling your chair out for you and taking his seat next to you.

If it had been up to him, he would have changed the subject, his stomach turning at every single word he listened to you speak. It wasn’t fair to withdraw his hand from your leg; it was his own foolish brain that had him caught up in the past. He noticed the look you gave him after you all ordered your food, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

The sound of your coworkers talking caught your attention, drawing you away from your efforts to get Xavier’s attention. At times, it was hard for you to get him to look elsewhere; his eyes always focused on you. However, he looked at his plate, organizing the silverware and making sure they all sat in their respective places.

“Xavier?” Your voice pulled him out of his daze, just as it always did. It was often that you found him sleeping in unusual places or zoned out, and your voice always woke him. “Are you okay, baby?”

The sound of the nickname had Xavier’s heart beating rapidly before he thought about who else you called that in the past. It was hard for him to let go of the past; it stuck to him like glue, reminding him of times he wasn’t there for you. More than anything, the past ate at him, causing him to get lost in thoughts many times.

“Hm?” Xavier hummed, smelling the food put out in front of him. It looked delicious, and his stomach rumbled. Fighting Wanderers all day was exhausting, and nothing was better than eating a meal with you. Well, maybe eating a meal with you in the seclusion of your or his apartment. The man nodded, swallowing a bite of his food. “Yeah, I’m okay, just listening to the conversation.” That was a lie. He hadn’t heard one word that was uttered through the group since you sat down. You knew he was lying as well, your eyes narrowing as you nodded. It wasn’t good to argue in front of your coworkers, so you relented, making sure to remember to bring it up later.

“My last relationship ended in a mess,” Tara complained, taking a sip of her drink. Rolling her eyes, she leaned into you, acting like she was fainting. “He had the maturity of an 18-year-old, and I couldn’t handle the jealousy.”

“That sounds terrible. Jealousy is the worst.” You mentioned it in passing, listening to your other coworkers speak about their past. Though Xavier only heard the end of your sentence. Jealousy is the worst. He took a bite of his food, eyes directed towards the plate.

There were times you would notice a bit of jealousy from Xavier, his arm tightening around your waist or eyes narrowing slightly. Even though you hadn’t been dating for too long, you had been friends and work partners longer. It also just happened that you were one of the only people able to read him so well. Almost as if you had seen his expressions for ages.

It wasn’t until the conversation focused on you that you shrugged, taking a bite of food - and giving yourself the opportunity to think - before you answered. Looking around at your few friends, your eyes caught Xavier. He was playing with his food beside you, his breathing shallow.

“Oh, it’s been a while since my last relationship…” You started, feeling Xavier tense up just slightly beside you. It wasn’t something you talked about before, and you could feel how he hung off your every word. “We didn’t end on bad terms, and it wasn’t a long relationship… It just didn’t feel right.”

“So he wasn’t ‘the one’?” Yvonne air-quoted, eyes drifting over to Xavier and how he resembled a statue. Even his fork was frozen on his plate. When you nodded, she laughed, leaning on her hand. Her head flicked quickly to the man sitting next to you, hoping he didn’t notice (he did), eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Do you think you’ve found ‘the one’?”

It was your turn to freeze, and Xavier sensed it. The unusual fluctuation of your heartbeat that he was so in tune with. The way your breath hitched as she finished her sentence. Everyone else was waiting for your answer, but Xavier already knew. The bond you shared spanned across centuries and planets. Of course, you had found the one.

“I… I think so.” Nervousness seeped into your words as you snuck a glance over to Xavier. His jaw was tight, holding back on announcing his undeniable and immortal love for you. You didn’t remember all the other times, but there wasn’t a moment of his life that he didn’t dedicate solely to you. Clearing your throat, you locked eyes with Xavier, your fingers gripping your fork tighter. “I hope so.”

With that, Tara directed her attention to Xavier. He had been quiet, even quieter than he normally was around the office or in conversation. Xavier felt eyes on him, but he didn’t pay attention to them, focusing on your sparkling irises under the restaurant lights. It wasn’t until you shot him a questioning look that he snapped out of it. 

“Huh?” His head tilted, giving Tara a confused look. A giggle fought out of your throat, finding his absentminded staring endearing. He always seemed older than he said, his eyes telling stories from galaxies far away. 

“I said ,” She sighed, not actually upset at Xavier for ignoring her. “We’ve heard from everyone at the table about previous relationships but you! Got any good stories for us?”

Silence fell on the table as everyone leaned forward in anticipation. There was talk among many of your coworkers about Xavier’s personal life. Everyone wanted to know if he was charmed by anyone before you, as he always seemed so preoccupied with being the best Hunter in Linkon.

A soft pink crept on his cheeks for just a moment, quick enough for you to notice it but not for anyone else to say anything. It had been a few seconds before he straightened his back, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I don’t see why any of that matters. The past is the past.” His heart ached to say that because, to him, it wasn’t true. The past was also his present and future, all at the same time. But they wouldn’t understand. “All that matters is who I’m with now.”

As his gaze drifted to you, your skin pebbled with goosebumps. Your relationship was still new, drifting over the line from coworkers to lovers. Yet he looked at you like you were the sun, moon, and stars. Like he saw your face in every constellation and still went out stargazing every night.

“So this is your first relationship?” Tara let out a strangled noise as she asked impatiently, shaking her head at Xavier’s answer. She, more often than not, meant well, but you tried to put a hand on her arm, not wanting to embarrass your boyfriend.

“Yeah.” It was all that needed to be said, sincerity laced in every letter. Some would be embarrassed, but Xavier was neutral. He waited for you, found you, and didn’t intend to let you go. It’s how it always was and how it always will be until he ceases. The stares of your coworkers did nothing to him, his eyes going down to his last bite of food.

“Oh, that’s cute! You get to teach him the ropes.” Yvonne’s eyebrows wiggled as she looked at you. Her teasing expression only made you shrug, picking at the last of your dinner. The outing was winding to a close, and all you wanted to do was go back to your apartment.

After finishing your meal, you laughed, shaking your head. If only they knew how Xavier taught you how to appreciate the little things. How he was unwaveringly dedicated to you to the point that he lost sleep worrying about you. He taught you how to be cared for… Maybe how to be loved, that was up in the air. You hadn’t uttered those words to each other yet.

It was true that you had experienced all the things that he hadn’t in a relationship, but you were playing it slow. Xavier was someone you really cared about, and you felt connected to him on such a deep level that it made your chest ache. If you ruined it by rushing into things, you couldn’t forgive yourself.

As the conversation drifted, waiting for the waiter's check, you looked over at Xavier. He was already staring at you, his mouth tilted in a slight frown. Time slowed down as your eyes met, his nose twitching as if lost in thought. All he could think of was preserving this memory in his head. You always looked beautiful to him, but having your attention, he could positively say that there wasn’t anything better than having you look at him.

When the check came, Xavier grabbed yours in a flash, already grouping his with yours. Since you started dating, there wasn’t a thing that Xavier would let you pay for. He would waste all his money if it meant having more of your time. Money was temporary; time was a gift that might run out at any point.

Xavier pulled your chair out for you, guiding you through the restaurant and to the front. After paying, you bid farewell to your coworkers, all surprisingly going in different directions. With a moment alone, you wrapped your hand around Xavier’s bicep, leaning into his side as you walked to your apartment building.

“Your apartment or mine?” It became a routine, having dinner at one of your apartments before separating for the night and sleeping alone in your beds. There were a few times you took a nap together, loving the way he nuzzled into your chest or wrapped his body around yours. However, you hadn’t extended that stay to the whole night.

“We already had dinner…” You trailed off, looking at him. It was already late, and although tomorrow was an off day for you both, there wasn’t much to do besides go to bed.

“Can we have a snack and watch some TV then?” His simple question was met with silence. The invitation did sound nice, the two of you not getting much time alone lately due to the influx of missions. “I just want to spend more time with you tonight.”

Your grip on his arm faltered as he said that, a smile gracing your lips. You shared the desire for some time together, which tugged at your heart. Most of your recent missions had been solo, and by the time you ate dinner, you were both ready to resign to your own apartments. Xavier just wanted more time .

“How about my apartment, then? I have more snacks at mine than you have at yours.” Your laughter echoed through the streets. Crowds of people outside the bars yelled and screamed, but all Xavier heard was your laugh. 

“Sounds good, honey.” His words dripped with comfort, seeping into your bones. If there was a place you wanted to be, it was wrapped up in his arms. Nothing made you feel safer; it was like you were invincible.

On the elevator ride up to your apartment, you laced your fingers with his. His palm was sweaty, his skin moist, and he tensed up when you held his hand. Softly, he shook his hand away from you, giving you a forced smile. He didn’t want you to see how anxious he was. 

Thoughts of earlier, your descriptions of your first kiss and your last relationship. Xavier couldn’t help his jaw clenching at the way his imagination ran wild. If only he was quicker at finding you… Maybe he would be your first kiss… Maybe he could have had just a little bit more time with you…

The sound of your lock turning broke Xavier from his internal conflict. His eyebrows furrowed as he made his way to your kitchen. From your months of friendship and shorter time of dating,, he knew your apartment well. It also helped that he would often come over for late-night snacks.

Letting him handle the snack, you turned on the TV, setting it to a random channel. It didn’t matter what was on; it wouldn’t be watched anyway. A documentary started, and planets and stars were projected onto the screen. The narrator started speaking about the galaxies, the camera panning to a beautiful graphic of a planet. You were captivated, hearing that it was light years away and would be impossible to reach in someone’s lifetime.

“What are you watching?” Xavier asked, sitting down next to you and setting the chips on the coffee table. As he watched for a moment, he felt his heart ache. Stealing glances over at you, he listened to the narrator speak. The concept of time was something that people struggled to grasp, yet as Xavier listened, it wasn’t so complicated to him. He would spend every waking moment of his life with you. It was that simple.

“Just some space documentary.” You wanted to look over at Xavier, but you were entranced by the sights. It felt as if you were traveling through the stars, sitting in your own spaceship with Xavier next to you. There wasn’t anywhere you couldn’t go and nothing you couldn’t do. 

As you sat together, absentmindedly eating a few chips, Xavier was lost in his thoughts. The documentary didn’t matter to him, his eyes glazing over and jaw clenching. He watched you, imagining another person kissing you, touching you, treating you in ways he wished he could express that he wanted to do. He traveled so far for you, his soul pulled across the cosmos… for you . 

Xavier sat back, head tilted onto the couch. He had to take a second, his mind sabotaging him into thinking about the past. It haunted him—past, present, and future. It all tightened around his neck like a noose, strangling him with the what-ifs and the what-will-be .

Noticing that the man beside you was silent, you looked over. His jaw was clenched again, and his hands were on his stomach. The eyes that normally looked at you with care and affection now looked at the ceiling. There was that look…

“What are you thinking about?” You leaned back, turning your body so you were closer to him. Your hand rested on his chest as you watched him breathe. Slow, methodical breaths like he was asleep, yet his eyes were open. 

The man’s breath hitched, your touch causing his nerves to come alive. He never felt truly alive until he was with you. If you weren't there, he would just immediately fall asleep as soon as he got home from work. You made him want to live.

“You.” Was his response. 

His eyes didn’t drift towards you, not wanting you to see just how vulnerable he was. For you to know just what he did to be with you, he didn’t think he wanted that. He had to be strong, hold you close, and never let go.

“What about me?” Your voice turned to a whisper, the music in the background of the documentary interrupting around the silence. It was comforting, but not as comforting as feeling Xavier’s heartbeat under your hand. 

He hummed, his fingers thrumming on his stomach. Every atom in his body begged to reach out and hold you, pull you into him so that every particle of him connected to every particle of you. His soul was put on this planet to be with yours. He felt that, and he was sure you felt it too.

“I’m… Thinking about earlier.” He tried to be vague, skirting around his jealousy. A low heat settled in his stomach as he thought about it. But the past was the past; he should let go…

“About what I said?” You asked. Even though he tried to hide it, you saw right through him. In the weeks before you started dating, you noticed the looks he gave some of your male coworkers. It wasn’t possessive but rather somewhat cute how you were able to see through him. 

Xavier nodded, a long sigh escaping his lips. It wasn’t that he was jealous - even though he kind of was - it was the fact that he couldn’t get to you in time. He knew he was your person, and knowing you were with others at one point, having to figure out that they weren’t meant for you. If only he found you quicker… You would have been wrapped up in his arms a lot sooner.

“Yeah.” Another one-word answer… His throat betrayed him, his mind racing as he tried to put into words just how much he needed you. Mind, body, and soul. He was bound to you, his soul cursed - or to him, blessed - to find yours over and over. Since he had you, he had to experience you. All of you . 

“Do you want to elaborate?” As your hand started to leave his chest, he grabbed your wrist. Fingers danced up your arm to intertwine with yours. The grip he had on you, like a tether to this world, almost hurt. Weirdly, it was like a weighted blanket the way it comforted you, his warmth radiating from him like a sunset.

He hummed again, his eyes flicking back and forth between imaginary points on the ceiling. Perhaps they were long-lost stars, his vision reaching light-years away to gaze upon them. Xavier imagined you were both sitting on those stars, waving at each other from across galaxies.

“I just…” His voice was less than a whisper, and you had to lean closer to him to hear. “When was your last relationship?”

Xavier’s eyes were still far away, so he couldn’t see the frown on your lips. During dinner, it was obvious he was tense, and you knew that he might carry a bit of jealousy with him. His voice, though, was less jealous and more melancholic.

“Oh.” Silence settled between you for a moment before your thumb began massaging the back of his hand. It was hard to remember the exact date, memories of your time before Linkon came into view. “More than a year ago… Maybe two?” 

He nodded slowly, feeling your eyes on him. It took everything in him not to look at you because he knew he would crack. Biting his lip, he blinked, his hand that grasped yours tingling with electricity. Letting it sink in, he knew he had to be vulnerable. He was always honest with you, honest about his wants and needs. But he also always put you first, taking into consideration your reactions and emotions. If it were up to him, he would erase that person’s existence from this timeline and every other one of the past and future. He couldn’t stand knowing that someone else looked at you in the way he did.

“Okay…” He trailed off, his jaw once again clenching. The image of you under someone, your eyebrows scrunched in pleasure from someone other than him? His blood boiled as it pulsed through his veins. He desired no one other than you; no one would ever fill the empty spaces in his soul quite like you did.

“Jealous?” You smirked, the hand that wasn’t clasped in Xavier’s moving to cup his jaw. The way your thumb rubbed his chin, dangerously close to his lips. It drove him crazy . 

“No.” With a small tug, he pulled you into his lap, his hand disconnecting from yours to rest on your hip. He sat properly on the couch, his head tilting back down so his eyes met with yours for the first time since you got to your apartment. Stars danced in his eyes like lovers sharing a first dance at a wedding. “You’re mine now.”

In the months you’ve been dating, it was the first time he’s used such words: You’re mine . Such possessive words never slipped from his tongue, but it felt right . Yeah, you were his just as he was yours. There was an energy that brought you together, and if you believed in fate, then it was fate that put you there.

“And you’re mine now, too.” You repeated, your legs sitting on either side of his hips. Slowly, your hands moved up his arms to his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time you were in this position, but the tension between you was different. It was a gravitational pull that had you scooting up, your hips hovering over his.

“That’s right, honey.” His eyes shone bright, the moonlight from outside reflecting in his bright blue irises. The hand on your hip hovered, just the light brush of his fingers actually tickling your skin. It both excited and frustrated you at the same time. You wanted him to touch you, and knowing Xavier, the only way he would is if you said it out loud.

“You can touch me, Xav.” Your fingers threaded through his hair, testing the waters, giving him enough time to push you away. God , he would never push you away. If anything, he would pull you closer . Leaning closer, you brushed your nose with his, feeling both of his hands grip your hips more firmly. Your thoughts clouded as you bit your lip. “What you said earlier…”

“Yeah?” It was phrased as a question, his eyebrows raised. The hands-on your hips sat stiff, unmoving. Unsure of his actions, Xavier paused in case he did something wrong.

“Is it true?” The answer seemed obvious, but to hear it from his mouth once more was good enough. Knowing that he hadn’t experienced anything with anyone else was exciting and terrifying. Stuck between happy you would be the only person to watch him get lost in the depths of pleasure but scared that you wouldn’t satisfy him enough.

Xavier’s cheeks sparked pink, his lips twitching as he tried to formulate a response. He wanted to give you more than a one-word answer. You deserved poetry written in your honor, pages upon pages of love declarations from Xavier’s past, present, and future.

“Yes, it’s true.” He nodded, his thumbs slowly massaging above the waistband of your pants. It was a bit awkward, his hands moving like a robot, and you giggled. Wiggling your hips, you felt him through his jeans. A gasp fell from his lips, eyebrows scrunched together. When he spoke, his voice was tight, as if he were trying to force the words out. “I never felt quite as connected to anyone as I do to you.”

His gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips and then back up to your eyes. It was a frantic back-and-forth, and he wanted so badly to just smash his lips onto yours. As each word was spoken into the air, you felt his heart crying out to you. It was true: He has never and will never be connected to anyone else but you. He was your star that would always hang in the sky above, watching down on you.

“I can say the same to you. I thought we were just good mission partners.” Your fingers twirled his hair, recalling the day you met him. How familiar he looked when you saw him for the first time, yet you didn’t know his name. You had never met that man in your life, but why did he look so familiar? “But then I realized that our feelings ran deeper for each other.”

Smiling at him, you pulled back, feeling a sigh from his lips. You were teasing him, depriving him of the one thing he wanted - needed. It was vulnerable to admit those things to him, not wanting to strain your fresh relationship with such deep declarations of your feelings. But it was true.

Your hand moved from the back of his head to his jaw, your thumb running along his jawline. His breath hitched, hands gripping a little tighter at your hips. There were so many things he wanted to do to you, his thoughts catching up to him as he imagined you underneath him. He tried to get your attention, his head leaning closer to connect your lips. When you leaned away from him, you smirked.

“Honey…” His eyes glazed over, and his bottom lip tugged into his mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You confirmed, leaning into him and letting your thumb move from his jaw to his neck, swiping over his pulse point. A small jump came from the man below you, and you felt him twitch in his pants. Knowing the effect you had on him made you feel powerful, your arms erupting in goosebumps as you put more of your weight on his crotch.

“I’ve never been with anyone before, so there are a lot of firsts I haven’t experienced yet…” He gulped, feeling your weight press into his hips. Slowly, he moved his hands to your lower back, pushing until you were forced to fall onto him. Your noses brushed, eyes wide at his bold move. “Can you be my firsts? I want to experience them all with you. Every little thing.”

Instead of answering him right away, you closed the small distance, pressing your lips to his. Breaths mingled as you traced his bottom lip with your tongue. Just as he always did, he opened his mouth, inviting you in. Your tongues explored each other, mapping out familiar bumps and dips. It was a slow, languid kiss, and if Xavier could stop time at this moment, he would. There was no other place he wished to be but in your arms.

You pulled away a few inches, your eyes flicking between his. Pink blossomed on his cheekbones, his ears hot as he felt the intensity of your gaze. His hands moved back to your hips, but you reached down, grabbing his wrists and bringing them to their previous spot. It was exhilarating, feeling him touch you and press you closer to him.

“Are you sure you want that?” Your touch on his shoulders sparked the fire in him, and the way you guided his hands made him squirm below you. “Every little thing?”

It was a frantic nod of his head as he kissed you again. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, almost like at any moment you would disappear. Your thumbs trailed down to his collarbones, feeling them through his shirt. You wanted to touch every inch of him, listen to his moans, and feel his heartbeat increase as he was overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Yes, I’m sure.” His confirmation was spoken against your lips, need pulsing through him as he kissed you again. “Can we go to your room?”

“Yeah, we c- oh!” As you tried to say yes, Xavier startled you by standing up. His hands held your thighs, biceps flexing as he held you close to him. It was awkward, and he took the slow steps to your bedroom unsure and tentatively. You weren’t too heavy for him; it was just hard for him to navigate when he couldn’t see where he was walking.

“Ow,” Xavier mumbled, a bang coming from beneath you as he kicked a corner of the hallway. Laughing, you buried your face in his neck, kissing the junction between his shoulder and throat. 

“Xavier!” You laughed harder, feeling your back hit your bedroom door. He thought it was already open, but he just walked straight into it. To get back at him, you nipped at his skin, a low groan coming from him as he reached down slowly and turned the doorknob.

“Sorry, sorry.” He repeated, setting you gently on the bed. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he looked at you. “Did I hurt you?”

Another small laugh as you shook your head, holding your hand out to him. “No, just startled me. Now come here.”

He obeyed, taking your hand and letting himself be guided to sit on the bed. Seconds felt like centuries as you climbed back into his lap. Your lips ghosted over his neck, and your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt.

For being a Deepspace Hunter, Xavier was quite clumsy sometimes, his arms flailing around as he tried to rid himself of his shirt quickly. Maybe it was just that he so desperately wanted you to touch him, to be bare for you and allow you to drink every inch of him in.

Warm hands pulled you closer, Xavier’s breath heavy as he searched for your lips. Being too excited, he missed once, his lips grazing your cheek before pulling back. He was only stunned for a moment, bringing himself back to reality. Cupping your cheeks, Xavier leaned in properly. A low moan escaped the man below you as he connected your lips. 

Your tongues dance, your noses brushing and bumping together as Xavier became more animalistic. A drop of spit escaped the corner of your mouth, trailing down your chin before falling on Xavier’s heaving chest. As you pulled away, he looked at you, pupils blown wide as he took in the way you looked. Just as desperate and messy as he probably did.

Moving apart gave you the perfect opportunity, your kisses moving from his face to his jaw and then eventually to his neck. Soft gasps came from Xavier as your tongue brushed his skin, your lips leaving wet patches. Slowly, you kissed across his shoulder, treating his body as a map. Each place you kissed was a memory of you. No one else touched him like this, and you were given a blank canvas to create roads and valleys at your leisure.

“Honey…” Xavier moaned, the way you trailed kisses across his body, your hands also running over his muscles. It was all so much . He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted, thoughts muddling together in one clump in his brain. There was one thing he was certain he craved, though. You . Always you.

“Hmmm.” A hum caused him to groan, his hands falling from your hips and resting on your shoulders. Your voice vibrated through his body as you wrapped your lips around his nipple. The way his fingers gripped your body had his hips rising off the bed slightly.

“Fuck,” It was unfair, Xavier feeling your heat through your shirt. How was it that he was the one stuck underneath you, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor? But as your hand brushed his other unused nipple, he couldn’t actually remember what he was thinking a second earlier. Another expletive was forced from his lips, his thumb brushing against your pulse point.

Not wanting to torture your poor boyfriend, you continued your road. His abdomen was hard, both from pure muscle and the contracting need in him as he bucked his hips up. Each kiss on his skin only forced him further to the edge. If you continued like this, he would have to do laundry tomorrow, his pants and underwear ruined by a premature release.

Yet it was exciting, so Xavier let you continue your path, your tongue dipping in his naval before sucking a mark right next to it. If you were going to make marks, it would be where only he would see them. Fingers gripped your hair, his hands flexing as he felt your teeth nip at the side of his hip.

You followed a small tuft of hair right below his navel, your fingers playing with the button on his pants before finally popping it free. Being impatient, you pulled his pants and underwear down on his thighs just enough to pull his cock out. He was so pretty as you looked up at him. His cheeks were as red as his tip, his chest heaving, and shining kisses trailing around his body.

His cock was pretty, too, curved towards his chest and throbbing under your fingers. Long but not thick, the perfect size to press right against your spongy walls but not stretch you painfully. Shying away from your eyes, Xavier looked away. He couldn’t take it, watching you admire his cock like it was the newest constellation in the sky.

So it came as a surprise to him when he felt your tongue wrapping around his tip and dipping into his slit. Your mouth was warm and wet, and Xavier instinctively chased that, lifting his hips. He moaned when you looked up at him through your lashes, your hand splayed on his thigh as you held him down.

“Behave, baby.” You warned him lightheartedly, knowing he was experiencing it for the first time but not wanting to end up with a bruised throat by the end of it. Xavier’s mouth hung open as he watched you place open-mouth kisses along his length, tongue flicking out to taste his salty precum that had dripped down. His eyes never left yours, wanting to commit the visual to his memory. 

“You look beautiful like this.” His words came out rushed, a low moan following as you wrapped your lips around his tip again. A flush spread from his cheeks to his neck, all the way to his chest. Watching him carefully, a hand still pressed into his hip, you lowered your head. He throbbed in your mouth, his tip just quickly pressing into the back of your throat before you pulled off.

Your other hand slowly jerked him off, seeing the way his eyes moved from your hand to your face. With a sadistic smile, you ran your thumb over his tip, rubbing and pressing into his skin, and you relished in the surprised gasp and hint of a whine from the man below you. With slow, tortuous strokes, you licked a stripe up his cock, sucking at his tip as your hand moved to cup his balls.

Xavier’s hip wiggled, his thighs flexing as he used every ounce of strength to not cum. His thumb smoothed over your forehead, fingers scratching lightly against your scalp as he nearly bit into his bottom lip. His normally calm heartbeat was thrumming against his chest, entranced by how enthusiastic you were to do this to him. Arching your back, he noticed the curve, your ass in the air and thighs clenching.

“No,” Shaking your head, you stroked him slowly. Your tongue poked out to run along your bottom lip, the taste of his salty precum lingering. “ You look beautiful like this.”

Xavier’s fingers strained against the sheets, his abdomen flexing as you watched him. The light dusting of hair right above his cock shone in the overhead lights of your room, a trail leading you to what you needed the most.

“Fuck, can’t do this.” His throat tightened, the shackles in his heart rattling as he took in how ethereal you looked. He gently pulled at your hair, urging you to come back up. “I don’t want to cum right now…”

With a chuckle, you straddled him again, his bare cock now pressed against the seat of your pant fabric. He let out a shaky breath, hands holding your hips as you kissed him. The salty bite of your tongue against his caught him off guard, but it also excited him more. You had tasted him, and now more than ever, he ached to get his own taste test.

“How do you want me? I want to go at your pace.” Your hands played with the hair at the back of his head, and your eyes traced his features. A light blush on his cheeks transitioned to deep red ears . 

After a moment, Xavier looked up at you, his normally bright blue eyes shifting into something a bit darker. Like the sky before a hurricane, the blue darkened into indigo, only adding fuel to the fire ignited in your lower stomach. It took a moment for him to regain his composure, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes struggling to stay open.

In a flash, Xavier sat up, his hands holding your hips as he tried to flip you over seamlessly. However, a soft thud echoed through the room as your head collided with the wall. With wide eyes, Xavier watched you rub the top of your head, and before he could ask if you were okay, you laughed. Grabbing his shoulders, you pulled him down to your lips, kissing the corners as you looked up at him.

“I’m okay.” You fought out between laughs, your body shaking as his lips turned down. Your hand cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at you. The soft smile on your face calmed him down, hands gently stroking your sides. “Don’t worry, Xavier. I’m really okay.”

Memories flashed across his eyes, and he thought of all the hurt he had watched you go through. He couldn’t live with himself if he was the cause of it. With a deep breath, unspoken words were shared, a gentle nod of your head helping spur him on. 

His lips teased your skin, fingers still shaking with worry as they drifted under your shirt. With you laid out on the bed, it was easier for Xavier to tug at your shirt. Nodding, you helped him get rid of the article of clothing. Seeing your bra, he tried to reach out, hands drifting behind you to play with the clasp. His long fingers struggled for a moment, a frustrated sigh coming from him until he finally got it.

Tossing it over his shoulder, his hands held your torso. Thumbs caressed your skin as he sat back. Need clawed at his skin, his whole body frozen. The blue eyes that always looked at you with care and affection held a deep, deep desire that you didn’t know he possessed. Sensing his hesitance, your hands drifted to your pants, playing with the button and fly. A silent question fell from your eyes, and Xavier answered it in his own silence. Yes, please…

“Take them off.” Your eyes drifted to his pants and boxers, still halfway down his thighs. Working at your own clothes, you watched him stand up frantically. Ripping at his pants, his stomach clenched as he stood next to your bed. When you looked back at him, standing there in all his glory, you spread your legs, your clit throbbing. You needed him . “Come here, baby.”

Xavier climbed onto the bed, kneeling between your inviting thighs. He touched you softly, his index finger lightly trailing from your knee up your thigh until he could grab hold of your hip and pull you closer. 

Staring at you, Xavier understood his purpose in life. He always knew he would follow you to the ends of the cosmos. But as he looked into your eyes, your body bare and waiting for him… There wasn’t anything that would get in the way of him loving you. He would follow whatever path you were on like a puppy, his nose trained to your scent.

I should put this in a letter , he thought, realizing that at that moment, letters weren't needed. You were right in front of him, ready to listen to whatever words he spoke. The brush strokes could be painted onto your skin, words embedded in your soul for you to remember for eternity. He had you now.

A minute passed, and your impatience grew fast. Needing his hands on you, his cock in you. His gaze made you shiver, the intensity causing your pussy to clench around nothing. Soft stroking of your stomach made you wiggle in his hold, a low whine coming from the back of your throat.

“Xavier.” You begged, mouth hanging open and a small trail of drool falling from the corner of your lips. Your thoughts were jumbled, only thinking about the way he touched you and how you so desperately needed more . “Please, do something… Touch me, kiss me, fuck me. Anything.”

For once, he wasn’t hesitant; he knew exactly what he wanted… So he leaned down, pressing tentative kisses to the front of your throat before moving to your shoulder. Nipping at your skin, he felt your gasp before he heard it. The path trailed down, kitten licks on your nipple, causing goosebumps on your arms. Your hand threaded through his hair, tugging on the strands, and a moan vibrated through you from Xavier.

Slowly, he migrated lower, his hands on the inside of your thighs and lips nipping at the skin of your stomach before he was where he wanted to be most. His eyes widened, the sight of your dripping pussy right in front of his eyes inviting him for a taste. Gentle rubs from his thumbs on your thighs caused you to sit up on your elbow, your fingers messaging his scalp. Looking a bit lost, you were going to help him but were caught by surprise when he dove in, flattening his tongue and licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Oh fuck .” You groaned, meeting his eyes as he pulled away, a dazed grin on his lips as your arousal glistened on his jaw. Just one touch and you were on fire, his hands drifting across all the right places and eyes devouring you whole.

He hummed, his tongue flicking out to collect more of your essence. Only one taste, and he was addicted . He dreamed about this, fantasized about finally seeing you, all of you. It felt like centuries ago when he looked into the depths of your soul, recording his adventures for the day he found you. All he could do was hope for a happy ending.

Your nerves were on end; eyes clouded with lust as you watched your boyfriend grind his hips into the mattress. Diving back in, his tongue traced every part of your pussy. Around your folds, around the hood of your clit, and curiously dipping into your entrance. It felt good , but he was searching for something. He wanted a reaction but wasn’t sure where to look.

“Xavier.” His name coming from your lips snapped him out of it for a moment, his hooded eyes finding yours. Another flick of his tongue collected the remaining juices from the corners of his mouth, and he nodded, waiting for you to continue. Your hands moved down, gliding over your thighs to spread your folds. He watched, entranced, as your fingers gently touched your clit. A sharp gasp ripped in your throat as you bit your lip, trying to show him exactly what to do. “Focus here.”

Nodding like an obedient puppy, the tip of his tongue got closer, your hole clenching as he passed around it. He knew he didn’t get it yet, so he scooted closer, his nose pressing against your pubic bone. With a small flick, he heard you yelp, your hand shooting to his hair to keep him exactly where he was. 

A smirk stretched his lips as he continued his assault. Hands held your thighs open as he devoured you like a man starved. And he was . He had been starved of you for his entire life, his soul partner, the one that completed all the parts he was missing. His brain melted, his head only filled with thoughts of you, spread out for him, begging for him.

“You can… fuck …” Trying to speak, you were preoccupied with the slight pain of Xavier’s fingers bruising your thighs, pleasure coursing through you as he put all his attention on your clit. “You c-can use y-your f-fuck fingers.” 

Immediately, Xavier’s finger was coated in your arousal as it traced your entrance. By his own inexperience or his fear of hurting you, he was slow . The feeling of your walls as his middle finger got up to the first knuckle had him groaning against your clit. Alternating between fast flicks and slow licks to your sensitive nub, he pressed in until he was all the way up to his knuckle. 

Gentle thrusts started as Xavier wiggled his finger inside you. He wanted to feel every inch of your body, inside and out. As slow as the first one, he began inserting his ring finger. Your hole clenched around him each time his tongue ran over your clit, and he imagined how it would feel around his cock. With that image in mind, his hips stuttered against the bed, cock pressed between his stomach and the sheets. He took it slow, knowing if he did as he wanted, there would be an obscene amount of cum pooling under his hips.

His eyes drifted up, watching your face as his lips suctioned around your clit. With a suck, your mouth fell open in a silent scream, hips bucking into his hand and mouth. Accompanied by the slow thrusts of his fingers, you already felt the coil in your lower stomach tightening. In his exploration inside you, he came across a textured patch of skin. He pressed with a hopeless curiosity, and your hips jumped, a long moan wrapping around him.

“Right there, Xav. Fuck .” Groaning, your pussy gripped his fingers as he massaged the spot over and over and over. Each noise that fell from your lips only spurred him further, sucking and licking your nub while he beckoned you closer with his fingers. Loud whines fell from your lips, his own noises muffled and causing even more vibrations on your clit. He was loving it, hips fucking into the mattress a bit quicker. He had to get you there; he needed you to cum for him. 

Each second that passed felt like an eternity, Xavier getting lost inside you as he listened to every moan, felt every clench, and saw every expression on your face. A slow drip of drool twinkled in the light, falling from your mouth to settle on the top of your breast. Your mouth was forced open as your throat vibrated with whines and moans. Your stomach tightened with each small thrust and movement of his fingers, your high ready to shoot you off into space.

“Xav,” You panted, your head tilting forward to lock eyes with him. He looked drunk on your pussy, his face buried in your clit and fingers pumping in and out of you. “I’m close.”

Yes . A low hum vibrated from his lips, his pace becoming erratic and teeth gently grazing against your sensitive nub. Each vibration and stroke of your walls had you gripping his hair, your fingers almost ripping each follicle out one by one.

Hearing your moans quicken, Xavier felt ravenous, his fingers speeding up and pressing even harder into your spot. Each time you clenched around his fingers, he moaned against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“ Fuck, I’m coming!” His name left your lips like a mantra; eyes screwed shut as he gently guided you through your orgasm. Fascination rolled over his features as he watched you come undone, the sounds you made changing just slightly in pitch, your tight entrance strangling his fingers. Every little thing he noticed, he added to the museum of you inside his brain. 

Pleasure started growing into overstimulation as Xavier tried to continue. He wasn’t sure when to stop, wanting to milk every last second of your release. When your hand gripped his wrist, he blinked, eyes searching yours.

“Too… Much…” You breathed, his fingers slowly pulling out of your pussy and leaving you empty. Xavier brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue wrapping around his digits as he cleaned himself of your come. Just the sight alone had you ready for another round, eyes rolling in the back of your head as he groaned at the taste.

“Taste so good.” He was in awe. He did that . The glistening slick on his fingers and the way your chest heaved with each breath. Some part of him wished he had filmed it, so that he could go back and watch it over and over and over and over… That was an idea for next time. 

A gentle awkwardness flashed across his features, and he moved up your body, his knees brushing against the back of your thighs. His slim cock pulsed against his abdomen as he looked at you and only you. Kissing you felt natural, so that’s what he did. Pressing his lips against yours you could taste the remnants of your release on his tongue. It turned you on, remembering how he ground his hips into the mattress, enjoying eating you out almost as much as you did.

“How was it?” Xavier asked, pulling away from your lips for just a second to whisper the question into the air. If he kissed you, maybe you wouldn’t notice the small inkling of insecurity that crept into his words.

But you did; you heard the soft rise in his tone as he moaned against your mouth. Teeth knocked together as Xavier pressed against you even more, your noses becoming very familiar as you switched sides back and forth. Your hands on his shoulder and chest stopped him, pushing him back just enough so you could get a good look at him.

A red blush crept back onto his cheeks, his heart beating loudly against your hand. The insistent desire to please you, to wait on you hand and foot like the queen you were, was hard-wired into his heart. He had to make sure he did well because if he didn’t, then there was a lot of practice and research to be done…

A soft laugh brushed against his cheeks as you leaned your forehead against his. Grabbing his hand, you held it to your chest, making him feel the rapid beat of your heart. Your eyes swam in his, watching surprise and satisfaction pass over his features.

“Is that your answer?” You kissed him, softer and more affectionate. All the reassurance and care you could muster was put into the kiss, hoping Xavier could understand. Of course, he could . He knew you probably better than you knew yourself. Even though he had missed the mark a few times, his enthusiasm and long, slender fingers reached places you couldn’t with your own hand.

“Yeah… Yeah.” He panted, his cock brushing against your folds, and he looked down, eyes wide as he watched you clench around nothing. Desperation flashed in his eyes, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs to hold you open for him. “ Fuck … Can I?”

Frantic nods of your head almost caused whiplash, your hands gripping his shoulders. A million ‘yes’s slipped from your lips, your brain caught in a loop as you begged. With a shaky hand, Xavier gripped his cock, his tip brushing against your clit. He wanted to see every reaction, the way you bit your lip as his precum-stained tip traced your folds, dipping slowly inside you before pulling out.

With one particularly loud whine, you grabbed his cock, stroking a few times, and Xavier almost passed out. Grinding into the sheets and his own hand pumping himself was nothing compared to your fingers wrapping around him. He was hypnotized, watching you guide him to your entrance. An impatient gaze waited for him as he looked back at you.

Then he slowly pushed in, and fuck was the stretch bizarre. It had been some time since something that big was teasing your entrance. Each inch of him felt heavenly, your walls melding around every small bump and vein. It was impossible to close your mouth, your head tilted back as words flew from your mind.

The man above you clenched his jaw, feeling his pelvis brush against yours. The tuft of hair at the base of his cock brushed against you, and you looked back at Xavier. He was a mess , his teeth nearly ripping his bottom lip off and sweat tracing the shape of his nose. The veins on his arms pulsed as he held your thighs, keeping you open for him.

“ Fuck .” Xavier cursed, his eyes screwing shut at the crushing pressure he felt inside you. The curve of his cock pressing into that one spot inside you. He had to hold back, his abdomen flexing as he pulled out. The sight of your juices on his cock almost made him cum, but he held on, pressing back into you slowly.

Languid, careful thrusts had you seeing stars, your nails digging into Xavier’s shoulders. The way his cock pressed into you so right, like you were made for each other, was unlike anything you had ever experienced. His breath pushed from his nose; his mouth clamped shut as he tried to focus on not cumming .

“Xav.” Your legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands went to your hips, guiding you to grind onto him. The new angle had your nerves on edge, your eyes blown wide, and staring straight into his soul. “Right there, Xav. You’re doing so well.”

His breath hitched, having to pause his thrusts as he let the words wash over him. Fuck yes, he would do anything to get those words from your mouth again. So he quickened his pace slightly, his face hovering an inch above yours. 

“Am I doing well?” He gasped, his thumb pressing into your skin. Hearing you say it again might have made him cum immediately, so he kissed you, selfishly swallowing your whines. They were his . His to listen to on repeat, his to record and playback when he was away on a solo mission, his to steal all for himself.

“Yes, yes.” You repeated as you disconnected your lips from his, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip, and you struggled to control your legs. “So well, Xav. Fucking me so well.”

That did it. His body stilled, cock twitching and releasing all his pent-up frustrations into your pussy. It was really warm, the feeling spreading through you as you looked at him. His cheeks were even more red than before, his eyes refusing to meet yours. 

“Hey, it’s okay we can cl- fuck .” Your words were cut off by a thrust, Xavier’s hips pistonning into yours. His eyebrows furrowed, his face concentrating. Thoughts were lost to the stars as his thumb began rubbing circles into your clit.

“Need… to make you… fuck … cum…” His words were strangled by overstimulation, your pussy clenching so tight on him that he thought he would lose circulation. But it was he who couldn’t hold it together, and he had to suffer because he needed to see your face overcome with pleasure again.

Long strings of curses fell from his lips as he pushed you further and further, and within a minute (albeit a very long and painful minute), he heard the hitch in your moans. He knew you were close, so he leaned down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth.

“ Fuck , Xavier, I’m-” Your hand gripped tightly in his hair as your legs shook, your orgasm hitting you like a semi. A chest-tightening orgasm pulsed through your veins as you stiffened in his hold. His thumb continued rubbing lazy circles into your sensitive nub, watching your face twist from one of pleasure to one of discomfort after a minute.

Slowly, Xavier pulled out of you, body unceremoniously flopping onto your bed. He watched lazily as you got up to use the bathroom, and he looked at the ceiling. Images of the stars light years away sparked in his eyes, and he imagined bringing you on a journey with him. Maybe he will find out when the next shooting star shower will be and take you to watch it with him.

Hearing the toilet flush, he saw your figure emerge, still naked as you climbed into bed, laying your body on top of his. Silence floated around you for a moment as you drank in the moment, and then you looked up at Xavier, your chin resting on his chest.

“You kept asking how you did but how did I do? How was your first time?” You asked, a gentle smile on your lips as your thumb brushed his skin. It was hard to answer, not being able to put how much it meant to him in words. Perhaps he would write you a letter…

“I think…” He paused, his hand lazily tracing circles into your back. “That it was the best moment of my life, and I’ve lived through a lot. Even though I accidentally came too quick.”

“You still made sure I came, though. And you were amazing at it.” Laughing, you kissed his jaw, kind of enjoying the blush on his cheeks. Maybe you should tease him more.

“Yeah, you were amazing too. And now that I’ve experienced it, I want more.” He confessed, his soft breath against your forehead as he kissed you there. “I want to experience everything with you, honey.”

You lay on his chest, hearing his heartbeat against your ear. The way his arms enveloped you, ready to protect you from the dangers of the world, had your body fully relaxing in his hold. A low hum from your lips was his answer, but your confirmation, with a nod, helped ease his taut nerves.

“That sounds good. Let’s experience everything together, my star boy.” You weren’t sure where the nickname came from, but it felt right. He was your star boy, his light shining down on you and comforting your uneasy soul. Closing your eyes, exhaustion pulled at your body, tugging you deeper and deeper into slumber.

Xavier felt his heart clench, the deep thrumming threatening to burst from his chest. Your star boy . He loved it, and he smiled, kissing the top of your head one more time before relaxing into the pillow.

As you lay in his arms, Xavier felt nostalgia wash over him, remembering similar circumstances. However, this time, you were breathing softly, eyes closed in slumber, and heart beating consistently against his own. You were safe and sound in his arms just as you had been then, but he was sure that you wouldn’t leave him this time.

“Go to sleep, my darling.” He whispered to your already sleeping form, his fingers brushing across your forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

© starsforxavi

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

My hands are tied, I have to ask for more Ghost family! It's a need not a want

What do we think about Simon and the 141 being on leave after a particularly long mission and Tommy is in football (us soccer ) and has a match and made little crayon invitations for the each member if the team, inviting him to his game

And maybe they go get dinner afterwords? And celebrate? Win or lose?

His Whole World

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, emotional softness, child/family content, swearing (from the adults), suggestive content and soft smut (MDNI 18+), mild language, hurt/comfort themes, domestic sweetness

Author's Note: You asked for more Ghost Family—and I gladly deliver. I hope you enjoy this little life of theirs!

Summary: While on leave, Simon and the 141 attend Tommy’s football match after receiving adorable crayon-drawn invitations. What follows is a celebration full of laughter, love, and a quiet night where Simon gets to hold his whole world in his hands.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started with a stack of brightly colored paper, three boxes of crayons, and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with his tongue poked out in concentration.

You'd glanced over while washing dishes, catching him drawing lopsided smiley faces and scribbling stick figures in what he insisted were team uniforms. Little soccer balls dotted each corner, and each card was signed in big, clumsy letters:

To: Uncle Soap

To: Uncle Gaz

To: Grandpa Price

“Baby,” you smiled, drying your hands. “What are those?”

He held up a green one proudly, a sun in the corner with a crooked rainbow above it. “I’m inviting Daddy’s friends to my match! ‘Cause they said they’d come next time!”

You blinked back emotion. “They’ll love that.”

When Simon walked in and saw the mess of crayons and construction paper, he tilted his head.

“What’s all this, little lad?”

Tommy beamed. “Invitations!”

“For what?”

“My game! You said they’d wanna come!”

Simon froze in the doorway. And then—very slowly—he crouched next to his son, picked up one of the drawings and stared at it like it was the Mona Lisa.

“They’ll be there, kiddo. Promise.”

—

A Few Days Before the Match

The restaurant was the definition of comfort—old booths, framed kids’ drawings on the walls, crayons and coloring menus already on the table. You, Simon, and Tommy were squeezed into one side of the booth while Soap, Gaz, and Price took the opposite. It had been laughter and casual teasing all night.

But Tommy had been fidgety the entire meal, a little bundle of nerves and excitement, bouncing in his seat and clutching his backpack like it was a top secret mission.

When dessert arrived, he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I have something!” he blurted, sliding out of the booth and tugging open the zipper of his backpack with both hands.

Soap raised a brow. “This ain’t a bomb, is it?”

Tommy giggled. “Nooo, silly.”

He handed out folded papers one by one—wrinkled, smudged with crayon, each one unique.

“To Uncle Johnny. To Uncle Kyle. To Grandpa Price.”

They each unfolded theirs carefully, expressions going soft.

Soap snorted a laugh. “That’s me? You drew me with… is that a cape?”

“You’re my superhero,” Tommy explained proudly.

Gaz blinked a few times. “Is this for your football match?”

Tommy nodded eagerly. “You said if I invited you, maybe you could come. So I made invites! I drawed them all by myself!”

Price cleared his throat, already reading aloud. “‘Please come watch me score lots of goals. There will be juice after. Love, Tommy.’”

“Juice and football?” Soap grinned. “It’s a date.”

Gaz leaned across the table. “Front row. We’ll make signs.”

Tommy gasped. “Really?!”

“Absolutely,” Price added. “We’ll be the loudest ones there.”

Simon hadn’t said a word, just watching with his jaw set tight, a hand resting protectively on his son’s back.

When Tommy crawled back into the booth beside him and leaned into his side, Simon bent low, pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Told you they’d say yes,” he murmured.

—

Game Day

The field was damp from last night’s rain, the grass lush and springy underfoot. Kids ran wild in miniature uniforms, knee-high socks pulled to their thighs, shin guards crooked. You’d found a good spot on the bleachers while Simon paced just behind them, arm crossed, leg bouncing.

He was nervous.

“He’ll do great,” you said, rubbing his arm.

“I know,” Simon murmured. “Just—first time he’s ever played with a crowd.”

“He’s not just playing for a crowd.” You smiled. “He’s playing for his dad.”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed the top of your head and scanned the field until he found Tommy—a tiny blur of navy blue and white, blonde curls under a too-big headband, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

And then the shouting started.

“GO ON, TOMMY BOY!”

Soap.

“LET’S SEE THAT RILEY FOOTWORK!”

Gaz.

“DO US PROUD, LAD.”

Price, calm and commanding even from a lawn chair.

The three of them had shown up in matching 141 hoodies, faces painted with small stripes in Tommy’s team colors, holding signs that were very obviously made by Soap’s chaotic hand: “RILEY FOR MVP!” “BABY GHOST DOMINATES!”

Simon looked like he was about to cry. Or fight someone. Maybe both.

Tommy turned to look for you—and when he spotted his dad and the team waving wildly from the stands, he lit up.

He gave the smallest salute.

And then he ran.

The game was chaos in the best way. Kids missing the ball, bumping into each other, falling down and crying before getting up again like it never happened. But Tommy—Tommy scored. Twice.

You swore the sound Simon made wasn’t human.

Soap was on his feet, swinging Gaz in a circle. Price looked smug like he knew all along that the kid was destined for greatness.

And Tommy? He ran right to the fence after the whistle blew and threw himself into Simon’s arms.

“DID YOU SEE?!”

Simon lifted him like he weighed nothing. “Saw everything, champ. You were brilliant.”

His voice was hoarse. Raw. So proud.

And you—watching your husband hold your son like he was holding the whole damn sky—felt your heart swell.

—

After the Match

You all piled into a local family diner—sticky booths, cracked menus, a jukebox in the corner. Simon sat with Tommy tucked under one arm, still in his uniform, now eating a celebratory sundae with a plastic gold medal around his neck.

“Best player award,” Tommy announced to the table, lifting it up for all to see.

Soap clapped so hard it startled a waiter. “That’s our lad!”

Gaz leaned in close. “You want us to tell the base commander to get you a real one next time?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Can you do that?!”

“Absolutely,” Price said. “We’ll frame it for you.”

The food was greasy and perfect—burgers, fries, and milkshakes all around. Simon barely touched his own plate, too busy watching his son laugh.

You caught his hand under the table. He laced his fingers with yours instantly.

“He’s happy,” you whispered.

“So am I.”

—

Later That Night

Back at the house, Tommy crashed the second his head hit the pillow—sunburnt cheeks, messy curls, medal still clutched in his hand.

Simon kissed his forehead and closed the door quietly behind him.

You found each other in the hallway, drawn together like magnets.

“He was amazing,” you whispered, arms slipping around his waist.

“He was perfect,” Simon murmured, pressing you back against the wall, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “You should’ve seen yourself cheering for him. Christ.”

“I did. You cried.”

“I didn’t—” he huffed, nose brushing yours. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You laughed softly, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. “Come to bed.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

—

You lay beneath him, skin bare, breath stolen by the slow rhythm of his hips and the heat of his mouth on your neck.

Simon moved with reverence—like prayer. Every inch of him pressed close. Nothing frantic, nothing rough. Just desperate closeness.

“Missed this,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You. Home.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, breathless as his hand slid over your hip, his lips ghosting over your breast.

The only sounds were the quiet creak of the bed and the way you gasped his name when he filled you again—slow, deep, a rhythm just for you.

You arched under him, clutching his shoulders, letting yourself fall apart in the safety of his arms. He followed not long after—buried deep, voice catching as he groaned your name into your mouth.

After, you stayed tangled together, hearts thudding in time, sweat cooling against your skin.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For all of it. Him. You. This life. I never thought I’d have it.”

You cupped his face. “You earned it.”

Simon kissed you slow, like he could bottle this moment forever.

And maybe—just maybe—he could.

—

The Next Morning

You woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of tiny feet thumping down the hall.

Simon’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

“Alright, champ—one more flip, then you do the syrup.”

You padded out, still in one of Simon’s shirts, hair messy.

Tommy looked up from the stool he was perched on, beaming. “Mummy! We made breakfast!”

Simon looked up and smiled, eyes soft.

“Family tradition,” he said, setting a plate in front of you.

Tommy hopped off the stool, ran over, and threw himself into your lap.

You looked at them both—Simon, shirtless in flannel pants, Tommy in his dinosaur pajamas—and felt that ache again. The one that came from too much love in one room.

He was your little shadow.

And Simon?

Simon was finally standing in the light.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[dismalflo]

poly!wolfstar with fem!reader in which Remus is embarrassed bc he needs a cane for the first time and starts overthinking that reader and Sirius are too good for him (typical Remus), but then Sirius and reader are very reassuring and prepare something to show Remus how much they love him?

Thank you for requesting! <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader who reassure remus when he's in pain ✩ 1.3k words

cw: established relationship, fluff, chronic pain, remus overthinking, light hurt/comfort

“What do you think? Blueberry or chocolate, Rem?” you ask.

But Remus hears it like he's submerged underwater. His mind focused on the shooting pain rising up his leg and into his hip. Suddenly, he feels rather pathetic. A simple trip to Tesco that's all it was but it's feeling more like hiking up a hill with uneven footing. The shifting of his weight has done little to alleviate the discomfort. Maybe he shouldn't have left the cane at home. 

It's a new addition to his routine, a helpful one, but there's a gnawing doubt in his mind every time he uses it. Rationally, he knows that you and Sirius would never judge him for it, in fact you actively encourage it, however there's this devil sitting on his shoulder telling him he’s less than, not good enough for either of you when he uses it. 

“Rem?” Your voice pierces through his haze, and he looks up to find you reaching out, a hand gently gripping his arm. You’re watching him closely, your eyebrows drawn in concern, lips pressed in a soft frown.

“Are you alright?”

Remus blinks, struggling to catch up with the reality of the moment. His gaze darts to the shelves ahead, the colorful boxes and sugary labels blending together in a blur as his focus slips. The pain in his hip spikes again, sharper now, making him shift uncomfortably on his feet.

“I… yeah, just tired,” he mutters, the words escaping before he can stop them. It’s easier than admitting the truth. The lie has become a shield, one he wishes he didn’t have to use, but he does.

You’ve come to learn that ‘tired’ really means ‘in pain,’ that Remus has perfected this little fiction over time. You frown, a mixture of concern and quiet understanding in your eyes. Remus can’t help but feel caught, sheepish under your gaze.

“Shall we go home?” you ask, your voice soft, but insistent.

“Home? We haven’t finished your list, doll.” Sirius’s voice cuts through the aisle, and Remus flinches at his sudden arrival. If you’ve noticed, Sirius surely will too.

You glance up to see Sirius standing a few feet away, the playful edge to his voice dampened by the concern in his eyes. He doesn’t miss a beat, though, the way his gaze flickers over to Remus, assessing him with a look that’s far too sharp for casual conversation. His brows furrow slightly, and the teasing grin he usually wears falls into something softer, more understanding.

“I know but we can get these now,” you gesture to the basket in your hand, “and get the rest another day.” You say softly. 

Sirius nods enthusiastically, if you had to guess you’d say he’s just desperate to get Remus off his feet as you are. “Alright, give me the basket.” he says beckoning you over. 

“Why?” 

“Because pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to carry the shopping.”

“That’s a bit sexist,” you reply, teasing, which draws a low chuckle from Remus. You can’t help but smile at the sound—it’s like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.

Sirius sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “It’s chivalrous, babe.” His grin reappears, though it’s more playful than before. “And handsome men like you should be waited on hand and foot.”

The compliment makes Remus flush, and you link your arm with his as you start towards the door. He’s doing his best not to lean on you, but when your arm slips across his back, he can’t fight it any longer, allowing himself to rely on you just a little.

The drive back to the flat is quiet, but it’s the kind of comfortable silence that has grown between the three of you over time. The soft hum of the car’s engine, the gentle bump of the tires on the road, and the occasional glance exchanged between you and Sirius are all that fill the space, leaving Remus to rest his head against the window, eyes closed, but still awake.

When you arrive home, you’re the first to step out of the car. You wait, smiling gently at Sirius as he helps Remus out, making sure he’s steady on his feet. Remus looks a little less sure of himself when he stands up. 

Once back in the flat, the front door clicking closed behind you, a collective sigh of relief fills the air. The warmth of home, the quiet refuge from the bustle of the outside world, settles over them like a comforting blanket.

Remus is the first to move, pushing himself off the wall he'd leaned against for support as he made his way through the door. But before he can get far, Sirius is there, just behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Moony," Sirius murmurs, his voice soft but insistent.

Remus sighs, the exhaustion from the day pulling at him, but he doesn't resist. Instead, he turns his gaze toward you, who’s just a few steps behind them, already reaching for the cane that’s been abandoned in the hallway. You’re always so patient, always so understanding, and Remus feels both grateful and guilty for it. He doesn’t want to burden either of you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tease gently, flashing him a smile that’s warm but filled with that underlying concern that’s only for him. You approach, handing the cane to him with an encouraging nod. “Look, I’m not saying that you have to use it all the time… just– please, when you're in pain.” His theoretical pain as well as his actual pain seems to have an effect on you as you grimace. 

“I know, yeah.” he mutters, but it’s more of a reflex than something he truly believes. He takes the cane from you, holding it in his hand but not quite using it yet. The weight of it feels heavier than it should.

Sirius notices the hesitation. His gaze softens, and without another word, he steps in front of Remus, blocking him from further retreat.

“Rem,” Sirius says, his tone not commanding but affectionate, “you’re not less than. Not to us. Not ever. You’ve got to let us help, okay?”

Remus looks at him, and for a moment, it’s like he sees something deeper in Sirius’s eyes. That same understanding you both share, that unspoken promise of support, no matter what. It makes the knot in his chest loosen ever so slightly.

Before he can say anything, you’re at his side, your arm slipping around his waist, a comforting weight that reminds him he’s not alone.

“You know we don’t mind, right?” you whisper against his ear, your voice warm with reassurance. “We love you, Remus. I love you.”

Remus swallows, the weight of their words settling in his chest like a soft, warming glow. 

“Thank you.” 

Sirius steps closer, his hand finding Remus’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't need to thank us," he says with a soft smile, his voice full of affection. "We’re in this together, always."

Remus feels the warmth of their care radiating through him, the love that’s become a steady presence in his life. He’s overwhelmed, and for the first time in a while, he feels like he can breathe.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you two,” he murmurs, the words barely escaping his lips.

You press a kiss to his cheek, soft and lingering, before pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Good thing you’ll never have to find out," you say, voice teasing but filled with sincerity.

Sirius, always quick to follow your lead, leans in to place a kiss on Remus’s other cheek, then a chaste one to his lips. "You’re stuck with us."