#in the bottom left corner ofc

[fafodill]

Changed it for Sirius but still wanted to draw more members of the Order. I think I'm starting to figure out my Lupin. Mad-Eye is a bit complicated (and I really don't like his movie outfit - except for the coat) so it's still a WIP but I like his hair.

The incorrect quote is from @snapesupremacy on insta~

[wasteland-lover]

pics from like two days ago

[exqorcism]

SO INTO YOU. ━ nicholas a. chavez & cooper koch ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

❝ pairing. n. chavez x fem!reader x c. koch ❞

a/n. woof this took long... i hope you enjoy though! let me know if you want a part two (i want to write it so bad but really rough & filthy this time). anyways requests are open just like my legs for these two

.ᐟ warnings. fluff (just nick & coop being cuties & in love!!!), SMUT! making out, soft!dom!cooper, more of a mean!dom!nicholas, slapping?, threesome ofc, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, sum dirty talk (praise & slight degradation), more fluff :)) wc. 4896

The camera flashes made you slightly lightheaded as you posed, well-trained smile on your face ━ your uneasiness not visible to the paparazzi, but the two men next to you noticed it almost immediately.

Nicholas' hand was resting around your waist comfortably; not tight or low enough to draw attention of the cameramen, but with enough force to let you know that he was there for you.

You looked at Cooper, sweet smile on his face when he caught your eye, the flashes finally coming to an end, and all three of you exhaled with relief.

"I thought it would never end", you pressed your glossed lips together, fixing your hair softly, as you fell back against the chair.

Nicholas laughed at that, sitting across from you, the exhaustion visible in his eyes; he made sure no one was looking before taking your hand into his.

Your relationship with Nicholas was quite... complicated. You were best friends ever since you two met on the set of Monsters. It was you, Cooper and Nicholas, a trio that the internet loved.

Although, you were just a woman. And Nicholas was just a man. It soon evolved into something deeper; something you couldn't quite name. The lingering touches, sleeping on a couch together after an exhausting day on set, sporadic kisses on the cheek, a little too close to the corner of your lips. It would be hard to explain to the general public. You were just friends.

When it came to Cooper, he was the sunshine of your trio. His hugs warm, always making sure you were comfortable in his presence. He was so much different than Nicholas; less bold, always touching you with a glint of uncertainty. They complimented each other so well, it actually started driving you crazy.

You liked Nicholas, and you liked Cooper. Although at this point, you weren't sure if you only liked them. You still felt comfortable around them, but every touch from either of them sent a spark of excitement down your spine, which ━ you hoped ━ they didn't notice.

You had no idea what was happening, but you didn't like it.

Nicholas' thumb traced soft circles on the back of your hand, his eyes warm and welcoming, pretty smile adoring his face. You hesitated before returning the gesture, the loud music and incoherent voices seemed to fade into obscurity as you stared at him. He looked so good that night; a patterned, slightly unbuttoned shirt clung onto his body perfectly, simple black dress pants and shoes, and the god damn cross necklace. Such a simple look, but he looked absolutely flawless. You wondered how he managed to leave you speechless every time he walked into the room. His hair looked messier than usual after he ran a hand through it right after you all left the spotlight.

You shook slightly when you realised you were staring. Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head, hand leaving yours, the sudden coldness making you miss his touch almost instantly.

"You look good tonight", you declared, looking him up and down shamelessly, sly smirk appearing on your face. Nicholas leaned back against the chair, spreading his legs; the sight making your mouth water.

"Could say the same about you, Y/N", Nick rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb nonchalantly. A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, and you crossed your legs at the sight. Your name leaving his mouth made you shift in your seat uncomfortably, the room becoming smaller in a second.

He didn't lie, though. You decided on a bold outfit, yet modest enough to make an impression. A tight bodysuit with built-in shorts, leaving a little to the imagination; brand new, knee high Naked Wolfe boots that made your legs look longer, and a leather, red coat. Nicholas almost choked when he first saw you, and so did Cooper ━ yet you didn't notice the way their eyes lingered on your body for a little too long.

"You look... fucking hot". You couldn't help but smile at the compliment; his voice sincere, eyes glistening with something you couldn't quite name, playful smirk lingering on his lips. You bit your lip, slightly breathless, playing with the hem of your bodysuit mindlessly. Nicholas' eyes wandered down your body as you did, your curves visible through the thin material, and he noticed that instantly.

"Hey!" Cooper's voice saved you from the heat of Nick's stare as he stepped in. You looked up at him, his presence not helping that much, after all; he looked so good, they both did.

"We have to do some interviews and then we can get the hell outta here", he declared, and you nodded, getting up from the chair awkwardly. A waitress stopped next to the three of you, tray with some kind of alcohol in her hand ━ champagne, you assumed, polite smile on her face. Without hesitation, you took a glass, swallowing all of its contents almost at once.

Nicholas and Cooper laughed when you made a face; it definitely wasn't a champagne. It tasted more like a vodka tonic. Your face twisted in pure disgust at the taste, eyes closing involuntarily.

"Now, slow down, pretty", Cooper said in a playful tone; the nickname made you wish you could drink five more of those drinks. You sent him a glare, small smile lingering on your lips nonetheless.

You heard someone call your name, and you exhaled at the sight of an interviewer waving at you. You exchanged knowing looks with both men before you all walked towards the camera.

A few hours and drinks later, you finally felt your body relaxing. The better part of the event came ━ an after party where cameras were not allowed. You were relieved; the annoying and disrespectful paparazzi followed you like lost puppies, as if trying to capture every single moment of your evening.

You found yourself sitting at the bar, Nicholas and Cooper nowhere in sight. You played with the rim of your glass, the slight buzz finally getting to you, small smile playing on your face.

An image of Cooper and Nick popped up in your head again, and you found yourself thinking about them in inappropriate ways.

The way they'd kiss you, Nicholas more harshly, demanding, almost aggressively. And Cooper? Cooper would take his time, leaving you breathless and painfully turned on when he pulled away. You had no idea which one you liked better. Preferably both, at the same time.

You shook your head, finally deciding on going to search for them. The smell of weed filled your nostrils, and you raised your eyebrows; it wasn't usual for celebrities events to go this far.

Your steps were quite unsure and shaky due to the alcohol in your system, but still confident, as you paced through the crowd of people. You looked around you in search of Cooper familiar curls, but you soon realised it was pointless.

What if they're making out with some random girls?

The thought crossed your mind and you shifted uncomfortably, accepting your defeat as you walked towards the bathrooms.

The corridor was dark, and if it wasn't for the music still playing loudly in the background and the alcohol in your system, you would definitely be scared.

Your boots echoed through the walls, shiver running up your spine at the sudden coldness. You almost screamed when the men's bathroom door opened, and you were met with someone's warm chest.

His smell filled your nostrils, and you exhaled, recognising it right away. Nicholas.

"Already falling for me, doll?", he laughed when you looked up at him, the height difference almost ridiculous ━ even when you were wearing the highest boots you could find.

The corridor was lit only by the men's bathroom dim lightning, and you suddenly felt a spark of excitement run through your chest.

"I was looking everywhere for you!", you declared, stepping away from him, the smell of his cologne making your head spin a little. You studied his face; he seemed completely sober, hair in the same condition you last saw it in ━ so he didn't fuck anyone during his absence. Relief run through your veins at the realisation, small smile making its way onto your face.

"I was looking for you, too", he grinned, and your stomach turned at the sight. "We were just talking about getting the hell out of here. Wanna spend the night?", he asked casually, and even though it wasn't unusual for you to stay over at his place, it felt different this time. You nodded frantically, biting your lip. His cross, gold chain glistened in the dim lightning, and you couldn't help but stare at his chest, hiding under the shirt.

"You know...", you started, your hand moving up before you could register, fingertips lingering on his chest softly. Nicholas stiffened when you met his eyes, and his jaw clenched. "You look really good tonight".

"If you were anyone else, I'd think you're flirting with me", he laughed, but you could feel his muscles tensing when you run your fingers over his chest more confidently now. You tilted your head, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin on yours. "And what if I was?", you challenged, voice teasing, and his hands were on your hips in an instant. Nicholas pulled you close, hands slipping under your loose coat, running over your curves greedily.

"I wouldn't mind", he said truthfully, and you breathed out. He was so close, you could feel his breath on your cheek, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling. "I would say... you look tempting. Making it really hard for me to control myself".

You tensed, hands running over the sides of his neck, eyes never leaving his, and you noticed how much darker they've gotten. With one swift movement, you were against the wall, Nicholas' hand lifting your leg to rest on his hip.

"You have no idea what you do to me", he whispered, his voice low and predatory, as his other hand run over your throat softly.

This will ruin our friendship. These words echoed in your head as you looked deep into his eyes, gaze almost innocent, sending jolts of electricity down to his cock. Any doubt left your mind when you realised that you waited for this for the longest time. Maybe I like him a little too much, you thought, as your eyes lingered on his lips, so tempting. Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his greedily.

You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips at the contact; your lips moved in a perfect sync, hands roaming over his chest, nails digging into his skin. Nicholas held your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh in his big hand, the other one tangling itself in your hair.

He pulled on it, hard, and you whimpered, the pain on your scalp sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. He smiled into the kiss, body pressing into yours with force as his tongue found its way into your mouth. One more pull at your hair, and you moaned into the kiss, his tongue half down your throat in an instant. It traced the inside of your mouth, almost as if he was trying to memorise every single detail about it.

He swallowed your moan as you arched into him, eager to feel all of him all over you, his strong hold on your hair only intensifying.

You felt his bulge press into your thigh deliciously; you tested the waters by grinding your hips down, and he let out a strangled moan, the sound making you shiver.

The next second Nicholas' lips were all over your neck, and your head tilted back involuntarily, mouth opening in a desperate moan. That was before you realised you were still on an event ━ public event, and that someone could actually catch you making out in a dark corridor.

You tried to form a sentence, but the words died before you could speak, as he sucked the soft skin on the column of your throat: marking you.

"Nick- we need to-", you tried to explain how irresponsible he was being, but he didn't seem to listen; if anything, he got more eager, pressing you flat against the wall, hips moving forward to grind against you.

That's when he opened his eyes and looked into the darkness surrounding you; and he was pleased to see Cooper standing there, leaning against the wall, watching the little show in front of him with interest.

Nicholas smiled as you pulled at his shirt, playing with the buttons, and he kissed your neck once again just to distract you from noticing Cooper.

"Looks like have an audience, doll", he whispered in your ear, and it took you a second to actually process his words; when you did, your eyes shot open.

"Holy shit", you heard a familiar voice; your eyes widened even more in realisation.

Cooper stood there, in the darkness, and if it wasn't for his voice you wouldn't even notice he was there. He took a step closer, and you were surprised to see that he didn't look mad. He didn't look surprised, either. Small smirk made its way onto his face, eyes dark ━ but it could be all about the shitty lightning.

You bit your lip, not quite knowing what to say. Nicholas took a step back, not a trace of shame or embarrassment on his face; he returned Cooper's gaze, a silent deal made between the two.

You knew Cooper was into guys. You weren't quite sure if he liked girls, too ━ you never asked, partially because you were scared of the answer. His words made you think that maybe he was into Nicholas, maybe he liked him the way you did. You shifted uncomfortably, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, we are finally getting there", Nicholas said, fixing the bulge in his pants shamelessly, and your gaze lingered on it for a little too long. You wanted ━ no, needed ━ more, and getting caught by Cooper of all people didn't exactly help the pulsing between your legs. Nick caught your gaze, playful glint in his eyes, but he looked unaffected. You wondered what he meant, but just before you could ask, he already took your hand and leaded you to the door; Cooper following close behind you.

You were panting, hair messy and lipgloss smudged; most of it stayed on Nicholas' face, though. Your eyes glistened insatiably, his words echoing in your mind like a promise of what was about to come.

You didn't remember the way back to your hotel; when you did get there, though, you felt Nicholas' hand low on your back, Cooper keeping his distance as you walked to one of the boys' room; you couldn't help but wonder if he was mad at what he had witnessed, guilt blooming in your stomach.

Nicholas looked relaxed, though, sending you and Cooper an occasional smile, tracing soft circles onto your back, and you shivered at his touch.

You got to the room 230; you remembered it belonged to both of them. As Cooper unlocked the door, Nicholas' presence behind you like a shadow; you walked in, the tension between the three of you lingering in the air as you made your way to the living room.

"Coop, I...", you started, breaking the silence, as Nicholas disappeared in his own room. The older man didn't look at you when he took his coat off, avoiding your gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't... We shouldn't have...".

You could tell he was holding himself back as he did everything but look at you, pretending to be extremely busy with his watch.

"I'm not mad, Y/N", he ensured; you raised your eyebrows at the sound of his voice. Hoarse, low and quite strangled.

"Then why won't you look at me? Why won't you talk to me?", you whined, the need to confess everything you felt for him now stronger than ever.

He didn't answer. You sighed, a hint of annoyance now clear in your voice.

You stared at Cooper from a safe distance, taking in the sight in front of you. He looked just as good as Nick: simple but elegant, making you sweat like a dog in heat. A black, plain sweater, dress pants and shoes complimenting his tan skin. His long fingers played with the watch on his wrist, and you couldn't help but imagine the possibilities.

You took the coat off your shoulders, the sudden heat all over your body making you sweat uncontrollably. Your boots clicked against the marble floor as you made your way to the couch, throwing the coat on it carelessly.

You took a deep breath before deciding on what to do next.

"Coop...", you turned to him, and he finally met your eyes. "I want... For the longest time, I...".

The weight of what you were about to confess fell on your shoulders with force, words dying in your throat under his intense gaze.

"She wants to fuck us".

Your eyes widened at the words leaving Nicholas' mouth. You turned to him, he leaned against the doorframe, shirt slightly unbuttoned, dress pants still low on his hips. He must've been there for quite a while, watching you struggle.

"I...", you tried to explain, all of it pointless when he smiled knowingly.

You couldn't lie to then and say that he was wrong; but you couldn't just admit that he was right.

"I'm not doing this", you whimpered, embarrassment filling your whole chest, making it hard to breathe.

"You're not doing what? Admitting the truth? It would be so much easier for us to grant your wishes sooner if you were honest from the start, pretty", Cooper got closer to you by a second, and Nicholas creeped in behind you, the room becoming smaller in a second as you realised that they planned all of this.

Cooper tilted his head, his gaze hardening dangerously as he watched you.

Nicholas' chest pressed against your back, and you whined at the contact; your eyes never left Cooper's, almost as if an invisible string was connecting the two of you.

A wet kiss on the side neck was all it took for your knees to buckle. Before you knew it, Nicholas was devouring the delicate skin of your neck and collarbones, his big hands closing on your hips, making sure you stayed upright.

This is so wrong, you thought when Cooper took a step towards you, and, as if he was testing the waters, leaned over to brush your lips against his. Nicholas licked a wet stripe up your neck, and you arched your back, a quiet whimper leaving your mouth when Cooper came closer, pinning you between his and Nicholas' bodies.

"Tell me you want this", he whispered, voice soft, and you tried to nod, but Nicholas' actions on your neck made you slightly lightheaded. "Tell me".

"I- I do", you breathed out. "Wanted this for so long".

You felt Nick smile against your skin as he pulled away just slightly, his bulge pressing against your ass deliciously. Your mind went blank as Cooper finally pressed his lips to yours, his kiss soft but demanding.

Nicholas squeezed your hips in his big hands, and you whined, clawing at Cooper's chest, the urge to feel his skin on yours overwhelming, and Nicholas was back on you again. He cupped your breasts through the thin material of your bodysuit; you moaned shamelessly, biting on Cooper's lip, the taste of him intoxicating.

You were in one of the boys' room in a blink of an eye. Nicholas grinned at you and sat down on the bed, and your lips were back on his in an instant. He tugged at your hair yet again as you started unbuttoning his shirt; the feeling of his chiselled chest under your fingertips almost making you drool a little.

You pulled away, taking the excess clothing off his body, throwing it somewhere on the floor. You looked at Cooper, his eyes glistening softly as he traced his fingers down your back. You couldn't decide whether to focus on him or Nicholas.

Cooper kissed you again, this time more aggressively, pushing his tongue into your mouth for it to tangle with your own; a groan left his mouth at the taste of you as he held you close, tugging at the material of your bodysuit urgently.

You smiled before pulling away, taking off your shoes ━ the height difference even more prominent now ━ before you removed the bodysuit from your body in one, swift movement.

Your back was met with the soft sheets, the boys towering over you, each on opposite sides of the bed. Your chest heaved with uneven breaths, and you thanked yourself for choosing a sexy set of lingerie for the night.

Nicholas' greedy hands were on you, everywhere at once, running over your curves, squeezing the soft skin of your covered breasts. You whined, searching for Cooper's mouth again, and he gladly leaned in, delicate touch lingering on your neck, making sure to leave you panting under him.

"We've talked about it for months", Nick admitted, and Cooper pulled away, nodding at his words.

"We wanted to have you right here, under us, letting us use you however we please", the younger man continued, exposing your boobs with one strong tug at the lacy material of your bra.

You panted when you felt both of their lips on your sensitive skin there. The difference between the two men more prominent than ever now that they were touching you. Cooper's movements were more thoughtful as he pressed wet kisses on the skin of your boob, tongue darting out to circle around your nipple teasingly. Nicholas didn't hold back, biting at the sensitive nub between strong sucks, making you see stars. They complimented each other so well, it actually made you whine and arch your back as you tugged at their hair.

"Holy shit, please", you begged for god knows what, and you almost cried out in relief when Nicholas lowered his head, pressing kisses all over your stomach, before he found the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Cooper positioned himself so that he could sit behind you, his legs on both sides of your own. He grabbed your thighs, spreading them open for Nicholas; he lowered his head to look at your drenched cunt, a small patch of wetness on the centre of your panties. He hummed, biting the soft skin of your thighs, and when he looked up at you, you felt as if you could come at the sight alone.

Cooper kept one of his hands on your thigh, while the other one travelled up your stomach, between your boobs, brushing against your hard nipples just for a second.

"Are you sure?" he whispered in your ear softly in the exact moment when Nicholas' lips pressed against your clothed pussy. He placed a dirty, open mouthed kiss on the center, and you shivered, head lulling back against Cooper's shoulder.

"Answer him, doll", Nick demanded; voice sharp and dangerously low as he watched the way your jaw went slack, mouth opening in a quiet whimper.

"She sounds so pretty", the older man smirked, and you felt his bulge press against your back. His grip on your tight tightened, and he pressed a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Nick, please, yes- I'm sure", your eyes opened involuntarily as he moved your panties to the side, your wet cunt now exposed to the cool air around you.

"Holy shit", Nicholas smiled, tilting his head while his thumb pressed against your clit. The touch was barely there, but it didn't fail to send jolts of electricity down your spine. "She's so wet, Cooper. Almost dripping all over my sheets".

Cooper hummed softly right into your ear and you twitched against both of them. They were talking as if you weren't there, and it made you embarrassingly more turned on.

"Yeah?", he rasped, the sound making you shiver against them. One of Cooper's hands travelled down to brush against your puffy clit. You moaned as they both touched you; Nicholas' fingers slowly dipping into your entrance, the wetness coating your walls making it easy for him to stretch you out. Cooper's thoughtful touch graced the button hiding between your folds. His touch so delicate, unlike Nicholas' ━ his fingers moved slowly but steadily, pulling them out almost fully before dipping back in.

You were breathless; your chest heaved with uneven breaths, one of Cooper's hand resting on your boob ━ not putting any pressure, just letting you feel his hands on your overheated body.

"So good, oh shit-", you managed to get out as your back arched off the bed; Nicholas was quick to hold your hips down with his unoccupied hand. His wrist moved faster now, along with Cooper's; they found just the right rhythm to make you go crazy without making you come too fast.

Whimpers left your mouth as you gripped Cooper's thighs, your nails digging into his skin with enough force to leave marks.

"You're right, she's practically soaking our hands", Cooper murmured, and you could feel your cheeks heating up. Your eyes fell closed for a second, before his free hand reached to grab your neck ━ pressing with pressure that made you slightly lightheaded, but not with enough force to choke you. Your eyes flew open; Cooper looked down at you, his darkened eyes making your legs shake.

"Don't close your eyes, darling", he held your throat harder; both of their hands moving in sync, determined to get you to your peak. "Please", you whispered pathetically, turning your eyes to Nicholas, who was watching you the whole time. His mouth formed into a dirty, open mouthed smirk, sending sparks of electricity down your spine.

Holy shit.

"Are you close, doll?" Nicholas asked, his voice raspier than you've ever heard before. You nodded frantically, the coil in your stomach ready to snap any second now. You whined when Cooper's fingers left your clit and Nick slowed down.

"No, fuck!", you cried out, hips bucking into Nicholas' hand, and they both definitely didn't like it.

You felt a strong sting on your left breast, Cooper's hand slapping it roughly.

"Look at her, practically crying for us to make her cum", Nicholas tutted, his drenched fingers scissoring into your cunt. Before you could come up with a smart reply, his mouth was all over you.

He pressed a wet kiss right on your clit. You squirmed; Cooper held both of your boobs in his big hands as he watched Nicholas devour you with a satisfied smile on his face, index finger and thumb tugging on your nipples experimentally.

Nicholas held your gaze as he licked a stripe from your opening up to your clit. He sucked the little button between his lips, tongue tracing circles around it, his fingers inside of you moving with precision, hitting just the right spot every time.

"She tastes so sweet, Coop", he groaned between licks, winking at you, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs shake around his head.

"Oh, I bet she does", Cooper replied breathlessly and he forced your face towards him; his mouth meeting yours instantly, tongue playing with yours as he swallowed your moans.

"I'm-", you weren't able to finish the sentence, before Nicholas sucked on your clit particularly hard, his fingers moving swiftly inside of you, and you could feel your orgasm nearing.

"Come for us", Cooper whispered softly, fingers playing with your stiff nipples non-stop as you whimpered into his mouth.

"Yeah, baby, come on, make a mess for us", Nicholas pulled away only enough to watch your face twist in pure bliss, the sight of you kissing Cooper while he pleasured you turning him on more than it should.

You cried out, one last withdraw of Nicholas' fingers and your back arched off the bed; they didn't stop you this time. Cooper pulled away to watch your face as you wet Nicholas' hand, creaming all over his thick fingers.

You were breathless, eyes threatening to close, but instead they widened, when Nicholas got up from his knees, grabbing Cooper's hair, and then kissing him.

Obscene sounds left both of their mouths as Nick let Cooper taste you on his tongue. You watched the scene shamelessly, your pussy clenching around nothing as Cooper sucked on Nicholas' mouth before pulling away.

"You're right, she tastes fucking divine", he breathed out, grinning at you and Nick, eyes clouded with lust.

Your legs closed, the earth shattering orgasm leaving you spent and limp between their bodies.

Your head fell against Cooper's chest, and he wrapped his arms around you in an instant.

Nick smiled at the sight of you, so defenceless and spent after only his fingers and mouth.

He pressed a sweet kiss against your forehead, and you murmured something incoherent, almost falling asleep right there and then.

"No. I wanna cuddle", you whined when Cooper and Nicholas tried to pull away, but they were quick to obey. Cooper laid you on your side, his chest pressed firmly against your back, and Nicholas laid down on his back, letting you rest your head against his own chest. He played with your hair mindlessly, and you were fast to fall asleep, nothing but happiness filling both your heart and mind.

hoffmansgirl © 2024 | request here !!

nicholas alexander chavez masterlist 𓂃✮‧₊˚໒꒱ ₊

[pitlanepeach]

White Mercedes | Chapter Three

Oscar Piastri x Anneliese Wolff (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — It was just supposed to be a game. Once a month. No names. No questions. A few hours where she could surrender fully—because everywhere else in her life, she was drowning.

But Oscar Piastri was all quiet power and brutal precision. He didn’t ask who she was, and she didn’t offer. Not her name. Not the harsh reality of her past. Definitely not the part about being Toto Wolff’s daughter.

But it’s not a game anymore. It’s a secret with teeth. And when it all comes crashing down, she doesn’t know if it’s her heart or his career that’ll break first.

Warnings — BDSM themes, realistic and flawed characters, Dom!Oscar, Sub!OFC, slow burn romance, lots of smut (obviously), strong language, drug-addiction, suicidal thoughts/ideation, past-suicide attempts, vaguely mentioned past sexual assault.

Notes — So many emotions in this chapter. Also: so much Oscar, finally!!!!

CHAPTER THREE

For Anneliese, rock bottom looked like this.

A borrowed coat that didn’t fit, stained at the cuffs. Shoes with the soles worn through, socks wet with street-water. A plastic bag with two lighters, an old cracked iPhone 6, and a sun-bleached photograph she couldn't bring herself to let go of. It had once sat framed on her mother’s desk—Ana at eight years old, perched on her father’s shoulders, grinning like she believed the world would never fall apart.

She was twenty now. And she belonged nowhere.

Her stomach had been empty for two days. Not the kind of empty you complain about before dinner—but a hollow, gnawing void, like her body had started consuming itself. Her last meal had been a service station protein bar she’d lifted from a shelf without thinking. She hadn’t chewed it—just swallowed it down like a starving dog, washing it with a lukewarm beer some guy had handed her outside a club.

She didn’t remember his name. Or the night. Or what she might’ve promised to get that beer.

Her jaw ached. Her arms itched. Her nose bled in sharp, sudden bursts. And every time she caught her reflection—in puddles, shop windows, smeared mirrors in dirty public bathrooms—she saw a ghost looking back. Hollow-eyed. Blue-lipped. Dead in all the ways that counted.

She hadn’t slept anywhere safe in days.

No place. No people. Not since she stopped paying her share of rent and her roommate changed the locks. Not since she sold her last designer dress. Not since the dealer she owed started leaving voicemails that made her skin crawl.

She never replied. But she listened. And replayed. And relapsed, again and again.

It was cold. God, it was so cold.

She’d curled up behind a dumpster the night before, in an alley off Oxford Street, wrapped in the too-big coat, hidden behind the clatter of early-morning deliveries. At one point, she thought she saw her father’s face in the clouds. At another, she’d started to cry, but forgot how halfway through.

She wasn’t high. That was the worst part.

She wasn’t high—and still, she couldn’t feel anything.

This was it. The bottom. No bed. No money. No one left to lie to or borrow from. No more charm. Just skin and shame and static in her head.

And beneath the exhaustion, deeper than the hunger, there was a voice. A whisper.

You can’t come back from this.

Every hour. Every step. Every breath.

Until she found herself outside her mother’s townhouse in West London, with no memory of how she got there. Feet blistered and bleeding in secondhand heels. Shaking so hard she could barely lift her hand to knock.

She remembers her mother’s face, opening the door.

The silence before either of them spoke.

And then—like a dam breaking—Ana fell forward. Knees buckled. Throat raw.

“Please,” she croaked.

It was the first word she’d said in over two days. The only one she had left.

—

Oscar was twenty, exhausted, and slightly sunburnt.

He sat slouched in a white plastic chair in the corner of an airless hospitality tent in Barcelona, chewing ice and trying not to listen to the endless buzz of engineers, media, and fans camped behind barricades. The heat made his skin itch. He hadn’t slept properly in four days. He hated hotel mattresses.

Mark dropped into the seat beside him like a rock falling out of the sky.

“You smell like beer and cheap sunscreen,” Oscar muttered without looking over. “It’s foul.”

Mark grunted. “Yeah? You look like shit.”

“Cheers.”

Mark reached into the cooler at their feet, pulled out a bottle of water, and handed it over. Oscar took it wordlessly.

“I’m fine,” Oscar said, cracking the cap.

“Sure you are,” Mark replied, dry as dust.

Oscar glanced sideways. “Is there a point to this conversation, or did you just come over here to do your condescending father-figure bit?”

“Bit of both.” Mark leaned back in his chair. “You’re strung tighter than piano wire. Gonna snap eventually.”

“I’m just tired,” Oscar said slowly.

“No, you’re not. You’ve been sliding since Bahrain. I gave you space. Figured maybe you needed to feel the slope before you realised how steep it gets.”

Oscar flinched. “Jesus, Mark.”

“You nearly took that Sky reporter’s head off for asking about rear tire deg.”

“It was a stupid question.”

Mark didn’t bite. “You need an outlet.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “If you say yoga—”

“Nah. Fuck that. And I’m not talking about booze or pills, either.”

“Knitting?” Oscar suggested dryly. 

Mark gave him a long, even look. “Listen, mate. Some drivers run marathons. Some climb mountains. I go to clubs and spank girls' arses until I feel better.”

Oscar choked on his water. “What the—Mark.”

“It works.”

“You can’t just say that.”

“I just did.”

Oscar stared at him, scandalised. “So what—you’re, like, into that?”

Mark arched a brow. “You’re not?”

“I—” Oscar hesitated. His face was burning. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, maybe you should. It’s good. Structure. Control. Letting go.”

Oscar dragged a hand through his hair, averting his gaze, trying not to literally set on fire with the amount of humility burning beneath his skin. “This is the weirdest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mark said. “But I had to have it before. And now I’m having it with you. Because the job’s hard, mate. No off switch. No safety net. And if you don’t figure out how to downshift outside the garage, you’re gonna burn out before you ever have a chance at winning a world championship.”

Oscar looked down at the bottle in his hand and frowned.

Mark went on, voice quieter now. “Listen, mate. I get it. This is awkward as hell for me as well. And you’ll feel stupid, at first, and maybe it won’t be for you and we can forget this conversation ever happened. But… maybe it’ll fit.”

Oscar didn’t respond. Just made a face, somewhere between suspicion and discomfort.

Mark stood up, slapped him on the shoulder. “Think about it.”

—

That night, back in his hotel room, Oscar lay on a too-soft mattress, the air conditioning rattling like it was about to die out. He stared at the ceiling. Then at his phone. Then back at the ceiling.

Eventually, he gave in.

He opened Google. Typed the word spanking. Then dom/sub dynamics. Then how do you know if you're a Dom.

Three hours later, his phone battery was on 6%, the room was dark except for the blue glow of the screen, and Oscar was still scrolling.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

But whatever it was—

It wasn’t just about sex.

It was about trust. Control.

Order, in a world that moved too fast.

And somewhere, deep in his chest, something that had been wound too tight for too long… shifted.

—

Ana sat on the velvet stool, legs crossed too tightly, jaw aching from how long she’d been clenching it. The club moved around her in gold light and low bass—warm, slow, and close. The air smelled like expensive perfume and leather, like… expectation. She could feel her pulse in her throat.

Oscar Piastri stood beside her like he didn’t know how to be anywhere else. Not slouched or trying to look cool—just there. Still. Balanced. One hand resting lightly on the edge of the bar, the other around a glass. He wasn’t looking at her directly. Just angled toward her, like he'd turn fully if invited.

“I don’t really do this,” Ana said. The words came out quieter than she’d planned. She winced. It felt like she’d broken the silence in a way that wasn’t soft enough. Which didn’t make sense. “This. The club. Any of it.” The words felt all tied together as they poured out of her mouth.

“I know,” Oscar said. Simple. No judgment. “That’s fine. More than fine, actually.”

She exhaled, unsure what to do with the quiet that followed. Then, without preamble, he handed her a glass. Cold and fizzy, beads of condensation slipping down the sides. As he passed it over, his thumb brushed hers. Just a flicker. No pressure. No insistence. She barely had time to register the contact before he’d already drawn back.

“No alcohol,” he said.

Ana blinked. “You checked?”

“Sipped it. Just in case.”

Her lips parted. “You—wait, you tasted my drink?”

Oscar nodded once, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I spoke to Lucian. Bartender's new. I don’t know how careful he is with pours. Thought it’d be better if I made sure.”

A flush climbed up her neck. “Do you always do that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Order for people. Uh—take charge.”

He gave a little shrug. “Here? Yeah. Tends to be the right thing to do.”

“And outside of this place?”

“Not unless they ask.” He paused, then added, “Sometimes people want to let go of control in places like this. Doesn’t mean they want that when they’re at the supermarket.”

She looked down at her glass. “What if it isn’t the right thing to do—here, I mean?”

“Then I’d apologise. And back off.”

The quiet weight of his answer made her look up. He wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t trying to make her feel at ease. He just was. Present and grounded, like it cost him nothing to stay still while she caught her breath.

“Was it okay that I ordered for you?” he asked, finally.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Yes. It was… nice. And—thank you. For checking that there was no alcohol.”

That made him smile. Barely. A flicker at the corner of his mouth. But it looked real, and it made her stomach do something funny. “You’re welcome,” he said.

Then his eyes flicked past her, toward a curtained alcove across the room. “You see over there? Curtain’s open.”

She followed his gaze.

He said it simply, almost like it didn’t matter, “Private viewing space. If you want to see.”

She hesitated. Her heart picked up. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Oscar nodded. “That’s okay.”

A beat.

Then he added, “Jules is there. Watching. If it helps to have someone near you who’s… safe.”

Ana blinked. Her throat caught. That did help. More than she could explain.

She glanced again, found the familiar outline of Jules—leaning back against a column with a glass in hand. 

Ana stood. Hesitant, uncertain, fingers wrapped tightly around her glass.

Oscar watched. He watched her like she was something intriguing and precious and everything in between.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t coax. Just stood up too, let his hand hover near the small of her back, then dropped it again. The restraint was obvious. Purposeful. He started walking, slow enough that she didn’t feel rushed.

They crossed the room together. The crowd didn’t seem to notice. Music pulsed lower in this part of the club—less sound, more presence.

When they stopped at the edge of the alcove, Ana’s body went tight again. She stood just barely behind him, sipping her drink in too-fast pulls.

Soft golden light spilled from inside. A woman knelt on a thick cushion in front of a man, naked except for the slim collar around her throat. Her posture was perfect—spine long, shoulders back, palms open on her thighs. Still, silent, waiting.

The man sat in a low chair, fully clothed. One hand rested lightly on her head, not possessive—just steady. Present.

Ana’s breath caught. “What is she doing?”

“Waiting,” Oscar said, his voice low. “He hasn’t given her a command yet.”

“Oh. What does—What does that mean?”

He glanced down at her. “She’s being patient.”

She stared. “She looks like she’s somewhere else.”

“She is. Close to subspace. Or already in it.”

“What’s that like?”

Oscar shifted his weight slightly, hands in his pockets. “I only know what I’ve been told. But… It’s like… turning the volume down on the rest of the world. Like you don’t have to think for a while. You can just fully switch off—put every inch of trust in somebody else to take care of you.”

Ana blinked fast. Her heart thudded louder. “And the collar? That’s—is that real?”

“Everything here’s real. Some people might play together casually, but if she’s wearing a collar, I’d say that they’re probably in a long-term arrangement.” 

She looked up at him, flushed. “And you’ve… done that before? With someone?”

Oscar nodded. “Casually.” 

She sucked her lips between her teeth. “Did you like it?”

Another pause. “Yes, Anneliese. I liked it.”

Ana’s fingers curled tighter around her glass. “What does it do for you?”

Oscar didn’t look at her—just watched the scene. His voice stayed even. “I like structure. Knowing where the edges are. I like the feeling when someone decides to hand you their complete trust. Not because they have to. Because they want to.” 

Ana’s throat felt dry. “That sounds… intense.”

“It is,” he said. “It should be. It’s not something that should be taken lightly.”

Another silence passed between them.

Then Oscar turned slightly toward her. His voice dipped even softer. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Are you okay with me standing this close?”

Her breath hitched. “Y-yeah.”

“Okay.” A pause. “What about hand contact? Just here—” he reached out slowly, let his fingers hover near hers on the glass. “Or here—” he moved them an inch closer to her knee, still not touching. “Would that be okay?”

Ana flushed so hot she thought she might combust. “I—I think so.”

His voice stayed quiet, anchored. “You think, or you know?”

“I like it,” she whispered.

Oscar’s fingers settled gently on her hip. Warm. Still. Not possessive—just steady. 

“You don’t have to let me do anything,” he said. “You say stop, I stop. You feel unsafe at any moment, just tell me, and I’ll take you straight to Lucian. You can talk or not talk. Ask anything you want. Nothing’s too weird. Or too much.”

She laughed nervously. “What if I panic and bolt?”

“I’ll follow you. Get you a cab, or tell Jules or Lucian that you need somebody with you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’re very… calm about this.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re new. Nervous. That’s the part I like.”

Her breath caught. “You like—you like the fact that I’m nervous?”

He glanced over, and his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Yeah.”

Ana didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart racing, glass trembling faintly in her hand. She looked past Oscar, toward Jules—still lounging, still watching, close enough to reach if she needed to bolt and bury her face in her friend’s shoulder and disappear.

But she didn’t want to do that.

The woman in the alcove shifted slightly. The man said something—too low to catch—and the woman exhaled, a slow, heavy breath. Then she moved.

Still on her knees, she crawled closer, closing the final space between them. Her cheek pressed to his knee at first, but then she leaned in more, hands on his thighs now, her face turned up toward him in something like offering. Her eyes fluttered closed as he threaded his fingers into her hair. Not harsh—just anchoring.

And then he guided her head gently down.

Ana’s breath snagged in her throat.

The woman opened her mouth. Her lips brushed against the man’s inner thigh—once, soft. Reverent. Then again, this time higher. She kissed the inside of his leg like she was praying.

Ana flushed, full and hot, the colour racing up her neck to her ears. Her skin prickled.

The dom still hadn’t said a word. He didn’t have to. His hand stayed steady in her hair, fingers sifting through with a kind of practiced patience. The woman looked blissed out, already half-gone, as she nuzzled higher, her mouth trailing up to the waistband of his trousers.

Ana made a small sound, barely audible, but enough.

Oscar chuckled—low, not unkind. Just amused. Like he’d been waiting for her to react.

“Too much?” he asked softly, tipping his head closer to hers.

“I—” Ana’s voice caught. She didn’t even know what she was feeling. Heat. Curiosity. Shyness so intense it made her teeth ache. She stared for another second before her eyes snapped away, and she buried her face in her hand.

Oscar moved slowly, casually, shifting closer. “You can hide, if you want,” he murmured. His tone was easy, unbothered. Then he lifted the arm closest to her, just slightly. “Here.”

She hesitated—just a second—before curling in under the offered space. His bicep was warm and solid beneath her cheek, his shirt soft where it stretched over the muscle. He didn’t laugh again. Didn’t squeeze or draw her closer. Just let her hide there, his arm a loose bracket around her shoulders, like a wall she could lean against without pressure.

Ana’s voice was muffled when she finally spoke. “It’s a lot.”

Oscar’s arm flexed slightly—maybe a shrug. “They’re exhibitionists. They know what the curtain being open means.”

“Do they… do this often?”

“This couple? Yeah. They’re regulars, have been since I started coming a few months ago, at least.” He glanced toward the scene again. “And he’s good. You can tell by how calm she is. No fear. Just surrender.”

Ana peeked out, only briefly. The woman was now kneeling between the man’s legs, her hands delicately resting on his thighs. She wasn’t moving fast—just nuzzling, kissing, touching with an intimacy that made Ana’s chest ache. Like this was a kind of love she didn’t understand yet. A devotion that lived in silence, not words.

“She looks like she really enjoys this,” Ana whispered.

“She wouldn’t be there if she didn’t,” Oscar said.

The words sank deep into her chest, heavier than they should have been.

Ana pressed her face back into his arm, and this time, she let herself breathe him in. Clean and warm. Some trace of cologne and maybe leather. Something steadying. She didn’t know what to do with how steady he was.

Oscar tilted his head slightly, voice low and close. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Just—processing.”

“That’s okay.” A beat. “You’re doing better than you think, sweet girl.”

Ana let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t expect to see anything like this tonight. Feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Embarrassed. And—you. I don’t have the right words.”

Oscar hummed low in his throat. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

Ana looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”

He glanced down, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Ana, we just met twenty minutes ago and now we’re watching a blowjob in a velvet-lit sex dungeon while drinking lemonade. I wouldn’t expect you to have your usual vocabulary.”

She laughed—shocked, startled, grateful. The sound came out like a breath she’d been holding too long.

Oscar smiled, properly this time. “You want to stay? Or head back over to the bar?”

She hesitated. Glanced at Jules. Felt the heat in her cheeks. The quiet, steady weight of Oscar’s arm. “Stay,” she said, a little breathless. “Just… not for too long.”

He nodded. “Anything you want.”

And when she didn’t move away—just leaned a little closer—Oscar said nothing.

He just let her.

—

The main lounge was quieter now, the music a hum beneath the plush soundscape of low voices and clinking glass. Ana followed Oscar through the low-lit space, half a step behind. Her cheeks felt hot. Her body didn’t quite feel like hers—like she was wearing it, not living in it. Not in a bad way. Just… distant. Soft at the edges.

Oscar slid into a curved booth tucked near the back, deep velvet cushions and a low, glossy table between them and the rest of the club. He leaned back, easy and unbothered, then looked up at her.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded. Then added, “I think so.”

His eyes searched hers for a beat, then he shifted slightly, spreading his thighs and patting the space between them. “C’mere.”

Ana hesitated. Just for a second. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t coax or press. Just left the offer open, patient.

When she moved, it was slow. Careful. Her knees found the booth, her drink was set aside. She slid into his lap, thighs bracketing his, back to his chest. The moment she settled, his hands stayed low—one resting on her hip, the other ghosting a line down her arm.

“Okay?” he asked again, quieter this time. Close to her ear.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

His touch stayed gentle. Just the slow drag of his fingertips up and down her bare arm, soothing and repetitive. His body was solid beneath hers—warm and still and just there. Anchoring. He smelled like clean cotton and something sharp-edged and masculine. Expensive but understated.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. Just let the silence stretch between them until Ana felt her shoulders start to drop, her breath evening out.

Then, his voice low, “Favourite colour?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Just making conversation.” His thumb traced the inside of her elbow, light and aimless. “Mine’s grey. Not the boring kind. Like—storm clouds before it rains.”

Ana let out a soft breath. “Oh.”

He chuckled. “Hm. I suppose it’s still a boring answer, isn’t it?”

She smiled without meaning to. “A little.” She murmured. 

“Yours?” he asked.

“Mm… green, I think.”

Oscar hummed. “Good pick. Like forest, or neon?”

“Like—moss. The soft kind. Smells good, as well.”

“Never heard of a colour smelling good, but I’ll take your word for it.” He said. 

She laughed again. Quieter. Her head tilted back slightly, resting against his shoulder. He didn’t move—just kept tracing gentle lines over her arm, her hip, her ribs. 

He asked more questions, each one simple and slow. Favourite smell. Favourite album. Last dream she could remember. They weren’t anything deep or even important, but they were steady. Tethering. And at some point, Ana felt herself ease back into her body.

At some point, she realised she wasn’t flushed anymore.

She was just… present.

Oscar shifted slightly, his lips close to her ear. “There she is.”

Ana’s breath caught.

She blinked. “That was… weird.”

“What was?”

“I was still here,” she said slowly, “but also… not. It was like I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, but not in a scary way.”

Oscar didn’t answer, just waited.

She let her fingers curl in the fabric of his sleeve. “It felt like—” she hesitated, heart thudding hard, “—I don’t know how to say it. But it wasn’t bad.”

Oscar didn’t flinch. Didn’t press. Just adjusted his grip on her, steady and quiet, like he was holding her in the moment without asking her to explain it.

Ana swallowed hard. Her breath felt too big in her chest.

It had felt good. Too good. Like falling backward into a pool of warm velvet. Like nothing mattered except the feeling.

And in the back of her mind, uninvited but sharp, came the memory of being fifteen and high for the first time. Before it got dark. Before it got dangerous. When it had just felt like freedom.

This wasn’t the same.

But it rhymed. It had the same rhythm. 

She turned her face, cheek brushing his collarbone. “That’s not weird?”

“No,” Oscar said simply. “That was a lot, for a newbie.” He gave her a little squeeze, and she pursed her lips and glanced down. “Just means your brain took a breath. Let go a little. I thought you might, but I wasn’t sure.” 

She pulled in a shaky inhale. “And you’re… okay with that?”

His voice stayed low. “Ana. You think I’m judging you?”

She shook her head. 

Oscar reached a hand up to brush a stray tendril of hair out of her face. “Good.”

And Ana, warm and a little weightless, let her head rest against his chest.

She didn’t say anything else for a while. But she didn’t move.

And when Oscar’s hand resumed its slow pass along her arm, she let it.

—

The Wolff family room was dark and cozy, lit only by the TV glow and a small amber lamp by the bookshelf. Jules was curled up on the rug in a huge cotton t-shirt and Ana was sunk deep into the corner of the couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. 

Jules had been quiet for almost a full minute. “Okay. I waited. I gave you space. But Ana, that was Oscar Piastri.”

Ana blinked, too slow to hide the flicker of emotion in her eyes. “I know.”

Jules sat bolt upright. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I—” Ana hesitated. “Yeah. I knew who he was the second I saw him, obviously. I think it’d be rarer for people not to recognise him.”

Jules gaped. “You met Oscar Piastri in a sex club and decided not to bring up that you’re Toto Wolff’s daughter?” 

“He didn’t recognise me,” Ana said quietly. “Not at all. I mean—maybe I looked  a little familiar, but he didn’t place me.”

Jules narrowed her eyes. “And you didn’t want him to?”

“I didn’t want to break it.” Her voice was softer now. “The normalcy. He didn’t know, Jules. About the drugs or the breakdowns or—or who my dad is. I was just… Anneliese. Just… me.”

Jules didn’t say anything for a beat. Then she exhaled slowly. “Okay. Shit. Yeah. That’s—I don’t want to like, tell you that it’s okay to keep that from him. But it makes sense that you’d want to.”

Ana glanced down at her mug. “I know it’s bad.” 

Jules nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “He was nice to you?”

Ana blinked. “Yeah. He was so nice. Like… gentle and sweet but—bossy, at the same time. He kept asking if it was okay before touching me.”

Jules’ eyes glinted. “That’s pretty normal, but I’m glad it made you feel good.”

Ana huffed out a laugh.

“But wait—wait. You watched a whole-ass scene with him, you sat in his lap, and you’re telling me he never once said, ‘Hey, aren’t you Anneliese Wolff, the face of a Saint Laurent campaign and two Vogue covers’?”

“No,” Ana said. She was biting her lip now. “Maybe he just doesn’t keep up with that stuff, you know? Not everyone does, and that campaign, those covers… that was years ago. If he had recognised me, it wouldn’t have been from anything good like that.” 

Jules sat back, processing. “So… what now?”

Ana shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. He asked for my number. I gave it to him.”

Jules grinned. “You did?”

“Yeah. And that’s all I want to think about right now.”

Jules scooted closer and bumped Ana’s knee with hers. “You were so cool, by the way. I kept looking over, thinking, there she is. My best friend. The bravest person in the world.”

Ana’s throat tightened. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of the stuff I did tonight if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’ll always be there,” Jules said. “Whenever you need me to be.”

—

Jack’s little plastic suitcase was sprawled open on the bed, already half-full of soft clothes and toys. Ana folded his favourite hoodie—faded blue with a peeling lightning bolt on the front—and tucked it gently between his running shoes and a pair of pyjamas with tiny sharks on them.

“Do you want your red cap or the blue one?” she asked.

“Red,” Jack said immediately. “It makes me faster.”

Ana smiled, looping the cap through the handle of the suitcase. “Of course it does.”

Jack was buzzing with excitement. His hands kept fluttering—grabbing socks, zipping and unzipping compartments, rechecking the side pouch where he’d stashed a squashed packet of sour gummies and a tangle of charger cables. His cheeks were pink. He was talking a mile a minute.

“Daddy said I can sit in the garage. And Mummy said she’ll take me to see mister Lewis—oh, and guess what—”

Ana looked up from the suitcase, already bracing.

“—Nate is gonna be there,” Jack said, eyes wide. “Mummy told me.”

Her heart gave a soft, traitorous thud. “That’s great,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Jack beamed. “He said I could sit with him and we can play games.”

“Nice,” Ana said, quieter now. She reached for Jack’s toiletry bag and started tucking his things inside—his toothbrush, the strawberry toothpaste he liked, the little bottle of shampoo shaped like a spaceship.

It wasn’t news. She’d known her older brother would be there. The moment she’d heard Jack was going to Baku, she’d known. Her stomach had coiled around it for days. But hearing Jack say it out loud—Mummy told me—put a sharp edge on something that had already been too close to bleeding.

Because Nate still loved Jack. 

Ana swallowed and zipped the bag shut.

“Why aren’t you coming?” Jack asked, bouncing onto the bed beside her. 

She paused, her hand resting on the lid of the suitcase. “I can’t, little dragon,” she said softly.

“Why not?” He moaned. 

Ana didn’t answer right away. She reached for a folded pair of shorts that had fallen on the floor and gave herself a second to find the right words. “Because I don’t really want to be seen.” She said, with a lopsided smile. 

Jack looked up, brow furrowed. “But I see you. I see you right now!” He argued. 

Ana laughed a little. “I know.”

But it was different—even if Jack didn’t understand that yet. 

In Monaco, she’d slipped between the cracks. The press seemed to have made a communal decision to leave her alone. Nobody followed her on the streets. Nobody waited outside of her house with a camera and a microphone. 

But the second she stepped into a paddock again, she’d be headline news. 

And maybe she could handle that one day.

But not yet.

“Can you bring me back something?” she asked instead, smoothing Jack’s messy hair out of his face. 

He nodded eagerly. “A magnet for the fridge.” 

She smiled. “Perfect.”

He threw his arms around her in a sudden burst of affection. “I’ll miss you sooo much.”

Ana hugged him tightly. “I’ll miss you more.”

And when she zipped up the suitcase and handed it off to Susie at the front door, Ana stood in the hallway for a long moment after it closed. The house felt too quiet, like the stillness after a storm.

She thought of Jack’s joy. Of his uncomplicated love. 

"I waited. I fucking hoped. And you kept choosing the needle. The spectacle. There’s nothing left to wait for, Ana. I don’t care if you get a fucking sainthood. I was done with you then and I’m done with you now.

Ana turned away from the door and padded back inside, barefoot.

—

She hovered over the message for a while.

Not too casual. Not too over-the-top.

Just two words. 

Good luck.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

The little delivered checkmark popped up almost instantly.

Then there a pause.

And he send back a single red heart emoji. 

No words. No punctuation. No follow-up.

Ana stared at it for a beat too long. Her phone, still warm in her hand, suddenly felt heavier than it should.

Oh, she thought, chest tightening slightly. Right. Okay.

Maybe he didn’t want more. Maybe it had been just a moment in a gold-lit alcove. A club-specific thing. A once-only thing. Maybe sending him a message had been too much. Maybe she was too much.

Ana locked her phone and dropped it face-down on the table.

On the other side of the apartment, Jules poked her head out of the bathroom, balancing a water bottle on her hip and adjusting her ponytail. “You still up for sunset yoga?”

Ana stood, smoothing athletic dress down. “Yeah. Can I use your spare mat?”

She didn’t check the race weekend feed. 

She didn’t turn on the TV. 

She didn’t look at any of the photos her father had sent of Jack’s flight—her little dragon beaming under a Mercedes cap, waving from the plane steps, grinning with Susie in the lounge.

Because if she saw her little brother’s smile, she’d see herself. 

And if she saw herself, she’d remember what it felt like to be eight years old, curled up in her father’s lap at her first Grand Prix, headphones too big for her head, the roar of engines rattling through her chest, and the whole world opening up in front of her.

And she'd remember that girl is gone.

So instead, Ana went to yoga.

She breathed. She moved.

She tried to let the thoughts pass like the instructor said—like clouds. Fleeting. Light.

But some clouds sit heavy in your chest.

And some goodbyes don’t come with closure.

They just sit there—unfinished. Quiet. Still breathing.

—

The meeting room had smelled like burnt coffee and carpet cleaner. Ana could still taste it at the back of her throat.

She took the long way home, hoodie pulled up even though it was too warm, headphones in but no music playing. Just something to fill the silence. To keep people out.

The streets here were quieter. Older. A few blocks from the edge of the harbour, tucked behind the glittering façade Monaco liked to show off. She knew them too well. Knew which walls still had her fingerprints pressed into the stone from nights she couldn’t remember.

She shouldn’t have come this way.

But her feet had taken her there before she noticed.

She was passing the old pharmacy when she saw him.

Lucas.

Still lanky. Still wolfish. Still leaning like the street belonged to him. He was talking to someone, laughing low. 

And then he looked up.

And saw her.

Ana froze. Breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.

Luca smiled—slow, wide. Recognition slid into place behind his eyes like a knife she knew too well. “Well, well,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her legs wanted to move. Run. Anything. But she didn’t.

Not yet.

“Didn’t think you were still around,” she managed.

He gave a shrug. “Business is business. You look good, Ana.”

The way he said her name made her stomach turn. Sweet and slick, dipped in memory. Her fingers twitched at her side. She could feel the ghost of old hunger in her jaw. “You clean?” he asked. Not cruel. Just curious. Like he was asking if she’d had lunch.

Ana didn’t answer.

He tilted his head. “You still staying with your dad up in the hills? Nice place. Thought I heard something about that.”

She swallowed. Hard.

“I don’t want anything,” she said. The words felt like gravel in her mouth.

Luca just smiled again. Not mocking. Not even smug. Just knowing. “Sure,” he said. He turned to go, already done, already bored. “You know where to find me.”

Ana didn’t move until he was gone. Didn’t breathe properly either.

And then she walked. Fast. Hard. Away from the street, away from the past, away from the raw ache behind her ribs.

She didn’t go home.

She didn’t call anyone.

She just walked until her legs shook, and her lungs burned, and the old want quieted down into something she could survive again.

Because this was her life now.

A life caught between two worlds — one she’d tried to leave behind, and one she wasn’t sure she could ever truly belong to. Always running. Always hiding. Always chasing a version of herself that didn’t exist. 

She thought about the shadows that followed her like ghosts — the cravings she’d tried to bury, the cravings that clawed back when she least expected them. The ache of wanting something so fierce it burned her up inside, even as she tried to push it away.

Ana clenched her fists in the pocket of her hoodie. She was tired. So tired.

She took a shaky breath and kept walking. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[keirareidss]

just saw the build a fic reblog could i get a 3G𓃱 with spencer reid pls pls??

ofc! here it is, hope you enjoy!

build a fic choices: ꒰ 3 ꒱ missionary, ꒰ G ꒱ leaving scratches on their back, ꒰ 𓃱 ꒱ a seedy motel room warnings: 18+ MDNI, kind of dom!spencer I guess, smut obviously, p in v wc: 0.8k

The team was in Colorado for another case. It was proving to be pretty easy so far but you had yet to catch the killer. There was one problem. The motel.

There were few rooms left so some of you had to double up. Which normally wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that you had to share a room with your co-worker, the one you'd been crushing on since you joined the team. Spencer Reid.

And as if it could get any worse, there was one queen bed in the middle of the room. You set your go bag on the desk in the corner with a sigh.

"Do you want to shower first?" You asked, turning to face Spencer. He looked insanely good, even under the warm yellow lighting of the motel.

"You go ahead." He murmured, settling right in the middle of the bed. The spread of his legs in front of him made you feel a wetness growing between your thighs. You sped into the bathroom, turning the faucet all the way to the cold side, hoping to shock the dirty thoughts from your system. Spoiler alert, it didn't work.

After an unexpectedly long shower, you exit, freshly washed and ready for a night of restless sleep filled with sex dreams about the man laying next to you. He's in the same position he was in when you left, sitting back against the headboard, glancing up at you now.

"Shower's open." You said awkwardly, stuffing your work clothes into your go bag. But Spencer doesn't get up. He watches you carefully from the bed, head tilting as you cross the room. "Are you going to shower?" You asked, glancing at him as you sat on the edge of the bed next to the nightstand, checking your phone.

"I think there's something else I'd rather do." He murmurs. You set your phone down, turning your attention to him with a confused expression. He holds his hand out to you and, when you hesitantly grab it, he yanks you across the bed so you're sprawled over his chest.

"Spence-"

"Shh. You know," He pulls you further up onto him. "I've seen you staring at me."

"What?" You ask breathlessly.

"I'm not stupid. I can see that little blush on your cheeks whenever I catch you looking." He chuckles when said blush starts heating your cheeks.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You try to push yourself off of him but he quickly flips the two of you over, him hovering over you as your hair splayed out over the pillow.

"Come on. You don't need to deny it." His hand slid down your side, finding the hem of your pajama shorts, fiddling with it teasingly. His hand slides past the fabric, slipping under your panties. You sucked in a breath the feel of his lithe fingers slipping past your folds. A soft moan slipped past your lips as your eyes closed.

"Look at me." He says, taking his fingers away. He pulls down your shorts, tossing them somewhere next to the bed. Stripping himself of his own pants, he reaches down, freeing his cock from his boxers.

Your eyes widen at the sight of it. Long and lean, veins running up the length of it. You reach out to trace one and he gasps.

"Please, Spence." His lets out a shuddery breath at the sound of your pleading. He slowly inserts himself inside you, further and further until he was bottomed out in your warmth.

"Shit... oh god." He cursed, resting his forehead against yours. He starts thrusting his hips as you yank at his shirt until he tugs it over his head.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as his hips move faster and sloppier. You let out a loud moan, your nails scratching down his back, leaving red marks that he would surely feel in the morning. He grunts, burying his face in your neck.

"I'm close, I'm close." He whines, skin slapping skin, his chest pressed to yours. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

You both moan in sync, the harmonizing noise sounding throughout the room, likely heard in every surrounding room. Your releases are simultaneous, Spencer's hips jerking as he coats your inside with his cum.

Spencer slumped on top of you, his cock softening inside your walls. You clench around him and he jolts, lifting his head to glare at you.

"Mean." He mumbles. Suddenly there's a banging on the wall behind your head and Derek's voice shouting through the wall.

"Are you two done fucking in there?! Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[lacedcompulsion]

SLOW LIKE HONEY

You're co-workers, you really should stay away from each other. But you can't.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

content tags & warnings: 18+, wc 7800+, smut, bau!reader, friends w benefits, situationship moment, smut ofc, yearning, angst, i think drinking but can't remember idk, small allusion to throwing up but not explicitly, death bc they work several cases but it's nothing more than what we see in the show pretty much, not rlly a case fic but it is an aspect of the story, idk what season this is around tbh

notes: hiii first post!! i had this up on ao3 originally w another pairing but reworked it for this yay ok i hope u enjoy and let me know what u think if u want i guess... no pressure... ok bye!

Spencer’s breath on your neck is hot and partly wet, a well-received pacification as you continue jerking lightly against his hips. He has one hand on your waist, rubbing soothing circles with the pad of his left thumb. The other rests on your throat, not gripping, just lingering. He uses the hand on your waist to tap lightly to remind you to roll over and off him. 

When your head nuzzles into the pillow next to his own, you just stare. It’s a justified sight; you think briefly that the laws of unrequited love are probably older than the laws of marriage. 

“You staying the night?” you ask, voice soft. You try to hide the longing within it, the disappointment should he say no. And he probably will say no — rule number one: no staying the night when avoidable. 

Spencer’s nose scrunches, fingers reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. His fingers twitch and you think, just for a moment, that he might reach out and brush your hair, too. 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” you agree, turning your gaze to the ceiling, sucking your bottom lip between previously gnashing teeth. 

Rule number two: no kissing outside of sex. It’s fine when he’s inside of you, you guys established. Not when you’re laying in bed, sweaty and breathing hard and outside of the haze caused by a mutual chase for relief.

You anticipate the weight beside you lifting, the cold air rushing into the bed, the pit in your stomach stretching and widening until you think it might swallow her whole.

What comes in lieu is Spencer’s hand resting on your waist. You almost protest — what about our rules? 

Instead, you slip your tongue back behind your teeth and watch the fan circle, circle.

Rule number three: no lying. 

When you wake three hours later, Spencer is gone. 

✶ 

There are four dead women in Texas — strangled, asphyxiated. You know it will be a long case; the marks adorning the women’s bodies and the lack of posing them speak to a textbook sadist. The bodies stuffed in the forest, that total destruction of evidence, indicate an intelligent one. You breathe in a sigh as you watch Spencer’s fingers flip through the pages of his tan file.

“Guess we’re heading to Texarkana,” Morgan says beside you.

Your stomach turns. This job never gets easier.

What does, though, are Spencer’s eyes on you. The softness rushes through you the same way it did when you first shook hands, but it’s grown more comfortable. Steadier.

The turbulence isn’t bad, but it’s enough to jolt Spencer’s coffee, sending a few drops onto the file spread across his lap. He curses softly — which still sounds wrong coming from him — blotting at the papers with a napkin. Across the aisle, you watch him out of the corner of your eye, a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

“Careful, Spence,” Morgan teases from the row behind, leaning forward. “We don’t need you short-circuiting before we even land.”

Spencer mutters something about the statistical improbability of turbulence causing major spills, but you try your hardest to tune it out. You shift your focus back to the folder in your hands and work yourself to think. To work. It’s what you’re here for. You’re not here for Spencer.

Still, his idle hands fidgeting with the dirty napkin tug at your very carefully placed focus. You think of the unsub, instead. He’s precise, methodical, angry. You can feel it in the patterns carved into the victims' skin, in the sheer rage of the injuries.

JJ’s voice cuts through the hum of the engines as she adjusts herself in the leather couch across from where you’re sitting. “Victimology suggests a personal vendetta. Both women have ties to the same gym, but nothing beyond that yet.”

“So we’re looking at someone in the orbit of their personal lives,” Rossi says, flipping through his own file.

“Or someone who thinks they are,” Hotch replies from his seat at the front, voice grim as always. 

You lean back, head against the headrest. Your fingers tighten around the folder. It’s not the first time you’ve flown into a city chasing a ghost, and it won’t be the last.

You glance up. Spencer’s eyes meet yours for a fraction longer than necessary.

It’s not a comfort you allow yourself to acknowledge often, but here, in the warmth of the plane, it feels as inevitable as the sunrise. Something constant, even when you’re on your way to prevent something that’s already unraveling. 

✶ 

Their rooms are right next to each other, and you watch Spencer disappear behind the door without sparing you a glance. Your feet itch to walk over, but it’s late, and everyone’s all tired, and nothing that bears any resemblance to normal feels moral when you have dead bodies on your hands. You tuck one leg beneath you and lay the contents of the file across your bed, organized in a way only you can tell. 

Right before you turn out the light, you hear a knock breaking through the barrier of the wall behind you.

You smile, raise a knuckle to the space above your headboard, and knock back.

✶ 

The precinct is quiet now, save for the faint buzz of dated fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of an officer passing by. The case is closed. The unsub — calm, articulate and utterly devoid of remorse — is in custody. His confession was delivered with an eerie precision that still crawls under your skin.

You stand by the evidence board, absently peeling tape from the corners of a photo. The faces of the victims stare back at you, lives now reduced to a few lines of text and grainy images. You pick up an eraser before exhaling slowly, fingers stilling as you hear footsteps behind you. 

Spencer appears at your side, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He offers the latter without a word, eyes soft in a way that you've come to understand means he sees more than he lets on.

You accept the water, twisting the cap open but not drinking. You say nothing about how he remembers that you don’t drink coffee past mid-afternoon. “We don’t leave till morning. You should go back to the hotel. You’ve been running on fumes.”

Spencer tilts his head just enough that no one should notice — you shouldn’t notice — and a faint smile plays at his lips. “Funny. I was just about to say the same to you.”

“Right.” You gesture with a nod of your head toward the now-empty chairs around the conference table. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? The quiet, after everything.”

Spencer nods, gaze drifting to the board. “Yeah. It always does.” His voice at the edge of his sentence lifts up and you wait for him to continue. He licks his lips and it puts an idea in your head that shouldn’t be there. Still, it persists. “You don’t have to feel so guilty about the ones we didn’t save, I hope you know. There’s nothing you could have done differently.”

You want to deflect, to make some dry comment and move on, but his eyes hold you there.

“I’m fine,” you say eventually. It sounds hollow even to your own ears.

Spencer shifts on his feet and inches closer, just close enough that anyone abruptly walking in wouldn’t force you to jump away. “I will head back to the hotel,” he says finally. “But only if you come with me.”

Like a dog, you trail behind him, tossing the eraser back on the table and ignoring how it rolls backwards until it clatters with a quiet clap on the ground. 

✶ 

“Missed this,” Spencer murmurs, hand lazily running up your leg. He’s kneeled before you, hands on each of your thighs, pushing, spreading.

“This?” you prod. He blows softly between your legs, and you can feel him waiting for you to react. You oblige, fluttering your eyelids, falling backward on the mattress until the sterile, off-white duvet catches you. 

“You know what I mean,” he whispers, parting your legs further like a peace offering.

You’re not sure you do. 

Still, you tilt your head back and use a white-knuckle grip to grab at his hair and convey the things you can’t bring yourself to say by way of word.

✶ 

“Have you noticed you use present tense when speaking about the victims?” you ask once they’ve finished.

He pauses, gaze locking with yours. “Sometimes I… I feel like if we speak as if they’re still ours, still here, we can convince ourselves it’s true. It makes this all a little easier.”

His voice is soft, almost breaking in speech, and his meaning hangs between the two of you, undeniable.

“I can’t stop thinking about the timeline,” you say. “There’s something off. If the suspect left the second location at 8:15, they wouldn’t have made it across town in time to—”

✶ 

You guys go without a case for a month, which should feel like a good thing. It is a good thing. The less bodies out there the better.

You’re nursing a scotch at the bar — you don’t even like scotch, you just felt the need for something strong — and ignore the burning in your lower stomach, the ache between your legs. You sit and sip until the leather stool breathes enough courage into you for you to get up and walk out. 

It’s been a month without the feeling of him rolling into you, writhing beneath him, legs twisting, hips turning, only one name chosen to slip past your lips — all reasons why you don’t even make it to Spencer’s bedroom when you show up at his door unexpectedly.

“How’d you find your way here?” he asks, two fingers rubbing circles on your clit. 

“The b-bar,” you say, hands clutching at his biceps. “Was there, but I left,” you add in a hazy rush.

“Good girl,” he says, then rewards you by slipping two fingers inside. 

It takes him two more minutes before he’s pulling his belt off, slipping himself inside of you, and says: “I needed this.” 

(You don’t get caught up on how he said this. You definitely don’t pretend he said you as you were coming.)

You clear his throat when you both finish, shifting away and pulling a blanket over yourself like you’re trying to make yourself smaller on the opposite end of the couch. You get like this some of the time. Distant. Afraid. 

The space between him and you feels wide, even though you can still feel the phantom weight of Spencer against your skin; the wetness of his saliva still resides on your lower lip, sticky and welcome as honey. 

“I should go,” you say finally, tight.

Spencer doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move. “If you want.”

You flinch, but recover quick enough to grab your clothes off the floor. The silence between you stretches, unbearably so. You press your palms into your thighs, digging your nails into your skin, grounding yourself against the ache clawing its way up your throat.

When you stand you smooth down your clothes with trembling hands. 

“I…” you start, but the words die in your throat. You think you could write an empty book full of things unsaid. 

When he finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours, raw and unguarded, neither of you speak. You wait for him to say your name, to place an open palm on the cushion next to his and ask you to stay. Instead, there’s an untraceable, undefinable look in his eyes that you can’t distinguish from indifference. 

So you turn, footsteps deafening as you walk away. Spencer doesn’t call after you. He stays rooted as the door swings shut.  

The scent of him clings to your clothes like decay settling over a room harboring a dead body.

✶ 

You guys get over it within four days, like you always do. 

You’re both on top of the covers, shoes off but shields up, watching some nothing-show flicker across the TV screen like it has something to say. It doesn’t. Neither do you. Not at first.

Spencer’s got his fingers folded under his chin like he’s solving the world again. You wonder if you’re the problem this time.

“You always do that,” you say, voice low like a dare.

He doesn’t look at you. “Do what.”

“That thing. Where you think so loud I can hear the math happening.”

His mouth tilts, barely. “Sorry. Didn’t realize thinking was disruptive.”

“It is,” you shoot back. “When I’m trying not to.”

That gets his attention. His eyes flick over, sharp and unreadable in a way that makes you want to say something reckless.

“You could always leave,” he says, not unkindly, but with some kind of challenge stitched into it.

You shift onto your side, face to his, a breath apart now. “If I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be stealing half your pillow.”

He doesn’t answer for a beat. Maybe two. Then: “You always do that.”

You raise a brow. “What.”

“Make it sound like we’re not one wrong breath from kissing.”

There's silence after that. But not the safe kind.

You smirk — because it’s easier than feeling things. “Guess we’re both good at pretending.”

He swallows. Says nothing. The space between you gets smaller in that strange, invisible way where bodies don’t move but everything else does.

On the TV, the fake people keep laughing. You wonder what it’d take to join them.

✶ 

You don’t have a TV in your room, so when the two of you finally catch your breath again, the room is filled with nothing but static silence. The kind that creeps in under the door and settles on your chest like it paid for the room.

You’re sitting up, knees drawn to your chest like armor, picking at the seam of your old blanket like it wronged you. Like if you unravel enough knots, you’ll find the part of yourself that didn’t start caring. Spencer’s still lying back, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it has answers you don’t. Like it ever did.

“You weren’t supposed to stay,” you say, tone razor-light. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t matter. Except it does, and he does, and the air between you feels like it’s holding its breath.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

You snort. “I’m not. I’m keeping boundaries.”

Your voice is too steady. You hate that it’s too steady. It betrays nothing, and that’s the problem.

“Oh, right. The imaginary fence around your feelings.” He says it flat, like a fact, but there’s that flicker — barely a crack — in his voice, and it lands heavier than he thinks it does.

You turn, slow, eyes sharp. “Don't psychoanalyze me just because you're losing your grip on casual.”

His jaw tightens. You watch it happen. Watch him go from soft to steel in half a second. “You think this is me losing grip?” He’s not loud. That’s the thing. He never needs to be.

You don’t answer. You pull the blanket tighter, even though you’re not cold. Your hands won’t stop moving — tucking, smoothing, anything to keep from reaching for him.

“You said no spending the night,” you murmur. “You said that. You’re the one who made that rule, not me.”

You’re trying not to sound like a little kid pointing fingers, pointing out a broken rule, but it’s there, the crack in your throat. You feel it more than you hear it.

“I did. And then you fell asleep on my arm and I—” he exhales, bitter-soft, “—didn’t feel like being alone. Sue me.”

It’s the first time he’s sounded tired. Not work-tired. Not jet-lag-tired. Real-tired.

“You should’ve left.” It comes out too fast, too loud. You regret it instantly. You want to shove the words back in your mouth and stitch your lips shut. You want to rewind five seconds and say please stay instead.

He sits up now, finally, finally meeting your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s crowded. With everything you’ve left unsaid since the first night, the third night, the one where he kissed your wrist like it meant something.

You clench your jaw. Mean is dangerous. Mean is everything you’re trying not to be.

Once you start meaning things, it stops being safe.

“I mean,” you start, voice quieter now, threadbare, “that I can’t keep waking up next to you and pretending it’s not ruining me a little.”

You don’t look at him when you say it. You look at your hands. The blanket. The space between your knees. Anything but his face.

And there it is. Your little apocalypse, out loud.

Spencer blinks, slow. Like he’s trying to rewind it, parse it, file it under Things To Analyze Later. But he just nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll go.”

The words fall like bricks. No heat. No argument. Just resignation, folded neatly like one of his pressed work shirts.

He stands, grabs his coat from the chair, movements stiff like they’re too careful. Like if he moves too fast, he’ll shatter. You don’t stop him.

But you don’t look away, either. You make yourself watch. Like penance.

The door clicks behind him like punctuation. Not a period. Not quite. Maybe a semicolon.

And you lie back, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to explain how you got here.

It doesn’t.

✶ 

The chill of mid-November isn’t much to speak of in Tallahassee, but the air feels heavy nonetheless. It’s bone dry and still in the cramped precinct, but you’re used to this — the unrelenting silence that builds until it threatens to rupture. The walls are yellowed with age, the lights too bright for such a small space. It smells faintly of burnt coffee and paper left too long in damp drawers. 

You stand at the center of it all, the evidence spread across the table in front of you, photographs and crime scene reports arranged with surgical precision. Hotch’s doing. 

You’re deliberate in your movements, every action honed to keep your mind focused on the case rather than the ache lodged under your ribs.

“Two couples, three weeks,” Hotch begins, more a reiteration to himself than anything.“No apparent connection between the victims beyond the methodology. He’s escalating.”

“Look at the posing,” Spencer says, coming around from the other side of the table to slightly rearrange the photos. “It’s too deliberate. Too symmetrical. This isn’t just about killing. It’s like he’s… creating something. A tableau, maybe.”

Rossi shakes his head. “Could just be obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Order for order’s sake.” Spencer hums in distant deliberation as he sets up a geographical profile on the room’s opposing board. 

You’re not so sure Rossi’s right, but seniority rules. You turn your attention back to the board, adding another photo to the cluster.

Across the room, Spencer hovers near the whiteboard, arms crossed. You’ve barely spoken since you all arrived. You feel the weight of him pulling at your attention despite yourself. You feel too aware of how fragile everything feels.

✶ 

Later that evening, Spencer finds you in one of the precinct’s side offices. The room is dimly lit, the blinds half-drawn, casting striped shadows across the desk where you sit, scrolling through files on your laptop. You feel him hesitating in the doorway.

“You’re avoiding me,” Spencer says.

“You’re not exactly making yourself easy to approach,” you say without looking up, voice flat.

Later that evening, Spencer finds you in one of the precinct’s side offices. The room is dimly lit, the blinds half-drawn, casting striped shadows across the desk where you sit, scrolling through files on your laptop. The screen’s glow makes your face look washed out, otherworldly. Like something pulled from a memory instead of a moment. You feel him hesitating in the doorway.

“You’re avoiding me,” Spencer says.

“You’re not exactly making yourself easy to approach,” you say without looking up, voice flat.

“I wasn’t trying to make it hard,” he says finally, stepping inside like the floor might give out. “I just didn’t want to make it worse.”

You click your pen twice, too fast, like the notes you’re absentmindedly writing matter more than what he’s saying. It doesn’t. But you need something to touch, something to do. “Well,” you mutter, “congrats on that front.”

His breath catches. Just a little. Enough to register.

He walks further in, careful steps over scuffed linoleum, until he’s standing across from you. Not close, not far. Neutral territory. “I didn’t mean to stay that night. Or the time before that. I mean — I meant to leave. I just…”

He trails off. Looks away. Picks at a hangnail like it might distract him from how vulnerable he sounds. “It didn’t feel like a rule anymore. It felt like a punishment.”

You stop scrolling. Not because of what he said — though that hits somewhere low and raw — but because you’re tired. Tired of parsing every glance, every touch, every maybe.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t have made rules at all,” you say. “Maybe we should’ve just let this thing crash and burn from the beginning instead of dragging it out like a slow-motion car wreck.”

Spencer leans against the edge of the desk. His hands hover near yours but don’t touch. Like he’s asking without asking.

“I don’t want it to crash,” he says. Quiet. Steady. “I just didn’t know how to keep it from doing that without breaking something else in the process.”

You finally look up. Meet his eyes. They’re soft and stormy and apologizing in ways his words haven’t gotten to yet.

“You hurt me,” you say. It’s not meant to be an accusation, nor a weapon. Just the truth.

“I know,” he says, and he means it. “I hurt myself, too.”

You blink. Slow. The words don’t fix anything, but they peel the edge off the tension.

“So what now?” you ask.

Spencer shrugs, but it’s the careful kind. The kind that doesn’t want to shake the fragile thing between you. “I stay. Or I go. Your call.”

You scan his face like you’re trying to read a foreign language you only half-remember. But the burn’s still there. Under your ribs. In your throat. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, softer now, but not gentler. “It’s always almost. Always something you almost say, or almost feel, or almost admit.”

He looks down at the floor like it might offer him a script. It doesn’t.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he says.

“You didn’t come here to fix anything either.”

That one lands. You see it in the way his hands stiffen at his sides, in the way he doesn’t argue.

You glance back at your notes. Eyes unfocused.. “You should go,” you whisper. 

He lingers like he might say something. Might reach out. 

This time, he leaves without closing the door. 

✶ 

Your feet carry you past your own room and straight to Spencer’s once you step into the hotel. It feels like second nature, the way your hand reaches for something you can’t have but can’t get enough of. 

You guys don’t do this — fuck during cases. It’s always after. It has to be after, or else what are they doing? Trading in humanity for a fire that’s always sure to cease once the moment passes?

He doesn’t answer at the first knock, so you just knock harder. It’s a threat: open up or let everyone see me standing here at your door. Spencer chooses the former.

“May I help you?” Spencer says, and it’s a half-joke, but you hear the hesitancy. His eyes dart around the hallway like this is a trap.

“Actually, I was thinking I could help you.” 

There’s a brief moment where a spark filters through his eyes. It’s gone just before you can decipher whether it’s real or not. In its replacement, the door cracks open not even an inch, maybe a centimeter. 

You take it for what she wants it to be. You step in and kiss him hard, rough, like you want to bite him. You almost do. Spencer breathes back into you, hands still at your sides before coming up to pull you in closer.

He pushes your back against the door in what you take to be a feeble attempt at reclaiming power. Instead of letting him have it, you pull his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, kissing as you descend down his body.

“I’m sorry,” you say, then place a kiss above his navel. “I’m sorry.” Another below it. “I’m so sorry.” 

Spencer sucks in a breath after the placement of the next.

✶ 

“Tell me you don’t want me,” Spencer whispers, so low you almost lose it in the sound of your meshed bodies. You’re on top of him, rolling your hips against his like you might die without this — without him.

“What?”

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he repeats, nails digging into your skin. 

Your stomach turns. It feels brittle and hard as you roll the thought of it around your mouth. You distance yourself when you let the words escape you, so far out of your own body you barely notice Spencer coming beneath you.

✶ 

Spencer winds up being right about the story aspect of the case. The killer had dropped out of college years prior, ditching his creative writing major for a subordinate position in his dad’s construction company. The need for a creative outlet came out in a less than favorable way.

You pat his shoulder on the plane, tell him he did a good job. He squeezes your shoulder before choosing the seat across from you. You glance around. No one saw. 

There’s a fluttering in your stomach you don’t want to call butterflies, so you think of them as dull, brown moths.

✶ 

December bleeds slowly as it reaches the end of the month, and Strauss approves a winter break of some sort. One week off, but they have to do a certain amount of file work while at home. Everyone takes what they can get.  

Morgan speaks with pride about the trip he’s taking to New York City — of the liquor and the women. Emily raises an eyebrow and jokes that he’s just looking for trouble. Spencer, predictably, launches into a tangent about holiday traditions around the world, but no one interrupts him. You’ve noticed the others think it’s endearing when he rambles.

You’re quiet, but do your best to not seem unhappy. You sit beside Spencer in the round table room as the team winds down. Your elbows bump occasionally, but neither of you moves to shift away. 

As goodbyes are exchanged, Spencer lingers. His steps are measured, slow, as they both head toward the exit. The cold air waits for them outside, visible through the frosted glass of the door. He hesitates, hand stilling on the strap of his bag.

“You’ve got plans?” she asks, breaking the quiet between them.

He shrugs.

“Come on, share,” you say, but you’re not sure why you’re prying. Not sure you want the answer.

“I’m going to Las Vegas,” he says, then swallows hard. “I’m visiting my mother.”

You make a noise akin to ah, nodding. It’s a good thing, truly. You’ve only met his mom once but instantly loved her, the way she complimented your taste in literature and the smell of your perfume. 

“Tell her I say hi?” 

He nods. “What about you?” 

“Just me and eggnog,” you reply, your tone light, though it falters slightly at the end. “Maybe a movie marathon if I get through the paperwork.”

Spencer laughs gently, the sound brief but warm, like a candle flickering. He shifts on his feet, his eyes tracing the edge of the door before finding yours again.

“Well,” he says, volume dipping into something quieter, more deliberate. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Yeah,” you reply, but you don’t move. The door feels like an end, more final than it should. It’s just a week, you tell yourself, and wills it to comfort you.

Spencer turns toward it, pulling it open just enough to let the cold seep in. She steps halfway through before pausing. He glances back over his shoulder, the light catching in his eyes, and he looks at you like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it.

“I’ll see you,” he repeats..

“Yeah.”.

And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You stand there a moment longer before exhaling and pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, then stepping into the cold.

The wind stings your cheeks, but you hardly notice. Something about his words linger loosely long after you’ve begun the drive home.

✶ 

When you rustle around your sheets that night, tossing and turning, you can only find refuge in the movement of your own wrist against you, fingers slipping in and out, in and out. 

“I see you,” you whisper to the empty room. 

When you shut your eyes, you do. Brown hair, hazel eyes and all.

✶ 

There’s a knock at your door. Three short, then one after a beat — like whoever’s on the other side changed their mind halfway through.

You open it and there he is, shoulders dusted in snow like some ghost from a poem. Collar turned up, curls damp, cheeks pink from wind or nerves or both. You blink once, slow, like your brain needs a second to load him.

“I thought you had a flight,” you say, not moving.

“I missed it,” Spencer replies, like that explains anything. Like that doesn’t set your pulse lurching.

You lean against the frame. Not letting him in. Not sending him away either. “Accidentally?”

He huffs a laugh, breath clouding between you. “Only in the sense that I bought the ticket knowing I wouldn’t get on the plane.”

You glance past him — at the streetlight flickering like it’s shivering, at the snow piling quiet and soft on the railing. The air smells like cold metal and unfinished conversations.

“You came all this way just to stand on my porch and be cryptic?” you ask, but your voice gives too much away. It’s not teasing. It’s something slower, more dangerous. Want, laced in denial.

“My mom’s not doing well. I was kidding myself. She—” He looks down, then up again, eyes impossibly warm under all that winter. “She called and told me not to come.

You shift. Bare feet cold on the tile. The heat behind you spilling into the threshold, painting his skin gold.

“Spence—” you start, but the sentence falls apart in your mouth. He’s looking at you like you’re a solution he just solved too late.

“I’m not asking to come in—” 

“Come in,” you say, swinging the door open perhaps a little too fast. 

He brushes past you but pauses when you’re just an inch apart. He pulls his purple scarf off his shoulders, apologizes softly when snow falls to your floor, melting instantly against the heat.

You tell him it’s fine, lifting a hand to his cheek. Then, quieter: “You’re freezing.”

He smiles, small and wrecked. “Yeah.”

You don’t move, but the distance is shrinking anyway, second by second, breath by breath.

“I missed you,” he says, like it’s the first true thing he’s said in weeks. Maybe months.

And something in you thaws, just slightly. Not much, but enough to say enough to say I know and mean it.

When he kisses you, it feels like he means it.

✶ 

He doesn’t stay the night under the guise of paperwork. You know what he really means. He doesn’t text the next day, or the day after that, and for some reason this whole break feels like a complete waste if you’re not with him. 

On the sixth day, you snap. Your chest is burning, hot and cold all at once. You pick up your phone and type a message to him, fingers trembling.

Are you even thinking about me at all? 

The reply comes swiftly: You know I am. After twelve seconds, he clarifies he’s having dinner with a couple friends from college who are in town. You don’t have the dignity to ignore it. 

He picks up on the second to last ring. 

“I’m at a restaurant.”

“I know.” You didn’t have any words planned. So, you say: “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“I’m in public.” 

“You’re in the bathroom,” you correct. The running sink — which you know is on to hush the sound of your call — audible on the other end of the phone proves your point.

“I was thinking about…” his voice trails off. You can hear him fight it. You will him to lose. “That first time. After that case in—”

“Alabama,” you finish, then slip a hand under the waistband of your yoga pants.

It dissolves into hushed whispers, soft moans, and a slick mess between your thighs. Your back is lifting off the cushion, head pressing hard into the arm of the couch. 

“Tell me you love me,” you hear, and don’t register it’s you saying it until silence lolls on the other side of the phone. “Tell me,” you repeat, destined to what you hadn’t meant to say, dropping your volume to a whisper.

He says your name like a warning he’s not sure he wants to call.

“It’s not commitment, Spence,” you plead. “I won’t hold it over your head.”

A few more beats of silence, and you glance at the phone resting atop your knee to see if he had hung up. He hadn’t. You contemplate hanging up yourself. 

“I love you.” The words come like the burst of flowers in mid-April. You wave between believing him and recognizing that part of his job is lying. Your fingers roll quicker inside of yourself all the same. 

When he repeats it a second time, you come with tears pooling in the dips of your collarbones.

✶ 

Spencer doesn’t text or call you when he gets back home. That familiar pit slides itself open in your gut. You’re not owed anything, you know this. The pit storms down self-poisoning pellets regardless. 

When you see him in the office, Spencer’s some kind of distant, eyes glossed over, devoid of anything you would be able to pick apart. You’re left to analyze the sudden shutout instead. 

It wouldn’t be odd to swing by and catch him by the coffee station, you are friends after all. Still, your arrangement leaves you paranoid and anxious and unsure of how to conduct yourself. 

It’s outside the bathroom where you catch him three hours later, shaking his slightly damp hands as you walk by.

“Hey,” you say, a little too rushed, and you refrain from wincing. “How was your vacation?” It sounds fake even with all you practiced under your breath sitting at your desk, so you compensate by trying hard to not let it show on your face.

“It was good,” comes Spencer’s reply, before he slides past you and steps in the direction of the bullpen. 

“Just good?” you ask. Spencer eyes a person rounding the hallway and into the space you’re both occupying, and you follow his line of sight. 

“Mhm.”

“Okay,” you say with a nod, then grab his forearm to drag him farther away from the restroom and into the stairwell. There’s minimal protest on his end, likely to save face, but you take it anyway. 

Once you’re inside, you drop your voice to a whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything, call when you got back?”

“I got busy.”

“That’s- that’s a lie,” you huff out. “Please. Please answer.”

He gnaws on your lip like it's a final meal. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not an answer,” you breathe out, on the brink of exasperated laughter. You drop his shoulders as you soften your tone and add: “Don’t be sorry.”

“This is killing me,” he whispers back. “It’s killing me. I—” He cuts himself off, brows furrowing in what looks like distress. “I’m always thinking about you.”

That’s not what he wanted to say, you realize. That’s not what he was going to say. The thought of the alternative words leaving his mouth curdles in your stomach, rises in the form of bile to your throat. 

Someone walks into the stairwell and carelessly pushes past you. You fix your posture while Spencer ducks his head and uses the distraction to walk away. Your mouth opens to say something, but you trade it in for silence. You’re not sure what you’re fighting for. 

You walk into the bathroom and throw up the contents of your stomach into the shiny white bowl. It feels like honey on its way up.

✶ 

“Two victims in the last week,” JJ says, passing them all a file before resting on the beige leather couch of the jet. “Both found in their homes, no signs of forced entry, and no evidence of sexual assault or robbery.” She sighs. “Just... gone.”

“They’re being strangled,” Spencer says. “But not with hands… some sort of ligature?”

JJ nods. “The medical examiner says it’s likely something soft, like a scarf or a tie.”

Hotch leans forward, voice calm and direct. “What do we know about the victims?”

“They’re all married women,” Spencer says, voice low as he flips through the beige file. “Late thirties to early forties, no kids, and their spouses were out of town when the murders occurred. The killer left no note, no message.” He glances up. “Like JJ said, it’s like he just wanted them gone.”

Spencer’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, but you catch it.

“Could be someone they knew,” Morgan says, his tone contemplative. “If there’s no sign of a break-in, they let the killer in willingly. Someone they trusted.”

“Someone they trusted but didn’t suspect,” you murmur. 

Spencer glances down at you, and your eyes meet for the briefest moment before he looks away. 

✶ 

Your hotel room stays dark. The file lay unopened on your desk. There’s a mini fridge you stare at, like even the presence of unsipped alcohol might just do the trick. You hate that he’s letting this impact your job, which doesn’t stop you from doing so. 

With your back against the mattress, you raise a fist, then knock against the yellow wall. 

No one knocks back.

✶ 

Emily cracks the case — a woman, she realizes, when it all feels too much like jealousy. The unsub, a thirty-something woman named Victoria Ackers, doesn’t put up much of a fight when Morgan kicks down her front door.

“It should’ve been me,” Victoria wails when you put her in cuffs. “How come they got to be loved, and I didn’t?”

You rarely sympathize with the people you lock up. This isn’t an exception.

Still, you place Victoria in loose cuffs, and when it comes to closing the door of the cop car, you close it softly.

✶ 

You go home alone and wait until three. Spencer doesn’t come.

When you finally lie in bed, it feels like a grave. 

✶ 

You’re running on three weeks of sleep deprivation when you decide to approach him. It’s long after work is supposed to be over, and the only person left in the office beside them is Hotch, who can barely be seen through the pile of paperwork adorning his desk. 

Spencer has concerned himself in an online debate forum on the overuse of arguing against the cosmological argument in atheist literature to notice you slipping into his view, pulling Morgan’s chair around to sit in it.

“Hey,” you speak first. You wait for him to invite you into a conversation.

“Hi,” he says, moving his mouse away from his hand. 

“I figured we should…”

“Talk?” Spencer guesses.

“Talk, yeah.” You bite your lip. 

“I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

“But you did.” The words have little bite in them. 

“I’m—”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“I want to.” A beat passes. You allow it. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you say after several long seconds. You surprise yourself with the sureness behind the meaning of it.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

You don't respond. You watch his shoulders drop. “Oh.”

“It’s okay,” you assure. “This… isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” Your eyes stall a moment too long on the team photo atop his desk, the only photo he has up. Like it’s instinctive, Spencer fiddles with a file on his desk.

“So… it’s just over.” 

You don’t have anything to say — he hadn’t posed it as a question. You’re not sure where you’re going when you stand, but you stand regardless. You pause as you shove things in your bag back at your desk. “I was lying, by the way,” you say. “In Tallahassee, when I said I didn’t want you.” 

You could stick around to see what Spencer has in response, but you don’t. It’ll hurt at the same rate, whatever it is. 

✶ 

It felt like finality, so you go to bed early. It isn’t an easy feat, and it feels nothing like winning. 

With your eyes shut, sleeping but not dreaming, you aren’t expecting the pounding sound that’s coming from your door, the intensity of it to jolt you awake. Too delirious from a lingering state of hypnagogia, you swing the door open without checking to see who it is first. Spencer stands there, soaked through his long-sleeved shirt. You weren’t even aware it was raining.

It happens fast, Spencer’s lips against yours. He kisses you the way you had kissed him back in Tallahassee, rough and cleaving you open like a god that doesn’t belong. You don’t have to work hard to meet the same level of desire. 

“What are you doing?” you get out between kisses, stepping backward as you head to your room with Spencer still pulled close to you.

“Please don’t ask any questions right now.”

So you don’t. Instead, you let him strip you of your clothes, soothe your surprised body with a palm on the small of your back as he leads you to lie on the bed. 

“You’re freezing,” you mention. A droplet of water cascades down his hair and lands on your cheekbone, then another on your shoulder until your whole body seems wet.

“It’s raining.”

“I gathered.”

You’re wet somewhere else, too, you think, as he dips his hand between your legs and leaves feather-light touches against your core.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you, honey.” He’s teasing you, you know. He wants you to beg. It’s so rare he gets you at his mercy. In moments like these, you can tell he savors it. Relishes in it.

Instead of responding, you grab at his wrist, forcing his fingers inside of yourself. Spencer lets out something akin to a moan even though it's not him on the receiving end. 

You think he likes you like this, wide open for him. Your lips are parted, like you’re one big portal Spencer can slide into, move his tongue against, curl his fingers in. He takes the opportunity, pushes his pointer and middle into your mouth and lets you clamp around them. You suck, causing him to instinctively up the pace of his other hand like it’s a reward.

“Thought we weren’t gonna show up anymore,” he says. He curls his fingers to reach that one spot he knows makes your pupils blow. You push back the thought that he might’ve found that spot on other women, too. Worse, the thought that someone might’ve taught him where it is. “But you let me in. So what happened to that, hm?”

You mumble something incoherent around his fingers, so he pulls them out and grabs you by the chin instead. “Go ahead.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Keep you out.”

You want him to kiss you then, but don't know if that’s too intimate. You opt for bucking your hips against his hand instead. It takes another calculated curl of his fingers before you tighten around them, legs shutting tight as you ride it out. 

“I wanna do something for you,” you say. Your breathing is slow again but your legs are still shaking a little. Spencer grabs the opportunity to spread them.

“Yeah? You’re sweet.” He pulls you farther up the bed, spreads your legs and slots himself inside of you. There’s a gasp at the connection, though you’re unsure which one of you it comes from. It might’ve been simultaneous.

You watch his eyes gloss over as he allows himself this one moment of selfishness, fucking you harder. You hold him by the face and feel your authority dissipate. The whole ordeal is shrewd and loud and messy, and a drop of sweat collects at the top of your spine and slithers its way down. It feels like a raw kind of heaven; like you’re pulling apart.

Pleasure is a tight coil in the bottom of your stomach, in the tips of your fingertips, in the curling of your toes — some invisible lyre strung with vibrating wire, sticky with the friction of nearness.

When you come, you’re crying. You glance down. Spencer looks impassioned, too, so you kiss him to hush you both. 

When his lips leave yours, pull from yours, you feel the absence as acutely as the touch itself. The tender ache threads like grating twine through your chest. He leans his forehead against yours, breath mingling, shallow and uneven.

The silence between you is its own language, so you don’t speak. You don’t trust yourself to. You focus on the curve of his jaw, the faint quiver in his lips, the way his eyelashes cling together with sweat — or maybe unfallen tears. 

He pulls away first, his hands slipping from your grasp. He sits up, turning his back, shoulders tense in the way they always are after release proves itself to be fleeting. For a moment, you want to reach out, to pull him back into the bed, but the weight in his posture tells you it won’t matter.

“I wasn’t lying, though,” Spencer whispers, back turned to you as he sits at the edge of the bed, “when I said I loved you.”

Your gaze settles on the curve of his spine, the way it rises and falls with each uneven breath. Your hands twitch against the rumpled sheets, caught in the futile instinct to reach for him. You curl your fingers into fists, nails biting into your palms. Your throat tightens, swallows the air before it can reach your lungs. The dim light catches on the slope of his shoulder, illuminating a vulnerability you’re not sure you’re meant to see.

Emboldened by newfound fulfillment of self-interest, you crawl toward the edge of the bed where he sits and kiss his back. 

In a few moments, Spencer will leave. You know this. This time is different, though. 

You know he’s not coming back.

[enwoso]

lovie flash forward where she captains the lionesses to win the euros again (with any kids from the other stories that are lionesses kids) and she’s a midfielder because when she was little she didn’t want to choose between alessia and leah so she chose between their two positions she also is number 6 (for leah) and has russo on her shirt (for alessia) so it’s a mix of both of them. she’s also quite tall but the nickname tiny stuck around😭

there’s even a déjà vu moment for when they play germany and lovie is looking over a players shoulder at a note and people make it a meme along side alessia’s from years ago😭

anyway! she captains them to a clean sheet win and scores a hatrick and has a world famous celebration that’s all over the internet with kids copying her and when she’s getting interviewed after it she basically says what leah said “I can’t stop crying” and “i’m trying really hard not to swear”

and when it’s all done she’s back to celebrating and drags alessia to roll around in the confetti with her like when alessia won her first euros and she makes ella and mary knee slide with her like then too (bc ofc they came to watch) also dedicates her medal to her mum and leah during her interview🤌🏽

maybe even gets a ballon d’or nomination afterwards😎

glimpse of the future | alessia russo x leah williamson x russo!reader

to the person who requested this, i'm so sorry it took so long. i loved this request when i first seen it and wrote a whole fic in two days for it but then when i was editing it i re-read it and hated it hence why it's took so long, but i hope i've done it justice as i ended up loving making this and editing photos for this was such a fun thing to write once i got the plot right🙃

grumpy masterlist

you stood in the tunnel, your heart pounding as the roar of the crowd echoed throughout the stadium walls. taking a glance down at the armband which was wrapped tightly around your left arm. captain, you, at 23 leading england onto the pitch in the euros final. it was something four year old you dreamed about.

the weight to deliver tonight was almost overwhelming. but your focus went to your family who was in the stands.

your mum, leah all decked out in england merch, shirts, flags face paint everything they could get their hands on as they were surrounded by your uncles gio and luca as well as your grandparents who had been there throughout the entire tournament as well as your mum's former teammates.

you could imagine your mum's excitement vividly - alessia painted in england colours, a scarf tied around her neck despite the warm weather and her england shirt with 'russo' #11 adorned on the back.

alessia had spent the last three weeks telling anyone who would listen about how proud she was leading to you being the subject of endless teasing from your uncles and your mum's friends even if was a little annoying you knew it all came from a good place.

"you've got this lovie" alessia whispered to herself, adjusting her shirt a little, the iconic number 11 gleaming with pride. your number being that as it was the famous number 2,3 for your mum and 6 for leah combined.

as you walked onto the pitch with your team, the thunderous cheer filled your body with energy. the match beginning and you were in your element. england were dominating possession, moving the ball with so much flare.

so in the 24th minute a perfect through ball found you in space as you cut inside, steering clear of the german defender as you slotted the ball into the bottom corner - the stadium erupted. your team mates surrounding you with head taps and hugs.

by the time halftime had rolled around, you had already bagged a brace having been set up perfectly each time by your teammates. england were flying and looking likely to win it but you knew better than start and get comfortable knowing the momentum could easily change.

in the 70th minute of the second half, the germans made a substitution. your sharp eyes caught a glimps of a substitute carrying a folded piece of paper.

wandering over as you strained to see it over the players shoulder, but it was all in german and dotted with cryptic numbers. you mum walking with a big grin as it was a straight parallel of the same thing she had done int he 2022 euro final.

"focus lovie" she muttered to herself as she felt leah's hand rest on her knee to stop it from bouncing up and down. the game getting its self back underway.

the game wearing on, the german tightening their defence but you weren't finished. in the 78th minute you found yourself once again on the edge of the box.

a clever one two with your centre forward, left you one one one with the keeper. seeing an open goal you chipped the ball delicately over the outstretched hand of the keeper.

GOAL!

you knew once it had left your foot it was going in, your celebration was instinctive. rushing over to the corner in a sleek knee slide as you cupped your hand to your ear — staring into the stand as you soaked in the noise.

you way of silencing the doubters, for those who had said you'd never be half the player your mum was. you feeling nothing but satisfaction when you proved them all wrong time after time.

the referee's whistle cut through the air finally after six minutes of added time — sharp and definitive. and for a second you froze. then it hit you, you had done it. your three goals had done it. england were european champions, once again.

you knees buckled and you collapsed onto the grass, your hands covering your face as the tears started to fall. the noise around you was deafening, a cacophony of cheers and screams echoing throughout the stadium. 

you tilting her head back, staring at the sky as you tried to catch your breath — your chest heaving up and down.

feeling hands grab at your shoulders and turning to see your teammates rushing towards you, all screaming with joy. a blur of england jerseys surrounding you as you were pulled into a massive group hug, lifting you off the ground as if you were the trophy.

you laughing through your tears of joy, unable to stop the huge grin on your face as they chanted your name, loud and proud.

"russo scoring goals galore! captain fantastic!" your teammates shouted, ruffling your hair as you took in every single ounce of the moment.

back in the stands with your mum, alessia was in her feet. tears falling from her eyes as she clutched onto leah's arm. "that's my baby, that's my lovie!" she shouted her voice cracking.

alessia's scarf all askew, her face paint all smudged from the tears streaming down her cheeks in joy, but she didn't care. she could be prouder of you and she wanted all to know.

leah was beaming beside your mum, clapping furiously as her voice was hoarse from cheering. leaning in close to alessia as she rubbed a hand up and down the blondes back.

"you right here that, you know. she's you out there — maybe slightly better" leah nudged alessia as she playfully rolled her eyes at the teasing comment.

"don't say that!" alessia half laughed, while half crying through the pride radiated from her, "but also — maybe"

your grandparents, carol and mario were on their feet waving flags and cheering loudly. mario clapping a hand over his heart as his face etched with emotion, “she’s incredible” he said to no one in particular more just thinking aloud.

“runs in the family” gio chimed in as he grinned nudging luca slightly.

luca had been on his phone recording the celebration, well trying to. “this is going on every family group chat. i’m never letting her forget this!”

as your mum’s former teammates — ella, mary, lucy and lotte were just as loud as your family. they may not be your family by blood but they were definitely your chosen family. they’d watched you grow up with their owns eyes being there for you when you needed.

mary was hollering, “that’s the russo legacy right there!” as lucy waved her england scarf above her head like a helicopter.

as you back in the pitch, you’d managed to peel yourself away from the group hug as your eyes scanned the stands, looking for your family.

finding them quickly, your mums attire dressed in full england merch from head to toe was a dead giveaway, and when your eyes met your mum’s you lifted your arms and pointed towards her.

“for you mum!” you mouthed, tears were still streaming down her face in pure pride. alessia bringing a hand to her mouth as she nodded the tears continuing to spill over again.

you turned back to the field, it being moments away from the trophy celebration, as you wiped your eyes as the reality of the moment was really starting to settle in.

you’d dreamed of this as a little girl, you’d watched your mum win it in 2022 amongst some of the most decorated players in the words which your adored.

now it was your turn. your fists clenching as you breathed in the moment. the weight of history pressing in your shoulders — but not as a burden but as a crown.

the crowd hadn’t stopped for a single moment since the final whistle, chanting and cheering as the team relished in the celebrations for their hard word over the past few weeks.

as you lined up watching the german players receiving their medals first, as you congratulated each one. you’d dreamed watched as your teammates, their joy mirrored your own. a sense of profound sense of gratitude — not just for the win, but also for the journey.

the germans had received their silver medals, it was now your turn as the announcer roared their names through the speakers.

you stood at the end of the line watching all your teammates received their well deserved gold medal, the captains armband still snug around your arm, still trying to process what had just happened.

your cheeks were damp with tears, your hands trembling with adrenaline and emotion.

the first few medals had been handed out, you watching in with pride as you could hear their laughter, their shouts of disbelief. every step closer to the podium felt surreal — as if she was walking through a dream.

it was now your turn, the official draped the gold medal around your neck, the cool weight of it grounding you. you touched it lightly then turned to the cheering fans lifting it high. the roar from the crowd was deafening.

you’d shook hands with all the officials lined up, your heart pounding as you were left to lift the trophy. your heart was pounding. the trophy was gleaming under the stadium lights and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

"and now, your captain, y/n russo, will lift the trophy!"

the crowd erupted as you moved towards your teammates moving into the middle of the group as you gripped the handles of the trophy tightly. pausing for a moment as the weight of the moment hit her.

then with a deep breath, you hoisted it high above your head. confetti cannons exploded, showering the team in gold as the stadium roared with joy.

you closed your eyes, tilting your head back to feel the confetti rain down on you. you could hear your teammates screaming behind you, their hands slapping her shoulders in celebration.

in the stands, your mum was a mess of tears and pride. she clutched leah’s hand tightly, “that’s our girl, le” your mum yelled bouncing on her toes as you lifted the trophy.

gio was shouting your chant, “midfield magic, hear the crowd roar! russo’s scoring goals galore!” as luca waved a giant england flag above his head.

back to you on the pitch, the trophy remained being passed about high above peoples head as you laughed on, before an interviewer found you amidst of the celebrations.

“how does it feel y/n?”

“i-i can’t stop cryin’ and i’m trying really hard not to swear” you admitted, a small laugh falling from your lips as your voice shook.

"what does this all mean to you and the team?"

you took a deep breath. "i speak on behalf of all my teammates when I say this is for everyone who doubted us, who told us we shouldn't play because we're women. well, look at us now. european champions. who's got the title—us or them?"

you paused, your eyes glancing over to the stands where your family was, “and for me, well this isn't just about football. i've been able to do this because of my two biggest fans—my mum and le. this is for you both. i love you so much. and gio," you added with a teary laugh, "you were right—this is way better than chocolate!”

you laughed, knowing when gio and the rest of your family saw the interview would get the reference from when your mum first won the euros. you thanked the interviewer as you made your way to the sidelines where you would finally be able to enjoy the moment with those who mattered most to you.

when you made it to them, you effortlessly jumped over the barrier, being engulfed by your family. your mum throwing her arms around you, sobbing for the thousandth time today.

“mum! we did it” you whispered, your voice breaking.

your mum hugging you tightly as a hand run down your back before she pulled away, “no, you did it lovie.”

leah joined the hug, wrapping both your mum and you in her arms, “we are so proud of you, angel” she smiled softly her own eyes filled with pride.

as you turned to your grandparents who had been watching the sweet moment between your mums as they beamed with pride.

your nonno, mario pulled you into a tight hug, “you’ve made this family so proud kiddo” he smiled his voice thick with emotion.

“thanks nonno” you said, your voice trembling as you held back the tears.

your uncles, gio and luca, of course broke the emotional moment with their teasing. “did you have to score three? what a show off!” gio grinned, a wide smirk on his face.

you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, “remind me how many you’ve scored in a euros final?” you quipped back. gio just laughing as he pulled you into a headlock as you laughed.

you’d posted for photo after photo, finally making your way to your mum’s teammate that had made the journey, mary was first to give you a massive hug ruffling your hair. “hat trick in a final! you’ve got your mums genes that for sure!”

“probably better actually” ella added with a wink as you scoffed with a laugh.

“ok, ok let’s not start that argument, again” you smiled as you catch up with the girls your cheeks already flushed from the sheer amount of attention being placed on you.

the celebrations felt endless and carried on all night long, you not being sat in a function room. having danced the night away with not only your teammates but also your family.

but you still had one thing left to do, the medal which hadn’t left your neck. moving your way over to your mum who was sat leaned up against leah.

you without saying a word took the medal from around your neck, placing around your mums as a confused look flashed across your mums features.

“lovie? what- what are you doing? this is yours” your mum asked as she moved to take it from around her neck.

your quickly shaking your head, “no it’s for you, without you, and leah i wouldn’t be half the person i am today”

and there came the tears again as alessia beckoned you to sit down next to her as the tears spilled again.

“oh not again, angel i had just managed to get her to stop cryin’!”

-

months later

you were sprawled out on the couch having a rare weekend off you’d came home for to spend some time with your mums.

you quiet morning however was ruined when alessia walked in, holding her phone. her face was lit with excitement.

“lovie, you’ll never guess what!” your mum paused as you nodded your head for her to continue, expecting for her to tell you about some gossip she’s found from the neighbours while putting the bins out, “you’ve been nominated for a ballon d’or!”

you nearly choked on your water as you shot up, your eyes going wide, “what? are you having my life?”

your mum shook her head, “you’ve heard me!” she beamed, “i always knew you’d do something special but this-“

leah then appeared in the doorway clearly having already heard the news as she shook her head with a bright smile, “told you less, she’s better than we ever could have imagined”

you groaned from the compliment, though you were grinning, “mum, le- stop your embarrassing me”

but as you hugged them both, you knew you wouldn’t trade their pride or their love for anything in the world.

from ‘tiny’ to towering greatness — quite literally — y/n russo had lived up to the legacy and had created a one for her own in the process.

[pure-smut]

Hello :)

May I ask you for an eating out session with Togame Jou, Yamato Endo and Hayato Suo?

coming undone.

featuring: Togame Jo x f!reader, Hayato Suo x f!reader

contains: established relationships, cunnilingus (ofc), orgasm denial/control from Suo, dom!Suo, aftercare

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 2.3k

masterlist

a/n: ty for this request!! unfortunately i haven't read the manga so i don't think i'd do Endo justice bc i don't know him that well (he has got some SERIOUS drip tho ngl) but i hope you enjoy Togame and Suo!!

Togame Jo

Your day has been shit.

You trudge through your front door, dropping your bags and jacket on the floor and trudge over to your bed, falling face down onto it with a groan. It’s not even 7pm but you’re ready to go to sleep and hope that when you wake up tomorrow, you never have to put up with a single customer again.

You know you should get undressed but your body aches from standing for a full ten-hour shift and you’re so emotionally drained, you just want to rot where you’ve landed.

“Who do I need to fight?” Togame’s voice floats from somewhere behind you. He’s only half-joking.

You sigh in response, not even having the energy to vent.

Togame’s hand smooths across your back, feeling your stress knots. He gives a sympathetic tut. He hates seeing you like this, hates that you hate your job but there’s no other jobs going. Every time you tell him about another shitty customer, he has to physically restrain himself from tracking them down.

“What do you need, baby?” he asks, his deep voice soft.

“Just want to lie here,” you mumble into the bed covers. “Feel like shit.”

Togame looks over you, feeling your sore limbs and he desperately wants to smooth the stress from your brows, wash the worries from your mind. He knows what to do.

With easy strength, Togame moves you up the bed, gently turning you onto your back. You let him, flopping over with another heavy sigh.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m not good company right now.”

“You see me complaining?” Togame grins down at you.

The corner of your mouth upticks despite yourself. You fling an arm over your eyes, sitting in easy silence for a few minutes. It’s not long before you feel the mattress shift beneath you as Togame pushes his body between your legs, leaning over you. You feel his lips on your cheek before moving down to your neck, pressing soft kisses.

You don’t move, letting Togame lick a lazy stripe across your collarbone.

“How about I make you feel better, hmm?” he hums in your ear.

Just from Togame kissing your neck, you know you’re already wet, but you really don’t have the energy to do anything right now. You pull away your arm from your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jo,” you tell him. “I’m too tired. I don’t think I can cum tonight.”

Togame thumbs your bottom lip, easy smile on his face.

“You don’t need to do a thing,” he says. “And there’s no pressure to cum, okay? I just wanna kiss your pretty little pussy for a bit.”

You feel your lips tugging into a smile.

“Okay,” you relent, with a playful roll of your eyes. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, baby.” Togame grins. “Always so good to me.”

He pushes up your dress to your waist before lying down on his stomach between your legs. He doesn’t take off your panties, not yet. Togame likes to take his time, especially with the things he enjoys most.

Togame sucks small bruises into your inner thigh, replacing the marks he’d left a few days ago. Your legs are lazily laid out, not enough energy to even pull them back for him but Togame doesn’t mind. He slings them over his shoulders, your calves resting on his solid back.

You feel his hot breath on your clothed pussy just before the heat becomes solid, his tongue pressed against the thin fabric. Togame brushes his tongue up and down your panties, just on the other side of your clit, the warmth of him teasingly sweet. Togame loves feeling you get wet through your panties, loves knowing he can make you soak them through. He presses wet kisses against the fabric, tasting you more and more as your body responds.

You lie there, sighing softly, enjoying the feel of Togame’s mouth even through your panties.

Needing to taste more of you, Togame eventually hooks his fingers under the hem and tugs them down, repositioning so he can move them down your legs. They’re not even fully off, still dangling around one of your ankles when he returns to your dripping pussy.

Togame presses his mouth flush to your mound, his tongue dipping between your folds. He moans into your pussy as he finds a well of your slick, lapping his tongue in and out of your hole for more.

“Mmm,” you moan lightly, your eyes closing. You’re motionless, no energy left in you as Togame lazily makes out with your pussy.

His strong nose nudges your clit as he pushes his tongue deeper inside you and your hips buck on instinct. Togame pulls back to suck on your lips before licking his way back up to your swollen bud.

He could spend forever between your legs. He’s not even trying to make you cum, too lost in exploring you with his tongue, in mapping and memorising every inch of you. He latches his lips around your clit as he flicks his tongue over it and you make your first real moan of the night.

Togame smiles against you. He’ll never get bored of hearing you make that sound. But he knows you’re tired and sore. He knows you’re not in the mood for anything rough or fast or hard. And he’s more than happy with that – this is always more his pace.

Togame laps at your hole again, gathering more of your arousal on his tongue before returning to your clit. You move only slightly, only enough energy to whimper, your fingers barely grasping the bed sheets. Togame continues his languid strokes of his tongue, resting his temple on your thigh as he sucks slowly on your clit.

You can feel your orgasm building, your body responding to Togame even when you’re too tired to lift your arms. Togame can feel it too, in the slight quiver of your thighs.

In the quiet evening of your shared bed, amongst your low whimpers and his lazy moans, Togame makes you come undone against his tongue. It’s not the kind of orgasm that seizes you, that makes you see white and curves your spine. It’s the slow kind. One that sends ripples of pleasure right through to your fingertips, that coats your boyfriend’s mouth and chin in your juices.

Togame rises up, not bothering to wipe his face, but by the time he crawls up to kiss you, you’ve already fallen asleep.

Hayato Suo

You’re lying bent over the bed, your wrists bound in front of you and tied to the headboard. Suo hums as he ties your ankles to the feet of the bed, making sure the binds are snug but not too tight. He takes his time, knowing the anticipation is killing you, and that’s half the punishment.

When Suo’s done, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your thigh – making you jolt – before rising to his feet. He cocks his head, raking his eyes over you with a smile.

You look so pretty like this, all splayed out for him, not an inch of you he can’t see or touch. He has to resist the urge to smooth his hand over your skin, to stop himself touching you just yet.

“You’ve been bad,” he says, his voice light but there’s a hard edge to it. Just the sound of his voice makes you shudder.

“Y-yes, sir,” you manage to stammer out. “I’m sorry.”

Suo chuckles darkly.

“Yes,” he muses. “You will be.”

You close your eyes, goosebumps springing along your exposed skin.

You had been teasing Suo all day when you were both out with your friends – your hand just slightly too high on his thigh, bending over slightly too long in front of him, your kisses slightly too lingering. You couldn’t help yourself. Suo’s always so in control, so sharp-eyed he’s one step ahead of you. Seeing him struggle to keep his composure as you teased the life out of him was just too damn satisfying.

And now you’re paying for it.

Suo trails his fingers in a featherlight touch across the back of your thigh. You squirm under his touch, desperate for more, and Suo tuts at you.

“You’re going to stay still and behave,” he instructs. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

There’s a long pause. You swallow, not able to see what he’s doing. It’s thrilling and a little scary at the same time but you trust Suo more than anything. You wait, almost patiently.

You bite down a squeal as you suddenly feel Suo’s tongue on your pussy. He licks a long, deep stripe from your clit to your hole before sliding his tongue inside you. You whimper lightly, keeping as still as possible like he told you too.

Suo pulls your cheeks apart to give him better access, fucking your tight hole with his tongue. You feel him hot and wet inside you, rubbing against the nerves at your entrance to make your thighs quiver involuntarily. You desperately want to move, to push your hips back against his face, but Suo has you tied down firmly. All you can do is lie there as he slides his thick tongue in and out of you.

By the time Suo moves down to your clit, he finds it dripping with your arousal and throbbing under his touch. Even the lightest lick is enough to make you gasp, your legs pulling against the restraints as your thighs clench.

Suo listens to you, to your moans and the way your body moves, keeping his strokes focused on your clit. His hands move to the flesh of your ass, grasping you firmly as he sucks on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Can I – ah – can I cum, please, sir?” you whimper against the bed sheets, your orgasm impending and coming quicker than your lust-addled brain can process.

“No.”

Suo pulls back, your pleasure quickly replaced with frustration.

With what little movement you could make, you sink back onto the bed. Suo continues to touch you, stroking your back and the sensitive spot on the back of your thighs, but he doesn’t lick you again. Not yet.

When you don’t complain, instead remaining silent - albeit a bit pouty - on the bed, Suo smiles and squeezes your ass.

“Good girl,” he praises.

Suo returns to your hole to flick his tongue over it, gathering your slick. Your taste is addictive and Suo has to fight not to get lost in the moment, not to close his eyes and give you exactly what you want. But you’ve been teasing him, almost making him lose control, and he can’t have you getting away with that.

You start to stir again under him as he eats your sensitive pussy. Suo sucks on your lips, slides his tongue in your hole and licks fat stripes between your folds. He teases you, licking you deliciously but never going where you really need him to.

Your clit throbs with need, Suo assaulting you with pleasure without bringing you to the apex. It’s only when your juices are dripping down his chin and you’re half-sobbing on the bed that he moves down to your clit again.

You make an almost feral moan as he latches around your swollen bud, his soft, hot tongue stroking against it in the way he knows drives you crazy. Suo uses his thumbs to pry your lips apart, gently freeing your clit from its hood. He carefully laps at it, so exposed and sensitive that even the lightest lick is enough to makes your thighs shake.

“F-fuck…” you breathe raggedly. “I’m… oh, fuck… C-can I please – ah – please cum, sir?”

The desperate plea in your voice makes Suo smile. Still, he pulls back and says, “No.”

You bury your face in the sheets to stop from screaming. Your pussy aches, even the air on your lips enough to make sparks of pleasure run through you.

Suo stands and slides two fingers inside your sopping pussy. You moan and try to buck your hips, held down by the restraints. Suo slowly pistons them in and out of you but he doesn’t curve his fingers, doesn’t seek out the bundle of nerves inside you that he knows will make you cum. He’s just keeping you going, keeping your pleasure sustained without taking you over the brink.

“P-please, sir,” you sob. “Please, I need to cum.”

Suo hums thoughtfully.

“You are begging very nicely,” he allows, fondness in his voice. “Have I punished you enough?”

You try to speak but Suo’s fingers are addling your brain, making it hard to think. You desperately nod instead.

“Are you sorry?”

“M’sorry,” you moan. “Won’t… do it – uhn – again. Promise!”

"Then you can cum, sweetheart."

Suo withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, but it’s soon replaced by his tongue. You moan, long and low with satisfaction as he softly sucks on your clit again. You’re so oversensitive that any stimulation would have done but the feel of Suo’s deft tongue is enough for an orgasm to rip through you.

You cry out, half-sobbing, as pleasure wracks your body. If you weren’t tied to the bed, your legs would collapse from under you. You fist the bed sheet so hard your knuckles turn pale, a seemingly endless tidal wave running through your body. By the time your orgasm starts to fade, you’re breathing hard against the sheets, sweat coating your body, your throat hoarse from moaning.

Suo unties your restraints, pressing kisses against your skin as he does so. When you’re finally free, he scoops you easily into his arms before sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard and you over his lap. He strokes soothingly down your back and legs as you curl up against him, his heartbeat against your cheek.

“You feel okay, my love?” he asks, voice soft.

“Mhm.” You give a small nod. “M’okay.”

“You were such a good girl,” he assures you, pressing gentle kisses against your forehead and temple. “I love you so much.”

You snuggle up tighter against his chest.

“I love you too.”

masterlist

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[twistedpink]

idk if uve done this before buuuttt.. tsundere idia? 🥺 tyty

good idea!!

Tsundere!Idia that’s gets foul with you, and he’s not the type that’ll just kick your shins and run away all blushy. No chance, because when does the prefect ever get good things? He will INSTAKILL your confidence. Sure he loves you and is this close to just biting the bullet and make a holo-yuu for himself, but there’s no way you’ll EVER know that. Tsundere!Idia that is only so mean because he took himself out of the race before it even started- how’s he supposed to compete with the “prince with a super tragic and sexy backstory”?? He’s just Idia!!! (Ignoring that he’s basically Batman)

Tsundere!Idia has devoted his entire life to preserving his introvert utopia, no shot he’ll let some.. temptress sully his good name! (Read; login streak)

Tsundere!Idia that’s forced to do an alchemy class with you in person!! (“Blah blah can’t google answers, pup!”) smoke is literally coming off his head, and somehow he’s “your favourite partner”?? Are you trying to kill him?? OFC he has to combat this super effective move with a mumbled comment about how “well.. your hair looks really dumb” but how’s he supposed to speak up and insult you to your face when it looks like that!! “nvm!! ctrl z,,”

But with how shy Idia is around you face to face, he “makes up for it” with how degrading he is online (only with text to speech :’) and the poor prefect is left wondering if they’ve been catfished :( sure the conversation’s a little stale, but he’s never this mean when you see him! You’ve just got to get to the bottom of this!

Your introduction to Ortho Shroud is a little awkward, considering your opening line is “your older brother’s totally my type! And I’m pretty sure he hates me!” But afterwards you two click like nuts and bolts! Idia’s left shaking in a corner of his room bc who says that?? You have to be some kind of idiot! Or better yet, he’s the genius because his master “avoid the loml” play is working!!

Atleast it was. Until Ortho gets the bright idea to set the two of you up in his room. You’re trying to see what his problem is, and he’s stuck because he’s had this raid planned for months, he can’t just bail!

What’ll happen? Stay tuned for the results of noob vs hacker next season!! (They beef it out or make out no third option)

[oikasugayama]

Could I ask for chuuya and dazai (separately) x fem reader where the reader wears a low skirt at work and bends down to get something and how the guys would react? Nsfw ofc

I only did Dazai because I got really carried away, oops. Have 2.3k of unedited, filthy dazai + coworker!reader smut. MDNI!!

You’ve wanted Dazai for quite a while. He’s so hot, and he’s silly, and sometimes he can be really nice and suave. The fact that his eyes linger on you heavily every time you wear a short skirt or a low-cut blouse only make you want him more because it sure seems like he might be interested in you too. You don’t talk to him a lot unfortunately given that he’s not in the office every day, and you’re Kunikida’s secretary, but sometimes he does linger by your desk and chat with you (until Kunikida runs him off), or when the whole office goes out for lunch he’ll sit at your table with you, Naomi, and Junichiro. Once when you were sitting across from each other you even swore that he had to have known that his leg was against yours, forcing your legs slightly wider apart as he slid his further and further toward the outside of the booth. Any time you looked at him while he did this, he would just quirk the corner of his lip up in a smile and turn back to the conversation. There was sexual tension between the two of you, there had to be.

One day you’d had enough of being the shocked one, you wanted to be bold to see if you could get him to break and finally invite you back to his place after work. You put on a button-up blouse that “accidentally” lost its top two buttons, your shortest skirt, a red silk thong that was definitely part of a lingerie set, and you made sure to put on some extra perfume so he’d smell it any time you got near him. Now you just needed the opportunity to get his attention. 

He was late to the office, as always. He casually walked in, hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face as usual 45 minutes after he was supposed to be there. You say nothing to him, as usual, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. Kunikida already gave you an uncomfortable glance-over this morning and offered to sew your buttons back on if you still had them--you couldn’t risk him looking at you and seeing the sultry look in your eye when you greeted Dazai.

He saw you, though. Dazai. His eyes locked onto yours as he took his jacket off and slung it over the back of his chair. He very obviously trailed his eyes down to your chest, and you sat up straighter and tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, watching him watch you. You weren’t backing down, and he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he declined the offer to go to lunch with the group later that afternoon. You also declined, telling a little while lie to Kunikida that you had plans with friends at a different restaurant, so you’d be leaving in a few minutes to go your own way. Kunikida is sharp, but Dazai is sneaky, and you’d never mentioned to your boss how Dazai’s eyes defile you every time you show a bit of skin. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have ever left you two alone in the office. 

A couple of minutes after everyone was gone, you got up and crossed the room to Dazai’s desk pod under the guise of putting something on Atsushi’s nearby desk. As you approached, Dazai “accidentally” swiped a pencil off the edge of his desk right into your path.

“Oops,” he said lowly. You glance at him over your shoulder and give him a half smile.

“I got it.” Normally you’d squat or crouch down to prevent anyone from seeing your butt, but that’s not the goal today. You have an objective.

You slowly bend over at the waist, reaching for the pencil with your fingertips. You can tell the exact second your panties become visible, because Dazai hisses and leans back in his chair.

“Fuck,” he sighs. Before you’ve even stood back up, his hand is on your ass, pushing the curve of it up from the bottom to make it jiggle.

“Dazai-san,” you say sweetly as you fully stand and turn toward him. You hold the pencil out toward him and he grabs it quickly, throwing it onto the desk. His hands are on your hips then, pulling your skirt up so he can feel your soft, supple skin.

“Tell me you want me,” he demands, stilling his hands but holding you in place.

“You first,” you say, reaching out to trace your fingertips along his jaw. There’s a look in his eye you’ve never seen before. A type of hunger you’ve only dreamed about him having for you.

“I’ll fuck you on this desk right now,” he swears in that low, calm voice. It makes you wet just to hear him say such a lewd thing to you.

“You can cum inside,” you coo, and that’s what does it. He stands so suddenly that his chair is knocked backwards with a loud crashing noise. His lips are on yours, kissing you hard and fast and desperate. His hands grope your ass, squeezing and massaging and using the leverage to force you against his body, to feel his hard-on though his pants.

You waste no time fumbling with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it loose from his pants. You unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly, and shove your hand inside, feeling his cock straining against his underwear. He moans against your mouth, and you let out an involuntary whine. You’ve wanted to hear that sound for so long.

“I’m surprised Kunikida left you alone with me,” Dazai mumbles, pushing you back just a little until you hit his desk and sit on it. He spreads your thighs so he can stand between them, then he starts teasing his long, deft fingers over your clothed heat. “He’s always on my ass telling me not to be inappropriate with you.”

“Oh?” you ask shakily, still trying to feel him up though he’s got you distracted now with his feather-light touches.

“Mmm,” he hums, taking his hands away from you. He pushes his pants and boxers down enough to free his cock, and you can’t help but to stare at it. You hoped it would be big, maybe even taken a few long glances at his crotch while he slept unknowingly on the breakroom couch. But it’s even bigger than you expected, and your pussy flutters with anticipation. “I think Kunikida wants to make a proper lady out of you.”

“Proper ladies don’t fuck their coworkers in the office,” you say, pulling your panties to the side. Dazai watches you and licks his lips, giving his cock a few strokes. He reaches forward, slides two of his fingers up your slit and groans.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” you admit, leaning back onto your hands. You both moan to some degree when his fingers slide into you.

“The feeling is mutual,” he mumbles back. He gives a few pumps, a few twists, before pulling back out and smearing your slick wetness all over the head of his cock. Then, with urgency, he lines his tip up with your pussy and teases for just a few seconds, collecting more of your natural lube so he can slide in smoothly. 

“Dazai,” you whine, squirming, trying to get closer. He says nothing as he pushes forward slowly, pulling out just a bit, then continuing in until he’s almost completely buried in you.

“Fuck,” he moans, dropping his head down. He can’t stop looking at your pussy taking his cock in. “You’re so fucking hot. God, this pussy is so tight.” You whine and moan, leaning back more until you bump into his computer.

“Get this shit out of the way,” he mumbles, annoyed, as he reaches behind you and shoves stacks of papers and his computer monitor to the side with reckless abandon until you have room to lay on his desk and pull your knees up and to the side. You’re at the perfect level now for him to start drilling you, and oh does he.

The once quiet office is filled with wet squelches and skin slapping skin as he fucks you, holding you by the hips so you can’t slide away from him. He fucks you hard and quick and dirty. He fucks you all the way to the hilt, stuffing you full and letting his balls smack against your ass. You’re so wet that it covers his cock all the way to the base and starts to make a sticky ring against his body. 

“Oh, Dazai,” you moan. “Shit-- Fuck-- oh, you’re so fucking big.” 

“Good fucking pussy,” he huffs out. He reaches up with one hand and starts palming your tit, massaging and squeezing. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. You’re gonna like that, huh? Gonna sit at your desk all day doing work for Kunikida with my cum in your pussy.”

“Yeah,” you whine loudly. You manage to pull another two buttons free and Dazai takes advantage, reaching inside to knead your boob and pinch your nipple, making you moan even more. “Fuck me so good, Dazai. Make me cum, please.”

“Oh, I’ll make you cum, baby, but I’m not done with you yet.”

He pulls out of you then and you whine at the loss of his thick cock buried deep in you. He leans down, pushing your shirt and bra to the side to suck on your tits. He swirls his tongue around, suckling and nipping with his teeth while his other hand tweaks your nipple and massages. After a minute he switches, giving equal attention to the other breast. You take the opportunity to run your hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling on his hair.

“They’ll be back in fifteen,” you warn him. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Mmm, but there’s so much fun to be had,” he sighs, resting his face in the valley between your breasts. “Do you live in the ADA dorms?”

“No, I have a roommate across town.”

“Tell them you’re staying with a friend tonight.”

He stands up and takes your hands, pulling you up too. You’re afraid he’s gonna stop here, but instead he turns you around, kisses down your neck, and then firmly pushes your shoulders down so you’re bent over his desk. Without another word he lines up with your hole again and enters you quickly. He sets a brutal pace, utilizing long, hard thrusts to make you feel the full extent of his cock. It’s so long and such a nice girth that it fills you completely, stretching your walls so nicely and thrumming against your cervix with every thrust. Once again the office is full of the sounds of skin slapping skin, your pussy squelching every time he enters you, and a steady stream of moans and curses from both of you.

“You’re gonna cum with me,” he says after a few minutes reaching around your hip to feel you up. He finds your clit in only a few seconds and rubs it frantically while still fucking you hard, trying to suddenly overwhelm your nerves to make you cum hard, and fuck does it work.

“Dazai,” you call his name loudly as a warning, whimpering and whining while pushing back against him. “I’m gonna cum, Dazai, fuck, I can’t stop--”

“--Cum,” he commands. “Cum all over this fat cock, princess.”

Your orgasm wracks your body, making your knees shake and your thighs tremble. You cum, slightly squirting, making even more juices squish out of your pussy as he fucks you through your orgasm. The pulsing of your walls as you cum squeezes Dazai’s cock so good, making him cum too, spurting ropes of his seed deep into you. He stays buried to the hilt, grinding against you, for several seconds after you’ve both worked through your orgasms. When he finally pulls back, he holds you down by your hips so he can watch cum drip out of your pussy and onto the floor. He swipes some of it onto his fingers and reaches around, holding it in front of your lips.

“Open,” he says, and you do, sticking your tongue out and taking his fingers in, sucking the cum and other fluids off his fingers. “Good girl,” he says, rubbing his other hand on your ass. After he finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he readjusts your panties so they cover your abused cunt.

“You’re gonna leak through your panties,” he says, finally allowing you to stand back up. “Gonna leave a damp spot on your chair by the end of the day so you have a reminder of me.”

“Good,” you say, buttoning your blouse again. “And I’d love to come over tonight, by the way. I’ll tell my roommate not to expect me until late.”

Dazai smiles and finishes tucking himself back into his pants. He also kneels down and uses a tissue to wipe the cum off the floor.

“Only a few minutes left,” he says when he stands back up. “Clean yourself up and get ready.”

“What about your desk? We really messed it up.”

“Don’t worry about it, just go sit at your desk like a good girl.” He presses a firm kiss to your lips then pats your ass so you’ll get moving. He sighs wistfully, climbs on top of his desk, and lays over it, draping himself all the way across Atsushi’s desk as well. Now the mess looks like another dramatic Dazai performance that no one even questions when they come back from lunch.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Dad Rock & Diapers

pairing: joel miller x pregnant!wife

p.s: this is for all my divorced dad rock lovers and daddy joel ofc, soundtrack is at the bottom of this post! 🎸

Joel Miller prided himself on being a man who could handle just about anything.

Cracked foundation? He’d fix it. Leaky pipe? Give him twenty minutes and a wrench. His heavily pregnant wife dancing on the kitchen counter to cheer up their toddler daughter?

Yeah, that one nearly gave him a damn heart attack.

He walked in just before lunch, keys still jingling in his hand, when he heard it:

That unmistakable, loud-as-hell, slightly unhinged intro to “Fake It” by Seether echoing through the walls.

Joel froze mid-step. “Oh, hell..what the..?”

“WHO’S TO KNOW IF YOUR SOUL WILL FADE AT ALLLL”

He turned the corner into the kitchen and had to blink a few times, just to confirm this was real life and not some bizarre music video fever dream.

There was Y/N. His very pregnant, seven months along wife, on top of the kitchen counter.

Wearing one of his flannels, hair wild, belly swaying with every movement, and a spatula held like a microphone. She was stomping in rhythm, shoulders bouncing, eyes lit up like she was performing at a sold-out show.

And right in front of her was Sarah, cereal bowl abandoned, standing on a chair and singing like her life depended on it:

“AND YOU FAAAAAAKE IT” she screeched, doing her best metal growl, “IF YOU’RE OUT OF DIRECTION!!”

Joel’s eyes just about bugged out of his head.

Y/N caught his stare and grinned wide. “Oh hey, babe! You’re home early!”

He blinked. “I…what the hell is goin’ on in here?”

“She was cranky after you left,” Y/N said proudly, mid-chorus, “so I gave her a rock concert.”

Sarah pumped her fists in the air like she was in the front row of Lollapalooza. “Mama’s the BAND and I’m the DANCER!”

Joel groaned softly. “I was gone two hours.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and spun with surprising grace on the countertop. “And look how much fun we had!”

Joel set his keys down slowly, trying to stay calm. “You’re gonna fall off that counter and go into labor.”

She smirked. “Then it’ll be the most metal birth in history.”

“Mommy did ‘the yell!’” Sarah chimed in, eyes bright. “Like this” and then she absolutely screamed, “YOU’RE SUCH A HYPOCRITE!!”

Joel had to sit down.

Y/N climbed down from the counter (with Joel spotting her like she was made of glass), then leaned against him, breathless from her impromptu performance.

He wrapped an arm around her, shaking his head.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Fake it ‘til you make it, Miller,” she said with a wink.

Twenty minutes later…

Sarah still buzzed with post-concert energy. Y/N scrolled her phone with a devilish smirk.

Then she gasped. “Joel. Joel. Joel.”

“What now?” he asked warily.

The music changed again. A familiar, dramatic piano line began…

“Oh no,” Joel muttered.

Y/N was already walking toward him, hand outstretched like she was on stage again.

“WAKE ME UP!” she bellowed.

Sarah screeched, “WAKE HER UP INSIIIIIDE!”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear—”

Y/N grabbed his hand with full dramatic flair. “SAVE ME!”

Joel groaned… then finally joined in, deep voice cutting in like a true rock god.

“CALL MY NAME AND SAVE ME FROM THE DAAAARK—”

Sarah was beside herself, dancing in a circle. Y/N leaned into her performance like she was born for it. Joel kept shaking his head, but he was smiling, too.

Because yeah this was his circus. These were his clowns. And he loved them more than life.

Later that night, long after Sarah had sung herself hoarse and passed out in a tangle of stuffed animals and glittery socks, the house had finally gone still.

Joel stood in the kitchen with a mug in his hand and that soft, tired kind of smile on his face. The only light came from the little bulb over the stove and the moon pouring in through the windows.

Y/N walked in, wearing one of his t-shirts too big, stretched over her round belly, and somehow the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever seen.

He didn’t say anything. Just set the mug down and held out his hand.

She slipped hers into it with a knowing smile.

And then the music started.

“And I’d give up forever to touch you…”

“Iris,” she whispered. “God, I love this song.”

“I know,” Joel murmured, pulling her close.

They swayed slowly in the kitchen, her belly pressed to his. His hand rested on the small of her back, the other cradling her bump.

“You okay?” he asked softly, resting his chin on top of her head.

“I’m tired. My back hurts. I feel like a walking watermelon,” she sighed, “but yeah. I’m good.”

Joel kissed her hair. “You’re more than good. You’re… you’re everythin’, darlin’.”

Y/N blinked up at him, misty-eyed.

The lyrics filled the room like a prayer:

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be… and I don’t wanna go home right now…”

Joel whispered, “You ever think… maybe this is what heaven is?”

She smiled, voice barely above a whisper. “You. Me. Our babies. Dancing barefoot in a kitchen that smells like toast crumbs and baby wipes?”

Joel chuckled, then kissed her slowly. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

2:47 a.m.

The baby in Y/N’s belly kicked.

And from down the hall… a wail.

Joel blinked awake, squinting at the clock.

“Don’t move,” he mumbled into Y/N’s hair. “I got her.”

She groaned sleepily. “You’re amazing.”

“I know,” he yawned.

Sarah was sitting up in bed, blanket tangled around her legs, little fists rubbing her eyes.

“Daddy,” she sniffled, “I had a bad dream.”

Joel scooped her up with a soft grunt, settling into the rocking chair in her room.

“You’re alright, sweet girl. I got you.”

She curled into his chest, little thumb in her mouth, cheek against his shoulder.

“Wanna song,” she mumbled.

Joel thought for a second, rubbing slow circles on her back.

Then, with that deep, scratchy voice just above a whisper he started:

“She’s got a smile that it seems to me… reminds me of childhood memories…”

Sarah gave a tiny sleepy giggle.

Joel kept singing, low and slow:

“…where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky…”

“‘Gain,” she whispered.

He smiled.

“Now and then when I see her face… she takes me away to that special place…”

Sarah hummed along with the tune, eyes fluttering closed.

Joel kept rocking.

“…and if I stare too long, I’d probably break down and cry…”

And by the time he got to “Sweet child o’ mine…” again, her breaths were slow and steady, hand clutching the front of his shirt.

He didn’t move.

Just sat there, holding his baby girl, with another one kicking softly in his wife’s belly down the hall.

Joel Miller had survived a lot in his life.

But nothing..nothing hit him in the chest quite like this.

Two babies.

One hell of a woman.

A house full of music.

And every night ending in love.

Soundtrack:

[vampireluvrz]

What about sub jingliu x dom gn foxian reader? (Drabbles)

Jingliu and the reader were at the back of an alley, the reader had Jingliu cornering Jingliu against a wall while the reader lifted her by the thighs and jingliu has her arms around the reader's neck as they both kissed, jingliu had her hands on the reader's head caressing his ears making the reader growl so that the Reader began to bite jingliu's neck with his sharp fangs, jingliu noticing like a child who he lost his ball, he was leaning over a wall at the entrance to the alley, she put her finger against her mouth, telling him not to say anything.

By the way I'm the same anon person who made jingliu's request and if it's not too much of a problem I can be 🌟 anon it's not too much trouble.

jingliu x gn reader

warnings: sub! bottom! jingliu, dom! top! reader, foxian reader, reader with a cock/strap, semi public sex, biting, marking, written by a minor.

notes: ofc you can be 🌟 anon its no trouble at all!! thank you once again for another lovely req ^_^

The wall that Jingliu was pressed up against was rough against her exposed skin, body hanging on for dear life as you held her up, legs wrapping around you as you held them, fucking into her as quickly as you could. She felt you so deep inside of her, moans muffled by your mouth as you two were driven into a deep, sloppy kiss.

Jingliu’s hands felt cold against you, gripping onto your back with the strength she had left. You smiled against her lips, to which she could feel against her own lips, reading your face clearly, thoughts disappearing from inside her head as you continued kissing her, drinking up every moan she’d let out into your mouth.

You pull away from the kiss, a trail of saliva leaving both of your lips, catching both of your breaths like you both had just run a marathon. You felt her hands trail along your body and up to your twitchy ears, to which she softly caressed them in just the way you liked it, which caused you to let out a guttural sound, moving down to suckle and bite her neck.

The sudden pain made Jingliu gasp out, the pleasure trying its best to take over her body, yet she noticed you biting her, yet choosing not to say anything about it. She felt her orgasm creep up on her with every drag, feeling your nails dig into her thighs, leaving crescent moons in its wake.

You felt her come on you, moving down to bite her bare shoulder, trying to be as quiet as she could, but with the intense pleasure taking over her it was hard to do so. You smiled against her, watching her lose herself on you as you continued thrusting inside of her to work her through her orgasm.

You were still deep in her when she finished, suddenly putting her finger over your mouth when you looked above her. The sudden move made shocked you, yet you chose to say nothing about it.

“Keep this quiet,” Jingliu demanded. You only let a pathetic smirk out in response.

“As you wish, dearest.”

i low key wanna pull for her i love her shss growing on me bad

[secretly-tumb1r]

Hey, love your work, I wanna do a request ofc if you feel uncomfortable do it, I understand totally. I was thinking about sam × reader, where he discovered that she has a Tumblr account where she talks about her crush (Sam) and kinda writes naughty fic about them. Maybe publish some naughty pics if you feel comfortable writing it. Hope you understand the idea, I'm sorry my explanation are always bad

🪷

Dirty little secret

a/n: guys what the sigma this is so balls😔 tysm for the request I LOVEEE THE IDEAAA however i’m afraid my execution was a little..yikes! also you explained it perfectly i love you 🪷 anon❤️😛

Sam was sat on his bed, rock music blasting in his eardrums and phone in his hand. He was scrolling on tumblr. He’d never actually admit he had tumblr him and his friends thought it was a girly app, but to be honest, he spent hours perfecting his tumblr profile. Picking the right profile pic, the right font, the right heading.

He was randomly scrolling through the crush hashtag, when he saw a familiar pair of lips. He clicked on the pic and zoomed in. The picture consisted of plump lips parted onto a finger, suckling slightly, with the caption “gag me while you fuck me into the mattress #crush #y/nsblogs #samineedyousobad #ughhh”

His eyes widened at the 3rd hashtag, this had to be a coincidence. The more he stared at the picture, the more his mind started to puzzle the face together.

He clicked on your profile, and scrolled through your posts. All your posts consisted of explicit pictures and rants about your high school crush. One particular post caught his eye

“need your laberet piercing between my teeth”

#y/nsblogs #crush #heyemoboy! #comeandfuckmeemoboy!

His eyes burnt holes into the screen as he realised he was starting at your tumblr page. His pants suddenly got tighter as he scrolled further and further down your page.

“wanna pull on his dyed hair while he looks at me from between my legs so bad”

Sam bit his lip and started palming himself through his pants. The thought of you, such an innocent girl, posting such naughty content for everyone to see while thinking of him awoke something primal in him.

That night he scrolled through your page over 50 times and images of you bent in every position were burnt into his head.

The next day at school, he saw you. You looked so innocent and he felt so good knowing your little dirty secret. You caught his gaze and smiled sweetly at him and in return he bit his bottom lip at you to suppress a smile. You clenched your thighs looking away, not knowing Sam saw everything.

After class was over, he waited outside and you were suddenly pushed into the far corner of the school up against some old lockers,

“naughty girl, saw your tumblr page. Meet me at the park at midnight” and with that Sam pushed off you and disappeared. You were left speechless and soaked in arousal. You had no clue Sam Monroe had tumblr, but you were glad he did.

[sleepy-fiction]

Please, God

○ andrew kriess x gn!reader

○ 5.8K WORDS

syn: you're a wicked temptation he should be running from, but you make him so hard. Please, God, let him cum.

tgs: NSFW reader bottom, undisclosed sex and gn sex terms for reader, andrew overcomes fear of sex (religious oppression), loaded religious terms, masturbation, unprotected penetration, silly virus, andrew busts 7 million nuts cause hes sensitive as hell, cutesy fluff, comedic, comfort

a/n: I had so much fun writing this. It was entirely self-serving. but for those who are scared that this will be mostly angst, lit dw I try to balance comedy and a whole lot of romantic sex within it!! It's not meant to be a deep dive but more so a sexy comfort fic looll. pls give it a read it's super funny and cutesy and ofc, sexy as hell

⚰️⏳️🖐💦

Andrew knows he shouldn't. He's always set so behind others - he was born a monster - a sinner. He had to work harder to relieve the favor of his community, of his God. He can't stop now. He has to continue. But a wicked, beastly desire within him was stirring in his belly. Tormenting his soul. It raged like a fire within his heart, that sparked down brilliant flares to his loins.

He swallows thickly.

It all started when you came into town.

You were a foreigner, different in how you talked, spoke, and carried yourself. He could taste the sunny vibe you glittered as you talked to everyone, including him. He had learned from gossip that you were a traveling merchant, coming here to rest from your travels before you head to the capital. And though he tried to protect them from the contagious sin that was him- you never stopped talking to him.

You didn't stop either when you cornered him against the cemetery gate, demanding he homes to see you in your inn. Saying how cruel he was for running from you and assuming you didn't like his company for "forcing him away" as you call it.

You were so close, so angry, and so zealous about him visiting you. You demanded him to see you and even went as far as to confess that you loved his company- alone. He swallowed thickly. You said it all in innocence, but the way you made him feel wasn't. Your arm pinned him against the gate by his collar. All the while your face had such a serious expression he had never seen you wear before.

He said yes quickly because he wanted you away from him, so the glittering feelings would disappear. But you persisted, scolding him until you got your fill. You only stopped when you noticed his trembling breath and shaking hands.

Before you left, you told him one last thing, "Tomorrow evening. Dress nicely." He already knew what that invitation meant.

You were taking him to dinner.

If only you knew he was shaking, not because he was afraid of you but because of the wickedness in his body. He was afraid of how excited he was. Afraid of how his body seemed to tingle in a way, he thought he shut down when he was a preteen.

If only you saw the way he squirmed.

If only you could see him now.

Andrew stood naked from the waist down in his home's small bathroom, his hands tugging and pulling at his amazingly wet cock. His clothes bunched at his ankles. His dick dribbled and spat up like a hungry animal, creating erotically slick sounds for every tug.

He just had to make it go away.

His cock was boiling in his hands, his face burning a brilliant red as his free hand held up his shirt. His eyes slapped lidded, moans barreling out at the most sensitive touches.

It normally only took a few pumps, but God was this taking long.

He leaned back against the wall of his bathroom, sinking his back into it and lazily drooping his head down to look at his weeping cock.

He dropped his shirt, and his free hand greedily met his other in massaging his cock, the two-handed squeezing and rubbing causing his back to arch off the wall as his moans filled the bathroom.

Please, he hopes God--

"Just touching there?"

He hears the phantoms of your voice egging him on from the depths of his wicked mind. He gasped at the idea, the sound so clear in his mind that he even looked for you and found nothing. But it continued, "Play with your tip, while you stroke yourself." He groaned painfully at the thought.

He leaned down to watch himself. Obeying as his fingers fluttered, light circles into his tip, while his other hand stroked himself viciously. The friction had him cry out, his legs buckling and shivering under the pressure.

He was going to come.

His moans peaked, his mind betraying him. As he imagined you, staring at him with that intense glare. He bursts, shooting hot, thick streams that splatter against the toilet.

With a dry moan, he leans back against the wall panting viciously.

"What? You're finished just like that," you egg him in his thoughts.

He looks down frantically, staring at his still achingly hard cock.

A whimper flees from his lips, "Oh no..." He tries to shut his eyes, praying it all will go away.

"No what?"

"No... I can't keep..."

"Touch it, Andrew." You command.

He bucks his hips forward in delight. "No." He rushes out of his bathroom, haphazardly pulling up his clothes safely around his waist, rushing to his bed. He barrels into it face first, groaning at the minuscule friction it gives him. Uncontrollably his hips rock into the bed, his poor cock mewling for pleasure.

"Andrew," you tease, he moans in delight, "I want you-"

"No!" He yells. Andrew barrels up to his feet, running out of his home deep into the dead of night. "That house's cursed," he yells into the late air for none to hear. His feet clamored against the pavement, eyes following the streetlights, as he ran to the only place he knew.

Andrew ran into the local Inn before he even knew where he was headed. He burst through the large oak doors and was greeted by the blinding lights of the warm building. He hissed and covered his eyes with his hand. Yet, his bursting into the doors was not a pleasant sight for the innkeeper.

"Oh. It's Kriess," she grumbled. Amid his panic, he was delighted to note that she at least used his name.

But the delight quickly warped to horror.

Why did he come here?

What sort of wicked spirit is possessing him right now?

"I-I shouldn't be here," He squeaks, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Room Nine, third floor," the lady grumbles.

"W-What!" He barked.

"Are you raising your damn tone at me?"

"No, I would never--"

"Get out of here! Get you, white devil!" She barrels as she points to the staircase.

With a terrified gasp, Andrew ran up the stairs, not stopping until he hit the third floor. By now, he was shivering, his teeth clamoring together, his heart beating so fast it could burst. Paranoia ensues him, as his eyes flicker down the hall, left to right with no real substance.

White devil, white monster. He's here acting on his demonic instincts, trying to satisfy the needs of his flesh. What sort of prayer would get him out of this? He needs to know. Please, God he--

"Oh? If my eyes are correct, that's Andrew Kriess!"

You spoke.

He heard your chipper voice mumble. His whole body takes a much-needed deep breath. A mewl of delight escapes him, as his mind floods with serenity.

It was the real you this time.

His head turned to see you at your doorstep, with a cozy robe on. You were preparing for bed, even now you looked so radiant. Your eyes were filled with fondness that fondness that made his heart squeeze. "I was just going out to get - wait. What's wrong?" Your face droops instantly.

You move so quickly to get so dear to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and staring deep into his eyes with that intense look on your face. That's when his grateful tranquility flutters into pure embarrassment.

With a growl, he stammers, eyes trying not to look into yours. His hands fly up as he tries to speak, "I- I thought... It- was," yet nothing of substance comes out.

"Hey? Andrew? What the hell--"

"D-Dont curse," He squeaks as his face grows impossibly red.

"Well, I'm going to need you to calm down," you say, reaching and grabbing his hand. A disgusting squelch bubbles out from where your hands meet as a stocky substance smeared into your palm. "What the hell!" You shriek as you pull your hand away.

Andrew's heart fails him as he screams out horrifically, grabbing your forearms before you can look at your palms. He pins your hands down to your side as he leans forward, his head bows to the floor, but you're painfully aware of how sticky your palms are, and how sticky your forearms now are too. How hot red his ears are.

"Oh mercy! M-Mercy! You must believe me- and do not hate me!" He blabbers.

"What are you smearing on me, Andrew?" It's your squeak now, your face flushing with confusion and embarrassment. You try to pull away and successfully slip from his grasp, but that cold slick makes a disgusting sound and smears worse down your arms. "Ew! God Andrew, what is that!" You howl as you rush back to your room.

"N-No! Let me wash your hands, close your eyes!" He nearly screams, and that's when panic truly settles in for you.

"No!" You rush into your bathroom as you hear Andrew enter and shut the door behind him. You flicker on the lights to your bathroom, as whatever it is begins to rapidly crust and dry on your arms. "What the hell!" You cursed. Your mind raced.

"Oh please! Please," you hear Andrew cry as he fits up a beat red hand to cover your eyes.

You screech and dodge it. "No more touching people, Andrew!" You cry and notice how his hands are crusting now, too.

"I'm s-sorry! A spirit overcame me and I lost to it," he whimpers impossibly broken. His face is impossibly red, as humiliated tears prick the corners of his eyes. As you look at him, it all slowly begins to click.

"Andrew. Please do not tell me this is y--"

Before the words could fly out, he squeaks and grabs your crusty arms, turning on the faucet to the sink and burying your hands into it. He mingles soap and water into his hands, building suds and before laying them onto your arms. He had a hand slung around you, trapping you between him and the faucet so you wouldn't run anywhere. "Just let me wash you," he whispers so lowly.

You swallow thickly, as arousal and curiosity blooms in your body. "Alright, but after this you'll have to tell me what happened. And without any of the fancy mumbo-jumbo spiritual bollocks," You hissed.

He squeaks, his voice budding soft, "D-Don't curse..." His head leans and rests its weight on yours.

You've never had Andrew this close to you before. The water was perfectly warm, his touch was gentle as he stroked your skin, not leaving any side of you sticky with his... Juices. His hands were much larger and gritty than yours, rugged with the callouses of a working man. Yet they turned pink under the warm water, reminiscent of how pale he was. And you could feel his chest rising and falling against your back, his nervous, humiliated breath against the side of your face, too focused on touching and massaging you than actually washing you off.

He cupped warm water and splashed away the suds, but still, he held you there, softly running his hands along your arm again.

You're so warm and soft.

"That's enough, Andrew," you scolded, aware of how intimate it all was.

"Ah," He squeaked as he turned the water off. And you took the liberty to free yourself. "Don't look at me," he whimpers.

You sigh deeply, staring at his shoes. "You walked your shoes into my Inn. And you smell like the cemetery. Take them off and go shower, there's a robe there that you could borrow," You grumble, watching as he instantly fumbles out of his boots. "I'm going to clean the floors."

"A-Alright!"

🖐💦

The hot steam blew up from the shower head as he stood meekly in the porcelain bathtub. He raked his hands through his blond locks, feeling the hot water run down from his scalp to dribble at his feet. The bathroom at the Inn was much more modern than his smile water basin and shower pipe. He really could sit down in the bathtub if he wanted. Was he deserving to use your bathroom like this?

Oh God, he's in your bathroom, showering- naked.

The heat rushed to his senses as the reality of it all started to settle in. His face blew a stark red as he leaned against the tiled walls, shuffling a shaken breath. His forehead messed into the wall, as he leaned his palms against it.

He was touching himself to you.

That forgotten heat was still there, slowly creaking. His mind raced with it all, the idea, the sounds, the sights. He sucked in a breath one of his hands sneaking down to touch his half-sleeping cock again. It ruptured awake at the minuscule touch, aching into his palm. He swallowed thickly.

Were you naked under that robe?

He hissed at the thought, his eyes rolling back in delight, a subtle chuckle airing from his lips.

Your skin was so soft when he was touching you earlier. You were between him. He could smell you. You smelled of exotic fruits, the time the rich only seemed to know. His hand began to pump his length.

This was so evil of him.

He was letting his flesh win, but it felt so good. His hips bucked into his hand as your name moaned out from his lips. He was so hard he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his palm. His cock weeping slick in a constant stream mingling in with the hot water and dribbling down the drain.

He wants to touch you like that, in different places too. It's so wrong but God, please, if you're watching him, just look away for tonight. He grips his base in a tough squeeze.

You're so amazing, so beautiful. Just let him touch you a bit. He swallows. "Please," he whimpers out into the air, his thrusting grew animalistic, the pleasure tingling in his back as his grunts grew loud.

He needs you, he doesn't care anymore, he needs you.

He's been needing you for so long.

When you first came here, he spotted you on his grocery trip. You were so stunning that the light seemed to cast a lovely halo on your sweet features. You were so stunning when you rushed to him, to compliment his looks, he moans out at the memory.

He's going to cum. Oh God-

A loud knock split his thoughts into two as he yelped, slapping his water-mixed slick-filled hand over his mouth. You call, "Andrew?"

He yelps again at the fluids on his chin, and at the alarming sound of your voice, "What's going on in there? You're taking a long time," you speak.

He frantically swipes his face and hand again, crying out, "I'll be out!" He immediately shuts the water off, hopping out and to the towels to wipe himself off.

"Andrew... I'm worried about you," you call, and his heart bursts.

He longs for you.

He stares at himself in the mirror, feeling his hard-on twitch.

"You know... It's quite terrifying for you to suddenly appear at my door. And frankly, you looked terrified, I thought... I thought someone had done something to you again..." You whisper, he can bearly hear you over his heart. His eyes flicker between the reflection of his eyes back to him, searching within himself.

He lays his palm against his heart.

"I don't like it when you censor yourself either. I hate it when you act like a holy fraud," You said. His hand clenches to a fist. Him, a fraud? "There's nothing in the world you could say that'd I hate. If there was, that's for me to decide. Not for you to decide for me... So tell me what's going on with you," you whisper into the wood of the door.

"I don't want you hurting. You're so sweet and kind. You're not a devil at all! And it pisses me the hell off whenever -" Your words get cut short, and the door opens, revealing Andrew, eyes lidded, wrapped up in a white rope.

He looks good in the color.

It's a shame he never wears it.

"Don't curse," he whispers, water dripping from his head to his shoulders. His chest heaving with every breath, desire flooding his gaze, lips cracked open breathlessly.

You're taken aback, your blinks are furious. "Sit," you murmur as you bring him to your bed. You both sit facing each other, your arms crossed.

You watch as his face heats up, as his eyes flicker up to see yours in a daze. You suck in an enamored breath, "Tell me."

"Y-You... You provoke my flesh," he whispers it earthly, leaning forward to you, placing a hand by your hip on the bed. Your eyes flicker between his, your blinks slow. "I... want you carnally. I desire you. I pray... N-No. I want you deeply." He's inching closer and closer with a sweet gentle voice, his other hand cupping your arm dear to him. Your hand finds his chest, glimpses of his pale skin underneath his robe. "I couldn't control myself tonight... I'm not sure I want to..."

"Andrew," you hush you between lidded eyes.

"I beg you, let me touch you, please," he's so close to you now, letting his nose brush against the tip of your ear, lips brushing against it for every word, breath mingling and fueling your desire.

You swallow so harshly, grabbing onto his shoulder for stability. He continues, "I can't help but think, isn't it so wrong for a man like me to want this? It's a wicked desire," you hear his confidence falter, and for some reason, it hurts more.

"Don't give up on yourself like that... Succumb to your desires, Andrew. Succumb," you whisper scantily, gripping chunks of his robe and slipping a leg on the bed to fully face him.

He groans viciously, the primal sound sending waves of pleasure through your body. You make the first move, licking a stripe up his neck, dragging the sharpness of your canines gently against his sensitive skin. He moans deeply, the beautifully breathy sound forces you to clench around nothing. It's been a while for you, traveling so much, you haven't had time to take care of yourself.

You lean up to suck briefly on his chin, fluttering your lips closer and closer to his own. But you stop just before to gaze into his eyes. He leans in for you, pressing your sweet lips together. His lips are deliciously delicate, the friction like a much-needed quench. It's barely long before the kiss deepens, as you feed him your tongue. Your soft muscle rushes in to meet his, as you swallow up his yelps and mewls.

His tongue gains its confidence, the shiveringly pleasing feeling of his foreign tastebuds sculpting up your hot mouth. You slurp on his sweet tongue. He grunts and bucks into nothing. Your lips pull away sloppily as he places a hand on you, pushing back onto the bed. "Mmh, wait let's get comfortable," you whisper.

He feels himself ache in his robe

He pulls away from you to follow you as the two of you shuffle to the heart of the smaller bed. "Lay down, I'm going to show you a few things," you tease.

"But I wanna' touch you," he begs into the air.

You shiver intensely at the sound.

"You will," you press him back into the bed, his head resting on his pillows.

He stares at you in disbelief and wonder, the cutest expression dotting his face. You brush his hair out of his face, smiling at his surprise. He's hiding a strong jaw beneath that meek bang, hid beautiful sculpted nose leading to two budding, pink tulips. You shuffle in between his legs, pulling the cord to his rope. His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling with a vigor to run a marathon.

The question pops into your mind as you pull back part of his robe to reveal his lovely chest. "When's the last time you've ever touched yourself, Kriess," you mumble.

"Uh... I suppose... I might have been fourteen," he blinks.

You giggle in disbelief, "Ten years? What a good boy you are. So holy," you hush.

He grunts viciously, "P-Please stop. Just touch me, touch me... Touch me..." He begs, shutting his eyes weakly.

You pull back his robe fully, flashing his wonderfully tone body to you. He was so muscular, so big in stature - the true power of a grave keeper. Your hands tail down his body to his hip, your eyes immediately shifting to toggle the incredibly pink cock of his. His tip was a bullied red as he pulled and twitched into the air. Dribbles of pre-cum touched his belly, and the wet scene was erotically sloppy. He was leaking like a faucet, and it sent your organs aflame.

You groaned at the sight, "So wet for me, Andrew. I'm scared I'll get you pregnant," you tease.

A humiliated squeak flies from his lips, "I-I- I'm sorry. I'm not so s-sure as to how you'd be able to--" but you wouldn't let him continue his lowly apologies as you bent over and pressed a deep kiss into the base of his needy cock.

He moans out into the open, his hands instantly flying to entangle themselves in your hair. You lick up a stripe to his tip, never breaking your stare at his gorgeous face. You pull back, slipping your robe off tantalizingly slow, watching as he whimpers. He gasped at your sweet body, his cock twitching to be touched more.

You gave him something to look at. You smirked.

You leaned down back to his pretty dick, grabbing it at the base and taking the tip into your hot mouth. He was average in length but thick as it filled your mouth. You greedily slurped up his runny juices, closing your eyes with a content sigh as you guided him deeper and deeper into your mouth. His hands clenched chunks of your hair.

The feeling of him entering your mouth was euphoric, as his sweet gasps and moans filtered the air. The sounds were on the quieter side but were sharp and filled with bliss. He chuckled out a delighted sound, his chest heaving as you began to suck.

You twirled your tongue at his piping-hot muscle, hollowing your cheeks and drinking him up. He moaned sweetly into the air, as his legs flew up on each side of you. You bobbed on him, carefully massaging all that you couldn't reach with your hand, lapping him up as if you were thirsty.

"Oh God!" He wailed. His grip grew blood-hot on your hair, the feeling enough for you hiss. You bobbed him viciously in retaliation, the overstimulation forcing his head to lean back. "C-Can't. Can't..." He groaned, he bucked deep into your mouth, gagging you as he held you there with his large fists.

He trusted deep into you, his back arching off the bed, his sounds vulgar and pleading. "F-Fuck, fuck. Please, please, please," he cried out a mantra of fucked out whimpers, riding his high at your expense. His voice picked up strongly, swear dipping down his forehead.

With one final buck into the back of your throat, Andrew pulled out, releasing into the hot crevice of your mouth, his hands releasing you, as they flopped to the side. His rugged fulfilled groans filled the air.

You slipped off him, coughing as you gagged on the intense mixture of your saliva and his slick. "I'm so sorry," you heard him cry as you wiped your lips.

You giggled tiredly, your voice hoarsely adjusting back to the feeling of a dick-free throat. "You're so lovely, 'drew," you leaned up to kiss his lips. The lingering taste of himself meeting him.

You redirected his hands to your chest, and greedily, he squeezed and tugged at anything he could, breaking the kiss so his eyes could oggle you with the passion of a starved man.

His fingers prodded at your nipples until they were hard, then they slipped down your body, feeling the curve of your belly. He instantly shot up as his hand reached down to cup your sex. You giggled out an estranged moan, reaching up to embrace him over his shoulders. "You're so needy," you tried to deflect, pulling your sex away from him.

"Please, jus- please lemme' touch you." He cries out like it pains him.

He the two of you up, not even needing an answer as he pulls you into his lap.

You whimper, leaning into his shoulder as his fingers massage your sex, his tongue frantically passionate. You're deliciously warm to him, and you feel your sex begin to slick his hand. He laughs blissfully at the feeling. The sound of it is soft and filled with childish delight as you rock into him. He speeds up his barrage of you, the friction causing you to rock into his hands, lapping at his neck with your tongue like a dog. Your sex feels painfully hot and messy as you buck into him like a wild animal.

You feel your hole begin to ache, as you push all the way into him, redirecting his hands to touch the puckering hole. "In there," he squeaks suddenly, but you leave no room as you grind down into him.

"Andrew, I was suppose to be devouring you," you whined.

"Haha, it's alright. We can try again later," he twists to see your face, pressing a loving peck against your lips. You blink in shock, his gaze filled with gentleness.

"I haven't had anything up there in a very long while," you whisper into his lips.

"Oh golly..."

⏳️⚰️🖐💦

You arch into his fingers, gripping chunks of the bedsheets. Andrew has you laid out beneath him, his thick, burly fingers playing in your thick walls. You huff into him, his fingers themselves coated in a dangerous mixture of your slick, his cum, and his spit. He's knuckle deep within you, his middle and ring finger plunging into you passionately.

His gaze never left your figure, not even for a second, as he drank up the sight of your trembling form. He leans down between your legs, planting a kiss on your sex the way he's seen you done his mere moments prior. "Andrew," you cry with all your might.

"You're so aroused... Am I that tempting to you?" He purrs, his eyes lidded, hair tucked behind his ear. He's gotten too confident.

You couldn't deny him for a second, "Mmhm, yes, Andrew."

He shudders, his name sounds so good from your lips.

He can't take it anymore.

He slips his finger out of your hole, grabbing himself as he lines up to fit inside. His tip bulged against your entrance, and you puckered kisses against the weeping muscle. He pressed against you, his head breaching into your body.

"Aah! Oh," you hissed. Peeking out from closed eyes, Andrew's face was tensed tight. His lips were glued, his eyes lidded, eyebrows furrowed and his cheeks were filled with air. His strong hands reached and grabbed your hips, squeezing so hard it stung deliciously. The familiar subtle burn of stretching as he pushed himself halfway in.

It was finally then did he released his first moans, the sound was strained and needy, his mind held by the single thread that he should hold himself back.

But by the time you sink into his base, your hot, warm, slicked-up insides are screaming at his senses. He lost all sorts of sensitivity. "Fuck," He cried, his voice burly, as he began to pump at a decent pace.

His head grew heavy as he plummeted onto his hands on top of you, his expression erotic. His toned pale body, his strong arms on each side of your head, his eyes that briefly rolled to the back of his head. "Oh, god," he groaned out. The sound fighting against the shameful sounds of your sexes bumping.

His moans abruptly peak again, his eyes rolling back with stuttering hips. Suddenly an abruption of cum spills into you, making you shudder an arch. "S-Sorry, tryna' hold back... Jus' hold on a bit more," he moans, speech slurred, drunk off your goodness. He was still hard after cumming inside you.

He pulls out slowly, all the way down to the head before plunging right in, causing you to cry and wrap your legs around his waist. You were extra slick now, with how his cock fed you more of his juices. His grip on your hips was intense as he buried his head into your shoulder, thrusting quicker as the heaving sensation of you eating up his cock overtook him.

Every sight, every smell, every taste and touch from you, sent him teetering over the edge. This was so dirty, so vulgar, so shameful, that it made his hips stutter in spiteful bliss. Like an animal, he pumped into you at the pace he liked the most, fueled by your irregular, overstimulated moans that rewarded him. You wrapped your arms around him in the tango, burying your nails into his skin as he hit your sweet spot, your jaw falling slack in disbelief.

He was so thick, so filling. Your belly was swarming in satisfaction, feeling all of your inside move and squirm to his every wild buck. He pulled out of your shoulder and pinned your head between him again. His reddish, blueish eyes found you like a greedy hawk. He was completely fucked out, staring down deep into your eyes, not looking away for a second, daring you to keep the gaze.

You whimpered and cried, holding onto his forearms, squeezing and jerking around his cock. He grunted deeply, etches of a delighted smile ghosting his fucked out expression. He was glistening with sweat, a non-stop pent-up sex-machine.

You growled in fear, feeling your orgasm overtake you. You arched down deep into his body, as you spilled out, crying out a useless, "An-Andreew," that fell on deaf ears.

"Please, p-please, please, G-God... Just a little more," he whispers to you. He presses his kisses on your cheek. But truly, he's unsure of who he's calling out to anymore.

He slows for your orgasm, grinding on you wildly, riding out your high as your head collapses back on the pillow.

He pulls out and turns you on your side, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. "Just a little more, please," he cries, he's still hard, still twitching. He peppers sweet kisses on your eyelids, nuzzling his nose into your warmth.

"F-Fine, Andrew. Don't make me say it," you stutter, your face heating in this embarrassing position.

He leans to suckle on your collarbone, distracting you almost until you feel his abrasive length slip into your body again. You mewl out, listening to his shaky breath deep in your ears. He rests his head against the side of yours, your knee hitting your shoulder. "Y-You're very flexible," he praises with a giggle, it almost soothes the anger you feel at his wildness.

You can't even retaliate when he begins to thrust slower, as his wandering lips slip around to pepper kisses on your earlobe, your jawline, your neck, and even on the back of your leg. Your eyes roll at the tantalizingly slow thrusts, all paired with the sweet kisses. He gently cups your chin, turning you to face him as he leaves an earnest peck on your lips. "I love you," he whines childishly.

You giggle in surprise, "I know. I love you e-even more, Kriess," you manage between your pants.

"Oh, God," he whispers, bucking into you with a stutter. You gasp in shock, overstimulation brimming through your body.

"Don't cur- urse," you somehow manage out, grabbing chunks of the bedsheets.

He laughs lazily and begins to pump up the pace, leaning up and fucking into you fervently. You squeeze down on him at the sudden abrasiveness, arching and crying out with all of your body.

The wooden bed creaks, a sound that causes Kreiss' breath to hitch. A sound so dangerous you could see the thought process behind it. He pulls almost out and slams deeply into you again, your toes curling painfully- and yet to your dismay, the bed creeks again.

He laughs blissfully again, stuttering out between moans, "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, pistoning into you roughly, desperate to hear the animalistic creaking of the beneath you too. You cry out in overstimulation, your own orgasm building up, ready to spike.

"Please, pleugh... God- gonna... Oh!" A shiver overtakes him as his thrusts get sloppy and stuttering, as you squeeze and milk him of everything he has, your own high reaches its peak at the same time you're bursting with cum deep inside you, as Andrew thrusts into his base and grinds deeply against you, forcing you into an intense orgasm. "C-Cummin' cah..." You watch as sporadic twitch trails from his back, down his arms, and sparks into his fingertips.

His face is completely fucked out, his jaw relaxed, eyes rolled up to the heavens still in prayer. He finally, sweaty, heaving, pulls out of you, his penis going completely soft.

You've never been a religious person, but seeing him finally soft almost turned you into one. You were saved!

You dropped your head back onto the pillow your leg slipping off him as falls back onto his ass. You stare at the wall as you catch your breath, the room suddenly aware of how it smells like sweat and fluids. His cumming so much within you is going to be a problem, but a problem for later you.

Andrew weakly reaches and pats your ankle, and you turn to gaze at him. He's smiling panting out, pure joy bursting on his sweet face. You knew you were going to be so sore, and so tired in the morning but. It was hard to stay mad at a face like that.

He crawls over to you, sitting next to you as he rolls you onto your back. His fingers subconsciously rub circles into your belly as he mutters, "That was heavenly..." He hushes into your lips as he kisses them sweetly.

"Mmh... Andrew," you mutter.

He giggles ecstatically, leaning down and placing a hand on each side of you. He kisses up and down your neck dearly.

"I want to do this with you more," he mutters shyly in that familiar, raspy, airy tone.

And just like that, you were no longer religious.

"Please God save me," You cry playfully.

"Don't curse," he giggles into your neck.

[flowershines]

Do you think you could do the members reactions to his ex (still his fwb) leaving footprints after car sx on his window shield for other girls to see😭 thank you and its okay if not!!

Yess ofc, thank you so much for requesting something. I am a bit confused about it, then again i might just be slow but i will try my best.

warnings: Smut, fluff (if you squint), mentions of sex, fwb! reader, alcohol, lmk if i missed any

Not proof read

Heeseung:

“Don’t be a pussy, fuck me harder.” Looking in the rear view mirror, your moans was the only thing that was running through his head. “Just like that” He couldn’t help but get hard at the sight of your footprint on his window, you had texted him about how you ‘needed a good fuck’ which caused him to cave and pull up to your house, you both couldn’t even make it to the dorms so you pulled over in some random parking lot and hopped into the backseat. He came at you like a starved man, ever since you two broke up he has been having a hard time getting over you. Being with you was the only thing that made him happy, but now that he can’t have that. Being used by you was the best option. “No one’s dick is as good as your- fuck.”

Jay:

“What’s that?” The girl from the bar asked refuting to your footprint that had been left just a millimeter away from the bottom of the window, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” he unlocked the car as the girl sat in the passenger’s side. “Listen I have way more respect for myself than to just be a quick fuck so i’m leaving.” Shutting the door behind her he couldn’t help but stare at the footprint, the way he was deep in your dripping cunt when you made that mark. “Jay, you fuck so good. Better than Heese-.” “Don’t finish that sentence.” Without realizing he started his car and started to drive to your house, he couldn’t live without you. He knows that you aren’t his anymore but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you with every inch of his heart, every time he fucks you he hopes that you notice that spark that you got the first time you made love and get back with him.

Jake:

“S-so close, k-keep fuck-ing me like that.” Your nails dug into his back as your feet rested against the window and he pounded into you harder and harder, “Such a fucking tight cunt.” fucking into you deeper he whispered in your ear “Only I can fuck you this good.” Washing his car those memories of the other night was infused in his veins, he wanted to relive that moment and be with you for the rest of his life. The employee walked over to him, “Need help?” he shook his head at her “No thanks.” she inched closer to the car. “That from your girlfriend?” He knew what she was talking about yet acted clueless causing her to point at your footprint from the inside of the car, he shook his head once more. “Well whoever that was, let’s just say if I was someones fuck buddy I wouldn’t let some guy that didn’t mean anything to me, fuck me in the back of his car.” Her words ran through his head making him not be able to sleep that night, do you still want him like he wants you?

Sunghoon:

Walking to his car his co worker opened the passengers side and sat down, buckling up and waited for him to get in the car. “Thanks again, i really appreciate it.” She thanked him as he replied “Oh it’s nothing, honestly. Where do you live again?” “Just down the road.” she said pointing to the street away from their work. As he started the car she turned to him then out of the corner of her eye saw a smudged footprint, “Watch little kids?” his face was filled with confusion “No? Why?” pointing with her thumb she pointed to it as he looked in the rear view mirror. “Oh, yeah, m-my cousin.” She nodded and looked out the window, “Hoonie, you fuck me so good.” his fingers ran through your hair as he admired your features. Looking at you like you are the princess of his dreams, yet the ‘princess’ is laying down in his back seat being fucked like a slut. “So fucking gorgeous.” Dropping her off she waved at him as he got back onto the main roads, he wanted to just drive straight to your house but knew he couldn’t. He wanted you so bad. Needs you.

Sunoo:

Desperation filled within his body as he teased his tip at your entrance, one of your legs was propped up above his shoulder while you placed the other on the ledge of the window. “S-Sunoo please, nee-d you so bad.” A smirked formed on his lips, “God I love it when you beg for me.” “Hello, earth to Sunoo.” Jake waved his hand in front of his face as the girl in front of him looked confused, “She asked you a question.” he turned towards the girl “Are you single? Because if you are we can have some fun in your car later.” she said winking at him. “He is single.” Jake said as he nudged him, “Bu-” cutting him off she spoke again “Great, give me your phone so th-” he shook his head “I have a girl, see that footprint? It’s from her. You know when i fucked her in my car, plus she is way better looking than some slut begging for dick on the side of a restaurant. Let’s go Jake.” Jake stood there in shock making Sunoo drag him to the passengers side, hopping in he asked “Y/n?” he nodded as he looked down.

Jungwon:

“Fuck Y/n your cunt is dripping.” He said as his fingers ran through your glistening pussy, then brung his fingers up to his youth and tasted your juices. Moaning at the taste he swore he could’ve came just from the taste of your slick on his tongue. He swore at that moment as the memories of last night filled his mind, he could taste your cunt at that moment. He had gone to the bar with the members as their way to cheer him up from the breakup, a girl walked up to them as she placed her hand on Jungwon’s shoulder. Making conversations with them, “I’m gonna head out, just wanna sleep.” as she walked out of the building while following him to his car. “Where are we going?” She asked as they stopped in front of his car “I’m going home.” leaning in closer he could smell the alcohol leaking from her mouth, “Thought we should have some fun.” he shook his head while pointing at your footprint. “This, is from my lovely girlfriend so if you will excuse me.”

[meganx]

Just One Weekend // Lando Norris x OFC // Part Seven

Summary: Alice has been a Formula One fan all her life. When the opportunity came up to enter a competition that could mean attending an actual race, she pounced on it. When the news finally came that she had won, she was cautiously optimistic about what the experience would hold. Lando, on the other hand, would rather eat fish than spend an entire weekend entertaining a stranger.

All My Works

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Part Seven

Alice had always loved Sunday mornings on race weekends. Her house was filled with buzzing energy, and she and her dad would talk for hours about their predictions. More often than not, her mother would make pancakes drenched in syrup, and Rory would be doing her nails at the coffee table. The last few years, Mia would also join in, adding comments and asking a hundred different questions.

The feeling she got on race weekends was tripled when she walked between the motorhomes. The energy felt thick, almost tangible, and she could feel it down to her bones.

The McLaren garage was alive with anticipation. The sound of machines whirring to life and engineers scattering to complete last minute fixes created a heart beat and she was addicted to it. A part of her feared she would never be able to enjoy race weekends at home the same again.

When she arrived in the hospitality area, it was brimming with people. Athletes from all corners of the world were gathered on the balcony, looking over at the track. Against the feature wall stood a group of young women, all of them looking as though they had stepped right out of a magazine, taking photos. Between the two groups fluttered a host of VIP guests that were rich enough to afford tickets, and actors and actresses that Alice could never have dreamed of seeing in person.

Standing in the middle of it all, Alice felt invisible. Like she had been swallowed up whole. And, she loved every minute of it. She was a fly on the wall to conversations she really didn't belong in and could be seen in the background of photos reaching millions of views.

She relaxed quietly on one of the bar stools, sipping on her iced latte, just people-watching. She was absorbed in a conversation about an unreleased movie when her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Mia: You're on TV! (image attached)

Alice chuckled when she opened the image. It was of her walking into the paddock this morning in her white blouse and papaya orange linen shorts. She could tell Mia took the photo from her family's house and she could see Rory's head in the bottom left.

She didn't reply. Not because she didn't want to, but because Lando grabbed the phone from her hands before her thumbs could start typing.

"Morning, Alice. You look absolutely wonderful today."

Alice narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. Everything about him in that moment radiated mischief.

"What did you do?" she asked. She reached for her phone but he just lifted it out of her reach.

"Oh, Ali. Are you accusing me of something?" he teased. "Come on beautiful, we have places to be."

He began walking backwards towards the hospitality exit, dangling her phone like a carrot on a stick. She didn't really care about having her phone taken, but the curiosity of what he was up to ate at her. So she stood up, ice latte still in hand, and followed him. His smile turned triumphant when she started walking and he turned, walking at full speed now.

She followed after him hurriedly. "Where are we going, Lando?" she asked.

"Shush, Ali. You're going to ruin the surprise."

Her heart skipped a beat as the nickname reared its head for the second time. No one had ever really given her a nickname.

Their footsteps were absorbed by the ground and unnoticeable against the intense noise of the paddock. She followed him until they reached the other side of the hospitality suite. Lando opened the door, ushering her though, and as he shut the door the silence thundered in her ears.

"I wanted to say thank you," he said. "For your help yesterday. And for staying with me."

She nodded her head. "Anytime."

"I wanted to get you a gift, but I didn't really know what," he explained. He walked over to a square-shaped something leaning against the back of the couch, an orange towel draped over it. "I came up with this idea at like 2AM."

He pulled the towel off, and a large frame came into view. Inside the frame were pictures of all the drivers from this year's grid. She took a step closer and blinked once, hard, making sure she was seeing clearly.

Lando had gotten every single driver to sign under their picture.

"Lan -," she started. Her voice choked before she could say another word.

"You like it?"

She nodded viciously and launched towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his wrapped loosely around her waist.

"Thank you, Lando." Her voice cracked slightly, but she continued, "I love it."

"Good, I'm glad. Don't worry about getting it home, I'll have it shipped to you. Just send me your address."

She stepped back and smiled, eyes darting between Lando and the frame. He smiled that wide, toothy grin, and as he looked at her she swore she could see something in his gaze shift.

__________

The day was long and drawn out as she followed Lando and Oscar from debrief to media event to another meeting she didn't understand. But the excitement from the morning came back tenfold as the race was set to begin.

The cars were carefully lined up on the grid. Alice's eyes were glued to the television from where she sat in the garage. An engineer she barely recognized slid a pair of headphones into her ears and within seconds she could hear Lando's radio.

The lights flashed on, one after the other, and then she heard the characteristic voice of David Croft echoing through the speakers. Lights out and away we go.

Lando made it through the first lap unscathed and two positions up. The cars roared through the circuit, and the stands were alive with sound, and she savoured every minute of it.

By lap 25 Lando was in P5. Most of the drivers had already pitted, opting for a one-stop strategy in light of the dry weather. He weaved almost effortlessly through the corners and straights, and by Lap 50 the only driver in front of him was Oscar.

They raced a beautiful, clean race, and on the final lap, Lando managed to steal pole position from Oscar. Seeing him cross the line in first, wearing the helmet that she had designed, filled Amelia's heart with an indescribable pride.

The garage erupted, and engineers rushed to watch the podium ceremony. Alice stayed firmly seated, happy to watch the champagne spray from the comfort of the garage.

A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that less than twenty-four hours ago, she had made a pinky promise, and she needed to deliver.