#it was nice to see him before the... insanity

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

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[julessuretries]

Seeing people call Ragatha an "abuser" post episode 5 is actually insane to me because for me, episode 5 singlehandedly sold me on her character, whereas before I was kind of apathetic.

She's not "toxically positive" - she's just got some sort of fawn response given her mommy issues and feels like she needs to be "well-behaved and proper" in order for people to like her.

One of my closest friends from college was exactly like this and it was hard to see them go through the recurring issue of being unable to break past surface-level acquaintanceships with people precisely because they were "too nice". Like, do you know how uncomfortable it is to have to explain to someone they'd probably have an easier time connecting with people if they, just, stopped being overly helpful? It's a really weird conversation to have: like, am I actually encouraging this person to be worse? I kid you not at one point I think I actually said "you'd be better of if you were meaner", but, like, no one else was willing to say it and he was desperate so I guess I had to.

But unfortunately the only person who'd ever be bold enough to do that in the show is Jax (because he's literally already done it) but it's hard for Ragatha, or anyone, for that matter, to take any advice he gives sincerely even if he's kind of right because he's already such a jerk (and might be projecting some of his own mommy issues if we're being honest).

Looking back at the pilot, Ragatha's behavior towards Pomni seems all the more depressing. She literally pounced on the opportunity to befriend Pomni from minute one because newcomers are rare and I imagine she's been lonely for a very long time. Which is why seeing Jax do a better job bonding with Pomni gets under her skin because from her perspective she's put in way more effort and therefore deserves her friendship more. That's obviously a very transactional and problematic way of viewing relationships, but isn't surprising given what we've learned about her upbringing. She's likely been taught that love is something that can be earned with enough effort and is now reaching her limit having to come to terms with that not being the case.

The best things in life come free. Genuine connections have to form naturally. While I'm not totally convinced that Jax is being fully honest in his attempts to befriend Pomni, I do think he understands something that Ragatha doesn't. People want to be friends with people they can relate to and trust. And even if Pomni isn't a jerk like Jax, she at the least can rest assured she's seen the worst of him, whereas Ragatha could reveal her "real self" at any time. It's about taking a calculated risk - even if Ragatha deep down is still a nice person (which I personally think she is), there's no way for anyone else to know that for sure. It's less risky to be friends with people who are more open about their flaws than with someone who feels like they could crack at any moment and you'd have no idea what would spill out.

Ragatha is a really tragic character but also so incredibly real. Unfortunately even if she did decide to be more "genuine" with who she was as a person she'd still have a long journey ahead of her, since I'm not very convinced she even knows who she is.

Wow this episode was good.

“We need more complex female characters”

YALL COULDNT HANDLE HER

It’s crazy that her character flaw is thinking that if she ever expresses a negative emotion everyone will dislike her and yall immediately proved her right. Goddamn.

[iris-draws]

Redraw of some screenshots from ep. 5

I'm actually really proud of this one. Anyways time for my rant about the episode

Okay so there was a LOT this episode.

First off, I LOVE jax and pomnis new friendship. I think it's really cute and its nice to see jax let his walls down. I do not defend his actions at all, the way he treats gangle is genuinely bullying, but I do think he'll get better with Pomnis help. I think she'll help ease him into the group more and make him be a better person. Also, I sort of get why people ship jax and pomni now. I might be on that ship now🤭

Ragatha really broke my heart this episode. The way she was never asked about her backstory yet overshared anyway, the uncomfortable jokes she tried to make to fit in. Her losing it at Jax. I really relate to her character and im very scared for her. I think she might be the first of our main cast to abstract, as some people have already pointed out, she glitches when apologizing to jax. And I think its fitting, considering when kaufmo attacked her, she almost abstracted herself.

Lastly, Ribbit. Gooseworx confirmed "ribbit" was the person who abstracted before Kaufmo. Now, ribbit could be their actual name, or just a reference to them being a frog. We see jax during the intermission run through the hallway to stop at ribbits door, seemingly unable to move. I really hope we get to see some flashbacks with them in the future.

If you've read this far, you get a cookie.🍪 thanks for reading my insane babbling.

[stzrgirl4norris]

A Case Of You - LN4

Lando Norris x Psychologist!Reader

Summary: When McLaren noticed their precious golden boy driver was struggling to take his Championship seriously, they decided to hire a new psychologist to "fix" whatever problem he had. Turns out, the problems were about to become even more real.

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: smut, praising, degradation, softdom!lando.

(I am aware this is unprofessional and no psychologist would ever act in such way, this is purely for writing and entertainment purposes, I don't mean to disrespect anyone's profession or career 💙)

Lando didn’t want to admit it, but he had his knees shaking. As he walked the long corridor towards the room right at the very end, he was certain his legs were going to give out at any point. It wasn’t an unfamiliar path, he has done that for many, many years. But never after stupidly crashing against his teammate during a race in a fit of frustration. Never when he had everything to lose.

Zak Brown’s door was open, inviting him to come in. Lando felt like he was walking into his death sentence. He had no idea what waited beyond that door, maybe a lecture, screaming, someone telling him they would give the priority to Oscar, or that the contract wouldn’t be renovated - all those possibilities terrified his sleep. 

However, coming into that minimalistic decorated room, he definitely did not expect to find a girl, sitting on a chair around the glass table, right in front of Andrea and Zak, catching a smile in both men’s faces.

“Well, hello, Lando! Come in!” 

Usually, Zak’s fatherly voice would feel like a warm hug, but instead it sent shivers down Lando’s spine. Stepping into that room, he knew that whatever was waiting for him was a worse punishment than all the scenarios his anxiety drew in his mind.

You were sitting legs crossed in that chair, dressed in a fitted pair of jeans and exceptionally boring white t-shirt, a pair of ballet flats covering your feet. You didn’t stand up when the driver walked in, but gave him a polite smile. 

“Hi, guys.” He didn’t sit, standing with his hands in his pockets next to your chair. “You wanted to talk?” 

His eyes wandered towards you, waiting for you to leave and give the men privacy. But you didn’t move a single muscle.

“Yes, we did, sit down, please.”

Zak’s voice wasn’t scary. He seemed relaxed. Happy, even.

Lando sat on the chair by your side. He didn’t know whether to look at his bosses in front of him or to your cryptic figure.

“How are you, Lando?” Andrea finally directed himself to the driver, smiling like he was family.

“I’m good…” He was going to wait before saying something, but patience wasn’t Lando’s biggest asset. “Who is she?”

“Lando, this is YN.” 

Zak introduced. You noticed how nervous the british boy was by your side, shoulders tense, neck rigid as if he slept on top of a hard mattress.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” You tried to give him your sweetest, most welcoming voice, to get him to relax a bit.

Funny thing is, Lando was sure he knew you from somewhere. Your face was strange, but your name sounded familiar. However, his mind couldn’t place the puzzle together.

“Hi?”

“She’s here to help you.”

And then it clicked. Lando has been complaining about his race engineer since race number two, definitely a bit more after Miami. He hated how bad he was getting screwed up with poor strategies this season, it was something he brought up every single team briefing, shamelessly. Suddenly, the brit gave you a big smile. Surely you must be everything he asked for, smart, intelligent, competent… And cute. It was his dream coming true. Maybe he should mess up a bit more if this was his “punishment”.

“Oh… I see… I feel bad for Will, though. Has he left already? I’d like to say goodbye, thank him for his work.”

“Will?”

Both Andrea and Brow had question marks all over their faces, thinking their driver had gone insane all of the sudden.

“Yeah… She’s my new engineer, right?”

Stella’s lips curled into an awkward smile, but Lando refused to believe he got it wrong.

“Look, boy…” Zak straightened his body to the chair, arms coming over the table, with that serious face Lando hated. “What happened on Sunday finally made Andrea and I sit down and talk. You and I have been together on this journey since 2019, you, more than anybody, know how hard we worked to give you a competitive car…”

Lando was breathing hard, unable to hide his discomfort, chest moving up and down quickly and rapidly.

“And now that you have it, you’re throwing your opportunities away.”

Andrea’s voice cut Zak’s speech with a sharpness that hurt. It was cold, too honest, too real.

“You’re unfocused, Lando. You get so desperate you make mistakes. I know that you want to win without changing yourself. I know that you’re a nice guy and don’t want to act like a douchebag. But right now, your self depreciation and lack of confidence is shoving you down a dark hole.”

Zak continued, finally managing to let out the words he carefully composed. You looked over to the driver on your left side, he was trying his best not to show any emotion, and failing, because you could see the ghost of a tear forming on the inside corner of his eyes, and his hands rubbing his knees with pressure. 

“That’s not what I–”

“It’s time to face the harsh truth, Lando. It’s time to wake up.”

He looked from Andrea over to you. Eyes settling without the joy they had before.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

“I’m your new psychologist, Lando.”

Lando looked over the men across from him and let out a sarcastic chuckle, a dry laugh, dismissive.

“You hired me a twenty year old therapist?”

In Lando’s mind, there was no way you were good at your job. You looked young, too young to have experience. He probably had more years of dealing with anxiety than you had working. There was no way McLaren would put their trust in someone like you.

“YN was working with Ferrari last year, I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

His mind was clear. He did hear about you. You were a legend in Ferrari, Charles and Carlos always mentioned how sharp and good their team’s “psychologist” was. Lando always thought it was a dumb concept for a team to have a therapist, but no one ever mentioned saying a bad word about you. Until you made Vasseur cry in a meeting after he decided to let go of Carlos Sainz. 

You were the golden girl, the genius behind the well being of the team, that was, of course, until you told the boss something he didn’t want to hear, then you were cut like disposable garbage. You didn’t take it to heart, you understood it perfectly. In fact, you didn’t expect a different behavior from the men in this sport.

When Zak Brown got caught in this tricky situation between Lando and Oscar, your name was the first one that popped. You were the solution to all his problems. A weapon. And even though you told both team principals that you can’t just fix people, it’s more complicated than that, they still viewed you as the secret to get Lando to focus again. Bring him back to his juvenile confidence and personality that wasn’t depressing or too harsh.

You knew Lando. Not directly, but you, sometimes, got the chance to observe him and draw very shallow conclusions. You didn’t see a boy who was lazy, or fragile, you saw a driver who cared too much and put so much pressure on himself that he lost his passion for the sport. Your goal wasn’t to fix Lando’s attitude, you wanted him to gain his sparkle back, and if that meant he would leave the job or McLaren for good, then so be it. But Zak and Andrea didn’t need to know that last part.

“I’ve heard she was fired from Ferrari, yeah?”

“It was their loss.”

Lando bliked,  incredulous. 

“I don’t fucking need a therapist, guys. I am just fine. Sure, yeah, I fucked up on Sunday, but I apologized and it’s not going to happen again.” His words were dry and uncaring, Lando was pissed. And then he turned to you, eyes frosty. “You can go make someone cry over Red Bull or Mercedes, I don’t care.”

“This is not a choice, boy. You are going to work with YN until the end of the season. The contract is signed, it’s done. This meeting is just to simply let you know.”

Lando sighed, hands running through his curls in frustration.

“This is a fucking joke.” Being fired would feel better.

“And if you don’t show up to talk to her at least once a week, we’re going to be forced to make Oscar a number 1 driver.”

No one out of the men noticed how you rolled your eyes. This type of behavior was everything you fought against. No one should be forced to talk or go to therapy, it was the opposite of productive. You realized you had a great deal of work ahead of you, not just with Lando, but with everyone on that team.

Lando was speechless, furious, and the smell of your perfume was making things worse.

“Are we done?”

Zak turned his attention to you, who were sitting still, unfazed by the display of feelings by the boy next to you.

“YN, do you want to add something?”

Lando rolled his eyes, refusing to look at you. Yet, you still turned your body towards him.

“I want to make a deal with you, Lando.” He hummed in response, staring at his feet like a child getting lectured by their parents. “Give me a chance for the next two races until summer break. You can meet me tomorrow, here, for our first session. Then, we can see each other every Friday before Free Practice and every Sunday after the race. After summer break I’ll let you choose whenever you want to talk, no forced sessions, I don’t want that. And if you absolutely hate me, I’ll let you kick me out before summer break.”

Lando took a deep breath, eyes closed. He firstly looked at the men in front of him, both physically unaware of your conditions, taken by surprise - which he loved to see. Then, his attention focused on you, with your perfect grin smile. Lando Norris loved a challenge, and he would love to prove to everyone that you were not the next Freud and he didn’t need saving.

“Ok, fine, whatever.”

You smiled, victorious. Zak clapped his hands, getting up from his seat, followed by Lando, who just stormed off the room without saying any proper words.

This one was going to be interesting.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · [next day] · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He’s late. Deliberately so. You knew it was on purpose, that he would do anything to get you to give up. But you could be as persistent and stubborn as him. There was no apology when the door creaked open, just the confident footsteps that weren't rushed. No guilt, no embarrassment, only sheer arrogance.

Lando Norris walked in like he owned the oxygen in the room, like he was doing you a favor by showing up at all. You didn’t move, didn’t even lift your gaze, keeping your eyes on the wall clock with mechanical indifference. 

His eyes scanned the office, and you tracked every shift in his expression. The tiny furrow between his brows at the absence of any art, the twitch at the corners of his mouth when he saw only one chair, leather, black. Minimal. Impersonal. Surgical.

He failed to realize he was being read by the second he stepped in.

“No couch?” he murmured, finally. “Thought shrinks were supposed to have a couch.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who reclines easily.”

That got him a reaction - barely perceptible, though - only the curl of a lip and a faint twitch in his jaw. This was good, you wanted him slightly off balance.

Lando hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, legs sprawled and arms folded, trying with his posture to adopt control. He wasn’t comfortable, he was performing. His breathing was calm, but his jaw was tight, a classic misdirection. He had been coached, media-trained, he knew exactly how to be a mirrorball, how to give people the exact version they needed to see.

Then, nothing. Not from him, not from you. The clock ticked; one second… Two…. Fifteen… Forty. By the time a full minute has passed, Lando started to fidget. Not enough to look restless, just enough to betray that he knew silence was a tactic. You, however, let it stretch a beat longer before speaking.

“They told me your problem was anxiety.” Your voice was smooth, analytical. “But… I just think you’re bored. Am I correct?”

His jaw tightened, eyes flashing to yours. That irritated him, mainly because you didn’t open the file that sat lonely over the table. 

“You always diagnose people before they speak?” he shot at you, sharp edged.

“This is not a diagnosis.” You leaned back in your chair, hands folding together neatly in your lap. “I’m just stating what I see. You’re not here to talk, you’re here to check an obligation. Probably resentfully.”

“What, do you want me to cry?” 

“Would that be productive for you?” You tilted your head. 

“You tell me.”

You watched Lando with that same unnerving calm, enough to catch something charging behind his eyes.

“You like to provoke, Lando. I get it, it’s safer than being honest. That’s fine. Just know it’s not original.”

Lando let out a low, incredulous laugh and ran a hand over his face. He was amused, frustrated and profoundly annoyed.

“I get it…” he started. “You’re clever. Observant. Is that your thing?”

You didn’t answer, unfazed by his arrogance.

Lando shifted, legs drawing slightly closer together. Less performative now, less certain too. He didn’t know why he expected you to be… softer. Maybe the black turtleneck, maybe the voice… It was low, not quite monotone, but measured, like someone who doesn’t waste syllables. He couldn’t read you and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You didn’t look impressed, not with the name or his status. You weren’t trying to fix him, not even trying to understand him. You were studying him., like a pattern. And fuck, he hated that.

“I’m here,” he said, eventually, shrugging. “Isn’t that the whole thing? I show up, you take notes and I nod when you say something deep.”

You didn’t blink.

“That’s the thing about taking notes, it implies compliance. But you walked in late, challenged the setting, and haven’t said a single word.”

“You haven’t asked a single question.”

You paused. Watched him.

“What do you want people to see when they look at you?”

Lando froze. Not because the question was profound, but because you asked it like you already knew the answer. And he didn’t.

“I don’t care what people see.” he lied.

The lie was in the deflection, the cocked eyebrow, the way his gaze slided to the wall instead of holding yours. Lando cared, desperately. In both the typical and nontypical way. He wanted adoration and control. He lived for the power over how the world digested him. 

“You care more than you want to admit.” 

Lando was bleeding from wounds he neglected. He wasn’t restless. He was untethered. That was different. He put himself on autopilot and called it ambition. You’ve seen this before, athletes who mistake identity for devotion, who confused success with passion. Lando was burned out and he was empty. And he knew it. But saying it out loud would shatter the version of himself he liked to pretend it was real.

The McLaren driver jerked forward slightly. 

“Don’t make this about media or fame or whatever sob story you think I’ve got locked in here.” He tapped his temple like it’s all just noise. “I’m not your pet project.”

“I don’t work with pet projects,” you replied. 

“I’m not suffering either,” he muttered.

“I never said you were” You leaned forward, elbows on the desk now, eyes locked with his. “You used to be very active on social media.”

“Is that your diagnosis?” he shot back. “Not chronically online enough for you?”

“No. My diagnosis is that you’re pretending you love a version of your life that doesn’t feed you anymore.”

Lando stood up suddenly. Chair scraping against the floor, loud and sharp.

“This is bullshit.”

You watched the door, but he didn’t walk out. Lando wanted to escape, but not necessarily the room. The problem wasn’t you, it was the implication that someone might see the things he worked so hard to bury. 

“You’re not scared of failure,” you continued, voice like velvet draped over a blade. “You’re scared of regretting wasting all your best years for nothing. And you are definitely scared of letting all those people down.”

He opened the door without a word, slamming it a second later. The escape wasn’t convincing.

You let the silence settle again, knowing you’ll have much fun over the next few days.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[race weekend - austria]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hospitality units always smelled like nerves wrapped in espresso. The chill of the air conditioning never quite masked the heat of performance anxiety, or the mechanical rhythm of branding disguised as purpose.

You stood in the far corner. Out of the camera’s eye and journalists, just watching.

Lando moved like a pattern– smooth, repetitive, curated to look casual. But there was nothing casual about the way his fingers wrapped his gloves. Same stretch, same angle. Peel. Rewrap. Tighten. Peel again. His brow furrowed just slightly when the tape didn’t lie flat. Left hand. Right hand. Repeat.

He hadn't spoken to you since the session. But, again, you didn’t expect him to. However, the thing about tension - real, buried, humming tension - was that it always found a leak.

You watched the next cue: pacing. Not frantic, but measured. Four steps forward, pivot, four steps back. Always the same distance, as if he needed to feel in control of something. His headphones were clamped around his ears like they were a shield. 

You recognized it. The compulsions, the rituals dressed up as preparation. Superstition repackaged as focus. And you weren’t the only one watching. Oscar stood near him, arms crossed, sipping a bottle of water. Familiar and easy. The kind of closeness that came from years of knowing without having to ask.

“Every ritual becomes a prison if you don’t know why you need it.”

The silence broke like glass.

Oscar blinked, while Lando froze mid-wrap. He pulled his headphones down slowly. Not confusion, calculation. The air changed. The brit looked at you like you’d stuck a finger in a live wire just to see if he’d twitch.

“What did you just say?” he asked, low.

You didn’t repeat it. You just held his gaze. Oscar shifted slightly, as if he could already sense the storm brewing behind Lando’s collar.

Lando took a step toward you. Not aggressive, but he was trying his best to be intimidating, however, keeping it cool for Oscar’s benefit… And for his own.

“You really think it’s okay to psychoanalyze me in front of someone else?”

“I am not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Oh, right,” he said, voice laced with something between a laugh and a threat. “Because everything you say is just an observation, right? Unbiased. Clinical. Above it all.”

“Why are you angry?”

He stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the flare in his nostrils, the slight tremor in his fingers. He hadn’t finished taping his gloves, left one still loose, unfinished.

“You know what I think?” he asked, voice quiet now. “You like watching people suffer. You like peeling them open so you can feel powerful. That’s not therapy, you’re just a sadist with a degree.”

Oscar’s head turned sharply, looking away, he was uncomfortable to be witnessing this private moment.

“You tape your gloves the same way every time, wear your headphones like a shell, repeat the same pattern until it feels like certainty. That’s not preparation. You look like you’re about to enter the Coliseum.”

His face twitched. A flinch disguised as a smirk.

“You’re invasive,” he snapped. “Cold. A fraud.”

There it was. The crack. Small, but enough. And then he was walking away, jaw clenched, headphones swinging from his hand like a weapon he didn’t get to use.

Oscar lingered, gaze flicking between the empty space where Lando stood and you.

“Sorry about that, Oscar.” you said softly, for him and only him.

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment, until he nodded. Half a shrug, half something softer. Like maybe he understood, or maybe he wanted to say something for a very long time. He followed after Lando. And you stood still, alone in the echo of tension you’d helped create.

Back in his driver room, Lando ripped the glove tape off like it had personally betrayed him. Meanwhile, Oscar leaned against the wall in the lounge, arms folded, a frown just under the surface of his quiet.

“You want to talk about it?”

Lando scoffed. “She thinks she knows everything. Thinks she can just say shit like that.”

“She didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lando turned, sharp. 

“You do that thing with the gloves every single time. If the seam’s off, you start over. Every single time.”

“It’s called routine.” Lando paced, jaw tight. 

“It’s called panic management,” Oscar said, soft but steady.

“She’s not a therapist,” Lando muttered.

“She is,” Oscar said. “And a good one.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Oscar didn’t reply. Just looked at him with those calm and familiar brown eyes that earned him a friendship over the years. 

Lando exhaled, hard, giving up resistance. 

“It’s not about the gloves.”

“I know.” Oscar nodded

And Lando didn’t say anything else. Because the gloves were just the tip of the iceberg, he just didn’t want to know what would happen when his cracks gave away completely.

Later that day, you found yourself in your hotel room, staring at the untouched file open on your laptop. Lando’s name at the top, followed by blank fields.

You could have written paragraphs. Pattern recognition, emotional triggers. But you didn’t. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. You did strike without permission. You did expose him in front of someone he trusted. And you had felt something when he looked at you like that.

But he wasn’t wrong, and neither were you. You weren’t there to be liked, you were there to be honest. Even if it meant pressing a finger to the bruise no one else would touch.

You closed the laptop, silence settling around you, an enormous clue that you had to make things right.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After the race that weekend, the paddock was nearly empty. Race was over, the press was done, the champagne dried.

You sat in the reserved team debrief room, the one tucked behind closed doors, unbranded, meant for sponsors and strategy meetings. This time the lightning was cold and there were only two chairs. 

You didn’t check the time. You already knew he was late. On purpose. He made you wait, and you let him.

When Lando finally walked in, his race suit was peeled to his waist, fireproofs sticking to his skin, curls damp from the helmet. He shut the door behind him like the silence was part of the conversation.

You didn’t move and he didn’t sit.

“You’re early,” he joked, humourless.

“I’m always on time,” you replied.

“Bet that gets lonely.” He scoffed under his breath.

“Still angry?” You tilted your head.

“Nope.” He leaned against the wall instead of taking the seat. Arms crossed in a casual posture, unlike his eyes. “I’m curious… You said last time I was afraid of losing control, of the illusion cracking.”

You didn’t nod. You didn’t confirm. Those weren’t the words you used, it was just his confirmation bias working in your favour.

Lando moved closer.

“You always talk like you’re above it all. But you’re just as invested in being unreadable as the rest of us.”

“That’s not the same as pretending.”

“Isn’t it?” His mouth curled into something that almost looked like a smile, if you tilted your head the right way. “You ever think the reason you see through people is because you’re terrified someone might actually see through you?”

You didn’t answer. 

Lando sat, finally. Elbows on knees. Exchanging his gaze between his hands and then back at you.

“You watch everything. Like you’re writing it all down in that head of yours. Every flinch, every tell. You think you’re safe because you’re the observer.”

“Sure, yeah, observation is a form of protection,” you admit, quietly, but unmoved by his attempt to getting you to crack.

“So is control,” he countered. “So is ritual.”

You said nothing, allowing the silence to grow, not giving him anything else. You weren’t the patient here.

He leaned back now, arms draped across the chair, but the tension had coiled itself under his skin. You could see it in the muscle twitch in his jaw, in the faint red line where the helmet had pressed too tight. His foot tapped, tap-tap-tap against the floor before he caught himself.

“I came in sixth,” Lando said it like it meant something different in this room than it did out there.

“I know.”

“I should’ve done better.”

“Why do you think that?”

He gave you a raised eyebrow in response.

“That’s my job? I should do good at my job.” he muttered.

“Is this all racing is for you? A job?”

You noticed how he tried his best to stay in his place instead of getting up and leaving.

“I’ve been thinking, you’ve got all these stories, all this insight. But no one really knows anything about you, do they?” Lando leaned closer. There was heat inside of him now. He was attacking this conversation like a challenge.  “So let’s trade…” he started. “Why did Ferrari get rid of you?”

The question dropped like a loaded gun on the table, but your breath stayed steady.

“What have you heard?”

“That you said something about Sainz or Leclerc that made Vasseur cry.”

You slowly leaned into his space, where the tension turned into static, just enough to let your voice’s vibration reach his skin.

“I told Vasseur that replacing Carlos Sainz with Hamilton wasn’t going to fix all Ferrari’s problems.”

“But replacing Leclerc would?”

There was silence, excruciatingly loud. You leaned back and met his eyes. For the first time, the green wasn’t angry, they were searching.

The implication hung between you. You didn’t need to say more, and, frankly, Lando wouldn’t ask. You cracked the door open, and he had to decide whether to walk through or close it forever. But he couldn’t even offer you a smirk. Instead, his voice dropped to something quieter, however, not soft or gentle.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

“That’s not my problem,” you said. “I’m not here to be done with.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“Your presence is too much,” he stated. Then, after a beat, “But I don’t… hate it.”

It wasn’t a confession, but it was very close. The weight of something unnamed, curling in the silence like smoke.

“Lando, you need to understand that out of everyone in this team, I am the one you can be sure will always stand by your side.” You shot at him, emphasizing the correct words with precision. 

He stared at you for a beat too long. Jaw tight. Breathing uneven, as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream.

“And what if I don’t want anyone to stand by me?”

His voice was sharp, but there was something underneath it, like the truth didn’t sit right in his chest, so he spat it out before it suffocated him.

It stung, but you smiled.

“Well, you still have to endure me for another week.”

He didn’t answer, but this time, when he left the room, he didn’t slam the door. Instead, Lando closed it like he was leaving a secret behind.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[Silverstone]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The rain at Silverstone didn’t just fall, it poured. As if the track itself was exhaling all the pressure of the weekend in one weather rebellious event. You watched the storm without blinking, your reflection a ghost on the garage’s monitor screens. 

You were soaking wet after getting caught by the storm on your way to the paddock, not like you moved to dry yourself, or brought an extra set of clothes. You stood like you were part of the infrastructure, just another column holding up the roof, head tilted, jacket hugging your body uncomfortably. 

And then he found you. Lando. You didn’t look at him, not at first, but you felt the moment he crossed into your atmosphere. That internal barometer dipped. The air tightened.

You were there. Of course you were. Like you anticipated the storm, the delay in free practice, to give you two more time to talk. And when he saw you, soaked through, still as stone, every word he rehearsed to annoy you fell flat. So he said the first true thing that came to mind:

“You don’t look waterproof.”

You arched a brow. 

“No shit.”

His lip twitched. He wasn’t expecting a reaction. Not out of this.

He moved closer, not deliberately. But close enough that he could see the rain collecting in the hollow of your throat. See how you hadn’t bothered to wipe the mascara smudge beneath your right eye.

“I thought psychologists would rather stay dry in their boring glass rooms.”

“It’s nice to remind myself that I am not a robot sometimes,” you softened. Lando almost laughed at your stupid joke. “Why are you here?”

“Jesus, woman, does everything need to have a reason for you?”

“Everything usually does.” You looked him dead in the eyes, the green morphing into some kind of grayish-blue. “Especially to you.”

Lando let the tension between your words sit tight and occupy space. You said it clinically, objectively, but he felt a weird weight in it.

“Are all therapists hard to read like you?” he asked, not provoking, just out of curiosity.

“You are aware that I’m a human being, right, Lando?”

Your eyes locked. There were only a few inches between you. The sound of rain was hammering metal. There was so much noise around, the buzz of garage equipment, engineers in motion. However, the stillness between you was louder than anything.

He reached up, adjusting the strap on his fireproofs. It was a pointless gesture, something to do with his hands. You caught the tell.

“Does it help?” you asked.

“What?”

“The fidgeting.”

“Does watching me do it turns you on or something?” He chuckled.

“No,” you said softly. “That would be unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t sure when his hand brushed against yours. It wasn’t incidental. You could pretend it was, but that wouldn’t explain the way his knuckles lingered, warm and damp from the rain, grazing yours with the kind of reverence that didn’t belong in a place like this. In a garage that smelled like rubber and nerves and burnt ambition.

No. That touch was intentional in denial, criminal in restraint. The backs of your fingers barely touched, it wouldn’t even register on a thermal camera, but it set your blood to boil. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. His pinky curled ever so slightly and now the side of his hand was flush against yours. The contact was so small it could be dismissed, but so intimate it felt indecent.

Lando tilted his head, just a little, like he was trying to read a language only your body spoke.

“You always this quiet when someone touches you?” he murmured.

His voice was lower than it should’ve been. Close. Not quite a whisper, nor quite a dare.

“Depends on who’s doing the touching.”

That made something flicker behind his eyes. Something feral and curious. Something he hadn’t quite decided to like or hate yet.

Lando didn’t move away. His breath was shallow now. Your hand still against his. Your shoulder close enough to his chest that you could feel the residual heat radiating off his suit. You could’ve said a thousand things. You could’ve asked him to step back. You could’ve told him this was a line you shouldn’t cross. But instead you said:

“You’re not angry anymore.”

He laughed, a bit shy.

“No. Just…” He paused, then swallowed hard.“…tired of pretending I am not intrigued by you.”

Your throat went dry. And for a moment — just one charged, godless second — you thought he might do it. Close the inch. Close the lie that this was being professional.

You leaned in by a breath. He did the same.

“Lando?”

The engineer’s voice sliced through the air like a barbed wire. The moment collapsed in on itself. You both jerked back — too fast. Like teenagers. Like something shameful had almost happened.

Lando cleared his throat, then ran a hand through his damp curls.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked. He didn’t fix it.

“They need you in sim.”

He nodded. Didn’t look at you again — not right away. But when he finally did, it wasn’t angry. Or smug. It was longing.

You watched him go and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your hand still burned where he touched it. And his did too.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[post-race session]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The air in the room felt heavier after the race. Dense, like it had gathered the weight of everything unspoken between you and the british driver. This was the final session, the last one before summer break, the last time you’d see him. You had both been counting down to it. Dreading it, maybe. But for different reasons.

The clock on the wall ticked too loud. The afternoon light couldn’t reach the inside of the room. You had set everything up like always: notebook open, pen placed carefully on top, two glasses of water. Predictable. Safe.

And then the door opened. Early. You looked up only to find Lando. No easy smile, no cocky quip. Just him. Quiet, raw in the edges, like something tender had been scraped open beneath the skin. His hair was still slightly damp, curling loosely at the ends. He wasn’t wearing the usual team hoodie, just a soft, thick gray hoodie, too oversized to his frame. His eyes found you and didn’t move away this time.

“Hey,” his voice was lower than usual, rougher.

“Hi.” Your voice came out thinner than you intended.

He walked in slowly, almost like he was afraid of startling you. Sat down on the carefully pulled chair, closer than usual. The chair creaked. His knee almost brushed yours under the small table. He didn’t lean back like he usually did. No forced posture of indifference. He just sat there and folded into himself, hands clasped in front of him.

You studied his face — the subtle tension in his jaw, the faint dark circles under his eyes, the way his thumb kept rubbing over his knuckle. You recognized it. The exhaustion of someone who’s been carrying too much for too long.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Lando finally said, barely above a whisper. “Kept thinking.”

You stayed quiet. You knew better than to fill the space.

His eyes darted to you briefly, then back to his hands.

“I’m tired of pretending it’s fun all the time,” he exhaled. “Like, I know everyone wants the show, the jokes, the stupid fucking memes, the smiling… But sometimes I wake up and I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to… entertain.”

Your throat tightened.

He kept going, words spilling now.

“I used to love it. Racing, I mean. Not the circus. The driving, the feeling of… flying. But lately I —” His voice broke for half a second. “— I keep wondering if I’m losing it. If it’s slipping. Like, are these my good years or do I have none? Because, Oscar is fucking thriving out here, winning every damn race, and I feel so-”

He stopped himself. Looked away. You didn’t move. Not yet. You could feel the sharp edges under his words. The fear sitting behind the frustration.

“Average?” you completed, softly.

Lando flinched, just slightly. But there was relief in the honesty of it. He nodded once, eyes still averted.

You exhaled slowly. Let the moment hang.

“Lando...” Your voice was steady, almost a whisper, but firm. “Who you are is not measured by what Oscar wins. And it’s not measured by what they say about you, either.”

You watched him closely. His jaw tightened. His shoulders pulled inward, like he was bracing for the familiar storm.

“The public, the comments, the headlines, the noise… They turn every race into a ranking of your worth. They decide who’s rising and who’s falling. Who’s beloved and who’s mocked. But that narrative isn’t truth, Lando. It’s projection. It’s temporary.”

He blinked, hard. His hands rubbed over each other, fingers fidgeting.

“When you start believing that every mistake confirms what they say… that you’re not good enough, that you’re falling behind, that you’re a disappointment, you hand your identity over to people who don’t even know you. Oscar isn’t your measuring stick. And neither are they. You’re not broken because you care about how they see you… But you’ll break yourself trying to make them love you. They don’t get to decide your value. You do.”

His breathing slowed, as though the words were unraveling something tight inside his chest.

“You’re allowed to want more, Lando. You’re allowed to feel frustrated. But you’re not failing because someone else is thriving. That’s not how worth works.” 

Lando gathered the courage to look over you. The look in his eyes was as if something had collapsed and bloomed all at once. 

“I care too much,” he whispered. “I know I do. About what people think. About what it means. About being enough. And I fucking hate that I care.”

You swallowed hard. 

You felt your own walls shift then. The carefully cultivated distance bending under the weight of his vulnerability. Then, very slowly, almost before you realized you were doing it, your hand lifted. You reached across the small space between you and your fingers found his, resting lightly at first, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to touch him. His knuckles were warm under your skin. 

The contact was small, professional enough that you could pretend — if you wanted — that it meant nothing. But it lingered. Longer than it should have.

His head lowered slightly, almost imperceptibly leaning into your hand, like he was starving for that single point of contact. Like it anchored him.

The room was thick with something neither of you named. And for the first time since this had begun, you felt a door opening. 

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” he murmured. “Weak.”

“You’re not weak.” Your thumb moved, the tiniest stroke against his knuckle, deliberate now.

His eyes closed for a second. You watched his lashes flutter, his breathing slowing, deepening like he was grounding himself in your touch.

“I don’t want this to end,” he said quietly, barely audible.

You should have pulled your hand back. You didn’t. Instead, his fingers intertwined yours, fitting perfectly in between, charging your touch with heat. And you realized you didn’t want it to end either.

The door closed behind him and you sat there for a long moment breathing into the silence trying to collect yourself but your pulse kept rising, your fingertips still tingling from where you touched him as if his warmth had branded your skin and maybe it had. Maybe that was the problem.

You stood slowly. Your legs unsteady like you had walked too close to something dangerous and inhaled too much of it. The weight of the session still clinging to your bones, but there was something else now, something heavier, hotter, curling at the base of your spine

You went immediately back to your hotel. The elevator was quiet. The hallway even quieter. The muted beige carpet, the soft overhead lights, the stillness of expensive sterility, and, yet, your head felt loud, like static roaring under your skin. 

You walked faster, as if outrunning the friction inside you. Then you heard it behind you. Your name. Not loud, but enough to stop you, like gravity, like an invisible hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you backwards. You closed your eyes once, briefly, because you already knew it was him.

You turned slowly. Lando stood a few steps behind. Hands in the pockets of that same thick hoodie. His hair a little more unruly now. His eyes locked on you, not playful, not teasing, just burning quietly, as if something inside him had finally slipped free and he couldn’t put it back.

“You shouldn’t be here” your voice came out low barely steady “This isn’t appropriate.”

Lando didn’t answer at first, he just stared and in that stare was everything you weren’t supposed to acknowledge. The unraveling threads, the slow smoldering pull that had been tightening between you for weeks, maybe from the very start. And you felt it humming under your skin, tightening your throat.

“I know.” he said, voice rougher than you had ever heard it, like sandpaper. “I know it’s not”

And still he didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t let you breathe.

You should have walked away. You should have shut it down. You were trained to. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen, watching him watching you, and it felt like standing in the middle of a fuse burning too close to the detonation.

“Lando” you said again softer now, but there was a fracture in your voice, one you couldn’t quite control “Don’t do this.”

He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the heat of him radiating in the small sterile space between you. And you hated yourself for not stepping back. Because part of you wanted to lose the grip you kept white-knuckled for so long.

“I’m not the only one doing something.” he whispered, “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny, to push him away with words, but nothing came out. Because the truth was bleeding too loudly under your skin. You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you wanted to keep control, more than you wanted to stay professional, more than you wanted to stay safe.

Lando saw it in your silence and that was when he moved the last inch between you. His mouth crashed into yours, like something inevitable. Brutal, desperate. His hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish, like he was anchoring himself. And you answered it with a sharp intake of breath. Until you were kissing him back, hard, urgent, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender, it was weeks of restraint collapsing in the smallest space possible.

It lasted seconds, or minutes, you couldn’t tell. But when you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, chests heavy, wide-eyed, like neither of you fully believed you had actually crossed the line.

“This shouldn’t have happened. This was a mistake.” you managed to say, but your voice shook when it left. And the way he looked at you made your stomach turn into knots, because he didn’t believe you.

“It’s only a mistake if you want it to be.” Lando stated quietly. Daring you to pretend and go against your urges.

You stared at him. Your back against the hotel door. Your heartbeat thundering in your throat. You wanted to pull him in and you wanted to slam the door shut on this whole thing. Both impulses fighting like wild animals inside you.

Instead you turned the handle, opened the door behind you, letting the warm dim light spill out into the hallway.

“If you walk in here,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I stop being your psychologist.”

Lando didn’t move for a second but his eyes never left yours, sharp, unflinching, full of something dangerous and hungry.

“I never planned for you to be my psychologist after summer break, either way.” 

And for a moment the world hung perfectly still between you.

You didn’t know who moved first, or if you even had time to decide, because suddenly he was in the room and the door clicked shut behind him. The space shrank around you like the air had been sucked out, and all you could feel was him standing too close, too warm, too dangerous.

Lando was watching you like you were something fragile about to break, but his hands found your hips anyway. It was like being pulled into a current too strong to resist, like your whole body had been waiting for this to happen no matter how many times your mind said no.

Your back hit the wall softly, but it was enough to make you gasp, and that sound broke him. Whatever thin thread of patience he had left, it snapped. His mouth was on yours again, hungrier, rougher, his teeth grazing your lower lip, and you let him, because you were tired of controlling everything, tired of carrying the weight of being careful and detached and safe.

Lando’s hands slid up under your blouse, fingertips skating over your ribs as if memorizing every line of you, like he didn’t want to waste a single inch. Your skin burned under his touch. You arched into him without meaning to, and you felt him groan, low in his throat, against your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, his breath hot and uneven. “I tried to be good. I really fucking tried.”

You didn’t answer, because your hands were already tugging at the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one desperate motion. When it was gone, you stared for a beat at the way his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed with heat, the sharp lines of muscle under soft light. And then he was pulling your blouse over your head too, fingers quick and frantic.

“But you look so perfect for me,” he whispered almost reverently, hands sliding down your sides, thumbs grazing the soft curve of your waist. “Need to make you mine.”

The moment your skin met his fully, it was like setting fire to something too dry, too starved to survive. Lando pressed his body against yours, pinning you against the wall, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss down your throat. Slow at first, tasting you like he wanted to savor every pulse beneath your skin.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as his mouth reached your collarbone and lower, teeth grazing the swell of your breast. You hissed softly, feeling your control unraveling into ribbons falling at your feet.

“Lan…”

“Say it,” he rasped against your skin, his voice hoarse, possessive. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me, Lando. Right here.” You barely recognized your own voice when it came out, breathless and shaking. 

He groaned at that, like the words shattered something inside him. 

“I knew it,” he whispered, voice sharp with need. “I fucking knew you wanted this. Tell me to stop.” 

He whispered again, voice raw. But you couldn’t, because you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

Instead, you pulled him closer, fingers curling into his hair, guiding him lower. Lando followed gladly, dropping to his knees like he belonged there, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. His hands gripped your thighs firm enough to bruise, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet and perfect.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “All this because of me, baby?”

Your head fell back against the wall, a moan escaping before you could catch it, and his tongue worked you open with deliberate strokes, patient at first and then increasingly greedy. You bucked into him, your legs trembling under the weight of it all.

“God, yes… just like that,” you gasped, one hand slamming against the wall behind you, the other tangled tight in his curls, holding him there like an anchor, like you needed him to keep you from falling apart completely.

“Look at you falling apart for me,” he murmured, pulling back just slightly to meet your gaze. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

He groaned into you, the vibrations making you cry out again, and his fingers joined his mouth, two of them sliding inside you easily, curling up to find the spot that made your knees buckle. 

“Lan… Please, I’m so close…”

His tongue flicked relentlessly against your clit, sending you spiraling faster and faster until you came hard against him, shaking, breathless, the world splintering at the edges.

“There she is. That’s it, baby. Give it to me.”

But he didn’t stop, not really. Even as your body trembled, he kissed his way back up your stomach, your ribs, your throat, catching your mouth again like he couldn’t stand not touching you for even a second. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he pressed you harder into the wall.

“I need you,” he rasped against your lips, and you nodded, because so did you. “You think I’m done with you? We’re only getting started.”

You barely made it to the bed, his hands on your waist guiding you backwards, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged as he stripped out of the rest of his clothes. You followed, shedding everything like armor, until there was nothing left between you except raw need.

He hovered over you for a moment, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing your lips like he was trying to memorize you one last time before you both crossed the line completely.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So messy. So perfect. Gonna save me, pretty girl?”

You didn’t give him a chance to hesitate. You reached for him, pulling him down until his body was flush with yours, skin to skin, heat radiating between you. 

“You act so cold in that little office, and now you’re begging for my cock.”

You guided him to you slowly, his cock pressing against your entrance and then sliding in, deep, inch by aching inch, until he was fully inside you, and you both gasped at the sensation of finally, finally being exactly where you both wanted.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned into your ear, his voice ragged, desperate. “So fucking tight for me.”

He held still for a moment, forehead resting against yours as you both adjusted to the overwhelming intensity of it all. Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your breath hitch with every roll of his hips, filling you so completely it bordered on unbearable.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back as his pace quickened, desperation bleeding into every movement, into every sound, into every gasp that filled the space between you.

“Tell me how much you need me,” he panted. “Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Please… fill me up, Lan. I want to feel you everywhere.”

The hotel room around you disappeared — the walls, the ceiling, the world itself — nothing existed except this, except him, except the impossible friction building higher and higher until you were both on the edge again.

“This pretty little cunt was made for me, yeah?” he growled, his voice dark, his thrusts rougher now. 

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice breaking apart as the coil inside you tightened. “Fuck… ruin me. I want you to ruin me.”

“Is that what you want? To get ruined? To be treated, finally, like you’re not above anyone?” You nodded your head frenetically, unable to hold back the sighs escaping your lips. “You shouldn’t be treated like a superior when you look this good underneath me.”

He whispered your name over and over, like a prayer, like an apology, like he couldn’t believe you were real, his voice broken and raw as his pace grew erratic, hips snapping into you with reckless desperation.

“Fuck, you’re perfect… you feel so perfect… so fucking tight around me,” he groaned, the words rasping against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, I can't… you make me lose my fucking mind.”

You clung to him with everything you had, nails digging into his slick back as the coil inside you tightened to a breaking point. His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit without hesitation, circling it with frantic precision.

“Come for me,” he begged, voice strangled. “Please. I want to feel you lose it around me. I need it.”

The pressure snapped, beautifully, violently.  Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave you couldn’t control. You cried out his name, arching into him, your whole body trembling beneath the force of it, and it pulled him over the edge with you.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it. That’s my girl,” he groaned, burying himself deep one final time, his whole body shuddering as he came undone inside you. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, both panting, limbs tangled, hearts racing in sync, your skin damp with sweat, your bodies heavy against each other. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he tried to catch his breath, as though even now he couldn’t let you go.

You could still feel him pulsing inside you, the heat of him deep, claiming you in a way words never could. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was everything you had told yourself you wouldn’t do. And still. You didn’t regret it.

But even as your breathing started to steady, you felt him twitch inside you, still hard, still desperate. His hands gripped your hips tighter, like he wasn’t done, like stopping now would destroy him completely.

“Lando…?” you whispered, breathless, but he didn’t answer. 

Instead, Lando pulled out slowly, just enough to make you whimper at the loss, before slamming back into you in one ruthless, unforgiving thrust that made your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.

“Shh,” he rasped against your ear, voice darker now, something raw and cracked leaking into his words. “I’m not fucking done with you.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your entire body already overstimulated and trembling, but you couldn’t stop him — didn’t want to stop him. 

Lando started fucking into you hard, fast, the bed creaking beneath you as his frustrations bled into every violent snap of his hips.

“You think you can drive me crazy like this and I’ll just stop after one round?” he gritted out, his jaw tight. “I’ve been losing my fucking mind over you.”

He cut himself off with a brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs.

“It’s too much– I can’t–”

“No, baby, you can. I know you can, come on. Be a good girl for me.”

You choked out, dizzy, overwhelmed, your head thrown back into the mattress. His hands grabbed you from under your knees, forcing your legs up, folding you open for him completely as he pounded into you even deeper, rougher, like he needed to break you apart just to put you back together again.

“Look at you,” he snarled, his face flushed, sweat dripping from his hairline, eyes wild. “You’re so fucking desperate for me now. Such a good little mess under me.”

He growled deep in his throat, bending forward to bite into the soft skin of your shoulder, marking you as his. His thrusts became animalistic, grunts tearing from his chest as he fucked you like this was his only way to survive.

“Fuck…yes…take it. Take all of me,” he groaned into your skin. “You make me so fucking crazy, baby. You make me lose my fucking mind.”

You could feel yourself tipping again, that sharp edge pulling tighter with every brutal stroke, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every hard thrust. His dirty words filled your head, flooding your senses until you couldn’t think anymore. You were nothing but sensation, nothing but him.

“You’re gonna come again for me, aren’t you?” he demanded, voice strained. “Gonna milk my cock like the filthy girl you are.”

“Yes, yes. Fuck, I can’t—” you cried, barely able to form words anymore as the second orgasm slammed into you, harder than the first, your whole body convulsing around him.

He cursed under his breath, losing all rhythm as your spasming walls dragged him over the edge with you. His hips stuttered, cock pulsing deep inside you again, filling you until you felt the hot, wet rush of him coating your walls.

Lando hissed through gritted teeth, hands gripping you like he was terrified you might vanish beneath him.

The driver collapsed on top of you, panting, trembling, both of you soaked in sweat and flushed beyond repair. The world spun around you, but all you could feel was him. Still inside you. Still holding you like his entire sanity was hanging by a thread.

For a long time, all you could hear was your combined breathing, sharp and uneven, hearts still racing wildly against each other’s chests. His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.

His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he whispered, voice cracked and raw. “I don’t want to.”

But even as the words left his mouth, you felt him harden inside you again, impossibly fast, his cock still buried deep, twitching with need. 

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hips started to move once more, slow at first, a deep, grinding roll that made you gasp.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly, his lips dragging along your jaw, voice thick with obsession. “Still so fucking tight. Still squeezing me like you’re begging me to fill you again.”

Your body was beyond exhausted, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive, but the feel of him, the low growl in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world, it set you on fire all over again.

“Lando… I–”

“Shh.” His hand wrapped around your throat gently but firm, forcing your eyes on him. “No more thinking. Just take it. Let me fucking use you, baby. You need this just as much as I do.”

His thrusts turned brutal again, sharp, unrelenting, his frustration bleeding out with every savage snap of his hips. The bed groaned beneath you, headboard slamming softly against the wall in rhythm with his movements.

“Fucking hell… All this time I’ve been losing my mind watching you act untouchable,” he growled, the words pouring out like venom as he fucked deeper, harder. “Provoking me like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Wearing those tight little skirts, standing so fucking close… you knew, didn’t you?”

You whimpered, completely wrecked under him, your hands gripping his biceps like they were your only anchor.

“Say it,” he demanded through clenched teeth, voice shaking. “You knew what you were doing to me.”

“I…I knew,” you sobbed, your voice high and broken. “I wanted you to want me like this.”

“You wanted me fucking obsessed,” he snapped, hand tightening around your throat just enough to make you dizzy, his eyes dark with something dangerous. “Well, congratulations, baby, you got me. You fucking got me.”

He slammed into you mercilessly, raw and possessive, sweat dripping from his brow, his teeth gritted as he chased another high like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You’re mine,” he hissed. “Every fucking part of you. This perfect cunt? Mine. These sounds you make? Mine. That sweet face when you’re about to break? Fucking mine.”

Tears blurred your vision, from pleasure, from overstimulation, from the overwhelming weight of his voice, his body, his claim. You felt like you were floating somewhere between pain and ecstasy, the brutal rhythm pulling you under again.

“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Come on. Rub that little clit while I ruin you.”

Your hand shook as you obeyed, fingers finding the swollen bud, barely able to keep a rhythm with the way his cock was splitting you open with every relentless thrust.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he praised, voice breaking, filthy and loving all at once. “Look at you, taking me like you were made for it. You’re fucking perfect, you hear me? I don’t care what anyone says. Never letting you go.”

The pressure coiled fast, too fast, your entire body a live wire beneath him.

“Lan…I…Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come again,” he demanded, snapping his hips harder. “Fucking soak my cock while I fill you up one more time.”

You shattered with a scream, your body convulsing violently, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged him over the edge with you instantly. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, hips grinding deep as he emptied himself inside you once more, his growl low and primal as he spilled every last drop.

“Fuck yes, baby, take all of me.” his voice cracked into a moan, breath ragged as he collapsed on top of you, trembling.

For a moment, it was pure chaos, shaking limbs, wet skin, breathless sobs, broken words whispered into flushed skin. His fingers tangled into your hair, forehead pressed to yours like he was trying to crawl inside your body, like even this wasn’t close enough.

“You’re never leaving me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, trembling from exhaustion and raw obsession. “You hear me? I’ll fucking lose my mind if you ever leave me.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only nod, clinging to him with what little strength you had left, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When your bodies finally stilled, the room was drenched in sweat and shadows, the silence punctuated only by the harsh rhythm of your breathing. His chest rose and fell against your back as he held you, like if he let go, you’d vanish into the night.

Neither of you spoke. Words felt dangerous now. Fragile. Useless.

Lando’s fingers traced slow, reverent circles on your thigh, his touch softer than it had been all night, almost childlike in its tenderness. But beneath it, you felt the storm still simmering inside him, wild and unresolved, because this hadn’t been just sex. Not for him. Not anymore.

His voice finally broke through the quiet, low and hoarse, as if it physically hurt him to speak. 

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” You swallowed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. He shifted behind you, his grip tightening. “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “Don’t go silent on me. Not after this.” His lips brushed your shoulder. “Please.”

The desperation bled through his voice in ways he couldn’t control — the thin veneer of control he always wore around everyone else completely shattered now. You were seeing him entirely raw, entirely exposed. No podium smiles. No charming interviews. Just Lando, young, reckless, obsessive, scared.

You turned your head slowly to meet his eyes. They were wide, feverish, and almost glassy. He already knew.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” you whispered. The truth tasted bitter in your mouth. “We crossed too many lines tonight.”

His brows knitted together, the panic blooming fast beneath his carefully masked expression.

 “But you wanted this,” he rasped. “You wanted me. You want me.”

Your throat tightened. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“I don’t fucking care if it’s right,” the boy snapped, voice rising for the first time, raw emotion cracking beneath it. “I care about you. About us. Don’t hide behind your rules now. You think I can just go back to pretending after this? After finally touching you, tasting you, having you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply, trying to hold yourself together as his words cut into you. Lando was right. You had wanted him. You still did. Every fiber of your body screamed for him. But that only made it worse.

“Lando… it’s not that simple.”

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as frustration burned in his chest. He sat up abruptly, scrubbing his hand through his damp hair, pacing at the edge of the bed. The sheets slipped down your bare body as you watched him, your pulse pounding.

“You’re scared,” he said bitterly. “You’re fucking terrified.”

“Of course I am!” The words tore out of you louder than intended. “I’m your psychologist, Lando. I have a professional obligation—”

He spun toward you, eyes sharp and dark. 

“Not anymore.” The air went still. You blinked. He softened almost immediately, his chest heaving. “Don’t make this the end. Don’t let tonight be… nothing.” His voice broke. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll never tell a fucking soul. Just don’t walk away.”

The weight of his desperation suffocated you. His words, his eyes, his entire body language screamed one thing louder than anything else: I need you.

But your mind was already pulling away, because you saw the inevitable consequences spiraling ahead like some cruel domino effect that neither of you could stop once it started.

Lando reached for your hand, gripping it like a man gripping a lifeline. 

“You don’t have to fix me anymore. Just stay.”

You let him hold your hand, let him believe — for one more fleeting second — that this could somehow work. That this night could exist safely outside the world you both belonged to. But deep inside, you already knew.

You squeezed his hand softly, your voice barely a whisper. 

“I need time.”

His face fell, just slightly. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, nodding like he understood. But you saw the panic still swirling under his skin, fighting for breath.

Later, while the early dawn crept through the thin hotel curtains, casting pale blue shadows over his sleeping face, you stood at the edge of the bed and watched him. Peaceful for once. Quiet. Unaware. His curls messy across the pillow, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, vulnerable breaths.

You memorized him like that.

By noon, the letter sat on the office desk.

“Effective immediately. Due to personal and ethical conflicts, I resign my position.”

You didn’t check your phone. You couldn’t.

You disappeared into summer break like a ghost slipping through the cracks of a world that had grown too dangerous. Away from paddocks. Away from McLaren. Away from him.

And yet, as the days stretched long and silent, as you stared out at unfamiliar skies in unfamiliar cities, you knew his hands still lingered on your skin, his words echoing like a heartbeat beneath your ribs.

You had left. But he wasn’t done.

Neither of you were done.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Marry Me

➾In Which: Meeting your boyfriend for one last date to break the news — well, let's just say you should have sent a text instead and ran for the hills.

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"Your efforts have been cute but I'm tired of it. Time to face reality."

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, dead dove 🪦

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: DARK FICTION. DARK DARK. DEAD DOVE FFR. 403 possessive yandere, 414 punishment, home invasion, kissing and non-con kissing, toxic relationship, extreme controlling behavior, reader described as shorter than yunho, alcohol but not enough to even be tipsy, if i can't have you no one can ahhh yunho, forced legal marriage, insults towards reader: unsubstantiated slut shaming + cheating accusations, violence towards reader: manhandling + slapping + yelling + threatening with a knife + implied baby trapping and nc (i am so very sorry but yunho is the worst yandere in ateez, i fully believe it). pet names: love, doll, sweetheart. semi-abrupt ending cause i couldn't make myself go that far

"You think I'm finished? Oh, that's cute... Your punishment hasn't even started yet."

➯a/n: anon who requested this woke something dormant up in my brain about yandere yunho 😵‍💫 i think he's the yandere i MIGHT start writing noncon with IF i ever decide to because i legit can't see it going any other way until reader has INSANE stockholm worse than hwa's baby... mans is fucking CRAZY and SCARY and i luv him

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

18+. MINORS HIT THE ROAD.

─..★.─────

"Hey, doll," Yunho smiles as he walks up to the table.

Out on the restaurant patio, it's nice and breezy and it cools your nerves as you return his smile.

"Hey, Yunie," you crane your neck to look up at him as he bends down; cupping the side of your neck while giving you a gentle kiss.

"For me?" He points to the beer on the table as he pulls back.

"Mhm, it just got here, still cold," you nod, leaning back in your seat and taking a deep breath.

"You're so sweet, thank you," he takes the seat across from you, looking you up and down. "Is something wrong?"

"Hm? No," you shake your head quickly and wave him off, "I, uhm, I actually got some good news..."

"Really? What is it?" He asks before taking a sip; and you wait until he sets the glass down to speak. You think he might have choked if you didn't.

"You remember the position my boss recommended me for?"

His face drops slowly. Pressing his lips together, he nods slowly.

"They want me to take it-"

"No."

"Yunho, it's not up to you." You try to stand your ground, but your voice waivers.

"You'd have to move to the other side of the world!" His outburst gets the attention of a few fellow customers, and he slumps back in his chair; pulling his hat further down his face. "Have you even thought about this- the logistics? We'd be in two opposite time zones, when would we even be able to talk?"

You're quiet. Too quiet. Looking down at the table with something stuck on the tip of your tongue but you're afraid to say it.

"Sweetheart." He whispers as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he looks at you intently. "Don't fucking say what I think you're about to."

"I think we should break up."

You jump as he slams his hand on the table before quickly putting his face in his hands with a groan. "Fuck..."

"Yunho, I'm sorry..." You look down at your lap, "but it's- really, it's for the best. We can both spend more time furthering our careers and maybe in the future-"

"Are you kidding me?" He mumbles, hand over his mouth and looking at you with a barely contained storm of emotions in his eyes.

You avoid his gaze like it's the plague, bouncing your leg and holding your hands together tightly. "No. I'm serious. This is the last time we're going to see each other. I went to your apartment while you were at practice and got my things, and I left yours o-"

"Nope." He laughs, unhumorous. Like he's in shock. "No, sorry. Not happening."

"You can't just say 'no', this is the decision I'm making." You look at him for a moment with a glare before quickly look back down when you see his eyes locked on you like some sort of predator.

"Like fuck I can't, you said you were going to marry me one day. You said you wanted to have kids together." His voice is even, but it's laced with anger. He leans over the table and pinches your chin, making you look at him. "What happened to that, love?"

"I'm sorry, Y-"

He grabs your hands as you stand up, looking up at you intensely. "You can't just leave."

"Miss?" Both of your eyes snap to the elderly couple who's approached your table after hearing the ruckus. "Do you need some help?" The woman reaches towards you when Yunho stands quickly and pulls you to the other side of the table.

"She's fine. We're just having an argument, every couple does. Right, doll?"

You gulp as he rests his hands on your shoulders. Normally, in any other argument you had, you'd say yes. But this isn't something small like whose apartment to go back to or whether or not you should take birth control when he uses condoms anyway.

Thinking about that second one gives you pause.

It's like every little strange or controlling thing Yunho has ever said slams on top of you all at once; making your knees weak.

"...Yes." You squeak out, feeling his grip on your shoulders tighten.

"Let go of her, son," the older man steps forward, and Yunho only backs up.

"Sweetheart, seriously think about what you're doing. I love you like nobody else ever could, I want to share my life with you, please-"

You writhe out of his grasp, all but running to the woman; grabbing your purse from the table on the way. "Come on, dear, I'll take you to your car," she takes your hand quickly, rubbing your arm in a comforting manner as she guides you back into the restaurant to head for the front door.

Yunho can only watch, practically steaming with anger, as the man sizes him up. He's shorter, smaller. He could easily over power the old-timer. But people are starting to stare.

"Fuck," he groans, kicking a chair before taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair roughly. Already thinking of ways to make you stay when you've clearly made up your mind — for real this time.

You've never said those words. Break up. Not even when he made you just as angry as he is now when he snuck into your apartment and —

He takes a deep breath when the idea comes to him.

He knows how to make sure you realize that you don't get to leave him.

─..★.─────

Your tired and puffy eyes crack open as the bed shifts.

Then, they widen quickly as you catch the outline of Yunho's figure climbing on top of you. When you try to scream, he slams a hand over your mouth. "Shut up." He says shortly, silencing you as you feel something cold and sharp against your neck.

"This is all your fault. You're the one who broke our promises. I should kill you."

You feel the blade tilt against your delicate flesh, your eyes wide and begging; filling with tears quickly.

He's straddled over your hips, caging you against the mattress. He stripped the blanket away while you were asleep, leaving you in your large sleep shirt and panties. Suddenly feeling way too exposed even though he's not looking at you with anything besides anger.

He leans forward, nose to nose, "I'm going to move my hand. If you scream, I'm going to. Nod if you understand."

You nod. Quick and careful.

Taking a deep breath when he removes his hand, you tilt your head to the side to face away from him. "Y-"

"Me first." When you bite your trembling lip, he continues, "is there someone else?"

"What? No, no," you shake your head quickly, arms wrapping around your chest in an attempt to comfort yourself as his gaze burns through you.

"Are you lying?" He sneers as he grips the base of your scalp, making you yelp before you remember his threat and slam your lips together.

"Have you been slutting around behind my back? Is that why you were so damn insistent about your birth control? Hm? Answer me!" He drives the blade into the bed next to your head, making you jump to the side and grab at his other arm clumsily.

"No! No, Yunho! Wh- There's never been anyone else, I swear, I swear," you sniffle, looking up at him as your tears start sliding down your temples. "I swear, Yunie."

"You swear? Oh, you swear, do you? That's what you said about marrying me, too."

"I m-meant it," you sob as he yanks the blade from your bed; thinking you're its next target.

"Did you?" He yanks you up by the grip he has on the base of your skull, ignoring your cries as he drags you to your desk — where the only light in the room radiates from. "Sign it." He says simply as he shoves you into your chair.

You look away from him slowly, rubbing your sore scalp as you look at the paper.

CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE.

"Yunho..."

He raises his eyebrows, looking you up and down as he leans against the wall. "Sign it, doll."

"I br- but- I broke up wi-"

He pushes off the wall quickly and slaps you.

He slaps you so hard your ears ring. Your head snaps to the side. Your jaw drops. His hand is the size of your entire face.

"You say those words one more damn time..." He pants, throwing the knife onto the desk before slapping your other cheek; throwing your head in the opposite direction with a cry of pain. "I seriously fucking dare you. See what happens. I'm already mad, love. Your efforts have been cute, but I'm tired of it. Time to face reality. You belong to me. Sign the paper."

With a shaking hand, you pick up the pen quickly —

And you sign your name right next to his.

You drop the pen like it's burned you, staring at the paper for a moment before you look at him. He looks down at the paper and smiles, barely noticeable. "Good." He says before leaning and pressing his lips to yours roughly.

You stay there, stunned, until he pulls back — and slaps you. "Ow!" You scream. It hurts so much more the second time when your cheek is already sore and undoubtedly bruising.

"Say you're my wife."

"Wha-"

Slap! "Say it."

"I'm your wife..." You stare up at him, shivering, "Yunho, please, calm d-"

Slap! "Say you love me."

"I love you!" You yell as you push yourself back on the chair, getting caught almost effective immediately. "Please, stop-"

He wraps his hands up in your shirt and pulls you up, dragging you the few steps back to the bed and throwing you on it.

You fall onto your back and sniffle quietly, "t-thank you."

He laughs as he crawls back over you. "You think I'm finished? Oh, that's cute... Your punishment hasn't even started yet. You really think I'm going to go easy on you when you just broke my heart like that?"

Your heart falls into the depths of your uneasy stomach as he trails his hands up your waist. "You're my wife?" He arches an eyebrow, urging you.

"Yes," you nod, breath caught in your throat.

"And..." He leans over, mumbling against your lips, "you love me?"

"Yes."

"That's beautiful, sweetheart," he smiles a bit more before he bites at your lips. "I think I know what will make happy... What will make you stay."

Before you can tell him you've changed your mind, you'll stay as long as he never slaps you again because your entire face is sore now —

"A baby."

He slips his hands under your shirt, running them along your stomach. "Being a Mommy finally going to make you settle down? The Mommy to my babies?"

"Wai-"

"Yeah, it will~" He grins widely as he turns you to lay on your belly, shoving your face into the sheets as he speaks right into your ear, "and every time you look at them, you'll remember how much this fucking hurt."

─MARRY ME★.─────

[neeeooon]

Hello my gorgeous queen Elle (with insane rizz)

I wanted to make a request if thats alright 😛 Could you do one that's just like your recent bllk fic, the one where they find their s/o's jealousy adorable but with the wind breaker boys? I will show up to your house if you add Sakura, Suou, Umemiya and whoever else you like! 😈👅🙏

Thanks for reading!!💖💖

TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH LMAO but here you go!! bllk version here KAJI ART BY @monraggedy HERE!!!

when they find your jealousy adorable

bf wbk x gn!reader. cussing, crack, fluff

sakura haruka

-> being with sakura is a constantly test on your patience and jealous, especially when people comment on his habit of getting flustered around physical intimacy

-> you were getting lunch one day when a couple of girls spotted you (your boyfriend) and took it upon themselves to approach him. “wow. your hair is genuinely so pretty. where did you get it done?” “are you an idol trainee or something?” “can i touch it?”

-> sakura went red at the attention, and the girls took his uncomfortable flush as interest. when one leaned over to touch his head, you took it upon yourself to intervene and smacked her hand away

-> “did he say you could touch him?” “i—“ “get lost before i get a criminal record.” they scamper off, leaving you with your still-blushing boyfriend. “thanks..” “i hate it when people do that. you can defend yourself, you know.” your grumbly tone made his lip quirk. “but it’s cute seeing you jealous.” and now you were the blushing one

suo hayato

-> suo is so fake, and you find it endearing if not a little infuriating, the latter especially when he doesn’t switch from happy boy to fuck right the fuck off when someone gets a little too close

-> you were shopping for shoes when a boy about your age accidentally bumped into you. he immediately apologized, but something changed when he saw your boyfriend. you could practically see cupid’s arrow sticking out of his back as he trailed after you guys, conversing with your smiley, unbothered boyfriend

-> you tried to be subtle at first. “we’re just shopping for shoes.” “babe, how about this section?” “i’m hungry, we should just go.” but this boy was reluctant. he was laying the charms on heavy, even you got a bit blushy at his compliments to suo

-> finally, you had enough when he offered to take suo to lunch. despite you standing right there. your nostrils flamed as you got in his face and said, “that’s my husband, by the way. and we have a child on the way. so back off before i put my hands on you.” he did not make you ask twice

-> “adorable.” suo cooed at the check out. “i’m glad you think so, because i was two seconds away from breaking his face with my fist.” “i didn’t realize we were married.” “yeah, well, surprise. our child is the basil plant on the windowsill.” he kissed your cheek and held your bags on the way out

umemiya hajime

-> you know umemiya would never entertain the idea or being disloyal to you, but he’s so nice. he cares so much, and sometimes he don’t know when to end a conversation. that’s where you come in!

-> “i’m thinking we could start growing pumpkins now and have an event in the fall for the boys!” umemiya lit up when he talked about gardening or furin, and a woman shopping for flowers noticed. she cleared her throat, handing over a pack of pumpkin seeds when you both turned to face here. “i recommend this brand, cutie.”

-> cutie? cutie?! absolutely not. when umemiya let out an awkward chuckle and rubbed his head, you snatched the seeds and placed them back on the shelf before attaching yourself to his arm. “we’ll find our own, thank you very much.”

-> you tugged umemiya away before the lady could retaliate and looked up when you felt his shoulder jiggle. he was laughing. at you! “what?” you pouted, and umemiya pressed a gentle peck to your nose. “nothing. you’re just so cute when you’re jealous.”

kaji ren

-> a girl on the bus had been looking at his mouth way too long for your liking

-> kaji had his eyes closed, head tipped back slightly, and headphones on as he mindlessly swirled a lollipop. he was minding his business, escorting you home from school, yet this girl would not pull her eyes away from him

-> when kaji swallowed and the girl blushed, you stood up. “can you stop eye-fucking my boyfriend? it’s seriously gross.” the girl ran to the opposite side of the train so fast you would have been impressed if you weren’t so disgusted by her shamelessness

-> only when you dropped back into your seat did kaji peek an eye at you. he grinned at your flushed and agitated face. “cute.” “me defending your honor is cute?” “you getting jealous enough to want to defend my honor is cute.” you humphed but didn’t pull away when he slipped his hand into yours and held it the rest of the ride home

togame jo

-> he’s all patient glances and soft smiles when you drag him around the grocery store, not-so-subtly dodging the employee who cannot keep her eyes to herself

-> you notice her in the produce section. the frozen section. the snack section. it feels like she’s everywhere, and it makes your blood boil

-> as togame distracts himself with some shrimp snacks, you give him a gentle nudge and announce that you’re going to grab something from another section. you don’t notice him following as you hunt for the employee who can’t mind her business

-> “can you not see that we’re clearly together? keep stalking my boyfriend and i’ll go full karen on your ass, i promise.” you spun away from her shocked face and directly into your boyfriend’s chest. “oh! hi, babe.”

-> he squeezed your shoulder. “that was adorable. ‘full karen.’ i’m shivered, my love.” you gave him a playful whack on the shoulder and let him drag you back to the snack section. “you don’t have to be jealous, though. i only have eyes on you.” “ooh, you want to kiss me so bad.” so he does <3

[bohnerrific69]

Peter Maximoff with baby fever just feels like a deadly combo. Like, he gets the itching to make a mini mutant of his own, and suddenly - head empty, balls equally as empty, and his partner is all soft and squirmy beside him, oh noooo

warnings: SMUT / MDNI +18. older!peter mention. fem!reader. breeding kink. / sorry for the smut not having so much details, this wasn't supposed to be this long!! only a lil blurb. english is not my first language. — ( peter's mlist. )

a/n: anon, we think the same! 😈 i always have a squeal and s/cream (pun intended) when i think about peter + breeding kink, he's SO family oriented, he's the kind of guy to always enters his thirties craving for a family, this is a thing i just can't see him being at this age not wanting that!! my bad!! always foaming at the mouth with the barely thought of getting his partner preg. (this is officially the first smut thingy i publish, pls be nice😭)

it's a thing that started small, prowling his mind since his late twenties, when he already put you with the 'girlfriend' title for a long while. both of you were watching a romance movie that you suggested, with the classical happy ending of the main couple getting together and starting a family, the female protagonist showing in the last scenes with a big round belly of pregnancy and a happy smile on her face looking at her husband and their kids.

and as usual, both of you were talking the entire movie, doing jokes or casually yapping about a topic that didn't involve the movie at all, but still paying attention. peter didn't know where it was coming from the sudden familiar hot wave burning his body from the down to the top, principally the region between his legs, feeling his cock straighten in his shorts.

it was typical of him getting turned on in inconvenient moments, even despite the most control he achieved since teenage years with his powers on his body. not letting quick horny random thoughts make him turn on all the sudden. but this time, it wasn't his thoughts, they were yours.

being too focused in the ending scenes of the movie made you start babbling about how it would be if you were pregnant like that in the scenario of the movie, some loud thoughts you didn't said as a hint at all!

it was silly, you were so focused looking at the tv that you didn't even notice peter uncomfortably adjusting his shorts. you both matched each other's freaks, a movie session casually turning into a sex session very quickly was the standard for you both, but this time you were very naive to his hungry gaze and hitched breath.

imagining you all swollen carrying his baby did a number on his mind. he thought he was insane for that. no, you never would let him be yours baby daddy's would you? despite loving your relationship, peter still had some insecure feelings about himself not being enough for you to marry. imagine creating a family right now? too much and early, probably.

but this didn't stop him from getting feral about the possible scenario, ending up with your face in the cushions and ass up on the couch in seconds. peter was fucking you more rough and intense than you could expect to his normal mood seconds before, it was raw, just how you both enjoyed it.

he was thrusting harshly like he was shoving down those absurd thoughts into you as the same in the back of his mind. he still tried to deny the absurd desire of knocking you up, but the more he tried, the faster and harder he got. making you both hit your peak it didn't take that long, finishing with you full of his seed in your womb and practically all numb and trembling on the couch.

time would pass and this craving of knocking you up only grew up, as your relationship too, his lucky thirties years old still having you by his side, you taking the 'wife' title now. peter couldn't handle the desire anymore, he wasn't in doubt of himself anymore, or in denial about wanting to have a family with you, he was sure and wouldn't disappoint.

both already agreed about that, he would come everytime after a mission with a big hungry of you, always arriving home and fucking you . grunting and moaning loud about "putting a baby in you." craving to the time he would arrive home and see you with a swollen belly by carrying his child.

and the day this happens? you being mother of his children? it would be the sexiest thing you could do to him. he still would crave for you as the same when he met you. his powers gave him the blessing of having a big stamina, being able to fuck rounds after rounds as much you could take it when the kids weren't home. he's a passionate man.

🏷 taglist (be added): @cult-lamb @evanpetersbf @h0neyst4rz @homicidal-mother @marchsfreakshow @melsimps @mysticsandmagic05 @nugg4tsdeer @strawb3rrystar @wcnderlnds @xxrei222 @xrag-dollx

[noctiva]

I need to be on my knees in front of Toby and have him pull my hair back so I look up at him and stick my tongue out for him so he can put his cig out on my tongue

please,,, god,,, if you’re out there

he’d probably do this after you suck him off. keep you on your knees right between his thighs as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his smokes. petting your hair with one hand, lighting up his cig with the other - gazing down at you with half-lidded dark eyes.

“You look s-so pretty like this.” He’d murmur softly, tracing the line of your jaw with the tip of his finger. Breathing out a cloud of smoke through the gash on his cheek because the sight always makes you squirm. “Took it so well too. S-Such a sweet thing.”

And you’re more than happy to just kneel there, resting your cheek against his thigh as he puffs away, clouding up the room with that acrid aroma you’ve grown so accustomed to. letting your mind go gooey from smoke-thickened praise, that soreness in your throat all but forgotten.

Then-

His hand snakes backwards, fingers curling into your hair right at the base of your skull. Tugging your head back, forcing your neck to crane - chuckling softly at the little gasp you let out. “See this?” He holds up his cigarette in front of your face, smoked right down to the filter - the ember still just barely glowing. “You know w-what to do.”

You did. And you weren’t quite sure if that fact brought shame to your chest or heat to your gut, but either way you found yourself listening to the unspoken command.

Parting your swollen lips, eyes flicking up to look at him when you stick your tongue out.

Toby can’t help but let out a soft huff of a laugh, the sound almost disbelieving - his expression equal parts amused and enamoured. “That’s insane.” He chuckles softly to himself, as if it weren’t a known fact that you’d do quite literally anything he asked - just so long as he requested it nicely enough.

Then he’s leaning forwards, hovering the butt of the cigarette over your tongue for just a split second, before he’s pressing it down. It sizzles against your saliva, extinguishes almost immediately - but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

He can see it in your eyes. The way they go watery. How your brows furrow and your jaw twitches like you’re fighting against closing your mouth. The quiet, barely audible whimper that crawls out of your throat. The tremor in your breathing.

It’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his bloodstream.

He pulls away, flicks the cigarette away without a care, too busy marvelling at the sight below him. The ash on your tongue, mixing with your saliva. The angry red little blister already forming beneath it.

He almost feels bad. Almost. But it’s a little hard to when you’re just so willing. His free hand will come down, a soft hum rumbling in his chest as he presses his thumb against your tongue - his gaze darkened all over again as he prods at it. Swiping the ash away, lingering his touch over the burn bark just to pull another little noise from your lungs.

“So f-fuckin’ pretty.” He’s muttering, sounding more like it’s said to himself than to you - a soft string of words under his breath. Reverent. Adoring. Enamoured.

It makes the sting a little more bearable.

[justreadalot]

Through Your Eyes Part 10

Part 1-4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Part 9

Back in the ghost zone. 

Jason, Damian and Danny standing on the top of Fenton's house. Danny was in his live form. They were watching their air bubble about to merge with the rest. Most of the other bubbles had already merged. Vlad's castle was in the center, all the other buildings clumped around it.

The whole bubble pushed together, the top air part combined. The force field just moved to outer edges. The houses bumped up against each other. And the ground merged. together. Then everything just stopped, until the next merge. 

The ground stopped shaking. 

“Hello?” Called a man dressed in white on the ground in front of the Fenton's house. “We come in peace.”

“Am coming down.” called Jason, all three used the metal surf boards to glide to the ground to where the men in white were standing.

The older one looked them over, the younger one was looking around the area scanning for any threats.

“Ah, Danny … Fenton, I believe. We haven't met before. I am Agent R, this is Agent T. Are your parents here? Who are your companions?” asked the older white hair Agent R.

“This is Damian Wayne,” answered Danny, touching Damian on his left shoulder, since he was standing at his right. “And his bodyguard, Red Hood.” He waved at Jason. “My parents are not here, no one else arrived with us.”

“Damian Wayne? Oh yes, that's right, he is your soulmate. I read a note on that last week in your file. A soul swap happened.”

“You have a file on me? Why?”

“Ah, to answer that, I need to ask if your companions know all your secrets, or do we need to talk in private?”

Danny raised his head in challenge and glared. “Damian and Red Hood know everything about me.”

“In that case, I can inform you that GIW also knows everything about you.”

“What!”

“Danny Fenton or Danny Phantom. You have been classified as a useful asset, a hero in training, or one who will help. GIW are to assist, protect and hide you as much as we can, including pretending to be blind if you transform right in front of us. You haven't been that subtle.” advised Agent R.

Danny blinked, “wait, you have been trying to help?”

“Yes, although I doubt you bring yourself to fully trust us. Not surprisingly really, I hope we can gain your trust in the future.”

“Wait a minute, my parents work for you.”

“Yes.”

“But you haven't told them about me.”

“No, and we are not going to.”

“Why is that?” asked Damian suspiciously.

“A study was conducted to see how Danny's parents would expect to react to the knowledge. It was decided they would react one of three ways, none of them wise.” He paused taking in the wide eyed expression of the boys.

“First reaction, which is the highest estimated percentage of 75% is they would protect Danny no matter what, vanish from GIW view and go underground, a case of not trusting anyone. We fear in that case, if no one is watching, anything could go wrong. The second reaction, which is an estimated percentage of 20%, is the one Danny fears, they will want to study him, either with or without consent.”

“What is the third reaction?” asked Red Hood harshly, “the estimated 5%?”

Agent R looked sad, “the third reaction is the worst, it is that Fentons decide to fix their son.” He looked directly at Danny who had frozen.

“Your condition is unreversable, we did get some of your blood after one of your fights and checked your DNA. If your parents ever say ‘we will fix you, we will get you back to how you were.’ Leave immediately, do not hesitate. Any treatment attempting to fix you, could turn you insane, and a person with your abilities and a broken mind.” the agent paused trying to think of a nice way to explain.

“Would become a monster.” Danny stated it directly flatly.

“Yes, and that is why we will never inform them.” the agent shook his head, turned and stared at Vlad's castle, and at the other buildings.

“On other matters, you three can go anywhere in this area. The scientists here are working on trying to contact earth, no success yet. We have an Agent with each, to watch and 'protect’. Vlad Masters isn’t here, his place is locked up, we can't get in. I suspect his door handprint lock will accept your hand, Danny. Would you mind checking?”

Damian, Danny and Red Hood looked over at the castle.

“Shall we see if we can break in?” asked Danny, looking like he wanted to break a few windows.

Damian considered the problem. “I am sure it is necessary to appropriate any assets in that area.”

The two boys headed off, one flying, one on a metal surf board.

Red Hood and Agent R looked at each other.

“I'll try to prevent any damage to useful equipment.” Said the former.

“I know Vlad.” replied the later. “Honestly, he deserves getting his whole place trashed. Especially by Danny

--

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 7

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You enter the HYDRA bunker. Reunions are had. Revelations are made. Things go very poorly very quickly.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Violence, Blood, Swearing, Reader gets injured, Protective!Bucky, Angst (but with a happy ending), Reader is Tony Stark's biological kid (still a fully grown adult though, the timelines work because we say they work), no use of y/n, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author’s Note: We've reached the end of the CACW timeline! Don't worry, it's just the end of Part 1. I'm planning on running with this fic through TFATWS - maybe into Thunderbolts, who knows? Thank you guys for your feedback and love for this fic! As always, any comments are super appreciated!

-

The door creaks, filling the corridor with the sound of bending metal and snapping hinges, and Bucky is quick to push you behind him before he raises his gun towards the threat. You want to make some kind of comment about having your own gun, but you decide that now isn’t the time to push buttons.

But you don’t feel the hum. You don’t feel the prickling feeling of something wrong. For a moment, you think the serum might not be working, like maybe your body has adapted to it and built up some kind of tolerance, and then-

“You seem a little defensive.” Tony Stark says, and your stomach flips with emotion. You peer over Bucky’s shoulder, words catching in your throat as he approaches. You’re not often one to be rendered speechless. Today is just chock-full of new experiences.

“At ease, soldier. I’m not here for you.” He says to Bucky, eyes quickly landing on you. You see his gaze soften, just a bit, and you have to force yourself to stay where you are.

He believes you. And finally, fucking finally, he’s on your side.

“Can you tell the Manchurian Candidate here to put the gun down?” He asks you, and you almost laugh with a strange mixture of fondness and relief. What a fucked up scene this is. What a truly ridiculous, fucked up scene. But then again, what about your life over the past few years, your relationships with these people, hasn’t been a little fucked up?

“C’mon, Bucky. Friend, not foe.” You rest your hand on Bucky’s arm, guiding the gun down. He hesitates, but lets you.

“Protective, is he?” Tony asks dryly, and you think you just might hear the smallest twinge of approval in his voice. Well hey, there’s a start. And that start, as much as you don’t want it to, makes your heart soar.

“Just a little.”

“Y’know, sometimes I wish I could ground you.”

“You’re a few years late for that. But I think trying to arrest me was pretty close.”

You think, for a moment, that Tony almost smiles.

“Does he always stare like that?”

It’s your turn to smile, then. “You have no idea.”

He shrugs, still holding his usual air of nonchalance. “Well, when this is all over you can have him over for dinner. I’m sure Pepper’s gonna love him.”

You know he’s joking, but you still almost cringe at the thought of the third degree he would face if put in the same room as Pepper Potts. Still, the mental image is kind of…nice. Like if this situation were just a little less insane, if everything wasn’t buried in so much chaos, you could actually bring Bucky home to your strange new version of a family. It would be awkward, yes. Very much so, considering everything. But maybe…

Maybe he’ll crack a smile, and hold your hand. Maybe he’ll make a joke, and Tony will laugh. He’ll bring flowers in that old-timey way he has, nervous and unsure how to introduce himself properly. Pepper will like the gesture, give him a little more leeway, and by the end of the night everything might just feel a little bit…normal. Nice. Like you’re not trying to save the world for once, but just..people.

Right now, without punches or insults being thrown, it almost feels like a possibility.

“What’s a Pepper?” Bucky asks you quietly as you all begin to make your way down the hall.

It’s hard to tamp down the laugh that bubbles up in your chest.

-

All feeling of relief is sucked from your body as you walk into the chamber. And there it is. The prickling under your skin. The sense of impending danger.

The supersoldiers are all dead.

Zemo killed them all.

His voice echoes over the speaker and when the light to the chamber clicks on, you know immediately that Steve’s shield isn’t going to penetrate it, but the clang still reverberates hopelessly through the room like the final note in a song.

You barely hear his words as he speaks to Steve. Your nerves are burning. Your mind is racing. You see the screen. The date on it. Why does that date seem so familiar?

“Something’s wrong.” You say quietly.

“Yeah, I think we’re past that.” Tony answers, but Bucky understands. He knows what the serum did to you better than anyone else, and you can feel him become impossibly more alert as he steps in front of you again, a wall blocking you from any potential threat.

And then his eyes fall on the screen, and he freezes.

“Buck?” You ask, trepidation lacing your tone. Tony sees it too, and frustration prickles at you because you still don’t know what it means and you’ve always hated not knowing things and-

“This, I admit I did not expect.” You hear Zemo’s voice like a toxin in your veins, the smugness in his tone making your fingers twitch with the urge to rip through the metal wall and connect your fist with his face. “The Winter Soldier. The death machine, finding something to care about. Someone to love him.” He’s looking at you, now, but you don’t give an inch. You glare back with fire in your eyes, fists clenched at your sides. There’s too much static in the air. Too much of the feeling that something is about to change. Something is about to go wrong. Very wrong.

“How does it feel, Winter Soldier, to know what’s coming?”

Bucky is looking at you. He looks afraid. Too afraid.

“What a sad irony that the unfeeling creature of HYDRA will lose everything, as well.”

The video begins to play, and the scattered puzzle pieces fall into place.

You never met your biological grandparents. Of course you didn’t. But you knew of them. You’ve heard stories. You knew about the crash that killed them.

Bucky’s eyes are blank as he approaches your injured grandfather. Howard Stark recognizes him. The confused “Sergeant Barnes?” sounds tinny over the old speaker in a way that makes you feel sick.

The metal arm, the one that has held you so gently, so delicately, so many times, slams into his face on the camera, killing him quickly. Efficiently. Mindlessly.

Your body turns to ice as you hear your grandmother’s weak voice call your grandfather’s name. You can’t peel your eyes from the screen as that metal hand wraps around her throat.

The video stops, and you’re not looking at the screen anymore. You’re looking at Bucky.

Shock is a strange thing. It’s cold. Still. It locks your limbs into place and squeezes your throat shut. It makes you feel wide awake and half asleep at the same time, mind empty but still humming with new information that you can’t put to good use.

It wasn’t Bucky. You know that. And it’s not just logic that locks that information into your racing thoughts. It’s instinct. It’s your soul intertwined with his, understanding the horrors he went through and the actions he couldn’t help. Couldn’t stop.

But it was still his face on the screen. His hands that committed the act. You never knew those people, but they made you. In so many ways, they were a part of you. And you just watched the love of your life snuff them out like ants beneath his boot.

Whatever look must be on your face is killing him. You can see it in his eyes. He looks like his heart is being ripped from his chest. Like no amount of HYDRA’s torture could ever compare to this.

It’s so fucked up that your first instinct is to go to him, to hold him. Your legs remain locked in place, however. You don’t move.

And then everything explodes.

The fighting begins, and you’re still frozen. You watch as Bucky looks towards the firing guns, begins to run towards you like he’s preparing to shield you from any stray fire, and then he’s knocked out of the way.

Suddenly, in what feels like the blink of an eye, Tony has Bucky pinned to a wall thirty feet above your head. You feel like you’re in a waking nightmare. Some kind of sick paralysis. You hear the sounds of metal crunching against skin. Hear the weak call of “Howard?” In your ears.

“Stop.” The word is quiet. Hoarse as it leaves your throat. You don’t know why you say it, the useless whispered plea.

“It wasn’t him!” Steve shouts, and you don’t know who he’s talking to, but the three words seem to finally break you from the ice.

It wasn’t him.

So many months. So many nightmares. So many whispered confessions in the dark of that apartment in Bucharest, his arms holding you in the beginning like he wouldn’t blame you if you broke free and ran out the door. And later, when you never did, holding you like you were the one thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

HYDRA would have done the same thing to you. Planned to. Would have, if you hadn’t broken out. And somehow, impossibly, you found the only person who was unlucky enough to understand it all even better than you.

Strangely enough, your mind wanders back to that night on the roof. At the first time you heard him laugh, low and quiet like he had forgotten how.

“I didn’t know you made that noise.”

“I haven’t in a long time.”

In another blink, you’re in the dingy kitchen of the apartment, looking into blue eyes that held so much vulnerability you didn’t know how you could possibly have ever seen him as anything more than just Bucky. How he could ever have been considered a weapon.

“You’re not trying to fix me.”

“You’re not broken.”

Tony reaches back, preparing to deliver a killing blow.

A small device locks onto his arm, briefly short circuiting the cannon and causing his suit to drop from the air. Bucky falls with him. When Tony looks up. You can’t see his face behind his mask, but you can sense the betrayal as his eyes fall on the little gun in your hands, the one you shot the device from.

Bucky looks at you. Tony looks at you. And the building begins to crumble.

Bucky moves first, knocking you out of the way before a large piece of metal falls where you were standing. He shields you from the impact as you fall to the concrete, but your injuries still shriek in protest.

A shot knocks him off of you, sends him rolling away, and he’s back on his feet in an instant in preparation to come grab you again. To get you both to safety.

“Go!” You shout, and he hesitates like he would rather die than leave you here. But you can’t go with him. You can’t weigh him down. He wont make it, and you probably won’t survive the crossfire.

He looks tortured when he realizes this, looking desperately to Steve. If the other super soldier weren’t here, you know he would stay. He would die trying to protect you. But you see the plea in his eyes, the unshakable trust that you’ll be safer with Captain America than with him. And he runs.

-

They’re too high up. You can’t see them. You can’t climb fast enough. You can’t do anything but watch as Tony tries to kill the man you love with a furious efficiency you’ve never seen before. He knocks the metal door shut, sends Bucky flying back down, and you can’t even find it in yourself to scream.

You search your belt for something - anything - to help. You come up empty. For the first time, you wish HYDRA had just finished that fucking serum. You feel useless.

And then they’re falling, and you’re so busy trying to watch what’s happening that you don’t see the piece of metal crashing down beside you. You don’t even feel the hum of warning. It hits your leg, hard, and you trip for the first time since you got the serum, stumbling too hard to move out of the way before another piece of debris collides with your side.

The pain is blinding. So much so that you don’t even realize you’ve been knocked down until you’re tumbling into the snow. Your healing injuries light your body on fire, new ones joining them as you collide with concrete and debris over and over until you’re finally landing somewhere near Steve.

Your body screams in agony, and you curl in on yourself. You hear Bucky shout your name through the ringing in your ears, and then he’s there, fighting again.

His hand digs into Tony’s chest, and a broken scream leaves your throat. It distracts him, just long enough, and you scream again as a shot fires.

He falls. His metal arm is gone.

You barely register what’s happening next, pain of all kinds ripping through you as you wheeze and try to blink through tears. Bucky, half conscious where he’s fallen, reaches for you.

Tony knocks Steve down, and begins making his way to Bucky again.

“Stop.” You choke, and you taste blood. “Stop.” His arm raises, gun aimed right at Bucky’s head. Your voice is raw, but loud and desperate as you cry out with the last of your strength. “Dad, stop!”

You don’t call him that. In fact, you’ve gone out of your way to not call him that. Despite the amount of times you know he’s wished, whether he’ll even admit it to himself, that you would.

He stops. Just for a moment. Just to look at you. A thousand emotions fill his eyes. Shock. Pain. Betrayal. You feel sick. He sees you on the ground, injured and bleeding, for what seems like the first time. The vengeance in his eyes fades. Guilt joins the betrayal. But the anger is still there, churning beneath the surface like a sickness.

Captain America knocks him down. You watch, vision blackening at the edges.

Tony Stark looks at you. You look at him. Something between the two of you, some bond you’ve built and nurtured so slowly, so carefully over the last few years, breaks.

Steve helps Bucky up. Bucky reaches for you. He tries to lift you with his one remaining arm, but you make a noise between a groan and a whimper at the unsteady movement. You feel like you’ve been hit by a train. Judging by the horrified look on Bucky’s bruised face, you look like it too.

You thought he was overprotective before. You have a feeling it’s gonna get a lot worse after this.

He looks helpless and pained as Steve lifts you, gently, and begins to carry you. Bucky limps alongside the two of you, eyes never leaving your face.

You hear Tony behind you. Hurt. Angry. Telling him he doesn’t deserve the shield.

Steve drops it. He doesn’t look back.

-

A few hours on the quinjet, and you no longer feel like you’re seconds away from death. Bucky’s already much farther along in the healing process than you, but you’re getting there. Slowly. Your body is stitching itself together at twice the rate of a normal human, and you’ve never been more grateful for the stupid serum.

“Point for superpowers.” You murmur. He looks at you, confused. You shake your head and lean more heavily into his side.

You’ll have to talk. A lot. About recent revelations, about everything else that happened back there, about where to go next. But no matter what, you know you love him. You know you’re not going anywhere. And neither is he. He knows it, too.

“You and me?” He murmurs quietly, like the words are a secret, pressing his lips against your temple.

You squeeze his hand, turning to look up at him, and offer a smile that holds all the love in your heart.

“You and me.”

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd, @intothesoul

[sanders1665]

"You’re Not Crazy — You’re Creating"

They always call you crazy first.

They said that about Van Gogh —

chopped off his own ear, couldn’t sell a painting to save his life.

Now the world sells tickets just to stare at his brushstrokes.

They said it about Nina Simone —

too raw, too political, too angry, too much.

She didn’t blink. She made thunder out of piano keys

and poured truth into the bones of jazz.

They said it about Tesla —

slept three hours a night, talked to pigeons,

imagined invisible energy webbing the planet long before we had Wi-Fi.

They buried him poor and mocked.

Then we named cars after his ghost.

They say it about the poets, the punks, the painters.

The ones who felt too much,

saw too far,

refused to play the role.

And maybe they’ve said it about you.

Too emotional. Too impulsive. Too sensitive.

You change your mind. You talk to yourself. You daydream.

You burn hot for something one week, then disappear the next.

But here’s the truth no one says out loud:

That “crazy” part of you?

That’s the part that’s awake.

That’s the part trying to build something real

while everyone else is just scrolling and nodding and blending in.

The system wants sameness.

Wants polite mouths and small talk and office chairs and

a neat little box where no one asks too many questions.

But you’ve got sparks coming out of your skull.

You’ve got dreams so loud they wake you up in the middle of the night.

You hear a strange song and suddenly feel like yourself again.

You see a streetlight flicker and think of a whole damn story.

That’s not dysfunction.

That’s design.

The ideas that don’t let you go?

The ones that seem too weird, too bold, too unmarketable —

listen to them.

They are messages from the part of you

that’s never been domesticated.

Write the thing that doesn’t make sense yet.

Paint with your fingers if the brush feels wrong.

Say what’s in your chest even if your voice cracks.

Because if Bowie had waited for approval,

he’d have died a mime in Soho.

If Maya Angelou had played nice,

we’d never know why the caged bird sings.

If Basquiat stayed in school,

we’d have no proof that chaos and beauty can dance together in spray paint.

None of them asked for permission.

They followed the weird glow.

They didn’t edit themselves into normalcy.

They expressed.

Loud. Messy. Real.

And yeah, maybe they scared people.

Maybe they scared themselves.

But they left a trail.

And now it’s your turn.

So don’t shut up.

Don’t sit still.

Don’t flatten yourself out for their comfort.

Be as odd and electric and wrong as you need to be

to get to your truth.

Because every time you honor that gut-deep signal,

you create more space for the rest of us

to feel a little less insane for wanting more.

You’re not broken.

You’re a frequency the world hasn't fully tuned into yet.

Tune into yourself and turn the volume up.

[threemoonflowers]

"Embarrassing? Baby -- it's hot as fuck." Marc tried to get Steven to see it in the same light that he did then. The fact that the mess of wetness on the front of those slacks was a sign of how good he'd made Steven feel, and thus was insanely fucking attractive to him. "Nothin' to be embarrassed about when you looked that good makin' the mess." A low, pleased hum. A coo of words, almost, and he let his fingers stop the teasing in favor of his hands gripping a set of hips. Squeezing there. You donut -- Marc actually scoffed at that. "Really? Now of all times you -- ah, shit. . ." He was ready to scold his partner, but then those fingers pinch at his nipples, and he actually had to take in a sharp breath at the feeling. Had to let his eyes close and dip his head just a moment as he groaned through the sensation. If that was Steven's tactic to get back at him, it definitely fucking worked. Had Marc shuddering before he huffed out, squinted eyes at the one below him. "Tellin' me to stop teasing yet here you are doing that?" Mumbled, and Marc's fingers finally moved. Hands shifted on hips and went around to start undoing the button. To pull down the zip and then hook into slacks and give a nice tug. Like a warning for Steven to start lifting his hips to help with that motion. He was about to have Steven almost fully nude under him, all while still being fully dressed himself. Something about that really tickled something feral in Marc's brain. Something that made him sigh out in pleasure as he began to try and get the other's pants at least down those lovely, thick thighs.

Marc calls him a slut, Steven moans - they truly do things to him, those dirty nicknames, and that cock twitching behind the closed zipper of his slacks is certainly telling as much as that breathy sound just did that escaped his lungs there, followed by a pair of hands giving those gorgeous pectorals another squeeze.

It's impressive, really, to see Marc shifting his weight onto his knees and managing to retain that position just by tensing his muscles; He's stunning, incredibly sexy, and Steven licks his lips as dark eyes flick down to watch hands move instead, hands that are going to undress him---

---What they do instead, however, is to brush along where his eager hardness is trapped, overly excited and oh-so-ready to be stimulated - and Steven moans again, high-pitched and a little out of breath, hips twitching as if trying to get more of those fingers. It's barely there, the connection, and yet it manages to send a fire down the curve of his spine to combine with the flames already burning between his thighs; Steven whimpers, presses his lips into a tight line, his thumbs almost idly so brushing over those nipples as a gaze remains firmly focused on what happens between their lower halves...

"M-Marc!" A gasp, a swallow. His lover is right, though - Steven could come like that, easily so, if those digits only were to add more pressure... bloody hell! "Y-you already made me --- g-gosh, I am already a mess a-and... don't--- don't look so closely, it's embarrassing!"

The wet patch, Steven means, as well as the way his cock is outlined obscenely by those now way too thin pants he's wearing. It's very obvious like this, how hard and erect his cock is, and how it continues to leak precum because of the stimulation... because of how aroused Steven is, outright horny, yeah, definitely.

"Stop teasing me... y-you... you donut!"

A pinch to those nipples, with Steven hoping to get back at Marc like this as his dark eyes flick back up to the other's face, his own cheeks dark red by now, sweat beading along his airline and the side of his neck.

[steddieas-shegoes]

breaking down walls

for @switcheddieweek prompt 'exposure'

technically part two to this but can be read standalone

rated e | 2165 words | also on ao3 | no cw | tags: switch eddie, switch steve, light bondage, light spit kink, camera, established relationship, dirty talk, wall sex (more like wall masturbation? wall frottage?), coming in pants, come eating (more like licking)

🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱

Steve’s looking at the wall like he expects it to grow hands or a hole to fuck. He might back out. He may finally have a reason to say no and mean it.

Eddie’s watching from the chair, tied up in a way that would allow him to get himself out if there’s an emergency, but not thinking about it. He can’t ruin the illusion of being unable to move.

He’s more fascinated by Steve standing in front of the wall, naked except his boxers, biting his thumbnail nervously. He looks like he’s either gonna run away or pass out. Hopefully he does neither of those things, but jury’s still out.

“You gonna get closer or are you gonna fuck into the air and hope it’s enough?” Eddie asks when the impatience wins out. He can’t sit here all night waiting for Steve to be brave; He’s gonna force him to be brave or to say he can’t.

“Shut up,” Steve says back.

Eddie raises a brow and lets out a breath. “I’d rather not, actually. I’m supposed to talk you through this, right?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t need anyone to talk me through it.”

“Okay. Get your boxers off and get started, then.”

To his credit, Steve immediately does as he says. His boxers pool at his feet and he steps closer to the wall. There’s nothing in this space, no pictures or trinkets that might fall if Steve gets carried away. He’s almost definitely gonna get carried away. Eddie got him so worked up before they started this, he’s already desperate.

It’s gonna be so fun to watch.

Even better to see the recording.

He glances at the camera set up on the counter to the right of Steve. The red light is flashing, and he hopes the angle they tested works as perfectly as it did earlier.

“Go on,” Eddie doesn’t feel like being patient, not with ropes digging into his wrists preventing him from getting his hands on Steve’s hips to physically guide him. “You were so desperate a few minutes ago.”

“That was when it was your thigh,” Steve snaps at him. “The wall isn’t your thigh.”

“Nope. It’s the only thing you can use, though.”

Steve’s not supposed to touch his dick at all, not even if he needs to adjust himself against the wall. That’s the main rule for this. That and making sure he paints a nice picture with his cum.

He moves in until he’s almost completely against the wall, face turned towards Eddie. He’d prefer if he looks at the camera, but he doesn’t mind that much if he can watch in real time now. He’ll just file it away in his Memories That Will Go To Hell With Me folder in his head.

He winces.

“Cold?” Eddie asks with a grin. His apartment has terrible insulation. He keeps a space heater in his bedroom for the winter, and the rest of the time he just wears layers. The walls are always cold, the floors are even colder.

Maybe next time he’ll make him use the floor.

Steve whimpers in response. Eddie clenches his fists, feels like he might go insane with the rope burning his wrists. A constant reminder that he can look but can’t touch, can lead but only from a distance.

“Doesn’t feel as good as my hand or my mouth, huh?” Eddie continues through his teeth. He’s grateful he stayed half dressed for this. He can kind of hide how hard he is in these pants. Steve’s too far gone right now to even notice.

“Cold,” Steve says with his cheek pushed against the wall. There’s an absolutely hideous wallpaper in the kitchen, something that could not have been the decision of any sane human being. Having Steve against it like this might make it a bit more tolerable in Eddie’s mind. “Hard.”

“You wanted to come, right?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” It’s breathy and whiny all at once and it makes Eddie’s cock jump in his pants. Jesus, he may have overestimated how normal he can be about this.

“You should fuck the wall, then, baby.”

The baby comes out a bit mean and Steve whines again.

His hips start to move slightly, but his dick is hidden out of view. Eddie thinks the way he’s got his hips tilted is to show the camera more than him. He may just have to deal with it.

The light catches on something on the wall, shiny.

Spit is dripping down the wall, a single track of drool that’s gonna hit the floor. Eddie could make him lick it up after. He’d do it. Steve does everything Eddie asks him to, including humiliating himself on his hands and knees licking the floor.

“Move faster.” He immediately starts going faster, letting out breathy moans every time the head of his dick catches on the wall. It can’t feel that good, only getting limited friction on the head and one side. “You like using the wall? You know how much I hate this wallpaper. You should ruin it so they have to let me paint over it.”

Steve smirks, but groans when he turns to face the wall entirely. Eddie catches him letting out a shaky breath as he slows down again.

“I can’t,” he says quietly.

“You can’t what?”

“Come. I need more.”

“No, you don’t. You come untouched all the time. Just pretend the wall is my leg,” Eddie shifts in his seat, tries to get a tiny bit of relief on his leaking dick. He can feel a wet spot spreading across his crotch and he knows if Steve turns his head, he’ll see it. He can’t give him the satisfaction. “You love rubbing yourself off on my leg like a dog. This isn’t any different.”

“It is,” Steve whines. He’s still humping forward, though. Still desperate and needy. “Not warm or soft.”

“Baby,” this time it’s softer when he says it. He can’t help it.

Steve’s so…gentle. There’s so much softness inside him. Eddie’s lucky to get to see it, to hold it in his hands and shape it into the love that’s right for them. It’s still new, this affection they freely give. It makes the mean words they spit back and forth taste like burnt sugar.

“You know how to stop if you need to,” Eddie reminds him. “But if you don’t need to, then you need to fuck the wall.”

Steve moans. He pulls away just enough for Eddie to see the tip of his dick glistening with precum. It’s an angry red, probably from a combination of being on edge and the roughness of the wall. He’s gonna be sore later.

Eddie will kiss it better.

“Go on,” Eddie tells him. He’s persistent because he knows Steve wants him to be. “Get yourself off.”

The words are said with enough authority that Steve closes the small gap and does it without hesitation. One hand is behind his back and the other is against the wall, holding him steady so he doesn’t end up with bruises on his beautiful face. He’s going faster now, letting out barely there grunts as he tries to find the pleasure he needs.

Eddie is rutting up into the air, wishing he had Steve in his lap, riding him until they both came.

“Fuck me,” Eddie says under his breath, shaking his head to try not to come.

“Can I?” Steve asks. “Please?”

“So polite. But you know you can’t do anything until you come on my wall.”

Eddie forgets for a moment that there’s a camera recording all this, that he had the brilliant idea to keep this on tape forever. The camera beeps once, drawing Eddie’s attention away from Steve to see the red light is gone.

“Shit. Hold on,” Eddie manages to grip the rope between his fingers and pull them loose, dropping them to the floor. He stands and goes over to the camera, frowning when it doesn’t turn back on. “I think the battery died.”

“I’m gonna die if I don’t get to come in the next minute,” Steve whines. “Fuck the camera. C’mere.”

Eddie does as he’s demanded. What else is he gonna do? Waste time getting the backup battery in the other room and potentially miss Steve painting his wall? Not fucking likely.

He leans on the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at Steve’s sweaty face. He’s being good, not stopping his movements even though he slowed a bit when Eddie got up.

“Not sure what you’re waiting on,” Eddie says as he looks down at Steve’s leaking dick. He’s gotta be in more pain than pleasure right now. “You gonna come or what?”

“Get on your knees.” Steve’s panting, glassy eyes silently begging him to do what he wants.

Eddie drops to his knees easily. He likes the view from down here. It’s a little different tonight since Steve’s facing the wall, but he’s eye level with the show. Can’t complain about that.

“Do it. Come for me, baby.”

Eddie’s a little shocked when he does. He started to worry that maybe the wall wasn’t gonna be enough and he’d have to touch him.

But the writing— or cum —is on the wall.

Eddie feels his own dick twitch in his pants and the moment he covers it with his palm, he’s coming, too. He’s not usually on a hairpin trigger like this, but he’s starting to think Steve’s ruining his stamina. He’s just so fucking hot when his knees nearly buckle and he bangs his hand against the wall, when he whispers Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, baby, Eddie as he catches his breath.

He’s leaning his head against the wall, breathing heavily when Steve nudges his knee with his foot.

“Clean it up.”

Eddie blinks up at Steve, mouth hanging open in awe and bewilderment.

“What?” He asks, hardly able to speak at all.

He feels completely undone, everything around him shifting into a new universe within seconds.

“I saw you staring earlier. Lick it off the wall.”

Steve takes a step back, giving enough room for Eddie to scoot in closer. He’s surrounded by heat and legs and Steve’s soft dick nudging against his cheek. There’s still some spit dribbling down the wall, but most of the mess he can see is cum.

He doesn’t feel any shame when he starts to lick the wall, moaning as the taste consumes him. It’s salty and bitter, a hint of sweetness that drives him crazy. It’s so Steve.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Steve groans, hand covering the back of his head and gripping his hair. He’s rough. Eddie loves when he’s rough. He’s shoving him forward until his tongue is flat against the wall, nose pushed uncomfortably into it so that he can barely breathe. “Tastes good, doesn’t it? You love tasting me anywhere you can.”

“Mhm,” Eddie whines. He can’t do anything else with Steve pushing him into the wall harder.

“Get it all. Can’t have anyone seeing what you made me do.”

His hand loosens after another minute and Eddie takes in a deep, shaking breath. He turns his face and rests his forehead against Steve’s thigh.

He laughs once, then twice, wrapping his hand around Steve’s ankle.

Steve’s fingers are running through his hair, calming him.

“That was hot,” he says and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. They always get up to some crazy shit and Steve always acts like he’s surprised it worked out for them. Maybe he is. “Hotter than I thought it’d be.”

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I didn’t make you lick anything off the floor like I wanted to,” Eddie kisses the mole on his thigh before he looks up. “I think my knee wiped it up.”

“Next time,” Steve shrugs like he’d be into it. Shit, he’s smiling like he’d be into it, too. “Wanna get cleaned up?”

“Only if I can suck you off in the shower.”

Steve pulls him up and kisses him, hard and bruising. “If I ever say no to that, fuckin’ slap me. And not in the way I like.”

“Deal.”

It’s hours later, when they’re both almost asleep, that they both remember the camera.

Eddie sits up and looks down at Steve, who is already laughing into his hand.

“We gave it back to Jon with the tape in it,” Eddie joins him in laughter, leaning down to hide his face in the pillow. “Oh god. He’s gonna see your entire naked ass.”

“Maybe he’ll bring us the tape without checking it,” Steve hopes out loud. “Or at least recognizes what it is before my whole ass is out.”

The phone rings next to Eddie’s bed and they know who it is before Steve manages to answer.

“You guys are never borrowing this again. Actually, take it. Take the whole thing. I can get a new one.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪷max please!

500 for 🪷:

---

Don’t say what? What shouldn’t he say? Shannon frowns. Christopher is hiding something about Eddie. She’d thought so before the whole sister reveal, and now she thinks so again. 

“What about Eddie?” Shannon asks, looking directly at Denny. He seems like a sweet boy. He might crack easily.

Denny sucks in his cheeks, as if to physically restrain himself from answering.

“Nothing,” he squeaks after a moment. “Not a thing.”

Shannon can see Chris roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Is it that he’s remarried?” Shannon asks. “Come on, you said you have a little sister. I’m not stupid, Christopher. It’s been sixteen years. I’m not hurt to hear he’s moved on.”

Chris pauses for a moment, then looks back at her. 

“Yep, that’s all,” he says. “But, uh, let’s just… Let him tell you about that, okay? Please?”

Somehow, Shannon doesn’t think that’s actually all. She needs to talk to Eddie.

“Okay,” she says. “Whatever you say.”

Christopher

Denny does Christopher a favor. A huge favor, really. Other than the whole driving thing. The moment he processes that Christopher cannot tell his mother that his father is gay, for a plethora of reasons, he just starts talking. It’s nervous chatter, sure. Probably not even intentionally a favor to Chris. It isn’t really like Denny to talk for talking’s sake; maybe he’s just spending too much time with Buck lately. It must be nerves, but regardless, it means Chris doesn’t need to say anything. He just needs to focus on the matter at hand. 

“So I met Christopher because our parents work for the same fire station,” Denny is rambling as they take the elevator up to their floor. Mom did not ask. He’s just offering. “My mom is a paramedic. I think she was actually there when you… You know what, nevermind.”

Wow.

“It’s okay,” Mom says. “You can say it. When I died.”

Denny’s cheeks redden. “Right, that. Anyway, we got close in high school after… Uh, after Chris moved to my school. So there you go. There’s that story. Chris is great, by the way. Usually far less grumpy. Works a lot. Too much, some might say.”

Nice save on not saying after moving back from El Paso. 

“Do you work too much, Chris?” Mom asks.

“Nope,” Chris shakes his head. “Denny’s just used to getting four-offs twice a month.”

“After working twenty-four hour shifts all the damn time,” Denny points out.

“You’re a firefighter, too?” Mom asks. 

“Probationary still, but yeah,” Denny says. “I want to be a paramedic, like my mom. I really look up to her, you know? She’s always coming up with insane ways to save people. Uh… I mean… Not… Fuck.”

[anylady-fics]

Close to you | Seungmin x F Reader

Cross posted on ao3

Summary: You just wanted to hook up with that guy you were dating — shy, polite, and way too hot for his own good. But when he takes too long to make a move, you decide to push him until he snaps.

WC: 6.3k

⚠️ warnings: smut, insecure!seungmin, oral sex (f/m), vaginal sex, dirty talk, big dick seungmin, consensual recording, fingering, come swallowing

an: seungabs debut made me do it (thanks Lee Know)

Ⴡ Masterlist

Since you started dating one of your co-worker friends, things have felt a little... off. You were used to pushy men, the kind who made you set boundaries because they were always in a damn rush to get in your pants. And that shit’s boring. For real.

Fucking was never hard. But wanting to fuck someone? That’s a whole different story.

Most guys you slept with didn’t even deserve it. You did it because you were horny, or lonely, or just had nothing better to do. But whatever it is you’ve got going on now? This has never happened before. You’ve never waited for someone to make a move and not had it happen. So yeah… you’ve been feeling weird.

You started dating Seungmin almost a month ago. You knew he was shy from the start, but it was easy to get along with him. He’s funny, smart… and hot as hell.

But you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know it. 

He’s nothing like the other guys. He always looks away with the cutest smile when you compliment him, and then his hands start sweating when you’re close. It’s kinda adorable, if it wasn’t also driving you insane. 

You’ve made out with him a few times, of course… and it was really good. He’s a great kisser, he’s got those pretty hands, and he’s always so damn respectful. So respectful that you actually had to guide his hands to squeeze your tits, like he was scared to do it on his own.

That had never happened to you before. You’d never waited so long for a guy to touch you and… nothing.

So naturally, you started thinking that something was wrong. Maybe he had a small dick and was just too shy to get naked in front of you. It’s happened before, so... fair assumption.

But then again — you’ve already sat on his lap. You felt how hard he was under those jeans. You saw the outline of his cock right there, pressed against the fabric. He wasn’t small. Not even close. That wasn’t the problem.

You even considered the possibility that maybe he just wasn’t that into you. But that couldn’t be it either — your make-out sessions were hot. Like, really hot. And he keeps asking you out, taking you to nice places… dinners, movies, all that romantic shit. 

You were losing your mind.

For the first time in a long while, you actually wanted to fuck, and being stuck in this weird limbo was frustrating as hell.

At one point, you thought maybe he was a virgin. And honestly, that wouldn’t even be a problem for you…

But then your co-worker told you Seungmin had a long-term relationship before. So yeah. That theory went out the window too. You just didn’t know what to think anymore. And of course, you weren’t about to ask Seungmin directly about it, you didn’t want to come off as invasive or anything.

So instead, you decided to tease him. Push his buttons a little and see what happens. That was the plan. Not the smartest one, sure, but at this point? You didn’t give a fuck.

He texted you as soon as you left work, checking if your date was still on for the night. He said he’d pick you up at eight, as usual. You said yes, and the moment you stepped into your apartment, you went straight to your closet.

You weren’t sure what to wear, but he usually took you to these fancy restaurants, so… a dress felt like a safe bet. You picked a black one. It showed a little skin — not your legs, just some cleavage. Just enough. And it didn’t require a bra.

Of course that your brain went straight to the filthiest place. You were already picturing yourself on his lap after dinner, thinking about how easy it’d be for him to just fuck you in that dress. This guy was really driving you insane. 

You just wanted him to show that he wanted the same thing as you. And you weren’t used to feeling this desperate over a guy. For fuck’s sake.

So you took your time in the shower, styled your hair, put on some light makeup, and sprayed your best perfume — the one he’d already said he loved on your skin. Then you headed to your underwear drawer and picked out the sluttiest little thong you could find. By the time you slipped the dress and heels on, he was already calling to say he was outside. You took one last look in the mirror before heading out, and damn, you looked hot. If he kept acting like this, it might actually start messing with your self-esteem.

Finding his car was easy — he always parked in the same spot near your building. You slid into the passenger seat, and the way his face lit up made your stomach flip. His jaw literally dropped when he saw you. Score.

“Wow, you’re… you’re… stunning. I don’t even have a word.” He leaned in to give you a quick peck, careful not to mess up your lipstick. 

Seungmin, as always, knew how to dress. You looked him over — he was wearing a fitted long-sleeve shirt that hugged his body just right, and those damn dress pants you loved on him.

“Well, you’re looking pretty great yourself,” you said, grinning. “Guess we matched tonight.”

“Yeah, we did!” 

He drove you to a French restaurant, and as always, the conversation flowed easily. You sipped some good wine and… flirted. A lot. You kept rubbing your leg against his under the table, watching his cheeks flush every time you did.

He tried to act calm, casual, but you could tell he was getting turned on. Especially by the way he looked at you. That look in his eyes… fuck. There’s no way he didn’t want the same thing as you.

“So… do you wanna head back to my place?”

“Y-yeah, we can do that.”

He asked for the check and paid while you slipped off to the bathroom, mostly just to check on your poor panties, already soaked through. Not that that little piece of fabric was doing much anyway. And when you came back, you could tell… he was definitely getting nervous.

Even during your hottest make-out sessions, you’d never pushed him. Because again — you were used to guys who always made the first move. So whenever Seungmin paused things, whether it was to go to the bathroom, take a call, or just slow things down when it got too intense, you let him. You respected that. 

So on the ride back, you just kept talking about your week, his job, how good dinner had been. All the while, you watched his hands. Watched them start to sweat as you got closer to your apartment. He kept wiping them on his thighs, probably thinking you didn’t notice, but you did.

When he parked, you got out and waited for him to catch up at the building entrance. He was clearly nervous, like always, and you still had no idea why. 

As soon as you stepped into your apartment, you locked the door behind you and kicked off your heels to get more comfortable. Then you led him to the living room and sat down on the couch.

“Want something to drink?” you asked, slowly loosening your hair, watching him get completely mesmerized. “I’ve got wine, beer… water.”

“I’m fine for now, thank you. And you look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you’re always beautiful, but… I don’t know, I guess I’m still kinda speechless.”

“I think it’s cute,” you said, smiling. “I like when you compliment me like that, you know?”

“Cute? Me?”

“Of course. Why? You don’t think you’re cute?”

He smiled and looked away. God. You wanted to do so many things to him when he did that…

“Ahm… I don’t know.”

“Hm, yeah? So… what if I show you how much I think you’re cute?” You stood up, just to sit right back down on his lap, facing him, completely ignoring the way his hands started shaking the moment they touched your thighs. “I just think I can express myself better this way.”

“That sounds… good.”

His voice came out soft, a little shaky, but then he squeezed your thighs, and it took everything in you not to moan right there. You looked at him, cupped his face, and kissed him, cutting off whatever he was about to say.

The kiss started slowly. You liked to tease. You licked his lower lip, then bit it, sucked it, before finally sliding your tongue into his mouth. His hands moved to your waist, gripping tight, and that’s when you felt it… he was getting hard under those pants. Score. Again.

He deepened the kiss, and you let him. You tried to hold yourself back, to not start grinding on his lap… but his cock was already pressing right against your pussy, and fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. So you waited. 

You didn’t know how long you were kissing him, but every minute he seemed to loosen up a little more. His hands were on your tits now, cupping them through the dress, pinching your nipples through the fabric, pulling you tighter against him as he sucked on your tongue.

You already knew you were gonna stain his pants with how wet you were and you weren’t even a little bit sorry. 

The straps of your dress had slipped down your shoulders, so you pulled it lower—until your tits were practically spilling out. 

You half-expected him to stop you. Or maybe kiss you all soft and sweet like he usually did.

But no. 

Seungmin didn’t stop you. He finished what you started.

He pulled the dress down the rest of the way and grabbed your bare tits, making you moan straight into his mouth. His hands were big, warm, you could feel the heat spreading across your skin, and suddenly your whole body felt dizzy with it. You couldn’t believe he was finally letting it happen… fuck. So you rolled your hips, just a little, just to feel him, and he groaned into your mouth. That sound was so hot it made you clench. Hard. 

Your hands were on his shoulders as you slowly started to unbutton his shirt. But then… he shrank under you. His hands moved back to your thighs. Not gripping. Just… resting there. And suddenly, the kiss started to lose its heat. 

What the hell happened? 

You didn’t stop, though. You undid two more buttons, and again, he pulled back slightly, almost like he was trying to hide his chest from you.

Oh.

You were starting to get it now. Maybe this was what had been holding him back all along.

“Seungmin… is everything okay?”

You pulled away from the kiss, your hands returning gently to his shoulders.

“Yeah, but… shit, sorry. I don’t even know what to say.” He was clearly embarrassed, but you still didn’t get why. “I… I’m insecure. About my body. Just… please don’t laugh.”

Oh my god. Was he serious? No way.

“What do you mean…?”

“I’m too skinny. I… I don’t feel comfortable taking my clothes off in front of people.” He let out a shaky breath. “So yeah, that’s why I’ve been holding back. But tonight... fuck. You’re hot. Like, really hot. And I thought maybe I could just go with it, maybe it’d be okay.” He glanced down, avoiding your eyes. “But then you started unbuttoning my shirt and I just… panicked. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, baby… I just—” You let out a breath. “It’s hard to believe, honestly. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re so fucking hot I can barely put it into words. But I’m gonna respect you. If you don’t wanna take your clothes off or… do anything, that’s okay.” 

You kissed his forehead, trying really hard to ignore the fact that he was still hard under you.

“Of course I wanna do it… look at you…” His eyes dropped to your tits and he took a deep, shaky breath. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Can I show you something?” You tilted his chin up gently. “I know it’s not gonna magically fix how you feel about yourself, but… give me your hand.”

You took his hand and shifted on the couch, kneeling to move just far enough off his lap. Then you hiked your dress up until your panties were on full display, and slid his hand inside them. 

“Can you feel that?” Your voice was soft, but dripping with heat. “That’s how hot I think you are. I’m soaked for you.” 

You held his gaze, letting the moment simmer between your bodies.

“All those makeout sessions… I had to get myself off thinking about you. I fingered my pussy thinking about your hands. Thinking about your voice. Thinking about the way you smile at me. Thinking about you.”

“F-fuck… is that really true?” His fingers slid through your folds, spreading your arousal, making the slick sound between your legs obscene. “God, you’re so wet…”

“Yes… I’d never lie to you.” You leaned closer, your voice low and full of heat. “I know you’re skinny, and I love that. You’re hot as fuck. I was losing my mind over you, wondering why you hadn’t fucked me yet.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “God, Seungmin… if you let me, I could do a few things that might help you out.”

“I… I think I can do that.” 

He pulled his hand out of your panties and started unbuttoning his shirt on his own. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. His chest, his stomach, the way his fingers fumbled just a little. All that bare skin finally in front of you. And the moment he slipped the shirt off, your hands were all over him. You pinched one of his nipples, making him hiss through his teeth. “And… what things?” he asked, voice low, breath uneven.

“Hm… we could record a few things.” Your fingers moved to his belt, slowly undoing it while your voice dropped to a murmur. “And you could watch it later. See how fucking hot you are. See how desperate you make me.” You looked up at him, biting your lip. “Just thinking about that has me dripping, so please…”

“You’re serious about… recording?” His voice was somewhere between nervous and turned on. You couldn’t quite tell which one was winning. “Like… what?”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, completely under your spell.

You stood up slowly and reached for your phone on the coffee table, then you sank to your knees between his legs, pushing his pants down to take them off.

Fuck.

You nearly drooled at the sight of his cock straining against his boxers. You already knew he wasn’t small, but seeing how thick he was? Your mouth watered.

You put your phone on airplane mode, opened the camera, and handed it to him. His hands were still shaking, but now it wasn’t insecurity. It was anticipation. He knew exactly what was coming.

“You know… I’m gonna suck you off, and you’re gonna record it.” Your voice was pure sin, you were trying your best to sound as sexy as possible. “Then you’ll see just how badly I want you.”

“Fuck… I’ve never done anything like that before.” He bit his lip when you squeezed his thighs, your hands sliding up toward his cock. “You’re killing me.”

“All I want you thinking about…” You touched his stomach, his skin soft and warm under your palm. “…is whether you’re gonna finish in my mouth, on my tits, or all over my face. Okay?”

He looked like he could barely breathe.

“Nothing else matters, baby. Just me. My mouth. Your cock.”

Then you started stroking his cock over his boxers, feeling how soaked the fabric already was with his precum. You teased the waistband with your fingers before finally pulling them down, freeing his thick, heavy cock, and that’s when he told you he’d hit record.

Seungmin was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, while you traced your fingertips along the thick veins of his cock. You weren’t even sucking yet, just touching. Studying him.

Already thinking about how raw your throat would feel after choking on it. And fuck, you couldn’t wait.

“Such a pretty cock…” You wrapped your hand around the base and dragged your tongue up the entire length, eyes locked on his — and the camera. “Gotta make it nice and wet… so I can sit on it later.”

You tugged his boxers all the way off, tossed them aside, and brought your hands to his balls, cupping them gently as you sucked just the tip of his cock.

He groaned, loudly. You loved his sounds, but you wanted more. You wanted open-mouthed, breathless, needy fucking moans. So you took more of him into your mouth, spit already sliding down your chin. The stretch to take him in was making you even wetter, you couldn’t stop thinking about how he would feel inside your pussy. You needed to make him cum, and fast. You started to suck harder, still slow and deliberate, but filthy. Messy. Intense. And fuck, he liked it. You felt it in the way his thighs tensed up beneath your hands.

“Fuck, you’re so good…”

His voice was shaky, barely more than a breath.

You looked up at him, spit on his cock, then took him back into your mouth, deeper this time. He moaned louder, finally giving you the sounds you were craving. 

You stroked his cock a few times, mesmerized. So hard, so pink… so fucking ready for you to use. But you weren’t done yet.

“Tell me what you like, baby… You can talk to me.”

You swirled your tongue around the tip, gave it a gentle, wet bite, then rubbed it against your lips while staring right into the camera. “Want me to suck harder? Want me to choke on it? Want me to jerk you off? Just say the word, I’ll do it.”

“Suck it and… and use your hands too. I’ll cum like that…” He still sounded shy, even with you licking his cock while he filmed. “Fuck, you look so hot…”

“It’s because I love sucking your cock. Can’t you see that?”

You did exactly what he asked — stroking and sucking at the same time. You took him deeper, until you gagged, and held him there while gently massaging his balls. He was finally moaning for you; loud, needy, beautiful little sounds every time you sucked him harder. 

You knew he was close. You could feel it.

“Wanna taste your cum, baby…” You spit on his cock again, making your strokes slick and smooth, squeezing the head just right to make his whole body twitch under your touch. “Where do you wanna finish, hm?”

“Your mouth… Wanna see you swallow everything.”

Oh fuck.

You weren’t expecting him to say something that dirty, and it ruined you in the best way.

His voice, his breath, his moans… You were the one losing control, even though he was the one about to cum.

You could feel it. The way his thighs tensed, the way his moans got rougher, more desperate. He was right on the edge. So you sucked him deep again, your hand stroking in time with your mouth, your spit dripping everywhere, making a fucking mess.

His hand tightened around the phone, trying to keep the camera steady, but you knew he was struggling. His abs flexed beneath your palm. 

“I’m close, fuck… I’m gonna cum…” 

You didn’t stop.

You welcomed it.

His hips jerked, his cock twitched hard against your tongue, and then he came. Hot, thick spurts hit the back of your throat, and you moaned around him, holding him there, swallowing around the head just to feel him shiver. 

But you didn’t swallow everything right away. You slowly pulled off his cock, lips slick, tongue teasing the tip one last time. Then you looked straight at him — at the phone — and opened your mouth to show him the mess he’d made inside you. 

His cum pooled on your tongue, still warm, still dripping. You let him see it all. Let the camera see it. And then, slowly, you swallowed.

“Fuck…”

He was breathless, eyes wide, totally wrecked. You loved it.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled, still on your knees between his legs.

“See?” you whispered, voice dark and satisfied. “Told you I loved sucking your cock.”

You stood up again and stripped in front of him, because that dress wasn’t welcome anymore. He stared, completely lost in your naked body.

“You gonna let me return the favor?” he asked, his voice soft, almost shy again, which made you smirk, considering he’d just told you he wanted to see you swallow his cum. “The video was a great idea, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah? You wanna taste me too? Is that what you’re saying?” 

You grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, guiding him toward your bedroom. You turned on the soft lights, letting the glow wrap around your skin as you crawled onto the bed, laid on your back, and spread your legs. One hand trailed down between them, rubbing your soaked pussy through your panties, just to show him how ready you were. 

“I’m all yours, baby. Come here. And bring my phone.”

You could tell he was still feeling a little insecure about his body, but the second you pushed your panties aside, all of that disappeared. His focus was entirely on you. On your glistening, soaked pussy.

He crawled onto the bed and didn’t waste a single second. He kissed your mound, your inner thighs, your clit. And then he moaned — moaned — when his tongue slipped inside your wet hole. He was devouring you like he needed it. His nose brushed against your clit, sending a white-hot jolt straight through you, making your mind go completely blank.

Fuck.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your moans filled the room. And when he sucked your clit, then flicked it with his tongue, over and over, just to see how you’d react… You almost lost it.

You grabbed your phone, trying to start a new video, but your hands were shaking too much to hold it steady. You still managed to record him, his mouth working between your legs, messy, hungry, perfect. 

His eyes were closed now. He looked like he was worshiping your pussy. And then you felt it… his fingers teasing your entrance, slowly slipping inside you. 

His fingers slid in so easily, your pussy tightening around them right away, warm, soaked, starving for more. He pumped them slowly at first, curling just right to hit that spot inside you that made your back arch. His tongue never stopped working your clit. Sucking, flicking, licking like he owned you. You couldn’t help the way your hips rolled against his face, chasing more pressure, more friction. Your moans spilled freely, high and messy, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right where you needed him.

“Fuck, Seungmin…” you moaned, tightening your grip in his hair. “You eat pussy like it’s your fucking job…”

He didn’t say a word, just let out a soft moan, deep in his throat, as he sucked harder, pushing his fingers deeper. His lips were soaked, chin slick with your arousal, eyes fluttering shut like he was drowning in the taste of you.Your thighs began to tremble around his head.

His pace quickened, his fingers fucking into you harder now, his tongue relentless on your clit. Every flick, every stroke, every subtle twist of his wrist was perfect. Precise. Devoted.

This man knew what he was doing to you. 

Your muscles tensed, heat coiling in your belly like it was about to snap.

“Fuck, just like that, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

Your legs locked around his head, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm tore through you, so fucking loud. And so intense. You cried out his name, over and over, while he kept fucking you with his fingers, drawing it out, riding every second of your high.

When you finally relaxed, breathing hard and with your thighs twitching, he pulled back slowly. His fingers were glistening, and he looked at them like he’d just found his new favorite thing. 

“You’re so fucking perfect when you cum...” he murmured, licking his fingers clean like it was dessert. 

“It’s so weird hearing you say those things… and so hot.”

“Sorry, I just… you’re…”

“Shh… Come here.”

You sat back on the bed and pulled him over you, guiding him between your legs. His cock brushed against your soaked, needy entrance, making both of you gasp softly into the kiss.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered against his lips. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time — slow, hungry, full of everything he couldn’t say out loud. Your hands roamed across his back as he started to rock his hips gently, grinding against your pussy, teasing you with his length.

Every movement smeared his precum and your arousal together, coating both of you in a messy, delicious mix of need. Your bodies moved in sync, soft thrusts, messy kisses, skin sticking with sweat. You wanted him. All of him.

You could feel how hard he was when he settled between your thighs, his cock pressed right against your entrance. He hesitated, just a little. You saw it in his eyes. But then you cupped his face, your voice soft and breathy against his mouth. 

“You wanna fuck me, baby?” Your lips brushed his. “You wanna feel how tight I get around that thick cock of yours?” 

He nodded, cheeks flushed, and swallowed hard.

“…Yeah.”

You guided his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head against your soaked folds, letting him feel how ready you were.

“Then do it. Go slow, though… you know how big you are, right?”

He let out a shaky breath, and you could tell how worked up he was from just that, your words, your wet heat, you all spread open for him. 

His tip pushed into you, stretching you just a little. You both gasped. All the time you waited for was worth it. For real.

“Fuck… you're already stretching me,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as he eased in, inch by inch. “God, you feel so good.” 

He was quiet, focused, his breath shallow as he watched himself slide deeper into you. He paused halfway in, like he was scared to hurt you. But you both knew you were more than ready to take his cock.

“Is it… okay?”

You reached for his ass, pulling him just a little closer. 

“Yeah, baby. It’s more than okay. Just keep going… just like that. You’re fucking perfect.” 

He groaned… soft, desperate, and kept pushing in, letting you take him at your pace. The stretch was deep, so deep it made your legs shake, but you loved it. You wanted it. You wanted to feel every thick inch filling you up. 

When his hips finally met yours, you both just stayed there… breathing, pulsing, clinging.

“Fuck. I can feel you everywhere.” 

He let out a broken moan and kissed your neck, his body trembling slightly. 

“I’ve never felt anything like this…you’re so wet, so hot around my cock…” He said, his lips against your chin now. 

You smiled, wrapping your legs around his waist, locking him in. 

“Then don’t stop....”

He felt so good inside you, so deep. You were full. So full.

Seungmin kissed your lips, your neck, your cheeks — anything he could reach — while he kept thrusting into you, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it. Your nails scraped gently down his back, hips pushing up to meet his every movement. You were already used to the stretch, already aching for more. 

He moaned against your skin, and it made you shiver underneath him. The room was hot, your bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the smell of sex, and you were just getting started.

“I wanna ride you…” you whispered against his lips, biting at his chin before pulling back to look him in the eye. “Wanna make a video of it. Want you to see what I look like bouncing on your cock.”

“Fuck, baby… I’ll do whatever you want.” His voice was breathless, dazed. He slowly pulled out of you, groaning from the loss, and laid back beside you on the bed. “Come here, then…”

He was already stroking himself, long fingers wrapped around  his cock, watching you, waiting for you.

And fuck, that sight alone made your pussy clench, made you want to sink back down on him and give him the show of his life. 

You straddled him slowly, already holding his cock in your hand, rubbing the head along your soaked folds, just enough to tease, to spread the mess between you. Both of you were dripping, hot and ready, and you could see it in his eyes how badly he wanted to be inside again. 

Seungmin held your phone, already recording, but his focus was entirely on you.

The way you hovered over him, dragging his tip along your pussy but not letting him in just yet… it was torture, and he was loving every second of it.

You kept rubbing his tip against your slit, watching his abs tighten beneath you, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to beg. And when you finally lined him up and began to sink down, you did it slowly. 

“Fuck…” you breathed, throwing your head back as the stretch hit you all over again. You could feel every inch as you eased him, until your pussy swallowed him whole.

Seungmin gasped softly, barely holding the phone steady. His eyes were locked on where your bodies met, watching your pussy stretch around his cock, watching it disappear inside you.

You paused when your hips met his, letting your body adjust, grinding a little just to feel how deep he was.

“Look at that…” you murmured, glancing down at the camera. “Look how you fill me up. You feel that, baby? This is all yours.”

His breath hitched, and you started to move. Slow at first, rolling your hips and letting his cock rub against every sensitive spot inside you. You kept one hand on his chest, the other sliding up your body to your tits, playing with them for the camera as you bounced gently in his lap.

You glanced down at him, at how his lips were parted, eyes glazed over, body trembling underneath you. He was completely gone for you. Fuck, he was perfect. 

“Hold the phone steady, baby,” you teased, biting your lower lip. “Wanna make sure you get every angle of me riding your cock.”

He whimpered. Literally whimpered for you.

And that only made you grind harder, pick up the pace, bouncing harder on him now, claiming him, using him, fucking yourself stupid on his cock while letting him watch you do it.

Seungmin was struggling beneath you, his eyes fluttering shut, knuckles white as he gripped your phone, trying to keep filming, trying to survive the way your pussy kept clenching around him.

“Oh, fuck… you feel so good…” he whispered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You moaned, riding him even deeper now, making his cock hit the right spot inside you over and over, just the way you needed. Your thighs were shaking, your clit brushing his skin with every grind, your pussy soaking his pelvis.

“You like watching me fuck myself on your cock, baby?” you whispered, breathless. “This is all for you. This pussy is yours.”

He whimpered, his voice broken. Fuck, you were losing it, his sounds…

“I-I’m trying not to cum…”

You smirked, your nails digging lightly into his chest as you moved faster. You could feel the heat inside you, your walls were getting tight around him. You were getting closer… his cock felt just too good to be true.

“I’m so close… gonna cum all over your cock…”

He moaned again, deeper this time, biting his lip hard as he watched your body move, watched your face twist with pleasure, watched your pussy suck him in so hard you couldn’t even recognize yourself. Your orgasm hit like a wave, fast and hard, your whole body tightening, back arching as you cried out his name. You kept grinding, chasing every last pulse of it, using him, making a mess all over his cock. 

“Fuck, I… I’m not gonna last—”

You reached for his face, panting against his lips, still grinding slow and deep to tease him. 

“You’re not cumming yet, I want you to fuck me from behind now. And don’t be gentle, baby.”

You pulled his cock out of you slowly, moaning at the obscene wet sound it made. Your pussy clenched at the loss, already missing how full you felt, how deep he was.

You turned around, got on all fours in the center of the bed, looking back at him with a filthy smile.

Seungmin was still holding the phone, still filming with shaky hands, completely wrecked, but he followed your lead. His eyes glued to your ass, to the way your pussy was dripping and throbbing for him.

“Fuck me. Hard. And I want you to cum inside me,” you whimpered, arching your back, spreading your legs wider for him. “I wanna see it leak out of my pussy when you’re done.”

He let out a broken moan behind you, his breath ragged, his body burning hot as he lined himself up again. No hesitation this time.

He slid inside you in one deep, wet thrust, so thick, so full… and from that angle, he hit a spot that made your legs tremble and your mouth fall open. You moaned so loud he actually paused, his hands gripping your hips, worried.

“Did I hurt you…?”

“No, don’t stop... fuck... it’s so fucking good…”

He groaned and snapped his hips forward again, this time harder. He started fucking you the way you’d asked for. Hard, deep, relentless. The wet, filthy slap of skin echoed in the room, mixed with the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth. You could feel the bed rocking, your legs shaking, the sheets tangled in your fists… fuck. It was everything you wanted, everything you needed.

He was panting behind you, eyes glued to the way his cock disappeared into your dripping pussy. You were so tight, so hot around him… he was losing it.

You dropped your chest onto the bed, face buried in the pillow, and reached behind you with both hands to spread your ass open for him.

“Look at this pussy taking your cock,” you moaned, knowing how slutty you sounded. “Don’t stop. Fill me up. I want every fucking drop.”

That broke him.

“F-fuck… I’m gonna cum…” he choked out, breath hitched, voice wrecked. 

His rhythm turned messy, erratic, hips slamming into you as he cursed under his breath, and then you finally felt it. That hot, deep rush as he came hard inside you, cock twitching with every spurt, stuffing you full. You sighed, blissed out, your whole body buzzing. 

Still panting, you looked back over your shoulder with a wicked grin. 

“Now… when you pull out, I want you to record everything.”

Seungmin, still breathless and dazed, pointed the phone down just like you told him to, recording as he slowly pulled his cock out of you, both of you moaning from it. 

His cum spilled from your swollen pussy in thick, creamy drips, glistening on your thighs, and you heard him groan at the view. So fucking filthy… you were tired as fuck but wanting to do it all over again. 

You smirked into the pillow. You couldn’t wait to watch those videos with him… maybe right before round two.

After he pulled out, you collapsed onto the bed, still catching your breath,and sore in the best way. Seungmin lay down beside you. He never looked so beautiful as in that moment. Completely wrecked, his skin flushed, lips parted, messy hair. He was still holding the phone, like he didn’t want to miss a second of you.

You turned to face him, your thighs sticky with his cum, you smiled at him lazy and satisfied before your eyes met, and then there was something else now—something warm.

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, messy… maybe he could still taste himself in your tongue. 

“Was that okay?” he whispered, sounding a bit shy again. And you couldn’t not find it cute as hell, damn.

You laughed softly and traced his jaw with your fingertips. That man was completely clueless, fuck.

“More than okay. I told you, right? You’re perfect.”

He smiled, eyes shining like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. And you couldn’t believe it either. He was everything you wanted, for real. 

You pulled the blanket over both of you, resting your head on his chest, his heartbeat still racing under your cheek. 

“Guess I’m yours now, huh?” 

You bit your lip, smirking against his skin, and biting his neck right after.

“I think you are. I’ve got videos to prove it.”

He groaned, covering his face with his arm, half embarrassed, half turned on again. And you were already sliding your hand back down his stomach, feeling his hot sweaty skin.

“Hope you’re not too tired… ‘Cause next time, I’m tying you up and sitting on your face while we rewatch the whole thing.”

His cock twitched against your thigh. Yeah. You weren’t going anywhere.

[a99jazzybean]

OR it could be jaycexreader trying pot brownies 😬 I think that’ll be funny and can get spicy. If your are comfortable with it of courseee

This one was cute and fun to write! Thank you for the request!

High Enough

synop: You decided to make pot brownies for your roommate, but realize you don't have enough bud. You decide that using juice from a cart is a good idea. Jayce eats some of the brownies not realizing they have weed in them. He convinces you to get high and shenanigans ensue.

Reader is gender neutral but AFAB

words: 3.5K

includes: jaycexgn!reader, modern au, recreational drug use, weed use, high sex, creampie, smut

a/n: Guys, DO NOT make pot brownies like this. This recipe was inspired by my dumbass friends that poured a cart out into brownie mix. A tiny piece had me knocked out in 30 minutes. Do not recommend.

Dammit… You were all out of bud. You swore you had some left, but found measly crumbs at the bottom of your stash jar. That’s what you get for switching to pens you suppose. 

A lightbulb went off in your head. That’s it! You could use a cart. That couldn’t go wrong, right? 

You grabbed a fresh cart and some needle nose pliers and went to work on the cap. After some careful maneuvering, you managed to get it open without breaking the glass. Dumping it in your mixing bowl, you got to work making some brownies. 

Turning on some tunes, you hummed and danced your way through cracking eggs and measuring flour. The brownies were for one of your roommates, Viktor. A “thank you” for getting you out of a bind on a major school project. 

While they were a gift, you obviously were planning on trying them out yourself. Especially since you were experimenting with using a different form of weed. Probably best to see how you fared before accidentally making your friend green out. 

When the brownies baked you found that this batch appeared to have less of the typical pungent scent than if you used flower. Noted. 

After baking you left out the pan to cool. Deciding you needed a shower after accidentally covering yourself in flour, you headed down the hall. As you bathed, your other roommate returned home. 

Upon entering, his nose and eyes were immediately drawn to the fresh baked brownies on the counter. Mouth watering, he skipped over to the kitchen. As the apartment’s resident baker, it wasn’t uncommon for you to randomly make goodies to share. Jayce saw this as no different. Pulling out a knife, he cut himself a decent piece of brownie. Taking a large bite out of the gooey chocolate, he moaned with content. 

When you walked out of the bathroom, you heard Jayce shuffling out in the kitchen. Eyes widening, you rushed in. It was too late. The man had already scarfed down the brownie, his hand reaching once more to cut out  another piece. 

“STOP!” You yell, hand out. 

Turning around, Jayce gave you a confused wide-eyed stare. 

“What’s wrong?” Oh how naive the man was. 

“Jayce, those are pot brownies.” 

“Wait, really? I can’t taste it at all.” 

“I might have used juice from a cart instead of flower…” You trailed sheepishly. 

“WHAT???” His eyes grew even wider. “Why the fuck would you do that?” 

“I ran out of bud! And I wanted to do something nice for Viktor!” You shrugged your shoulders. 

“Something nice for-“ He let out an exasperated sigh. “ I’m pretty sure what you have created might put the man in a coma.”

You scoffed. 

“I doubt it. He’s got an insane tolerance.” 

“Regardless, I’ve eaten one.” His eyes narrowed at you. 

“Don’t blame me! You ate one without asking!” 

“You bake things all the time! How was I supposed to know?” He was growing very concerned. 

“Hey, let’s calm down.” You softened your voice. The last thing you needed was for Jayce to spiral. 

“How are you feeling?”

“I can already feel my head getting lighter.” 

“Okay, so we know it hits pretty quickly.” You walked up to him slowly, taking his hand to help ground him. 

He grasped yours tightly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on you, kay?” Your thumb traced circles on the back his hand. The tender action made him shiver. 

“What if you joined me?” Gears were turning in his head. 

“What do you mean?”

“Eat one too.” He gave you pleading puppy dog eyes. 

“Jayce, we have no idea how this will affect you, much less me.” You shook your head at him. 

“Were you just planning on giving them to Viktor?” He eyed you suspiciously. 

“W-well, no. I was going to try them-“ 

“Then try them. Since you were already planning on it.” He cut you off. 

Those damned pleading puppy-dog eyes had you wavering. Really, what would be the harm? As long as you stay home you should be fine, hopefully. 

Nodding, you gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance. He beamed at your response, making your heart swell.

Ushering you over to the counter, Jayce cut out a piece for you. You took it, giving the treat a once-over. Looking at Jayce, he was shifting side-to-side impatiently. Eyes blown out, leaving a tiny visible ring of a hazel iris. 

“This is what that D.A.R.E. officer warned me about in eighth grade.” You sighed, then took a bite. 

Chocolatey goodness filled your senses. Jayce was right, you couldn’t taste anything off about the brownies. Oh, that was dangerous. 

You swallowed then looked at Jayce expectantly. 

“What now?”

“We could chill in my room, or yours. Doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

Jayce really, really did not want to be left alone right now. And if you were going to be in the same state as him might as well do it together, right? It’s not like he was expecting anything out of it. After all, you were very good friends. But in his weed addled mind, there was a teensy part of him that was hoping for maybe something more. 

See, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous in the man’s eyes. While you had been close friends for a long while now, Jayce secretly wished for something more. 

It didn’t help that the two of you had enjoyed the occasional sloppy make out sesh that followed an evening of drinking. Giving the man just a taste of what you had to offer, and nothing more. 

The thing was, you also wanted a little something more as well. Not necessarily a relationship. But having a hot piece of ass like him around was tempting to say the least. 

“We can chill in my room.” You said, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall. 

Jayce had spent time in your room every so often, but it still felt like a sacred space. Especially now when it felt like his mind was floating. 

Once in your room you hopped onto your bed. Sinking into the mattress with a satisfied sigh. This was the best part about being high. Just laying down and feeling it hit you. Limbs sinking down into the plush of your bed. Lifting your head a bit, you spotted Jayce awkwardly watching you. Shuffling in place like he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing. 

“Get in here, Talis.” You motioned for him to join you. 

He padded over to your bed, then laid down beside you. A small smile on his face as he watched you in content bliss. 

“It’s so nice to just sink in.” You sighed. 

“I take it the brownie has hit?” 

You nodded with a hum. Allowing yourself to enjoy the pleasant buzz in your head. 

Reaching out, you grabbed Jayce’s hand. He intertwined his fingers with yours and you let out another sigh. 

“You have really nice hands.” You lifted his hand above your face, studying it. “So warm. They’re working hands,” you traced the calluses at the top of his palm, “but somehow still soft. Yes, very nice hands.” You hummed bringing his palm to your lips and placing a tender kiss in the center.

Mouth agape, Jayce stared at you wide eyed. A red flush dusting his cheeks. 

Looking at him, you gave him a sweet smile. One he couldn’t help but return. 

Even though you were holding his hand, the distance between you felt too far. Jayce wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you closer to him. Nose to nose, you giggled. This felt… really nice. Humming, you nuzzled your nose against his. The adorable action made him blush even harder. 

Damn, you sure got physical when high. Not that he minded. 

“Jayce…” You mumbled, then pressed yourself into the space beneath his chin. Your face pushed into his chest. “You’re soooo warm.” 

“I think you’re higher than I am.” 

Shrugging your shoulders you nuzzled into his chest. The man curled his arms tighter around you. Leaning his head down, he pressed a warm kiss onto your forehead. 

“This feels really nice.” You murmured.

The comforting sinking returned. Feeling your body go heavy as you slumped into the man. Almost like you were going to meld with him.

Jayce’s skin was buzzing. Your touch feels ten times more intense than normal. As you curled up into the man, your hands roamed over him. Trailing up his torso and neck, fingers curling into his hair. Slowly they skimmed back down his arms. A pattern of movements that had him shivering against you. God, did it feel amazing. 

“I really like that…” He said softly, kissing your forehead again. 

“Mmm, yeah?” You gave him a dazed smile.

“Yeah.”

Your hands returned to his hair. Fingers scraping against his scalp, making him let out a low groan. 

“You’re like a puppy.” You giggled to yourself as you continued to pet him. “So cute.”

“A puppy?” He questioned.

“Yeah. The way you’re responding to my pets. And you have puppy-dog eyes.” 

“Puppy-dog eyes?” He gave you a confused look, head cocked to the side. Looking exactly like a confused dog.

Giggling again, you snuggled as close as you could to the man.

“Puppy-dog eyes that convinced me to get high with you.” You poked him in the chest. “They’re dangerous.”

He chuckled, puffs of air hitting the top of your head.

“Dangerous.”

“Exactly. So use them for good next time.” You admonished him with a finger. 

“Is this not something good?”

Pondering on it, you shrugged. 

“I’m not complaining, I suppose.” You gave him a sweet smile.

“Anything I can do to make it better?” 

“I dunno. You got any ideas?” You gave him a sultry look. 

He licked his lips nervously, eyes darting between your own and your lips. Leaning up, you pressed your nose against his. Lips just barely brushing against his. Looking into his eyes expectantly, you spoke softly.

“Well?” 

Warm lips crashed into yours messily. The man moaned as soon as he pressed against you. Every fiber of his body on fire when you pressed your lips against his. Teasingly, you lightly lapped against his bottom lip. Jayce slightly opened his mouth, inviting your tongue to tangle with his. You slid your tongue into his mouth, groaning at his taste. 

His hands roamed over your body. Appreciating the fact you wore nothing under your comfy pjs. Large fingers pinched your nipples over your clothes. You squeaked at the sudden sparks of pleasurable pain. He swallowed the sound, moaning against you. He was rutting against your thigh, making you feel the prominent bulge straining against his sweats. 

Pausing for a breath, you slightly pushed away, looking over him. This probably shouldn’t go further. Although there was a burning ache in your groin, you knew that going into this high wasn’t the smartest decision. But you didn’t really make a smart decision on the brownies while sober… so perhaps the night was one ready for many mistakes. Though you didn’t feel like hooking up with Jayce was a mistake. It could be for him though, you wouldn’t hold that against him. 

“Is everything okay?” He wanted to pull you back to him.

“Uh, yeah. I just don’t know if we should continue. I wouldn’t want you to regret anything.” You looked away from him, embarrassed.

“I could never regret anything with you.” His eyes pleaded with you, hips shaking as he did his best not to rut himself against you again. 

His words made your heart swell, a blush flushing on your cheeks. Pushing yourself back in, you gave him a deep kiss. Fuck it. You wanted this, your body was making you feel like you needed this. 

“I’ll take it you’re okay with us continuing?”

“Oh fuck yes.” You pressed your lips against his again, earning you a deep moan. 

Jayce returned to rubbing up against your thigh. Letting out little whimpers at the friction against his hard cock. Feeling his length against you had you drooling at the thought of him inside of you. Through the fabric of his pants you could feel how long and thick he was. It would be a stretch, but you wanted all of the man in front of you.

“C-can I taste you?” Jayce pulled back for a breath. “I really want you to sit on my face.” 

That had you flushing furiously. 

“Are you sure?” You asked softly. A part of you was concerned about hurting him.

“Yes. I want- no. I need it.” 

You nodded, agreeing. He beamed at you before shuffling your bodies on the bed. Rolling himself beneath you. You were straddling his waist and felt the head of his cock through his pants brush against your clothed sex. You whimpered at the friction. 

Jayce reached for your sleep shorts, eyes asking for permission. Nodding, you maneuvered your legs to help him remove the article. After tossing them, he turned to look at you. Groaning at the shiny slick coating your pussy and thighs. Lifting you up, he encouraged you to crawl to his face. Obliging, you made your way above him. Holding onto the headboard, you slowly lowered yourself over him. Large arms encircled your thighs, forcing you onto his waiting mouth. The sudden action makes you cry out. 

With a warm tongue, Jayce licked a stripe down your pussy. Your body was buzzing and sensitive with your high, making the pleasure more intense. Lapping through your folds, Jayce was making you release noises you had never known you could make before. Each whine and moan shot straight to his straining cock. Twitching impatiently as he made you fall apart on his tongue. 

You had to use the headboard to stabilize yourself. Around his head, your thighs were shaking as pure pleasure coursed through your body. Warmth was growing in your belly with each tantalizing lick against your clit. 

Beneath you, Jayce groaned. You were fucking delicious. He felt like he could stay under you for hours. Hearing the sounds you were making made him wish he could just hold you pressed against his tongue. 

“C-close!” You squeaked out. 

Jayce had begun flicking his tongue against you quickly. Each flick builds up your climax. With how sensitive you were, it would only be a matter of time before you burst. His tongue continued to flick against you rapidly. At this point, your entire body was shaking with the build of your orgasm. One perfectly placed swirl against your clit was your undoing. 

Practically screaming, you came on his face. Squirting over his chin with the force that your orgasm hit you. Between your squeezing thighs, Jayce thought he died and went to heaven. Oh he would gladly die squished in your plush thighs, your taste filling his senses. 

He only gave you a brief moment before his mouth was back on you.

“Jayce!” You squealed as he overstimulated your cunt. 

It seemed like he didn’t need to breathe as he continued to eat you out with fervor. Tongue tasting every inch of you, occasionally pushing into you. You could barely keep your body up as the shaking grew stronger. Your climax rapidly grows with each lap against your sopping pussy. 

With a shaky hand, you reach for the top of his head. Fingers curling into his hair. The feeling made him moan against you. 

This time, your orgasm hit you like a train. Crashing through your entire body with a giant wave of pleasure. Above him you twitched and whimpered as his tongue continued to lick you. Eventually you pressed your hand against his forehead, making him let you go.

“T-too much, Jayce!” You whined.

Sliding off of his face, you flopped belly down onto the bed. Jayce eyed your bare ass and legs, licking his lips with anticipation. He slid behind and over you. Turning to watch him, you felt your thighs clench. Flopping against his belly was probably the most enticing cock you had ever seen. Tip flushed an angry red, just begging to be fucked. 

Jayce looked at you, the hunger in his gaze making you shiver. Wiggling your hips, you urged him to continue. He spread your legs, and pressed down on your back. You lifted your hips, whining impatiently.

Because of that, Jayce decided to tease you. Dragging his cock between your folds. Gathering up your ever-accumulating slick dripping out of you. His cock caught on your entrance, making you whimper. Fuck, you needed him to fill you. You felt like you were floating and sinking at the same time. A pleasurable bliss that was about to get better. 

Slowly, Jayce pressed himself into you. Thick cock stretching you out deliciously. Both of you moaned as he continued to push his length inside. His cock brushing against the gummy spot that had you keening. 

“That feel good?” He leaned his body over yours, murmuring into your ear. 

It felt too good. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Instead, you decided to nod vigorously. Hoping he would move inside you. 

“Mmm, good.” He crooned, pulling out slowly then slamming back into you. 

Your whole body jolted with pleasure as his cock began to abuse your sweet spot. Head of his length continuing to hit it over and over again. Clutching the bedsheets you were a sobbing mess. The oversensitivity from your high mixed with the pure pleasure the man was giving you caused tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. 

“J-Jayce!” You cried out and one very intense thrust. 

“F-fuck,” he released a stuttering breath against your neck. “Please cum, please cum for me. I need to feel you. So fucking bad.” He nuzzled into your shoulder.

Jayce would soon be getting his wish. An intense pleasure was blooming within you, making you gasp and moan. This man was making you feel like an overstimulated puddle. Each press of his cock makes the pleasure grow tenfold. Your entire body was ready to shatter. 

And shatter you did. Jayce’s cock thrusting in and out of you, draggin your orgasm along with it. Your pussy clenched his cock, drenching your bed sheets as you came. 

Jayce groaned, but held himself back. He needed to feel you do that at least one more time. 

You whined when he pulled out of you, then yelped when he flipped you over. A brief moment of soberness had you remembering that he was actually really strong. Then your stoned brain chimed in with how fucking hot it was that he was manhandling you so desperately.

He had you on your back, legs hooked over his shoulders. As he pressed back into your wet heat, he gave you a sloppy kiss. The two of you catching eachother’s moans of pleasure. He pushed up your shirt to your shoulders. Warm hands cupped your breasts, teasing over your nipples. The action makes you shiver all over. 

His hands moved to your waist to give him more leverage. Fast thrust pummeled the sweet spot within you. Jayce managed to hit it perfectly in this position too. Crying out, you felt a sting of pleasure. Thick fingers were circling your abused clit, sending sparks shooting through your body. Moans and whimpers escaping you with each circle. Your hands clenched his biceps for purchase as your body shook. 

He could feel your pussy pulsing around him. Another climax building inside you. He chased your high, wanting to cum with you. Knowing he could burst at any moment, Jayce hoped you would join him. The tightness in his balls was growing a bit too unbearable. 

As if your body was answering his wish, he felt you clench against his length. Unconsciously thrusting your hips as you chase down your orgasm. A scream of pleasure ripping out of you as you gushed around him. 

Warmth filled you as Jayce was granted his release. Cock twitching deep inside you as hot ropes of his cum poured in. A pleasurable feeling that seemed never ending. Jayce’s orgasm lasted long after he had fully unloaded in you. Cock overstimulated with the feeling of your tight twitching walls around him. 

Both of you came down from your orgasm highs. Still extremely high from the brownies. Something that could easily be read based on your drooping eyelids and dopey smiles. Before pulling out, Jayce kissed all over your face. You giggled as his lips pecked all over your cheeks.

“That was amazing.” He purred against your neck, giving you a kiss. “You are amazing.” 

“You feel sososososo good, Jayce.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. 

With a groan, Jayce pulled out of you. His eyes transfixed on your pussy now dripping out his spend.

“That’s hot.” He looked up, chuckling at your confused expression. 

Kissing your forehead, he stood up. 

“I’ll get us cleaned up.”

After a moment, Jayce returned with a wet washcloth. Softly he wiped you down. You softly thanked him for helping you. He responded with a sweet kiss. 

When you were both cleaned up, Jayce returned to snuggle up in your bed. Large warm arms held you close to him. You felt yourself drifting as Jayce spoke to you softly. The man letting out a stream of compliments and fond memories. Occasionally he would kiss you, feeling like he was drowning in your lips. 

“We should do this again.” Jayce said softly.

“Yeah? Yeah.” You giggled, answering yourself.

“Though I think we could skip the brownies next time.”