#hang in there. find a wall to lean against yes?

[mattsundaes]

matsukawa issei x f!reader x semi eita — 18+, band au, fooling around in a hot tub, dry humping, handjob, fingering, (continued from)

“what do you think of the new song?”

matsukawa’s voice is low and smooth, and you have to lean in just a bit to hear him over the steady gurgling of the hot tub jets. his dark waves are damp from the rising steam, and the golden glow of the string lights that dot semi’s backyard reflects in his eyes as he looks at you. 

before you can fumble for an answer, semi leans his chin on your shoulder and smirks, “oh, she’s a big fan.”

you elbow him underwater, which doesn’t do you much good, considering you’re sitting in his lap. 

mattsun catches the movement, watching the two of you with open curiosity. “are you dating?” he asks curiously. 

a huff of amusement leaves semi’s lips, because he’s your best friend. and the two of you have fooled around plenty. you’ll probably sleep in his bed tonight, after all.

but semi wants you to fuck matsukawa.

he likes when he’s hanging out with seijoh and texts you some covert picture of matsukawa leaning against a wall wearing sunglasses and all black from head to toe, a cigarette hanging between his lips. and all you can reply back with is a string of unintelligible letters.

semi likes when he’s fucking you, when he asks if you touched yourself looking at the picture that he sent you, when he tells you that you’re definitely matsukawa’s type and feels you gasp and clench down on him.

“no,” semi tells him plainly, nose brushing against your cheek. “but the answer to your next question would still be yes, even if we were.”

the corner of matsukawa’s mouth twitches, and he meets your gaze. because it’s your answer he needs. “would it?”

you smile at him then. “depends on what your next question was.”

matsukawa laughs.

you’re thankful the party’s long-since died down when you find yourself in matsukawa’s lap, his mouth on yours. semi’s pressed up against your back, fingers stroking your sensitive, pebbled nipples through your swimsuit top.

you gasp against mattsun’s lips when semi pinches down, hot water splashing out over the side of the hot tub as you arch your back at the sharp sensation. matsukawa hushes you with his mouth, tongue sliding along the seam of your lips to deepen the kiss. your whine reverberates in his throat when semi undoes the knot from your top and exposes your bare, wet tits to the cool night air, fingers quick to take the place of the dripping material. 

arousal and need pulse between your thighs as you feel the outline of matsukawa’s dick pressed up against you, already growing dizzy at the promise of its length.

semi’s hand comes up to caress your jaw, his mouth ghosting matsukawa’s as he leans in to kiss you. 

“she likes it like this,” semi tells him, his hands wrapping around your waist and guiding you back and forth in the cradle of mattsun’s lap.

part of you wants to make a joke about dry humping.

about how like is a mild way to put it. about how you and semi have come in your pants more times than you can count like this on the couch. when a lazy makeout session turns into needy grinding and taking off your clothes comes secondary to the sensation of your soaking wet underwear sliding against your puffy folds while you rock over the outline of his cock—

about how there’s absolutely nothing dry about this at all right now.

but you don’t get a chance to, not when every last word dies in your throat as matsukawa splays a large palm flat against the dip of your lower back and pulls you in just as he rocks his hips upward.

“oh,” you moan, pleasure dancing white-hot over your nerves as you feel every last inch of matsukawa’s dick while he drags your cunt along the length of it.

“i like this, too,” matsukawa tells you, thumb stroking your chin as his other hand slips down into your bathing suit bottoms, long fingers cupping your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. “but i have a better idea.”

water sloshes as he turns you around, hooking your legs around the outside of his thighs so you’re spread open wide and facing semi. 

semi wastes no time in leaning in, mouth closing over your tits before he begins to suck. his tongue is hot as it laves over your sensitive nipple, and you keen, fingers tangling in his hair. he moans when you tug on it, sucking harder, free hand grasping the erection tented heavily at the front of his swim shorts. matsukawa’s dick is thick and hard where it rests between your ass cheeks.

long digits slide over your hip and tug aside your swimsuit bottoms, just enough for a middle finger to sink into your tight hole knuckle-deep. matsukawa groans when he feels how wet you are, slick and dripping with sticky arousal even in the hot tub, cunt fluttering around his touch and not to subtly begging for more as you buck your hips into it.

a sound of amusement rumbles in his throat, and his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “how about this then?”

your fingers wrap around semi’s cock, and his forehead falls against yours as he pants into your mouth. matsukawa’s other hand strokes your sensitive nipples, thumb rolling around each of the peaked buds like he's stroking a pick over the strings of his guitar.

semi takes your bottom lip between his teeth as matsukawa’s tongue presses hotly into the tender spot behind your earlobe, as he adds a second finger and stuffs both into your aching hole to the last knuckle. 

“yes,” you tell him, voice breaking on a whine. 

a third finger slides in, this one belonging to semi, their hands joining as one while they pump in and out of your cunt. and there's something wholly filthy about this that leaves you drunk on the feeling, that has drool pooling in the back of your mouth and a heady, untamed feeling unravelling in your gut.

(that has you on the verge of begging for more.)

(and isn't that funny, how greedy you can be, even with the long, dexterous fingers of two handsome guitarists stuffed inside of you at once.)

“so pretty like this, baby,” semi murmurs against your mouth, rutting his cock into your tight fist. “so fucking pretty.”

matsukawa hums in agreement, nose brushing against your cheek. “he’s right.”

something in your chest dips and swoops, licking its way down each notch of your spine before settling hot and sticky in your belly. 

you’re wholly bucking into semi and mattsun’s thrusts now as they fuck their fingers into you, ass dragging repeatedly over mattsun’s cock while you continue to pump semi’s with just as much fervor. 

and when your orgasm hits you, it’s enough to punch the air out of your lungs, pleasure cresting over your limbs in dripping, hot waves between murmurs of “that’s it” and “so goddamn pretty” and “good girl" while you moan and shake and choke out a sob.

semi follows right after, sinking somewhere between your lap and mattsun’s once his spent dick goes limp.

and for all that you’re prepared to indulge yourself in the mouth-watering urge to suck matsukawa’s cock, he doesn’t seem the least bit sorry to have come from rutting against the globes of your ass.

"the song sounds great, by the way," you eventually say while you're catching your breath. "both of you together is like a dream."

semi snorts.

mattsun raises his eyebrows. "oh?"

you drag a hand over your face, somehow embarassed even now while matsukawa's gently massaging your slick, oversensitive folds with one finger and semi's kissing your shoulder.

"singing together."

"uh huh," semi replies.

"just singing?" mattsun asks, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

[izar-tarazed]

Rare footage of Ensha quietly cursing because I have completely neglected his run since I started playing Dark Souls. Bonus:

This gesture roughly translates to, "Hello!? What is wrong with you? I'm still here. How dare you walk away and–" (The sentence would have continued in another screenshot.)

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men React To An Unexpected Pregnancy

AN: Pregnant reader. Not the boys. That genre is currently unexplored on this blog but not for long 🤭👺

Pairing: LaDS boys x Fem reader

Ingredients: 75% fluff, 25% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel's (new segment because I want to discuss which ones I liked best when writing)

Xavier:

You pass out during a mission. That’s how you find out. In the Hunter Association’s medical ward, you stare at the positive report in stunned silence.

The nausea hadn’t just been Xavier’s cooking.

How even…? You sit there, frozen, until he walks in, finding you pale and unmoving.

A child.

He leans against the wall, the report in his hand. God.

He had vanished the day he found out. Left you bitterly alone. But you didn’t need him, you could raise the child on your own. If Xavier was too weak to accept the truth, so be it.

But he returns. You don’t know where he went, only that when he comes back, he is broken.

"I couldn't change it." He falls to his knees. "The world remains unchanged," he repeats, voice hollow.

The destruction he had accepted, the grief he had worn like armor, now, it becomes unbearable. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if he can ever manage to save it for his child.

Rafayel:

He dreams of it. Strange dreams.

He’s not one to obsess over omens, but even he, in his eternal wisdom, cannot decipher what a colony of seals playing with marbles is supposed to mean.

Then, one afternoon, he dreams of a baby seal. It coos at him, glumphing closer, making infant-like noises.

And in the dream, he bends down to pet it. Only for you to pick it up instead.

He jolts awake. Hands immediately over his stomach. Breath unsteady. No...not him...it was you. You picked the seal, that meant-

Then he stumbles out of bed, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to find you.

Drives like a madman. He counts the days. Two months. He counts the signs.

His heart refuses to slow down.

Barging into the Hunter’s Association, he’s chased by guards, by an exasperated receptionist, but none of it matters.

When he finds you, he grips your shoulders, searching your face. How could he have missed it?

By the tides, he was a fool.

And then—he feels it. A whisper, warm and murmuring, like the gentle pull of the waves.

A half-formed yawn, ringing softly in his mind.

The presence of his child.

Now all he has to do is tell you.

Zayne:

You watch Zayne eat dinner, half-listening as he talks about his day. He absentmindedly bites into another baby carrot.

Not just baby carrots, baby corn, baby potatoes, those tiny tomatoes.

"How’s dinner, Zayne?" you ask, feigning nonchalance.

He nods, smiling. "It’s good. Very healthy."

"Notice anything?"

He hums in thought. "You’re trying Italian cuisine these days." He places his hand over yours, gentle. "But you don’t have to cook if you’re tired after work."

He’s too kind to mention the small incident with the oven last week. To be fair, the bun in the oven analogy is a classic.

A week. A whole week of hints, and still, he hasn’t caught on.

Sighing, you give up on subtlety. "Darling, did you visit the pediatrics ward today?" you ask, pushing food around your plate.

"I didn’t have time. Had to miss the volunteering event for surgery."

You grin. Taking his hand, you guide it over your stomach. "Well, luckily for you, we’ll have one right here soon."

His mouth hangs open. Eyes darting between you and your stomach before his fingers brush over the nonexistent bump.

"Really? Are we—"

"Yes, you dummy!" You pull him into a hug. "I’ve been trying to tell you for days."

For a man obsessed with your health, he somehow had been ignorant of the biggest of surprises. Unplanned or not, you were going to give him the longest late night shift of his life.

Sylus:

The timing could have been better, he muses, wiping blood off his cheek.

But he had been too lax.

Not that it mattered. Everything was under control.

"Clean up," he orders, snapping his fingers. Shadows slither forward, dragging the remains of his enemies into the abyss.

The news of a child had changed things. He had let fate play its part for too long. Now, it was his turn.

Whatever slow-moving scheme he had let linger, ended now.

There was no way in hell he was letting you go on any mission while carrying his child.

Aether Core be damned. EVER be damned to NEVER. He would wipe them out if he had to.

For now, though, he had other priorities.

Leaving you safe at home, he finishes this last errand. Your only battle at the moment is morning sickness which, much to his surprise, isn’t just limited to mornings.

He wipes his hands clean, heading for his bike.

One last stop. You wanted pickles.

He smiles, revving the engine. Soon, only cars.

And then, he’s gone, speeding into the night, back to you. Back to his family. To cuddle the little dragon who gives you unrivaled heartburn and kicks like a menace at 18 weeks.

Caleb:

He knew.

Some would say he saw it coming, but just because he kept track of your cycle didn’t mean he could predict your ovulation exactly.

He was just…good at math.

Mental math.

And taking you to a convenience store for cough drops, right next to the pregnancy tests, had been pure coincidence.

Not that he totally snuck a glance at you eyeing them. And if he excused himself to grab a snack right then? Also not planned.

You hand him the test. "I think I’m pregnant."

He goes through all the expressions shock, surprise, joy, tears. So dramatic that it fools no one.

Seriously, he’s atrocious at being subtle about it.

Instantly proposes. Shotgun wedding because the baby will need a family.

Grins like a madman when it turns out to be twins.

Secretly, he’s very, very proud.

Heavens, he thinks smugly, I really am amazing at math.

[julymusings]

AND A KISS FOR GOOD LUCK !

i only have you. take care of yourself for me. i take care of myself for you.

cw: descriptions of scars/bleeding/wounds

Leaning closer to the mirror, Jason picks at the skin of his cheek until he feels that familiar dry sting on his face and the thin stickiness of blood under his nails. It elicits barely a wince, he’s so used to the feeling. He watches blood flood inside the abrasion, the flushing, half-healed pink turning to a watery red. 

He hears your footsteps approaching softly, but doesn’t look away from his reflection. He moves his attention to a fresh mark on his chin where the raised, jagged edges of the new scar have just started to scab— an undercover job; one where he had nothing but a thin layer of armor underneath his clothes, his helmet stashed away somewhere in the rafters. The skin is peeling at the corners, and he tugs at the bits of flesh. 

“Jay.”

He finally tears his eyes away from the mirror; you’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. Your lips droop into a frown, teeth biting on your bottom lip. 

“Hey,” he says. He focuses somewhere between your forehead and eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is neutral, gentle.

“These fuckin’ cuts,” he mutters. “They’re itching like crazy.”

It’s a half-truth; yes, they do itch like crazy, and it does make him want to claw his skin off sometimes. But that’s not why he’s doing it.

It has become second nature for him, scratching and tearing and aggravating the wounds on his face. Something he does when he’s antsy, or idle, or deep in thought. Just as every other time you find him like this, you shuffle forward and place your hand over his.

Reflexively, he interlaces his fingers with yours, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Can I help?” You ask, softly, while leaning against his side. You place a kiss on his shoulder, over the fabric of his sleeve; the shine of your lip balm leaves a mark.

“It’s nothin’ to worry about, baby. It’s almost midnight. I have to head out soon.” The back of his hand haphazardly wipes a single swipe across his cheek, but all it does is smear the blood over his face. His jaw tightens momentarily, and you can tell it burns. 

“Come here,” you say, sliding yourself between him and the wash basin. You cup his face between your hands, dragging your thumb along his chapped bottom lip.

“You chew on your lips too much, Jay.”

He exhales slowly, sagging into your hold. On another day, he’d chuckle or playfully roll his eyes with a kiss to the pad of your thumb. Tonight, he can’t even meet your eyes.

You hop up unto the bathroom counter and pull him close to stand between your legs. There’s a clean washcloth hanging from the towel hook, and you run it under warm water, then wring it out. Jason flinches slightly when you reach out to his face, but settles back into your touch without argument. With soft strokes, you wipe away the thin line of blood, then drag the cloth across the rest of his face, careful not to aggravate the fresh mark on his chin. He remains still the whole time, gaze fixed on the mirror behind you.

“Does it sting?” You ask. He shakes his head.

“Can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, he raises his eyes to yours.

He doesn’t say it, but his eyes say enough, say the harsh assault on himself that sits on his tongue, fighting to break through his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful, Jason.” You trace your fingers along the lines of his features.

“You don’t have to do that.” He turns his face to the wall, trying to hide the frustrated tears that threaten to spill over. It cracks your heart in two, seeing the loveliest person you know blind to his own beauty.

“Jason,” you whisper, voice filled with desperation for him to hear all the words he won’t let you say. “Baby.” It’s a wish; a plea.

He’s never been good with words like these, starving for kindness with a mangled stomach. You learned this the hard way, after trying to force-feed him the intensity of your affection, thinking it would help him when it only made him sick. Now you dole it out in silent, digestible amounts; a squeeze of his hand here, a kiss to the forehead there.

He says nothing, but turns his head back to you. For now, it’s enough.

“What’s that for?” He nods to the bottle of opaque white water you plucked from your side of the sink.

“Rice water. It’s good for your skin, especially if you’re marinating under a sweaty helmet for hours,” you tease.

He grumbles out something along the lines of it’s well-ventilated, but nonetheless, he places his hands on either side of you to lean down towards your eye-level. You rub the solution between your hands and massage it into his face. He always seems to relax when your hands are on him; his eyes flutter shut and his lips part with a relieved breath.

You can’t help yourself—he really is so beautiful—and you steal a kiss to his nose.

“What’s that for?” He opens his eyes at the sound of you unscrewing yet another bottle.

“Oil. For the scars,” you say, tentatively.

His fingers twitch against the counter, but after a moment, he nods. You dab some of the pink oil onto your fingers, and carefully rub it into the jagged marks that decorate his chin, his cheeks, his jaw. He stiffens when you make contact with them, and you’re not sure you hear him exhale until after you pull away.

The bottle is replaced by a small tube of lip balm, and Jason tilts his head. “More?” One of his hands rests on your thigh and strokes up and down.

You tsk at him. “Can you just trust me?” You don’t give him a chance to argue before squeezing the tube and spreading the balm across his lips. His protests are muffled behind his mouth, which he keeps shut so you can work.

“Now I’m done.” You hop down from the sink, and he trails after you into the hall; you know he needs to stop at a safe house before starting his patrol, so you don’t let him linger in the bathroom with his hands on you— similar situations have made him very late in the past, and you’re not interested in getting another earful from his team.

His duffel bag of weapons and gear is already on the living room floor, ready for him to grab and go. A familiar thread of nerves and lonely pining run through your body.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours.” Jason lifts the bag with one hand, and pushes a stand of hair behind your ear with the other.

“You better.”

He leans in to peck your lips, but you throw yourself at him for a fiery, desperate kiss straight out of a Hollywood movie. It surprises him enough to make the bag hit the ground as he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you back with matching fervor.

He’s panting when you release him, face burning red and chest rising rapidly. Try as he might, he can’t hide the shy, flustered grin stretching across his face. “And what was that for?”

You shrug. “For good luck. Obviously.”

He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Obviously.”

You run your hand up his arm and squeeze on his bicep. “Stay safe. Please.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“I will.”

heyyyyy guys. so lots has happened. we hit 1k😱😱I feel like a real life influencer now. Hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my YouTube channel, today’s video we are going to be fantasizing about emotionally unavailable men!!! U should totally check my recent post and participate in the celebration

This is based on this ask , read it for some more background, and the quote is from gabriela mistral’s letters to Doris Dana 👍🙏also this was not proofread don’t judge me🙏🙏

Thee divider is by cafekitsune I don’t feel like finding the post to link it I’m SORRYYYYY

[kurooh]

MIGHT LET YOU MAKE ME JUNO ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring timeskip! miya atsumu, miya osamu, kuroo tetsurō, iwaizumi hajime, & suna rintarou tryin’ to knock up their pretty wife !

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, breeding, cuddlefucking, doggy, talk of kids & pregnancy, fluff, creampies, shower sex, minor cockwarming, squirting, full nelson, mirror sex, mention of lactation, mating press, cum in panties (offscreen), not proofread.

xoxo, juno ★ my namesake?! hehe, cheers to the surviving haikyuu fuckers on my blog <33 ty for your patience!! as always, send in some asks/reblog if you enjoyed, i love reading comments/tags

— MIYA ATSUMU

“go ahead ‘n slut yerself out all over my cock, baby.. fuuuck, jus’ like that.”

atsumu’s lips part around a needy moan, jaw hanging slackly in some kind of disbelief. after such a lengthy, tiring day, he found himself trudging into your shared bathroom to greet you.

he’d gotten hard in seconds, seeing your tits pressed against the glass door as well as your face, lidded eyes and cute pout enticing him to come join you. when he got onto his knees to get you ready, you’d bent over and tossed him a knowing smirk over your shoulder.

“lemme see that ass move again.. shit, ‘s perfect. yer perfect.” you giggle, throwing your ass back onto his cock, eyes rolling back when his tip kisses your cervix just right, sending sparks of pleasure right through your veins.

“tsumu, this isn’t all that fun,” you huff, the wild need for him to truly ruin you growing by the second. “wan’ you to fuck me, and make me yours.”

“baby, yer already mine,” atsumu lands a slap on your wet asscheek, startling you enough for your legs to spread further. “good girl,” he praises, hushed and under his breath. he reaches upwards and pulls the shower head down, pushes it into your hand and changes the setting.

“use this on yer clit, ‘kay? when yer feelin’ like ya wanna cum, don’t. hold it ‘n we’ll cum at the same time, yeah baby?”

you nod, and he smacks your ass hard, leaning backwards. atsumu pushes a hand through soaked gold strands, chuckling lowly although his voice has a serious edge to it. “‘s not how we say yes, is it?”

“y-yes, tsumu. at the same time.”

he draws his hips back, then finds himself advancing forward brutally. he doesn’t think about anything beside you — you, you, you. with the scent of your body wash tangling in the hot air, the beautiful curves and slopes of your body, the noises you make for him only.

your chest heaves when the steady spray of the shower head soon reaches your clit, immediately proving to be overwhelming and intense paired with him fucking you.

“so god damn tight,” atsumu hisses, nails digging crescent moons into the plush skin of your hips as his own collide with your ass. the bathroom is full of steam and the rhythmic clap of skin against skin — it’s hard to keep from trembling with how good everything feels, all over.

frantic panting cuts through the sound of your whimpers as atsumu feels himself nearing his peak. it’s nasty, downright filthy, the way your nails drag down the wall tiles as you desperately hump your ass back into him.

gasps of your name and affectionate nicknames fall from his lips like a sacred prayer, blending into a whiny harmony as atsumu’s thrusts grow rougher.

“baby,” he chokes, voice tight. “ya better be close, can barely last.”

“tsumu, cum inside me,” you beg, skin burning and pussy squeezing uncontrollably, squelching growing louder. “p-please, i can’t— i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” your body tenses, and the shower head falls to the floor with a clunk that neither of you register.

luckily atsumu looks down at the right moment, sees you squirt, pussy gushing onto his pelvis. as if your back arching and your clenching pussy wasn’t enough, he ends up cumming too hard, ribbons of white gushing deep into your awaiting pussy.

“fuckkk,” he groans, overstimulation setting in way too quickly and causing him to pull halfway out of your fluttering cunt.

“no, tsumu,” is all you can heave out, pushing back hard enough to send him into the wall behind him, muscled back hitting the tiles as he lets out a startled oomph. “wanna keep it inside, feels so good.”

— MIYA OSAMU

“samu,” you mumble into his lips, tossing a leg over his hip. he grunts, nose nudging your cheek as he pulls back. “yeah? what’s on yer mind, angel?”

“had a dream about a baby,” the words are spoken softly, and osamu’s fingers lightly graze your chin as he makes you look up at him. “i know it’s kinda stupid, but it was so..” your voice trails off sheepishly and there’s a pause before you admit, “you were such a good dad, samu, ‘n so sexy too.”

your bare bodies are bathed in the morning sunlight, warm and comforting as it peeks in through the curtains. this is the perfect moment with him, skin to skin, his cock still inside you as you kiss and talk about dreams of the future.

in his chest, feelings stir and ideas come to life in his head; osamu presses his hips forward with a hushed moan.

“well, i’ll give ya a baby, angel,” large hands smooth over your hips as he helps you turn away from him; then they pull you close, grabbing at your tits and tugging your nipples between his fingers.

“samu,” you sigh, words fading into a content moan as you feel his hips draw back, then advance forward, against your ass. “i want you to fill me up, give me everything.”

“only if ya take it all,” osamu huffs, tucking his face into your shoulder and closing his eyes as he starts to fuck his cock into you deeply. the thick tip kisses your sweet spot over and over, and if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, your hand wanders towards your swollen clit.

somehow, osamu’s faster than you, releasing one of your tits and swatting away your hand before he’s finding your clit with his index finger and rubbing it in messy circles.

“s-samu, fuck— jus’ like that, don’t stop!”

your back arches against him, hips twisting as a heat spreads through your veins, fiery and intense in the best ways possible. the movement of your body and then the frantic clenching of your pussy is too intense for him; sharp whines escape his throat, muffled as osamu bites into your shoulder desperately.

“i-i— shit, ‘m gonna fill you up,” is all you can make out from his rushed mumbling, and you turn your head quickly, desperate for his lips.

“kiss me, samu. kiss me as you cum inside, please.”

it’s as though the words break him — his face twists as he kisses you, whole body tensing. he presses his cock deep, thickening and throbbing before he’s gushing cum and can’t seem to stop.

“ah, fuck,” he tosses his head back, fingers scrabbling at your nipples as his chest heaves against your back, heart pounding steadily.

you cum with a whine, grinding down on his cock in an effort to get him impossibly deeper. as you ride out your highs together, trembling deliciously, he can’t help but dissolve into giggles of pure happiness.

“angel, ya got that baby for sure, jus’ like ya wanted, hm? ah, i can’t wait for a mini-me or a mini-ya. yer gonna be the prettiest mom, swear.”

— KUROO TETSURŌ

“fuck, babe. you’ve got no idea about what i saw today,” tetsurō huffs, warm breath fanning over your tits as they bounce, controlled by your bra.

spices clatter as tetsurō sweeps his arm across the kitchen counter behind you, clearing the space so you can lean back a little easier. his grip on your thighs doesn’t waver, nor does the ruthless tempo of his hips.

“tetsu, what’d you see?” you gasp, tears threatening to pour over your waterline.

“well, i saw this family,” he grunts, thrusting into you particularly hard now that he’s recalling the memory. “the dad had their kid on his shoulders, and the mom was pregnant. they looked so happy, and it made me think of you.”

“is that so?” you ask, spreading your legs impossibly wider as an invitation. you bite your lower lip, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get his cock deeper.

“tetsu,” he raises his eyes from the mess between your legs to your face, earnest and flushed. “kiss me, baby.”

tetsurō obliges, lets you tug him forward by the chin, mesh his lips with yours. it’s warm and sweet, the aftertaste of the dessert you’d been making as his surprise for when he’d come home. your tongue slips between plush, parted lips and moves with his gently, quite a contrast from the rough way he’s fucking you.

“ah, shit,” he moans, struggling to kiss you back when he feels your sticky walls clenching down on his too sensitive cock.

tetsurō leans forward and buries his flushed face in your shoulder, kissing the tender skin a few times before nipping it and then finally biting down into your shoulder.

he practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into muscle as you push him forward. in a hushed tone and into his ear, you say sweetly, “tetsu, fuck a baby into me.”

“oh, i fucking will, princess.”

although, despite his rough words, he’s wheezing and whining every now and then into your shoulder, hoping it muffles his sounds.

your hand slides up his neck and tangles into dark tufts of hair, pulling tight as your own orgasm approaches. your pleasure mixes with his own, and just before the knot in your belly snaps, you feel a strong pulsing deep within your pussy.

he groans loudly, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. your nails dig hard into his scalp and the sting of pain only seems to make him get a little more vocal.

tetsurō pants into your neck, trying to find his bearings now that his limbs feel like jelly.

“hold me?”

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“h-haji, this was a good call..”

“oh yeah?” hajime’s voice rumbles in his chest, strong and steady against your back as he keeps your legs wide open. “have we ever tried this one?”

“i don’t think so, but we definitely will in the future.”

“feels that good, princess?” hajime chuckles, eyeing your reflections in the mirror mounted across the bed. for a moment, he considers the two of you puzzle pieces — he sees that his cock fits snugly inside you, and the thought that you may be made for each other briefly crosses his mind.

“of course it does,” a sheen of sweat glimmers on your face, skin glowing beautifully in the mirror. “god, hajime, y-you’re so deep..”

he notices your eyes falling shut, head tipping back, and he raises his hand to lightly smack your cheek. “mm, princess, gotta keep watching. i want you to see yourself cum, alright?”

“fine,” you huff, feet dangling in the air and bouncing every which way as he fucks into you, heavy balls smacking your pussy with each stroke.

“what made you wanna try this?” you ask, knowing you should save the question for later, but you’re too curious not to ask. why would your husband come home someday and randomly want to try a new position you’d never heard of?

“well, you know..” in the mirror, you catch the flush on his tanned cheeks. “we’ve both caught the fever recently, and this is a solid position for makin’ babies.”

you gasp sharply when hajime turns his hips ever so slightly, and the resulting sensation causes pressure to build in your pelvis. “shit— right there, haji, just like that..”

he grunts, body stiffening as he tightly holds you in place and fucks into you like it’s the last time you’ll ever be like this together.

“wanna get you pregnant,” hajime groans, abs flexing with the effort of maintaining his merciless pace, “i wanna—shit—wanna breed you.”

“you want it that bad?” you breathe, just barely keeping your eyes open and focusing on your bouncing reflection. “fuck me full, then, haji.”

hajime doesn’t question it, thinks of you with a swollen belly and milky tits all for him to hold and take care of. you, with your glowing skin and beautiful body from all the pregnancy hormones.

the idea of it all is too much to bear, not to mention cumming deep inside your cunt, this time with the intent to breed.

he can’t even muster the words to warn you that he’s cumming as hard as he is; after a choked, tight groan, he falls silent and rocks his hips into you.

“fuck it deep, haji,” you whisper, on the edge yourself. obedient and too far gone in his fantasy, he does exactly what you ask, whining very quietly from the sensitivity.

shaking on top of him and watching the reflections in the mirror, you cum hard, dissolving into unmatched pleasure. and you’re thankful you keep your eyes open, moaning at the very sight— hajime doesn’t even pull out, he’s still pushing his cock in and out of you, but cum races from your cunt in thick white rivulets.

“i’m trying,” he huffs, sensitive when he glances up and notices how intently you’re watching the mirror. his cheeks flush lightly when you both notice that most of his cum ends up dripping down his balls and out of you.

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll cum however many times it takes, sound good?”

— SUNA RINTAROU

“you want a few brats? oh, i just felt your pussy squeeze up. ‘s what you want, huh?” rintarou bites, harshness of his thrusts drawing whimper after whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

“i want it, rin,” you feel one of his palms smoothing over the plushness of your lower stomach, just above your pelvis. “w-what’re you doing?”

he laughs at your stutter, keeps your legs steady over his shoulders. rintarou draws his hips back, leaving just his tip inside your quivering pussy. then, he presses down on your lower stomach and slides in, adding more pressure with each inch.

“rintarou!” you wheeze, jerking your hips to the side in a pathetic attempt to run away from the overwhelming pleasure he gives you with every movement, big or small.

“nuh uh, pretty girl,” his free hand grabs ahold of you tightly, tugs you towards him and then settles to rest on your neck. rintarou’s fingers are loose on each side of your throat, hand placed there in a demonstration of control. but what’s the point of that, when he’s already made it clear by hoisting your legs over his shoulders and folding you in half?

“you’ll take it, all of it.”

“but ‘m sensitive, i’ve cum too many times,” you can’t even recall a number or remember how long he’s been fucking you like this.

you’re both sticky with sweat, your thighs stained white with dried cum from previous rounds and marked with love bites he’d given you in his excitement to get a taste of your pussy.

it’s so fucking messy because rintarou’s the one who can’t stop asking to eat you out and push the cum back inside; you always say yes, then cum until you’re dizzy and can’t see straight.

you taste yourself from earlier on the corners of his lips when he bends forward and gives you a chaste kiss. “l-last time, okay? i’ll give you your brats, pretty girl.”

the sweet pout on your lips that’s quickly replaced with something else and wail of his name that leaves you when he starts jackhammering your pussy turns him on to the max.

incoherent babbling of what he’ll give you and how good you feel blend together, and before you can fully register it, rintarou’s folding forward with a deep groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum so fucking hard, i—”

he shuts up and gives you a few more thrusts before he’s pushing deep and cumming — he’s not done when he pulls out and covers your pussy in cum.

“r-rin, keep it inside,” you whine sadly, watching as he collects it on his tip and then plunges it back inside.

“jus’ needed some extra lube,” he says coolly, but he really just wants to cum all over you. “how’s it feel inside, pretty baby?”

“like i need some more.”

rintarou laughs at the way you turn away, cheeks hot in embarrassment because you were the one who wanted a break. “we are going out later, hm?”

your nod makes him smile, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “how about i cum in your panties and you walk around with ‘em?”

[moonstruckme]

Who's That Girl

summary: after Peter moves out due to unspecified reasons suddenly, the marauders have a room to fill. Luckily, you've just arrived in the UK and are happy to sign the lease

cw: modern au, reader has a mother/maternal figure

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

“Okay, mom.” You rub your eyes, arm still sore from lugging your suitcase around half of London. “No, I really don’t think so. It’d be a pretty elaborate scheme just to kill me. Our names are all together on the lease, there’d be a paper trail.” 

There’s a quiet snicker from the doorway. You look over to find James, one of your new roommates, standing in the threshold of your room. You grimace, miming waving your mother’s concerns away. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to worry, I—fine, here. Listen.” You put your hand over the speaker. “I’m so sorry about this,” you tell James. “Can you tell her you’re not going to murder me, please?” 

“Why would we murder you?” he asks in an easy, jovial voice. It’s the sort of voice moms love, which is perfect for what you need right now. “We need you alive to pay rent, and anyway we’ve nowhere to hide a body. They started being rather vigilant about the Thames some time ago.” 

“He’s joking,” you say quickly into the phone. “Yeah, I’m sure. They do that here, too. Now will you please go to sleep? I’m good, I promise. Okay, call you later. Love you.” 

You click the button to hang up with a sigh, dropping back onto your mattress. 

“Your mum?” James asks sympathetically. 

You hum. “Yeah, sorry. It’s four in the morning for her right now, and she’s all wound up. I appreciate the help.” 

Despite your best efforts, you can’t seem to convince your body it’s not four in the morning for you right now. You thought taking the red eye to London would help you adjust quickly to the time change, but a sleepless flight has only made you weary and disoriented. You screwed up the route from the airport to your new flat, realizing only around Richmond that you’d gone the complete wrong direction on the wrong tube line. It took you a solid hour longer to get to your flat than you planned. When you saw Sirius, who’d posted the flat in an online roommates group, waiting on the other side of the door you nearly collapsed into his arms in teary gratitude. 

With the haze of fatigue still clouding your thinking, it takes you a few moments to wonder why James has come to stand in your room. 

“Did you need something?” 

“I was just wondering if you might like breakfast,” he says. His big frame fills the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame like it’s a familiar stance. 

You try to hide your wariness, your mind filling with images of black pudding and beans smeared on toast. “What are you having?” 

“Omelets.” 

“Yes, please.” You hop out of bed. It’s less bouncy than lurching, but you’re trying to affect vivacity in the hopes you eventually start to feel it. 

James leads you towards the kitchen. Your room, you discovered when you arrived, is even duller than the pictures online. The previous tenant either hadn’t decorated at all or had moved out in a hurry, leaving only a bed and some trash on the floor. The room is small, with peeling white paint and a tiny window situated oddly in the corner, the scraggly tree outside eclipsing half of the view. 

The rest of the flat is a different thing entirely. The common spaces are mostly open; you can see the kitchen from the living room, with everything lit by two large windows looking out onto the street. There’s a funny mishmash of decorations, some pieces hinting at unity and others not so the way it all comes together seems almost like a happy accident. A nice, plush couch sits next to a chair that looks like it was dragged in off the street; there are books stacked against walls and album covers being used for coasters; a collection of vinyl records sits on the mantle next to a bluetooth speaker and above stockings seemingly left out since Christmas. It’s definitely a space decorated by boys, but you like it. It feels homey. 

“My mum would be in a right state if I up and moved continents,” says James, walking into the kitchen. He takes up position behind the stove, next to where Remus is making tea. “Is it the city she’s worried about?” 

“It’s everything,” you admit, lingering awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen. You don’t want to be in the way. “It’s the city, it’s the male roommates, it’s the Facebook post she saw about muggings…” 

“Flatmates,” Sirius corrects you from the kitchen table. “We’re not roommates, we don’t share a room. Maybe you ought to clarify that, might calm her down a bit.” 

“Flatmates,” you amend. “She does not like that I have guy flatmates. Can I help?” 

“Don’t,” says Sirius. “Remus is a control freak in the kitchen. Real finicky.” 

“I’m not finicky.” Somehow, you can tell Remus is rolling his eyes even without him turning it around. 

“You nearly took my head off over the way I cook chicken last week.” 

“The way you cook chicken nearly burned down the flat.” 

“Y/n,” Sirius says, seriously, “do as I do.” He pats the seat next to him at the table. 

You glance at James hesitantly, but he waves you off. When you join Sirius in sitting down, you forget to suppress the sigh that collapses out of you. 

Sirius tuts. “Jet lagged?” 

Lag feels too kind a word for what your body is doing to you. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna take a nap after this.” 

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says. “I’ve done the whole international travel thing—” 

“You’ve been to France,” says Remus drolly. “The time difference is an hour.” 

“—and it really is best to just push through,” Sirius finishes as though the interruption went unheard. “You’ll only make matters worse for yourself if you sleep now and then can’t tonight.” 

You hate how sound his logic seems. The idea of waiting at least ten hours to put your head to a pillow makes you want to cry. 

“So,” James says brightly, “what doesn’t your mum like about you having guys for flatmates?” 

Perhaps it can be chalked up to exhaustion that you have so little control over the expression that crosses your face. Luckily, James is too concentrated on his omelet to see it, but Remus isn’t; he grins at you. 

“She doesn’t really love the idea of me having roommates at all. Flatmates,” you correct yourself when Sirius gives you a look. “I think because you’re guys, she just sees it as even less safe. Don’t take it personally. Oh, thank you.” 

You accept the mug of tea Remus sets in front of you. Sirius has one already half drunk in front of him, and Remus sits down with his own, taking a long sip like it’s the most relished part of his morning. You look into the brown, half-opaque liquid skeptically. 

“Has she been this upset since you decided to live with us?” Remus asks. 

“Oh, um.” You bob your teabag aimlessly, twisting the string around your finger. “I…sort of assumed she would be. That’s why I didn’t tell her until now.” 

You don’t have to take your attention off your tea to feel the stares of all three boys snap to you. 

“You didn’t tell her?” James asks, incredulous. 

“I didn’t want to give her the chance to argue with me about it.” 

“Asking for forgiveness instead of permission.” Sirius nods approvingly, picking up his mug for a sip. “Knew I liked you.” 

James appears in distress. “Your mum’s gonna hate us!” 

“Don’t mind him,” says Remus. “He’s used to all mothers fawning over him.” 

“Not mine,” Sirius objects happily. 

“She’s across the ocean, if that helps,” you tell James. 

“I can feel her hatred crossing borders,” he says, expression growing increasingly fretful. 

“Well, all you have to do is not murder me,” you offer, “and she’ll see that she’s wrong.” 

Sirius gives an insouciant shrug. “Pay your rent on time, and we ought to be fine there. No promises, of course.”

[chleem]

After the first date

One shot: singledad!drew starkey x younger!reader

Summary: after the first date with this 'perfect' guy, you head to his place for some mind-blowing sex. until...

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, making out, talk of kinks, implied age gap (read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work pls

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You couldn’t help yourself. 

The car ride over to his place was filled with sexual tension, that you and Drew knew couldn’t be ignored. 

Once the elevator door closes, you throw yourself onto Drew, lips locking in with his, in urgency. 

Drew, the blind date that your friend set you up with. 

You expected it to be some loser, because she always fails at finding the right guy for you. But to your surprise, Drew turned out to be incredibly charming. Yes, he was a bit older. But…he certainly didn’t look his age. 

The whole night, from the restaurant food, to the conversation topics, everything flowed perfectly. He was not only listening, but paying attention, and he had this kind of humor that fitted perfectly with yours. 

Perfectly. Is there a word more perfect than perfect? Because that’s how the date went. 

The date was perfect, which, was weird. 

There must be a catch to a perfect first date, right? But so far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  

His back hits the wall with a thud, your arms wrapping around his neck to press yourself closer to him. 

You wanted him, and you showed him just that. 

He gasps into your mouth, surprised, and it takes a few seconds for him to relax under your touch. 

He kisses back, tender and slow compared to your desperate, passionate energy.

His lips are soft, but there's a certain intensity in how he deepens the kiss, allowing the moment to stretch, as if savoring each second. 

His hands roam around your back, feeling the material of your dress, as his breath mingles with yours. You do the same, hands running through his hair, then the back of his neck, then massaging gently on his shoulders. 

You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, as though he's slowly pulling you into his rhythm, balancing out the storm inside you with his quiet strength.

The elevator shakes quietly with each passing floor, and you could feel the hunger inside of you growing. 

It’s frantic, untidy, with no real rhythm—but it's genuine, filled with an undeniable sense of longing.

Too into it, it takes a few seconds for you to reopen your eyes after Drew pulls away, his mesmerizing blue eyes staring down at you.  

Still in each other’s arms, you mirror his expression, one of flushed cheeks, parted lips, and breathlessness. 

Ding. 

The elevator door opens, neither of you seems in a hurry to move, caught in the electricity of the connection you’ve just shared.

Ding.

Drew’s gaze never wavers from yours, and with a steady hand, he reaches out to stop the door from closing. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips, and you close your eyes, ready to welcome the softness of his lips again. 

Until, you hear a soft laugh escaping the air. 

You peek, and see Drew’s smile, soft yet playful. 

He leans in close to you, his nose ghostly brushing against yours.

“I don’t sleep- I don’t sleep on the first date.”

Ding.

You blink, the sudden shift in his tone pulling you back to reality. 

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything feels like it just...paused. You try to mask the disappointment that settles in, but it’s clear on the frown that’s creeping up your face.

Then…why did he bring you back to his place? 

Drew reaches for the button to keep the door from closing, his hand hovering just a bit longer than needed. 

“But-“ his hand comes up, brushing the hair away from your neck, “I’ll do it- I’ll break the fucking- fucking rule.”

A giggle escapes you when he finishes his sentence, your shoulders relaxing as his lips graze the skin there. 

It’s ticklish as he gently nibbles, lips traveling lower, lower, lower, ghosting over your cleavage. 

You let out a soft moan, hands tugging on his tie to take it off. 

...But it does the opposite. 

As your fingers tug, the tie tightens around his neck, pulling him just out of the rhythm you two had been in. 

Drew gasps, the sound surprising both of you, and he pulls away sharply, eyes wide for a moment as he catches his breath. 

You’re pushed away, panic coursing through your veins, as you realized you’ve probably just frightened him and ruined the chances of getting laid. 

“Shit- shit, I’m so sorry, shit-“

Ding.

Another reminder to get out the elevator. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hopeless as you watch his hand instinctively go to his neck, loosening the fabric with a quick movement. 

His eyes meet yours, and you prepare yourself for a deep scolding of some kind. 

Then, the corner of his lips curl up, the wrinkles around his eyes appearing, “kinks on the first date?”

You freeze for just a second, processing his words, then, laughter bubbles up between you two. You can’t help but chuckle—though it’s more shy than confident, a bit of heat creeping into your cheeks.

Drew’s arm comes up to the elevator door, his body leaning against it as an indication for you to step out. 

“I don’t know-“ you start, stepping out, feeling his presence behind you. 

The door shuts with a soft ding, and his footsteps match the click of your heels as you walk down the hall. “-I don’t mind choking. You?”

You take a quick look around—okay, okay, his apartment’s not that bad. The place looks sleek, modern, and way nicer than you expected.

Great. The perfect date, the perfect guy, perfect apartment, what could go wrong with this? 

You glance to your side, and a rush of butterflies hits you all at once—Drew’s already staring down at you. 

You don’t know if it’s the look itself or the blueness of his eyes, but it’s definitely something. 

You’re suddenly so aware of the words that just left your mouth; you’re playing a dangerous game right now. 

He licks his lips, and you feel the brief touch of his hand on your lower back, “spitting."

Nasty. Yet, you’re down for it. Down for this perfect man right here. 

You break eye contact, looking ahead of you as the two of you walked down the hall. And you don’t know why, but you’re intrigued to continue this conversation, “spanking.”

“Spanking? Receiving or…”

“Receiving,” you whisper, and then, he stops you at door 1104. 

You lean against the wall, watching the way he reaches into his pocket. You bite your lip, excited and anxious about his next words. 

Drew looks at you with that same smirk, a look that sends a wave of heat through you.

His eyes are unreadable for a moment, and then, he leans in. 

Your breath hitches as he towers over you, caging you close to the wall. 

Instinctively, you raise a hand, fingertips touching his loosened tie, then slowly unbuttoning his shirt. 

His lips are dangerously close to yours, and you relax your eyes, ready for a much needed, heated kiss, something more passionate that the one in the elevator. 

“Once I open the door…”

You hum, listening intently to Drew’s next words, voice now dropped to a low whisper. 

“We’re doing it- doing it on the counter…”

One of his hands slip underneath your dress, gripping the flesh of your thigh. 

A sharp breath escapes you, your back arching into him. 

“Gonna rip this dress off of you,”

His words come to an abrupt stop as lips come crashing into yours, eagerly, as if he couldn’t wait another second. 

You kiss him back immediately, your tongues mixing together once again. 

The sound of the door unlocking cuts through the air, and before you can even process it, you're swept off your feet. His arms wrap around you with effortless strength, lifting you off the ground, your body pressed against his.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you don’t dare to move away from his lips, too lost in the softness and wetness of them. 

You’ve never found yourself to enjoy kissing that much, yet, making out with Drew was electrifying, both of you fighting for control. 

The back of your thighs hit the cold kitchen counter, Drew’s hand forcing your legs apart. 

He stands between them, multitasking himself as his lips trail down your neck, a hand massaging your tits, the other snaking it’s way to your panties. 

You let out a soft groan as he bites down on your collarbone, your hands busy with his belt. 

But just as his hand cups your pussy over your panties, his belt falling to the floor with a hard thud,

A high-pitched scream echoes through the space. 

Both you and Drew’s movements come to a halt, and in a flash, he’s pushed himself away, and no man has ever got off of you any faster. 

“Shit-“

Drew rubs his face, fixing his shirt quickly, his eyes darting to what’s behind you, panic written all over his face. 

You’re still breathless, your mind hazy from your own horniness, but quickly the concern begins to creep in. 

What the hell was that scream? 

You push yourself off the counter, adjusting your dress, ready to ask him what’s going on, when-

“Ew, Dad! You bought a girl home?”

You turn your head sharply toward the source, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes lock onto the young girl standing in the doorway of one of the rooms. 

She…she looks a bit like Drew-

Wait- 

Dad???

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks as your eyes widen at her words. Drew is her dad? He’s a daddy? He- he has a daughter??

The room suddenly feels a lot smaller, and your stomach flips with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. 

The ‘perfect’ guy has a daughter. Your perfect date,…is a dad.

And as if it wasn’t enough, a young boy walks out from another room. 

You freeze, your heart pounding as he steps into view. Oh my god. 

He looks just like Drew, but a younger, chubbier version. 

"Why we screaming?” He asks, those familiar, piercing blue eyes glancing around, “Dad?”

The boy’s words hang in the air like a shot to your chest. 

Should you leave? Leave, leave, leave! Your brain shouts at you. 

“What- what are you doing here?” Drew finally speaks up, his voice having an edge of panic to it. He takes a step forward, and to your surprise, he steps in front of you, almost as if he’s shielding you from his kids.

Your heels allow you to peek over his shoulders, and you quietly stand behind him, unsure why you’re not bolting out the door. 

"Mom dropped us off," the young girl says casually. 

Mom???

Is he married? No way- 

You glance down at his left hand; no ring. Yeah, you remembered there was no ring on his finger. Plus, he didn’t mention anything about a partner…or kids. So…is he divorced? Split up? What- what’s going on? 

You could feel your brain frying as it scrambles to piece together the scene in front of you. 

"Mom dropped you off?" Drew asks, his voice tight with confusion and frustration. 

He steps out of the kitchen, moving in front of his daughter and son, his posture rigid, his eyes searching them both for some kind of explanation.

You’re left speechless, frozen in place, your mind still whirling with questions. You feel dizzy, almost disconnected from the scene unfolding before you.

What happened to…ripping your dress off?

What happened to…doing it on the counter? 

“Yeah- a few minutes ago,” his son answers. 

You watch Drew, your breath catching for a moment. 

He pokes his tongue against his cheek, a small, subtle movement, his eyes sharpening as he looks down at his kids. “Alright- um-“ Drew runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. His voice stutters out, “Give me a minute, okay?”

His kids exchange skeptical looks, then their eyes shift to you standing awkwardly in the kitchen. 

His daughter, with a knowing look, crosses her arms and says, “just not on the counter, please.”

Flush creeps on your cheeks, and you wished there was a hole to dig yourself into. 

A low chuckle escapes Drew, one that tells you he’s not surprised by his daughter’s attitude. The sound is almost amused, but there’s a hint of exhaustion in it, too.

"Get out of here, jeez,” he mutters, shaking his head as he waves them off, clearly over the whole thing.

His daughter rolls her eyes dramatically, but without saying another word, she turns, her brother trailing behind her, still casting curious glances your way.

As they disappear into their own bedrooms, the tension is slightly lifted, but only, replaced with awkward silence. 

The huge elephant sits in the room; what now? 

You both stand there, unsure of how to break the stillness. 

Drew rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit, his eyes darting from the floor to you.

You, who hasn’t moved in that short five minutes, fidget with your hands. 

"Look, I—“

"Hey, so I’m just—“

You both speak at the same time, your voices tripping over one another. 

Awkward chuckles stubbles out of you, and you place a hand over your mouth, signaling for him to start. 

“I- uh, wasn’t suppose to have them till tomorrow.”

You bite down on your lip, pushing your panicked thoughts aside to listen. 

Drew walks over, and stands on the other side of the kitchen counter. His blue eyes meet yours, and there’s a quiet intensity in his gaze that you can’t quite put your finger on.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out at first. His jaw clenches, his brow furrowing as he tries to figure out what to say.

“…but uh, yeah, that was, my kids,” his voice is barely above a whisper now. 

You look away from him, your gaze dropping to your hands, a nervous smile tugging at your lips. “They’re lovely,” you say, trying to lighten the awkwardness of the moment, though your mind is swirling with questions. 

Why didn’t he mention this? At any point tonight? Why didn’t your friend—who set up this date—say anything about him having kids?

Your smile falters just a little, as the questions gnaw at you. 

And he seems to read your mind- or, your body language. 

“I should’ve told you, earlier in the night.”

You raise your eyebrows in a 'yeah, you should’ve' way, your shoulders slouching slightly as you exhale, “not even after I told you I liked kids?” you mention, recalling that part during dinner.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, a soft vibration that catches you off guard, pulling your attention back to him.

“Did you like those brats, then?” he teases, a playful glint in his eyes. You can’t help but notice the way he looks at you—half-serious, half-amused—like he’s testing how you’ll respond.

“Clearly got it from their daddy,” you joke, laughing softly afterward.

Drew raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, clearly pleased by your retort. “Oh? Daddy kink?”

“Oh- god no,” you immediately say, and that earns a laugh from Drew. 

As you watch his smile, listening to the sound of his laugh, you can’t help but wonder, what’s it like going out with someone’s daddy?

A…really hot one. 

Aw, fuck, that’s weird. 

Well… the fact that you’re still standing here and not sprinting off, says a lot. 

Before you can add anything more, Drew checks his watch, his expression shifting slightly. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a touch of apology in them.

“Y’know, if the kids weren’t here…”

He walks around the counter, stepping beside you, his voice dropping to a low whisper, “you’d definitely be screaming into my pillows right now."

You immediately feel your face heat up, biting your lip to hold back the sudden rush of nervousness. Gosh, he’s good….probably why he has two kids. 

You shake your head lightly, almost as if to shake those thoughts off, and then you manage to say, “Your original plan, right?”

Drew’s lips twitch into a half-smile, his eyes still locked on you, but there’s something deeper behind them now. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low, the implication clear, “the original plan.”

The words hang in the air, but then you quickly break eye contact, your voice a little shaky as you respond.

"But uh— I should get going.”

He steps forward, a sudden urgency in his voice as he says, “Wait, lemme drive you—”

“No, I got it,” you interrupt, voice steady. 

He’s a bit taken back by it, but he nods slowly, "Okay... okay, well, at least let me walk you downstairs.”

You shake your head quickly, “no- no.”

“C’mon, please, y/n.”

It’s the way he says your name—gentle, coaxing—that makes your heart race again, and you couldn’t help it, “fine.”

His blue eyes light up instantly, that spark of relief and something else flickering across his face.

Drew steps aside, opening the door for you, leaning against it.

You could feel him staring down at you when you passed by him. 

And as you walk down the hallway with him, you find yourself lost for words. 

You’re still fixated on the fact that your perfect date is a dad. 

With two kids. 

Fuck. 

Did that make him even more perfect? Or the opposite?

You…you really don’t know. 

“You, you okay?” Drew asks, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m fine.”

He presses the button once you reach the elevator door, and you can’t help but feel self-conscious as the two of you wait for it to arrive.

You keep your eyes focused on the top screen, watching the floor the elevator is currently on. 

Then, you feel a heavy fabric drape onto your shoulders, and when you turn toward Drew, your hands brushing against the cloth, you realize he's given you his suit jacket.

“Oh—thanks,” you say, surprised. You can’t quite tell if it’s the warmth of the jacket or the gesture itself that’s making your heart race again.

Drew smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes appearing again. 

Ding. 

You step in the elevator with Drew. 

Ding.

He presses the button for the first floor, his shoulder brushing against yours as you stand close to him.

You can’t help but glance at him, at the side of his face, your mind flooding with the memories of a few minutes ago, of making out in this exact elevator. 

But with the way he keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes staring ahead, that controlled stillness about him, you realize he's not going to make a move.

He’s not gonna initiate another kiss in the elevator. 

A kiss that might escalate to a full blown make-out session. 

A make-out session that might be better than the last one you shared-

“Mph!”

Drew suddenly turns around, hands cupping your face as his lips crash into yours. 

You stumble slightly, the jacket falling off your shoulders as you melt into him, letting instincts take over. 

He kisses you, as if your lips are what keeps him alive. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling against him as you savor the way his lips taste. Sweet, soft, and intoxicating, things you wouldn’t expect a first date to taste like. 

Let alone, a dad. 

Your tongue sloppily thrusts into his, while you find his growing rougher by the second. 

Shit, he’s a good kisser. 

Ding.

The elevator door opens, and a soft gasp is heard. 

You furrow your eyebrows, pulling away from Drew. 

Behind him, you see an elderly woman, her hands gripping a bag of groceries, her eyes wide in surprise.

Great. The second- third person to catch you making out with Drew. 

He follows your gaze, turning his head. His shoulders drop when he sees the elderly woman, and you quickly pull his hands off your face. 

“Hi,” you whisper to her, before rushing past her, mostly due to embarrassment. 

“Hi, uh, hey, Ms Jones,” you hear Drew call out, his voice slightly hushed. 

Upon hearing footsteps following behind you, you slow down, trying to steady your breath.

“That was Ms Jones,” Drew whispers to you, and then, you feel the same fabric drape over your shoulders again. He steps a little closer, his voice low, “yeah- sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“That- uh, that,” his eyes flicker to your lips again. 

“That kiss?” 

The building’s front door opens by itself, and you step out, pulling out your phone to call an Uber. 

 “No- the interruptions.”

Interruptions. Plural. 

A smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone, fingers coming to a halt. 

“I told you, my original plan.”

An Uber coming your way, just around the corner. 

You look up, meeting his blue eyes that seem to reflect every thought he has, raw and unguarded.

“I know,” you tell him, before adding, “besides, you’ve got my number.”

He chuckles, “yeah, I- I do.”

“So do the plan next time.”

“I know- I’ll definitely…definitely do you next time.”

You look away, a bit shy under the intensity of his eyes and words. 

“So call me,” you say, looking ahead, and you hear a chuckle from him. 

“I will.”

“You will?”

“Yeah. Will…will you answer?”

“Depends. Will you be alone?”

“Of course,” he says, his voice a little quieter now. 

Then, the headlights of a car approach, and you start to shrug off his jacket, but he stops you.

“Keep it,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Gives me a reason to see you again.”

“You need a reason to see me?” you ask, teasingly with your eyebrows raised.

“...No,” he chuckles, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You laugh, but you keep the jacket on. 

“Call me,” you whisper again, as he opens the car door.

His hand hovers over the top of the car as you settle in, and he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“I don’t know… isn’t there a rule to wait three days?”

You roll your eyes, your own lips betraying you as you smile, reaching to close the door. 

But then, he catches your hand, holding it for a second before saying, “it’s a promise.”

He lets go and closes the car door, stepping back. But he doesn’t break eye contact, holding it through the window.

You wave goodbye, and so does he, his smile lingering just a little longer.

The car starts to drive off, and even as it gets further away, you keep looking back, seeing Drew standing there, watching you go.

And when he gradually fades into the distance, you sit back, your hands coming up to touch your lips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

This could either go perfectly right, or leave you a crumbling mess. 

Well, you might have to decide about that on the second date.

… Or when he calls.

-------------------------------

word count: 3.8k

࣪𖤐 a/n: hello??? i actually got very shy writing this, dad!drew is my fav T_ T

plus, this brown suit lives in my mind rent free

and yes, this piece might be a bit cringe but i like it, sue me

elevator | other

[shotmrmiller]

living in some dingy apartment building because it is all you can afford on your income unless you want to eat danimals yogurt and saltine crackers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. the stern landlady lives on the first floor, and some neighbors blast music on weekday nights (even if they didn't, the walls are paper-thin. you know more about the cambrian period than you'd like to, thanks to room 105) but it's a modest roof over your head and while the darkened grout lines in the bathroom are permanent, at least there's hot water.

until there isn't. and the landlady has mysteriously gone on vacation for the next two months.

what used to be a cathartic cleansing has now become your torment. every other day is hair wash day which means you're bent over the cold, porcelain edge of your tub, back screaming in protest and pain shooting up your bruised knees even though you've sacrificed one of your very nice pillows to avoid exactly that.

and showering is torture. the icy cold water feels like a thousand tiny claws scraping over your tender scalp, sinking into your trembling shoulders. you don't wait for your body to acclimate, just hastily scrub yourself as clean as you can and hop out, your chattering teeth and shaky breaths echoing through the tiny bathroom.

it's like this for a week and a half, a whole 10 days of suffering with showers so cold it feels like shards of ice biting into your goosepimpled skin when it stops. warmth bleeds into the stream of frostbitten water. finally, it soothes instead of stings. your coiled, tense muscles gradually slacken with relief, with unadulterated bliss. steam rises, the tips of your fingers and toes tingle as if thawing. gratitude wells in the corner of your eyes.

if you had any money you could afford to give, you would to your savior, but every dollar you own is earmarked for the bare essentials. so, with your thick, warm bathrobe cinched around your waist, you pen down a little heartfelt note to stick to the bulletin board downstairs before heading out for work.

thank you, whoever you are, for fixing the boiler. i could kiss you <3

when morning comes, you use one of the dull, golden tacks that previously held a lost pet flyer (sorry, bilbo the hamster, but it's been a year) and pin your note up.

only to come home and find it gone, a torn corner all that remains. maybe it's karma for your callousness towards someone's pet. (justice for bilbo.) you shrug it off, giddily skipping up the steps to wash off the day's stress with hot water.

but before you even hang your keys on the wall, there's a pounding on your door, hard enough to rattle it in its frame. and the masked man you see through the peephole isn't familiar. against your better judgment, you clear your throat before cracking open the door. "yes?"

the piece of paper he's holding in his dinner plate-sized hands seems incredibly small— and it's your note.

"i fixed the water." oh. "'m 'ere for wha' 'm owed." owed?

"i'm not— um. the kiss. it's just a figure of speech." the thick muscle of his bicep coils as he crosses his arms over his barrel chest. he's a very large man, as broad as your door.

if you slammed it closed on him, he'd probably leave it hanging by its hinges. that's not worth a measly kiss.

"okay. but on the cheek since i never specified where so it's dealer's choice."

he huffs out an amused breath but complies, hooking his thumb under the edge to pull up his balaclava just enough to expose his stubbled cheek. he's got a couple of scars; thin, slightly raised. run along the sharp edge of his jaw and disappear beneath the fabric.

he leans close, enough to hear his steady, slow exhales. he smells of dirt. salt. something smoky, tangy-- like on new years, minutes after the clock strikes 12.

your hands cradle his face as you rise to your tippy-toes, wetting your lips and crane your neck-- but he snaps his head to the side,

and takes the kiss he was owed.

(he takes a screwdriver to the ac unit next. wire cutters to the fuse box. nails to your tires. anything that'll inevitably lead you back to him. you tried paying him with dinner but the only thing he was interested in eating was your cunt.)

[yuzujjn]

ʬʬ. ! I WISH I HATED YOU : PARK SUNGHOON ── 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗒, 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇

frat boy!sunghoon ੭୧ fem!reader ：（ 𝓯 ） 1OOOwc. ── partying, drinking, kissing, lots of bickering, slightly suggestive && ⠀ ｡｡ ARCHiVE ꒰˵ˊᯅˋ˵꒱

DANiELLE : happy sunghoon day ! also for my jenni bby (> <)

FRAT PARTIES WEREN'T YOUR THING. the sticky floors, the overwhelming smell of cheap cologne, stale beer, and bad decisions hanging in the air—none of it appealed to you. but chaewon had begged. your best friend had pleaded, promising it would be fun, and somehow, you’d caved.

what chaewon didn’t mention was that he would be here.

park sunghoon. resident frat golden boy, heartbreaker, and the bane of your existence.

you spotted him across the room almost immediately. he was impossible to miss, surrounded by a group of people laughing at whatever cocky thing he was saying. his dark hair fell perfectly into place, framing his annoyingly handsome face. he exuded that careless charm that made everyone fawn over him, and you hated how attractive he was.

as if sensing your glare, his gaze flicked to yours, and the smirk that tugged at his lips made your stomach twist in irritation.

you turned away quickly, pushing through the crowd to find the kitchen. maybe a drink would help.

but, of course, fate wasn’t on your side tonight.

“what are you doing here?”

the familiar, infuriating voice made you groan before you even turned around. there he was, leaning casually against the counter, holding a red solo cup like it was an accessory to his smirk.

“getting a drink,” you said flatly, reaching for the vodka. “is that a problem?”

“not at all.” he leaned closer, and his cologne—woodsy, expensive—clouded your senses. “just surprised you’re here. thought frat parties weren’t your scene.”

“they’re not.” you poured your drink and stepped away.

“then why come?”

“because chaewon begged me.”

he chuckled. “and here i thought you came to see me.”

you rolled your eyes, lifting your cup to your lips. “you really think everything’s about you, don’t you?”

“not everything.” he grinned, watching you with an irritatingly amused expression. “just most things.”

you opened your mouth to snap back, but chaewon appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your arm.

“there you are!” she beamed, blissfully ignoring sunghoon’s presence. “we’re playing seven minutes in heaven. come on!”

“no way.” you shook your head, already backing away.

“yes way!” she tugged on your arm. “it’ll be fun. stop being boring.”

before you could argue, chaewon dragged you toward the living room, where a circle had already formed around a bottle in the center.

“this is a bad idea,” you muttered, sitting reluctantly beside her.

chaewon grinned. “it’s just a game. what’s the worst that could happen?”

you didn’t have time to answer because sunghoon sauntered into the circle, taking a seat directly across from you. his smirk widened as his eyes met yours.

“great,” you muttered.

“you love having me around,” he teased.

“like a headache,” you shot back.

the bottle was spun. it clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, spinning so fast that the faces around it blurred. your heart pounded irrationally as it slowed—click, click, click—until it stopped.

pointing directly at you.

and sunghoon.

the room erupted into cheers and whistles.

“absolutely not,” you said, already standing.

“rules are rules!” chaewon said, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you back down.

before you could protest further, chaewon grinned devilishly and shoved you toward the nearest closet.

“chaewon, I swear—”

the door slammed shut behind you, cutting off your protest.

you turned around, and there he was, standing way too close for comfort in the dimly lit, cramped space.

“this is your fault,” you hissed, crossing your arms.

“mine?” sunghoon raised an eyebrow, amused. “you could’ve said no.”

“i did say no.”

he shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “well, we’re here now. might as well make the most of it.”

“you’re impossible.”

he stepped closer, and you backed up instinctively, your shoulders hitting the wall.

“relax,” he said, voice low, teasing. “what, you think I’m gonna try something?”

“you always try something.”

he smirked, taking another step forward. “only because it’s fun to watch you get all flustered.”

“i am not flustered,” you snapped, even though your heart was racing.

“sure you’re not.” his eyes flicked down to your lips, lingering just long enough to make your cheeks burn.

“don’t even think about it,” you warned.

“why not?” his voice was softer now, the teasing edge giving way to something heavier. “afraid you might like it?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

he chuckled, but his hands moved to the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. “say the word, and i’ll back off.”

your breath caught, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

you should tell him to back off. you should push him away. but instead, you grabbed his shirt, yanking him down to crash your lips against his.

the kiss was fiery, chaotic, and everything you hated to admit you’d wanted. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

his fingers tightened slightly, thumb brushing the sliver of skin exposed by your top. it sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how easily he unraveled you.

he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and his teeth grazed your bottom lip, making your knees weak.

you gasped softly, and he smirked against your mouth, the bastard.

“still hate me?” he murmured, voice low and breathless.

you shoved his chest—half to steady yourself, half because his smugness was unbearable. “yes. more than ever.”

he grinned, leaning down as if to kiss you again. “funny. didn’t feel like it.”

outside, the muffled sound of someone banging on the door broke the moment.

“time’s up!”

sunghoon groaned, his forehead pressing against yours for a beat before he pulled back, his hands lingering at your waist.

“guess we’ll have to finish this later,” he said, voice dripping with confidence.

you glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved him again.

“dream on, park.”

but as you stepped out of the closet, chaewon’s knowing grin waiting for you, and the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you couldn’t shake the sinking realization that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

[seasprincess]

JJ fic. I'm thinking sweet smut. Like almost goofy because that's just who he is, rarely super serious. And he and reader just know each other so well that things can be goofy, even during sex and neither of them care. Unprotected (if you're good with that). Then maybe reader finds out she's pregnant. Worried to tell JJ. But he's so thrilled.

bf!jj

a/n: I loveeed this ask

warnings: smut, pregnancy, unprotected s3x (wrap it pookies), brain rot.

“Have you got a condom?” As soon as the words leave your mouth the blonde, that’s on top of you, head pops up. He looks at you slightly confused. His hands stoping the rubbing against your lacy panties.

“I thought you were bringing them?” JJ says, his blue eyes looking into yours as he suddenly remembers.

He was supposed to bring them.

“Fuck sake.” He sighs as he runs his head, this isn’t the first time he’s had to run out and buy them during this intimate moments. He just a forgetful guy.

“Fuck it.” You say, not even thinking about it twice. You need this. He’s been touching you for too long. “You’ve been edging me f-“

“Edging.” He cuts off with a little snort and a smile. He’s so unserious it’s insane.

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

You look up at him and lean up, pressing your soft lips against his. Slowly his slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands continue to touch, rub and caress you. He’s being soft today.

But the way he’s fiddling with the zipper of his jeans is not soft nor slow. Of course it gets stuck, and he’s just there trying to rip it open. Trying to unjam it with some huffs and puffs.

While he’s doing that you’re pulling down your panties, the fold air against your core making you flinch a bit. Before you lay back down and he lays back on top of you.

“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks at you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it without protection but every time he checks. Make sure you’re certain.

“Yes.” You say with a nod of your head. You just can’t wait any longer.

Slowly JJ enters your cunt, your tight walls sucking him in as you let at a moan. JJ jokes about his size to everyone. Saying how big he is. But they weren’t jokes.

“Fuck mama. So tight.” He says before placing a kiss on your neck. His thrusts picking up. His hand coming to your neck, not to choke you. But to make it easier to pick up his speed. “Such a good girl.”

Your walls clench around him as your eyes screw shut. Whimpers filling the space of your bedroom.

“Please don’t stop.” You breathe out as you instinctively grab onto the duvet, knuckles turning white as you look at him. His stupid face smirking down at you before reattaching to your neck.

His face practically lives there now. Hes always kissing and sucking on your neck.

JJ’s free hand slips between your legs and starts rubbing. Rubbing that sensitive bud of yours. His cock twitching inside your pussy.

It doesn’t take long for both you and JJ to cum. His thrust slowing down as he looks at you.

Both of you panting before the blonde just has to open his stupid mouth.

“That was so skibidi.”

“Oh my god.”

You can’t believe it.

‘This can’t be real.’ You think to yourself as you look at those two lines. The two lines that can either be a blessing or a curse.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat on the bath mat of your bathroom. I mean you can’t have a baby. Can you? You’re only eighteen living at your parents house dating a guy who only recently learnt the difference between there, their and they’re.

You can’t be parents.

You just can’t.

“Baby I’m here to hang.” The sound interrupts your thoughts. the very guy you were just thinking about. Knocking a tune on your bathroom door.

You sniff and dry your eyes, trying to get rid of any sign that you were crying.

But JJ heard everything.

“Hey, yn? You okay?” His concern is evident in his tone. He cares about you more than you’d ever know.

The bathroom door slowly opens and your eyes meet the blondes. Slowly making his way to you, crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. You’re silent. You can’t speak. Don’t know what to say if you were to open your mouth.

So you just hold the test.

JJ’s eyes follow your gaze to the test. His breath catching in the back of his throat.

You want to know how he feels, is he angry? Upset? Disappointed?

Actually he’s none of them.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He says excitedly. Immediately you look at him. Shocked by this response. He’s happy?

“Yeah.” You say quietly.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He says louder and takes off his hat before standing up. Pacing the bathroom and smiling. Yapping about all the things he’s going to do. How excited he is to have a child.

You should’ve never been worried. You’re going to be parents.

[yasministration]

Stolen kisses, pretty lies - Sirius Black

yes, the title is inspired by miss taylor. summary: sirius and his unlikely slytherin!gf wc: 0.6k+

Sirius had been an avid hater of slytherins since the moment he’d learned that both his parents had been slytherins at Hogwarts. He never thought he’d be in this position right now: hiding away with his slytherin girlfriend in a secret room of the castle, cradling your thighs in his hands while he passionately kissed you. His body rhythmically moved with yours, perched on his lap. Panting, you pulled away from the kiss, putting both your hands on Sirius’s chest as he tried reconnecting your lips. You moved your head away from him, turning to glance at the clock hanging on the wall, each second ticking away loudly.

The second you faced Sirius once more, he stole a kiss from your lips, causing a grin to form on your face. “You sure you won’t be late?” You asked with pretence worry, immediately melting back into Sirius’s torso when he hummed in reassurance. “Anyway, they know how to find me.” He mumbled against your lips, causing you to abruptly pull away from him once more. “You told them?” You asked, face blanching with horror. Sirius shook his head, eyebrows furrowing at your reaction.

“Haven’t told them, but we’re not exactly hiding it, are we?” Sirius was specifically thinking about how your arms had been wrapped around his body in the courtyard a mere two days ago, moaning softly as he left marks on the side of your neck. His hand now trailed upwards to graze against the fading hickeys, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Sirius, my parents can’t find out.” Sirius sighed, a melancholic look overtaking his features. He wished it wasn’t this way, wished he could take you to meet his parents and have him meet yours. But his tarnished reputation, and both your estrangement from your parents didn’t let that happen.

Sirius felt the energy shift in the room, so he smiled his handsome smile, adding “What? You ashamed of me?” In a mock accusatory tone. Sirius felt his heart soar at the way your face lit up. Your hands ran down his chest, and you leaned in close enough so your chest brushed against Sirius’s, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw as you whispered. “So ashamed. Can’t have my parents meeting this rebellious bad boy.” Sirius barked out a laugh, a hand travelling to the nape of your neck as he pulled you into a proper kiss.

Sirius’s second hand tightly gripped your hip, and he firmly planted both his feet on the ground to help slowly roll you over on the couch, so that he hovered over you. You giggled as Sirius pressed teasing kisses from your lips to your jaw, eyes fluttering shut in satisfaction. You moved your head to the side to allow Sirius more space on your neck when you accidentally glanced at the round clock again. Your eyes widened as you took in the time, the image of the clock’s moving hands triggering the memory of the promise you had made Severus to help him with his transfigurations homework. You gasped loudly at the realisation, pushing Sirius off you as you tried to stand up. “I forgot about Severus!” You yelped, not taking notice of the way Sirius’s eyebrows furrowed unhappily at the other boy’s mention.

“Snape?” Sirius questioned, watching as you tried gathering your things before wrapping his arms around your waist and powerfully tugging you back onto the couch. “You’re absolutely not leaving me for that git.” Sirius complained, immediately getting on top of you and resuming his actions. When a loud clatter was heard beside you, you ignored it, fully allowing your belongings to fall all over the floor, because right now, Sirius was your sole focus. And despite your promise, you wouldn't let anything change that.

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe @hiireadstuff @superlegend216

[mywritersmind]

GO OUT WITH ME - LN4

summary : Lando doesn’t beg. But when it comes to y/n, he can’t help it.

listen up : nothing big to note! just cuteness

word count : 945

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Go out with me.” He says for the third time today, watching me swipe on my strawberry lip gloss. I pocket the bottle into my jeans pocket, crossing my arms over my black vest. I look to Lando who’s behind me in his papaya suit.

“Could you please stop bothering my friend?” Oscar says, sitting on a stool in his own driver's room.

“I will if she says yes.” He looks at me with big blue eyes, smiling. Too bad I have to crush his dreams.

“No.” I shrug and look back to my childhood best friend.

“Why are you even here, Lan?” Oscar leans his head back against the wall.

“What do you mean? I love hanging out with my bestie!” He stands, messing with Oscar’s hair. I laugh a bit and his face lights up, “Go out with me.”

“Goodbye Lando!” Oscar pushes him out the door and slams it in his face. “You know he will stop if you ask him, right?”

I look at my manicure, sighing, “Yeah, I know.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Lando won. I go to a race to watch Oscar and everywhere I turn, Landos face is being projected onto some screen. I was there in Miami and now I'm here in the Netherlands.

I’m leaving the paddock when I literally run into the man. I told you he’s everywhere!

He’s smiling like I've never seen before, sweaty and laughing before he looks up at me, “Shit, Y/n! I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” I shake my head, “Congrats, by the way.” He bites his lip, his suit unzipped and water bottle in hand.

“Thanks! You must be a good luck charm.” he winks and I'm thoroughly reminded how attractive he is. I won’t go out with him but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate him.

“You going out to celebrate?” He’s walking with me through the hall.

“Nah I want fast food and a movie.” He shakes his head, a curl falling onto his forehead. “Join me?”

“Bye, Norris.” I walk out the door.

I can practically hear the smile in his sweet accent, “See you later, Y/l/n.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I knock on Oscar’s door repeatedly, “Open up, Idiot!”

No reply.

My stupid best friend hasn’t responded to me all night, we had plans for me to cheer him up after his crappy race but he’s totally ditching me!

“That’s my room.” I freeze when he speaks. The British accent is one that I will not confuse with Oscars.

I slowly turn to Lando, “Oh.”

“Any reason you’ve come for a visit?” He holds a bucket of ice and a dutch chocolate bar. “Change your mind about the date?”

I pull my lips into a thin line, “No! I’m looking for Oscar.”

He walks closer to me, “We switched rooms. He's a level down.”

“Shit.” I roll my eyes, “You think he’s asleep?”

“Definitely. Seemed wiped after today.” He shrugs and eyes the bag I'm holding.

I was supposed to cheer him up after a crappy race, I bought all the Australian treats I could find, “Great.” I sigh. ”He’s leaving tomorrow morning so now I’m stuck with all these snacks.”

“Snacks?” Lando almost laughs, “Poor you, stuck with food.”

“Australian snacks! We were supposed to watch ‘How to lose a guy in ten days’ and he was supposed to complain about it!” I frown, I don’t get to see Oscar often even though he’s just come from break, I barely saw him.

Lando unlocks his room, “I’m sorry. I’d invite you in but I'm assuming you’d say no.”

“Lando Norris… Are you giving up?”

His head shoots up when I say it, “No! I’m respecting your wishes.” He opens the door and walks in, clearly waiting for me to make my decision.

I push past him and jump the snacks onto his bed, “Oscar told me you don’t like tim tams.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

An hour later I find myself watching Oscar and I’s movie with Lando. He’s actually really funny, and genuinely thinks this movie is hilarious.

I’m caught looking at him, “Everything okay?”

I nod slowly, pretending like I wasn’t just examining his face, “Can I ask you something?” He nods, “If I said yes… to a proper date- what would you do?”

He smiles, “Probably jump for joy, if i’m being honest.”

I roll my eyes.

“You know I don’t just ask you out on some whim right?“ He’s being serious. “I like you. I want to get to know you more.” He says it so casually but I can tell he’s nervous.

I can’t breathe, “More than just Oscar's friend?”

Lando shakes his head, toying with a candy in his hand, “You’ve always been more than Oscar's friend.”

“Then, yes.” I’m certain this time.

“Yes?”

“Yes i’ll go out with you.”

He blinks.

“You better not be joking.”

“I’m not!” I laugh and he puts his head into his hands, “Lando!”

“I knew you’d come around!” He points at me before pausing again, “This isn’t some pity thing, right? Just because I’m alone after I won doesn’t mean I’m all sad or something!”

“Lando.” I try but he keeps going.

“I did win, after all! And I don’t want you to say yes because of that either because it’s cool and all but I am more than a win also I swear I have other friends besides Os-”

“Lando!” I laugh and grab his face. He stops speaking, “I want to go out with you. Because you’re you.”

I can feel his heart beating, “That’s good.”

“Very good.” I agree. His smile hits me once more and I match it, “You’re cute.”

“I think I'm dreaming.”

note : race was TOUGHHH today😭 had to write smt happy to cope. loved it for charles tho can’t lie! hope you enjoy!

[queenshelby]

His Property (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Warning: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Forced Submission, Humiliation, Age Gap

Summary:

You are an innocent young woman sold by your father to Thomas Shelby in exchange for clearing his debt. Thomas views you as his possession, believing he can treat you however he wishes.

Please comment and engage to let me know what you think!

The limousine purrs to a stop in front of Arrow House, and your heart pounds against your ribcage like a trapped creature yearning to escape. You gaze up at the imposing mansion, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. You find yourself gazing at the towering structure that looms as a sentinel over the sweeping lawns and manicured gardens, its cold stone walls as forbidding as the ice-blue eyes of its owner.

Your father sits beside you, his grip on your arm firm and unrelenting.

His face is a mask of grim determination, eyes fixed on the mansion as if it were a monster he's about to feed.

"This is it," he says, his voice as harsh as gravel. "Your new home."

Home. The word sends a shiver down your spine. You have no choice but to follow him out of the car, your heels sinking into the dewy grass. As you approach the grand entrance, the heavy oak door creaks open, revealing a man in a crisp black suit. His sharp features and piercing blue eyes leave no doubt who he is. Thomas Shelby.

The mere mention of his name sends a shiver down your spine. He stands in the doorway, his eyes raking over you like a physical touch. You feel your cheeks flush under his scrutiny.

"Y/N," he says, your name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. He steps aside, allowing you to enter the grand foyer. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and something darker, more primal.

Your father clears his throat, his eyes darting nervously between you and Thomas. "Y/N, this is Mr. Shelby. He's...

taken care of our debt." His words hang heavy in the air, a finality that makes your stomach churn. Thomas nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he assesses you, from top to bottom, as if you were prey.

"Yes, your father and I have come to an arrangement," he says, his voice as smooth as velvet but with an underlying edge that sends a shiver down your spine. 

Your father shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and Thomas before he nods, a grimace on his face. "I trust you'll take good care of her," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas merely smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends a jolt of fear coursing through you. "Oh, I intend to," he says, his eyes locked onto yours.

He turns to your father, his voice cold and dismissive. "You may go. I'll send for you when our business is concluded."

Your father nods, his eyes flickering between you and Thomas before he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the man who now owns you.

Thomas closes the door, his footsteps echoing in the grand foyer as he approaches you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the power he exudes like a palpable force. He stops in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but flinch at the contact. He chuckles low, a sound that rumbles like thunder in his chest.

"You're frightened," he observes, his voice a low growl. 

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You know what's expected of you, what your father has sold you for. But the reality of it is unlike anything you've ever imagined.

"Will...will you hurt me?"  The words escape your lips before you can stop them, a mixture of fear and defiance in your voice.

Thomas's eyes flash with amusement, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Only if you want me to," he whispers, his voice a low, seductive growl.

He steps back, his eyes scanning your body again, lingering on your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

"I don't want you to, sir," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, but it's enough for him.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he reaches out, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. "We will see," he says softly. 

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, confused and slightly relieved but, before you know it, one of his maids appears, her eyes cast downwards as she speaks. 

"Let's get you settled in dear. I understand you have had a long 

journey," the maid says, her voice soft and soothing like warm honey. She guides you through the grand house, your footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors. The opulence of Arrow House is starkly apparent; crystal chandeliers drip from the high ceilings, casting prisms of light that dance on the walls, and paintings of landscapes and still lives adorn the walls, each one more expensive looking than the last.

You are led down a long corridor, the air growing colder as you move further away from the main entrance. The maid stops in front of a heavy wooden door, her hand on the brass handle.

"This will be your room," she says, pushing the door open. You step inside, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room is large, with a four-poster bed draped in velvet curtains, a fireplace with a roaring fire, and a chaise lounge positioned in front of the window. It's luxurious, but the air is thick with an undercurrent of darkness, a subtle reminder of Thomas's presence.

"Is there anything you need, dear?" the maid asks, her eyes scanning your face. You shake your head, your mind racing with a million thoughts but your mouth unable to form the words.

The maid smiles softly, her eyes kind. "You'll be alright, dear," she then says as she turns to leave, but you call out to her.

"Wait," you say, and she pauses, turning back to face you.

"What exactly does he... want from me?" The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it, a heavy weight settling in your stomach as you await her response.

The maid's expression softens, and she steps back into the room, closing the door behind her.

She walks over to the chaise lounge and sits down, patting the space next to her. "Come, sit," she says gently. You hesitate for a moment before moving to sit next to her.

"Mr. Shelby, he's... complex," she begins, her voice low and careful. "He likes things to be... just so. And he likes to be in control." She pauses, choosing her words with care. "He'll expect you to be obedient, to meet his needs, and to do so without question."

You swallow hard, the reality of your situation settling like a weight in the pit of your stomach. Your older sister had only just explained the concept of intimacy to you after you had been brought up strictly catholic, and the thought of experiencing it so suddenly and with such a man was terrifying.

"But what if I don't want to do the things he asks?" your voice barely a whisper, but your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, afraid of the answer.

The maid's eyes were kind, and she reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I am afraid you do not have a choice, dear. Not now. But in time, you may find that you want to please him. Many have before you."

"But if I do not like what he does to me?" you ask, your voice quivering slightly, the reality of your new life crashing down on you like a wave.

The maid's expression turns softer, and she squeezes your shoulder gently again. 'You will learn to like it, dear, or at least to tolerate it. Mr. Shelby has a way of... making people see things his way.'

Your heart sinks, and you feel a lump form in your throat. You want to ask more, to understand what exactly he expects from you, but the maid's shoulders tense, and she glances at the door.

'I should go,' she says, standing up. 'We'll meet again though, and I'll help you as much as I can, but for now, you should wash up and get some rest. Tomorrow is a new day.'

You nod, a sense of resignation washing over you as she leaves. Alone in the room, you let the weight of your situation sink in. Your breath hitches as you think about what lies ahead, your mind racing with questions and fears.

An hour later, a soft knock at the door startles you. You hesitate for a moment before calling out, 'Come in.'

The door creaks open, revealing a young man, around your age, with shaggy brown hair and kind brown eyes. He's dressed in a simple but well-made suit, his demeanour friendly and unassuming.

He smiles at you, and you can't help but feel a small shiver of relief at the sight of someone close to your own age.

"Hey, I'm Lucas," he says, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I'm one of the housekeeper's son and I help out around here sometimes."

You offer him a small smile, your shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm Y/N," you say, standing up from the chaise lounge. "Nice to meet you."

Finn nods, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. "I heard you were coming," he says, his voice casual.

"Thought I'd come say hi, make you feel a bit more at home."

You appreciate the gesture, even if the words 'at home' still feel foreign on your tongue. "Thanks," you say, offering him a small smile. "I could use a friendly face around here."

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah, Arrow House can be a bit... intimidating at first. But don't worry, you'll get used to it."

You sit back down on the chaise lounge, and he takes a seat on the armchair across from you.

The room feels less daunting with his presence, and you find yourself relaxing slightly.

"So, what's it like here? I mean, living in Arrow House," you ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

Lucas leans back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "It's different, that's for sure. It's like living in a castle, you know? But I know it will be different for you. I mean, I know why you are here and I am... I am not in the same situation as you," Lucas says before he pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how much to say. 

A shiver runs down your spine at the mention of your situation. "I don't want to be here," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucas's expression softens, and he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I know," he says. "But try to make the best of it," he tells you. 

You nod, a lump forming in your throat at his kindness. 

"I'll try," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Lucas smiles warmly; his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Good," he said simply, resting his hand on yours in a friendly manner. 

His words are comforting, but the weight of your new life is a constant reminder, pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. You force a smile, grateful for his presence.

"Thank you, Lucas," you say, and he grins, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Come on, let's go for a walk in the gardens.

Fresh air might do you some good," Lucas suggests, his hand still outstretched. You take it, grateful for the offer of escape, no matter how temporary.

As you walk through the grand house, you can't help but feel like a prisoner in a gilded cage. The opulence is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the simplicity of your childhood home. Lucas guides you through the sprawling gardens, the scents of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filling the air. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

"So, what's your story, Lucas?

How long have you been here?" You ask, trying to focus on anything but the heavy weight of your new reality.

Lucas shrugs, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walks beside you. "Not long. A few months. My mom got a job here, and I help out around the place. It's not so bad, really. The people are nice enough."

You nod, your eyes scanning the gardens. "What about you? Where are you from?" He asks, his voice casual.

You hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal. "Small town. Nowhere special," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I grew up catholic. My father had a big gambling debt, and now I'm here," you say, your voice tight. Lucas glances at you, his expression sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. That really sucks," he says, his voice genuine. "But listen, you're young, you're smart, and you're tough. You'll figure this out."

You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "Tough? I'm terrified, Lucas. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what he expects from me."

Lucas's expression softens, and he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay. Just know that you are not alone. I'll be here to help, alright? And I'm sure some of the other staff will be too. We're not all bad here, you know."

You nod, appreciating his words even if they don't completely ease your fears. "Thanks, Lucas. I appreciate it."

He smiles, his hand dropping to his side as he looked up, noticing Thomas Shelby 's silhouette in one of the grand windows.

You follow his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Thomas's imposing figure. He stares back at you, his expression unreadable, before he turns and walks away.

"I should go," Lucas says, his voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't like me talking to the... new acquisitions."

You frown, a chill running down your spine at his choice of words. "Why?"

Lucas shrugs, his expression grim.

"He just doesn't. Trust me, it's better if I go. I'll see you around, alright?" he says, squeezing your arm once more before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the garden.

You watch him go, a sense of unease washing over you as Thomas's shadow looms large again in the window.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come. You can't run, and you can't hide. You have to face this head-on. 

You make your way back to Arrow House, your footsteps echoing in the grand foyer as you enter.

The house is quiet, the staff moving silently through the halls, their eyes cast downwards as they pass you. The air is thick with an undercurrent of tension, a subtle reminder of Thomas Shelby's presence.

As you climb the grand staircase, you can't help but feel like a mouse in a maze, each step bringing you closer to the lion's den. You reach your room, the heavy wooden door looming in front of you like a barrier between you and the reality of your situation.

You take a deep breath, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for the handle of the door leading to your bedroom just as one of the maids approached you from behind.

"Here you are," she says softly. "Mr. Shelby wants to see you, in his study," the maid says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath hitches as you nod, your fingers fumbling with the door handle.

"Come, dear. We don't want to keep him waiting," the maid says, her voice a soft nudge, but there's an undercurrent of impatience that brooks no argument.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as you follow her down the wide, marble-floored hallway. The air grows colder, the scent of expensive cigars and something darker, more primal, clinging to the air.

The maid stops in front of a heavy oak door, her hand reaching out to knock softly. "Sir, she's here," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaks open, revealing Thomas Shelby standing by the fireplace, his back to you. He's dressed in a dark suit, the material moulding to his frame.

He turns to face you, his piercing blue eyes scanning your body, missing no detail.

He nods at the maid, dismissing her with a minimal wave of his hand. She scurries away, leaving you alone with him.

The room is illuminated by the flickering fire, the shadows dancing on the walls, creating a stark contrast with the opulence of the study. Your heart hammers in your chest like a drum, the air thick with fear.

Thomas stands before you, his eyes locked onto yours, a dark promise written across his sharp features. He takes a step closer, the smell of expensive cologne enveloping you.

"You look nervous, Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch causing you to flinch away.

His eyes darken at your reaction, and he takes a step closer, crowding your space.

"You're going to have to get used to my touch, Love," he says, the words a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you take a step back, only to find yourself pressed up against the wall. You can feel the cold stone against your back, the rough texture a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

Thomas takes advantage of your lack of space, his hand coming up to cup your chin, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"Open for me. Let me taste you." His voice is a command, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your response.

You hesitate, your breathing coming in short gasps, the fear warring within you. Thomas's grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing harder against your lip. "Now," he growls, the warning clear in his voice.

With trembling fingers, you part your lips, allowing him access. His eyes darken as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. His tongue plunges in, exploring, dominating, leaving no part of your mouth untouched.

You gasp, your body stiffening at the sudden invasion, but Thomas doesn't miss a beat. He pins you to the wall as his mouth ravages yours. He tastes like whiskey and sin, and the fear in your chest begins to raise. 

Thomas tears his mouth away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are wild, hungry, as they rake over your body. "You taste like innocence, like a fucking virgin," he growls, his voice a low and primal.

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I don't want to do this."

Thomas smirks, his eyes burning with hunger, and presses his body flush against yours. "You don't have a choice. You're mine now and I paid good fucking money for you."

He captures your mouth again, swallowing your whimpers as his hands roam over your body.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, unable to escape or fight as his hands trail down your waist. He slips his fingers under your skirt, hooking them into the waistband of your panties and you tremble as he pulls them down.

They pool at your feet and a tear slips down your cheek.

Thomas smirks, his lips brushing against yours. "Sshh, it's alright Love," he whispers as his fingers first made contact with your most intimate part. "I am just getting to know what's mine."

His voice is like velvet over iron as he lets his fingers run over your still dry and untouched folds.

You can't bring yourself to respond, your mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. Thomas doesn't seem to mind, his fingers exploring you, sliding against your opening, making you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation.

He then pushes a finger inside you, the intrusion causing you to cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh Sweetheart," he growls against your neck, "You're so fucking tight."

He begins to pump his finger in and out of you, the motion rough and urgent, causing you to gasp and whimper.

"Sshh, Love," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I know it hurts, but I need you to relax and take it. You'll feel better once you get used to it."

You try to do as he says, but the sensation is overwhelming and foreign. You can feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. 

You try to press your legs together, to close yourself off from him, but Thomas's free hand pushes your thighs apart, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

"Open up for me, Love," he snarls, the command in his voice leaving no room for argument as, suddenly, you felt something else when he used his thumb to rub your clit, slowly circling it with the pressure of his rough thumb.

The sensation is both foreign and slightly pleasurable, sending a jolt of confusion through you.

Thomas notices your reaction, a dark smile spreading across his face. 

"No, please," you plead, your voice trembling as you try to push his hand away, but this time for different reasons. The sensation was too overwhelming for you.

You can't help but let out a small moan as Thomas's thumb continues to circle your clit. He watches you closely, his eyes dark with lust and pleasure at your reaction.

"That's it, Love," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. "Let me hear you. I want to hear you scream for me."

His finger inside you continues to move, pumping in and out, painfully, but the pressure on your clit made you feel pleasure at the same time, confusing you as you tried to wiggle away from him.

"Please stop,” you whimper, but he just chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Shh, just let go for me," he growls, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. You can feel the wetness building between your legs, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your breath comes in short gasps, your body tensing as he pushes you closer to the edge.

"I... I can't," you stammer, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. Thomas leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and moist.

"Come on, Love, you're almost there. Let go. Give in to it," he says as he increases the pressure on your clit, his thumb circling faster, sending electric jolts through your body.

"Please. No. I need to...you need to stop!" you cry out as you can't hold back anymore and your body convulses, and you let out a scream that echoes through the study.

"That's a good girl," Thomas grins, his eyes locked onto yours, watching you come undone under his touch. He continues to pump his finger in and out of you, drawing out your pleasure until you're a panting mess against the wall.

He finally slows down, his finger sliding out of you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

You're panting, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your unexpected orgasm.

Thomas grins, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and lust as he smeared his blood-streaked finger over your cleavage, leaving a trail of your own wetness across your skin.

"There you go Sweetheart," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked but you couldn't help but feel a chill run down your spine at his words.

His fingers were still paint streaked from your wetness and virginity and he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of satisfaction. You felt a mixture of revulsion and shame at the sight, but also a strange kind of arousal you couldn't quite understand.

"Now, why don't you drop down to your knees for me, eh?" Thomas's voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, as he steps back and begins to unbuckle his belt.

You hesitate for a moment, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of the orgasm he forced from you. But his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, burn into yours, and you know better than to disobey.

Slowly, you sink to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest like a trapped bird.

Thomas smirks, a slow, wicked curl of his lips as he pushes his pants down, his cock springing free.

He's long and thick, the head already damp with precum. He wraps his fist around the base, giving it a slow stroke.

"Open that pretty little mouth of yours, Sweetheart," he commands, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine.

You hesitate, your breath coming in short gasps, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You've never done this before, never even thought about it. But Thomas doesn't wait for your consent. He grabs a fistful of your hair, his grip tight and painful as he steps closer. 

"Open, now," he growls, his cockhead prodding at your lips.

You hesitate, your lips pressed tightly together, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest as he waits

for you to comply which, hesitantly, you did, slowly parting your lips, just enough to let the tip inside.

"That's a good girl," he praises, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. "Now take more."

He pushes his hips forward, forcing more of his cock into your mouth, the salty

taste of him filling your senses. You gag, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat. You try to pull back, but his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place as half of his cock disappears in your mouth, stretching your lips.

"Take it all, Sweetheart," he commands, his voice a low growl. "

You whimper, your tears falling freely now as he begins to move his hips, fucking your mouth in slow, steady thrusts. He grunts with each push forward, his cock growing harder, thicker with each passing moment.

You can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, dripping down your chin, and you try to swallow around the intrusion, but it's no use. Your gag reflex kicks in again, and you pull back, gasping for air.

Thomas chuckles, a dark and dangerous sound that sends shivers down your spine. "You're not very good at this, are you, Love?" he says, his voice thick with lust. He grips your hair tighter, forcing you to look up at him.

His blue eyes are dark with desire, his jaw set in a harsh line. "You're going to take it all, understand?" His voice is a harsh command, leaving no room for argument as he thrusts his hips forward, his cockhead slipping past your lips and forcing its way into your mouth.

You gag again, your eyes watering as he hits the back of your throat.

You try to relax, to open up, but it's hard. His cock is so fucking big, and the taste of him, the smell of him, it's all so overwhelming.

Thomas growls, his grip on your hair tightening even further. "You feel so fucking good Love," he says through gritted teeth, his hips moving faster, fucking your face with more force.

You gag again, your mouth filled with his cock, your eyes watering as you try to breathe through your nose. Your hands grip his thighs, your nails digging into his flesh as you try to pull back, but Thomas holds you firmly in place.

You can feel it throbbing in your mouth, the veins pulsing with his heartbeat. The taste of him is salty and bitter, the scent of his sweat and arousal filling your nostrils. Both nauseating and arousing at the same time. You can't breathe, can't think, as he fucks your face with efficiency.

"Open that throat for me, Love," he groans, his voice ragged with desire. "Take it all, like a good girl."

His words send a jolt of humiliation and arousal through you which, again, was strange and confusing to you. Despite yourself, you feel a twinge of desire, a heat building between your legs. 

Thomas groans, a low, animal sound that vibrates through his chest. "Almost there, Love," he says, and you have no idea what he means by that

. You're dizzy, lightheaded from being on your knees for so long with his cock in your mouth. You feel like your jaw is going to dislocate as he thrusts in and out, his cock filling your mouth completely.

He pushes in deeper, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to take him in even further. You try to keep your teeth from grazing him, but it's hard to control anything when you can barely breathe.

Thomas's hips stutter, his cockhead pulsing in your throat, and you are unsure what is going on until he announces his impending climax. 

"I am going to cum in your sweet little mouth now and I want you to swallow every last drop of it, eh" he rasps out, his voice thick with lust and excitement.

You panic, your body tensing, still unsure what to expect, but there's no escape as he grips your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts into your mouth one last time, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he releases his load.

You gag in surprise as the hot, salty taste of him fills your mouth, coating your tongue and throat. He groans, his body shuddering as he empties himself into you, his hips jerking with each spurt.

"Swallow it, Love" he growls, his grip on your hair tightening painfully. "Every fucking drop."

You try to pull back, the taste of him overwhelming, but his grip is unyielding. You gag again, his cum and saliva splattering around your lips as you struggle to swallow his release. It is simply too much. 

"Good girl," Thomas praises you anyway, his voice still thick with lust. 

He pulls out, his cock gleaming with your saliva and his cum. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. His cum was running down your chin, dripping onto your chest and even on to his shoe, and you can taste the bitter, salty tang of him on your tongue. 

Using his finger, he scoops up the cum that had dripped out of your mouth and on to your chin and feeds it to you, forcing you to swallow every last drop. You whimper, your stomach churning at the taste, but you obey, knowing better than to displease him.

"That's it," Thomas praises again, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and lust. He tucks himself back into his pants, his cock only semi-hard now.

You look down at your chest, at his release on your skin, and then at his shiny dress shoes, now with cum splattered on them too. You feel a wave of shame wash over you, your cheeks burning with humiliation.

"I... I’m sorry," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be Love. You did well," he says as you still sat on the plush carpet, your knees aching from the hard floor, your mouth still tasting like him. "But I do need you to clean up the mess you made, eh," he then ads, as if you had been careless, rather than struggling to perform a task you had never done before. 

"Yes, sir," you whisper, your voice trembling as you reached up to wipe off the cum from your chest first with your bare hand and Thomas watches you, his expression unreadable. 

"Lick it off your hand, go on," he commands, and you hesitate for a moment before bringing your hand to your mouth and licking off his cum, your stomach again. 

"That's a good girl,” he says, his voice a low purr. "Now, clean my shoe with your tongue."

You look down at the shiny leather and a wave of humiliation washes over you. But you know better than to disobey, so you lean forward, extending your tongue, and begin to lick the cum off his shoe.

Thomas watches you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Lick every last drop."

You continue, your cheeks burning with shame, your mouth tasting like him, feeling like you are nothing more than a slave to his desires.

The taste of him is bitter and salty, a stark reminder of what you are to him, of the role you must play in his life.

As you finish cleaning his shoe, you sit back on your heels, your body shaking with exhaustion and humiliation. Thomas watches you, his eyes roaming your body, assessing you like a piece of art.

Thomas looks down at you, his expression softening. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "Now, go clean yourself up and get some rest, eh?" he says, his voice suddenly softer, as he helps you to your feet.

You nod, your body still shaking slightly from the ordeal. He strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle, almost comforting.

"You did well tonight, Love. Very well," he praises you once more and, somehow, this made you proud. 

You make your way back to your room, your body aching and your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You strip off your clothes, your body still sticky from his seed, and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you.

You scrub yourself clean, trying to wash away the taste and smell of him, but it lingers, a constant reminder of what just happened.

Your body aches, and your knees are bruised from the hard floor.

You step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a thick, plush robe that hangs on the back of the door but, even despite the humiliation you feel, there is something else that lingers, something that you can't quite put your finger on. A sense of accomplishment perhaps, or maybe it's just the exhaustion that weighs heavily on your body.

You collapse onto the bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief to your tender skin. You pull the covers up, burying yourself in the softness, trying to block out the memories of the night. But sleep eludes you, your mind racing with thoughts of Thomas and the things he made you do.

You toss and turn, the events of the night replaying in your head like a gruesome movie. The way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he smelled. The way he made you feel. A mix of fear, humiliation, and whatever else this was. Desire or arousal perhaps?

You were confused and conflicted by the mix of emotions swirling within you but, after a little while, you finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep, your dreams haunted by the events of the night.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09 @hagarsays @kikimurphys @strangeobsessed

[darkbluekies]

Cannot take what was never meant to leave

Yandere!king OC x fem!fairy!reader

Summary: Edmund walks out in the forest and finds something he never seen before: a tree fairy. Upon learning that he can't take her as long as her tree is there, he does the only thing he can think of.

Warnings: Edmund is a bit more insane than usual, reader is in a lot of pain, kidnapping, basically killing, use of an ax

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Erutan's song "The Willow Maid"!! I have absolutely loved that song for ages, and after seeing PurestarMedia's music video of it on YouTube, I had to write something!! Edmund felt like the perfect fit for it!!

Summer is almost over. He can tell by a slight shift in the winds that colder times are approaching, even though barely any of the trees show any signs of autumn. He can't wait until he can bring out his thicker coat. He likes the colors of it much more.

Ten men he brought with him on his hunt for rabbits. They've decided to go into another part of the forest in hopes of finding anything.

Suddenly. A sound.

“Shh!” Edmund hushes and holds up a hand, signaling the others to stop.

He listens closely. It sounds like humming. It's a tune he has never heard before, but one that feels weirdly familiar — as if he has heard it in a dream or past life.

Quietly, they follow the sound until they reach a field full of small, white flowers. In the middle of the white field stands a tree with dark leaves. A scene taken straight out of one of the paintings hanging on the castle walls. Edmund notices someone sitting by the foot of the tree, resting among the roots. A woman?

The group of men creep closer. The woman is lying on the tree roots, leaning her head against the tree trunk, having a root under her knees for support. She's dressed in a long, white gown reminding Edmund of the small flowers. On her head rests a flower crown made of the very flowers. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth hums. 

A fairy.

One of Edmund’s men steps onto a branch on the floor, which snaps in half and pulls the fairy out of her thoughts. Her eyes snap open, revealing them to be deep and dark — and full of fear. She shoots up from her root and stumbles backwards, hiding behind her tree.

“Who are you?” she asks quickly. “What do you want?”

“You are a fairy”, Edmund says, still in disbelief.

“Yes … what do you want?”

“Have you seen any rabbits around here?”

She peeks out from behind the tree.

“What do you want them?” she asks and seems to notice the rifles hanging over their shoulders. “I'm not assisting you in killing harmless creatures.”

Edmund meets her dark eyes. They're hypnotic.

“You humans are despicable sometimes”, she says. “Killing innocent creatures who haven't done anything to you.”

“If I wouldn't, someone else would — man or animal.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Yeah, we should move on. We have rabbits to hunt.”

He can feel her eyes burn through his back as he walks back over the field of white flowers. He hopes that she will watch him until he disappears into the forest.

“Did you have a good hunt, your majesty?” his secretary asks as Edmund and his ten men come back to the castle.

“Caught a few rabbits”, he answers and smiles, thinking of the memory. “We encountered a fairy.”

They start to walk inside. 

“A fairy?” the secretary asks and holds the door into the castle open for the young king.

“What do you know about fairies?” Edmund asks. 

They walk down the large hall.

“I know that, like humans, there are different types of fairies”, the secretary says. “You found her in the woods, you said?”

Edmund nods. 

“She’s probably a tree fairy”, the secretary continues. 

“Yeah, she was sitting by a tree … almost like it was holding her”, Edmund says, furrowing his dark brows as he thinks about it. 

He holds out his arms as if he was carrying a woman, imagining her knees bending over his right arm and her back supported by his left … her head resting on his shoulder — like she had done to the tree bark. 

They walk into Edmund’s office, closing the door behind them. 

“What do you know about tree fairies?” Edmund asks and throws himself in his chair. 

“I know that they live in the woods and that they are connected to a particular tree. They feed off of sap from the tree and flower nectar — and if their tree bears fruit they eat that too.”

“What happens if they eat something else? Like meat? Or potatoes?”

“I don’t know, your majesty.”

“Would it kill them, do you think?”

“Perhaps. What I do know kills a tree fairy is killing their tree.”

Edmund looks up at him. “What?” 

“Their life source is connected to their tree. They live as long as their tree does.”

“So you’re saying that a fairy can become hundreds of years? Thousands even?”

“Could be.”

“Interesting.” He sighs and throws his head back. “You should have seen that thing. Before she noticed us she looked so … peaceful. She was resting and humming a tune. When she realized that we were there she flew up and hid behind her tree. All of that seemed so young and naive. Her tree wasn’t that large either. I think I’ve found myself a young fairy.”

“The fairy seems to interest you.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a fairy. I didn’t believe that they actually existed. But now, I’ve found one. I think that I’m going to make her my wife.”

The next day, he returns with his ten men and his secretary, dressed in his autumn coat. On the way to the glade, Edmund picks a few flowers with the biggest nectars he can find, hoping that they will be a good enough gift. He is going to ask her to marry him. 

She is walking around the white flowers, picking up a few and putting them in her flower crown. She looks up as they come. This time she doesn’t look as startled, but there’s something wary in her eyes. 

She’s beautiful and delicate, there’s no denying. Edmund needs her. Every fiber of his body needs her. She needs to be his wife, to be the mother to his children. He refuses to leave without her. 

“What brings you back?” she asks as Edmund gets close enough, but doesn’t sound like she wants to know. 

He can tell that she wants to get back to her tree. She gives it quick glimpses and takes small steps back towards it. 

Edmund holds out the flowers towards her. She hesitates before taking them out of his hand. Her fingertips barely graces his skin. Her touch is humanlike, kind and delicate. 

“Thank you”, she says and smells them softly. 

He smiles. He wants nothing more than to hug her, to hold what belongs to him in his arms, but he has to ask the question first.

“I want you to marry me”, Edmund says. 

The fairy drops the flowers in shock. They disappear underneath the small, white ones. Edmund furrows his brows.

“Marry you?” the fairy repeats, shocked. “How could I possibly-? No, no, I shall not.”

Edmund stares at her, eyes darkening, unable to understand how anyone could turn down his proposal. Women would travel far and wide to hear those words come from his mouth, and this fairy — who does she think she is — doesn’t even think twice before rejecting him. It should crush him, but instead it has the opposite effect. He will not leave without his fairy. 

He looks over his shoulder, at his ten men. “Seize her.”

Just as the ten men are about to grab the fleeing girl, his secretary grabs his shoulder. 

“Your majesty, don’t”, he says quickly. “That won’t be possible. She can’t leave the glade.”

“What do you mean?” Edmund scoffs.

“She’s connected to that tree.” He nods towards the tree in the middle of the field. “She can’t leave it.”

Edmund glares at the tree. That damn tree. The woman runs through the flowers towards her tree, hugging it tightly. Edmund finds it humorous how she thinks a simple tree could protect her. He could do it a hundred times better, will do it a hundred times better. 

He sees how she sinks down by the tree, huddled up by the tree bark, crying. Soon, she will search for comfort in him, not a damn tree. 

“We can’t take her”, the secretary says. “I don’t know what would happen if we tried, but as long as that tree is there, we can’t remove her.”

Edmund doesn’t answer as he walks back into the forest. The ten men follow him. His secretary keeps a distance. Edmund feels like he could explode with anger. He had pictured himself leaving the forest with his new fiance hand in hand. But he will not give up. He will get his fairy. 

He returns a third time the next day. This time he’s by himself … and this time, he’s brought an ax. Determined to take her with him. She will be his wife. This time, he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He will not walk away empty handed. The thought consumes him as he marches through the forest, towards the glade. 

He can see her lying in the same spot he had seen her the first time. This time, she’s not humming. She opens her eyes as he gets nearer and jumps to her feet as her eyes fall on the sharp edge of the ax. 

“No!” she screams in pure panic. “No, what are you doing?! Don’t!”

Edmund lifts his hands and lands a blow on the bark, cutting away a piece. To his right, the fairy screams in agonizing pain and clutches her heart. He continues to hit the tree. The woman continues to scream. She cries in pain. 

It takes longer than he expects. He takes his eyes off the deep cut in the tree and turns them towards her. She’s lying between the roots, curled up with her hands pressed against her heart, crying and screaming. 

“Please stop!” she screams and sobs so that her entire body trembles. “Y-You’ll kill me! Please s-stop, please! I’m begging y-you!”

If he continues to hit the tree, she will die. 

Edmund will have to bring a piece of the tree with him and replant it in his castle’s garden so that it doesn’t die — so that she doesn’t die. He continues to chop. She continues to scream, cry and plead for him to stop. 

A loud creaking echoes through the air. He watches as the tree bends in half and falls. The fairy stumbles upon weak legs and hugs her fallen tree, sobbing. 

With the ax, Edmund manages to dig up root systems of the tree. He holds it in his left hand and grabs the fairy’s wrist tightly with his right. He yanks her up on her feet. 

“You belong to me now”, he says. 

She only sobs for an answer. She tries reaching out for her tree, but Edmund pulls her with him. She stumbles. He drags her into the forest. 

“Please …”, she sobs. “Please …”

He doesn’t know what she begs for. The tree is fallen, he can’t undo what he has done. 

“Please, I’m in so much pain”, she pants. 

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t have time for it. He has to get her to the castle, where he can lock her in, so that she can’t escape out to the forest again. 

He can feel her collapse. Edmund gasps and watches her lie lifeless on the ground. He shoves the tree roots in his pocket and hurries to check her pulse. She’s still living, for now. Edmund stresses to pick her up. Her limp body rests in his arms as he runs out of the forest, towards the castle. 

He runs into the castle yard, into the hallways and out to the garden. He lays the fairy down on the grass and hurried to dig a hole with his hands. Oh, how he hates the feeling of dirt under his nails. He can’t think about that now. 

He places the root in the hole and covers it with the soil. Edmund runs over to the fountain, cups his hands and fills it with water. He runs back and forth until enough water has been poured over it. He feels for a pulse on the fairy’s neck. There’s still a faint pulsation underneath his fingers. He removes his coat and places it on the ground beside the tree root before lifting the fairy onto it. He caresses her face. 

“You actually got her.”

He looks over his shoulder at his secretary. He stands there, looking at them in disbelief and horror. 

“Is she dead?” he asks. 

“No, not yet”, Edmund replies  breathlessly. “I brought a piece of the tree here and I have replanted it. She should survive. But we need flowers — lots of flowers. And anything else a fairy might eat. We need to nurture her back to life.”

“I’ll prepare some honey water, I think that should be drinkable.”

Edmund sits by the fairy, waiting patiently. 

Hours go by. She doesn’t move. Barely breathing. Edmund wonders if he she has fallen into some kind of limbo, where the tree is barely alive, and so is she. If the tree doesn’t survive, neither will she. He has to nurture both. 

He feeds the tree water and nutrient dense soil and tries to pour droplets of honey water into the fairy’s mouth. Sometimes she responds by swallowing softly, and sometimes let it drip out of her mouth. 

Hours turn to days. Days to weeks. As the tree slowly grows roots in Edmund’s soil and become stronger, so does the fairy. Edmund doubts that she will ever become as strong as she was before. The tree will never be in its full glory again, and neither will she. She can’t walk, her body is too weak to move more than a few minutes. He lets her rest by her short stub. When he can’t stay with her, he watches from afar, from one of the windows. She’s always curled up, hugging her stomach as if she’s got cramps. The poor thing never smiles anymore. 

He holds a glass of warm honey water in his hands as he walks out to the petty excuse of a tree. It'll take years to become as big as it originally was, but it will never be the original tree.

“Hi”, Edmund says softly and sits down beside the fairy, holding the cup to her dry lips.

She doesn't seem to care what she gets fed anymore. Maybe she hopes that it will kill her.

In a sense, Edmund has killed the fairy.

She drinks slowly.

“I don't know what to feed you when winter comes”, he says. “I have harvested a lot of nectar and sap, but I don't know how long that will be good for.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Edmund wipes it carefully.

“My fairy, don't worry”, he whispers reassuringly. “I will figure it out.”

He wishes that she could respond, but he hasn't heard her voice since that day she screams in pain — when he killed her.

He stands up, gives her forehead one last kiss before walking back inside. In the beginning, he used to have guards watch over the garden to make sure that she wouldn't run off, but he realized that as long as that tree is there, she isn't going anywhere.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── GARDEN PARTIES ♡

♡ pairing: dreamy milf!reader x rafe

♡ summary: an interaction at your friend’s party causes something to awaken in you.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, masturbation (f&m) MDNI!

♡ author's note: how we feeling about dreamy milf!! send me asks abt her.

DREAMY MILF MASTERLIST RAFE MASTERLIST

james always told you that even when he couldn't attend events you two were invited to, you always had to attend them, no matter if you were sick with a fever. that you had to be there to represent both of you as his wife, and that was how you ended up standing amongst a group of women at rose's stepson's 'welcome home' party, the only woman without their husband present.

"oh, oliver surprised me last night with a getaway, we're going to be spending the two weeks laying on a beach in fiji. and we agreed, no phones.." one of the women exclaimed, causing the group around to let out a simultaneous 'aww!' along with compliments about her husband, while you did your best to feign the friendliest smile you could muster up. "you went to fiji, didn't you? i saw your posts online." the woman turned to you, unknowingly twisting the knife in your chest.

"oh, yes." you cleared your throat, "james was too busy with work, though, so i went with my friend gabrielle. it was gorgeous, i'm sure you two will have the best time." "oh, james is such a hard worker! you're a lucky woman." tina, the woman standing next to you gushed, placing her hand on your shoulder, your throat drying up at her words. "yes. he's a great man." you said, trying to cover up the strain by finishing your champagne, "excuse me ladies." you smiled sweetly at them, starting to walk away, the circle of women closing up once again as soon as you were gone.

you placed the empty champagne flute on one of the tables, no one noticing the way you rounded the corner behind the cameron residence, finally finding a place that wasn't gushing with people. your back hit the cold wall and you closed your eyes, lifting your chin up and taking in a deep breath, your right hand going to fidget with the engagement ring and wedding band on your ring finger, your head filling with all the comments of how others saw you and your husband.

"oh, he's such a thoughtful husband!" "he's such a hard worker!" "i swear, he's spoiling you." "you two are so adorable together!" "you must be so happy."

"didn't expect to find you here."

you were startled out of your thoughts by statement a deep voice let out next to you, and when you opened your eyes and looked to the source of it, a young man was standing there, his buzzed head leaning against the wooden wall, a cocky grin on his face. he looked familiar, but you couldn't quite place a name to the face.

"i'm... i'm sorry, do i know you?" you asked, and the boy tutted his lips, his hand going to his heart, feigning offence, "i'm wounded, mrs. kingston. you come to the welcoming party of someone you can't even remember. such a cruel woman."

the boy's words caused a proverbial lightbulb to turn bright over your head, your eyes widening slightly, the boy clearly catching your moment of realization, his grin widening slightly. "you're ward's son... rafe...?" "one and only." "sorry." you cleared your throat, "you look very different..."

"you don't." rafe's eyes trailed up and down your figure, the younger boy shamelessly checking you out as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, his icy eyes on you making you much too aware of yourself. "welcome back, rafe." you cleared your throat.

"thank you, mrs. kingston. tell me, where's mr. kingston?" "oh, james couldn't make it." you said, feigning the best smile you could, the rings on your finger feeling as if they were suffocating you, "he had work. but he told me to say that he sends his best." "mmhm. i'm sure. he's fucking insane."

"excuse me?" you furrowed your brows, your tone starting to turn defensive, "i'm just saying." the boy shrugged, "if i was married to someone as hot as you, i'd rather hang myself than make you go to one of these things alone." his words made you clench your jaw in slight irritation, your eyes narrowing, "what makes you think he's making me do anything?" "the fact that you're sulking here instead of getting day drunk off of champagne with the real hagwives of kildare island."

the unexpected comment made you let out a soft snort as you looked away from him, "you've got jokes." "well, it's not a joke that i knew your little husband wouldn't treat you right as soon as you married him." you rolled your eyes, "you don't know me."

"what, you telling me he makes you happy? that you came here alone 'just cause'?" rafe took a few steps closer to you, eyeing you up, "i would treat you a lot better."

"i bet you're not even old enough to drink legally." "and i bet i fuck better than that husband of yours who needs little blue pills to even get his dick to work. that is, if he even puts in that little of an effort."

your eyes widened at the boy's words; you felt like slapping him. you should slap him. but all you can do is look up into his icy eyes, looking down at you as if calculating how many seconds it'd take him to have you with your back against the wall.

"you don't gotta answer. your silence tells me enough." rafe's hand trailed down a loose strand of hair, "does he even touch you anymore?" his long fingers let go of the strand of hair, starting to trail down your neck, the coldness of his skin causing you to suspend your breathing. "i bet he doesn't." rafe's other hand went to your waist, and your brain was screaming at you to take his hands off of you and to slap him across the face, even if it would've put you on ward and rose's bad side, but for some reason, you were frozen.

"i bet..." rafe's hand trailed back up your neck until his large hand was cupping your jaw, your lips slightly parting in anticipation, his thumb going to rest on your lower lip, pulling it down slightly, "you can't even remember the last time he kissed you..."

his eyes flitted from your eyes down to your lips, trapping his own lower lip between his teeth, his hand squeezing your waist, all the oxygen somehow disappearing from your lungs, your eyes closing in anticipation of him leaning forward, bringing his lips to yours...

only for the boy to let out a chuckle, pulling both his hands off your body. you opened your eyes, clearing your throat, feeling your face starting to warm up in embarrassment. rafe looked you up and down one more time before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

"i'll see you around, mrs. kingston." rafe pushed himself off the wall, leaving you there in your flustered state.

the buzzing, bullet-shaped toy between your legs was doing nothing to relieve the ache in your abdomen, your nipples painfully pebbled against your nightgown as your clit throbbed against the vibrator.

usually, you'd think about some character you'd seen on tv you found attractive, but tonight, you couldn't help but think about the boy from earlier. couldn't help but think about how it'd feel to run your hand over his buzzed hair, to have the long fingers that trailed your skin, stuffing into you, curling inside of you...

for some reason, the boy was able to read you perfectly, able to know the fact that your husband didn't touch you, didn't kiss you anymore, making you wonder if he was aware that such a simple interaction made you ache.

what you didn't know was that the boy living in the house next to yours had your instagram open, rafe's eyes on one of the several bikini pictures you'd posted, his free hand jerking his cock, imagining what it'd be like to sink himself into you...

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14

[drewswife]

summary — spencer being snappy then u found out he relapse

warnings — angst, you and spencer are in a relationship

a/n — first attempt at angst lmk how i did

The quiet hum of the BAU bullpen was a familiar comfort, usually. Today, it felt like a buzzing tension, a prelude to a storm. You glanced across the room at Spencer, hunched over a stack of files, his brow furrowed deeper than usual.

He’d been like this for weeks – distant, sharp, prone to snapping at the smallest things. It wasn't the Spencer you knew, the one who’d patiently explain quantum mechanics at 3 AM or bring you obscure books because he thought you’d find them interesting.

This Spencer was a stranger, wrapped in a shroud of irritability.

"Hey," you ventured, approaching his desk, a mug of his favorite tea in your hand. "Thought you might want this."

He didn't look up. "I'm busy." His voice was clipped, a stark contrast to the soft tone he usually reserved for you.

You placed the mug gently beside his elbow. "I know. Just, you seem stressed. Is everything okay?"

He finally lifted his head, his eyes, usually so warm and intelligent, were cold, almost vacant. "Everything's fine. Just a lot of paperwork. Can you just… let me work?"

The words stung, a sharp jab to your heart. You retreated, the unspoken question hanging in the air: What happened to us?

The following days were a blur of similar encounters. Every attempt you made to bridge the growing chasm between you was met with a wall of his carefully constructed indifference.

He’d pick fights over trivial matters, withdraw into himself, and sometimes, you’d catch him staring into space, a haunted look in his eyes before he’d quickly compose himself.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case, the team decided to unwind at a local bar.

Spencer, surprisingly, agreed to come, but he kept to himself, nursing a soda, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

You watched him from across the table, your heart aching. Hotch, ever observant, caught your eye and gave a subtle shake of his head, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in Spencer.

As the night wore on, and the laughter around you grew louder, Spencer excused himself, mumbling something about needing fresh air.

You followed him out a few minutes later, concern gnawing at you. You found him leaning against the brick wall of the building, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed.

"Spencer?"

He flinched, as if he hadn't heard you approach. "Go back inside."

"No," you said, stepping closer. "What's going on? You've been so… different. You're hurting, I can see it. Please, talk to me."

He pushed himself off the wall, turning to face you, and for the first time in weeks, you saw a crack in his armor. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw was clenched. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do," you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. "Because I love you, Spencer. And whatever it is, we can face it together."

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "Together? That's rich." He started to walk away, but you grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Don't you dare walk away from me," you said, your voice fierce, tears welling in your eyes. "Not when I know something is wrong."

He spun around, his voice raw, laced with a pain that ripped through you. "You want to know what's wrong? Fine. You want to know why I've been a complete and utter bastard to you? Because I relapsed, okay? I relapsed. A month ago. And I couldn't bear for you to see me like this, to see me fall apart again."

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. Relapsed. The word echoed in your mind, a cruel, impossible sound.

You remembered the haunted look in his eyes, the irritability, the distance. It all clicked into place, a horrifying mosaic of despair.

Your grip on his arm loosened, and he pulled away, running a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I tried to hide it I tried to push you away so you wouldn't have to go through this with me again. I didn't want you to see me weak."

Tears streamed down your face, hot and fast. Not tears of anger, but of profound sadness, for him, for the pain he'd been carrying alone.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He was stiff at first, but then, slowly, he melted into your embrace, his body trembling.

"You're not weak, Spencer," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, burying your face in his shoulder. "You're not weak for struggling. And you don't have to do this alone. Ever."

He held you tighter, his grip almost desperate, and you felt the dampness of tears against your skin. His own tears. "I just… I messed up. I messed up so bad."

"No," you insisted, pulling back slightly to look into his tear-filled eyes. "You didn't mess up. You stumbled. And we'll get through this, just like we always do. We'll get you the help you need. We'll fight this together."

You wiped his tears with your thumb, your heart breaking and mending all at once.

The snappiness, the coldness, it was all a shield, a desperate attempt to protect you from his pain. And now that the truth was out, the storm had finally broken, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable honesty.

You knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, He was your Spencer, broken and beautiful, and you would never let him fall alone.

🏷️,@sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics s @starrii-sturns