#he was basically that same slur himself

[atdhpgirl]

When a Muggle-born girl from Hogwarts is more reliable than Google and other search engines:

[eccentricallygothic]

When I want to read dark fics, your writing just hits. One of my guilty pleasures recently has been dark!winter soldier stuff and I was hoping you could write one.

If you can, can you make it where Bucky is still the Winter Soldier and finds himself completely enamored with the reader. He stalks her briefly and decides he has to have her. So where it gets dark is mean, brooding soldier kidnaps reader and makes her his housewife. (I’d like to think that some of Bucky’s 40ness is still there along with some good old fashion 50s idealization where he basically molds her into being his perfect little housewife.)

He can still be with hydra or not but this thought has been buzzing around in my head recently and I personally am not good at writing dark fics.

Um, hell yes I can! Also, not me having almost exactly the same idea (it was in my drafts and I totally merged it with yours). Sorry for being late uni kicks my butt hard TT. Also, please note that this is a headcanon kind of situation type deal but apparently there's a limit to how many bullets you can put per post so that's why it looks the way it does! Hope you like it still. Unedited ❤️

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), stalking, kidnapping, housewife kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, misogyny, domestic discipline, breeding kink (dash), age gap (I mean, man is over a century old). Contains mature content. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 

You are absolutely shit faced as you stumble out the backdoor of the club with two of your girlfriends tangled around each arm. 

You are all giggling, stumbling and slurring out curses, trying to shush each other as you trudge your forms to your apartment complex that is close by because driving is obviously out of question now. 

Were it not for your overly intoxicated state, you would have totally noticed the dark silhouette that stills in the dark alley facing the backdoor. 

The man masked in the darkness tilts his head to the side as he tries to read your party, having gotten caught off guard by the sudden bursting open of the door. 

One of your friends stagger in his direction and he moves back, his labored breaths warm in his mask, watching the girl as she retches her guts out.

Silence follows the wheezes and gags of the girl.

Then there is a sound– a melody in the air.

Soldat feels something stir within himself.

Something his masters did their best to suppress. 

Not that they would be doing any more of that. 

They needed to be alive to do something like that ever again.

His eyebrows furrow as he scans your group for the source of the sound; you. 

You are laughing.

At your friend that is throwing up.

Hands clutching your hurting sides, eyes scrunched, head thrown back, flushed and sweaty face vibrant under the bright moonlight as your hair frames it in the most perfect way possible. 

A shaky breath escapes the man covered in tears and blood of his captors and oppressors.  

His eyes scan your form. 

Beautiful. 

His metal hand clenches into a fist and he makes his resolve almost instantly;

Mine.

Soldat cannot recall much of his past except for a few things like his name.

But he knows that it has been a long, long time. 

And it's time to go home.

But a home is not walls and concrete. 

It is the people that live in it. 

His head is a mess as he scales a wall and follows you to your building, skipping from roof to roof effortlessly with a careful eye on your form.

James had finally broken free against hydra yesterday morning while they were experimenting something more brutal. 

And during the following hours, all various leaders that made the organization what it was were dead.

For what is a structure without its pillars?

He had plundered them single handedly. 

And now he was a slave no more.

James would live, and he would take.

Just as had been taken from him.

You woke up the next morning, sprawled across your bed.

As you winced and sat up, you could swear you had knocked out on the couch last night. 

But since you couldn't teleport, it was probably just a gap in your memory.

Right?

The second sign was the painkillers and water next to you on the bedside table.

The third was the window of your room that was open wide.

But you shook your head as you were behind on your schedule for the day and got on with your busy university student life. 

You should have taken notice of the signs. 

How things would always somehow work out when you were struggling with some sort of a problem. 

Regardless of whatever type of an issue it was. 

Your friends joked about it as Divine Providence. 

And Divine it was, you lived to learn. 

When it happened, it wasn't after a dramatic chase or anything. 

You had simply woken up in a room you had never seen before, tucked in the bed like it had been yours for ages.

What even happened? 

You had finished an assignment before heading to bed for an early class the next morning. 

But now you were timidly surveying the room, more and more panic filling you by the passing second. 

The house is beautiful and bright outside the dark room you had woken up in, big glass windows facing tall trees and various other type of greenery outside. 

A loud gasp escaped you when you were somewhere in the middle of the living room.

You turned around to find a huge and by that you mean, giant man standing a few steps away from you.

You could swear he wasn't there a minute ago.

But now he is towering over you, head tilted to the side as if interacting with something from an outer planet, eyes scanning your form slowly. 

As if he's savouring the sight of you in a…

Your blood runs cold as you look down to realize that you are dressed in a white sundress with yellow and red flowers printed on it.

Your eyes widen in horror.

Because you had been wearing your PJs last night–

Or, rather, the last time you were awake.

Before you can say anything, he extends a hand towards you invitingly, nodding sideways to what seems to be the kitchen. 

Something in his hand glints in the sunlight coming from the windows.

It is when your panicked vision realizes that the hand and the whole arm is made up of metal, your body backs away.

With your mouth agape, you demand shakily.

"Who the hell are you?" 

He sighs. 

"What the hell is this place? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?!"

The man's features scrunch in disapproval. 

Your choice of words is much unappreciated.

"Good little wives don't ask questions." 

In his angry, fried and entitled delusional mind you are as much in love with him as he is.

Otherwise, why would you just accept all the favours he did for you during all these months he was building a perfect home for the both of you and your future children?

He takes a step in your direction and you leap back.

After a short game of cat and mouse, you are trapped against the glass window.

He is too close. 

There is a heavy looking vase on the table next to you.

The shock on his face is evident.

He hadn't expected you, his wife, such a small and innocent girl to disrespect her husband like this. 

You whimper in horror when he doesn't budge against the decoration piece exploding against his brow bone.

James' eyes narrow as he leans in, a thick stream of blood running down the hurt side of his face.

"Bad girl" and you take off without a second thought.

Thankfully, the door is straight ahead and surprisingly unlocked.

You run without looking back. 

The man is not chasing you like you expected. 

But you don't want to stick around and find out why. 

Though the reason is soon revealed when you race through the little garden and out of the fence door. 

You are looking behind you and at the house so it is not until you are a good distance away from it do you turn your head to look ahead. 

Icy horror pierces its way down your spine.

Sand and palm trees dominate your vision as far as you can see where you are and your right side.

A devastatingly vast ocean washes the shore you are running on from the left side.

That doesn't stop you until your body gives up after a few minutes. 

You ran into the jungle for some cover.

Sobs and tears burst out of you as you collapse on a blanket of leaves.

Your body is weak and confused. 

Many hours pass.

You wander and starve.

You hide and shake.

You tip toe and give up.

There are wild animals all around you.

You can hear them.

It's terrifying. 

So terrifying that when you hear the stranger's voice some time after dusk, you are almost glad.

Are you done? His bright blue eyes that you can make out even in the dim light ask you silently. 

"How'd you even find me?" You were sure you had run a good couple miles.

He refuses to respond until you place your shaking hand in his awaiting metal one. 

"I can smell you" his accent is almost foreign as he pulls you up, frowning at your hurt bare feet. 

It took you hours to get to where you were but it only takes James a few minutes to get you back home. 

"Before I clean you up, I need to punish you." You are baffled. "Good wives don't run away from their husbands." 

He doesn't listen to any of your protests and reason that day or ever.

"Little girls don't know what is right for them. Only their husbands can decide that." 

He thoroughly washes you that night after giving you the worst spanking, paying no mind to your begging and crying.

You are sniffling as you sit on the bathroom counter wrapped up in a towel an hour later, your sore ass buzzing under you.

Your captor is kneeling in front of you as he tends to your hurt feet. 

He tells you your rules as he does so.

"First, you are to always obey me no matter what. Second, your body belongs to me as I am your husband, so you should not try to deny me of it because it will never end well for you. Third, you will respect me or you will live to learn to do so. Four, you will do your chores like a good wife and fulfill your wifely responsibilities. Five, you are to always accept your punishments and thank me for disciplining you after I am through with you, should you choose to break a rule or misbehave. Six, you will not indulge in any activity that can potentially corrupt your little mind. Seven, you will speak with respect and never out of turn. Eight, you are to always greet me when you wake up or if I have been gone a while. Nine, you can try to run. I will never stop you. But when you return home after failing, you will take your punishment obediently. Ten, you must never touch yourself. You are mine and mine alone." 

Since the spanking is still fresh on your skin you panic a little and fear forgetting them.

But you find them pasted on the fridge the following morning because he knew you were too dumb to remember them.

A few days pass before you explode about not being his wife and call him crazy.

"You weren't saying that when I did you all those favours." 

Horror dawns upon you as you realize that it was him all along.

You don't give up easily, though.

You try to run more times than you can keep count.

Every direction, every plan and every map you make proves to be useless.

Because the last time you do so, you realize that you are on a fucking island.

And since there is a dock near the house with the pantry never running low on groceries, James has a means of transport hidden somewhere is no mystery. 

But you don't know when he does it. 

So far you haven't been able to figure out a pattern. 

Either he was right about you being dumb or your captor was really good at staying one step ahead of you.

Anyways, you have no choice but to return to him crushed and sobbing as always.

He is reading something when you collapse between his legs; ready to accept your punishment as you have learnt that hiding and denying only makes it worse. 

James isn't so bad if you follow his rules. 

He is just a kidnapper and a misogynist with dangerous reflexes. 

His face is smug as he puts the book away. You have noticed that he is not as stiff and troubled as he used to be when you first woke up here months ago at this point. 

"How was it, doll?" He loves to hear you talk about it as he bruises your ass. "Any luck?" 

Today, though, something different happens.

You don't know if it's resignation and surrender finally settling in or if you have actually started to like this life.

How James gives you a nod of approval and pats your head rewardingly whenever you follow all your rules without any trouble.

The way he lets you stay up past your bed time (yes you have one because good wives are healthy for their husbands) to read a book or watch a movie.

If you were extra good and talked to him (though he was a man of a few words) and helped him out with a little farming thing he had going on in the backyard/patio, he would even let you sleep in the following morning. 

No stress or pulling yourself through classes and tight budgets.

Just being what he considered good and then whatever you would mention briefly would be in the house within the next few days.

When he is done punishing you, you thank him and apologize according to routine. But then you hug him.

You tell yourself it is due to the sad reality that your torment is your comfort.

Has to be.

You have no choice.

And then something unexpected happens in the course of the next few days. 

While trying to make the best out of this situation, you start to notice the little things, quirks and rituals, habits and mannerisms of this man. 

How he doesn't say anything if he doesn't like a certain ingredient or condiment in something you cooked but pushes it aside to use as compost later.

The way he holds you extra tight some times when he mutters a foreign language in his sleep. 

How he stares at the scary metal arm after a long day while waiting for you to finish up dinner.

Or the way he struggles to hold himself back whenever you are in a close proximity to him because you cried once he crept his hand up your ass in a sexual way. 

You don't get him sometimes.

His morals are as mysterious as him. 

Because he kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife in a '40's way, strips you to spank and humiliate you during punishments, then bathes and comforts you in his own way of silently holding you against his chest in his arms until you calm down.

Your tears don't effect him. 

But then he refuses to touch you sexually after the one time he tried.

It takes you a while to make the most peace that you can with James, but it happens eventually because you don't have a choice.  

The loneliness starts to drive you mad otherwise.

You are helping him with his farming one day when you collapse.

James isn't happy to find out that you haven't had any of your daily water intake for the day. 

After he is sure you are hydrated, it is punishment time because caring for yourself is also a rule you are supposed to never break.

Your ass is red and seething by the time he's done. Everything is pretty much routine except that you don't sit up to apologize and maybe hug him like usual.

Not even when he pats your ass to signal that he's done.

"H- Hubby?" You sniffle as you use the endearment.

It had been a proud discovery of yours.

James always gave in a little whenever you used it.

"Yes, little mouse?" You bite your lips as your thighs tremble.

Fuck.

"Y- You say we are husband and wife…"

"What about it?"

You bite your lip as you push your ass out and towards him, letting your legs part.

"Then why don't we act like it?" James is good at concealing his emotions and showing restraint.

But he can't help the way his cock hardens at the sight your pretty red thighs reveal to him.

Your perfect pussy is glistening with your creamy arousal, the entrance of your vagina blinking to indicate its need to be filled.

Fuck. 

Though James starts off small and slow with his fingers rubbing your cunt, the night ends with him balls deep into your pussy with his length rearranging your organs.

Whatever was left of you to own for him, he does so after that night.

You cannot go on for long without having some sort of physical proximity to him.

The sex is wild and it's amazing with his stamina. 

It is also instrumental in bringing you two closer than ever. 

James opens up to you slowly, but only when you ask about it.

You had done so in the past as well. 

But since it's genuine curiosity now, he feels comfortable telling you all about it.

It is a lot for you to take in and you almost don't believe him until he shows you some of his belongings from his time.

Things drift on as smoothly for a while as the waves outside your house.

And then comes the ultimate test. 

Which decides the course of your future with him.

He is still asleep one morning when you wake up.

It isn't a usual occurrence. 

But you had introduced him to comics lately and he had been obsessed with them despite claiming that they were too childish and unrealistic. 

While he had a metal arm himself…

You adjust the quilt before getting ready for the day and heading out to make breakfast. 

It is when you realize in panic that there aren't any apples left even though James had asked you to make a grocery list (that started when he started trusting you more) and you had assured him that you had enough apples for a while.

"I am gonna get the hairbrush today, I swear to God!" You mutter to yourself as you rush through the house like a headless chicken. 

Thankfully, your garden had an apple tree so you could save yourself from a breakfast spanking at the very least.

But something standing next to the dock catches your attention before you can the apples you try to budge free from their branches.

A motorboat. 

Before you can decide what you think of it, you are standing next to it on the dock.

It has fuel and a map. The key is in the ignition.

You narrow your eyes and feel your head splitting. 

A lot goes through your mind.

Flashbacks play before your eyes.

It is almost a full circle moment. 

And then you are standing in front of James who is seated on a stool next to the kitchen counter you use for dining. 

His head is lowered as he sips on his coffee and stabs at the breakfast you prepared with a fork.

"Hubby?" Your captor freezes before he slowly looks up at you. 

The blue of his eyes is troubled. He is in disbelief. As though he wasn't expecting you to be standing here.

"There is a boat outside. Do you think someone could be–" 

"You didn't leave." His voice is heavy. 

"What kind of a wife leaves her home?"

You two just stare at each other for a while. 

No words exchanged.

Then, for the first time ever, James gets up and hurriedly closes the distance between you two, enveloping you in his arms before pushing you against the wall behind you.

"I felt so angry and wronged that I thought I could take anything because I deserved it after everything that happened to me but… I love you too much, mouse."

He has never spoken this earnestly before.

"I just realized that I do too."

James kisses you passionately before you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes blissfully. 

He tightens his own arms around you gladly.

He would have hated to end up back on square one with you had you chosen to try and escape. 

The boat would have blown up a small fuse that would have been loud enough for his enhanced hearing if someone– you, were to turn the keys in the ignition.

Yes, he wasn't expecting you to be back but only too soon.

It was a test and you passed. 

As always, James stuck to his ways and rewarded you for being such a good wife. 

By giving you a ring, a new wardrobe and a baby that was the first of many to come.

.

What do you think hAH-

[beomiracles]

hiii I’ve never requested before but your writing is tew good ! I was wondering if u could do idol beomgyu x friend Idol reader where basically because of hectic schedules their friendship relies a lot on calling, like any other time reader is practicing intense choreography while gyu is yapping through her AirPods. Reader takes a small break to catch her breath when she realises beomgyu has fallen silent and she can hear him touching himself 😵‍💫

⌞𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔? 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄?⌝

DREAM RECALL When you catch an almost whine-like sound slipping past his lips your mind finally pieces together what was happening. — Your best friend was touching himself to your voice.

wc -> 2k

pairings idol!beomgyu x idol!afab!reader warnings masturbation, perv!beomgyu, tiny bit of nipple play, body descriptions (like I said beomgyu is a perv in this)

#serene adds ✎ this effectively brought me out of my writing slump, ily <3 and wdym you've never requested before??? your ideas are genius !

“And then I told him: no, sorry I’m not interested.” The sound of your sneakers gliding against the wooden floor echoes out, making a squeaking noise. You huff out a short breath before continuing, “right, so I clearly stated no, but for some reason he kept returning to our table. And every single time he asked the same question, can you believe it?” You exclaim, swinging your leg around your body in one swift motion as you spun around on the spot. 

Beomgyu’s chuckle fills the small pods in your ears and you can hear him shift somewhere in the background. “Can you blame the poor guy?” He wonders and you catch him unplug his phone from its charger, moving around as he settles back onto his bed. “I mean, he must think you were real’ pretty to come up like that, most guys would be too shy to even approach.” 

Your lips twitch into a faint grin, “really?” — “Would you approach me? I mean if you didn’t know me already?” Beomgyu remains silent for a moment, you can’t hear anything besides his quiet breaths and you frown. “Yeah, probably.” He finally states and for some reason you felt your stomach flutter. “Wait, really?” You wonder, and Beomgyu sighs on the other line, “yeah sure, you’re a pretty girl.” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you suppress the smile threatening to bloom on your face as you distract yourself by repeating the choreography once more. “I’ll keep that in mind”, you drawl, hearing your friend groan in your airpods, “hey, that’s not fair!” — “Never said I was”, you giggle as you run a hand through your disheveled hair. “Alright, enough about me, let’s hear your weekend!” 

Beomgyu wastes no time in going on a small ramble, the distinctive sound of his chirping voice filling your ears. One thing about Beomgyu was that he could make a small story into a long one, so you expected him to be occupied for at least another twenty minutes as you focused on your dancing. And he was, he almost was. 

You nod along to his words, humming and “yeah”-ing when necessary as well as throwing in other sound effects to ensure that you were listening. Occasionally you would giggle as he made a terrible joke or just said something so outright stupid that all you could do was laugh. — You didn’t realize just how easy you had gone on yourself when you were previously talking, because not even ten minutes in you were already panting. 

He mumbles something, the sound coming out incoherent through your pods and you frown. “W-Wait say that again”, you huff, clearing your already dry throat as you spun around one more time. It takes a minute for him to repeat himself and you wondered if something had happened. But then his familiar voice rings out again, though his words sound almost slurred. You guessed he might be tired. 

The next part of the choreography shifted all your attention from your friend on the phone to the full body mirror in front of you. This time you were determined to get it right, and you did. Heaving a sigh, your shoulders slump as you rub the back of your neck in an exhausted manner. Dragging your legs over to the small bench by the wall, you flop down as you reach for your water bottle. 

It isn’t until you’ve chugged half it, wiping your lips with the back of your hand that you notice Beomgyu’s unusual silence. In fact he had completely stopped talking and for a brief moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. But just as you were about to call out for him, you hear him groan. — Your initial thought was that he must be in pain, a flash of worry shooting through you as you sat up straight, gripping the bottle tightly in your hands. 

But the sound is quickly followed by his familiar breathing pattern, the one you had grown so accustomed to as you spent your nights on the phone. Except, he sounded different, almost strained. He took deep and ragged breaths and you heard him shifting on his bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. When you catch an almost whine-like sound slipping past his lips your mind finally pieces together what was happening. 

Your best friend was touching himself to your voice. 

⋮

It wasn’t Beomgyu’s fault, or maybe it was a little. But he really couldn’t help himself. He hasn’t seen you for weeks, in fact he hasn’t seen anyone besides his band members for a good while. So to say that he was extremely lonely would be an understatement. It was never meant to go this far, really it wasn’t. But as soon as he got into bed, swiping to accept your call, he knew he was doomed. 

Beomgyu liked your voice, he thinks he might even love it. The way words so seamlessly rolled off your tongue, not to mention your subtle accent peeking through as you spoke. He could listen to you talk forever. — He knew that there was no sexual intent behind you groaning and panting, more than familiar with the excruciating physical labor of dancing, Beomgyu knew exactly how you felt. 

Yet he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched in his briefs as he listened to you pant, rambling on about your weekend as you did, your sentences coming out near breathless. He barely noticed the words “pretty girl” slipping past his lips, too caught up in not trying to grope himself as he tried to maintain whatever conversation was left. Neither does he notice your brief silence at his words, the small clearing of your throat before you hurriedly continue. — He bit his lip, his free hand curling into a fist as he willed it not to move down his stomach. It proved to be almost impossible with every passing second. — Then you disrupt his inner battle. 

“Alright, enough about me, let’s hear your weekend!” 

Well fuck. He needs to act fast, so he immediately goes on about his weekend, making up half of the events as he goes, anything to get you off his mind. It seems to work, you’re busying yourself with dancing, he can tell by the way your shoes echo off the floors. He thinks he might be able to actually talk his hard on down, gesturing wildly, even though you can’t see it, as he explains his Saturday evening. 

But no matter how hard he tries, the second he stops talking to draw in a sharp breath, all he hears is you. Your heavy breath or the small groans you emit as you grow frustrated with yourself. — It doesn’t help that he can perfectly envision you. The tight tank top you always wore, drenched in sweat as it sticks to your shiny skin. Your shorts, stopping halfway down your thighs, hugging your ass in a way that was almost criminal. 

Beomgyu knows that you take training seriously, he knows that you’re too caught up in whatever move you’re trying to perfect to even register half the things he’s saying. He thinks that he might be able to get away with it. — Placing his phone on his chest, Beomgyu lets his hands roam down his torso, hesitating if only for a moment as he reaches the hem of his sweats. But in the end he slips a hand past the fabric, easily wrapping his fingers around his hard cock, shuddering at his own touch. 

He tries to keep talking, to keep you distracted, but his words come out jagged and every move of his tongue feels forced. He moves faster, his grip tightening whilst his other hand tugs his pants down enough to where he can pull himself free from their confinement. He imagines your chest, coated in a sheer layer of glistening sweat, perked nipples peeking through the fabric of your top. He knows he should feel ashamed, he really does, yet he continues. 

“W-Wait say that again.” 

Your voice snaps him from his daze. Fuck, what did he say? He could barely remember, he bites his tongue, trying to steady his sporadic breathing. “I uh, went out for err d-drinks with Taehyun..” He hopes, prays, that you can’t tell how hoarse his voice has become. But you only hum, your attention seemingly elsewhere and he breathes out a sigh of relief. 

He flicks his thumb over his tip, biting back a harsh groan as he squirms on his bed, eyes screwing shut as his jaw slacks. Breathing through his nose, he attentively listens to the way you pant, your body moving along to a beat he couldn’t hear. — His free hand moves up his chest, twisting and pinching his nipples through his shirt, the double stimulation making him go cross eyed. 

Too caught up in the way you made him feel, he fails to notice that you’ve stopped dancing, your heavy breathing slowly simmering down as you slump against the small bench. He also fails to remember that he was supposed to be talking. Unable to hinder the quiet groan slipping from his lip as he nears his orgasm, he freezes for a second, but he tells himself you won’t be able to pick up on it. 

“Beomgyu?” 

His name on your lips almost has him spilling in his hand before realization kicks in. He freezes, head jerking up from his pillow as he immediately lets go of his throbbing cock. He swallows, “y-yeah?” — You’re quiet for a minute, and he thinks you might just have caught him red handed, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“I thought you had fallen asleep!” You retort, shuffling on the bench as you take another gulp of your water. The sound sent shockwaves through his body. “H-ah, no m’wide awake..” He cringes at how strained his voice sounds, uncomfortably shifting on the mattress as his cock slaps against his stomach. You hum against your phone, leaning back to rest against the cool wall behind you. 

When you let out a tired sigh, he can’t help but reach down to slowly fist himself once more. He’ll be quiet, he’ll hang up quickly and finish off without you ever having to find out. Beomgyu doesn’t know if it has to do with his sex clouded brain or his pending orgasm, but he could’ve sworn that every small sigh and groan you made sounded excessively sexual. 

“I should invest in a new top, this one’s far too small, sticks to me like glue”, you drawl and Beomgyu feels his breath hitch. “Huh, uh-huh”, he breathes, trying his hardest not to imagine the very same shirt you spoke of, wrapping around your tits so nicely. He shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut as he strokes himself harder. 

“Ugh, and my leg hurts”, you whine, moaning out in pain as you lean down to massage your calf. The sound makes his eyes snap open as he fumbles to press the ‘mute’ button on his phone. A string of curses ripping from his throat as he finishes all over himself, thighs trembling as he lets his head fall back against the soft pillow. The image of you still crystal clear in his mind. — Breathing out a small sigh of relief, he lets his eyes flutter closed, swallowing yet another groan as he reaches for his phone once more, only to have his heart practically stop in his chest. 

“Finally finished?” You drawl, a smug smirk pulling at your lips as you listen to his heavy panting, the sound filling your airpods. It was almost endearing how easy he had been to fool as you played along, and the way his breath hitched only made your unwavering confidence grow as you listened to the way realization hit him like a truck. 

Gulping, Beomgyu’s gaze flit down to his phone screen, eyes widening as they land on the still clear mute button. He knew then that he would never hear the end of this.

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[doestalker]

stab! | choso kamo

summary: there's a serial killer on the loose, you're invited to a halloween party, what could go wrong? spoiler: everything

ghostface!choso, smut, p in v, dub-con, little to no foreplay (sorry), dacryphilia, blood play, knife play, big dick choso, unprotected sex, a lilttle daddy kink, dirty talk, degradation,, choso puts the hot in psychotic basically.

word count: 2.7k

note: english's not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes :) ౨ৎ this is a collab with my dear friend @nudijsmos

also on ao3

it was a really, really bad decision - going out to a halloween party when there's a serial killer out there, waiting for his new unsuspecting victim? it was a no brainer.

yet, saying no to your friends was worse than that. and that's why you agreed on attending this party in the first place.

your eyes skimmed over the news playing on your tv. a new victim of the ghostface.

ghostface.

his name was all over the news, the papers, the internet, a ghostly white screaming mask, a black cloak and the thirst for blood.

he had already killed 5 people this month, the police says that he stalks them before he goes after them, just for the thrill of the hunt.

fucking psycopath.

you turned off the tv to finish your make up in peace, only the gentle hum of a lana del rey song playing through your speaker was keeping you company inside your dorm.

you were dressed as an angel. what a cliché.

it was the easiest costume you could think of only using your clothes, a white corset, white fishnets and the tiniest white shorts that didn't even cover up half of your ass cheeks. you just had to buy the halo and the wings to match.

-

the alcohol had already started affecting you. you felt like your brain was spinning inside of your skull as you made your way into the upstairs bathroom of the fraternity hosting the party. the first thing you did upon entering was splash your face with cold water from the faucet, then you looked at your reflection.

your make up had barely smudged - thank you, waterproof make up - and your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. what a mess, you thought.

the party wasn't so bad, but as you expected from the beginning, your friends ditched you the moment you stepped inside the house. so, there you were, alone, dressed in skimpy clothes, in a place full of drunk college students pretending not to fear the figure in black that could attack them any second. you rolled your eyes at the thought.

however, your critical thoughts about your peers were interrupted when someone entered the same bathroom where you were.

"hey, it's occupied," you said, words slurring, your tongue felt heavy on your mouth.

you looked at the intruder through the mirror's reflection. he was dressed as ghostface. you swallowed hard when you saw that white mask staring at you with his head tilted. it was clear that this was someone with a very twisted sense of humour who had dressed up as the killed from the news, even covered himself in fake blood. still, you couldn't help but feel intimidated by that ghostly figure.

"didn't you hear me? it's occupied," you said again. you were about to turn around when the figure grabbed your hair and forced you back into your original position.

you didn't know what to do, you were shocked at the audacity.

the figure shook his head.

"what? you wanna play psycho killer?" you asked with a crooked smile. maybe it was the remaining alcohol in your system, but you weren't against this roleplay.

the figure nodded.

"can i be the helpless victim?" you joked, your voice innocent and airy, looking at with your best doe eyes.

ghostface nodded again.

his hand, still holding your hair, exerted force until you were bent over the counter, your arched back lifting your half-naked ass higher, the smooth white fabric barely covering it making the masked man loose his composure.

the cold air in the room clashing with your bare skin as he got rid of the minimal clothing covering you, drawing a series of gasps from your trembling throat that sounded like music to the mysterious entity controlling you at its whim. lust filled the air, and both of your breaths were connected by the uncontrollable desire within you about what could happen next. how rough would it be, what would the next move be? despite the fear building up inside your stomach, the wet heat running down your thighs encouraged you to continue.

the tearing sound of your fishnets made you shudder, and the cold touch of his blade sent shivers down your spine. the bastard sliced your underwear. now the only thing protecting your bare pussy from his growing bulge was the fabric of his robe and his jeans. his bulge rubbed slowly against you, so slow it was torturous. the friction sending flashes of pleasure to your lower belly. you didn't want him to stop; his rhythm was lascivious enough to make the black fabric even darker with your juices.

the masked man only let out ragged breaths, although his gaze wasn't noticeable in the mirror that was reflecting the vulgar expressions on your face, inside that hood, he was savouring the obscene angle he had you on, your ass shaped like a heart from his point of view.

his gloved fingers forced their way into your mouth without warning, seeking the lubrication your saliva could provide. the combination of the black leather taste and your frothy saliva tingled your taste buds. there was a certain synchronization with the fake thrusts he made into your mouth and the friction against your cunt.

his left hand grabbed your hair and pulled hard so you could see yourself better when he caressed your pussy lips with his lubed fingers, playing with your folds, feeling how they got wetter with those sweet juices you were leaking. your mouth gaped when you felt his fingers entering your cunt so slowly it was almost cruel, making you lose the little sanity left in you. it didn't take much time until he was drilling his digits inside your gummy walls.

your whimpers were getting louder, but you were sure that the music blasting outside the bathroom was muffling the lewd sounds escaping from your mouth, so you let yourself loosen up, you were getting fingered by a stranger after all, and one dressed up as a serial killer.

the voice modifier inside his mask wasn't picking up his deep sighs, but now it was, morphing his grunts into a robotic voice. he tilted his head again, staring at your face enjoying his fingers abusing your cervix, if only you could see how his eyes darkened.

the thrusts of his fingers stopped after a few minutes, then without warning, he found his way inside you again, this time with his length. you felt your insides burn, not able to take the ridiculous size of his cock, falling apart in front of him.

"look at you, doll. who would've thought that you'd get so turned on being like this," he grunted out of breath, taking your cries as encouragement as he began the abrupt sway of his hips against your ass cheeks.

"i'm gonna show you how you're made for me, how this pussy's only made for my big fucking cock and only for my cock. you filthy little slut."

you weren't used to his moves; any trace of vanilla had disappeared the moment he exercised that cruel power over your figure. your voice was so worn out that you couldn't form a straight answer, limiting yourself to just whine and moan just like he described, like a filthy slut. he was a vulgar and obscene entity that just released your deepest and darkest desires with just the sound of his modified voice and the thrusts of his hips.

your eyelids were starting to feel heavy; you couldn't help but close your eye por a second, which earned you a hard slap on your ass-cheek that would most likely leave a mark. "don't close your eyes. look at yourself. look how much of a whore you're being to a complete stranger. what would your boyfriend say? would he like to know that a killer is filling up his girl?"

you shook your head. "no boyfriend," was the only thing you could manage to reply, your brain beginning to shut down from so much brutality and overstimulation.

"really now? then, nothing could stop me from doing this," he said, and the next thing you felt apart from his big dick inside of you, was the sharp blade on his hand piercing its way into your soft skin. the pain of his weapon cutting on the flesh of your ass mixed with the pleasure of his thrusts, melting your brain away until there was nothing left but your incoherent babbling from those emotions blending together.

his hand caressed the fresh wound before traveling to your chest, pulling down the top of your corset and staining both the fabric and your tits crimson red. the hunting knife went up to your neck and rested on your jugular, his thrusts began to speed up and you thought you could die from the way his tip was bullying your sweet spot.

a subtle bulge started to form on your lower belly, you could see through the mirror how his length reaching places no other dick had explored before.

"fuck, just look at you, you're such a mess," his groans, still robotic and modified, sounded animalistic. "i'm gonna ruin you. gonna make you cum so hard, no one other than me will fuck you this good. there's no dick out there that could abuse you like this."

your head was spinning. you were all over the place. the overstimulation and his dirty talk that sounded like a threat were bubbling up the white heat on your lower abdomen that you were oh so desperate for.

"gonna make you mine, gonna fill you up."

your body was hitting against the cold bathroom counter and your gaze showed both pleasure and fear, despite currently getting the fuck of your life, you were still uncertain of making it out alive.

you watched as his hand grabbed his mask and took off the plastic material that was keeping you from knowing who was fucking you. it wasn't enough to say he was the most attractive man you'd ever seen in your life.

straight, shoulder-length hair, tired eyes surrounded by violet shadows that revealed sleepless nights, and a striking tattoo running across his cheeks and nose bridge. his porcelain-like skin couldn't hide the rosy flush that softened his otherwise sharp and intimidating features.

his lips curled into a crooked smirk when your whines stopped upon seeing his face. "like what you see, angel?"

the deepness of his voice shook you to your core and made you weak in the knees. he didn't give you time to reply the obvious yes! your brain wanted to scream, he just grabbed your hair and pulled you into a filthy kiss, all spit and teeth and fighting tongues. you let out a tiny mewl when his teeth bit hard on your lower lip, so hard it left you with a metalic taste after he broke away from the kiss, only a thin thread of pink-ish saliva connecting your mouths.

"couldn't help myself, just want to devour those lips."

you felt like your insides were being abused by his length like you were just a toy, your belly already feeling full of him even though he was giving you lazy half-thrusts, the few moments when he decided to punish you and thrust in full made you dizzy. through the mirror, you could notice his gaze fixated on the way his cock disappeared into your warm pussy.

his hands hovered over the end of your waist, drawing invisible lines along the curves of your hips, while the most vulgar and purely depraved words were leaving those rosy, plump lips of his. you watched as his eyes rolled back into his skull whenever your pussy clenched and tightened around his cock when something he said was a little too dirty, and the way he trusted back with mouth-watering force made your eyes roll too.

you were 100% sure that the people outside the bathroom were hearing your moans now, but you couldn't help it, you were approaching your long-awaited orgasm, and you felt the white heat on your lower abdomen start to bubble up and send electricity through your nervous system. your walls were hugging his cock so tight, as if your pussy didn't want to let him go now that you were about to cum.

"fuck, look at you, you're practically swallowing me," groaned the stranger.

"'m gonna cum," you whined, furrowing your brows, focusing on getting over the edge of your climax.

he leaned over you, pressing his clothed chest to your back, he was looking into your eyes through the mirror, a wicked smirk on his face.

"yeah? gonna cum on my cock?" he mumbled into your ear, hot breath caressing your ear. when his only answer was a strangled moan, his hand grabbed you by the crown of your hair, the new angle was pushing you even more to the edge. "answer, slut, you gonna come on daddy's cock? you gonna be m'lil whore and let daddy cum inside you?"

you nodded your head, the best you could with his hard grip on your hair. "yeah, daddy, want you t'cum in me, please fill my pussy, daddy," you whimpered, almost sobbed, begging for your release.

"then cum f'me, angel."

that moment didn't take long, a couple more thrusts into you and that was it, his seed was filling you up, and at the same time, yours was coating his length, both fluids mixing inside of you, spilling out and running down your thighs. the proof of your affair staining your shorts and dripping on the floor.

then, the stranger pulled out and, without saying anything, started to zip his jeans and put on the mask again. you stopped him, not even bothering to pull up your shorts.

"what's your name?" you asked.

you didn't want to lose the opportunity of seeing him again, mind-blowing fuck or not, he was beautiful and your still-foggy mind thought he looked familiar. besides, he must go to the same college as you, given it was a frat party.

he just shook his head, a smirk still intact on his handsome face. he put on his mask and softly grabbed your face by the chin.

"ghostface."

you rolled your eyes at his joke. "well, mr. ghostface, will i ever see you again?"

his hand left your chin to travel to the loose strand of hair over your forehead, tucking it back behind your ear. "soon, angel."

and then he left, the silence after the door shut was deafening, your ears ringing and your mind spinning.

you looked at your reflection again, smudged makeup, sweaty and your hair was a mess. you turned and looked at your back through the mirror, your clothes were stained red by the fake blood he had on his cloak. your eyes traveled down to your ass, where he had cut you moments before, your cheeks were red and stained with your blood, but it looked like a superficial cut, nothing too serious.

you couldn't help but notice that he carved a 'c' on your left cheek.

-

when you finally pull yourself together and decide to leave the bathroom, the first thing you encounter is straight out of a horror movie.

a body lies on the floor, a guy slumped against the wall opposite the bathroom door, blood staining his clothes and the wall behind him. you clap a hand over your mouth, fighting the urge to vomit, unable to scream from the sheer shock.

you dash down the stairs to find your friends and alert the frat guys to call the police, but the scene in the living room is even worse.

three bodies are there. one guy and two girls. the girls are seated on the couch, almost as if the killer posed them, their blood turning the cream-colored fabric a deep crimson. the guy lies face down on the floor, his blood pooling around him.

the music continues to play, its upbeat and trendy lyrics mocking the gruesome scene.

you feel sick to your stomach, wanting to puke, cry, and scream, but you can’t. you're frozen on the last step of the stairs.

as you hear a siren in the distance and the house slowly bathes in the blue and red of police lights, your eyes lock onto a sticky note on the front door. you slowly walk over and read it.

'soon.' it said.

[eggcats]

Making another post based on Alastor knowing everything that plays over his airwaves, but this time combining the radiohuskerdust and radioapple

Angel decides they need a Boys Night, and coerces Alastor, Husk, and Lucifer to join him in drinking and listening to music (aka Alastor)

Angel forces them all to (if not wear pajamas) to be SEVERELY dressed down, and is like if you're wearing too many layers, we're playing strip poker until you're not *glare* so they dont

So Angel is in like a crop top hoodie and low-rise shorts, Lucifer is definitely in some kind of duckie pajamas, Husk is basically in the same outfit except he swapped out the pants for sweatpants, and Alastor is in a loose button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, and comfortable slacks

And as they're drinking, Angel keeps requesting more and more random and obscure songs for Alastor to play (Lucifer is greatly confused by this, but then eventually joins in because he's never seen Alastor so indulgent in something so stupid before, and it's fun)

Eventually Alastor gets drunk enough to start singing along to the songs, and after just a few more drinks he grabs Husk and makes him dance with him (he grabs Husk because they've known each other for years and have basically done this every time they get drunk together)

Husk is enjoying the attention, because while Alastor owns his soul and they do have tense moments, they have known each other for years and Husk does genuinely care about him (and he thinks there Could be something, if Alastor only let it)

(Alastor will not, because even with them becoming close over the years, he is Uncomfortably aware of the power difference, and as a mixed man from the 30s, that is a line he will NOT cross. Meeting Angel and his issues with Valentino only confirms this to himself.)

It's at this point that Alastor drops the transatlantic voice and starts slurring in his Louisiana Creole, and his radio static keeps dropping out for his real voice to come through (both Angel and Lucifer are shot dead, they didn't know this was a possibility and now they're going to be thinking about it forever. Husk is only safe because he's experienced this before)

Angel immediately has to join in with the dancing, because Hot Deer Daddy being drunk and playful??? He needs IN immediately.

Lucifer is having a crisis, he thought he had a handle on thinking Alastor was hot, but then he brought his TAIL and his ACCENT and his DANCING and he's flushed and giggly and. Oh no. Maybe Charlie IS going to have a second father after all???

Alastor eventually coerces Lucifer into dancing too by asking if he's a bad dancer, and if that's why he's still sitting. Lucifer, obviously, has to prove him wrong. (He doesn't, but it's worth it because Alastor giggles and grabs him to correct his form.)

All 3 of them revel in Alastor being much more genuine than normal (and the fact that not only is he touching them as they dance, he doesn't seem to mind when THEY touch HIM), and the fact that they get so see Alastor not only dressed down and drunk, but him relaxed and dancing with his face flushed (they all wish he didn't hate cameras or video because they wish they could keep this memory forever)

Eventually, they have to wind down and end up in a giant cuddle puddle on the floor, sleepover style

The next morning is about as awkward as you'd think, especially since somehow Lucifer fell asleep practically on top of Alastor, and Alastor himself is surrounded on both sides by Angel and Husk (which he could have handled if he was the first one to wake up so he could escape, but no, Charlie came downstairs and squealed so loud it woke up all 4 of them and made them come to terms to how they were cuddling each other. Hell.)

[cherry-leclerc]

fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.” 

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging:  Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening. 

-

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt. 

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth. 

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence. 

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando. 

-

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring. 

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck. 

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him. 

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go. 

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself. 

“Need a lift?”

-

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life. 

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile. 

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

-

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs. 

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone. 

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively. 

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first. 

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile. 

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea. 

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways. 

-

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair. 

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot. 

“In the mood for something sweet?”

-

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one. 

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes. 

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no. 

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?” 

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

-

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

-

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him. 

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

-

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake. 

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off. 

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool. 

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

-

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street. 

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

-

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini. 

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle. 

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes. 

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

-

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe. 

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?” 

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised. 

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up. 

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary. 

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it. 

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into. 

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling. 

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back. 

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion. 

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling. 

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him. 

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth. 

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face. 

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders. 

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

-

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

-

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood. 

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel. 

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips. 

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you. 

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice. 

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

-

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

-

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name. 

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy. 

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response. 

“You’re not?” 

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?” 

-

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

-

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus. 

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss. 

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile. 

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm. 

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough. 

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless. 

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to. 

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets. 

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave. 

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder. 

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own. 

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly. 

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more. 

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

-

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you. 

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled. 

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend. 

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

[vidavalor]

Crowley and Plosives

@kimberleyjean asked in my recent post on rings and apostrophes why it is that I think Crowley pops the consonants of words at times, as in "BooK. shoP", and if there is a technical term for what he is doing. There is.

Let's talk about Crowley's exaggerated plosive sounds--as well as his little "mmm" thing-- and what this all probably has to do with his hiss.

In order to talk about why it likely is that Crowley pops specific consonants when he speaks-- with it being more pronounced at certain times than at other times-- we first actually have to talk about his hiss.

Crowley's hiss is less of a separate sound and more of a slur of what's known as a sibilant sound in phonology-- it's the sound of the letter s or the letters sh. If you say the word "sash" aloud, you're using sibilant sounds twice over-- once at the start and once at the end of the word. While Crowley could probably just hiss like a snake when he's in human form, we never actually hear him do that. We hear a hissing sound manifest in his sibilant sound when he is speaking-- which is to say when he's being a human over a snake. The same is true of Lord Beezlebub, whose fly buzz sound affects their speech. In their case, their sibilant sounds turn into the letter z to mimic a fly (as in, "It izzzzz written" on the tarmac in Tadfield in S1).

Sibilant sounds are part of a group of sounds known as fricatives, which are all softer in sound. They are grouped together based on how your mouth and throat move in forming the sounds and how much air is needed to move through them and in what way to say them. The letters k, p, t-- and sometimes d, b and g, depending on the word and the position of the letter in the word-- are "hard" sounds and are known as plosives. These are the sounds that Crowley tends to pop or to which he gives exaggerated emphasis in his speech. My theory as to why is basically that David Tennant decided that Crowley would feel the hiss is weak and react to it by popping his plosives to seem more intimidating, which really does go along with Crowley's psychology well.

Crowley's hiss is a feature of what of him is a snake and, as a result, will show up in the times that a snake would hiss. That means the slurred sibilant sounds show up primarily in situations in which he feels a sense of vulnerability. Snakes hiss when they're stressed or under duress and they hiss if you try to interact with them while they are digesting a big meal. In demon snake terms lol, it means Crowley is most likely to hiss in exactly the moment he does not want to (when he's anxious or afraid, which is usually when around other demons or angels). He probably cares a bit less about slurring sibilant sounds around Aziraphale after a big meal--or a "big meal"-- and Aziraphale actually probably likes it a bit as it's his life goal to keep that snake blissssssed out but the hissing around other people thing?

Crowley hates it. He haaaaaaates it. There is evidence of Crowley hating the slurred sibilants in a few scenes.

One is that when he shapeshifts into a monstrous snake to scare the guy at Tadfield Manor in S1, Crowley doesn't hiss at him-- he roars. Like a lion. (Lions are also on the arms and legs of his reason-for-therapy-alone throne chair in S1.) And this is his reaction when he makes the guy faint from fright:

He loves it. Ah, control...

Because Crowley is a lot of things, really-- he's a snake, yeah, but he's a big cat, he's a crow, he's a nightingale, he's a black swan, he's a horse... we could go on. To control the hiss when he wants to is to feel in control of himself.

We all know how much Crowley seeks as maximum control over how he's perceived by others as he's capable of generating. It's a normal response to all the trauma he's suffered. It's probably worth considering as well that Satan's attacks on Crowley render him incapable of controlling his own mind and body for the duration of the assault. He doesn't have the option to speak or, if he does, the words aren't his own. These are bodily autonomy violation issues and the result is that Crowley hates anything that makes him feel weak and the fact that he has in the hiss what amounts to a nervous tic that is a symptom of his anxiety disorder makes him feel out of control of himself.

Another example of him hating the hiss is when he intentionally slurs the sibilant s sound while mocking Heaven:

Crowley is not just talking about composers in this scene in general but using first-class composers as innuendo for sexual partners and mocking Aziraphale's potential choices if he gets stuck in Heaven for all of eternity. He does so by combining soft fricatives and his slurred sibilant hiss, showing how he equates the hiss with a sense of what he considers weak and unattractive.

The other scene that suggests this-- and shows how Crowley pops his plosives as a counter to the hiss-- is actually the end of the apology dance, when Crowley pops a t so hard, it's almost its own word: "You were righTTTTTT."

The apology dance scene and its hard T as the final note of the mock-submissive dance also makes it clear that, unsurprisingly, Aziraphale knows what the popped plosives are all about. Plosives are, well, explosive. They have harder, louder, more dramatic sounds. It seems like Crowley pops them both as a measure to counter his hiss and as a measure to try to control it. He's taught himself to respond verbally with intensive plosive popping instead of hissing, which is also why we don't actually hear him hiss all that often.

One of the only times is almost immediately after this:

Because saints and demons preserve us, it's Master Crowley, right? But then Satanic Nun!Nina interrupts them and Crowley starts slurring his sibilant sounds in sarcastic response to Aziraphale telling him that he didn't need to put the woman in a trance.

"Oh, oh, 'xcccussse me, ma'am, we're two supernatural entities looking for the notorioussss SSSSSon of SSSSSatan. Wonder if you might help us with our inquiries?'" How he controls the sentence, though, is really interesting. The extra-exaggerated sarcasm of the last sentence helps him regain control enough that the final 's' in 'inquiries' isn't hissed and he's back in control of it. He's also almost amping up the sibilant sounds he does slur sarcastically as well. Part of why it comes out here is that he allows himself to be less guarded with his speech in front of Aziraphale.

We've actually only heard him hiss his sibilant sounds about three times, if memory serves me correctly, and two of them are related to Heaven and Hell-- the two moments I mentioned above. They're examples of him trying to control-- and then sarcastically wield-- the hiss. (Particularly "celestial harmonies", which he did entirely intentionally.)

There's also one more positive instance of a sibilant slur though and that's this: "Yessssss, the 'Reign of Terror.'"

The long hiss of a "yesssss" in this scene is not one that bothers him because drawing out a sibilant sound during a sexy conversation with Aziraphale is a very different situation than one about or involving Heaven or Hell.

If you look back on the series, there are probably no more popped plosives than in Crowley trying to ascertain just wtf Gabriel is doing in the bookshop wearing nothing but their tartan bedsheet.

"WHaT. Arrre. You. DO. ING. In. THis. BooK. ShhhOP?" 😂

Crowley was literally terrified (and also losing it internally because he just jumped and basically screamed at the sight of Gabriel) and there's a very brief "shhhh" in "bookshop" that starts to slur and has him practically shouting the "OP" to finish the word without full-on hissing. It's a scene built around the plosives, really.

Gabriel probably understands Crowley's manner of speaking more than "Jim" did in this moment as Gabriel has his own affected way of speaking. His defensive speech has the same need for a sense of maintaining an appearance of control and dominance but is usually less about emphasizing plosives and more about conveying a sense of power through a perceived sense of "manliness" in a smug, corporate sort of way. The way he says "but as The Almighty likes to say: 'Climb Every Mountain'" in that 'CEO saying the bullshit company slogan to a junior employee at the company retreat' sort of way.

Gabriel usually uses intimidation through lower, more frighteningly measured tones that carry the sense that if you pissed him off, he would explode and it would not be pretty for you. It's what makes the moment when he does actually a bit shocking and that's when you hear the force come out in his speech a bit.

He pops plosives in the curse and owns the 'fucking' in that sentence as a result. That is top shelf use of a curse word, in that it's selective enough and pronounced in such a way as to give it real power. You know he's going to lose this round because he can't win it but you're still kind of afraid of him-- maybe for the first time.

But Jim? Jim has none of this.

Jim is a guileless lovebug who doesn't understand why Crowley would feel the need to speak-shout at him and pause dramatically so his "I. AM. DUSTING." response is priceless. Jim over-emphasizes all of the sounds because he doesn't know why Crowley only emphasizes the plosives and he pauses dramatically between the words more out of confused repetition of Crowley's speech pattern to try to relate to Crowley than out of understanding that it was meant to intimidate him. He uses the same sense of theatre that Crowley uses without any context as to why Crowley feels like he has to and, as a result, it guts Crowley's whole attempt to intimidate him to compensate for his own feelings of vulnerability.

Crowley and Aziraphale both are fascinated by words and the evolution of language and they speak every language in the world. This means that they both have the ability, in theory, to correctly speak in any accent in the world, which is necessary to be able to pronounce the words in every language. Between that and his self-conscious, trauma-adjacent, plosive/fricative issues, as well as just being interested in how things like pronunciation informs the evolution of language, Crowley is more aware than most of how he sounds when he speaks.

But there's also that his unique way of speaking-- when combined with his low, rumbly voice-- can be very sexy and he's aware of it, namely because it's clear that Aziraphale thinks his sounds-- all his sounds, along the full spectrum of them-- are hot. As a result, we also have scenes in the series wherein Crowley will sometimes heavily emphasize plosives-- and fricatives-- around Aziraphale just for fun because to do so has become a part of how he speaks and because the angel likes it. An example: the "lotsss of GooD DeeDsssss" bit of this:

That Aziraphale likes the full range of Crowley sounds is symbolic of the fact that Aziraphale likes the full range of Crowley, full stop. As a result, Crowley plays around with how he enunciates words, often drawing out parts of them in ways he knows Aziraphale will enjoy. His "oo" and "ou" sounds are often elongated into an "oooh"; he softens fricatives to a breath at times when speaking more gently. At other times, he amps up his RP accent and emphasizes certain words in a sentence with pauses and heavier enunciation ("canopy", "astonish") to maximize their appeal and to draw Aziraphale's attention to them, usually also for wordplay-related reasons ("did you smite them with your wrath?" in Lockdown, for example.)

Then, there is that part of their language thing also appears to be an interest in onomatopoeia, which are words that have derived in language not from a connection to other, previously-existing words but from the sounds of Earth. Crowley, in particular, loves onomatopoeia, and likes to weave words that are that into his conversation-- "frou frou", "whoop", etc.. The word "hiss" is onomatopoeia. Unlike other etymology posts I have written or will write, there is no "derived from the Old French x" or "from the Latin x" or the like for the history of "hiss"-- it's just literally that people heard a snake hissing and said that sounds like "hssss" and so we're going to call it a "hiss."

While Crowley has issues with his anxious snake hiss, though, he actively likes to make the pleasurable sound the humans (and angels and demons) can make-- the ultimate in onomatopoeia. The word that is actually more his anti-hiss than his popped plosives:

"Mmm."

"Mmm" is derived from nothing more than the human sound of contentment. It's an often almost involuntarily hum of pleasure-- the human sound of satiation. There is no other history to the word but that and there has not been since beings began to exist.

Crowley makes the sound unconsciously but he also makes it consciously at times when speaking with Aziraphale because he knows Aziraphale likes the sound of it. Case in point: the very obviously intentional "mmm" in the Edinburgh phone call (and the heavy, exaggerated plosives emphasis on what followed it):

"Mmm" is also something of an etymology joke as well because, at last count, I think I had at least twenty-five instances in a note file here about intentional wordplay between Crowley and Aziraphale that focuses on frequently confused words and phrases (to founder vs. to flounder; whoop vs. whoomp; wittering vs. withering; to get a wriggle on vs. to get a wiggle on, etc..) which I bring up mainly because, especially when written, "mmm" is frequently confused with "hmm", and the etymology of "hmm" is pretty funny from a Good Omens perspective.

While "mmm" is a sound of pleasure, "hmm" is a sound made of consideration, a kind of pause in a sentence to acknowledge something that was spoken and to either suggest you're giving it thought or to show hesitation over what was said-- or, possibly, both. While "mmm" is a contented sound derived from the human body, "hmm" is onomatopoeia because it is imitative of a different, very specific sound in nature...

...it comes from the droning sound of buzzing bees.

To Crowley and Aziraphale, "hmm"-- the sound of hesitation and reflective contemplation-- is a sound of the insects that are symbolically the angels and that's amusing to them since the humans frequently swap it out with their signature sound of pleasure while Crowley and Aziraphale do not find much about Heaven very arousing.

Crowley's new favorite hobby in S2 is making dirty jokes that are going over Muriel's head-- some of which, like his handcuff innuendo while getting Muriel to take him to (literal) Heaven, are a bit on the surface. Others, though, like the frequently confused words wordplay of using "mmm" in protest of Heaven instead of "hmm" in the "mmm, bees" moment after successfully getting one over on the angels-- are examples of just wordplay jokes that Aziraphale would have found funny that Crowley was amusing himself with in the moment.

Crowley is definitely not the only one of the two of them amping up those mmms though. The only bee who has his attention is playing right back...

...and the mmm thing is not exactly new, either...

...like for him to mmm his way through an entire barbecued ox five minutes after this...

Original post that prompted this response:

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

i. 

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan. 

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor. 

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you. 

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty. 

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning. 

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat. 

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan. 

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach. 

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.” 

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor. 

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed. 

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat. 

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place. 

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?” 

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you. 

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?” 

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute. 

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights. 

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out. 

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin. 

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed. 

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs. 

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.” 

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face. 

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb. 

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you. 

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you. 

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting. 

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make. 

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank. 

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day. 

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating. 

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words. 

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand. 

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.” 

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration. 

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity. 

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in. 

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it. 

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him. 

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him. 

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form. 

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag. 

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.” 

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands? 

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something. 

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome. 

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished. 

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties. 

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments. 

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy. 

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one. 

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff. 

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss. 

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill. 

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him. 

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily. 

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments. 

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed. 

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend. 

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his. 

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft. 

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor. 

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met. 

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass. 

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now. 

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side. 

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear. 

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it. 

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.  

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments. 

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours. 

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch. 

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way. 

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness. 

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had. 

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!” 

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open. 

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips. 

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again. 

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.” 

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide. 

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy. 

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream. 

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still. 

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips. 

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway. 

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did. 

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you. 

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape. 

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night. 

[ohwowimlonley]

poly!marauders x drunk!reader at a party and reader needy but they don’t want to help reader because they don’t want to do anything when reader basically unconscious of what’s happening because reader is drunk. So they try to explain to reader that they will gladly take care of them after they get better and go to bed. Thank you!

Small psa to all the people that have requested recently - im trying to get through all of them but some i want to write longer fics for and some im keeping in my inbox for blurbs! <3

—

You reach out for them blindly, fingers groping at dead air as you murmer their names. You’re strapped into the back passenger seat of James’ car on the way home from girls night. It’s safe to say that even three hours with Lily and Marlene drinking wine and gossiping about your boys had caused the three of you to go through maybe five bottles of wine between the three of you. Lily had called the boys to pick you up when it got too late, leading to them all but carrying you out to the car while you try to grab at them.

“Siri,” you muster up your sweetest voice, but it’s tinged with a slur and you can’t quite pinpoint where he is when you open your eyes to gaze at him. He makes a small sound from next to you, and his fingers finally brush yours, “you’re so pretty, d’you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” You can hear the grin in his voice, along with the other boys chuckles from the front seats. You squeeze his fingers and follow the line of his arm until you get to his jeans.

“Mhm,” you nod, clenching your fingers around his thigh and fumbling your way towards his crotch, “I tell the girls all about it, like how good you make me feel,”

“Alright, enough,” Remus calls from the passenger seat, leaning back to grip your arm and remove it from Sirius’ crotch. He shushes your whines at the loss lf contact, and fends you off as you lean forward and try to wrap your arm around his chest, “sit back, love, you know that’s not safe in a moving car,”

“But daddy,” you keen, tugging against your seatbelt and pouting around at your boyfriends as they gently keep you from touching them. As your last resort, you turn to James, “Jamsie, you’ll make me feel good, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry, sweetness,” he makes the briefest glimpse of eye contact with you as his head whips back to look through the rear window to check his clearance as he reverses into your driveway.

You don’t exactly remember the next five minutes of your life, it’s mostly a flurry of opening doors and light switches flicking before you’re sat squarely on your shared bed by Remus. The others aren’t far behind him, shutting the door behind them and busying themselves with clinking a glass of water onto the bedside table and finding pyjamas out for the four of you.

Your eyes brighten as James begins removing your dress, and you surge forward and plant a firm kiss on his plush lips. He indulges you for a brief moment before pulling away and tugging your clothes off, only to replace it with one of his tshirts.

“Jamesie,” you whine, wide eyes filling with tears as he moves away from you to begin changing himself, “why won’t you fuck me?”

“Oh, sweetness,” Remus turns in his spot as a tear dribbles down your cheek. He pulls the boys over to you and all of a sudden you’re crowded by your boyfriends.

“Baby,” Sirius takes your hand and crouches down to your level, “you know we love you, and we love makin’ you feel good, but you’ve had way too much to drink tonight,”

“No I haven’t,” you insist.

“Yes you have,” Remus does the same thing as your curly-haired boyfriend, bringing your fist up to smooth a kiss there, “how much wine did you drink with Lily and Marls? You know red is your weakness,”

“But- but that doesn’t mean anything, you can still fuck me,” you grip their hands tighter, nodding at your own words.

“No, baby, not when you’ve been drinking,” James, as always, has the most gentle voice of the three of them, “you’re not in your right mind when you’re drinking, right? You might say yes to something you might regret,”

“But we’ve had sex loads,” you complain, “and I’ve never regretted it before!”

“That’s not the point, sweetness,” Remus interjects, “look, why don’t we go to bed, and when we wake up, I promise we’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“But-“

“No buts,” Sirius extends back to his full height and presses a kiss to your forehead, “go to bed now, okay?”

“And drink some water before you fall asleep,” James reminds you, reaching over and handing you the glass as you resign yourself to silence, pouting to yourself.

“Will you at least kiss me?” Immidietly, you’re overwhelmed with kisses all over your face, causing you to giggle drunkenly at their affection.

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #05

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

"Kook, you're drunk." you choke out, shivering when you feel him peppering kisses to your neck.

You have no idea how the hell this happened. One minute, he's calling a cab since everyone has called it a night, and then the next, his hands are all over you while shameless gasps and moans escape past your lips. It feels so fucking good. What started with innocent touches in a cab led to the two of you kissing in the elevator, until you got inside of Jungkook's apartment and now he's ready to devour you.

"I'm not drunk," he pulls away, frowning a little bit at your statement. "I'm slightly buzzed." he corrects, grinning at his amazing joke that makes you roll your eyes.

Okay, maybe he's not completely wasted and was totally fine with walking to his place, but still. His eyes are slightly hooded, a taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue and lips, and his words come out more lazily and slurred. You're definitely more sober than he is, but you can still feel the basic symptoms of having alcohol flowing in your system.

It's safe to say that it left you and Jungkook hot and craving for some touch from one another.

He dives in, lips catching yours once again as he starts kissing you with so much eagerness that makes you moan into his mouth. Your cheeks are flushed, half from alcohol and half from the fact you just freaking moaned into his mouth – again. Luckily, he doesn't point it out, too busy trying to devour your lips.

It feels so fucking good, enough to leave your panties to stick to your core and you kind of hate yourself for that. This is your best friend. You haven't been this aroused because of anyone. The fact that it's Jungkook himself, should make you feel uncomfortable but all you can focus on are your fingers tugging his longer hair. He groans, pulling you onto his lap and it makes you squeal, before he's catching your lips once again. His hands rummage over your back, slowly gripping your hips before he lightly touches your lower back. He's testing the waters again, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable and cross any boundaries. You still have a lot to talk about, setting a basic rules on how this whole thing is going to work.

But you could care less about rules right now, especially when Jungkook's lips are irresistible. The whole thing is out anyway, Kiko knows, and Jimin and Taehyung as well. Their reaction is still clear in your mind.

"Actually, we're dating."

For a solid minute, they just stare at the both of you, eyeing you both with even more shock written on their faces. Jimin's eyes fall onto Jungkook's arm around your shoulders while Taehyung keeps glancing between you two.

"You--what--the two of you--you guys are--you are dating?" Taehyung stutters, trying to break the awkward silence. 

Poor Taehyung looks like he's about to lose his mind, trying to put the pieces together as he slowly reaches for his drink, sipping on it. 

Well, you both were always super clear about your friendship and how it is important for you, too important to ruin it by trying to date. Plus, you were clear about not seeing each other as a partner and sharing the same love life. It makes this lie way more harder and you begin to panic.

"How did this happen? I mean... you guys were pretty persistent where both of you stand." Jimin frowns, still not believing you as he carefully eyes you and if it weren't for Jungkook next to you, you'd shrink in your seat. 

"We've decided to try it out. Y/N has always been there for me and I think she's what's best for me," 

You're not being subtle when you whip your head in his direction, staring at him with confused gaze, hiding your real shock behind it. You search his eyes, but he's making it hard for you to see through them when he just stares back at you, smiling down at you. You're not sure whether the smile is fake or real, but you go along with it and smile back.

Damn, he's a really good actor.

"Anyway, this is still new for us. Can you guys not make it weird for us?" he asks, looking at your  friends as they quickly nod, apologizing for their blunt reaction.

"Oh, fuck." you curse, head leaning backwards when Jungkook sucks at your neck. Jimin and Taehyung out of your thoughts as soon as you feel his lips on the new spot.

He licks the skin of your neck before he goes back to sucking, skilfully twirling his tongue making you gasp into the air. You've never felt something like this. Your ex boyfriend was never this touchy and straightforward, and Jungkook is showing you what you were missing out on. He's so damn good with his mouth, it makes you think what else does he know and why the fuck Kiko left such a man.

His hardness is poking you, it's hard to tell if he's fully hard but you can still feel it, even though it's hidden underneath his black jeans. The ache between your legs is strong, needy for any touch that makes you see stars and your body reacts naturally, shifting on his lap that makes him gasp in surprise. He feels you grinding on him, hands grabbing your ass for the first time and he even checks your reaction, only to find your eyes closed and teeth biting your lower lip.

Your lipstick is smeared, almost none of it left and your make up isn't fresh, but you don't care about your appearance. All you can focus on is Jungkook – and only him.

When he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to keep grinding onto his clothed length, your hand outstretched on his chest as you pull away just a little bit. "Stop." you tell him breathlessly, trying to calm down your beating heart.

You can feel his own heart beat against your palm, the rhythm identical to yours, while he stares at you with those doe eyes that are glistening from the alcohol.

"You wanna stop?"

The disappointment behind his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you, but you don't dwell on it too much, wanting to get things out of your chest. Your friendship is still the most important thing here.

"We're both drunk, Kook. I don't want us to regret it when we wake up tomorrow." you tell him honestly, because the thought and different scenarios of tomorrow morning makes your stomach uncomfortable scrunch.

"We don't have to have sex," he tells you, leaning his head back as he slows down his breathing. "But if you wanna stop, I'm fine with whatever you want."

This causes you to smile, appreciating the honesty in his voice and even the look on his drunken face. But you don't want to stop. Maybe it's not the right thing to have sex with him, tonight or even, but you just want to keep kissing him and see where it brings you. You don't want to plan anything and the way your whole make out happened in the elevator, continuing in his small living room is exactly what you want. Rather than you wanting things to happen spontaneously, you want them to happen naturally.

And it's that one look at his neck, a faint vein poking out of his honey skin and disappearing underneath his black dress shirt that reveals some of his collarbones, drives you crazy. You've got only one month to experience anything you and Jungkook want. And now you want him.

Shaking your head, you cup his face as you shift on his lap to make yourself comfortable, smirking when he groans and glares at you. "I want to continue." you assure him, giving him a green light and before you can properly look at him from this close proximity, he's already chasing your lips again.

The kissing is heated, his hands all over your ass again but this time he makes sure he squeezes your ass cheeks and gives them a proper attention, while you grip the back of his head and starts to grind on his clothed jeans.

"I--fuck, I don't think I can cum like this," he tells you, the mention of anyone cumming tonight makes you all giddy inside. "Let me take my jeans off." he says, but still searches your face for permission.

He must be uncomfortable in those tight jeans and quick 'sure, take it off' leaves your mouth right away, shifting off his lap before he quickly takes them off. You're not surprised by his usual Calvin Klein boxers, this time in white color, but your mouth hangs open as you see the visible outline of his length.

It looks massive and you're not even sure if he's fully hard. He pats his lap, inviting you in again and you don't waste a second, already scurrying to sit down on his muscular thighs.

You go back straight to kissing, your dress hiking up and he carefully slides his hands underneath it, feeling your lacy panties with his fingertips. And you grind on him, moaning at the way he visibly starts to visibly hardening after a few strokes, your underwear rubbing against each other. Your clit is aching, greedy for his cock and you're close to pull off his boxers, just to see and feel what's hiding underneath it.

Jungkook's firm hands are helping you to set up a fast pace, pushing your ass against his hardened length that feels massive and you almost salivate just from the feeling of it. Your face is buried in his face, inhaling his musky scent while you keep gasping into his skin. It feels so fucking good, it's something you've never tried before. You're needy, almost pathetically humping him like a bitch in heat but your body reacts on its own. Your mind feels clear, not filled with overthinking or any thoughts.

"That's it, baby. Grind on me, make yourself cum." he suddenly speaks, voice breathless but raspy at the same time. Baby.

It makes you whimper, not ready for any dirty talk but it's just another step to get you closer.

You knew he's great with his mouth.

"Jungkook," you whimper, feeling yourself getting close and clenching around nothing. You wish you could feel him inside of you and it makes you so flustered, but you know you can't stop. This is what you wanted.

"You're doing great, that's it. Fuck, baby. Keep rubbing your pussy over my cock."

Fuck, is this the same man that drinks banana milk?

It all seems to fast. But the feeling of Jungkook's cock brushing against your clit and filthy words leaving his mouth, you're gasping and clutching onto him tightly, before you let go. You're cumming, his name leaving your mouth as a chant, while your whole body grows even more hot.

Before you know it, Jungkook groans and his whole body tenses, his head throwing back as he suddenly relaxes.

"Fuck," he rasps out, caressing your ass as your whole body is thrown over him. "I've never thought I could cum in my pants."

You pull away, shakily glancing at him before you look down. There's a stain wetting the white material, his cum drenching his boxers. You wait for him to grow embarrassed or shy, but he grins cockily and amusingly at the same time, staring at his softening clothed cock.

Your panties feel sticky, but you don't move away. It felt incredible, yet you still crave for more. You know you could experience much more intense orgasm with Jungkook.

And rather than thinking that you've just made each other orgasm into your underwear, you just think about one thing only.

You can't wait for more.

[bowlofsoob]

YEONJUN AS YOUR COLLEGE RA

yeonjun x gender neutral reader

strangers to friends to lovers, college setting

started out as you and yeonjun only communicating for things via dorm life but after a party breaks the ice you start to catch feelings for him after becoming friends with benefits

notes; idk if it’s different in other countries but RA means resident advisor and basically it’s the person in charge of your dorm floor and in charge of everyone

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The night was alive and the air was thick with multiple lights and smoke that you and the other students could have been underwater. It seems your roommates had gone all out with the smoke machines placed at the front of the dorm, blanketing it, as if it was a completely different world compared to the other silent dorms on the same floor.

You awkwardly nursed a cup of beer in your hands near the door as you anxiously wait for Yeonjun to arrive. It was stupid, but if you couldn’t have him you’d at least like to befriend him. Or take a body shot off of him. More so the latter.

“Hey,” you hear, a voice so low in your ear you almost jump and drench yourself in cheap beer.

“Hi,” you swallow, turning around and coming face to face with the man of your wet dreams.

You shove your drink into his hand, “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss the first party of the year,” Yeonjun lazily smiles, downing the cup in a second, not even flinching once.

A group of boys followed behind him, immediately running in and jumping to the music as Yeonjun stayed near you.

“Show me to the drinks,” Yeonjun hums, holding up two bottles he’d brought.

As you both walked deeper into the dorm you could hear the roar of the students and music thrumming straight through your body and into your eardrums. Bodies moved around you like sweaty gnats, the dim lights strung up on the walls being the only source of light guiding you through the hall beside Yeonjun, flickering between violets and hues of blue. It fit the theme perfectly for that night.

Once in the kitchen Yeonjun went to work pouring himself a drink.

“You want one of my famous drinks?” Yeonjun asks, rolling up his sleeves as he leans back on the counter.

“Famous?” you smile, “According to whom?”

A cold glass was shoved into your hand, liquid sloshing precariously against the edge. You brought the drink to your lips, the fizzling sensation causing a nostalgic feeling to wash over you. Yeonjun immediately drank one of his own, gulping it down as you cheered him on. He raised his arm above him once he was done.

“Pretty good, right?” he laughs, already working on another drink for you both.

It was at that moment you were ready to strip right then and there. There was something so intimate about you both being the only ones in the kitchen, red lights flickering every other second and illuminating Yeonjun’s sly smirk. His eyes on you.

“I suppose,” you shrug, “Get a couple more in me and we’ll see.”

“I like your vibe, Y/n,” Yeonjun hums, this time just making one drink and walking over to you. “I call this one the Lover’s Shot,” he slurs, bringing the glass to your lips.

“You use that line on everyone?” you question, letting Yeonjun tilt up your face with his finger and pour the concoction down your throat.

“Nah, specially curated for you,” Yeonjun answers, wiping the astray alcohol that missed your lip with his thumb.

“It’s…something,” you strain, the alcohol burning your throat, but not as much as Yeonjun’s eyes boring into yours.

“Not the best review but I’ll take it,” Yeonjun murmurs, placing an experimental hand on your waist. You try not to shriek as you feel your stomach churn.

You offer no words of protest as Yeonjun’s slender fingers slide underneath your top, caressing your bare skin.

Maybe it was the alcohol filtering your senses but a part of you wanted to make-believe that the entire campus’ crush wanted you too.

“I could show you something a bit tastier,” Yeonjun says, gently pinching your waist.

You feel hot.

“Yeah?” you manage to get out.

“Is this alright?” he innocently murmurs before kissing you on the corner of your mouth.

His breath against your cheek is soft and unimaginable.

“It is,” you answer before moving your head so his lips land on yours instead. You tried not to smile as you felt his pillowy lips upon yours, his other hand on the back of your neck as he tilted it.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as Yeonjun guides you and presses you against the counter, slipping a knee in between your legs as you reach over the tug on his hair.

“My room?” you slip out in between kisses.

“How about mine?” Yeonjun smiles, breath hot on your neck, “Nobody there to bother us.”

That was enough for you.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

the next morning and few weeks;

[smoshyourheadin]

Maybe u could do a Spencer besties to lovers? Like they've known each other a long time yk

Thankssss no pressure if ur busy ofc <3

It’s Always Been You

cw: reader has a boyf who she breaks up w bc he’s an alchaholic!! don’t read if you aren’t comfortable, i’ll catch you another time ml 💛

a/n: EEK IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT ANON 🫶🫶💛💛 also im taking this as smosh spence not cm spence so feel free to re-request if you’d like <33 ps, ive written that he listens to pink floyd here so thats who syd barrett is if you don’t know :))

requests r open!!

///

pairing: spencer agnew x fem!reader

florida, 2002

you and spencer were scurrying around in the freshly mown grass of his backyard, playing tag.

“you didn’t get me, you cheated!” you exclaim, ducking as he reaches out to get you again, tumbling to the floor.

“did too!” spencer retorts, his grazed knees dropping to the floor so he can lean over you. he meets your eyes, pulls a tongue, and hoists himself back up to run to his tyre swing.

all 11 years you’d known, you’d known them with spencer. your moms had been great friends since way before you were born, being in the same book club. or was it an art night? you didn’t exactly know, but you did know that because your moms were best friends, so were you and spencer.

as you sprung back up to your feet, your moms watched your antics through the kitchen window.

“whoever can swing the other the highest gets to have the last red popsicle!” he yelled as you ran over

“oh you’re so on!”

your hands gripped the tyre and you pushed like your life depended on it.

“y’know,” your mom said “one day, they’re going to end up together.”

his mom looked over at yours and smiled,

“i’d be surprised if they didnt honestly.”

los angeles, 2024

you walk through the door of your apartment, and you kick the door closed behind you. your bag slides off your shoulder, and you throw your keys onto the dresser next to the door. you only manage a long groan before flopping onto the couch.

“heya, charlie!” you scrunch your face up as you feel your dog’s cold, wet nose press against your cheek, as he gently wags his tail

“i missed you too boy, work was so tiring today.” you work at smosh with spencer, and have done for the past seven years after you left your job at another channel to join him. it was basically the best decision you’d ever made, every day filled with laughs; practically just a 24/7 hangout. you work with spencer on smosh games, but rarely ever go on camera, even if spencer’s there. you enjoy it anyway though.

you sit up and scratch behind his ears. he wiggles his body contently at your fondness. and then your stomach growls. it made sense, it was currently 6:43pm, and you last ate at noon, so you get up and drag yourself to make some mac n cheese.

as the pasta boils your phone starts ringing.

it’s james.

rubbing your hands over your face, you answer the dreaded call from your boyfriend james.

“heyyy~ sweetheart, y’doin okay? you were hic bein’ a bit of a bitch today, didnt answer my calls, what, you hate me or sumn?” he rambles, most of his words just slurring off.

“james, are you drinking again?” your voice is agitated, hearing the chattering and the low bass of a bar in the background.

you know he has a problem, and you’ve tried to get him to stop so many times. but you just can’t. he just won’t take your help.

“wha- i mean- well- no- but um- well y’r just gonna be mad at me like y’allways are” he stammers, not wanting to tell you the truth.

“no, i’m done with this. you say all this to me when you’re drunk, and then act like everything is fine! i’m sick of it! you spend so much time at the bar, and its the only place we ever go on dates, and i just end up babysitting you! so yeah i am mad! but for the last time! fuck you james.”

you hang up.

you start to tear up, the knot in your chest tight as your emotions come rushing to you, face heating up as tears begin to fall. the hissing of something behind you snaps you out of it.

“shit!” you rush over to to your stove, where the water from your pasta spills over the sides, the flames licking at the bottom of the pan.you take it off the heat and turn it off. it looks done anyway. you add some butter, and, of course, cheese. stirring gently, you sob.

james was so nice to you, always showering you with gifts and praise and love. but it was all for nothing. he just didn’t love you like he loved drinking in the end.

pouring the mac n cheese into a bowl, you call spencer.

“hey lemon! how’s my favourite person this fine evening?” you smile at the nickname.

florida, 2007

“spencer, you’re a boy. why are you so complicated? i mean, its just annoying!” you walk into his bedroom after his mom let you in, clearly pissed off. being 16 isn’t fun, especially when boys you like are rude to you.

“what did he do?” spencer doesn’t look up from his computer, just slightly turn his head.

“he said that i must eat lemons because of how bitter i am. i mean come on!” you lie on his bed and watch him play runescape.

“lemon… hmph” he just smiles and continues whatever he was doing on his game.

“what? nothing to say? ugh! you suuuuuck!”

los angeles, 2024

“yeah, i mean, no. i broke up with james.” you sniffle, and eat a forkfull of your food, elbows resting on the cold marble of the kitchen island.

“i mean- um- yeah thats horrible…” he says

“you’re allowed to celebrate, i know you hated him. and so did everyone. but still. im fragile right now!” you giggle through your gentle tears

“well, i mean, honestly? glad he’s gone. he sucked dude. not sure why you didn’t do it sooner. well, one positive to come of this, your pillows won’t stink of beer next time i nap at yours!” he replies, clearly happy for you.

“yeah,” you chuckle at the memory of spencer falling asleep on your bed, then completing his hair smelt like budweiser “that is true.”

“all seriousness though, are you okay?” his voice is genuine this time, filled with concern.

“no, not really. it’s just… different i guess. but, not much has changed y’know? like, it already felt like he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore…” you begin to ramble for at least 20 minutes, only to be met with the occasional ‘mhmn’ and ‘yeah’ from spencer. mid sentence, there’s a knock at your door.

“oh one sec, someone’s here.” you get up from your table and swing the door open to see a very sympathetic looking spencer, two target bags in his hands.

your jaw is on the floor. you were just crying to him over the phone, and he’d stayed whilst going out to get what you can only assume is things like sour patch kids and vanilla ice cream, which you could see at the top of the bag. your favourites.

“girls night?” he smirked and raised the bags at his sides.

all you can do is smile ear to ear, and wrap him in a tight hug. he leaned into you, basking in your sweet citrusy perfume.

“you’re my favourite, spencie.” you say into his shoulder.

as you both walk inside, charlie comes bounding over to spencer, his favourite person.

“who’s a good boy! charlie is!” spencer was now crouchedby your kitchen island, fussing over your dog as you walked to put on something more comfortable. you slid on some track pants and an old atari hoodie. walking back into your kitchen, spencer has unpacked the bags, and is creating his favourite conconction, The Agnew Sundae. basically the most sickeningly sweet ice cream ever. his dad made it for you both in the summer, and it consisted of:

vanilla ice cream

chocolate syrup

caramel sauce

whipped cream

sprinkles

mini marshmallows

chocolate chips

m&ms

and some crushed oreos to finish.

god, you know you’re going to regret this later, but boy was it a good way to cheer you up.

also strewn on the counter was his switch and copy of animal crossing, a few of his dvd’s for you to watch, and his mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

“spencer, how on earth did you get these? your mom lives across the country!” you hold up the baggie, and raise an eyebrow.

he looks up from his ice cream assembly station, and smirks.

“a magician never- ow!”

you cut him off by lightly jabbing his arm

“okay okay, she visited not to long ago - when she took you to the mall? and she gave me these to freeze and keep for an important event. i think she’d agree this is important.” you cant help but smile at his remark. you missed you moms.

“i’ll have to ring her later to thank her.” you say.

the night goes on, and you and spencer sit on the couch under a blanket watching barbie princess charm school. because what else are you going to watch?

as the movie goes on, and the effects of the agnew sundae kick in; you were dozing off on his shoulder. towards the end of the movie, so does he. he drifts off, comforted by your soft hair occasionally brushing against his face.

you stir awake, the sun beaming into your eyes through your semi-open blinds, and you’re hit by a wave of memory. everything that happened last night comes flooding back.

james’ call.

spencer’s call.

spencer showing up for you.

at the latter, you smile slightly. you prop yourself up on the sofa, and notice the absence of spencer’s warmth by you. frowning slightly, you walk into the kitchen.

“morning sleepyhead” his sweet voice rings through the room

“hey. i thought you’d’ve gone home”

“no, im not that mean! who do you take me for?” he retorts, his attention turning back to the pancakes on the stove.

“pancakes? what time is it?” you come up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder.

“yeah, and it’s about 10:30.” he leant his head on yours, flipping one. you had to admit, they look pretty good.

“10:30!?” you lift you head in surprise, looking at your phone “shouldn’t we be in work?”

“nope, i called us in sick. said my mom was having surgery. which she is, but i made it sound dramatic so we could stay off.” he looks at you, and smiles slightly.

“well, send her my love! i think i’ll go get dressed now.” he hummed, and you left the room.

opening your closet, you pick out a yellow baggy t-shirt and some grey sweatpants. you pull on some fluffy socks, and slip on a zip up hoodie. walking back out into the living room, spencer walks in with two plates piled high with pancakes, drenched in syrup and strawberries

“so,” you say, a fork full of pancakes in your mouth. “whats the plan for today?”

he looks over at you, and shrugs slightly. “not sure, we could go to the book store you like?”

“ah, you know the way to a girl’s heart“ you put a hand over your chest and giggle a bit.

a few hours later, you walk into the store, door creaking just a bit as a small brass bell chimes overhead. the air is filled with a comforting mix of old paper, leather bindings, and a hint of freshly brewed coffee from the corner cafe that you and spencer like to get tea from. you breathe it in deeply, a sense of calm washing over you. as you walk over the creaky wooden floorboards beneath you, soft warm light filters down from antique lamps, and cast a gentle glow over the rows of books. you ghost your fingertips over the cloth spines while the quiet murmur of whispered conversations and the occasional rustling of pages create a soothing background noise, almost like a lullaby. through spencer’s airpods, syd barrett serenades you both, and his voice blends seamlessly with the ambiance of the store.

“anything good today lemon?” spencer says as he shimmies up next to you in the aisle of towering book shelves, his voice like honey rolling off his tongue. his hair was unruly as always, but he looked so pretty in this light. his face was littered with freckles that you wish you could kiss. he’s smiling at you, and it snaps you back to reality, and reminds you of the fact you’re staring at him

“uh, yeah, i think i’ll get this one” you smile back, holding up a copy of memoirs of a geisha by arthur golden

“cool, shayne likes that one i think. but he likes every book so…” he smiles at his own remark “um, you want me to grab our normal seats in the cafe while you pay for that?”

“yes, please!” you reply eagerly, smiling as he walked off.

you walk up to the cashier, an older lady who always gives you a bookmark.

“thank you m’darlin’, have a lovely day!”

“you too mrs bryson!” you reply, heading over to spencer who’s sat in some plush leather armchairs. as you sit in comfortable silence with him, time seems to slow down, and for a moment, it's just you, spencer, the books, and the comforting atmosphere of this charming bookstore.

“i got you your sweet tea.” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with your favourite tea.

he remembered.

fuck.

you were in love with spencer agnew, and it took you him handing you your favourite tea to realise it.

“thanks spence.” you say, still grasping the feelings in your chest.

while you read you book and drink your tea, you feel your attention drifting to him. you can't help but glance up from the pages every now and then, watching him as he sits across from you, his focus on his own book. his fingers absently tracing the rim of his coffee mug, his brow furrowing as he reads. the way the sunlight filters through the small window, casting a warm glow across his hair, highlighting the subtle streaks of lighter brown among his dark curls. you find yourself smiling at the sight of him, wondering when these small, mundane moments began to mean so much to you. the bookstore is quiet, aside for the murmur of others reading or talking in hushed tones. yet, with spencer sitting just a few feet away, the world feels like it's faded to the background. it's just you and him, sharing this space, this moment. you watch the way his lips move slightly as he reads, how he occasionally tilts his head in concentration, and the way his eyes light up when he finds something particularly interesting. as he looks up and catches you watching him, you feel a rush of warmth spreading through your chest. he smiles at you, a slow, easy smile that makes your heart skip a beat. he raises an eyebrow, and you quickly look back down at your book, feeling your cheeks flush. but you can't help it; your gaze finds its way back to him, like he's the most interesting story in the room. he seems to notice the shift in the air between you. he closes his book and leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

“yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing. “just... glad to be here with you.”

he nods, his smile growing a bit wider. “me too.”

as he settles back into his chair, you realize that this simple exchange has changed something. the air feels lighter, the connection between you stronger. you may have come here to read and relax, but now, sitting across from spencer, you know you've found something else entirely - something you never want to let go of.

as you leave the store, you’re panicking slightly as you realise you don’t know what to do. so instead you make up an excuse.

“i forgot my keys ," you blurt out, looking back at the bookstore. it's a thin excuse, but spencer doesn't seem to notice. he simply nods, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"do you want me to wait for you?" he asks, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

"no, it's fine," you reply quickly. "you can go ahead. i’ll just be a minute."

spencer seems reluctant to leave, but he nods, offering a warm smile before stepping out onto the street. you watch him walk away, his figure blending into the crowd as he heads toward the main crossing. your heart sinks a little as he disappears from view, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing pulse.

the bookstore feels different now. the warm glow and soft murmurs are still there, but without spencer, it's like the color has faded a bit. you stand by the door, uncertain of what to do next. you could go back outside, catch up with him, and just say it. tell him how you feel. but the words seem stuck in your throat, and the thought of laying your feelings bare feels like too much, too soon.

you step back inside, pretending to look for something you might have left behind. the stacks of books seem to stretch endlessly in front of you, a maze of comforting distractions. you wander through the aisles, hoping to calm your racing thoughts, but all you can think about is spencer - his smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the warmth of his voice.

eventually, you find a quiet corner and sit down, closing your eyes for a moment. you know you have to do something. you can't just let him walk away without knowing how much he means to you. but the fear of rejection, of changing everything, feels overwhelming.

you realize you need time to sort through your feelings, to figure out the best way to approach this. with a heavy heart, you decide to make your way home, hoping the familiar surroundings will bring clarity. as you step out onto the street, the cool breeze brushes against your skin, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside you.

on the journey home, you replay the moments with spencer in your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of how much he means to you. you know you can't keep hiding your feelings, but you also know you need to approach this with caution. as you unlock the door to your apartment, you make a silent promise to yourself—to take the time you need, to listen to your heart, and to find the courage to follow where it leads, even if it means risking everything for him.

when you get home, spencer tries calling you as he paces around his bedroom, his phone pressed against his ear. the ringing continues, but there's no answer. he frowns, feeling an uneasy twist in his stomach. maybe you're still in the bookstore. maybe your phone is on silent, or maybe you're just busy. he tells himself there's a reasonable explanation, but the doubt lingers.

as he walks to his kitchen, he dials again. this time, the call goes straight to voicemail. his instincts tell him something isn't right. the keys excuse felt odd, and your hurried departure only amplifies his worry. he takes a moment to think, then leaves his apartment, jumps in his car, starts the engine, and drives toward your apartment.

the streets pass in a blur as he navigates through the evening traffic, his mind racing with possibilities. he finds a parking spot near your building and heads to your door. the hallway is quiet, save for the distant sound of a tv from a neighbouring apartment. he takes a deep breath and knocks.

nothing.

he knocks again, this time a little louder. the knot in his stomach tightens. what if something's wrong? what if he's too late? he knocks a third time, and this time, he hears a faint rustling from inside. the door opens slowly, and there you are, standing in the doorway with a look of surprise and confusion.

"spence?" you say, blinking at him as if he's the last person you expected to see.

"i - i was worried," he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "you didn't answer your phone, and i - i didn't know if you were okay."

you tilt your head, trying to process why he's here. his eyes search yours, and you can tell he's anxious, almost desperate to explain himself. "i'm fine," you say, "just had some stuff to think about."

he nods, but you can see he's not entirely convinced. there's something else, something deeper. he takes a step back, as if he's about to leave, but then he hesitates. "i - i have to tell you something," he blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. "i like you. like a lot. like i think i love you? and i know it might be weird, and i don't want to mess things up, but I just had to say it - because i couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

he looks at you, his eyes full of emotions you can't quite decipher yet. you nod, urging him to continue, even though your own heart is racing. there's something in his gaze that makes you realize this isn't just any confession - this is something that's been building for a long time.

"i've liked you since we were kids," he says, almost breathlessly. "i mean, you were always the coolest person I knew. you didn't care what anyone else thought. you were smart and funny and just... so genuinely kind. i remember when we used to ride our bikes around the neighbourhood, and you'd always be the first one to try something new. like, remember when you climbed that huge tree in mr lawson's yard just because you wanted to see the view from the top? i thought you were so brave."

he chuckles softly, his gaze softening as he reminisces. "and then, when we got older, you were always there for me. when my parents split up, and i felt like everything was falling apart, you were the one who came over with a pizza and just listened. you didn't try to fix it; you just let me talk. that's something i've always loved about you. you're a great listener, and you care about people. like, really care."

he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes locking with yours. "it's not just that, though. It's the little things, too. the way you laugh at the dumbest of angela’s jokes, the way you get excited about your favorite books, and how you always know the right thing to say when I'm feeling down. you make everything feel... lighter, you know? like, even when things are tough, you find a way to make it better."

spencer pauses, his voice growing more earnest. "so yeah, i've um, been holding onto this for a while, and i just, couldn't keep pretending that i didn't feel this way. i like you - a lot. and i don't know if you feel the same way, but i just couldn't not tell you anymore."

he takes a step back, the tension in his shoulders indicating that he's prepared to leave if needed. "i don't want to make things weird between us. if you don't feel the same, that's okay. i just had to say it, because you're the best thing in my life, and i can't keep acting like you aren't."

his confession takes you by surprise, but as he speaks, you feel a surge of warmth in your chest. the words you were struggling to say are suddenly so clear, so obvious. you watch as he starts to turn away, his shoulders slumping in resignation. before he can take another step, you grab his arm and pull him back, your lips pressing against his in a gentle, yet desperate kiss.

he freezes for a moment, stunned by your sudden action, then his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. when you finally break the kiss, you look into his eyes, and there's no doubt, no hesitation.

"it's always been you," you whisper, your voice soft but sure. "you're my person, spencer."

he hugs you tightly, his grip firm and comforting, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. it's a perfect moment, one that feels like the beginning of something new, something beautiful.

and as you stand there in each other's embrace, you know that everything's going to be okay, because you have each other. and that's all that matters.

[honey-crypt]

I need farmer to ride Elliott so much that she overstimulated him to the point he passed out then she basically gives him head for the cherry on top🥰🥰😝😝

a/n: i regret nothing in the phrases used in this work of fiction

warnings: mentions of edging, overstimulation, blowjobs, and skinny dipping (minors dni)

tagging the elliott squad: @fuerrziah @sonicsbigmassivepersonality @pxtofawn @razberry-cookie

★ save a horse, ride a cowboy - elliott x farmer ★

★ elliott’s a sensitive guy… in more than one facet of life

★ but really, would you be surprised that the guy who cried at the end of every romance novel was the same guy who could nut at the slightest touch?

★ of course, over the years of sexual encounters, elliott learned how to hold himself back from climaxing aka edging; it made his orgasms 100000x better when he started edging

★ however, you- stardew valley’s farmer- were about to teach that redheaded author a lesson

★ it’s unstoppable force vs immovable object, as the two of you battled it out to see who could make the other cum first

★ however, you found his weakness when you perched yourself on top of the writer and slammed your gorilla grip pussy onto his cock

★ elliott swore he saw yoba that night, as you rode him like a cowgirl in those old western ferngillian films

★ he tried and tried to hold himself back for as long as he could, not wanting to lose the little wager you concocted up

★ first to cum has skinny dip outside willy’s shop, he thought back to the bet you two agreed upon while your cunt sucked his soul (and dick) out

★ elliott could bear the thought of getting caught in the water nude, much less outside his friend’s (father figure) shop/home

★ yet, the more he felt your heavenly pussy engulfed around his weeping cock, the less willpower he had to hold back his orgasm

★ but then you had to do it, you had clench down just at the right spot to make elliott see stars; the writer quickly unraveled and came hard

★ euphoria and relief waved over elliott like the waves outside his cabin, as he emptied himself into the condom

★ but you didn’t stop, you kept going, your pelvis colliding with his while you rode elliott

★ his dick was too sensitive, it was too much! elliott was practically foaming from the mouth from overstimulation

★ he couldn’t vocalize his thoughts, only a series of moans and slurred remarks escaped his lips

★ yoba, the way you bounced on his cock like a bunny in heat, the sensation of being overwhelmed by pleasure?

★ too much, elliott’s eyes rolled back into his skull and promptly passed out from the stimulation

★ his eyes soon fluttered back open and noticed that you were no longer on top but rather by his thighs, face close to his leaking cock; the condom was off, exposing him to the frigid night air

★ he stared down at you, as you gently took his dick in your mouth, warm and wet just like your pussy

★ you made work of him once more, sucking elliott’s sensitive cock off just as hard as you rode it

★ drool dripped down his chin and onto his bare chest, as elliott climaxed once more, coating your mouth in thick globs of cum

★ “i win” you stated before climbing to bed with him and snuggling up

★ guess he had to skinny dip tomorrow

[hyunsvngs]

Hannie and i are already basically the same person (anxious and introverted). so, i can imagine him getting just past his tolerance like just a little bit too high and going almost non-verbal (speaking from past experience). but he's just so horny, but he literally can't use his words. Hannie'd be so needy that he'll just grab your hand and pull it onto his half-hard dick and just whimper until you catch the hint. OR he'll just cuddle super close to you and start rutting until you decide (if you decide) to help him out

under the cut because maybe dubcon?!?! AH

he's scrolling through his phone, eyes looking away from you. his leg has started to jiggle rhythmically, hand firmly placed on your thigh, and you link your fingers together. you're not doing much yourself, just chilling, staring at the ceiling a little with how high you are. jisung's leg abruptly stops and so does his scrolling, and his hand clenches around yours a little.

"you okay, baby?" you murmur, and jisung hums in approval. it's a little shaky, but you let it slide. a few moments later, his spare hand has started to pull on the crotch of his joggers, phone discarded next to him. you turn to look at him and he huffs, head rolling back against the back of the couch.

"hnnfn." he mumbles, intelligently, and you giggle. he grabs your hand tighter again, but this time he moves it, shoving your hand down the front of his joggers. you're met with his cock, half-hard and steadily getting harder underneath your joint grip. "baby..."

"jisung, a-are you- did you- you're really high," you say, but you're already discarding his hand, gripping his cock and pumping him to full hardness. he whimpers, nodding eagerly, and you let him start to cant his hips against your grip.

"haaa, aah- ah, mmn-" he's babbling, slurring his words and not quite letting anything out, but he's nodding so vehemently you can't bring yourself to stop. his cock bumps against his joggers with every movement of your hand, and it only makes him wail, hand moving to grip your shoulder.

"is it good, baby?" you hum, lips pressing against his cheek. he only nods, turning to you to try to catch your mouth with his. he's messy with his kiss, spit swirling all over your bottom lip and your chin, and you can only suck his tongue into your mouth. you pull away with a bite, and he moans so loud you're thankful no one else is in. "is it dry? hurting your cock, yeah?"

jisung keens, nodding, but he makes no movement to slick up the friction he's getting. you know your baby likes pain, so you clench your fist a little tighter, cooing when his cock finally begins to leak.

"will you cum, baby?" you smile, and jisung answers you with pushing his joggers down. they hit the floor and he wrestles them off of his feet, parting his thighs further to show you just how hard he is. he's started leaking like a faucet, and his cock protrudes upwards in a curve that has your pussy gushing in your panties. "oh, sungie. you're so hard, so hard."

"i- yes," he wails, and when his hands move again he's gripping his balls himself. he clenches his hand around them tightly, and with a roll of his eyes backwards his head is rolling onto your shoulder. "c- c- hnng, ah- ah, can-"

"yeah, baby, c'mon, get dirty f'r me.”

[kqulitz]

a/n: ofc 😭🫶🫶

change of style

bill kaulitz x reader

this is basically the same as revealing which is tom’s version :)

tags: (not underage) drinking/parties, established relationship, fluff, drunk! bill being clingy, some jealousy/possessiveness, implied smut at the end but nothing explicit :)

lowercase intended :)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

bill’s on his sixth shot, he’s swaying a little and he’s incredibly bored. you weren’t here yet, so he was sulking in the corner, a pout on his lips as he drinks. tom comes over every now and then to give him waters, yet bill only moans about how lonely he was; causing his twin to roll his eyes and leave him to be drunk and lonely. parties seemed so boring when you weren’t there.

getting up to get some fresh air to keep his stomach down, bill pushes through the crowd and out the door. he slumps against the wall, sighing softly. “billy?” you call, a hand touching his arm. bill gasps, eyes brightening. “meine katze! you’re finally here…” (my cat/kitty) he slurs out, clinging onto you tightly. “how many drinks have you had?” you giggle, hugging him back. “only some shots..!” he protests, standing up straight. “i’m fine, see..?” he goes to gesture to himself but his words die immediately on the tip of his tongue.

“bill?” you tap his arm gently, examining him. “yeah? sorry, i just… wow.” he breaks into a big grin, hands grasping at your waist. you realise it was your outfit he had been captivated by, your face flustering. “i just thought that this would be more fitting for a party.” you mutter, resting your hands gently on his forearms, yet you don’t push him away. “it’s very fitting.” your boyfriend mumbles, kissing you. you can taste the alcohol on his lips, it makes you chuckle. “let’s ditch, baby- please?” he whines, gently tugging you. “bill, i just got here! i wanna see the rest of my precious boys.” you tease, pinching his cheek. “you can see them later..!” bill pouts, yet you turn, leading him back into the party.

“tom!” you chirp, greeting him with a small hug. “you finally got here. looking good.” he winks, you know he’s just joking. “yeah, traffic was a nightmare.” you reply, your knees dipping slightly as bill leans all his weight onto you, glaring at his brother. tom fakes surrender, laughing. “have you been giving him water?” you ask, standing up a bit more with bill. “yeah… obviously he hasn’t been drinking them.” tom gives his brother a pointed look. “i have..!” bill sticks his tongue out, you can only laugh gently at their antics. “where are the others?” you ask tom, practically supporting bill’s body weight as well as your own on your platform boots. “at the bar getting drinks.” he points, you nod. “i’ll see you later then, tommy. i’m gonna order this one a water.” you smile. tom laughs, letting you both go.

bill can just about follow you through the crowd, hand clinging to yours as he stumbles. you stop a little, letting him catch up. bill smiles, pressing a wet kiss to your lips. you giggle, leading him the rest of the way. “gustav, georg.” you greet, touching gustav’s shoulder gently as you slip between them. “hey, you! finally decided to join us?” gustav teases, handing you a shot glass. “yeah, sorry about that.” you flag down the bartender. “can i get a water please?” you smile politely. you notice how his eyes dip down to your cleavage, and it seems bill notices too as he hugs you tightly from behind, kissing your shoulder and neck possessively. “of course.” he smiles, walking off to retrieve a glass. “how’s the party been?” you ask, turning your back to the bar as you examine the dance floor. “it’s been good. your boyfriend’s been mourning your lack of presence the whole time though.” georg teases as he watches how bill clings to you. “he’ll be fine, he’s just a bit drunk.” you laugh.

the bartender places the glass beside you, and you take it with a small ‘thank you’. “drink this bill- slowly!” you watch him go to down the water, correcting his glass so it didn’t spill all over him. gustav laughs at the interaction as georg watches over his own glass. bill pulls the glass away with a frown. “that’s not what i thought-“ he mumbles, yet you guide it towards his lips again. “just drink it, baby.” you coo, watching him do so. “it’s like having a child.” georg tells gustav, who nods with another laugh. you can’t help but laugh with them. “he’ll be fine.” you tell them, brushing some hair from bill’s face. he finishes his water, humming a little. “you should start to feel a bit better now.” you tell him, thumb brushing against his cheek. bill let’s his head fall to your shoulder, holding you tightly. “you look so good..!” he whines, arms squeezing you. “thank you, baby.” you smile, watching the other band members head out to the dance floor.

“too tired to dance?” you tease, kissing your boyfriend’s neck gently. “a little.” he sighs, falling silent for a moment. “i’ll tell you what i’m not too tired for.” he purrs, hands grabbing your hips. “bill..!” you giggle, letting him pull away and grab your hand. “c’mon. they won’t notice we’re gone.” he grins, leading you to the bathrooms.

[mindless-existence1]

Deadpool x Wolverine Honda Odyssey Scene

Summery: (How the Honda Odessy scene should have gone.) Logan gets hard when fighting and Wade is just hard all the time. After hours of fighting Logan finally snaps.

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND!

Authors note: This is for one of my boo boo bears hope you enjoy. The dp x Wolverine movie has taken over my thoughts so this is my form of brainrot.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of fighting and blood, praise kink, handjobs, being mean to each other, inappropriate jokes and language, anal, degration?, that's about it I think.

Masterlist Link

For fucks sake Wade just wouldn't quit and it was pissing Logan off. They has been going at this for hours and despite what either of them said, they were starting to get tired. Logan had a different reason for wanting to be done with this idiotic fight though, and it involves the sick part of him that gets turned on when fighting.

For some reason, probably after years of being an X-Men, fighting made him get a hard on. Most of the time he could ignore it since everyone he fought died easily. But now he was faced with someone who couldn't die, who had been flirting with him for days, and obviously was getting turned on to.

He quickly stabbed Wade through the head and watched him fall. They had been at this long enough for Wade to know he had about 20 seconds to get him tied up before he was back at it again. Logan took this time to use the seatbelts around them to tie the merc to the seat he was nearest to.

He finished with a final tug and leaned back in his seat to bask in the momentary silence. Wade's head slowly shook as he 'awoke'. "Ahh kinky." His voiced slurred and groggy. Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head with a groan.

"Would a good fuck shut you up?" Wade snapped his head up at the man's words. "I mean if your offering." Wade answered hesitantly but eager none the less. Logan saw him look down towards the hard on pushing against the yellow suit.

"I normally wouldn't ask for this and wouldn't even need this but you just won't fucking die." Logans voice was gruff as he spoke. Wade was hardly even listening to what he was saying just nodding his head. The only thing playing in his head was 'good fucking good fucking good fucking'.

"Look, basically I just get hard when fighting, I don't know why, I just do. Normally I can just kill the guy before it becomes a problem. It goes away, everything's fine- stay quiet " Wade tried to interject but was quickly cut off by Logan "-but you can't fucking die and I can't really just jerk myself off right now so you're the next option.

"This was the best outcome of their fight Wade could think of, he assumed what he saw in his frenemies pants was just a protective cup or something. But now knowing what it really was, his hard on sky rocketed. "Holy fucking shitballs, Honey Buns I will do abso-fucking-lutley whatever you want Wolvie.”

Logan starts to work on undoing his belt, it's hard in the cramped space but he deals. “I figured. Some of those last few moves you pulled gave away the fact you're a horny price of shit. Thought you'd feel the same way about this."

“Feel the same way? Peanut I’m more than receptive, I've wanted- no actually I've needed  that cock in my ass since I saw your  ass in that suit. I’ll even beg for you if you want.” Wade is rambling, he could feel the blood pumping in his ears. If there's an actual chance he's about to get fucked by the Wolverine he will do anything this glorious man asked of him.

Logan threw the tight pants stuck to his legs somewhere in the blood covered Honda Odyssey, but he kept his boxers on. He thinks for a second before cocking his head to the side with a small smile. “Ok then, beg.”

A wave of lust crashes over Wade, he curls in on himself as best he can. A moan gets stuck in his throat, he has to take a moment to calm himself. The threat of coming in his pants is starting to get more and more real.

“Ohhh fucking shit-biscuit. Please? Pleeeease, Wolvie? Logan? Daddy? Master? Sir? I’ll do anything you want. I’ll make it so so so good I promise. I’ll even try not to talk, like I'll really really try, just for you!" Logan, being the dick that he is, looks unfazed. He keeps his boxers on, his cock straining the fabric. Wade whines and throws his head down, squirming in the tight bonds.

“What the fuck do you want me to say? I'll say anything you want to hear, pretty please?" Logan tries to hide his grin, he hates that he's enjoying the show Wade is putting on. He pulls down his boxers and Wade genuinely thinks he might die on the spot. "Holy Marvel Jesus you're hung like a fucking horse Wolvie!"

“Shut up- Daddy and master are a no go-"

“Fair enough”

“But Sir is fine. Actually if you could just shut your damn mouth while we did this I'd appreciate it." Logan says. “Sir. Got it, I can do that. Yes Sir.” Wade jerks his hips in his seat, desperately trying to gain any sort of friction. “I’ll make sure the author capitalizes that 'S' for you Sir."

Logan ignores him, leaning down close to his ear. “Just keep being a good boy and this will go smoothly for both of us” Ohhh fuck that’s not fair at all, Logan must be a demon sent from hell just for him. Wade can’t catch the desperate whimper that forces its way out of his throat. He rocks his hips up as much as the seat belts let him, looking for any sprt of friction.

Logan grins. “Oh, you like that, huh?” For once Wade’s not sure he has the words to explain what he feels. He's glad Logan hasn't made move to take off his mask, furiously blushing as much as he can through the scared tissue."Is that really all it takes for the merc with the mouth to shut up? A little praise and you go quiet?" Logan voice teases Wade as he stares him down.

Wade looks at anything other that the hot as fuck man infront of him."Instead of threatening you earlier I could have just praised you and we wouldn't have had to do this whole go damn fight? God you are pathetic aren't you?" Logan is softly laughing now.

Even though Wade can't tell if it's mean spirited or not he can't bring himself to care. "Will you please just hurry up and touch me? You're the one who suggested all this in the first place." Wade tried, and failed, to hide his desperation. "I mean, think if the audience! They've had to wait 18 paragraphs for this. So why don't we just give them what they want?"

Logan didn't understand what Wade was talking about half the time, especially when he talked about some "audience". But he couldn't bring himself to care. "Can't you just shut the hell up?" He snapped at the tied up man infront of him.

The snarky comment Wade was about to say was quickly forgotten when Logan made a move to take out the bottom half of Wades bloodied suit. A flash of panic crossed his mind and he instinctively jerked his hips away from the older man's hand.

Logan retracted his hand slightly and looked at the man's masked face as he tried to laugh it off. "You good bub?" Logan asked apprehensively, "I'm fine! Totally fine! I just havent...done it with someone else since my break up. But wouldn't want to deprive you from this hot bod for any longer so let's get to the devils tango Peanut."

The jokes lacked their usual light heartedness but Logan could tell he wouldn't be getting anything else out the man. And at the moment he just need to deal with his raging boner.

His hand began the awkward pull of trying to pull off the bottom half of the deadpool suit from where it was wrapped up under the seatbelts. When Logan finally got the pants and underwear pulled down enough Wade wad aching.

Logan took a minute to just look at the man, his legs had just as much scarred tissue as his face. Even so, Wade had very muscley legs. From all work he's done he was truly built, and maybe they just looked hot because of what was leaking between them. With one hand he pulled the deadpool mask up above Wades mouth to help him breath the other went lower.

Logan reached out his hand to stoke the other man, he hadn't done this in a loooong time and he hates to admit he's a little desperate. "Time to get the sock ready nerds." Wade was mumbling to what it seemed like someone that wasnt there, Logan chose to ignore him. "Promise not to cut my dick off with your claws Mr. KittyCat Sir?" Wade's voice was desperate and practically dripping with need.

"Dont call me that Mouth." Logan snapped but kept moving his hand lower till he wrapped his calloused fingers around Wade's length. "Sorry Sir." Wade's voice was wavy and laced with a whine. "Holy fuck. Is my dick small or are your hands just huge?" Wade tried joking to hide the shaking in his voice from the pleasure.

"Do I need to tie that mouth shut?" Logans voice seemed to lower an octave as he felt himself somehow get harder from the little show in front of him. "No Sir." Wade felt so pathetic and he loved it.

"A handjob is all it takes for Deadpool to be tamed? Well I'll be damned." Logans tone as mocking and it just made Wade leak more precum. "Believe me Sir, I can't be tamed. Now come on and just fuck me you sexy honey badger." Wade was panting and trying to to hold back the moans desperately trying to break loose.

"God you are a pathetic slut." Despite his words Logan was getting desperate himself, "we can't really do this without lube or else I'm basically going to rip you open." Logan was a shameless man, as he parted Wade's legs so he could get between them.

"If you tear me with that metal rod of fun I'll be fine, you stabed me through the heart like 10 minutes ago, I'll heal." Wade's voice was begging, all he wanted was to have the Wolverine destroy his ass. "Actually let me rephrase. If you tear me- I'll like it."

That's all it took for Logan to bottom out, thrusting his hips into the moaning man under him. Wade through his head back against the seat in a minorly pornagraphic whine. "Fuck why does it feel like you're trying to impregnate me your so fucking deep? It's not that kind of fanfiction Wolvie." Wade choked on the moan bubbling in his throat.

"Thought I told you to shut the hell up," Logan leaned in closer to Wade with each thrust. "Don't you want to be good?" He knew the words would get the man, he was proven right when Wade withered in on himself with a whimper.

"Yes Sir." He mumbled in between pants. Logans grip on Wades his would be leaving bruises if Wade could get them. He was almost sad he wouldn't be bruised, there'd be no proof except a sore ass that he and Logan ever did this. But of course he wouldn't be shutting up about this for the next forever.

Like everything Logan did to Wade his thrusts weren't gentle. His pace was fast and each one left Wade breathless. He hardly had time to talk in between his moans, his legs were starting to shake as he doubled over on himself.

Wade was the first to start reaching his climax, he stared to ramble like he always seemed to “Logan, Logan- I’m so close just fucking please- fuck. I'm going to come- please?" He didn't know why he was begging but he couldn't stop the words falling from his lips.

“Just a little longer Wade, you can do that right? For me? You can be a good slut and wait a little longer?” Wade whined at the mans words, but choked out a weak, “Yeah- I can- I will Sir".

Logan was starting to feel the burning sensation of his peak in the pit of his chest. He brought a hand towards Wade's weeping dick to give him extra stimulation, the moan ripped from the others chest was laced with desire.

With a groan Logan thrusted a final time and released into the fucked out man below him. Not soon after Wade came, the cum landing on his covered stomach. The only sound the in car was panting coming from the two men. Wade seemed to be blessed out and almost ready to talk again.

Logan began to pull out after he did he pulled up Wade pants for him. He sat on the layed back chair next to where Wade was tied up. He pulled his pants up and layed down, he was feeling the exhaustion from the nights events. He looked over to see Wade's breathing slow down.

"Hey bub-"

"Don't call me bub when you just had your monster cock in my ass not even a minute ago.