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suguann · 3 months

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✎. he’s nice. well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you.

tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, simon is an excon, non-linear narrative for future chapters [18+ only]

part one | part two

He’s always been a little obsessed with pretty things, even as a child.

It only makes sense that the habit would follow him into adulthood.

He sees you once while he’s walking by the bus stop. A timid thing wrapped up in an oversized sweater and parka coat, not looking up from the little book in your lap until the bus stops before you and takes you away.

The next time he sees you, he makes sure to come a few minutes earlier, lighting a cigarette and keeping his distance while he watches you read the same book from the day before. Simon knows it’s you, the girl from the letters, even if it’s a big city. It has to be—his pretty, lonely, silly girl.

He thinks about walking up to you just to make sure, but he doesn’t really need to. The address on the envelope brought him here, and you’re the only one he’s seen wearing a university sweater in this neighborhood.

But when he hesitates too long, a boy starts talking to you, and he watches you smile at somebody else.

Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath to fill his chest with the soothing feeling of menthol and the burning taste of nicotine, trying to relax his white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.

You’ll learn, he thinks, when the bus drives off, and the boy doesn’t follow you on. He’s a patient man—it’s possibly one of his finer qualities.

He lets his car idle as he climbs out before crushing his cigarette bud underneath his shoe, straightening his black tie, and crossing the street. The boy sees him and freezes, but Simon can only laugh, wiping blood off his cheek several seconds later.

You’ll learn.

He’s nice.

Well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you. But nice, you've learned, can mean any number of things: a nice laugh, a nice house, a nice job, et cetera.

But how he holds himself—tall, broad, and dangerous—hardly screams nice.

It’s funny because you don’t remember seeing him around the office before—the company, including IT, occupies only four floors in the building.

Someone tells you he’s a friend of a friend. This initially sounds odd until Rose, the office gossip, says he’s someone rich who helps fund the company's social events. Hence, the crisp suit and the wide berth of space you’d give someone who wields their smile like a weapon.

You quickly look away twice when you find that smile aimed at you, heat traveling up to your hairline at an alarming rate.

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not your type.

“Enjoying the party?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice so close to your ear. Careful not to spill your drink, you turn your head to find him smiling down at you with a sharp curl of his mouth.

Then he’s in front of you, eyes dark and crinkling in the corners.

“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad, though,” you squeak nervously when you realize you haven’t answered him. “It’s different from what I’m used to.”

He raises an amused brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He’s intimidating up close, and you take a small sip of your drink to ease your nerves. “Well, no kegs or trashy music playing, and boys with egos bigger than the room.”

The man lets out a low chuckle as he considers your honest reply, and you swear you see something ripple across his features, but when you blink, it’s gone. “I suppose that differs from top-shelf liquor and live bands, huh? Which is better?”

You shrug. “Well, it depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Honest answer?”

He nods.

“Neither. I don’t really care for parties.”

“Then it’s quite unfortunate that you found yourself at one tonight.” He seems privately amused, in on a joke you have no part of. Then he says, “You want to get out of here?”

“I probably shouldn’t follow a stranger home,” you tell him bashfully.

“That’s very responsible of you. Then how about I get you a drink? There’s a hotel across the street, and the bar’s not shit.”

You bite your lip, and his big, warm hand is on the small of your back before you say anything. It must’ve been written all over your face like he knew you would say yes.

He’s ever the gentleman, unlike most boys your age. Though, perhaps that’s the difference. He isn’t a boy—nothing about him can hardly be described as such. This fact becomes a bit overwhelming and more evident once he has you on your back, thighs nearly up to your ears, and held in place by a firm, intricately tattooed forearm.

His smile—almost too sharp to be nice—makes your chest do this silly thing when he says, “Let’s play a game.”

You whisper into the night air. “What kind of game?”

“It’s simple. You tell me yes or no.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of the rules of the game. “But—”

The slap against your cunt isn’t harsh, but it’s the suddenness of it, how no one has ever thought to touch you like that, is what makes you squeak and tremble underneath him—the rings on his fingers sharpening the sting—trying to scurry up the bed, but hindered by his iron grip.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yes.”

“There’s a girl,” and then his fingertips drop down to where you're slippery-wet and sensitive, moving in hard, tight circles until you're clenching down on a curse between your teeth. "Messy little cunt."

It's too much, you think when he plugs two fingers (feeling like three of your own) into your pussy. The muscles in his shoulders roll as he shoves his fingers in and out, batting your hands away when you try to get him to slow down. Too much, too—

“It’s not. I want you to cum like this,” he says, teasing, nudging your clit with his thumb and swirling it in tight spit-slick circles; you have no choice but to chase that bright light feeling until you cum, sticky and sweaty.

Just like he promised you would, your orgasm is a shivery thing, molten heat, incandescent, settling in your veins until it pours out of you like liquid wax against the scratchy hotel sheets, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his fingers curl up and press into where you’re soft and tender.

He smiles. “This is fun, isn’t it, love?”

“I can’t,” you whimper, not exactly answering him. “No more, please.”

His eyes, already pupil-fat, go dark at hearing you beg, nostrils flaring. Please, the key for the small amount of mercy he grants you as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit and lightly sucking it into his mouth. His lips are just there, and then they’re gone.

“Say it again.”

Your response is a wet little hiccup at the back of your throat. “W-what?”

“Beg me.”

“Please.”

“Again,” he says one more time.

“Please, please, please…”

It’s all you can think to say, strung between that dreamy space and reality, that you don’t even notice him flipping you onto your tummy with ease, not until the light in the room is blotted out as he leans over you. He wraps a hand into the scruff of your neck and presses your face into the bed, the other tucked under your hips to keep them at the right angle—held down with nowhere to go.

He leaves biting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders and the back of your neck—Simon—he manages to tell you his name from one little bruise to the next. Somewhere between the buzz in your ears, you hear him telling you that he wants you to moan it for him, nice and loud.

The haze clears a little, however, at the metal clink of a belt and the sound of a zipper coming undone before you feel his cock prodding you open—raw, without a condom.

“There you go. Lay there, and just—just give me what I fucking want,” Simon rasps as if you could actually move with his hands pinning you in place.

There are many things you should feel: scared of his words, trapped by the rings digging into tender flesh, by his thighs forcefully pushing yours apart. The red flags look more like flashing lights at this point.

Instead, you feel wanted—your walls tighten around his cock, fluttering, pulling him deeper inside, letting him turn you inside out. A small smile buried into the pillow.

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod smut #cod imagine #cod fic #cod x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

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seraphdreams · 4 months

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GOT MILK? | TOJI FUSHIGURO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. what happens when you invite an unexpected guest into your home? lucky for you, this one cares about your health!

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader / milkman!toji, smut, cliche porn trope, size kink, coercion, food play, a bit prey/predator dynamics, 1950s-esque setting, toji’s huge, unprotected “love-making”, mdni <3.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! it’s been a while, hasn’t it? i’m so so sorry i’ve been away from writing :( but trust me, we’re so back !! this is actually my first full length toji fic n i’m so excited 4 you all to read it . . i wanted to keep it light and cliche for all of our pleasure. this took me about two months to write on n off, but !! if you like this n enjoy it, please comment / reblog ! i’ll make you all a glass of seraph’s special milk, thank u ♡ a big shoutout 2 @gh4ul for beta reading ! i love u so muchie!!

fluorescent shimmers of the setting sun pierced through your living room window, beyond pastel curtains, and onto the curvature of your face as if the sun itself used you like its own canvas while you lounged upon the couch. soft murmurs of whichever television show you had fallen asleep watching hummed within the four thin walls of your flat, creating the perfect ambiance for a peaceful late afternoon nap.

it wasn’t as though you had done much during the day, aside from indulging in your boredom with the mundane baking of cookies, taking two batches to get right, alongside tidying your room.

although currently, you slept soundly in a way that came off as daunting to others; torso clad in a thin tank top paired with little pink shorts that could’ve been mistaken for underwear by any onlooker, with your hand rested just below your abdomen, chest rising and falling in the most harmonious synchronicity.

vulnerable, like prey unknowing of its predator.

fortunately, the neighborhood you resided in was safe. some sweet suburban city where everyone knew each other more than they knew themselves, and the thought of anything being remotely out of place sent residents into a frenzy. it was innocuous to assume that not much out of the ordinary took place. or that was the case, until —

knock, knock.

“delivery for y/n?”

stirring in your sleep, you prayed that the owner of the baritone voice that had woken you up was just some figment of your imagination, some effect of unintended lucid dreaming perhaps. yet, upon blinking open unfocused, bleary eyes, and the loud couplet of knocks on the door following soon after, you were pulled out of dreamland and into the vexing reality.

three more firm knocks paired with a gruff tone calling out flatly, “delivery,” was enough to have your body sashaying involuntarily to your front door.

whoever was outside was insinstently persistent. if they had thought to put even an ounce more strength into those compact knocks, your door would have been long gone by now.

“coming!” the dulcet tone of your voice was riddled with exhaustion and you were unsure if the sound had resonated with the stranger on the other end, your internal query being answered once the relentless abuse of your front door had ceased.

you had ignored the fabric of your meager top, not quite noticing the way the strap so slightly dropped from your shoulder, leaving such a beautiful expanse of skin exposed to, and for, anyone. swiftly, you had opened the door for your unexpected visitor.

there, stood some dark haired man, taller and bigger than any other man you’ve known in the neighborhood. he must have had to be over 6’0, with a stature so broad, chiseling muscles barely hidden underneath the thin fabric of his uniform. his white hat tilted upward, and as your eyes descended, you caught his matching suit worn just a bit too taut. it was as if the first two buttons of his shirt were hanging on for dear life to cover what massive mounds his chest was. not to mention, how his thighs were close to breaking free from their confines.

to the right of the struggling buttons, sat a little pin that read “toji.”

he didn’t put any effort into a friendly introduction, the only hint of expression you could trace was the furrowing of his brows at his forehead as he gave you an unreadable stare.

“was told to drop this off here.” toji spoke. he held out a small wired basket with two glass jars of white liquid, seeming to be milk. maybe it had been your fuzzy, half-awake mind, and what little thoughts were up there, but you couldn’t recall a time where you had placed an order for some strange fluid.

was it a thing the neighborhood would do every once in a while?

as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and gave the handsome stranger a soft pout, you spoke airily. “what’s in the jar, sir?”

his demeanor shifted into pure displeasure, not fancying the query your hollow brain came up with. it remained undoubtedly clear that he wasn’t the most amiable of folks.

“it’s milk, darling.”

“i didn’t order any milk, sorry.” that same pout remained on your lips as you shook your head for the milkman to end a seemingly quick conversation, but just as you were about to close the door back, the pressure of his strong hand against the wood made your attempt futile.

to your surprise, a miniscule smirk was evident on his scarred features. “no?” his narrowed eyes drank you in from the bottom up as if you were lemonade on a scorching summer’s day. those same eyes skillfully darting from the spill of your breasts in your little top, up to your pretty pursed lips and doe-like orbs.

anyone could tell from a mile away what type of girl you were — the type that toji devilishly enjoys.

it wasn’t often he was presented with a doll such as yourself. sure, he could pick the mind of others increasingly well, could tell just when someone was planning to set him up (like some sort of off-duty criminal) but with you, it was as though not a thought could be lodged behind vacant eyes. everything about you was pure, untainted.

he stepped closer toward you, his foot conveniently placed between the barrier between your home and the outside. “try it for yourself. it’s fresh, and organic.” as he spoke, the glint in his deep gray eyes had overturned into a sly darkness. and when you shook your head at his advance, he only scoffed, peering in closer until he fully stepped foot into your abode.

“oh, c’mon,” vexation laced his tone. “don’t make my job harder than it already is.”

his hauntingly large frame eclipsed yours, the sun casting a backlit shadow behind his silhouette, like something out of a 50’s horror film. at that moment, you were in no position to deny his simple request.

it was just milk, perhaps he wanted an honest review.

your eyes met his, and you swallowed thickly as you hoped that courage would fill the void in the pit of your stomach. “how much for a glass?” softly, your question floated in tense air. a smirk upticks on his face as he reaches into the basket, holding up the larger jar of the two settled in the basket.

“for you, it’s free of charge.”

maybe you should’ve questioned the insubstantial value, for nothing in this economy was truly ever free.

you take the bottle from him, popping open the lid and taking a sip. the unnerving feeling of greedy eyes caused goosebumps to form over your skin. the liquid certainly had a thicker texture to it, possibly an ode to its organic nature; and as you sipped and sipped, you failed to notice the drippage that rolled amply down the side of your mouth to your chest. toji, however, caught sight of it — because, of course he did.

after you had your sample size, you took a manicured thumb to glossy lips, wiping your bottom lip to collect the remnants before taking your tongue to your thumb to lick up the remains.

in that moment, you reminded him of a kitten, some meek animal vastly trusting of the others in its environment.

his smirk grew wider and he closed the door behind him as he stepped closer, now merely a few inches away from your figure. “oh, but miss,” his voice full with anything but a genuine concern for you, he traced his finger along the trail of milk that lingered at your chest. “you missed a spot.”

his sudden touch startled you in such a way that shifted your body to jolt once you felt his cool fingertips. that same motion forced you to completely forget about the open jar in your hand, accidentally spilling an even larger amount of milk all over yourself in the process.

drenched in the liquid, your top became practically see-through with only the sight of your pert nipples showing underneath. it's candy for the eye, toji’s at least.

“you gonna keep that on, princess? you’ll catch a cold.” his voice feigns concernment towards you, as if he pitied the pathetic state he put upon you. in that moment, sheepishness clouds your empty head, and if you could cower away, you would; but instead, you took him up on his suggestion, turning your back to him and doing away with the thin barrier.

“gimme a minute to change.” you shyly said as you looked back at him with a hand barely covering your chest.

how cute you were, so willing to invite a stranger into your home and even strip for him — were you always this welcoming?

before you could scuttle to your room, you felt a firm grip on your arm. toji, now clearly having fun with you, had given you a menacing smirk along with a tsk of his tongue. “you’re still all wet,” he turned you back around to face him in one swift motion. “let me clean you off.” his hand slowly trailed up your arm and to the swell of your breasts where he cupped one in his large, calloused palm. the feeling of his rough fingertips over your bare skin caused you to break out in a shudder. “s-sir, i don’t think..”

he shushed you the moment his thumb rolled over your hard nipple, milk still dripping down your skin. with one hand, he pulled you in tight by your waist, and with the other, he aided himself in wrapping his lips around your nipple. you could only describe his touch as hungry, rough as if the opportunity to take advantage of your vulnerability would slip away into thin air. he locked steel grey eyes with you as he did so. once he got his fill of toying with your sensitive mounds, he switched his sucking motions into little bites.

his deep groans and your soft whines filled the space instantaneously. he’d rotate from one breast to the other until he felt you growing weak in his hold, the squeeze of your thighs telling him everything he needed to know about your desire. and when he felt satisfied with the level at which he teased you, he unlatched.

it felt as if all air had rushed out of your system from the raspy whines you had let out during his ministrations. you took a moment to catch your breath and regain composure as he stood up tall to his original position.

oddly enough, comfortability grew within you, possibly the adrenaline of a handsome stranger feeding your mind with illicit thoughts. “am i all clean now?” your voice comes out shaky, feeble with lust, and as your eyes scanned his formidable appearance, down to the bulge that left his sheer size to anything but the imagination, you grew greedier.

“squeaky fucking clean.” his response comes off as a growl. “how about some real milk as a reward, sweetheart?”

you tilted your head, as a confused puppy would, looking up at him with spacey eyes. “real milk? i thought i was just drinking it?” he smiled at your perplexity, finding you too cute to let go. “that milk,” he pointed at the bottle you set on the counter beside you. “isn’t as organic as it claims. you need the real thing in ya.”

toji fumbles with his belt buckle, unfastening it until he could comfortably whip his cock out. you had never seen something so large, so girthy that it instilled a blend of fear and excitement within you. “on your knees, pretty thing.” he demanded. “gotta make sure my girl grows big and strong.”

you complied, obviously. when someone as sturdy as him tells you to do something, it’s only natural that you do it.

with your weight now rested on your knees, your job was easy. you wrapped a feeble hand around the base of his cock, mouth agape in bewilderment that he could barely fit in the cusp of your hand. toji let out a hiss under his breath once your hand began to diligently slide up and down his shaft. slick dribbled into the rapture of your enclosed fist from just how turned on he was. as you continued to teasingly pump him, your tongue darted to place gentle kitten licks paired with tender kisses to his angry tip. “you’re real confident now, aren’t ya?” he goads, though not necessarily in a mirthful manner.

a soft pout forms at your lips upon hearing his words, urging you to increase your pace by a minuscule amount. once you had gotten familiar with the monster in your palm, you wrapped your lips around the head, slowly inching yourself down his shaft until your nose met the unruly hairs of his pelvis. he was heavy in your jaw, a telltale sign that you’d end up with a strong ache that’d take days to soothe; and the throb of his length only led to the gush in your panties.

as you began to bob your head, toji threw his head back, large hands gripping at your jaw to keep you nice and puckered for him. the sensation of his plush tip bullying the back of your throat causes you to moan, a sound, and a feeling, that toji doesn't miss. you pick up your rhythm, but shortly after, toji starts up his; slamming his cock into your unexpecting mouth with no remorse.

rough ministrations urged you to gag until you came to ignore the feeling and focus on his pleasure, innocent and teary eyes showing through a wall of thick lashes up at him. what a cocky bastard.

“c’mon, you can take more, can’t ya?” he goads, his vocables resonating in a choppy cadence underneath the guise of his groans. “dontcha want milk?”

the mix of saliva and his precum trailed from your mouth as his heavy balls slammed against your chin. you took notice of how his vigorous pace faltered, signally an orgasm just seconds away.

one thrust. two thrust. three.

he’d managed to hold your face to his pelvis as he fucked through his orgasm, a deep groan bellowing through the air while he painted your throat in his seed.

what a liar. he didn’t taste anything like milk.

slowly, he pulls away and spurts the last few drops of cum onto your swollen lips, where he took much needed amusement in your starry eyed gaze.

your heavy pants were like music to his ears, something he wished he could etch into his memory for years to come.

“it’s all messy.” you mewled, licking at the seed that dripped to your lips. his hands were glacial as you felt them on your face while he leaned down to be eye level with you. “oh, i know. lemme take care of that.” he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, drinking in his own orgasm before taking you into a heated kiss.

it was a brief moment, so brief you were too lightheaded to even realize how he manhandled you into the perfect position — bent over to touch your toes.

he pulled away, roughly tugging at your little shorts until they pooled at your ankles. you felt him slide his cock over your panties just before pushing them to the side to line it up with your slit.

all toji wanted to do in that moment was slide right in, but he knew he couldn’t. you just weren’t wet enough to handle all of him. and besides, he definitely didn’t want to deal with a whining princess suggesting that it “doesn’t fit.”

instead, he slid his sensitive cock between your folds. “gotta get you nice ‘nd ready,” he spoke while reveling in the way that his tip catched at your poor, neglected clit. “feel flattered, i don’t do this for everybody.”

each slide jolted your body as the slightest tinge of pleasure coursed within you. it wasn’t enough to get you feeling close, no, but it was ample in gushing more slick from your hole.

“t-toji, sir, please..” you had let out a soft, vexed sigh at the lack of feeling, wiggling your hips to create friction in any type of way.

it reigned pointless, as most things did with toji. he was too busy focused on the sheen covering his cock from just toying with your angelcunt that whatever nonsense you were spouting was irrelevant to him. he continued his motions until the tightening of your core and fluttering of your pussy told him everything he needed to know.

satisfied with the level at which he teased you, he halted. just before you could fucking cum. you let out a frustrated whine that didn’t mean much to him, agitated by the loss of sensation.

in mere moments, he was pushing himself past your walls, stretching you out while your little cunt struggled to accommodate his size. “w-what if it doesn’t fit..?” you managed to babble out in your pathetic state.

oh, if your nosy neighbors knew that sweet little princess down the street was getting her cunt stretched out by the milkman, they would have a conniption.

toji smirked at your concern, ultimately brushing you off while continuing to urge himself even deeper. “let’s just make it fit then.”

the feeling of being stuffed full was unlike anything you’d experienced in the past. your past partners weren’t much to moan at, but toji? he had you grasping at any surface to give you leverage. as soon as he bottomed out, you could feel the tip rubbing so deliciously against the hollow of your cervix, the tinge of pain going unnoticed from how riddled with desire you were for him. with confirmation that he was fully inside, toji began to set a rough pace, strokes deep and firm enough to have you jolting forward with every thrust.

you scrambled to hold onto anything for dear life, afraid that your knees would grow weak and give out underneath your own weight. though, he kept his hands taut at your hips, only speeding up his potent thrusts to taunt you even more for your lack of stability.

fucked dumb within the first few seconds, drool dribbled past your lip, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as you tried to take everything you were given.

with the intense way your walls were hugging around his cock, he couldn’t help but let out something of a deep, guttural groan. you had reached behind you to press a feeble hand to his abdomen, hoping it would ease his ministrations, yet your adorable action only caused the opposite.

he took your wrists in his one hand, pulling you up to hit deeper within your walls. “fuck! ‘s too d-deep!” you cried out, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening within your being, and to your dismay, he only held you closer against his chest, other hand gripping at your jaw while his cock milked your gspot for all it’s worth.

“too deep? this too deep for ya?” toji taunts. “i thought you knew how to take dick, you sure looked like it.”

his grip at your face only tighten an ounce more as he waited for whatever nonsense you could muster out.

“i-i can..! i c’n take it!”

only seconds later did your high come crashing down, sending your body into a flutter of shocks. a sensation so perfervid, it had your mind hazy while you creamed all over his cock.

following suit, in a bout of thrusts, toji was painting your insides with his warm wet seed, only pulling out once he felt you go limp in his hold.

“don’t tap out on me now, you haven’t even paid for the milk.”

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fanaticalthings · 3 months

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Most children, once they've grown up and moved out, sometimes come back to visit their parents to use their house as a sort of personal grocery store

And with Bruce being a literal billionaire whose house is always stocked with food and supplies, the batkids (that aren't living in the manor) definitely visit just for the purpose of taking shit for themselves.

---

For Dick, it's just small things, food and maybe some utensils. Bruce is barely in the kitchen so he never notices dishes go missing, and there are like 10 other children in his house so literally any one of the younger kids could've stolen food in the middle of the night, so he doesn't bat an eye at all.

Babs probably steals Bruce's hardware or his tools from the batcave. Sometimes, if she's nice, she'll leave a note.

Steph probably takes shit that no one will notice at the time but will absolutely be annoyed about when they need said thing. Stapler, soap bars, the microwave plate, etc...(Taking after Jason, she steals the hub caps off the batmobile's tires)

However, for Jason, once his relationship with Bruce is somewhat decent, of course he's gonna be petty and start stealing the more expensive shit in the manor for his apartment. Jason's microwave is broken? The next day, the cave's self-made and enhanced microwave made by Bruce for convenience is just gone.

Jason's feeling a coffee maker for his place? The one in Bruce's study disappears, too.

---

At first, Bruce thinks he's just sleep deprived, but then much bigger things start to go missing, like the whole TV and couch set in the living room. He assumes the younger kids are just playing pranks on him (sounds like something Stephanie would do) but then Bruce notices that the thief deliberately avoids stealing things from the kitchen, which is where Alfred is most of the time, and suddenly Bruce has an irritated clue on who the culprit is.

At first, he doesn't say anything, until one day he comes back, tired from a patrol, and is about to log in all the info on the computer only to realize his batchair is gone. That's when he texts Jason a blunt "If you really need things for your place, you can just ask me. I'll buy them for you." (As if Jason himself isn't loaded from his totally legal activities)

---

So now Jason's pettiness levels increase tenfold, and oh, wouldn't you look at it, his bike needs some new tires, and he knows a great place to get some more.

One night, Bruce is just blearily getting up for a late night snack, only to see Damian scamper away with a...lamp? So Bruce immediately follows him into the foyer only to see ALL of his kids (sans the ones not living in the manor), trying to haul two arm chairs out the window, and they just stop dead silent to stare at him until someone whispers a nervous "Crap"

Bruce doesn't even have any energy to fight, he just pinches his nose and is all "What is the meaning of this" in his tired dad voice. And Duke meekly responds with "we wanted more chairs at Jason's place"

And suddenly it all makes sense. Not once did Bruce wonder how the HELL Jason managed to lug a whole 60in TV and a full couch set on his own in one night. Of course, he had accomplices. Bruce just turns right around and goes right the hell back to his room to sleep. He'll deal with this in the morning.

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teddybeartoji · 2 months

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zombie apocalypse au where you end up in a settlement and meet a cutiepie satoru. he's lived almost his entire life there – sure, he goes on runs every once in a while but you've been out there. it's different.

right?

the dark bags under your eyes have yet to fade but satoru has never heard you complain. he knows everybody gets a talk when they first come to this place; where they can get help, who they can talk to when if they have any problems. if you can't sleep. or eat. or if you still feel restless. it's understandable that the change from having to fight for your life on a daily basis to not even having to carry a gun with you is hard.

the food tastes weird when you're not starving and drinking water seems like a complete waste when you're not dying of thirst. the bed you sleep on is too soft, the sheets feel like silk and it makes your skin itch. it's off-putting.

and yet, not a single complaint has left your lips. you observe your surroundings while handing out pretty little smiles like they're candy. you say thank you and goodbye, you offer to help out with the chores that weren't even yours to begin with and you're willing to entertain the kids with silly jokes. it's an almost perfect mask.

but you're tense; your eyes are always scanning your environment despite the fact that you've been at the settlement for almost a week now. you stretch your lips to show your gratitude, but satoru sees the way your fist tightens whenever the room is too crowded. the way you pocket smaller snacks when you think that nobody is looking. the way you flinch at a faraway sound of a child's laugh.

satoru finds you utterly intriguing.

people come and go, but you... there's something different about you.

maybe it's the dark, murky look in your eyes whenever you're handling a knife. carving a piece of meat like it's something you do every day; your eyes are the only things that change – you give a small smile to the lady working next to you as a thank you for whatever kind of advice she just gave you. she pats the steak while laughing and satoru doesn't miss the way your lips twitch.

you lick the remnants of the meat that stick to your fingers, the liquid that dribbles down the side of your hand the second she turns around. and satoru can't look away.

but there's no obvious malice.

it's interesting.

satoru is no detective, but he's done his fair share of people looking. what else is there to do when you're locked behind big walls; people are interesting, especially now that the world has ended. they tick faster, they explode bigger. they shiver more, they cry more. the lies have more consequences. it's hard to trust others, it's hard to trust anybody at this point. but satoru's eyes are keen, more so than anyone else's there.

you're not some caged beast, you're no dog on a leash, but you're an animal nonetheless. satoru just doesn't know which one yet. which of the living things that reside in the woods is calm enough to get so close to other people? confident enough. arrogant enough.

which one of them is as curious as you are? as sly? which one of them knows how to hide their sharp teeth behind a warm smile? satoru promises to himself that he'll figure it out, no matter what it takes.

or maybe the 'something' is the way you handle yourself when things go south. you didn't look away when a walker that managed to slip in through the gates sank his teeth into a man's neck. when everybody else was in shock, their eyes set on the gory sight in front of them – you were the first to grab the closest thing resembling a weapon and to deal with it.

blood splattered all over your clean clothes, your hair, your face. but you paid it no mind. this is what you're used to, this is what's normal. taking a knife to the poor wailing man laying on the ground was nothing special either. you kneeled down beside him and looked him in the eyes as you did it.

desperate hands reached out for you as fear settled in his stomach. he grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and pulled you closer, pleas stumbling from his lips like a waterfall. but to you, he was dead already. there's no remorse, there's no guilt. you're not a killer, you're a survivor.

satoru's mind raced as he watched you work while all the other had turned away, their sobs barely reaching his ears. no remorse, no guilt.

he just thought the blood looked beautiful on you.

but you're keen, too.

you try not to pay him too much attention, you try not to look but you feel his curious eyes wherever you go. you hear him laugh and you see his big smiles. he likes to play with the kids and he likes to tease his peers. he seems to know just about everybody, mingling in their lives by acting like a cupid or just indulging in gossip like some high schooler.

but something rotten sprouts deep inside him as well.

there's blood on his hands and you know it the second your gazes meet from across the big dining hall. the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples make a show as he gives you a grin, sharp teeth shining right at you. he knows you and you know him.

a survivor always recognizes a survivor.

#this is hashtag wordvomit.#freak satoru my beloved<3333 #angel boy #wtf mickey can write #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo drabble #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru drabble #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk drabble #jjk oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru au #jjk au

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bi-writes · 2 months

Note

Could we get some Simon POV on mail order bride reader? Perhaps his thoughts on how timid she is?? Pls and thanks!

mail-order bride

it is something that he knows as soon as you step over the threshold for the very first time. he's observant to a fault; he can't be surprised by anything because he pays too much attention to the small details, to the things no one gives a second glance.

the way your head whips around when a loud noise carries across the room. the way you jump when you weren't expecting him behind you, crowding your space. the soft way you talk, the way you constantly try to make yourself disappear when there are others in your vicinity.

it speaks volumes, this kind of behavior. this intense need to appease others, to not disturb them, tiptoeing to gauge reaction to make sure you haven't done anything wrong, that you haven't upset anyone.

simon knows this kind of timidness all too well. he sees the veil that you wear, the kind that flutters when a hand is raised; he recognizes it, and you are a reflection of a woman that he used to know.

a woman he used to look up to. one that he loved, and one that loved him back.

the more time he spends with you, the more unlike himself he feels, the more aware he is of the other half of himself that is so far away from him, a stranger. never in simon's life has he felt that same burning anger. he's never felt the need to make those around him afraid. he's never relished in being the bigger man, the stronger one--and when the voices get loud enough, he still remembers being the boy who hid under his bed until he was too big to fit underneath it.

so he makes his steps louder. he shuffles his feet on the carpet. he makes them heavier, soft thuds that can be heard in the hardwood of the kitchen.

he makes noise. in whatever room he's in, he makes it known. the clatter of his toothbrush into its holder. the metal scratch of hangers as he gets a jacket. the clatter of a mug in the sink. the thunk of his boots by the door.

you stop flinching. you stop looking over your shoulder. the sounds of his boots coming off, it brings you into the living room to greet him. when you hear his toothbrush in the bathroom, you shuffle inside so you can stand beside him and do the same. when you hear him in the kitchen, you always pad into the room, giving him those big, soft eyes and asking him for the millionth time if he needs help (no, go fuckin' sit down, too pretty to be workin').

there is a woman in simon's life who used to do the same. who used to be too scared of the world to ever live in it. who never got the chance to unlearn all of the ugly that the wrong man had taught her.

simon grabs the canvas bags in the closet, tossing them over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door.

"we're goin' t'be late," simon calls out. "won't 'ave the bread y'like 'f we don't leave now."

"coming! coming!"

you hurry into the living room, shrugging on your cardigan as you go for your purse hanging by the front door. you slip into your shoes, following simon as he walks out the door.

when simon makes his way down the steps, he expects to have to tell you to stop, to let him walk down the steps first so he can give you his hand; but when he turns, you're waiting there at the top of the steps, fiddling with your purse. he holds out his hand, and you take it on instinct, without even looking, letting him guide you until you've made it to the pavement and can walk to the car.

and when you make it to the passenger side, you're standing at an angle, putting your earrings on as you wait for simon to open your door.

as you wait.

after simon pulls the seatbelt around you and clicks it closed, he lingers, staring at you as you try and fix your hair in the rearview mirror. you pause, looking down at him, giggling.

"what is it, simon? i-is there something on my face?"

he sighs deeply, shaking his head. he lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, swiping a thumb under your eye before stepping back to close your door.

"no," simon mutters. "look bloody perfect."

there's no past with you. only present.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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disgustingtwitches · 1 month

Text

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt. 3)

"All of us under one roof? Have you lost the plot?"

Gaz snorts, all of you sitting at the bar. You shake your head. The thought alone makes you dizzy.

"Just me and you is hectic enough."

Gaz stares at Soap. John laughs, sipping his scotch. You think for a moment before taking your shot. Wait a fucking second. You joke about how they have decided to make your flat nothing short of a base, and if they're gonna be at your place more than theirs they should at least pay some of your bills. They freeze. Johnny nearly jumps for joy, grabbing your face and kissing you,

"Smart fuckin girl. 'N' if we're paying 'er bills, might as weel move in aye?"

That is not what you meant.

"Who knows, maybe it'll stop them from trying to drag 'er in the walk-in."

John shrugs. They cannot be entertaining this bullshit.

"Doubt it."

Simon shoots back his glass. There's a pause. They look at each other. Oh my God they are entertaining this bullshit.

"I'll think about it."

Price finishes his drink. They talk like you're not even there. You're horrified. Four men and you. One apartment. Not just any men, them. Maybe this is all some sick joke.

"You can always say no."

Simon kisses you before you hop out his car. You're not sure if you believe that. Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night, it's the group chat. Soap sends a link to a three bedroom flat,

Thoughts?

Three dots pop up.

Ok.

Simon replies. That's the only they blessing needed to move forward.

Hectic does not describe the move-in process, there are arguments on who's furniture gets moved in, who sleeps where, who gets to use which bathroom. Eventually there was a vote held (not that it mattered, John always had final say).

Anything big enough to accommodate the five of you was moved in. There would be a bed rotation, making sure no one slept with Ghost and Soap at the same time (and if everyone got tired of their shit, there's three beds for a reason.) Gaz and Soap shared a bathroom upstairs, you shared the one downstairs with Ghost and Price (this made sure you and Kyle had enough space for both your skincare products.)

You barely wore your own clothes anymore; with a closet full of clothes that were comfy and looked good on you, why bother? All your love languages included physical touch, so at any given moment, someone was touching somebody in the house. Lots of shared showers to "save water". Simon mostly cooks with the occasional help of you or Johnny. Sunday roast meant the kitchen was off limits for everyone except Simon, God help anyone who even tries to step foot in his territory.

Holidays are chaotic, always loud with a lot of drinking. And sex. Your first Christmas together was particularly memorable. Of course everyone got gifts that they treasured, including you. But you didn't know what to get Simon. Of course he was the type to say he didn't want anything but, that wasn't right. He opened his gift from you, he stared at it, said a simple thank you and slid it into his pocket. There's a game of poker being played in the living room after gifts are opened. Simon leaves to the bedroom,

"M tired."

Everyone else says goodnight, too enraptured by the game. While there's an argument about Johnny's shuffling, you walk to the bedroom. There he is, cranking the little handle on the wooden music box you gave him; it played Danny boy, wasn't bigger than the palm of your hand, and had an engraving on the inside lid.

"It's the words on the first hoodie you gave me."

"Mhm. Didn't have to get me anything."

He says, still turning the handle. Avoiding eye contact. You sit next to him.

"Don't know if you know how much you mean to me, promise I'll show you though."

His voice the softest you've ever heard. He tucks the box back into his pocket. A quick kiss to your forehead before walking back to the living room with you. This was one of the many holidays Simon didn't have to spend alone anymore.

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sugurusyndrome · 1 month

Text

cw/tags: househusband!nanami, fluff, smut, fem!reader

— oh househusband!nanami my love…

househusband!nanami initially resisted the idea of being a stay at home husband when you first proposed it. aghast, he might even say. he couldn’t fathom the possibility of being dependent upon your income. not that his masculinity was threatened or anything of the sort. you were the one supposed to be spoiled while he does the hard work.

your husband was traditional in a quite endearing sense. bless his giant heart and his even bigger cock.

“darling, i want to do this. for us,” you had gently insisted. reaching forward, you took off his spectacles and brushed a hand around his cheek. “you deserve to be pampered, too.”

househusband!nanami was exhausted from the long hours over many years and he knew his wife was sorely aware of that fact. he leaned into your touch, hazel eyes slipping shut.

“alright, my love.”

it took some adjusting to his new role during the first few days. when your alarm rang, you swiftly silenced it so he wouldn’t wake up. looking over your shoulder, you find his side of the bed empty.

househusband!nanami had gotten dressed as usual before remembering he didn’t need to work anymore. instead of going back to bed, he whipped up a breakfast feast fit for a queen. he also sent you off to your big-shot job with a kiss and your lunch.

soon enough, this became a routine. a hearty breakfast followed by a “see you later” kiss—kento didn’t like saying goodbye, it’s always “see you later.” househusband!nanami wanted to bring a smile to your hectic days so he stuck an adorable note in his neat handwriting squarely on your lunchbox. he never ran out of words to express his love for you.

househusband!nanami was finally able to tackle the books that had accumulated on his side of the bedroom but never had the chance to read. you could only imagine how he looked like, all cozy. in the nook of the living room where the sun shone best, he had one leg tucked under his body with his glasses perched on his sharp nose.

when he was not devouring words, househusband!nanami was taking himself on a stroll in the neighbourhood with a cup of a pick-me-up coffee. once, he passed a park and sat at a bench watching the mothers playing with their children with a soft smile. however, he quickly walked away because he realized his presence as a sole man just lingering at the edge of the park might be a cause of concern for the mothers. you giggled later over dinner when he recounted his thoughts to you. what a thoughtful man you married.

you wanted to give him 10 children.

if not books or a stroll in the neighbourhood, househusband!nanami was doing his duty ever so happily between your legs.

"k-ken..." you whimpered, back arching gracefully while your nails scraped his undercut in a way that made him growl into your pussy. he knew how much you loved the vibrations as much as he went crazy for your nails on his scalp. "missed this pussy today....mmm...” he captured your clit in a wet, hungry kiss. “take tomorrow off for me, sweetheart.”

this part of the night quickly cemented its spot as his favourite. to absolutely neither of your surprises.

househusband!nanami became fast friends with the owners of your favourite bakery. they already knew him from his frequent visits after his long shifts to pick up something sweet for his wife but the more he hung out there, the closer he got with the bakers. you were particularly fond of the strawberry shortcake from there and what did he do? oh yes, he learned how to make it. everything was from scratch down to the syrup. by the end of it he was sticky but super excited to surprise you with it for your birthday.

"honey, those better be happy tears," he chuckled, drawing you into a tender hug. either that, or the cake turned out to be a disaster.

"of course they are, kento!" you blubbered in his chest. strawberry syrup and whipped cream was smeared around your mouth, mixing with your tears.

oh, how you adored this man to his bare bones. and he devotedly breathed in the very air you exhaled.

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moonxknightx · 2 months

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : IN THE COMFORT OF HIS EMBRACE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Unable to sleep, you seek comfort in Logan's bed. He welcomes you warmly, and his steady presence and gentle conversation help you relax, allowing you to finally drift off to sleep.

THE MOONLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE CURTAINS, CASTING A GENTLE GLOW ACROSS THE ROOM. The clock on the nightstand ticked softly, each second stretching into eternity as you lay in bed, restless and wide awake. No matter how many times you shifted or how many deep breaths you took, sleep eluded you. Frustration mingled with the quiet night, making the shadows on the walls seem even darker.

Finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. You slipped out of bed with deliberate care, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the house. The hallway was dimly lit, and you moved quietly towards Logan’s room. As you reached his door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the knob. The idea of waking him up felt like an intrusion, but your need for comfort was stronger.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked gently before pushing the door open just enough to peek inside. Logan’s room was sparsely decorated, but it exuded a comforting, lived-in warmth. His silhouette was barely visible under the covers, his breathing slow and even.

“Logan,” you whispered, trying to sound calm despite the knot of anxiety in your chest. You took a tentative step closer and gently shook his shoulder. He stirred, groaning softly, before his eyes opened and found yours. He blinked sleepily, his gaze softening with recognition.

“You okay?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“I... I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been tossing and turning for hours. I just... I didn’t know where else to go.”

Logan’s expression shifted from groggy concern to understanding. Without a word, he shifted to one side, making space in the bed beside him. “Come here,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. You didn’t need any further invitation. You slipped into the bed, the cool sheets giving way to the reassuring warmth of his body.

As you settled next to him, Logan’s arm instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You buried your face into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat had a calming effect, slowly erasing the restless tension that had kept you awake.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t be,” Logan said, his tone gentle but firm. “If you need me, I’m here. No apologies necessary.”

You let out a soft sigh, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I just... I couldn’t shake this feeling of restlessness. I didn’t want to be alone.”

Logan’s fingers gently stroked your back, his touch soothing and steady. “It’s alright. You’re not alone now,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, finding comfort in the steady presence beside you. “It’s nothing specific, really. Just one of those nights where everything seems to spiral out of control. And then I start thinking about everything I have to do, and it just... snowballs.”

Logan nodded, his hand continuing its gentle rhythm on your back. “I get it. Sometimes the quiet of the night makes everything seem bigger than it is. But you’re here with me now. Let’s just focus on that.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the tension slowly drain from your body. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional creak of the bed. Logan’s presence was a steady anchor, his warmth enveloping you like a cocoon.

As minutes passed, you found your thoughts slowing down, your mind growing quieter with each passing second. Logan’s gentle touch and the rhythmic beating of his heart created a sense of calm that you had been craving all night.

“Logan?” you whispered, your voice barely a murmur.

“Yeah?” he replied, his tone soft and attentive.

“Thank you. For being here. I really needed this.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his embrace tightening slightly. “Anytime. You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad I could help.”

The comfort of his words, coupled with the soothing rhythm of his breathing, lulled you towards sleep. You felt your eyes growing heavy, the exhaustion of the sleepless night finally catching up with you. Logan’s steady presence was a constant reassurance, a promise of safety and companionship.

As sleep began to claim you, you could hear Logan’s voice, soft and soothing. “Get some rest. I’ve got you.”

And with those comforting words echoing in your mind, you finally surrendered to the embrace of sleep, finding peace in the warmth and safety of Logan’s arms.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know🫶

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman x reader

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chocolate-pies · 7 months

Text

saw the "just the tip?" trope and am GOING FERAL OVER SIMON RILEY ASKING

MDNI

holy shit it'd just be a normal sunday morning too, the weekend after he came back from a mission and you figured you already made love to him, why would he get randomly hard again the next morning around LUNCH time??

well, he's standing at the doorway to the living room. you're sitting on the couch, attention focused on the television when you hear the shuffling of his feet.

"love?" his voice sounds a little strained.

"what is it?" you'd hum, and see movement in the corner of your eye.

simon would be standing near the end of the couch, bulge painfully obvious (and at eye level with you on the couch), his eyes focused on you sitting with your calves beneath you.

"you've no idea how beautiful you look sittin' like that." he sounds a bit gravelly now, breathy.

you let out an astonished breath of air--teetering on the edge of a laugh--as you sit up straight to look at him in the eyes. "are you really horny right now? we're about to have lunch. have you been holding it since morning, or?"

"been holdin' it since we woke up." he confesses, watching you move on the couch as your thighs reshape from the movement. simon practically salivates at the way your thighs and chest heave itself as you sit upright and with your legs off the couch.

"really, riley?" you ask, albeit a little annoyed and with an edge of arousal.

"just the tip? please? 'fore we gotta get lunch." there's a pleading edge to his voice, and it instantly makes you melt.

"fine." you give in, watching as he readily lays himself on the couch. you get up as a result, watching him shove his boxers and sweatpants down, his erection springing and slapping itself against his happy trail. precum is already leaking, glistening the couple pubic hairs it has touched.

the length and girth seemed.. bigger than last night. you quietly gulp as you move to straddle his hips, your left knee brushing against the couch a bit uncomfortably.

"le'me help you, sweetheart." his voice is husky, rough hands moving to grab your thighs and positioning himself with you so you didn't scrape your knee against the fabric of the couch.

the warmth from his dick catches your attention, your eyes downcast to see it rubbing against the cloth of your pajama shorts. a wet spot is already forming there.

"already so wet for me." simon rasps, digits harshly engraving dots into your thighs as he feels every slight movement from you against his cock.

"let- let me," you steady yourself as you hover over him, dick barely touching you. your one hand moves to lift your panties and shorts to the side, his dick twitching at the sight of your cunt sopping wet so fast.

"f-fuck." his hands rub circles on your thighs, feeling your pussy folds touch the tip of his hot dick. precum is immediately mixed with your juices, his eyes strained and focused where he disappears inside of you, "so fuckin' pretty for me."

you suppress a moan as you stay hovered, his fat head already feeling like a stretch as you feel the beginnings of his girthy shaft also enter. "y-you said just- just the tip." it comes out shaky, breathy, as you moan with your teeth on your lip.

"'m sorry, doll, you just look so fuckin' delicious. your cunt is so tight and addicting." his voice is strained again, groans erupting from his chest as he bites down on nothing. his jaw flexes from the motion as he stares at your juices staining your clothing and his dick.

you stare at him for a moment, his pupils blown wide as you begin to slowly take him fully. "so, so big." you mewl, thighs beginning to shake from having to keep yourself up as his length stretches your velvet walls.

"just f'you, my love. just f'you. all f'you." he begins rambling nonsense, his mind racing and at the same time, blank, as he feels himself bottom out. your cunt is just so perfect.

"'m not pullin' out, love." he rasps before his hips buck you into the air, the extra motion forcing his dick deeper into you as his balls press against your ass.

"gonna put a baby in you." he continues, hurriedly thrusting you into the air as you bounce on him to meet his hips with your own.

"would look so pretty f'me with a baby bump," he groans, practically growling, "and everyone will know you're mine." he seems to move faster with the last bit, his hips snapping into yours as the sounds of skin slapping get louder.

at the same time, the squelching from your wet pussy begins to pierce your ears as you shut your eyes, only mewling and moaning to the sensation of his dick brutally splitting you apart. your mind is numb, lackluster of any thoughts.

"cuh- cumming." was your only warning as he thrusts up one final time, your body slouching a bit as he fills you up. his hot cum already begins to dribble from out of you, and seeing this, simon continues to thrust more into you to keep it all in.

"look at you," he breathes, eyes focused on your blissed face, "all 'cause I creampied you?" his proud grin shows a bit of teeth as he focuses how your face contorts from the pleasure.

he stills, keeping his dick inside you to trap any and all the semen he could.

"love you, doll."

EDIT: found out about the read more divider!!!!!!

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #smut #18+ mdni #call of duty #mdni #simon ghost smut #simon riley smut

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silverstonesainz · 2 months

Text

maybe, just maybe

─── maybe it would be all worth it in the end

frat!lando norris x fem!reader warnings; nsfw!! minors dni!!! [includes p in v, oral-- m & f receiving, fingering- f receiving, unprotected]

2:43 AM. The time on your lockscreen is blaring, it embarrasses you and almost makes you go to bed.

Almost.

→ Lando 2:43AM Are you on your way?

You bite down on your bottom lip, gaze switching from the text and your reflection in the mirror. You were ready to go– you’ve been ready to go. Yet, your bottom is still glued to the edge of your bed and your eyes on your reflection. You stare at yourself, weigh your options, make a mental pros and cons list about driving over to a fraternity house in the early hours of the morning. And when it comes to Lando, the cons list always seems to run longer than the pros. It’s a sign, you shouldn’t go.

Your phone pings with another text from Lando.

→ Lando 2:44AM Just lmk so I can go wait for you downstairs.

You’re not this girl. You’re not the hook up type, the “go see a boy at three a.m.” type. You’re not this girl, not the one contemplating the idea of the boy who only seems to remember you when he’s lonely. No. You’re the type to be in bed at three a.m., the type of girl to stay in and watch a movie at three a.m, than to meet a boy. You’d much rather meet a boy at three p.m.

Though admittedly, you hadn’t been that girl much either.

Your phone pings again.

→ Lando 2:44AM Or if not I’ll just go to bed. But please come.

The message makes the guilt creep up on you, eat you up and reason with you. It erases all the cons on that little mental list you made earlier, and all because he said please. You sigh softly, giving in to him like you always do. You slip on your shoes, throw your bag over your shoulder, before walking out of your room. Your fingers tap away at a response quickly, hitting send before you get to your car.

← You 2:45AM Omw. Be there in 5

→ Lando 2:45AM Okay. Drive safe.

You bite down on your lip when you read his notification, fighting back a smile. It’s stupid, it shouldn’t affect you this much. But it does. He cares, you mock yourself. You put your phone in the cupholder, letting your music shuffle as you pull out of your parking spot. The drive turns out to be eight minutes thanks to slow stoplights and the one pedestrian that decided to run across the road. But you make it to the house in one piece, parking on the unusually quiet street, between a gray Lexus and a white Camry.

← You 2:53AM Here

→ Lando 2:53AM Door is unlocked

Pit pat pit, your shoes smack against the three steps up to the front door. True to his word, the door knob twists all the way and allows you into the sleepy house. You wish you could say you’d never seen the house like this, quiet and void of some sort of gathering. But that would be a lie because you have seen it this quiet. You’ve walked into the house many times before, quietly and secretly, always to meet the same boy.

Lando doesn’t look up from his spot, leaning against the arm of the couch in the living room as he stares at whatever illuminates his phone screen. He’s clothed in a gray hoodie, hood pulled over his hair, and black sweatpants. You shut the door quietly behind you, whispering a soft hey as you take the short steps over to him. He finally looks up, smiling briefly before leaning down to peck your lips.

It’s sickening how natural– how normal, it all feels. It shouldn’t.

“How was your drive?” He asks, stuffing his phone in his pocket before slinging that same hand over you. His arm weighs warmly on your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“T’was okay…” you answer, looking up at him, “I think the pothole on University Drive got bigger.”

He doesn’t return your gaze, acts as your eyes instead as he leads you through the house. But he smiles at your comment, wide enough that you can see the crinkles by his eyes. “Yeah… it probably did.”

Lando’s arm slips from around you when you reach the foot of the stairs. He gets up about two steps before you follow behind him. Your footsteps are muffled into the carpeting, and there is a soft glow that comes from the second floor of the house. At the top of the steps, on the wall to the left sits the fraternity composite from the previous school year. Lando’s photo is on the fourth row, third from the right. He has a charming smile, and eyes that laugh. He looked so good.

“When are you guys updating that?” Lando turns around when you ask, staring at the obscurely large photo framed on the wall. It takes a couple of seconds, you see the gears turning behind his green eyes.

“Uh… maybe next week? Can’t remember when Pierre said it would be.” He rubs his eyes, fighting back a yawn before he waves you over to follow him.

It’s a fairly quiet walk to his room. The house is fast asleep, though not necessarily dead silent. You can still hear shows playing and music changing behind the doors of each room. Each individual sleeping habit becomes clearer in the short walk to Lando’s room.

His door is already opened, letting out cold air and the smell of alcohol and cologne. Calvin Klein – the same bottle of eau de toilette you bought him for his birthday last year. And Old Spice, though you have the deodorant stick left on the nightstand, cap off, to blame for that. You crinkle your nose at the scent, setting your bag down on his desk before slipping off your shoes.

“Uh…” Lando rubs the top of his hoodie, pressing it down against his curly hair, “Sorry. I spilled vodka on my floor earlier. It still smells.”

You hum, nodding as you walk across his room to close his deodorant. Lando reaches around you, swiping the tube as the cap clicks, walking it over to his dresser and placing it next to his rings and the cologne. He apologizes, cheeks hot and the tips of his ears red.

His room is still as messy as you remember it. Laundry hanging precariously over the hamper and there are more empty hangers in his half opened closet than used ones. His letters are hanging over the back of his desk chair, and his bag is leaning against the leg of it. It’s zipped open showing off three crinkled papers and two folders. One red one, one blue one– both empty. A bright orange t-shirt hangs out the side of it, just barely covering his black water bottle stuffed into the designated pocket. By his bed, his nightstand holds a lamp with no bulb and three vapes. His sheets are undone, obviously lived in and if you know Lando, you know he hasn’t made his bed in a week.

“Why were you drinking in your room?” You finally ask, crawling onto the bed and over to your side of it.

“Just because.” He shrugs, walking over to the door to push it shut. He pinches the lock between the side of his index finger and the pad of his thumb, twisting it locked. “Why, you want to take one?”

You scrunch your nose at the offer and it makes him laugh. “It’s three a.m.”

Lando smiles knowingly, hands coming up to grab onto the back of his hoodie. “We’ve done worse things,” He says, pulling the white material over his head, tossing it on the floor and leaving his torso bare. His finger flicks off the lights, but the room is still dimly lit by the warm streetlight outside his window. You watch him climb into bed, walking on his knees the short distance to you before he dips his head and presses a rough kiss against your lips. His hand holds your cheek, the ends of his fingers just dipping into your hair.

You smile as you kiss him back, blowing an amused breath through your nose. “Almost like you miss me,” you tease between kisses. He laughs, breathy and smelling like minty toothpaste, as he pulls away. You can see the way he looks at you, eyes filled with a kind of fondness that makes your heart melt and believe in something just a little more.

“I do miss you.”

You give him a look, a playful non-believing one. Wide eyes, raised brows, and a puckered lip that asked him oh really? It makes him do another one of those breathless laughs as he adjusts himself in front of you, right arm taught to hold up his body while his left palm curves over your right knee, pushing it further from your left.

“Let me show you how much I do.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes watching as his fingers grip onto the waistband of your sweats. He tugs them down your legs, over your knees, and off your ankles in one swift, eager movement. You watch as he lays on his stomach, left arm fitting snugly under your thigh. He licks his bottom lip before tugging it between his teeth, eyes stuck on the baby pink underwear that he’s left you in– particularly the little bow that sits on the waistband, just below your belly button. There’s a crooked smile on his lips as his right hand comes up, index finger and thumb picking at the little thing, using it to pull the waistband of your underwear back before letting it snap against your skin.

“Cute.”

“Shut up.”

A low chuckle vibrates in his throat. He leaves the bow be, leaves the teasing words up in the air. But his fingers, his fingers are just ghosting over you, over the pink fabric. His fingers do what he won’t say with words. His long, slender, middle finger traces lines over your clothed slit. Up and down, up and down. You can’t breathe, anticipating the relief he’d surely give you if you’re only patient enough.

The streetlight outside is orange and obnoxiously bright. You complained about it every time, begging him to get a curtain or buy new blinds (Oscar destroyed his old ones several parties ago, and he had yet to replace them). It’s been months and a handful of sleepovers and his only compromise was switching places in bed with you. But tonight, tonight you love that street light. You love the warmth that bounces off his skin, the way it allows you to see the freckles that litter his shoulders. But perhaps your favorite part of it all, the part that gets you the most, is the light cast over half his face. The shadows contouring him perfectly, and the light kissing the most prominent part of him. And that light allows you to see his eyes flick up towards you, a burning gaze as you feel his thumb pull your panties to the side.

He looks down at your cunt with blown pupils and a hungry stare. “Missed your pussy.”

A second. And another. And then his tongue is lapping you up and tickling your clit. You squirm beneath him, gasping for air as he wraps his lips around your nerves. It sends tingles through your skin, shoots pleasure into every nerve ending and pulls your back off the bed. You whine, begging for more more more. He rumbles against you, humming contentedly as he flicks his tongue against your core. Lando’s right hand grips the top of your thigh, pads of his fingers pressing against your flesh and leaving imprints of him. He eats your pussy like a man starved– tongue desperate to taste every inch of you.

Lando, Lando, Lando, you chant softly. You pick up your head, abdomen tense as you begin to feel your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach. You’re standing at the edge, on the tips of your toes, waiting… waiting for him to push you over the edge. You moan quietly, fingers frantically searching for him and finding refuge in his curls. You feel every strand, every curve and twist of his hair against your fingers as you grip onto them to pull him closer to your cunt. You beg a whiney please… I’m so close. You breathe, gasping for air when you feel his middle and ring finger curl into you. His mouth continues to trace shapes and figures against your clit as his fingers pump at an unforgiving pace. It’s there, you’re right there.

You lose the sensation of his lips, replaced instead by his warm breath. And your eyes are screwed shut otherwise you’d see the way he looks up at you through his lashes and that knowing smirk on his lips. “You gonna come for me baby?” he taunts, “make a mess all over my fingers? All over my face?”

You whimper, “All over your pretty face.” you confirm, looking between your legs.

Lando smirks, “Yeah… yeah baby. Come for me,” he encourages, quickening the pace of his fingers and curling them. You could scream, you want to. But the house is so quiet, so fucking quiet. “C’mon baby, give it to me.”

Your moan is broken by the gasps, broken by pleasure shooting through your skin. Your legs shake, clench around Lando’s head who doesn’t let up, who returns his mouth onto your cunt, tongue flicking and fingers squelching into you. You buck your hips against his face as you chase your orgasm, and he chuckles into you. You can feel his smile against you and that’s just enough to bring you over the edge. You picture it, the knowing smirk that he’s got you right he wants you. Lando savors every second of your pussy pulsating around him, your arousal coating his chin. It’s only when you stifle a giggle, when palms are against his forehead and pushing him away from your sensitive cunt does he finally stop. You feel empty when he pulls his fingers out of you, you feel almost… incomplete.

Lando sucks on his fingers, humming around them before releasing them with a pop. You push yourself up, hand reaching out to pull the boy over you and smashing your lips against his. You can taste yourself mixed with his spit, your sweet arousal on his tongue doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to. You press your palm against Lando’s chest, push him down onto his side of the bed and find your place between his thighs. You can see his hard dick pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, and you waste no time tugging the material down his legs with his underwear, with just as much desperation he had with you.

“Almost like you miss me,” Lando teases.

You bite back a smile, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you pull his bottoms over his ankles, discarding them to the floor. “Almost.”

You level your head with his cock, quick to press your tongue flat against his shaft to lick a long stripe up his length. Lando hisses and its music to your ears. You do it again before wrapping your hand around him, sucking in your cheeks before releasing a ball of spit against the head. You use your palm to spread the wetness up and down his length, eyes flickering up for a bit of approval. Lando nods, breath stuck in his chest while he reaches over to you. His fingers comb through your hair, pushing your locks over your shoulder before resting at the base of your neck. He doesn’t need to say a thing, just has to push your head down gently, to encourage you where he wants you.

You start at the head, tongue swirling before licking along the top of it. The skin is taught, sensitive, housing nerves you set ablaze with just a flick of your tongue. Slowly, you allow more of him into your mouth until he just begins to fit snugly at the top of your throat. Lando groans, sings praises and coos over how well you take him. You force yourself to take more of him, allow his thick cock to fill your throat. You gag around him before finding the strength to swallow. The boy moans at the way your throat constricts around him, whines when you do it again. His fingers grip your hair tightly to alleviate the pressure in his chest. You come up for air, releasing his dick with a pop, mouth dripping with spit as you gasp for air.

“Wanna fuck that sweet mouth of yours,” Lando breathes. “Would you let me do that?”

You look up at him through your lashes, lowering your head to press a kiss against the head of his dick. You nod against him, mouth falling open once again and moving just low enough that if he’d buck his hips, he’d hit the back of your throat. There’s a moment of stillness, a moment where you begin to feel every little thing in the room. The cool air, the plush duvet, and your mouth watering over Lando. Anticipation drives you mad, makes you giddy and wet between your legs. Lando pulls all your hair behind your head, frizzy locks spilling over his fist. The ends tickle your back, the base of your neck. The side of his hand presses into the back of your head, guiding you down his length, pushing further and further into your mouth. Your nose flares as you try to control your breathing, throat relaxed and jaw slack. And just as his head begins to squeeze into the top of your throat, he pulls your head back up. He starts slow, eases your mouth up and down his cock, pushing further with every dip, until he hears the profane sounds of air and spit stopping him from continuing.

“God,” Lando groans, “Your fucking mouth…”

The compliment, whatever it was meant to be, is lost in the air as Lando throws his head back with another rough groan. You try to bob your head, swallow as much of him as you can. But your hair is bunched in his fist, tightly, rendering you still with your lips wrapped around him. You suck, swirl your tongue, do as much as your limited movement will allow, beckoning another sinful sound to fall from his lips. His fist only winds tighter, making the hairs on the bottom of your head ache.

He hums, the hand not in your hair tapping your jaw. Your lips are frozen, eyes flicking up to look up at him. Lando presses his lips into a thin line, suppressing an amused look, “Sorry. Open. Just open your mouth baby.”

You hum, complying with his request and letting your jaw fall slack. You press your tongue flat in your mouth and grant him the room he needs as he begins to thrust himself into your mouth. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat that makes your mouth water, the not-so-gentle assault making your arousal begin to spread to the inside of your thighs, a mess of desperation. Lando’s legs are bent just enough on either side of you so he could push his hips up. He’s panting, moaning, a mess as he holds your hair tightly and pushes himself as far as your tight throat would take him. Your eyes water as you begin to choke around him, gagging and gurgling your spit– making a fucking mess all over him. You miss the words that tumble past his lips, miss the compliments and praises of how well your taking him as he fucks your mouth. All you could focus on is breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat as you accommodate his size. Lando pulls out of your mouth completely a moment later, fingers releasing your hair and finding your jaw instead. His four fingers hold onto your face, forcing you to look up at him while his thumb swipes the saliva that covers your bottom lip and chin. You blush but he smiles, guiding you over him so he can kiss you again.

Lando’s hands trace your curves, finding their way to your hips. His grip is warm, the pads of his fingers pressing into the flesh of your love handles as he guides you over him. The kiss grows eager, heated by the proximity and your slick cunt just barely brushing his stiff cock. The playfulness dissipates and is replaced by desperation. Your knees are on either side of his hips, and your lips part from his as you reach for his dick behind you, pulling it up as you rub the head against your pussy. Lando’s lips latch onto your nipple, sucking the bud between his teeth. You hiss at the sensation, throwing your head back as you press his cock against your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself onto him. A groan bubbles from Lando’s throat and it vibrates against your skin.

You whine when he bottoms out in you, whine at the fullness you feel when he’s pushed all the way inside you. “Fuck Lando…” You breathe, gasping for air.

He nudges his nose against your jaw, encouraging you to tilt your head away from him to kiss you where you like to be kissed. His lips are soft, wet, gentle as he begins to kiss your neck. They lick and suck that makes the hairs rise on your skin. Slowly, you push yourself up on your knees before sinking yourself back down. The grip on your hips grows tighter, encouraging you to move quicker, to bounce on his cock faster. But you choose to savor the fullness, to savor the minutes that pass you both by. You didn’t mind taking your time chasing the high, you knew you’d get there eventually.

You try to build up to the moment, swiveling your hips around him as you move yourself up and down. You feel every bit of him inside of you, moaning at how he stretches you when he’s all the way in you. You’re Lando’s hands squeeze your hips, hold you up so that only half of him is exposed. And then he thrusts up, sheathing himself in you completely. You nearly topple over at the force, hands quick to press against his chest to find your balance. The new angle has moans bubbling from your throat with ease. You’re desperate for more, pushing back against him as he continues to thrust upwards.

Lando is impatient. He’s desperate, horny, and just vexed enough to flip you both over so that your back is against his mattress and he’s sitting over you. He pulls your right leg over his shoulder while he pushes your left thigh down into your chest. He mumbles under his breath, none of which you can make sense of, especially when he bucks his hips against yours, hard. You arch your back, head digging into his flimsy pillow and engulfing you in the scent of his shampoo left in the threads. Your senses are on fire, nerves overwhelmed with pleasure. Moans escape you, whiny and desperate with every stroke of his cock.

“You like that?” Lando breathes, “Like when I fuck you like this?”

You nod, whining a pathetic yes. You do, god of course you do. There is no other reason, nothing more enticing than a three a.m. text message, it's truly the biggest reason you dare make the drive to a stupid frat house in the first place. You like– no love how Lando fucks you. You love the way he makes you feel, how he sets every nerve on fire and blurs all your senses so that all you feel is him. Him, him, him.

You look up at him, see the cocky smirk curved into his lips as he continues to fuck you into the bed. There’s a sheen of sweat that coats his skin, the warm light of the streetlamp glistening against his toned chest. You reach up, fingers inching up from his chest to his neck, pulling him back to you into a heated kiss. Always a mess of teeth and tongue, mixed with desperation and the need to be as close to the other as possible. Lando filling you up, fitting himself in your warmth, doesn’t feel close enough. You moan into his mouth at the new sensation, the feeling of him– every ridge and vein, all of him– and the way he begins to fuck into you. You’re a mess, unable to keep up with the kiss, to keep up with the boy fucking you.

“Lando,” You breathe against his lips

Lando pulls away, forehead resting on yours as his right hand comes up to cup your jaw. His thumb presses against your lips, pushing past them and resting on your tongue. Almost instantly, your lips wrap around his finger and sucking. His eyes go dark, the bright green gone from the lust that takes over his gaze. He savors the feeling of your tongue, soft and wet against the pad of his thumb. Flashes of the moments not too long ago make his cock twitch and he swears he could finish in that moment. But he pulls his thumb from your mouth, hand finding its place above your crotch to place the slick digit against your clit. You gasp, head thrown back into the pillow and the moans begin to choke you. You’re struggling to breathe as pleasure creeps up your bones, prickles at your skin one nerve at a time.

“Oh god,” You breathe, “I’m gonna come.”

You regret saying it because the moment you do, Lando stops. His hard cock, still inside of you, and your orgasm withering away. You whine in protest, turning your head into the pillow to hide the displeasure woven into your face. You could scream at the way he laughs above you, the soft coos of your name and the light hearted teasing that you didn’t get to finish. But before you could retaliate, to let your irritation get the best of you, Lando flips you over onto your stomach. His hands, planted firmly on your hips, pull them up. You feel his hands spread your ass, squeezing and then his lips against the skin.

“Don’t worry baby,” Lando mumbles against the flesh of your bottom, “I got you.”

A beat and then his tongue is on your pussy again. He licks a stripe, and another, and once more before you can no longer feel his warm breath. There’s a mumble of compliments, none of which you manage to make out between the rustling of the sheets and your left ear buried in the pillow in an effort to take a peek at him. You’re panting, waiting, anticipating him. And when he pushes in deep inside of you, you feel whole again. Your fingers grip onto the sheets, eyes screwed tightly shut, as Landobegins to fuck you over and over, skin slapping and the sloppy sounds of your arousal coating his dick. Your lungs shake on inhale while your exhale is throaty and desperate. Your body shakes with the bed, with every thrust, banging the bed frame against the wall.

Lando’s fingers weave their way into your hair, gripping at the roots to pull back, upright, and as close to his chest as far as your body allows. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“You feel so fucking good.”

“God Lando.”

His free hand comes up, sliding along the curves of your torso and cupping your breast before finally finding their place around your neck. And when his hand finally resides above your collar bones, he releases your hair. You reach behind you, fingers combing through his curls as you search for a bit of stability in the new position. Lando bottoms out in you with every thrust, his movements rough yet persistent. You feel the sweat of his chest against your back and your arousal sliding down the inside of your thighs. And then it’s there– your orgasm– a growing bubble in the pit of your stomach. You don’t dare say a word this time, just moan a little louder and throw your head back against his shoulder.

Lando’s grip tightens around your neck. Your eyes roll back into your skull. He whispers dirty words in your ear, words you wouldn’t dare repeat– words only uttered in the quiet of the early morning. He says just enoughs, does just enough, to push you over the edge for the second time tonight. Your pussy pulsates, clenches and unclenches around Lando as your orgasm washes over you. You’re panting, whining, fingernails clawing at his arm that’s lain across your chest. Lando’s lips are curved into a smile as he presses a kiss under your ear, can you take one more?, he asks.

You’re a mess, but nod anyways. That’s my girl, Lando mumbles as he pulls out from you. It’s sick how you find pleasure in the way he pulls out, enjoying the slow and languid movement he makes before he guides you down on your back. The duvet is soft, warm, plush, against your back. You were spent, eyes drooping, and if it weren’t for his presence above you, you would surely drift to sleep in a matter of seconds. Lando’s lips attach to your neck softly, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the length of it. It’s almost sweet, the way he takes his time with you. A ghost of a smile curves onto your lips as you turn, pressing yours against him. The kiss is slow, sensual– like time has stopped for the both of you and allowed a couple moments without worry. You almost let yourself fall into that fantasy– that truly in the moment it was only you and him. Lando’s hand comes up to cup your face as he presses deeper, tongue tracing along your bottom lip. You allow him way, and your tongues push and slide against each other. You moan softly, needy, as you slide your legs open so he can come closer. Lando accepts the invitation, shifting on the bed so that his chest is pressing against yours. Your hands scramble around him, one through his curly hair and the other pressing against the soft skin of his back to bring him even closer to you.

Want you, he breathes. Need you, you whine.

Lando pulls his lips from you, craning his neck as he grabs onto his hard shaft, sliding it along your wet slit slowly. You hold your breath in anticipation, a shudder running up your spine at the teasing movement. Up… then down. And then he’s pushing into you so agonizingly slowly. You whine softly, hands moving up to his face to bring his lips back to yours, desperate to relieve yourself of this feeling churning in the pit of your gut. Lando kisses you feverishly as he bucks his hips against you, chasing a high he had yet to find for himself. You hold onto him, failing to keep up with him as he fucks you harder and harder. His pace is slow but the thrusts are deep, calculated, once again pushing you towards a cliff you’ve jumped twice tonight already. You’re a whiney mess, begging for more after every profane word that falls from his lips. Like when I fuck you like this? You feel so good baby. You’re made for me. I’ll never get enough of you. You’re fucking mine.

You were. No– you are. You can’t remember life before Lando, before the yearning and the need to be as close to him as you could be. Even under the guise of uncaring, behind the fake “nothing he does affects me” facade you put up, there is always a little twinge– a fray in nicely kept threads. Deep in your heart, guarded by self-preservation and ego, you know that if Lando said jump you’d always ask how high?

His thrusts become sloppy, desperate, as he begins to chase his own high. I’m gonna come, he mumbles against your lips. A soft moan rumbles from the back of his throat, vibrates against your lips as you swallow the sounds of pleasure. Your fingers intertwine with the curls on his head, gripping tightly as you feel your own release begin to wash over you. Your orgasm grips every nerve, lights your skin on fire and suffocates you in the best way. You’re forced to rip your lips from him so you can gasp for air. Your gasp turns into quiet cries as your pussy pulsates around him. Lando is not far behind, his hips quickly pulling out of you and spurting hot cum on your lower abdomen. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, turning your head so he can kiss you once more.

“You okay?” He finally asks, warm breath fanning over your skin as he carefully pushes the hairs from your face. You’re spent, more than okay, and so with droopy eyes and a lazy smile, you nod. Mhm.

Lando rolls off of you, sitting up and walking towards the opposite side of the room. He bends over to swipe a towel off the floor before sauntering back to bed and swiping the material along your belly. He cleans the mess, half amused, before bending down to give you another sweet peck. You hum contentedly, hands outstretched for him to pull you up. Lando’s hand grabs yours, pulling you up and off the bed with ease. You navigate through the dimly lit, messy bedroom in search of your clothes. You manage to find your panties and hoodie before rolling over to your side of the bed and under the covers. The duvet smells lived in, with a hint of Lando and all his vices.

With boxers over his hips, Lando climbs into bed next to you. His arms are quick to wrap around you, head finding refuge in the crook of your neck. It’s quiet now, the world fast asleep and patiently waiting to join. But as spent as you are, as much as your body begs for rest, your mind reels. It’s easy to forget about sleep when anxiety begins to weave its way into every thought.

You feel stupid again. A bit of self loathing and a sprinkle of heartache courses through your veins. You told yourself that you wouldn’t give in, that if Lando wanted to see you again, that he’d have to make an effort to do so. You were supposed to make him make the late night drive, that he’d have to walk up to your dorm all alone and sneak out again the next morning. You promised yourself to make him work a little harder and yet, all he had to do was say please and you jumped on the opportunity to see him. Like “please” excuses the fact he’d only see you when everyone was fast asleep, that he’d only hold you and kiss you and call you his when no one was looking.

You settle comfortably, regrettably, in Lando’s arms as he wraps them around you. His lips are warm against the top of your forehead, then against your cheeks, and finally against your lips. The gesture is reassuring, tying you to a bit of security– the kind you’ll look back on and wonder if it was real. The mental list of cons you had contemplated earlier in the night had made it to the forefront of all your thoughts. It’s a long list, extensive and albeit a little overdramatic. But that the top, enumerated number one, reads the same line that pierces your chest time and time again.

He isn’t yours.

It’s a sick thought, a taunting realization that you have in the dull moments of your day. So as you lay wrapped in him, you are forced to reckon with the fact that he isn't yours. How you feel about him, differs vastly with how he feels about you. The scales are tipped in his favor of his ego and pride.

You shuffle out of his hold, and he doesn’t seem phased as you slide out of bed. You’re slipping on your leggings, stepping into your runners and reaching for your bag. He doesn’t so much as flinch until he hears the aged brass door knob squeak at your turn.

“You’re not staying?” You look up, stare right at his back as he begins to shuffle deeper into the covers. His shoulders and all the little freckles on it are left exposed under the warm light bleeding into the room.

“No.”

The air in the room is thick, but you wonder if you’re making up the discomfort in your head. Lando has yet to turn, yet to respond, yet to react to the palpable tension in the room. But his shoulders only rise with his breathing, slow and steady.

“Why not?”

Because I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyways. Because it isn’t a good idea. Because if I stay, I think I’ll fall in love with you.

You shrug, “Just wanna be in my bed. And plus I have an early day tomorrow, so I’d rather be home.”

“That’s not a very good reason.” Lando turns over, eyes half open and tongue poking out to wet his lips. “Just stay, I’ll make sure you wake up in the morning.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mind reeling for another excuse, another out, just about any reason to give him so you could go home and drown in your misery. But before you do, Lando sits up. He reaches for his phone and swipes along the screen. He hums softly, tapping three times before flipping his screen around for you to see. Three alarms set– 6:05, 6:15, 6:25. There, he mumbles, now come to bed.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that the gesture didn’t make your heart do flips. The gesture– though maybe nothing to him– is a little more than something for you. It shows he cares. It shows that he wants you there. The gesture is enough to dissolve the walls of doubt you’d built for yourself. All it took was three alarms and the boy pulling back the covers for you to return to your place in bed. You bite down on your lip, bag sliding off your shoulder and dropping to the floor with a soft thud. You were never good at standing your ground anyways. You kick off your shoes, set them by the door, before crawling into the empty space by Lando. He’s quick to pull the covers over your bodies before his arms are around you and pulling you against him.

“Missed this,” Lando mumbles softly into your hair, “missed you.”

You hum softly, toying with the edge of the duvet. “Oh yeah?”

There’s a beat of silence much louder than your breathing. You’re too focused on the loose threads on the duvet, the feeling of the clumps of stuffing caused by a cheap dryer, much too focused on the less important things to see the way Lando raises his brow.

“Yeah,” He replies, matter of factly. “Don’t believe me?”

You shrug, poking your chin up as you stare at him. His eyes scan you, looking for a quiver of a muscle, something to tell him that you’re only poking fun at him. Instead, he sees the bit of heaviness in your eyes.

You don’t believe him.

There are questions that hang in the air, conversations that are much too honest for four in the morning. Neither of you pull the trigger on it, instead lay quietly by each other, soaking in the distrust and disbelief. But what was new? It has always been this way, this was you and Lando’s normal. Living a never ending cycle of doubt and mistrust, all the pushing and pulling, of fights left unresolved and conversations never had. Being with Lando meant living with uncertainty. Being in love with Lando meant wishing away that cons list and pretending that it doesn’t exist. Because at least– the very least– you’re here.

Lando falls asleep moments later, snoring softly and holding you firm against him. He smells like soap, fresh linen, and just a hint of you. His skin is soft, littered with freckles and moles and the memory of the night behind you. You stare for a bit, count the lashes that lay on his cheek, pass the time as you debate in your mind if sleeping here was worth the way you would feel when he inevitably shows you out the next day. But then he squeezes you tighter. You feel his nose nuzzling into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. His body relaxes against you, and you suddenly feel whole. You feel like you belong. Maybe it was worth sticking it out. Maybe things would be different in the morning.

You fall asleep, regrettably comfortable and your heart relying on the maybes.

d rambles. . . i have wrestled with this fic for months because i honestly was trying to do way too much with it so i figured i'd post this and then post pt2. so this fic is p with very little plot- the plot to be found in the next part (hopefully). anyways i hope you all enjoy this and as always feedback is greatly appreciated. smooches!

#lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #frat lando #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #lando norris

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andraxicated · 2 months

Text

Absolute Threshold

Pairing: Sylus x f! reader

Synopsis: Sylus shows you how grateful he is that you'll carry his child

a/n: i came back from the dead pt. 500 and i totally forgot how to write.

inspired by the manhwa of the same name

Sylus—this man—never fails to give your heart somersaults in a bad way. The first one was when you thought you killed him by being forced to pull the damned trigger, and you thought his blood was on your hands now. The second one was being in the presence of meetings gone wrong where you swore he would've killed everyone in that room if you weren't there. And you can't seem to find a third one because it goes on and on. Living life with Sylus has put you on edge, and sleeping with him made the anxiety grow ten times bigger.

Especially when said man's baby is growing inside you.

You pace around the room, wearing nothing but his shirt and a panty just because it's comfy. Yet you know better than to let him catch you like that because you won't be leaving the bed 'til morning. You groan, clutching the pregnancy test and hospital results in your hand, wishing they would somehow disappear or just be a prank the twins did.

The door opens to reveal Sylus, just as expected, but with blood all over his body. The stench of blood hits you, and you fight back the urge to hurl at the wrong moment. You dash to his figure and shakily approach him, not knowing what to do but to stand uselessly as his scars slowly disappear and his wounds regenerate.

"Oh, you're here," he says as if he didn't know you came.

"Sylus. What happened?" you ask, your voice hoarse as tension dissipates from your shoulders. He rolls his shoulders and heads over to the bed, plopping down with his arms behind him. He smirks as his gaze scans over your figure, and you find yourself using your arms to hide your lower body. Sylus pulls you to him as he lays you down, adjusting your positions so your back faces his chest.

“Just another day of being the leader of Onychinus,” he says as his finger plays with the band of your underwear. You prepare yourself for the onslaught of his fingers on your pussy, but he suddenly moves upward to grip your breasts under your shirt—his shirt.

He inhales and sniffs at your neck, engraving your scent in his mind as he grinds on your ass from behind. You were about to lose yourself in his touch until you remembered what you came here for.

“Sylus wait!” You sit up and fix yourself; the man behind you starts doing the same as confusion settles on his face. You turn and hold his hand, gulping down every nervousness that threatens to take over your mind. You knew you needed to spit everything out and rip it like a band aid before you spiraled with anxiety.

Sylus waits for you to speak, but it's clear that his patience is running thin. He tsks “What is it now that you have to hold my hand? Were you that lonely when I left?”

You look at him and take a deep breath, trying your best to push everything out, and say, “Sylus, I'm pregnant.”

His stare blanks with silence, and suddenly he pulls you into his arms, his long limbs covering you completely as he gently pats your head. Something about his comforting touches brings you to tears. He pulls back to wipe at your face, kissing the tears away and showing his soft side that's only for you.

“Do you want this?” He asks the important question with furrowed brows. And when you said “yes," that was the moment he allowed himself to be happy and break a small smile.

He shows his gratitude by whispering sugary words to your ears, kissing down your neck as he continues his earlier ministrations to your breast. He plays them softly in his large palms, making sure not to go too hard on your sensitive peaks. He growls as he imagines them growing throughout your pregnancy, hard on rising from the thought of your already perfect body undergoing changes. He thinks it isn't so bad after all.

“Sylus! Mmmh!” He swallows down your moans with his lips, hungrily devouring you. He feels like he can't get enough of you—a prize for all the shitty things he had to go through in this life. Even better that you came to bear the fruits of his cum releasing inside you.

He pulls away to give you a reprieve as you suck in all the air you can. Sylus’ crimson eyes were feral as he took in your pretty face. You looked like a debauched goddess, and he intended to make it a sight every day.

“Sit on my face, kitten,” he commands with a gruff voice, and you snap your head in shock. Mouth open, unable to take in what he had said. You were taking too long to act, so Sylus decided to pull you on top of him, positioning you to slide off your underwear completely and baring your beautiful cunt for him to look up to. It was so lewd compared to the things you've done, causing you to clench at nothing, and you swore his eyes gleamed dangerously if he did catch it.

“Spread your legs more,” he says, and without warning, pushes your body on him to latch his tongue on your hole, his nose catching on your clit causing you to squirm in his hold and clench on the muscle flicking inside. Sylus felt you were tense, so he had to pull away and slap your pussy, giving jolts of pleasure as his words went from one ear to another.

“Relax and let me eat your pussy. You need to get stretched open.” He continues kitten licks outside the hole, stretching it open to make way for his tongue to taste your essence.

You feel him deeply buried, his face lewdly pressed against your pussy; the feeling of putting weight on his face has you heating up in embarrassing pleasure. “No more! Nghh-stop!”

“You say that but you keep grinding your pussy to my face.” He trails sloppy kisses into your hole like the menace he is to prove a point. “It’s like you're in denial that you get off on this.”

"No, 'm not!” You whine, and Sylus just chuckles deep within your pussy, sending vibrations down your spine to which you arch. He flattens his tongue to lick two long stripes before french kissing your tight hole, pushing in two fingers as a surprise and to play with your clit. Your legs shake as you grip his hair, using his face like a toy to chase your high. His nose repeatedly bumps in you, a toe-curling addition to the pleasure building up.

You went jaw-slacked back arched as you cum on his mouth, Sylus enjoying the clean-up of the mess you made. His tongue was a little less wild as he left butterfly kisses on his favorite part of you.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand before letting you off and settling you down gently on the bed. Sylus smirks with his glistening face, shining with the juice that came out of you. He taps his crotch and raises a brow. “Do you want to suck me off?” You nod, and he pulls you in for a quick kiss, his fingers threading once through your hair like a master to his kitten. “Good girl, I knew you would say that." Then he presses the leaking cockhead to your lips, the mere action sending sparks throughout your body at how lewd your position was.

He could see your ass up trembling due to your weakening legs as you started taking him in your mouth. The stretch was quite uncomfortable due to his large size, but the delicious feeling of his heavy member was enough to keep your head going. You direct your eye upwards at Sylus while making slow strokes, trying your best to fuel the expressions he was making. He had his sight locked on you, eyebrows together in pleasure, making sure to take a mental picture of your lip circled on his cock and your ass up in the air.

'Fuck!” He groans and throws his head back, hissing as you try to take him all in and make yourself choke on his dick. Sylus wanted to push your head towards him and fuck your mouth roughly just as he used to, but he knows you’re in a delicate condition that requires less manhandling. So he resorts to light thrusts to help you take him in, making you tear up a little than full on sobbing with muffled cries on his cock.

Sylus could feel his high coming, so he pulled you away as you gasped for air and coughed. You engage in a messy kiss, spit stretching between you as he suddenly positions you above his raging member. It was red and angry, very eager to cum inside the pussy it belonged to.

“W-wait! I’m not sure-Hahhh!” You scream as his thickness penetrates your small hole before stretching out your walls. Your arms lay limp behind his shoulder as he holds your hips and starts to thrust upward to meet your spot. Your earlier wetness creates squelching sounds against his upper thigh, a reminder of the pace he set in destroying your pussy.

“B-be careful!” You whine, trying to match his pace in going down on him, but he was far too vigorous in his actions that all you can do is moan prettily and take his cock. The girth and the veins graze on your wet walls as Sylus takes in a tit from your mouth, sucking like he’d get milk from it. You couldn’t help but comply with his whims, pushing his mouth further into you as you let him indulge and switch between the two mounds. He licks the sensitive buds and sucks lightly, finishing off with butterfly kisses that have you tightening in response.

“Need to stretch you out for our baby.” He pants, pistoning his mushroom tip in a spot that makes your legs shake and your body keel over. “You can take it like a good kitten.” Sylus’ thrusts repeatedly hit your gspot, driving you to the edge every time you jolt upwards from the force. His dick slips out from the continuous ramming, and you whine, making an effort to grab the length and put it back inside before he does.

“Daddy, please movee” You moan as he breaches your entrance once more, and Sylus lets out a breathy laugh as he watches your pathetic attempt to get filled.

“You love cock that much?” He glances down at where he meets you and sees the way his dick disappears to make a bulge on your lower abdomen. His crimson eyes glow dangerously as he puts in more power in working you open, balls hitting your soft ass as you start to chase your high by synchronizing with him.

“Mhmhm! Only yours~Ah~” You slur over your words in a cockdrunk haze, trying your best to ride him despite the obvious exhaustion in your bones. You feel like passing out, but you fight to stay awake just to feel the warm seed that knocked you up in the first place. You just love Sylus’ cum too much, love how he only does it for you.

“That’s my girl. Letting me fuck her and cum inside raw just because she loves my cock,” he says in a low voice, his pace going fast as you tremble in his arms. Sylus could feel the release building up, ready to shoot his load into you.

“That’s why you got pregnant.” He whispers, grabs the back of your head softly, and exchanges a small moment of eye contact before your lips gravitate towards one another. Teeth clash against tongues, and you feel yourself squeeze against his hard shaft. A few more seconds of hitting the sweet spot, and you pull away to prolong a moan with your mouth agape.

“Hahhhh! S-so good~”

Sylus growls loudly from the clenching of your walls as you savor your orgasm. Your breathing was light, and all your muscles relaxed as you coated him in your sticky release. You just let Sylus do his thing, fucking up into you with his fat cock as your head lays on his shoulder, your mind cloudy from his nonstop onslaught. When you caught sight of his sweaty face, it was very clear that he was starting to struggle because of his impending orgasm.

Your hand suddenly went to his neck, squeezing a little just to see his face when he cums with your hand on his. Then, as his hips faltered to still, you whispered "cum" just as Sylus let out a guttural moan with his head thrown back and eyes closed. You let go of the pressure on his neck and flinched at his warm cum filling you up and dribbling down between your thighs. He thrusts softly at the last of its spurts, making sure you’re all plugged up with cum before kissing you and exchanging saliva.

Between those kisses were giggles that came from your lips, and Sylus couldn’t help but mirror the smile on your face. He spanks your ass playfully before making you look up to him. “Who told you that you could touch my neck? You’re being a very bad kitty.”

“This bad kitty has to carry a child for nine months. You’ll live if I choke you a little.” You jest before giving him a peck and resting in his arms. His hand goes to your tummy and rubs it as exhaustion lulls you to sleep.

#love and deespace x reader #love and deepspace smut #lnd sylus #lnd x reader #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus x reader smut #sylus x you #sylus fluff #sylus x mc #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #l&ds sylus #l&ds smut #lads sylus

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