#i should draw him more. i like his lean figure

[vodid]

urrrrrrrgh i'm blinded by the light 🎶

[kleftiko]

❦ CHERRY SMOKE CLOUDS

“upon learning that your new plug is a virgin, you come up with a new way to pay for your weed”

cw: slight dubcon (sex under the influence), virginity loss (choso), car sex, corruption kink, unprotected sex, blowjobs

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

You met Choso through your little sister's friend.

Without knowing Megumi and Yuji were over, you started ranting to Nobara about how your plug was moving across the country, and it was a travesty. When she gave you edibles, she packed them in cute little heart baggies, and you were never gonna find another one as good as her.

It wasn't until you turned the corner that you saw her and her two friends lounging on the couch.

Luckily, Yuji spoke up, telling you his brother grows and you could get from him.

That got you his number, and having known Yuji, you expected his brother to be a much more enthusiastic texter. You hardly expected one- to two-word responses, absolutely no emojis, and a period at the end of a sentence.

But if it got you what you wanted, you were fine with that.

Most transactions were made through Yuji or Nobara, and despite the lack of customer service that you got from your old plug, his stuff was good, so you couldn't complain.

Then, one day, Yuji messaged you, saying he was having a party at his place and you should come meet his brother. You didn't see why not, so you and Nobara got dressed up together and went.

It was unsurprising that there were a lot of people—Yuji loved making friends, after all—so it took a minute to find him. But he had a wide smile when he saw you two, giving you hugs and telling you his brother was in the garage.

You didn't have to excuse yourself cause your sister was already gone by the time you turned back, so you made your way to the garage.

Inside, there was only one person. A taller man with longer hair who was taking stuff out of the trunk of a car, and when he turned to you, you noticed his tired eyes looking at you. He was cute.

"What?" He asked.

"Choso?" You asked, and he nodded. You smiled a bit and said, "Y/N."

A look of recognition flashed across his face.

"Yuji told me you'd be coming." He then lifted the box in his arms slightly, as if to show you the alcohol. "Leave it to my brother to think a six-pack would be enough for a party."

You couldn't help the amused hum that passed your lips as your gaze traced the strained muscles in his arms.

"Want some help?"

After the two of you brought in a couple cases of liquor, you followed him back to the garage. Besides your sister and her friends, you didn't know anyone, and you figured at least Choso would have some weed on him if nothing else.

He leaned against his car and fished a lighter out of his pocket before looking at you and holding it up as an invitation. You smiled and moved to stand in front of him as he took out a case from his other pocket, placing the joint from inside between his lips.

"You don't wanna hang out with your brother?" You asked as he lit it.

Choso just raised an eyebrow at you, blowing out the smoke slowly and drawing your eyes to his lips.

"You don't wanna hang out with your sister?" He retaliated casually, holding out the blunt for you.

With a couple puffs of your own, you shift your weight onto your other leg. Choso's soft gaze stays on you, waiting for you to continue.

"Why smoke out here?" You asked, and he shrugged.

"Not a fan of people." He explained, and you gave him a look. He shakes his head, "don't make it seem like I'm a loner; I just don't wanna hang out with my younger brother's friends."

"Not a fan of younger people?" You don't give him time to answer before you say, "pretty sure I'm younger than you."

"You're fine." It's casual in the way he says it, but it does something to you, and you end up shifting again when he hands you the blunt.

His eyes flicked down to your legs, taking notice of your movement. "Wanna sit?"

Choso patted the hood of the car beside him as an offer, and you looked at his fingers sitting on top of the metal. They were long and lanky, with prominent veins running through his hand and up his arm. It led you back to his face, which is waiting for your answer.

So you hopped on top of the hood, taking one more puff than is courteous, but Choso didn't say anything as he took it back.

It was a couple minutes of silence; the two of you smoked until it was just the filter, and Choso threw it away. You started to feel the familiar feeling of your head becoming heavier—or, you were just more aware of the weight of it—and you sank back onto your hands with contentment.

"So, were you just here for the weed?" Choso's voice was pretty monotone, but you could tell he was making a joke.

A small giggle escaped your lips as you noticed the red creeping up in his tired eyes.

"I mean, I won't say no if you wanna share another, but I think hanging out with you is fine by itself." You admitted, and he shook his head at you.

A couple blinks was all it took to remind you that he really did grow some good shit, and you grabbed the bottom of his shirt to tell him the compliment when you looked up at his face and forgot your train of thought.

Instead, you tugged on his shirt and coaxed him to stand in front of you as you tilted your head up at him.

"You don't look like what I thought you would." You drawled out.

"What'd you expect?" He prompted.

You pouted, "pink hair."

Choso let out a soft chuckle, and you almost melted at the sight of his smile. Unintentionally, you leaned closer to him, your eyes focused on the bridge of his nose, where you noticed a faint scar that ran across it. With your noses almost touching, you looked up into his eyes, admiring the way they locked onto you.

"You're hotter than I thought." You mumbled, and his eyebrows raised slightly.

Choso pulled back.

"If you think this'll get you free stuff, you're outta luck."

You giggled and let go of his shirt, leaning back onto your hands with a lazy smile.

"I'd tell you that even if you weren't my plug." You said. "Though, I'm sure a lot of your customers offer favours instead of money."

Once again, he shook his head at you, his smile mirroring yours. You let your head fall back, feeling the stretch in your neck as you stared at the ceiling.

"Wouldn't blame you, sex while high is incredible."

"I wouldn't know." He said and you snapped your head at him.

"You've never had sex after smoking?"

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you understand what he was saying.

"You've never had sex?" You clarified, and Choso shakes his head in agreement, unbothered by it.

"Never had the time." He explained, and at the back of your clouded mind, you recalled Nobara mentioning that Yuji was raised by his older brother.

You slid off the car, standing toe to toe with Choso as you looked up at him. He didn't move, and you could smell his cologne and soft hints of weed.

"Do you wanna know what it's like?" You whispered, gazing up at him through your lashes.

The thought that you could give this man everything made that small pulse of arousal that's been sitting between your legs light on fire. As you stared into Choso's eyes, a mischievous smile played on your lips. The anticipation of what you could do with him sent a rush of excitement through your body.

Instead of giving you a verbal answer, Choso bent down and attached his lips to yours.

He tasted smokey, but it didn't bother you as you brought your hands up into his messy hair. His large hands travelled down your sides and roughly pulled you closer to him. Your knee bumped between his legs, and he uttered a deep moan into your mouth.

Detaching yourself from him, you grabbed his shirt and tugged him to switch places with him, pushing his legs into the hood of his car and forcing him to sit atop it.

Your hands then moved to his jeans as you kissed him again, undoing the button and zipper as you bit his lips. Choso let out a little whine, shakey fingers grasping at your own shirt when you stuck your hand down his pants and cupped his half-hard cock. As you stroked him, you scattered kisses and bites down his neck and along his jaw, leaving nothing to catch the hisses he let out of his mouth in response to your attack. You could feel the heat radiating from his body as his breathing grew heavier. The intensity of the moment heightened as you whispered in his ear, teasing him with promises of what was to come.

Then you sank your knees onto the concrete floor between his legs, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his cock and balls, your mouth watering at the size.

As you looked up into his eyes, you gently licked his red tip and watched him shut his eyes in pleasure, his hand coming to the top of your head. Then you took him to the back of your throat, eliciting a loud and wanton moan from the man above you. Despite slapping his other hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, you felt a shiver at the noise, knowing that you were driving him wild with something so simple. With each movement of your mouth, you could feel his grip on your hair tighten, urging you to go deeper. The intensity of the moment consumed both of you as you lost yourself in the intoxicating pleasure of giving him ecstasy. His dick was slobbered with your spit, and besides the faint music coming from the house, the garage was filled with the disgusting sounds of you slurping and choking on his cock and Choso's beautiful stuttering noises of bliss.

Your eyes rolled back at the taste of him; the salty precum and weight of his dick on your tongue had you rocking your neglected pussy into your heel. When his moans and whimpers started to catch at the back of his throat, you cupped his heavy balls in your hands, gently massaging them as you continued to pleasure him. The intensity of the moment heightened as you felt his body tense and his breathing become more erratic, signalling that he was about to cum. With a mischievous smile, you increased the speed and pressure of your movements, determined to push him over the edge and make him lose control completely.

The grip on your hair tightened as he let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking uncontrollably against your touch. The raw desire in his eyes fueled your own excitement, and you revelled in the power you had over him in the moment. As he finally reached his climax, you continued to stroke him through his release, savouring the feeling of his pulse against your tongue and his cum running down your throat.

His tired eyes were glazed with lust when you popped him out and stood up. His chest was breathing heavily, but that didn't stop him from grabbing your face and pulling you into a searing kiss, licking up the drops of his cum that slipped from your lips. You moaned at his eagerness to clean his own grime from your face and ran your hands down his clothed body, fingernails scraping along his muscles as they twitched.

"Please," He begged between kisses. "Please fuck me."

You pulled away, looking at the man in front of you with hunger.

"Back seat." You commanded, and Choso listened to you.

The two of you stumbled to the car, pawing at each other as you removed your clothes. By the time you shut the door behind you, the two of you were in your underwear. Choso was hard once again as you mounted him.

Taking off your bra, his eyes locked onto your tits before eagerly going for them with his mouth. but you grabbed his hair and pulled him back. He nearly whimpered at the denial, but you were firm.

"I need to see your face when I take your virginity, baby." You told him.

Choso nodded his head and helped you two rid yourself of the last bit of clothing. Grabbing his cock, you lined it up with your soaking lips as Choso's fingers fluttered over your hips in anticipation. You looked at him, only to find his watery eyes locked on your pussy as he swallowed harshly. You were sure that if you led him on any longer, he would start crying.

"Choso," your sweet voice cooed.

When he locked eyes with yours, you sheathed yourself over his cock, watching firsthand as his mouth dropped open and his eyes rolled back as a broken moan pushed past his lips. It was filthy and erotic, and it made you lift your hips and slam back down onto him just to see his reaction again. His body trembled beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening as he surrendered to the pleasure coursing through him. The intensity of the moment fueled your own desire, igniting a primal need to dominate and explore every inch of his body.

"That feel good, baby?" You asked, knowing he couldn't answer. "Feel good to get fucked in the back of your car?"

Choso whimpered.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear, as you whispered, "You love being used like this for your first time, don't you?"

The sound of his desperate moans only fueled your attack further, pushing you to take him even harder.

"Your cock feels so good inside me, Choso." You continued to enjoy his reactive body. "so big, I don't think I can just fuck you once."

In his first bout of control, Choso grabbed the back of your head and shut you up with a kiss, hips lifting against yours in desperation.

"So fucking perfect." He managed to huff out, and you rewarded him with a squeeze of your pussy, making him lose the rhythm of his thrusts. The intensity of the moment heightened as Choso's grip tightened on your head, his kiss silencing your words. With each desperate thrust of his hips, he struggled to maintain the little bit of control he had.

He managed to gasp, overcome with the pleasure you were giving him, "You're absolutely incredible." The squeeze of your pussy caused him to lose his rhythm, further intensifying the passion between you.

You smiled wickedly and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"Yea?" You asked. "Wanna cum inside me?"

It was as if a switch had been flipped. His eyes darkened with desire, and a primal growl escaped his lips. Without hesitation, he grasped your hips firmly and increased the pace, thrusting into you with an urgency that matched your own. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and you let out your own noises of pleasure at Choso's actions.

Feeling your climax near, you dug your nails into his bare chest, urging him on. The intensity of the moment consumed both of you as you reached the peak of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy. Spurts of his cum painted the inside of you, making you moan at the feeling before collapsing against him, sweaty bodies entangling. For a long moment, heavy breathing was the only sound in the hot car. As the air slowly cooled, you both basked in the afterglow.

With a satisfied smile, Choso gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face and whispered, "That was incredible."

You breathed out a laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and cuddling into him.

"Yea," you agreed. "We need to smoke together more often."

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[ellemj]

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 10 (FINAL PART)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

*Read parts 1-9 first for the full effect!*

Summary: Everything is out in the open between you and Bucky now, but there are two rules for your new secret relationship.

Warnings: unprotected sex, teasing, possessive!Bucky (hehehe), maybe fluff (?), profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's Note: We've finally reached the end. I think I'll miss this version of Bucky and reader but I'm pretty excited about the work that I'm planning on putting out here next. Hopefully everyone's okay with the conclusion of this, I didn't want to have anyone riding off into the sunset or anything, but I also didn't want to have a horribly sad ending, so this felt right. You guys should totally let me know in the comments what kind of things you'd like to see from me soon! I don't know if I'll take specific requests anytime soon, but I'd love to at least find out what might get you all excited. Thanks for the umpteenth time to @littlemiss-yeehaw for being the best cheerleader and warnings-writer out there. She also draws some unbelievable shots of Bucky based on scenes in these fics.

           

In the shower, on the hotel bed, in the chair by the window, hell, even on the floor when the two of you rolled off of the bed in the heat of the moment. You’d successfully christened every surface of your hotel room before the clock ever struck midnight. You hadn’t meant to go at it like horny teenagers who found themselves home alone for the first time, but that’s what happened. It’s like you were both thinking about how this may not continue once you get back to the compound tomorrow morning, so you fit as much as you could all in one night.

            Now, you’re laying side by side in bed. Your most recent tryst involved you on your hands and knees with Bucky doing all of the right things behind you, and it thoroughly winded you both. You listen as your collective breaths fill the air, the two of you each coming down from your post-orgasmic highs.

            “Do you think Dr. Raynor will figure this out?” You ask softly, raising a hand and wiping a bit of sweat from your brow. Bucky laughs and turns his head to look at you. He still can’t get past how pretty you look after doing such dirty, animalistic things with him. Even without the super soldier serum decreasing his refractory period to mere minutes, he thinks he’d be recovered and ready for round five just from looking at you like this.

            “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

            “It’s on my mind, yeah.” You admit. You’re probably more worried about it than you should be, but deep down, Bucky’s worried too.

            “So, how do you want to handle it?” Bucky asks, fully rolling onto his side to face you.

            “Maybe we just wait and see what she has to say after observing tonight’s mission and then go from there. I don’t want to say anything first and give her anything to use against us.” He’s listening to your words, honestly, he is. He doesn’t think he could ever miss a word you say. But he can’t stop himself from reaching over and running his fingertips along your flushed cheek. You turn to look at him and he lets his fingers ghost over your lips and down the column of your throat until he reaches the notch between your collarbones. His eyes linger there for a moment. Something’s missing.

            “You never gave me my dog tags back.” He whispers. You’re not wearing them, and neither is he. So, where are they?

            “Yeah, I wasn’t sure when to give them back.”

            “Bullshit, you wanted to keep them.” Bucky teases. You push his hand away from your neck at the accusation, but can’t stop the smile that’s creeping over your features. Fuck, he’s so into you. He closes the distance between the two of you and places his body carefully over yours under the covers, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Even just kissing you sets off fireworks inside of him.

            “They’re sitting on my nightstand, back in the compound.” You tell him, hoping it doesn’t make you sound too obsessed. You had planned to give them back all week, but avoiding him made that a little difficult, so instead you left them sitting beside your bed. It was sort of comforting to see his name every night before you fell asleep, and every morning when you woke up.

            “Keep them.” He insists, pressing another kiss to your soft, soft lips. You get lost in the moment, focusing on the feeling of his tongue working against yours, his scent enveloping you in the most consuming way, and his weight keeping you pinned to the mattress. You could stay like this forever.

            This, of course, is when Bucky’s phone would ring. He groans in annoyance as he breaks the kiss and touches his forehead to yours, looking down into your eyes.

            “Tell me not to answer it.” He pleads. You purse your lips, knowing it’s probably someone from the team calling with some kind of update or new order. Bucky groans again before rolling off of you and snatching his phone off of the bedside table. He answers it and puts it on speaker, confirming that it’s someone from the team.

            “Hey, sorry to call so late. The threat has been neutralized so you guys can head back now and get some sleep, we’ll debrief in the morning.” Sam sounds tired but calm, so it must have been more of a nuisance situation than a major threat. Bucky closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his vibranium hand.

            “Sounds good, we’ll be back soon.” He grumbles. You can tell he’s annoyed that you won’t be staying the night here. When he hangs up the call, he lets out a deep sigh before sitting up on the side of the bed, with the covers gathering around his waist. Without thinking, you crawl up behind him and wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him from behind. He stiffens as if he didn’t expect your touch, but that just makes you lean into him more, resting your chin on his shoulder. You feel him slowly relax and having that effect on him warms you to the center of your being

            “We’re going to go home, get some rest, and debrief in the morning like this was any other mission.” You say, attempting to be reassuring.

            “That’s what you want? To pretend like this was any other mission?” He questions, running his hands over where your arms are wrapped around his abs.

            “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant we don’t have to run in and tell everyone that something might be going on between us.”

            “Might?” He chuckles. You feel his abs shake beneath your hands as the melodious sound leaves his lips. You never heard him laugh much before, and you didn’t expect to like it as much as you do.

            “Hey, I told you that I fell for you, and you said fuck, I’m cumming. How am I supposed to know you feel the same way?” You tease, letting go of him and laying back on the bed, drawing the covers up over your naked body. He turns a bit to face you and starts pulling the covers away from you slowly.

            “Y/n…” He says your name with so much genuine feeling that it sends tingles throughout your body. Has he always said your name like that and you just never noticed before? Yes. “I made you wear my dog tags while I fucked you.” What the hell does that have to do with what you just said? He can see the confusion on your face and it brings a smile to his. He slides back under the covers next to you and begins peppering kisses across your shoulder and collarbone.

            “Bucky…” Fuck, if you start saying his name again there’s no way either of you will make it back to the compound tonight. He quickly makes his way up to your face, attaching his lips to yours for a moment and then tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away. It’s the nicest way anyone has ever shut you up.

            “I wanted to be able to pretend like you were mine. I fell way before you did.” He whispers against your lips. Holy shit. He feels the same way. Bucky Barnes feels the same way about you as you feel about him.

            You know that you have orders to head back to the compound, and neither of you are the type to disobey orders from above, but how are you supposed to pack up and head out after finding out that you have feelings for each other? You can’t stand the thought of traveling back to the compound tonight knowing that you’ll have to put on a show and pretend like nothing happened here. So, why not delay a bit and take what you want one more time?

            That very rational thinking is what inspires you to slide your hand between the two of you and wrap your fist around Bucky’s already-hardening cock. He sucks in a breath at the feeling of your small, soft hand wrapping tightly around him, and he wonders how he went so long without having you this way. You’ve been right across the hall from him all of this time. You’ve been going on missions with him for the last two months, giving each other shit nearly every waking moment, and completely missing what had been there the whole time. Love. He won’t say it out loud yet, he doesn’t want to scare you off, but that’s what it is. He’s sure of it. He loves you. He may not say it but he can damn well express it.

            That’s how Bucky finds himself, for the fifth time tonight, guiding the tip of his cock inside of your perfect cunt. He’s done this enough times now that he knows as soon as he bottoms out inside of you, you’ll tense up and scrunch your eyes closed, trying your hardest to adjust to his size. He watches as you do just that, and then he feels your entire body relax beneath him and he knows you’re ready. He pulls one of your legs up and over his hip as he begins fucking you into the mattress. When your eyes flutter open to meet his, he has to go completely still inside you so he won’t cum right then and there. You laugh to yourself. You know what eye contact does to him and you love it.

            “What’s the matter, James? Keep going.” You taunt, wiggling your hips and forcing his cock to slide into you another inch. He’s only halfway inside of you. He breathes out a slow, calming breath before leaning down and nuzzling his face into your neck, letting his cock sink into you slower than it ever has before.

            “You like rushing me, don’t you?” He asks, giving your cunt gentle thrusts. A soft hum leaves your lips at the pleasure that’s beginning to build in your lower stomach. You’re so focused on the feeling that you don’t even acknowledge his question. “Don’t rush me tonight.” He buries himself to the hilt before stilling once more, drawing a whine from your lips. “We’re making love, not fucking, sweetheart.”

---

            A few hours later that same morning, a very uneventful debrief took place in the conference room at the compound. You and Bucky turned in your mission reports, leaving out the details of what happened in the hotel room, and then you were dismissed to have a few hours of freedom before having to meet with Dr. Raynor.

            Everyone probably assumed that the two of you went off to your respective rooms upstairs, but it took little convincing to get Bucky to sneak over into yours. When he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the first thing he noticed was his dog tags, right where you said they were.

You kick your shoes off by the door and walk over to sit on one of the small gray chairs that you have off to the side of the room, feeling surprisingly nervous that Bucky Barnes is seeing your room for the first time. Nervous. After everything the two of you have done this week? You’re ridiculous. You watch him as he crosses the room and scoops the dog tags off of your nightstand. He stares at them in his palm for a moment, and for a second you worry that he might pocket them. However, when he turns to you with a soft smile and a mischievous glint in his eye, your fears are assuaged.

“Do you have any rules? For this thing that we’ve got going on?” Bucky asks, taking the free chair across from you and setting the dog tags flat on the coffee table that separates the two of you. You tilt your head to the side, studying him closely. You see what he’s doing. The first night, while under the influence of that chemical, you gave him one rule: no kissing. He returned with his own rule: wear his dog tags while he fucks you.

“I have one. We keep this a secret, just between us, for as long as we can.” You respond, letting your eyes trail over his physique. He’s sitting in your chair the same way he sat in the chair in the hotel room last night. The man knows how to demand attention without saying a damn word. You watch as his licks his bottom lip and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Fine. It’s a secret.” He agrees, his gaze briefly lingering on your neck. “But I have one rule too.” He reaches out with his flesh hand and begins sliding the dog tags across the table toward you. “You’ll never take these off again.”

BONUS CHAPTER

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[pucksandpower]

Hypnotized

Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader

Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak

You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.

The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”

He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”

Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”

He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”

“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.

“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”

You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”

You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”

Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”

He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”

Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”

You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”

His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.

“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”

You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.

“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”

Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.

“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”

His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.

“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”

A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.

“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”

He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.

“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”

There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.

“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”

His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”

Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.

“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”

He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.

“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.

You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.

“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”

Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.

You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.

“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”

His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.

“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”

Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,

“Come for me, love!”

His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.

At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.

“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”

He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”

You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”

His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.

You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.

You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.

He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”

You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”

A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.

With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.

The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.

Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.

Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.

“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.

He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”

A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.

You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.

“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”

He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.

“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.

He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.

Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.

“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.

A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.

You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.

Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.

“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.

A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”

“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”

The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.

Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.

“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.

“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.

“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.

His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.

“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.

You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.

With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.

“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.

He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”

With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.

A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.

The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.

After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”

And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.

***

The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.

No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.

“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”

A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.

There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.

Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.

“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.

“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.

The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”

With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.

“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.

You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”

Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”

A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”

The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.

You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.

His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.

Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.

“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”

His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.

When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”

Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.

All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.

Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.

When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.

For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”

You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”

Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”

With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.

“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”

He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.

“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”

His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.

His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.

“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.

Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”

The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.

“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.

Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.

Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.

“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”

You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”

“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”

You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.

In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.

His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”

A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”

Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.

With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.

***

The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.

A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?

Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.

“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.

You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly – all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.

He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.

It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.

Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.

By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.

You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”

Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”

“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”

A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.

You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.

“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”

Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.

For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.

“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.

A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.

Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.

“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”

Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”

A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”

Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”

“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply … vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”

You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.

“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”

A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.

When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.

“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”

In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.

There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.

Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.

You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.

Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.

Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.

The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”

His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.

It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.

“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.

“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.

You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.

When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.

You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.

It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”

In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.

In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.

Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.

[luveline]

hi baby if you feel up for it i'd love to request some fluffy fluff with sirius. maybe he's usually so reserved and stoic (because, cmon) and they're out with his friends and they're all making fun of him for being so lovey and doting on r

love u sm!

love you!! ♡ fem, 1k

"This is really lovely," Sirius says, your face turned to the light in his hand. "It's bright without looking out of place. Blue is your colour." 

"Thanks, bug," you murmur back, holding still as he cleans the smudged mascara from your lower lash line.

"Every colour is your colour," he amends. "It goes nice with your top." 

You rub your lips together slowly, sticky with gloss. His noticing makes all your make up efforts worth it. 

Sirius wipes his thumb into the tissue you'd given him and tucks it away, stroking your cheek one last time with his other hand before stealing yours to twine your fingers. Your friends have carried on into the pub, but it doesn't take long to catch them. Remus was kind enough to wait at the entrance, eyebrows raised. 

"What?" Sirius asks. 

"Nothing." It's clearly something. "At all." 

You figure it's between them and skirt past Remus with a smile, eager to hide away in the warm wooded walls of The Firestroke. The boys filter in behind you, following you through the entryway and past the bar to the table James has commandeered with Emmeline. 

He's fiddling with her hair, readjusting a bobby pin, another held between his lips. "It looks nice, Emme, you should have it out of your face more often." 

"Marl says that all the time. Hey!" She beams at you. "Come and sit by me." 

You laugh happily and slide onto the seat next to her. You, Emme, and James sit on the booth side while Sirius and Remus set themselves down opposite. A waitress arrives and Sirius doesn't wait for the others, ordering a round of drinks for the entire group, wherever they may be. They'll filter in soon enough. 

"And extra cherries for my girl, please," Sirius says, nodding to you as he does. "Thanks." 

"Ooh, for his girl," James croons. 

"Remember when he'd order stuff for me like that?" Remus asks. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, offering his hands to you from across the table. Honestly, you're slightly surprised at his behaviour today, but you won't look a gift horse in the mouth. You lay your hands in his obligingly and relax as he begins to draw shapes into the fronts of your fingers, tiny stroking lines that feel ridiculously good, even under the eyes of your friends. "He's lying. I'd purposefully get his food wrong when we were teenagers so he'd have to go up to the counter and correct it." 

"Like exposure therapy I never signed up for," Remus sighs. "It worked, too." 

Sirius laughs. He's handsome to begin with, the last burst of a tan from summer's end on his skin, his hair dark and lush in the shimmering light, and when he laughs it's a tenfold effect, the grey of his eyes suddenly mesmerising, the wicked curve of his smile softened into a sweeter thing that begs to be kissed, or admired at the very least. You let him keep one hand but turn the other inward to give him similar treatment, rubbing your fingertips up and down his palm in a ticklish wave. 

"Do that to me, mate, there's a good lad," James says, offering his hand. Emmeline bats it away. 

"Awfully jealous today, aren't they?" Sirius asks you, ignoring their teasing to curl your fingers in and cover them. 

"I…" You're not sure what to say. Does he not realise how sweet he's being? Publicly? He's not usually this open. 

"You okay?" 

"Fine, just…" Words fail you twice. You cringe at your lack of explanation, but Sirius doesn't falter in his nice touches. It shouldn't shock you when he slides his chair tight against the table and pulls your hands ever closer, his top lip scratchy with hair as he leans down to kiss your knuckles. "Siri." 

"Yes, darling?"

"Jesus," Marl says, announcing her presence with a faked gag. "What's your problem, Black?" 

"I'm deeply in love, McKinnon. Not that you'd know what that feels like." 

You melt in your chair as he kisses a short path to your wrist. You could write Marlene a ten thousand word essay on love if she needed it, that's how adored he's got you feeling. 

"Absolutely vile."

"So sweet!" Mary denies, plopping herself down in the chair beside Sirius', all pink tulle and flowery smells. Any other day you'd be jealous of her in a good-natured but undeniably insecure manner, terrified that Sirius was gonna turn to her and see her in all her dewy beauty, but he doesn't so much as look up, your hands now rubbed against his cheek. 

"He's had a bit of catnip or something," Remus says. 

"It's the eyeshadow," you try to explain. 

Sirius lifts his head severely. "It looks perfect, but it's definitely not the eyeshadow. I'd feel just as mad about you if you were covered in soot." 

"Good to know," you say breathlessly. 

"Oh, so you're feeling pathetic today?" Marl asks.

Sirius sighs as though he's been greatly inconvenienced and sits up properly, casting his gaze around the group for a lick of sense between them, if his slack eyebrows are anything to go off of. "You're all wrong. I'm this pathetic for her every day of the week." 

"Then what's with the PDA?" James asks incredulously. 

"Mate, first of all, look at her. And if you must know, it's our anniversary." 

You flinch, your gaze jumping to his. The group erupts with well wishes and 'why didn't you say so's, and James slaps his card on the table, insisting that the round is on him to celebrate. Your heart races as you make the calculations in your head, calming as you realise that nothing falls on today's date, not a half month nor a first date. 

"Sirius?" you ask while everyone's distracted. 

He takes your hand again and begins kissing your knuckles once more. "I'm lying," he says, as you'd figured, scratching your fingers with his stubble. "That's what he gets for prying… You really do look lovely tonight." 

You nearly swallow your tongue. "Thank you. You look lovely, too." 

He smiles, twining your fingers together to rest his face against the back of your hand. "Thanks, angel." 

[gelus-ugs]

Xavier Thorpe x Fem! Reader

—————————————————————

Prompt: [Y/n] has always worn baggy clothing, even her uniform is a bit too big. Xavier thought nothing of it, figuring that it was just what she was comfortable with. Little did he know it was to hide something a big..bigger (no, not pregnancy)

Established Relationship

Update: I haven’t heard anything about the Percy Hynes White situation, so I’m opening back up requests for Xavier Thorpe!

—————————————————————

At the sound of reoccurring knocks from the other side of the door, Xavier stood from his bed and made his way to the door. He cracked opened the door, revealing his girlfriend in her oversized uniform.

“Hey!”

[Y/n] smiled up at Xavier, who opened the door wider to let her in. As [Y/n] entered his dorm, she took notice of the many sketches and drawings that were hung on the walls.

One in particular had caught [Y/n]’s eye. It was that of a lily, blooming amongst other flower buds. It was a simple drawing, yet she was entranced by it.

“Sorry my dorm’s a bit of a mess”

Xavier apologized as he began to move some things around as an attempt to tidy up a bit. Upon hearing no response, he looked up to see [Y/n] staring at one of his drawings.

Xavier walked behind [Y/n] and gently placed his hands on the side of her arms, caressing them as he leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“The lily, huh? Ironically, I was thinking of you while drawing that”

“It’s beautiful”

[Y/n] mumbled, admiring the drawing for a tad bit longer before turning around and smiling at Xavier. The male couldn’t help but return the smile as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

“The bathroom is over there if you want to change into something more comfortable”

[Y/n] nodded, grabbing her change of clothes from the bag she had brought with her before making her way to the bathroom. Xavier found himself on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media as he waited for his partner to finish changing.

“So, what movie should we watch?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. Whatever…”

Xavier answered with a shrug as he looked up from his phone, losing his train of thought once he laid eyes on [Y/n]. She was wearing a fitted tank top - which exaggerated her chest in comparison to her usual clothes that kept it hidden.

Xavier never thought much about what [Y/n]’s body was like under her baggy wear, the male never really caring to and figuring her body was as normal as anyone else’s.

Oh lord, was he wrong.

Nothing could’ve prepared Xavier for the sight of his girlfriend having large breasts - it was like a horny teen’s dream come true. Xavier couldn’t help but stare as her figure walked towards him, talking away as he paid little to no attention to what she was saying.

Once [Y/n] was close enough, Xavier pulled her onto the bed and immediately rolled on top of her, burying his face in between the flesh of his partner’s chest. [Y/n] let out a noise of confusion as she stared at her boyfriend,

“Xavi, love..what are you doing?”

Xavier only let out a hum in response, causing [Y/n] to chuckle. She began to run her fingers through Xavier’s hair, smiling down at him.

“Do what you want, Xavi”

[princessbrunette]

how would pope act is reader asked him to slap her mid fuck 🫠

🌸⋆｡°🐻‍❄️°⋆. ࿔*:･💭

don’t be mistaken, pope can get super into it, bordering on rough if he’s feeling particularly pent up. he’s a passionate lover, so it’s to no one’s surprise that the bed is shaking, creaking and thumping against the wall of his bedroom with each roll of his hips.

perhaps that’s why you get so into it, the feeling of your strong boyfriend roughing you up left you with a demand for more. a desire to be left sore, crying.

“hit me!” you groan, half muffled by your own fingers over your mouth, sza’s voice on the speaker concealing the sound even more. in a way he complies, a soft groan leaving him as he smacks the fat on the side of your hip before grabbing a handful of it as leverage for his thrusts. its sexy, but you want more.

“slap me, pope. please…” you pant in clarification, trying to keep your hazy eyes on his. his face screws up as he slows to catch his breath, hovering over you — eyeing you.

“what?” he breathes out, in disbelief.

“just want you to rough me up. please slap me.” you get teary eyed, and at this point he figures maybe you’re too fucked out to really know what you want.

“i think we should talk about this when —”

“please. please.” you plead, chest rising and falling. it’s at this point he hears jj’s voice, a moment shared from earlier in the week where his blonde best friend berated him for always playing by the rules. ‘dude you gotta be spontaneous. that’s what life’s all about.’ so, his eyes darken a little, shifting his hips with his cock still burrowed inside, eliciting a whimper from you.

“really? are you sure that’s what you want?” he confirms, dropping an elbow by your side to lean more weight onto you.

“yes.” you whisper, a look of determination on your wrecked face. your boyfriend leans in, like he’s going to kiss you, even tilts his head a little — breath mingling. just as his lips brush yours, he draws back and in a second gives you a hard slap. your head turns, so you don’t see the few seconds of panic in his wide eyes that he’d hit you too hard.

you smile, bleary eyed when you look back at him.

“yeah? you like that?” he starts to move again, specifically aroused by the way your walls squeeze him.

“loved it. so strong, popey.” you muse, shaking fingertips brushing his biceps and he chuckles humbly, his regular personality slipping through.

“thank you, i try.”

🌸⋆｡°🐻‍❄️°⋆. ࿔*:･💭

[demieyesore]

Tear You Apart - Anakin Skywalker

Summary - Anakin's obsession with you is slowly taking over; He keeps hoping it'll just go away but quickly realizes that it won't.

Song inspo - "Tear you apart" by She wants revenge

Warnings / Mentions - GN!Reader, No use of Y/n, AFAB!Reader,  ... Cannibal!Anakin ... CANNIBALISM AS A METAPHOR FOR LOVE OKAY ... He doesn't literally eat the reader tho, only sexually LMFAO. Anakin is a serial killer tho. Modern AU, College AU, Stalker!Anakin, Yandere!Anakin, Smoking (I don't smoke or do drugs so idk if I wrote it correctly but whatever) Some 18+ but it's really not full on smut lmfao, more like it's just known that they're doing it

A/N - Okay finally actually deciding to write because I keep thinking about Anakin and this song...

Requested - No

Word Count - 1.5k

Anakin Skywalker, a serial killer that hides behind the name "Darth Vader". He didn't choose this name for himself, it was given to him by the media after his first 3 murders. Well known for killing and eating his victims, people began to avoid leaving the house. The FBI were investigating the deaths, trying to find any trace of him. 

They wouldn't ever find him. He knew that. He had been so careful to make sure that nothing lead the cops to him.

Or to you.

You are his everything. His world. All the murders are a symbol of his love for you. Everything he ate from his victims were something you had touched. If he didn't eat it, you didn't touch it. But that doesn't mean he didn't still take anything.

The first victim, a boy in your college class. He simply asked to barrow a pencil but when you gave him the writing utensil, Anakin immediately took notice of how your hand brushed against his.

His eyes narrowed at the frat guy's hand, his tongue poking at his inner cheek in annoyance and frustration. 

Why would you touch him? He was dirty. All men are and you should be aware of that. You should be more careful about who you touch. Anakin would think in his mind, scolding you as he makes a note of who the douchebag was.

Two weeks later, he was found dead. His left hand missing and instead resting in Anakin's stomach. Of course from just the first victim, they couldn't assume he was actually eating the victims, they couldn't even be sure that this was a serial killer when there were no other deaths.

The second victim came about a month after that. In honor of the frat boy's passing, you and your friends went to a college party. This party was only about a week after the frat boy passed. You got a little too drunk, you could barely stand upright. What was Anakin supposed to do? Especially after he saw how handsy some guy was being with you? After he saw how he tried to lead you upstairs. 

You unfortunately went with him, too drunk to fight back but that's okay! Anakin will take care of you like always. 

Anakin saw how the sober party goer kissed you, he had to figure out how to protect you without drawing attention to himself.

He picked up a half empty red solo cup, standing by the staircase as he chucked the cup at your best friend. He swiftly walked away from the stairway, leaning against a doorframe as your best friend turned around.

She was clearly pissed, already a good sign for Anakin. She was scoping out the scenery, looking for who could have thrown the cup at her when she saw you making out against a wall with a dude that definitely was not your type. She stomped up the stairs, grabbing your wrist as she pulled you back downstairs and out of the party.

Anakin smiled to himself, holding a new cup with some kind of alcohol. His eyes drifted to the moron you were kissing. God how he wanted to kiss you too. Jealously spiked in his heart, his eyes darkening already trying to form a plan. 

So three weeks later, same thing happened. Another guy found dead. He wasn't missing his hand this time, no it was something more personal. 

His tongue.

The tongue that was practically shoved down your throat. He enjoyed cutting out his tongue while he was still alive, wanting him to know that this is what happens when you try to take advantage of someone who's drunk.

This pattern continued, making sure that the murders were far away enough from when you last interacted with the fucking losers.

I mean who would suspect you? Oh yeah, you gave a guy a pencil and he never gave it back? Such good motivation to kill someone. 

Now of course, the second one could be motivation but you were so drunk that you didn't even remember it in the morning. And your best friend didn't say anything about it. Anakin would have known if she did, he has spyware installed on all your devices, recording devices in your dorm room and with how often he's watching you, he would of course know.

The other murders he committed were similar, anyone who came into contact with you that he disliked... a couple weeks or even months later, they'd end up dead.

No one put together that it was involved with you. I mean even you didn't. It wasn't like you were dating anyone, he didn't have to kill a boyfriend. Only small... inconveniences.

That old geezer at your job that kept harassing you? Dead, his eyes gouged out.

The girl at the movie theater that was an absolute bitch? She was on a fucking phone call during the whole movie. She was interrupting the date you and Anakin were on! It didn't matter to him that you didn't know you were on a date. It was a movie you were really looking forward to but the cunt couldn't keep her mouth shut. Yeah well, it's fine because she also ended up dead, her ears missing.

Nothing would come between you and Anakin. You may have only talked to him a couple of times, mainly to work on a project but it didn't matter. He knew you thought he was cute. He was watching you even before that. 

Anakin didn't even want to like you as much as he does. When he first saw you, he felt a connection. Convinced himself that he was crazy. He would tell himself that he didn't need you. That he wouldn't give into his urges. 

It became useless after a while. He was already hooked before you ever spoke to him.

But it solidified when you were stressing yourself out over an exam. You went outside, needing a smoke break. Anakin had been working on a scheme to be able to talk to you. Wanting to make sure how he felt about you before he took it too far.

He watched as you groaned, pulling out your pack of cigarettes and realizing none were left. You swore you had one more left, you rummaged through your bag looking for the last one when he tapped your shoulder.

You turned around, confused with a dazed look on your face when you saw him.

Anakin held out a pack to you. It was your favorite brand and you thanked him as you took one of the cigarettes.

You leaned towards him when he flicked his lighter on. He lit his first, pressing it between his lips as he towered over you slightly, his left hand holding the lighter on while his right hand protected the flame from any wind. Your cigarette ignited as you happily took an inhale of it.

Anakin knew for a fact that he would obsess over this for the next two days even when he told himself that it's only just a crush. It'll go away.

When you smiled up at him he had to repeat his little affirmations to himself, not wanting to be attached. 

"It's just like all the others, it'll go away." He thought to himself.

He prayed for it to go away but his obsession just continued to grow.

I guess that's how you got here, underneath him. His obsession, his "crush" just never went away.

Anakin slowly invaded your life, not wanting to frighten you away. He may have eaten parts of people but it was just a metaphor for his love. Something he took a little too seriously.

He'd never hurt you, ever. Not unless he absolutely had to. But even then he wouldn't. He'd only just make threats.

You're too pure for him to hurt.

The only way he'd hurt you, was sexually. 

He craved to hold you close, your skin pressed against him tight.

"Lie still, close your eyes..." Anakin would mumble against your lips, pulling himself away as he lined himself up with your entrance. He didn't want this to hurt you too badly.

He'd groan as he pushes himself into you. Thrusting into you slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size. 

Anakin wanted this for so long, he couldn't help but to moan your name into the crevice of your neck as he sped up. 

"So-" A whimper escaped his mouth before he finished his sentence.

"So lovely, you feel so right..." His soft breath against your collar bone, you could feel his beating heart in his chest. 

He fucked into you deeper, a whisper fleeing his esophagus and into your eardrum.

"I want to fucking tear you apart."

Your hand brushed up against his, leaving it there. You told him how you felt, how much you loved him as you were both locked in a stare. 

Anakin's movements slowed at your confession, taking a moment to process what you just said before his lips met your again.

You weren't sure of how he felt, whether this was just an evening or a thing that would last.

Either way, Anakin wanted you and this was bad. He wanted, wants, to do things to you. It was making him crazy.

A little crush turned into a like.

Anakin grabbed you by your hair, gripping it roughly and told you.

"I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight."

[roosterforme]

How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

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

"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter. 

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday. 

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers. 

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning. 

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch. 

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

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

When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house. 

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear. 

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom. 

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated." 

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life. 

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going." 

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip. 

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake. 

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

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

Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents. 

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly. 

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

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

I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[astraystayyh]

when you're feeling sad, changbin will do anything (being silly) to cheer you up!! fluff and comfort.

this was so fun to write, binnie is so iconic i wanna be his friend so bad. hope you'll enjoy <3 this won't make sense if u don't have some binnie references tho

"Baby, I'm home!" Changbin's voice echoes loudly through your apartment as soon as he opens the door. You bury your face in your pillow, turning around in your bed so he'd think you were asleep.

It's not that you didn't want your boyfriend to see you. But the day has been overwhelming, small mishaps piling up on you. And as trivial as it sounds, your last straw was not finding your favorite cereal in the cupboard.

You couldn't possibly tell him that you broke down crying for cereals.

Changbin comes into your room, tiptoeing to your side of the bed when he notices your seemingly sleeping figure. He stares at you fondly for a while, before leaning down to kiss your cheek. He frowns to himself, before repeating the action once, then twice.

So he wasn't dreaming- your skin is wet. He skims a finger tentatively down your cheek, and sure enough, he can feel the tears drying slowly on it.

"Baby," he calls out gently, and when you don't respond, he says it again, his tone a bit more urgent. "Baby!"

You open one eye to look at him, "what?"

"Were you crying?"

"No." your response is curt and Changbin stares at you pointedly. You huff, because he can read you like an open book. "Yes."

That's all it takes for him to slide into the bed next to you, placing his back against the headboard. He then easily manages to pull you over his lap- he's strong, and you are too tired to resist him.

"What's wrong?" he asks and you look up to the ceiling, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"Nothing."

"Okay," he simply responds, grabbing strands of your hair in his hands. You watch silently as he braids them, or atleast attempt to, eyebrows furrowed in the utmost concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Welcome to Changbin Salon," he grins, his voice suddenly high-pitched. You can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth at the absurdity of his words.

"Changbin Salon, you say? What other services do you offer?" you tease and he drops your hair, holding your hands instead.

"We can bring you food."

"Like what?" you smile a bit and he smirks mischievously at you.

"Chili chili crab crab."

"Not again," you whine, hiding your face in his broad chest. It took you three weeks to convince Changbin to not sing it anymore. And two additional weeks to get that silly song out of your mind.

"Say the truth. You just want an excuse to lay on my chest," he coos, hitting your back with his fists like a kitten.

"Binnie, you are insufferable," you laugh loudly, and his eyes soften at you. His teasing smile morphs into a genuine one, and you know that he's being this way just to cheer you up.

"Why were you crying?" he asks again, drawing soothing circles across your palm.

"Today was stressful, nothing seemed to work my way. And then, I got home and I was craving cereals. And there were no more cereals, so I started crying."

"So you were planning on sleeping hungry?! As if Seo Changbin isn't your boyfriend?!"

He's fully outraged as he picks you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his warm hands holding your thighs with ease.

"But now we can eat together," you grin, bopping your nose with his and he nods, "what's my pretty baby craving?"

"You know, I think I really want to have that chili crab."

"Let's order it then," he smiles at you as he walks to the living room, "Should I do it singing?"

"Please," you giggle and he places a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Anything you want."

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 40

part 1 | part 39 | ao3

They're lying on their backs, Steve's head on Eddie's shoulder, Eddie running absent-minded fingers through Steve's hair. Led Zeppelin plays on low from the radio beside them, and the conversation ebbs and flows in sleepy bursts of disjointed thought. Talking just to talk. Because they like it; because they can.

"...Did you see Wheeler almost eat shit in the paint aisle this morning?"

"We should paint some stars on my ceiling. Make 'em glow in the dark..."

"God, what I would not give for more pizza."

"Who even eats cold pizza?"

Eddie shifts beneath him after a while, sitting up to bounce his legs and get the blood flowing again. With his weight leaned back on his hands, Steve can't help but notice the long line of his torso. Everything on display through the thin undershirt: the smattering of dark ink, the outline of his ribs, the cut of his slim waist. Steve wants to touch him.

"You know," Eddie says, surveying the empty room, the vinyl glinting in the lamp light, "it's really not half bad for a bunch of kids who thought they were gonna be hanging ornaments all day." He knocks his knee against Steve's leg. "I'd say you're well on your way to making this mobile house a mobile home."

Steve snorts at that, and Eddie pinches playfully at his side until the snort turns into a really undignified laugh and Steve rolls in on himself, curling toward Eddie, begging for mercy.

"You want to tell me what brought all this on?" Eddie asks. His voice is quiet and welcoming, eyes sparkling with some gentle offer of reprieve. The first rest stop sign after a hundred mile stretch of empty road.

Steve's mouth works; opens and closes and opens again, like it'll prompt his voice to sound or his brain to figure out the words. He still doesn't know how to explain — the fear, the paranoia, the way this place was starting to cling to him like black mold. "Just..." he shrugs. "Needed it, I guess."

Eddie gives him a long look. Unwavering and piercing; there's more pus in the wound that he's trying to lance, but he doesn't seem interested in drawing blood tonight.

He releases Steve from his gaze and goes back to his casual stretching — rolling his neck, popping his shoulders, shaking out his legs, his ankles, his feet — and then he gasps "Steve!" in a delighted tone that Steve does not care for at all. Usually means he’s about to get teased within an inch of his life.

"Hmm?" Steve lifts his head to look.

Eddie’s wiggling his right foot, drawing attention to the outer edge of his borrowed sock. "Is that a hole I see?"

Steve follows his line of sight, and sure enough, there's the smallest little tear by Eddie's pinky toe. “Oh, fuck off,” Steve rolls his eyes, “you can barely even see that.”

Eddie spreads his toes out wide, making the hole more obvious. "My, my, my,” he tuts, shaking his head with a big, disappointed sigh.

"You're such an asshole,” Steve mutters. Eddie's beaming; Steve flips him off.

"Well congrats, baby boy,” he drawls like a fucking pest, “now you're officially trailer trash."

"Hey!" Steve’s not sure if he likes that. Makes him blush to his ears; makes something sour roll in his gut.

Unfortunately it also kind of makes his dick twitch.

"Oh?" Eddie leers. His eyes dart to Steve's crotch, and then he shifts so he's hovering over Steve with Steve flat on his back, face on fire, pulse kicking hard. A vein throbs in his inner thigh. "Don't worry, Stevie." Eddie bends to nip at his jaw. "I meant it as a compliment."

"How is that a compliment?" Steve wants to sound annoyed. Is annoyed. But Eddie's skimming a light hand up his side, barest pressure that leaves a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, so the words come out more breathy than he intends.

"Because," Eddie whispers. Steve can feel his smile pressed against his skin. Eddie kisses up his jawline until he reaches his ear; mouths at the lobe and sucks it between his teeth, a sharp bite that makes Steve hiss. "All my favorite things are."

Steve bucks under him. "Trash?" he asks, breath catching.

Eddie's tongue traces his ear. "Mhmm."

His hand wanders to the hem of Steve's shirt, worming his fingers underneath, tickling the trail of hair below Steve’s belly button as he explains that all his favorite things are second-hand. Recycled and discarded items he’s restored with loving care.

Steve’s breath goes harsh and ragged, and he tries not to think about how that might apply to him.

Discarded.

Restored.

Favorite.

Maybe even—

He can’t let himself think the word.

—

part 41!

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Neighbor!Johnny!

(Feeling a bit ✨naughty✨ this Christmas Eve so… here.)

After the fight with Ryan, you try to keep your distance from Johnny — keep the peace and all that. The more you think about the accusations your husband made… the more that guilty pit in your stomach grows.

It’s all been platonic, at least on your end. Sure, you let Johnny get away with a bit more than the average stranger, but he’s a good friend! Nothing you wouldn’t let one of your other friends do. (Even if you would find the lingering touches and general disregard for personal space a little strange from someone else.)

Sure, you have a suspicion every now and then that Johnny has more than platonic feelings for you… but they’re fleeting. Every time you worry that he’s about to cross a line, he always draws away from it. Evens out his smile, break his gaze, drops his hand. You’re close, that’s all.

But… if it’s bothering your husband. Well, you’re obligated to take that into account, aren’t you?

Even if you ache, missing your friend. Missing his silly little jokes, his cheeky grin. Miss his company while you do laundry, a helping hand in the yard, even just someone to chat with over podcasts and tv shows.

Hell, you miss hugs. Ryan’s never been big on… affection. Especially not in public.

(Barely in the house, either, really. You’ve tried talking to him about it. He swears he loves you, he just doesn’t show affection that way. You struggle to figure out why that’s so with you when he has no problem hugging his mother, sister, hell, even his secretary.

Actually… you struggle to figure out how he shows you affection. So you’ve stopped trying to figure it out at.)

But Johnny. Oh, Johnny is just so sweet to you. A hug when he greets you, a hug before he leaves. A kiss to your cheek when you hand him a drink or a snack. A hand on your hip when he leans past you to get things from high shelves. Nudges to your thighs during good parts of shows.

You miss it. Him. The friendship you’ve built in your too-quiet home, where the other neighbors seem to like your husband so much more than you.

“What’s goin’ on, hen?” Johnny asks one morning. You’ve been keeping coffee dates meetups on the porch. Which is almost worse, because it’s cold and you find yourself cuddling up to the heat he exudes like a furnace. “Hardly seen you in a month; miss my best girl.”

“Sorry, Johnny,” you sigh, rubbing at your face. Ryan’s been working late most days this week, comes in so late and wakes you up. “Just… Ryan, ya know.”

His jaw tightens, eyes flashing dangerously. You’re reminded suddenly, inexplicably, of just what Johnny does for a living. How often you’ve seen him just back home with blood still buried in his nail beds.

“Dinnae, hen,” he replies. “What about ‘im?”

You fidget, eyes on your half-empty mug. It feels wrong, admitting relationship quibbles to someone outside of family. You used to have a policy that marriage matters should stay within the marriage. But… it’s hard when it feels like you’re the only one working on the marriage. It’s a lot of work to do alone.

“He just… he doesn’t think it’s proper,” you admit, “how… how often you’re over. How close we are.”

“That so?”

You hunch your shoulders, feeling wrong. Feeling guilty for a whole new reason; for disappointing Johnny.

“Look at me, bonnie?”

He has to tip your chin up with his hand to get you to meet his eyes. His expression is softer than you expect.

“What about you, eh?”

“Me…?” You blink, peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yer feelings are all I care about, hen.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to reprimand, but sound more pleading instead. He shakes your head a bit, gently; his own reprimand.

“Answer me, bonnie.”

“I like spending time with you,” you whisper.

The corners of his mouth twitch up as he hums.

“‘Course ye do,” he hums, “‘n I like spendin’ time with you. It’s not fair of ‘im, is it?”

You blink, brows pulling together in confusion. Johnny continues, the thumb on your chin gently stroking.

“Not fair of ‘im to keep you all cooped up here, come home so late, neglect ye when he is around,” he coos. “And now he’s tellin’ you to keep away from your best friend.”

He tsks, that dangerous glint in his eyes again.

“Wastin’ his tongue for bullshite when he should be usin’ it to lick your pretty pussy.”

Your mouth drops open, shock and heat flooding you hotly. “Johnny!” You gasp, scandalized.

He finally cracks a grin again. “Tell me I’m wrong, bonnie, ‘m not! When’s the last time he worked you over the way you deserve, huh? When’s the last time he made you squirt all over your sheets?”

You shove at him and then cover your burning face, trying not to squirm. Can’t answer because it would be proving him right and you don’t want to encourage his scandalous teasing.

“Bet he’d try to make you change ‘em even if he did,” Johnny grumbles, shaking his head. “Disgraceful. You ought to be put to sleep on a nice, thick cock.”

Whack!

“Oi! What was that fer?!”

“You’re being a creep, Johnny!” Your stern tone in undercut by your embarrassed laughter. “Quit talking about my shitty sex life.”

“So it is shitty!”

“Shut up!”

When a discreet box shows up at your door two days later, you know exactly who it’s from.

…that doesn’t stop you from using the (shockingly detailed and realistic) dildo inside the packaging.

[peachsayshi]

I'm more interested in hearing ur hcs for JJK as dads:)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: fluff

wc: 1,104

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ girl dad hc's (gojo, geto, nanami, choso) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

...gojo stares at his baby girl like she's the secret to the universe's mysteries. there is no denying his strong attachment towards her, which is why the first thing he does when he returns home from a long trip away is see her. he watches with big, proud eyes as she waddles over to him, her small feet pattering lightly against the wooden floor of your home. she's still figuring out her words, squealing with excitement as he meets her halfway with two long strides. he arches his tall body forward, scooping her up in his arms before smothering her with kisses on each cheek.

she's so happy when he’s around, and it makes your chest feel tight, your ribs unable to contain the love pouring out from the valves of your heart.

"god, I missed my girls..." satoru breaths as she wraps her arms around his neck and rests her cheek on his shoulder. he turns on his heel to look at you, eyes filled with devotion and sheer gratitude. he places such a sweet, tender kiss on your lips before stating, "maybe we should take a vacation soon, just the three of us."

...geto thinks it's strange that only two years ago he regarded you as a stranger. now, you're fast asleep on his sofa, with mimiko on your lap and nanako on your shoulder. he checks the time to see just how late it is before turning off the tv and reaching for mimiko first. he brushes the hair away from her face, carefully lifting her up while smiling to himself when he feels her body naturally seek out his. the vacancy prompts you to flutter your eyelashes open, adjusting to the darkness of the room, and by the time you're fully aware of what's going on, you notice that he's picking up nanako as well.

"easy, sweetheart," he whispers softly, "just taking them to bed."

you meet him in his room afterwards, taking his hand as he draws you onto his lap. you rub your tired eyes as you mumble a hello, feeling his gentle kiss travel down the column of your neck, while his delicate fingers slip underneath your shirt to sprawl across the bump of your belly. he sighs into your neck, easing his mind of the noisy thoughts as he touches the life he's created with you.

...nanami arches his brow at the distraught expression on his daughter's face, her cheeks are so pink and her eyes are still welling with hot tears. the look is enough to crumple him like he's a flimsy sheet of paper, but he's holding his composed expression as to not worry her. instead, he shifts his attention down to the open wound on her knee - a nasty little cut unfortunately, but one that he's already carefully cleaned up. "there now, my darling..." he soothes with his deep voice, as he thoughtfully places the band aid over the injury, "we're all done."

she's still sniffling, her hands gripping tightly onto her dress. "still hurts, papa..." she whimpers. he eases the tension between his brow, before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her knee. "better?" he asks, gazing up at her from underneath his blonde lashes, but she simply bites her lip and shakes her head no.

nanami picks her up, holding her close to his chest as he holds a pensive look on his face. "what else can we possibly do, hmm?" he coos into her temple as he leaves another kiss in place. she continues to sniffle, tiny hands clutching onto his shirt which she uses to wipe away her falling tears. "uhm, maybe...maybe we can get ice cream?"

her innocent tone is enough to make him smile with relief, and he glances over his shoulder to catch you shaking your head playfully in his direction, but even you can't stop yourself from grinning as you watch your baby girl twist your husband around her little finger.

...choso smiles at his daughter's reflection in the mirror. her hands reach for the pig tails in her hair, and she touches it before turning over her shoulder to gaze up at him. "I look like you, papa!" she remarks with pure joy, and choso can't help but bend over and kiss the top of her ahead affectionately. "you're the prettiest girl in the world, precious."

her cheeks turn rosy from how bright she's smiling. she stands on her feet, barely able to make direct eye contact with her father who is seated cross legged with his body upright. he has to hunch over a little, obliging her demand of placing his jaw against the palms of her delicate hands so she can hold him. "no, you're the prettiest in the world," she responds and the man melts into her touch almost instantly. he circles two fingers around her wrists to kiss her digits, then leaning forward to plant another one on the tip of her nose. "I'm afraid there's no competition."

she babbles on as he looks at her with amusement. fatherhood was never part of his plan, and he wasn't even sure how he would take to it when you told him you were pregnant, but it’s been four years down the line and he's the happiest he's ever been. he can hear you call for them from the kitchen, and carries his daughter in his arms before exiting the bedroom.

he seats her comfortably on the dining chair, lightly pinching her cheek as he announces that he will be right back. he finds you in the kitchen scooping out rice into the bowl, and takes the opportunity to circle his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

you ease into his embrace as you serve the last amount before tilting your head slightly to kiss him softly on the cheek, "something on your mind?"

he sighs heavily when you turn on your heel, stealing a kiss in between before murmuring sweetly against your lips: "I want another baby"

[lou-struck]

They Said No... Part 3

Obey Me! Datables (minus Luke x MC!)

Featuring: Simeon, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos

Part 1 HERE

Part 2 HERE

~We all get asked to do things sometimes that we do not want to do. And it's okay to say no, but sometimes you need a little extra help to get the point across.

Warnings: MC gets propositioned and S*ut shamed by a demon, threats, violence, sass, discussion of pact making, and other things like that.

Diavolo

The enchanted orchestra plays a haunting waltz as the Prince’s golden gaze scans the ballroom. The hundreds of well-dressed guests don’t capture his attention at all.

 How could they?

None of them are you.

He has been so preoccupied with diplomacy and engaging with some of his more noble guests he hasn’t gotten to see you at all tonight. He misses you and your smile terribly, especially when a fake one has been plastered on his face all evening.

To help in his search and hopefully get a bit of alone time with you, he decides to drop his princely grin and walk about the room as if he has a set purpose. If he seemed preoccupied, no one would bother him for the time being.

It works like a charm and the crowded dance floor parts for him like the red sea. He passes what looks like Beel hunched over the buffet table, Satan chatting with a representative for the Animal Shelter, and Asmo playfully twirling a glass of demonus in his freshly painted nails as a crowd eats up every word that comes out of his mouth.

But where are you?

Finally, after minutes of searching the room, he finds you leaning against one of the pillars on the far side of the ballroom staring out the window at the purple-tinted moon.

He can’t keep his expression of indifference any longer; the grin tugs at his lips as he grabs two flutes of demonus from a passing servant. Ready to sweep you off your feet and hopefully into the gardens for a little stroll away from the party.

But someone beats him to it. 

A long-haired Demoness with long deep blue curls saunters up beside you, “Well don’t you look sinfully delicious this evening?” She draws gently, trailing one of her gloved hands down your arm. You tense under her unfamiliar touch and subtly move a bit further away from her.

“Tell me, Little Lamb,” she coos, flicking her serpentine tongue in your direction. “What does a demon have to do to get you alone for an evening?”

Wha, excuse me?” you blink.” Your behavior is uncalled for.” You take another, much larger step back. “You should go now.”

“Oh, come now,” she laughs, tossing her head back haughtily. “Don’t think I haven’t heard of your reputation MC, a mere human seducing their way through the Devildom. Surely you can make an exception for one more?”

The glasses in Diavolos’ hands shatter violently, and their contents drip onto the marble floor Barbatos took such care in polishing earlier. “What do you think you are doing?” he growls, filling the room with his overwhelming aura. 

“L-lord Diavolo,” the demoness shakes, her violet gaze wide and darting between you and the Prince, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the punishment that awaits her. “I was just joking around with them; that’s all; humans are too sensitive.”

“You continue to insult Mc,” he frowns. “Do you not wish to keep your tongue? Leave now before I take more drastic measures.”

They nod hurriedly and rush away from the ballroom, leaving you and the Prince surrounded by onlookers. Your eyes brim with unfallen tears, but you keep your composure beautifully. “Thank you, Diavolo.”

The rage inside him dulls as he shakes the demonus off his hands and escorts you away from prying eyes.

Barbatos

“Sorry for the wait, Mc,” Barbatos says, leading you into the lounge outside of Diavolo’s office. “The young master has been tied up in meetings all afternoon, but once he is done, the three of us can go out to dinner.”

You smile brightly as the butler, your hand lingering on his own, not wanting to let go. “That’s alright; I don’t mind waiting with you.”

You’re just too precious; it makes his ancient heart skip a beat. “I just have one last chore to do, and then I’ll be all yours.”

“Oh,” your slightly disappointed tone fills him with pride as you glance around the room. “Can I help with anything?”

“Absolutely not; you are a guest. All I require of you is that you relax and enjoy yourself until I come back,” he says, placing a hand on your lower back to lightly guide you into the comfortable seat in the room. “I promise I shall only be a few moments.”

He leaves quickly, making sure to be near enough should you require anything. With a steady hand, he wipes a vase far older than himself faster than anyone else would attempt to. The ancient porcelain still shines like new under his careful touch, but as he looks into the rich colors within, he can only think of your eyes.  

His ears twitch as the sound of footsteps is much heavier than your own. They thud down the hallway stopping at what seems to be the door to the lounge, and step through the freshly oiled hinges.

A weary feeling settles over him for two reasons, 

Firstly, The young master isn’t expecting any more guests today.

And Second, You are completely alone in the room with a strange demon.

Instinctually, he places the vase down and rushes down the hall to check on you.

He pauses just outside the door catching the scent of the son of a well-known Noble Demon. His green eyes peek through the crack in the grand double doors, it may be impolite to eavesdrop, but as a Butler, it is quite the perfected skill.

“You there, Human.” the pompously dressed Demon sneers in your direction. “Go make yourself useful and fetch me something to drink.” They smirk confidently at you and lounge back into the chaise as if they own the place.

It grinds Barbatos’ gears, but he doesn’t interfere yet; the mantra ’a good butler does not make a scene.’ replays in his head as if it is a warning, but his hand is already on the doorknob before you even reply to the rude Demon. 

“Excuse me?” you say with a composure that makes his heart flutter, “But I believe you have mistaken me for someone else; I do not work here; perhaps one of the Little D’s would be able to assist you.”

He scoffs as if he had never been told no before. “I am a very important guest of the Crown Prince; you are nothing. If I want you to grab me something, you will get it for me.”

“I already told you I do not work at the palace; I have business with Lord Diavolo just the same as you do,” you explain again. 

“You speak as if we are equals; perhaps I need to teach you a lesson,” they spit, uncurling their barbed tail and pointing it threateningly in your direction. Your eyes widen a bit, and you subtly shift in your seat; Barbatos spots thin tendrils of magic already at your fingertips in case the entitled demon attacks. 

He can watch no longer- Stepping into the room without his usual polite smile, “That’s quite enough; your disrespectful behavior is not tolerated in this castle.” At Barabatos’ entrance, the Demon begins to shake something fierce as whispers of what the butler does to threats to the crown replay themselves in his ears. 

Barbaots tries to hide the softness he feels when he sees the way the fear of your features falls away in his presence. 

Although it is immensely satisfying to watch someone who was once so proud and entitled backtrack and blubber out a seemingly endless stream of apologies and excuses to you, Barbatos is in desperate need of your quality time, and this imbecile is getting in the way of that.

“Furthermore, why would you ever ask them to do something for you that you are clearly capable of yourself,” he asks, smiling maliciously, leaning close to the trembling Demon’s ear. “Are You Helpless? If that’s so, why should someone as pathetic as you ever request an audience with the future king?”

“R-right, s-sorry,” he mumbles, scurrying out of the lounge as if he were a rat. The thought of such sends a shudder through him as he turns his attention back to you. Your shoulders are stiff and rigid, your breaths come out shakily, but you are unharmed, and that’s all that matters. 

“Little Rose,” he asks in a feather-light voice, crouching down to your eyes level and taking off his white gloves to hold your hands properly. “Are you alright?”

You nod slowly as he rubs gentle circles into the back of your hands. The contact soothes him just as much as it is soothing you. “I’m okay.” you say at last, “Thank you for being there for me, Barbatos.”

“When you need me, I will always be there for you- I promise,” he says softly, meaning every word.

Simeon

Simeon is all smiles as he walks down the cobbled streets of Majolish. How can he not be? He’s going to have lunch with you.

A part of him feels bad about not telling Luke about this little date, but he really wanted to have some alone time with you.

As of late, It seems as if everyone else has no problem getting you alone; it pulls at his heartstrings to know that he isn’t as present in your life as he wishes to be.

Some may call his feelings possessive, but in all reality, it is love, true unadulterated love. Every time he sees your face, he wonders if falling from the celestial realm would really be that bad of a thing.

Just as he approaches the Bistro told him to meet him, he notices you off in the distance. You walk quickly across his path, a look of irritation on your pretty features that has the Angel wondering if he himself has done anything to upset you recently. 

He hasn’t, but the feelings of insecurity persist, and he gets closer.

“No comment,” you say aloud, your hand swatting at the air around you as if there was a bug. “I told you I have nothing to share.”

He may not be able to see the other presence around you, but he can feel it. One of the tiniest Lesser demons he has ever taken note of buzzes around your head like a fly around a bowl of fresh fruit.

“Come on, sweetheart; you gotta tell the people what they want to know.” The voice says in a comically high-pitched voice. 

You stop and stare at the little bugger. “I have nothing to say to you about the brothers, the prince, or anyone else for that matter,” you say defiantly. 

“Listen, MC; I’m a busy demon. The kind of Demon who has deadlines. If you don’t give me something good, I’m done for.” He pleads, circling around your head once more. 

Simeon takes a careful step forward, more than ready to come to your aid when the Demon opens his mouth again.

“What about the Angel? You gotta tell me something about him. No one is that good, that pure. I’m sure my readers would kill for a story about how one of the highest-ranking angels of the celestial realm is being corrupted right here in the Devildom.”

Simeon stops in his tracks. The accusations may be false, but those rumors are dangerous, especially to him. If his superiors heard a story like that was gaining traction, they could take him away. He would never get to see you again.

The Angel knows he has told you many secrets in the late hours of the night that would satisfy this pest of a reporter. But those secrets were exchanged in hushed tones with many tears. You would never betray him like that.

Would you?

His heart feels so tight in his chest as you stare at the Reporter in shock. “at first, I thought you were just annoying. “You say calmly, “but it seems to me you are more than that; how stupid can you be? Simeon is one of the kindest beings I have ever met; your story has no substance; leave me alone.” 

The emotions that welled up in Simeon’s chest when you took his side were indescribable—making the sweet Angel feel as if he were falling for you all over again. He feels rejuvenated and ready to help you get rid of this Reporter once and for all. 

Despite the pissed-off look on your face, the Reporter does not back away, throwing up his tiny hands and changing the subject. 

“Okay, nothing special there. But how about Belphegor? Is it true he was kicked from his exchange program early as a result of sleeping through his classes?”

“I may not know too much about reporting down here, but I am fairly certain the best information comes straight from the source,” he says in his calm and cheery voice. With his presence known, he sees the Reporter fly out of your personal space bubble quickly. You look visibly relieved that there is no longer buzzing in your ear.

Now that you are feeling better, the Angel continues his lecture, “As for me, I have nothing to say to someone who works with such a lack of integrity. Please leave the two of us in peace.” Although he speaks with a smile on his face, his words are not a friendly suggestion. The lesser Demon flies away quickly, not wanting to face the wrath of the Angel.

With the pest gone, he turns and gives you the biggest, most sincere smile he has to offer. Feeling an emotion he cannot name with your knees buckle at the sight of him.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” you say softly, taking his outstretched arms for balance as you make your way back over to the Bistro. “I kept telling him to leave us alone, but he would just keep pressing with these awful questions.”

“I know,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly, “But I would like to thank you for sticking up for me.”

“And you, me,” you giggle, glowing with a light all your own.

Solomon

The great sorcerer finds himself continuously drawn to the clock, the slow-moving hands taunting him as he comes to a disappointing realization.

You’re late…

You’re never late. 

He looks back at the fully prepped conjuring station and fiddles with the covers of a few of the jewel-encrusted spellbooks longingly. Your magic lesson was supposed to begin ten minutes ago, but you are nowhere to be found. He spots his DDD lying face down on the end of the clean countertop and reaches for it.

Perhaps you messaged him, and his ringer was off. He picks it up only to see his blank lock screen. Your pixelated smiling face does little to ease his mind. With one last glance at the clock, he turns and walks out the door. His cape flows behind him as he walks through the hallway of Purgatory and out its doors.

He’s out on the street, walking towards the House of Lamination with vigor, using his arms to propel his speed walk forward like he is a mom walking the track at their child’s soccer practice. 

The thought does cross his mind that he had forgotten a possible time change the two of you had agreed upon earlier, but as he rounds a corner, he is able to make out your figure through the light fog that settles on the ground.

But you are not alone; in front of you, there is something large in your path, the fog makes it difficult for him to see exactly what it is, but the aura radiating off of it reveals that it is a lesser Demon who is currently on their knees in front of you.

‘Well, this certainly looks intriguing,’ he thinks to himself, stepping closer. A wave of his hand sweeps away the fog, but neither you nor the begging Demon seems to have noticed his presence yet.

“Please, please, please. Mc. You just have to accept me.” it begs, a clawed hand creeping forward, trying to grab ahold of your shoe pathetically. “I’d do anything for you, Protect you, worship you, anything.”

Solomon has no clue what is happening right now. Is it perhaps another demon professing their love to you?

No, if that were the case, you would have politely turned this poor Demon down with a kind look on your face. But instead, he sees you look uncomfortable, very uncomfortable, as you take a step farther away from the Demon’s outstretched hand. 

“I have already told you no,” you say at last. “I am not interested in making any more pacts.”

Solomon immediately understands why you look so uncomfortable. When making a pact with a demon, it does more than grow one’s powers. It creates a bond. 

Many Demons do not understand just how draining it can be to have a pact with a demon who doesn’t deserve it. 

Although Solomon may desire pacts with strong demons so that he can be strong enough to protect the human realm should the need ever arise? You are different- you have your own reasons for making pacts with the brothers. These pacts are a symbol of your love. Something he is certain this little pest is undeserving of.

Solomon decides that he would like a bit of attention now…

“Oh my,” he says, walking around the Demon as if he were as insignificant as a fallen tree branch. “Do watch your step Mc; it looks like no one has come by to clean up these paths after last night’s storm.”

You look visibly relieved to see another friendly face, and Solomon kisses the back of your hand tenderly. The Demon stares at you both angrily but knows better than to say anything in response. Solomon smirks and looks down at the pushy Demon with a narrowed gaze. 

“Why would MC share a part of themselves with a demon who is too stupid to understand the meaning of the word no?” he says with his silver tongue. “They may be kind enough to turn you down politely, but me? Not so much I’d leave if I were you.”

Wordlessly the Demon picks itself off the ground and runs off with its curly tail between its legs. Not wanting to anger Solomon the Wise any more than he already has been the smartest decision they have made today.

As they scamper off, you look a bit embarrassed as you check the time. “I guess I’m running a bit late to our lesson today, aren’t I, Solomon?” A soft giggle slips past your lips, and Solomon wonders if he will ever get tired of hearing that sound.

“You had a good reason,” he replies simply. 

You groan. “Still, I had been trying to shake them for at least thirty minutes, but they wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Hmm, then how about we do something else today?” he offers. “Take a break, maybe, sneak up to the human world for some frozen yogurt or a soft pretzel?”

Your eyes light up at his proposition. “Could we get a drink?” you ask, “Demonus isn’t gonna cut it today.”

You’re just too cute sometimes. It makes him feel much younger. He looks at you with an almost boyish grin and laughs, “I think we can make that happen.”

[ghosts-cyphera]

Drawing Trust

╰﹒to comfort a young girl who has just lost her entire family, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley borrows out the two things that bring him reassurance. his mask, and you.

warnings/content: themes of death/blood/violence, but overall just a fluffy little thing. gn!reader; simon taking off his mask for the first time in front of you; word count 2.3k

The maroon carpet was rough against the palms of your hands, as you sat cross-legged on the floor of the dimly-lit office. The night had fallen hours prior, and you stifled a yawn, as the quiet minutes stretched out: the only sound to be heard was the scribbling of the slightly dry ballpoint pens and the deep breathing of the concentrated child sitting beside you. 

With her tongue nipped between her teeth and her eyes slightly squinted, she drew on the finishing touches and turned to you.

"Done."

"Look at you go." You smiled, as you leaned over to take a look at the blue, black, and red lines. The blue lines formed a box to which four black sticks, each with four smaller sticks at their tips, were connected. Two small circles, which you assumed were eyes, and a red curve right underneath them formed a down-turned pout on the features of the box-bodied stick figure.

"Leila," you gasped, as you turned to the little girl. "I was about to claim this to be yet another masterpiece, but I've just now seen that the mouth—"

She leaned in to take a look.

"It's upside down." You furrowed your brows. "This can't be right, can it?"

The little girl grinned. "It's right because he's sad."

"Sad?" You raised a brow. "But how could anyone be sad when they have such a neat t-shirt on? The blue really highlights the color of his eyes, you know. An awesome choice on your end."

"I only had three colors."

"Still," you chuckled, as you pulled out another sheet of white printer paper and handed it to her. "Only a true artist knows where to use each color. What do you say we play 'draw-and-guess'?"

"He's sad because his family is dead."

Alright. No draw-and-guess.

Leila's fingers closed once more around the ballpoint pens to continue the drawing. Now, connected to the smaller sticks—the fingers of the box-bodied stick figure—something resembling a black banana was being drawn. 

Yet, you knew.

"He's sad because he killed his family." Her tiny little fingers wrapped around the red ballpoint pen, as she started to add splatters of blood, much in the shape of flowers, all around the paper. "They weren't really his family, not really. But they were as good as his real family, Mama said. He had been with them ever since he was a boy, but Mama said he became really bad and that's why he was with the cartel who wanted him dead, and his family dead. So then he killed them."

Indeed. It had not been a black banana that the target had been holding when your squad had found him a couple of hours prior with a self-inflicted bullet wound to the temple. The whole mission had been one big shitshow: suspects and leads turning up dead around one corner and another, until… 

Until.

"But he didn't kill me, which is nice because I like hanging out with you." Leila's voice was matter-of-factly as she flashed you a warm smile. So matter-of-factly, indeed, that if she had not just heard his entire foster family dying, you might have laughed at the cheery tone of her voice.

"Oh, yeah?" You managed, as you gently nudged her with your shoulder. "Well, that makes two of us then, doesn't it? I haven't had this much fun since I sneaked into the office of my boss to steal his stash of candy."

Her eyes suddenly beginning to twinkle, Leila raised her gaze to meet yours: her drawing now lying long forgotten on the carpeted floor. "Candy?"

This you did know how to handle.

"Mountains, and mountains, and damn mountains of it," you confirmed with a grin. "I'm afraid I took a little more than I should have, but I'm sure there's still some left. Wanna go sneak around and see if we can find some of your favorites?"

"Maybe they have Three Musketeers," she nodded her head, as she hopped up from the floor. "Or Reese's. When it was Halloween, I ate so many Reese's that my poo—" Her words suddenly died down on her lips, as she took a rushed step closer to you. 

You frowned. "Leila, are you—" 

And that's when you saw the movement at the door of the office. 

The figure standing by the door frame was so tall and wide that it blocked out most of the light streaming in from the hallway, and as it moved to take a step towards the two of you, Leila rushed to hide behind your back, small fingers closing around your arm. 

"Oh, sweetheart," you rushed to speak with a breathless chuckle, your brows furrowed. "It's alright, it's just my friend."

As if finally registering the sudden shift in the mood, Ghost's steps came to a halt, and his eyes darted to search yours.

"Ghost," you smiled, making sure that your voice remained warm and steady. "This is Leila. Leila, darling, this is my friend, Ghost."

Despite feeling the way that she shifted her weight from one foot to another, she did not answer, as she continued clinging to your arm.

"I know he's a little big and mangy—," Ghost raised his brow at you, and you bit down your laugh, "but he was there when I found you. He had my back when I carried you back to the cars so that we could both get out safely." Your voice was a warm hum. "Would it be alright if he came here to say hi to you?"

Quiet.

"If you don't want to talk, that's alright. How about you go and squeeze my arm if it's alright with you that he comes over?"

Five small fingers squeezed around your arm, and you nodded your head with a gentle smile. "Atta girl."

On Ghost's features, you could see his gentle hesitance, as his heavy feet led him to take a few careful steps towards the two of you. With you sitting on the ground, he looked even taller and broader than he usually did, and just as you were about to ask him to crouch on the floor with you, he took the hint.

With his padded knees touching the carpeted floor, he spoke with a warm voice despite its low rumble. "Hello, there. It's Leila, yeah? My name's Ghost. I'm—err—I'm a friend of Sarge here."

"The bestest friend," you hummed with a soft chuckle, and from your words, the corners of Ghost's eyes crinkled.

"The mask’s what’s scarin' you, yeah?" He gestured towards the piece fashioned after a skull, and you could feel Leila taking a step behind your back. To peek over your shoulder or to hide further away, you were not sure of.

"It's—err—it's something that—," Ghost attempted. "It's something that makes me feel safe. Less scared, yeah? It's like—when I've got it on, I'm in my own world, yeah? In my own bubble."

You smiled, as you turned your head ever so slightly towards Leila. "Have you got something like that, love? Something that makes you feel less scared?"

And just as you thought that she was not ready to speak yet, the hesitant voice replied back. "I have a turtle. Eugene."

Ghost's laugh was low—all while gentle and warm—as he nodded his head. "That's a bloody brilliant name for a turtle, that is. You've got Eugene with you?"

"No," the small voice called back.

Oh no.

The same realization that crashed upon you visibly dawned upon Ghost, too, for you could notice the way that he blinked his eyes shut for a split second in his regret.

"I forgot to take him with me." Leila's voice cracked, and with it, your heart clenched in your chest. "I miss him."

"What do you say I—," Ghost glanced at you, lowering his voice ever so slightly. "I can go back 'n get it for her, yeah?"

"They had to pull all the troops back," you shook your head. "Something about explosives in the basement. They're waiting for SWAT to arrive to clear the house."

Fuck, his eyes told you. 

I know, the raise of your brow answered, just as the quiet sniffle sounded from behind your back. What the fuck do we do now?

Ghost blinked his eyes shut for a moment, and then with a deep breath, he spoke. "Leila, love?" He sat down on the carpet, his fingers gently moving aside the drawings. "Remember what I told you about the mask, yeah? About how it keeps me safe and protects me?"

A quiet sniffle came from behind your shoulder, followed by a quiet "yeah."

"Well, having assessed the situation at hand, in my—err—professional opinion, it seems like it's you who's needing the mask right now more than I am, yeah?"

You blinked at his words, your lips parting ever so slightly as his gloved fingers moved to the hem of his mask. You could see the soft hesitation in his movements: the gentle shake of his hands, barely noticeable yet there if you knew to look for it.

And with a deep breath, he pulled it off.

Pausing for the briefest of moments, he looked at the mask in his fingers before raising his gaze. At first, it was headed slightly past you towards the girl behind your back, and then, it drifted to you.

He was your Ghost.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile, and you swallowed as you nodded your head once and thrice. 

He was your Ghost, and he was beautiful.

Fucking hell.

From the sudden blurriness of your gaze, you glanced up in a desperate attempt to blink away your tears, only to give up with a soft chuckle as you felt two of them rolling down your cheeks, slow and gentle.

Happy: the same happiness reflecting back on the features of Ghost, as the tip of his boot brushed against yours. 

I'm here, his eyes told you. It's alright.

The sudden gentle movement behind your back drew you back into the moment, and just as you forced your lips to part, Ghost, instead, took the lead.

"Wanna come ‘n take a look at it?"

While her movements were still overshadowed by her hesitance, there was now a hint of curiosity too in the way that Leila slipped out from behind your back, and walked to Ghost.

Sitting cross-legged next to him, she carefully reached for the mask, her index finger running across the cheek of the skull.

"It's not soft like Eugene is," she hummed before her carefully twinkling eyes found those of Ghost.

"No," he laughed with a nod of his head. As he did, his nose scrunched up ever so slightly, and you bit your lip to hide your smile. "No, but what I like about it is… When you have it on, no one can see your face, right? It's—"

"Oh, it's like—," Leila smiled, as her fingers traced the edges of the skull. "It's like the shell of Eugene. When he's scared, or—or when he needs to be alone, he can go into his shell and feel safe because it's just him there."

"Yeah. Something like that, yeah," Ghost nodded with a smile. "Wanna—err—wanna try it on?"

Her eyes sparkling now, Leila nodded her head fast and hard enough to surely get the girl dizzy were she to keep it up. "Yes, please."

"C'mere then, yeah?" His fingers fumbled with the fabric, as he got it straightened out. "Look up." She did as she was told, and Ghost slid it over her head—only for the three of you to laugh, as it slipped over her eyes. "Hold up. There ya go, yeah? Can you see through the holes?"

"Yeah," Leila called out, her voice slightly muffled. Despite not being able to see her little features any longer—her button nose and freckled cheeks hidden by the mask far too big and wide for her delicate features—you could hear the burning excitement in her voice, as the mask shook with her nods. "This is awesome. Do I look scary now?"

"Fuckin' terrifying," Ghost grinned.

"How does it feel?" You hummed, leaning back. 

"Safe," Leila confirmed with a chuckle.

"Yeah? Like the shell of Eugene, eh?"

"Yeah, like I was hiding in a shell." She laughed. "A big shell. A stinky shell."

Ghost's eyes blinking shut, he nodded his head as a deeply amused laugh danced from your lips. 

"Yeah. Yeah," he grinned, the apples of his cheeks slightly flushed as his hand moved to rub his face with his laughter. "This turtle might've been a little lazy with his fuckin’ baths lately, eh? What do you say you give it back here before you embarrass me further in front of my best friend, yeah?"

Leila laughed as her little hands moved to slide the mask off her features, and she drew in an exaggerated breath. "Ah, lovely fresh air."

"Little shit," Ghost grinned, and you playfully kicked him with your boot. 

"Keep it up and we're not taking you with us on our candy heist, are we, Leila?" 

"Nah, he can come," Leila smiled, as she offered her hand to urge you up from the ground. "He's fun, even if he's stinking. Besides," she then chuckled as she pulled you up, before offering her hand for Ghost. “We need him to carry it all back. Because he's stronger than we are."

"Happy to be fuckin' useful," he chuckled.

"And if we get caught," you arched an amused brow at the girl, softly elbowing Ghost as you did, "we can blame it all on him."

"See, this is why I like you," Leila announced, as she started leading the way out of the office. Yet not before her voice, gently amused yet oh-so-knowing, had added: "And probably why Ghost's in love with you, too."

The corners of your lips tugged into a smirk, and you raised a brow at him. "That so, Lt.?"

"It was you who demoted me, darlin’," he chuckled under his breath, as his fingers brushed against yours, gentle and knowing. "Best friend, eh?”

Or maybe—just maybe—something just a little bit more than that.

a/n: if you liked this wee little thing, please do let me know via comments, tags, or asks—whatever works for you. reading your feedback means the absolute world to me. ♡