#plotting ‍ call. ‍ ‍ the ‍ clock ‍ is ‍ ticking.

[rqnarok]

LATCH | pervy!old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: you come up at logan at night and he finally gives in to his desires. 

content warnings/tags: smut, mdni! little to no plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. soft dom!logan. sub!reader. pervy!logan. pet names (kid, kiddo, little girl, princess, etc). logan calls himself ‘old man’. fingering (f receiving). innocence kink. not proofread. wc: 1,5k

Logan Howlett is not a good man. 

“I’m not a good man, sweets.”

He has not been a good man in years. 

Still, when he scoops your sobbing figure in his arms on that day at the X-Mansion, he feels like a good man. 

“C’mon. Let’s go, kid. I’ll take care of you.”

Ever since then, you look up to him as if he is some kind of savior. A hero. A good man. 

And he starts to believe that. 

At first, it started oh, very casual—innocently. By working himself to death for the sake of your comfort. Earning money so that he could see that smile on your pretty face when he gives you gifts: new dresses, books, food—anything you want, really. He’d give it to you.

You walk up to him one Friday, showing your brand new sundress that you bought using his money, “Logan! It fits me so well, don’t cha think?”

The sight of you twirling around and giggling in front of him is enough to be his bad-day-cure, “Spin one more time, princess. Don’t have my glasses on.” 

He lies. He just wants to catch a glimpse of your cottoned panties in the process. 

Logan perceives himself as a sick fuck when he starts seeing you in that way. But hey, he did say that he is not a good man, right?  

He tried to control it, he really tried. Composing himself and creating some moral values in his head in an attempt to be in charge of his corrupted desires. 

But Logan forgot one simple thing: he can control himself all he wants, but he could never control you. 

You may be content but you are far from stupid.

It takes you months to perfect this mastermind plan—or so you call it. This mischief came into you when you decided that you had enough of Logan and his games. You know he yearns for you and you feel the same way, too. 

He peeks over you so… hungrily and thinks you wouldn’t notice? 

When you confront him about it one morning, he nonchalantly brushes it off by letting out a dry chuckle and mutters something around, “What ya’ talking ‘bout, kiddo? Go ‘head finish your breakfast.”  

But you know! You always catch his yearning gazes and… hear him over the shower one time. Moaning and grunting your name when he thought you were out buying the weekly groceries. It upsets you that he does not give in. 

So then, you concluded that you will determine to bring his temptation up to the surface and break his poor self-control through this little contemplation of yours. 

It takes a while to gain your courage and when you finally creep up into Logan’s room, the clock on the wall ticks at half past two in the morning. 2:30 AM. 

Logan said he’d take care of you, right? Said he’d do anything for you, right? Well, you need him now, “Logan? Logan? It hurts.” You whisper into the chilly air as you shake him up from his deep slumber.

And y’know, he’s a tired old man—so it takes him a while to wake up. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand beside him and slides them right on. When Logan sees you standing sleepily before him in your nightie gown, Good Lord. 

“Hey, hey—what’s goin’ on, princess?” You’re all teared up and your lips are bitten red. You look heavenly in the shaft of moonlight that slips through the window and into Logan’s bedroom. 

Your actions speak for themselves as you make your way onto his lap and nuzzle into his greying beard. “Tell your old man what’s got you so upset. C’mon.” He wants to take a good look at your face but you are so latched to him—snuffling into his broad shoulder all gloomy and wretched. 

“Hurts so bad.” You repeat yourself as your arms make their way around his neck. “Hurts, Logan.” 

“Hm? What hurts?” 

Pure silence as your little fingers wrap around Logan’s wrist and place it on your knee. Then, you’re guiding him up up up and he knows where this is going but he could not stop it. 

Fuck. He curses himself. Should’a know you’d pull some shit like this.

Finally, you stop his large calloused hand on top of your pussy. It’s heating up. Logan can feel the warmth of your cunt through your thin white cotton panties—his middle finger twitches with the urge to palm you. But no. That’s not what a good man should do. He tries to remember all the moral values he has created in his head while he sighs deeply and closes his eyes. 

“Kiddo-”

“Want to cum, please, Logan.” You take his face in your hands in the way that you always do and his hand is still on top of your clothed mound. “Please…! You said you’d help me, take care of me. I’ll be good, promise. Please.” His eyes open and he looks at your big eyes then your lips then your eyes again. That’s when you know you had him. “Hurts.” 

With half-lidded eyes, you watch Logan lose his composure, “Yeah? You’d be good f’me?” His head goes forward as he pampers your face with gentle kisses and you gulp because you don’t know what to do now. 

“Why don’t you lay down and let me take a look?” 

His scent combination of beer, whiskey, and cigars lingers around you as you rest your aching body on his bed. Looking up at him all mesmerized and lust-filled. 

Logan tries to soften his features for you. He thinks the heave of your chest moving up and down, up and down is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He said he’d take care of you and that’s all he’s doin’ now. Taking care of his pretty baby. 

“C’mon. Open up to your old man.” He says, patting the sides of your thighs to part. And you did what you’re told, revealing the wet spot of your panties, and Logan curses. Mutters something under his breath. 

“You’ve been touching yourself here, Little Missy? That’s what got you dripping?” You throw your head back and huff a breathy ‘ah’ at the feel of his big fingers rubbing circles along the slick. Logan wants you to sing for him, “Use your big girl words, c’mon.” 

“Y-yes! Been touching myself…” Your red cheeks heat up at your own answer, suddenly feel so little. Logan hums deeply at your reply, hooking his fingers at one side of your panties and pulling them aside. Oh, he can tell. “Mhm.”

You were in a moment of bliss until he stopped his movement and brought your panties back to its original place, “Show me.” 

“L-Logan…” you respond by shaking your head erratically. Nononono— this isn’t a part of your plan. This becomes humiliating. No way. 

“What d’ya mean no, princess?” Logan grins—he knows you’re playing something and he is not going to lose so easily. “You want me to take care of you, yeah? Gotta show your old man what you were doin’ so he knows what he can do.” 

Well, he is not wrong. You let a huff defeatedly and roll yourself onto your front, shoving one of Logan’s pillows between your plushy thighs. And Logan is bewitched and hypnotized and fuck, so hard. His cock sticks up in his boxers briefs it hurts. 

Through his lens, he attentively watches every move you make: how your nightie gown hikes up to your chest and reveals a glimpse of your breasts, how you roll your hips in circles, how you throw your head back up facing the ceiling. The noises you make—sounds he not-so-accidentally heard when he passes your room at night when he comes home from work. This is what you've been doing? 

“Aight’. I know the problem is, sweets.” You slow down your movements as you gaze at him all doe-eyed. He places his palm on your back to still you. Your head lulls back and forth as you wait for his guidance. 

“You need something inside. Have you had something inside, baby?” He turns you to him oh, so delicately as if you are something fragile. 

You shake your head slightly at his question, suddenly embarrassed. Logan is so hard at this. He can't hold back anymore. “I see. ‘S alright, little girl. Lean on top of me. I’ll show you how it’s done. Y’ just need to trust your old man, yeah?” 

And you do. You always do. You love him. 

He smiles down at you, showing the wrinkles and scars on his face. “I love ya’. Give me some sugar first. Let me kiss ya’.” 

The kiss is more than just a distraction. It’s a repetition of him saying I love ya’ through his actions. What comes next is new to you, his large fingers probing at your entrance as you hiss and whimper and sob. Logan eases you open while kissing your inner thighs, letting you feel his scruffy beard. Raining you with his sweet praises, “Oh, that’s a good girl, alright. My sweet girl.” 

Then it leads you to it. The main purpose of your plan here in the first place. 

The clothes you both had on are thrown all over the floor as he hovers above you, taking off his glasses—placing kisses everywhere he can reach. “Y’want it?” And the tip of his cock finally nudges between your folds in an aching stretch and you mewl.

“Your old man’s gonna take care of you.” 

He always does.

[noyasmashing]

Between Lines

Sub!Kenma x Fem!reader

CW: caught jerking off, reader a lil mean, begging, kenma being a cry baby, phone smut

A/N: Kinda rushed this one tbh.. I don’t know if I’m a fan of it but I liked the idea

WC: 1,360

Kenma's quiet demeanor was a defining trait, one that set him apart from the crowd. He wasn't one to actively seek out friendships, nor did he make much effort to engage in conversations with girls.

However, you were the exception. The circumstances of how your nightly calls began was something Kenma could not recall; but it was evolved from your shared love of video games. But once the controllers were set aside for the night, the conversations continued.

Despite his reputation for silence, Kenma was an attentive listener. He found solace in the sound of your voice, absorbing every detail you shared – whether it was the latest gossip, your favorite TV shows, or the mundane details of your day. He was content with this, offering only occasional interjections or quiet chuckles in response.

When the topic inevitably turned to him, Kenma's responses were dry, stale. I mean, you tried to talk about him, but it’s like he was on a witness protection program. He always found a way to turn the conversations back to you.

You weren’t exactly sure why, as sometimes you would have to ask “Are you still there, Kozu?"

A soft "mhmm" would be his only response, a subtle reassurance that he was indeed still listening.

Tonight was no exception. The clock ticked past 10:00 pm, leaving Kenma’s room dark as he lay on his bed, phone pressed to his ear. Your voice filled the room, animated and excited as you recounted the latest episode from your favorite TV show.

"But can you believe that plot twist?" you exclaimed, your excitement palpable even through the phone.

"Yeah, it was unexpected," Kenma replied, his tone calm but laced with a hint of amusement.

As the conversation continued, Kenma found himself lying there, feeling embarrassingly aroused. Lately, he had been struggling to find release, but there was something about the sound of your voice that seemed to make him undeniably hard.

His hand started to wander lower, venturing into forbidden territory where his boxers were already dampened with precum.

"That reminds me, Kozu! What you pulled off during the last match was pretty impressive," you enthusiastically complimented him, completely unaware of the effect your words were having on him.

“o-oh really?” He asked shakily, shamelessly teasing his overly sensitive pink tip.

"Mhmm, good job, Kozu.” You chuckled, praising him once more for his gaming skills.

Now, of all times, was the worst moment to praise him like that. He was already so aroused! The tone of your voice, your affectionate words, and just your presence in general was too much for him. By now, he was shakily jerking himself off, beads of precum leaking out of his tip.

He attempted to stifle his sounds of pleasure, but his efforts were in vain as a loud moan escaped him, broadcasting through the mic. His moment of ecstasy was abruptly halted when the realization of his mistake hit him.

"Kozu?" you asked, surprised at his unexpected reaction. Kenma didn’t know what to do with himself. He could die right about now. The one time he decided to let into his urges and he gets caught!

Before he could gather his thoughts to respond, you continued with a mischievous tone, "Have you been getting off to my voice every night?" Kenma's cheeks flushed even deeper as he struggled to find words, caught off guard by your bold question.

"N-no... I just... I'm sorry," Kenma whimpered out, his embarrassment evident in his voice. Somehow, he found himself even more aroused than before. Being caught by you had an unexpected effect on his body.

He braced himself for your potential reaction—scolding, perhaps even the silent treatment, or worse. But instead, your voice cut through his panicked thoughts, softer than before, calm and understanding,

"Did you cum yet?" you asked curiously, your tone indicating a desire to help with his predicament.

"W-what?" Kenma asked, still expecting a reprimand from you, his confusion evident in his voice.

“Cum? Did you?” you asked, this time with a slightly firmer tone.

"N-n, no.. no I didn’t," Kenma told you anxiously, unable to believe you would ask him something so intimate.

“Do you want to?” you inquired, your tone still gentle, yet probing. Kenma couldn't decipher how you felt about the situation, but he responded with a shaky "yes," although it was an obvious answer.

Your light laughter filled the air, further fueling Kenma's embarrassment. "I won't stop you, Kozu. I was waiting for something like this to happen," you admitted seductively, your words sending a shiver down his spine.

Kenma let out a soft whine, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and arousal coursing through him at your candid admission.

His hand slowly made its way back down to his aching cock, ready to relive himself of this burning feeling.

"What... what do you mean?" Kenma let out shakily, running his hand over the length of his throbbing erection. God, he was incredibly turned on right now, teetering on the edge of climax with every touch.

"Oh, come on," you teased, as if he should have known what you meant all along, though maybe he did, he wasn't sure. "Do you think I spend hours talking to you even when it’s late just for fun? I like you, Kozume. I really do," you confessed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

This time, Kenma let out a loud moan in response. You? You liked him? It was all too much for him to process.

"I want to see you," he whined, his voice filled with desperation, the sound of his frantic movements against his cock audible through the speaker, causing you to clench around nothing.

"You sound so pretty right now. I wish it was my hand doing the work for you," you remarked, ignoring his attempts at flattery.

He continued to diligently pleasure himself, while you comforted him with soft words, unwittingly encouraging his actions.

His breath became heavier, punctuated by moans and whimpers. "Please," he breathed out, nearing the edge of his climax.

"Please what, Kozu? Do you want to cum?" you asked warmly, causing him to nod his head rapidly, as if you could see him.

"Hmm?" you questioned at his silence. He let out a shy "can I?" seeking your permission for release.

"I don’t know…" you trailed off, feigning contemplation. "I’m kind of upset you touched yourself to my voice without me knowing. You're such a little pervert," you chided, and Kenma couldn't help but let out a mangled sob, his hand slowing its pace in response to your disapproval.

Hearing his slowed motions, you quickly scolded him,

"Don’t slow down if I didn’t tell you to.” This time you were much harsher than he expected. Tears began running down his burning cheeks, small apologies leaving his wet lips.

“If you wanna cum, beg," your demeanor shifted quickly, fueling his arousal even more.

He couldn’t believe you would make him do something so lewd, but he was too far gone to stop himself, "Please.. p-please [name], 'wanna cum so bad! I'm sorry.. mm sorry!" Kenma's voice came out in pitiful sobs, his desperation evident.

The sound of your tongue clicking, as if you weren’t satisfied with his pleas, only made him more desperate.

“I don’t know… maybe I should make you wait until I can touch you,” you remarked. But all Kenma could focus on was the “until I can touch you.”

The thought of you, looking at him with those pretty eyes as you made him cum on himself over and over again, was too much.

He let out more pleas and whimpers, his hips buckling pathetically into his own hand.

“I need to cum, it hurts. I haven’t in sooo long. Please, just this once.. one time,” he rambled, trying to convince you.

"Alright baby, let it out," you finally relented, and Kenma's moans grew louder as thick white ropes of cum flew out from his sensitive tip, coating his pale stomach. Small thank yous and pieces of your name left his lips as he hit his peak.

"Who knew someone so quiet would moan so loud," you remarked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

[2-dsimp]

Yandere rich single dad falling for his daughter's nanny/babysitter!

Cw: fem reader! jealousy, possessive/obsessive tendencies, father-daughter plotting on you, you’ve got an pushy coworker,

Synopsis: 【You were just a normal office worker with a minimum wage. So in an effort to pay rent, you scrounged job offers for babysitting since you were good at handling children. And in the process you applied and got accepted to become a nanny for a rich former movie star’s daughter. The daughter apparently hated every nanny she got but once she met you she was absolutely smitten…And so was her Daddy.】

Pt2→ 《x》

☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡..｡.:

Yandere rich Dilf! Who continues to pace back and forth in his house, his anticipation growing as the seconds count down. He knows that you must be getting off work soon, and that you'll be coming back to him ahem to take care of his little brat and him before too long.

Yandere rich Dilf! That tries to distract himself, focusing on making sure everything is prepared for your arrival. He excused all the servants so he can personally oversee that everything in his mansion was set up to perfection. He was sweating like a madman.

Yandere rich Dilf! Who couldn’t shake the feeling of jittery excitement that's building within him. Eventhough he was hailed as a famous handsome actor he couldn’t get his shit together at the thought of finally making moves on his darling. This poor man was practically leaning against the counter for life support. From how he got swept up by the plan his nosey daughter concocted. Which was for him to seduce you into making you completely theirs.

Yandere rich Dilf! Whose daughter was already in full support of making her sweet nanny into her new mommy. And was smart enough to call her playmates ahead of time. So her Dad can give her the sibling she’s always been asking for. Since she was tired of being the only child in the huge mansion.

As the clock ticks down the minutes foretelling of your arrival. Quio starts to feel a sense of nervousness mixed with impatience, knowing that it was almost game time.

“Cmon Dad you can’t be looking like a wimp, it’s time for you to man up! By the time I get back I expect to have a mommy and a little brother on the way. Understood?”

His daughter, Peina chastised as she whacked him on the back and continued to threaten him give him encouragement before she left to see her friends.

"Okay, okay, Understood you prima donna."

Quio sassed with an heavy eye roll from how his bossy his daughter was. I mean sure he knows that she gets that from him. But at the same time it’s surreal to be at the receiving end of having orders being barked at you. Soon enough there’s a signature knock at the door, which makes Peina perk up. As she giddily skips towards the door to greet her beloved nanny.

“Gah wait! I’m not mentally prepared yet! Are ya really tryna give yer old man a heart attack?! How heartless can you be?”

He practically whispered yelled in an attempt to halt his daughter hand from twisting open the knob. As his heart raced at the speed of sound from the thought of seeing his apparent future missus crush. His daughter merely gave him a judgmental glare and promptly flipped him off. Mouthing to him ‘Get it together’ leaving him utterly offended. He was an A-listed actor damn it. Before flinging open the door to greet her Nanny with a big hug to their waist.

“Nana who’s this with you?”

At his daughter’s pointed inquiry, Quio nearly trips over his feet as he hauls ass to the door. His tall and bulky build moving as gracefully as a one legged flamingo. When he peeks his head out only to bite back a bitchy grimace at the sight of you with your so called nice colleague. Oh how he hated that pretentious asshole’s guts despite not knowing a damn thing about the man.

"Uh heya, Sweetheart it’s so good to see ya. I never get tired of seeing your gorgeous face!“

The Dilf crooned with a heavy twang to his voice as he blatantly ignored the little pest hanging to your side. His daughter felt the same way as she outwardly glared at your coworker while she purposefully tugged you closer to her Dad’s direction.

“Aha you flatter me too much Mr. Evinis. Also this is Miki he just so happened to see me and wanted to say hello”

You hummed lightly always finding the rugged single father to be charming. Completely, missing his subtle glance over at Miki, his serpentine eyes studying his potential love rival with thinly concealed disgust . He can't help but feel extremely jealous of the way that Miki is able to freely hang around you because yall worked at the same office. God, would it be too overkill to just buy the company you worked at so he could freely stalk watch you from 9-5.

"Hey, it’s nice to meet you man. But wow you’ve got an amazing house”

Your colleague says with a grin, holding out a hand for Quio to shake. Both him and his daughter stared down with an ick at the outstretched sweaty hand of the slime ball. And in order to keep up appearances in front of his soon to be wife. The Dilf inwardly sighed and begrudgingly took Miki's hand into an bruising iron grip. his eyes still fixed on you as he tries to focus on the conversation.

"Uh huh, Nice to meet you pal. Well, come on in, make yourself at home Sweet— "

“Don’t mind if I do! Oh my god is that the newest gaming console?”

Quio was soon interrupted by your colleague who had the audacity to grab you by the shoulders and usher you inside his mansion. Did he say that fucking parasite was invited? No, so why the hell did that cockblocking bitch think it was okay to scamper his mousy ass inside his mansion. Only meant for his lovely wife, his daughter, and him, alone. He was definitely going to call pest control afterwards to make sure the problem wouldn’t occur again.

Veins popped out around his neck as the Dilf nearly broke the door handle in utter rage. While numerous murderous thoughts about curb stomping the shit outta Miki crossed his mind like a freight train. And his daughter was the splitting image of him. She was appalled by how that leech just snatched her mommy nanny away from her grasp. And she balled her tiny fists with a small snarl present as she snapped her head up to give her Father a knowing look.

“Dad!…”

“Yeah I know squirt, I’ll make sure to have a real good chat with the fucker— I mean guy. You’ll get your sibling and mommy soon enough.”

Quio said in a hushed tone with an undertone of venomous certainty. Which made Peina somewhat pleased as she curtly nodded off at her Dad.

“Now run along and stay outta grown folks business”

He huffed lightly nudging his daughter further outside their residence. To which she gave an equally heavy eye roll mirroring his that he gave her a couple minutes ago. Before she started trotting off towards her friend’s chauffeur car that just pulled up for their play date.

Yeah he’d make damn sure that you’d be his pretty darling mama for him and his baby girl. Afterall he’s a man of his word and he promised to deliver. Nothing would stand in his way of achieving whatever he wanted. And he sure as hell isn’t letting Miki from the stupid parts and services department. Get away with the disrespect of having the gall to touch you without some form of bloody repercussions.

。

。

。

Lmk If you guys like him. If so, I’ll write some more or make a part two (>^ω^<)

[nasa]

Navigating Deep Space by Starlight

On August 6, 1967, astrophysicist Jocelyn Bell Burnell noticed a blip in her radio telescope data. And then another. Eventually, Bell Burnell figured out that these blips, or pulses, were not from people or machines.

The blips were constant. There was something in space that was pulsing in a regular pattern, and Bell Burnell figured out that it was a pulsar: a rapidly spinning neutron star emitting beams of light. Neutron stars are superdense objects created when a massive star dies. Not only are they dense, but neutron stars can also spin really fast! Every star we observe spins, and due to a property called angular momentum, as a collapsing star gets smaller and denser, it spins faster. It’s like how ice skaters spin faster as they bring their arms closer to their bodies and make the space that they take up smaller.

The pulses of light coming from these whirling stars are like the beacons spinning at the tops of lighthouses that help sailors safely approach the shore. As the pulsar spins, beams of radio waves (and other types of light) are swept out into the universe with each turn. The light appears and disappears from our view each time the star rotates.

After decades of studying pulsars, astronomers wondered—could they serve as cosmic beacons to help future space explorers navigate the universe? To see if it could work, scientists needed to do some testing!

First, it was important to gather more data. NASA’s NICER, or Neutron star Interior Composition Explorer, is a telescope that was installed aboard the International Space Station in 2017. Its goal is to find out things about neutron stars like their sizes and densities, using an array of 56 special X-ray concentrators and sensitive detectors to capture and measure pulsars’ light.

But how can we use these X-ray pulses as navigational tools? Enter SEXTANT, or Station Explorer for X-ray Timing and Navigation Technology. If NICER was your phone, SEXTANT would be like an app on it.  

During the first few years of NICER’s observations, SEXTANT created an on-board navigation system using NICER’s pulsar data. It worked by measuring the consistent timing between each pulsar’s pulses to map a set of cosmic beacons.

When calculating position or location, extremely accurate timekeeping is essential. We usually rely on atomic clocks, which use the predictable fluctuations of atoms to tick away the seconds. These atomic clocks can be located on the ground or in space, like the ones on GPS satellites. However, our GPS system only works on or close to Earth, and onboard atomic clocks can be expensive and heavy. Using pulsar observations instead could give us free and reliable “clocks” for navigation. During its experiment, SEXTANT was able to successfully determine the space station’s orbital position!

We can calculate distances using the time taken for a signal to travel between two objects to determine a spacecraft’s approximate location relative to those objects. However, we would need to observe more pulsars to pinpoint a more exact location of a spacecraft. As SEXTANT gathered signals from multiple pulsars, it could more accurately derive its position in space.

So, imagine you are an astronaut on a lengthy journey to the outer solar system. You could use the technology developed by SEXTANT to help plot your course. Since pulsars are reliable and consistent in their spins, you wouldn’t need Wi-Fi or cell service to figure out where you were in relation to your destination. The pulsar-based navigation data could even help you figure out your ETA!

None of these missions or experiments would be possible without Jocelyn Bell Burnell’s keen eye for an odd spot in her radio data decades ago, which set the stage for the idea to use spinning neutron stars as a celestial GPS. Her contribution to the field of astrophysics laid the groundwork for research benefitting the people of the future, who yearn to sail amongst the stars.  

Keep up with the latest NICER news by following NASA Universe on X and Facebook and check out the mission’s website. For more on space navigation, follow @NASASCaN on X or visit NASA’s Space Communications and Navigation website.  

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[sweetangelgirl7]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝜗𝜚 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 chris has been your escape from the burden of suffocating expectations you've known your whole life, but you can't ignore the emotional distance that's driving a wedge between the two of you anymore.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: DOM!chris x sub!fem reader au, plot, angst, SMUT, fwb, daddy issues, little use of religious imagery, taboo themes, slight degradation kink, bondange, unprotected, adult language, creampie, hair pulling!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first request! this is inspired by southern gothic aesthetics and ethel cain’s album “preacher’s daughter.” whoever requested this, just know i’m obsessed. i wanna remind y’all the title & visuals are purely for the AESTHETIC! this is 99.9% about daddy issues more than anything, with like one or two lines of ex-religious themes. PLEASE keep scrolling if you want to but i promise the smut is worth it lmao. anyway, enjoy!

you knew christopher sturniolo was trouble, that’s all you’ve been told your entire life. every boy was trouble, for that matter. although, deep down, you also knew that he was no good for you. the feeling of being with him was like the tender familiarity of a sore blistering red on your gums, it hurt but for some reason you just couldn’t stop messing with it.

in a town full of secrets, he was somehow the hardest puzzle to solve. recently it had become more and more evident that you didn’t really understand chris or what went through his mind, leaving you feeling like you were merely scratching at his surface after all this time. however, you constantly had to remind yourself that it didn’t matter what he thought of you or what he thought of anything quite frankly, as it was just sex, after all. although, those days of climbing in through your bedroom window and sneaking around into the late nights were long gone by now.

for weeks, you had desperately tried anything to keep your mind from flashing the memories of your screams and his break lights casting a red glow on your face as he left you in the night. you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that you were so stupidly caught up over him, as he clearly didn’t give a fuck about you or your feelings. not only that but who’s to say he doesn’t touch every single girl in town the same way he touches you. it wasn’t your business anyway, as his deafening silence made that very clear.

pulling into the dusty driveway, you sat in the driver’s seat as your music loudly filled the car. you gripped the steering wheel between both hands while letting out a long, tired sigh before turning the keys in the ignition as the headlights faded out to leave you sitting in the dark. slamming the door behind you, your car was the only one parked out front as your father practically lived down at the house of the lord, by now.

walking up the creaky wooden porch, you fiddled with the keys to get inside and out of the insufferably humid air.

making your way to your room, the ticking wall clock comforted the silence along with the sound of you dropping your items on the bed side table. this was the rest of your night, as it had been for some time. staying in bed and turning through a book that you had already read a handful of times before or watching videos for hours, as the figures on the screen aided what felt like your eternal loneliness. you refused to attend services, trying desperately to escape from the toxic manifestation of “faith” you’d been controlled with your whole life. as the preacher’s daughter’s apparent absence and so-called promiscuity were already the talk of the congregation. around this time, chris would be laying in bed with you but the house remained vacantly still.

pressing your pajamas on the bathroom sink, you tugged your stiff work clothes off and stood in the steam, waiting for the water to run hot.

standing beneath the showerhead, you let the nearly boiling water wash over your face and body to rid yourself of the grime and sweat attained from stepping outside in the sticky summer. quickly washing your hair, you didn’t want to spend too long under the water, as the solitude only led your mind to wander further than you cared for at the moment.

towel drying off, you slipped the thin two piece cotton set over your still warm body before walking back to your bedroom.

rubbing lotion over your arms, the sound of a car pulling up onto the unpaved road across the street echoed outside.

paying no mind to it, as it was assumingly your father, you continued with your nightly routine before a pounding on the door brought you back soon after. walking down the hallway, the wood flooring cooled your feet as you made your way to the front door. working down the locks, you pulled the deadbolt back, opening the door halfway to see who was on the other side.

there stood chris under the dim light of the porch, looking down at you behind the screen door separating the two of you. looking at his face for a moment, you slammed the door shut as you stood behind it, your hand still against the wood.

you stood in silence as he waited on the other side, both of you knowing that you lacked the willpower to actually turn him away. as chris waited for a few seconds, the sound of the locks turning spilled from inside of the house before you finally opened the door, all the way. he opened the screen door and let himself in.

walking past you down the dark hallway and into your bedroom, you followed a few feet behind him. closing the door, you rested your back against it as chris sat on the edge of your bed, scanning the walls with frames and crucifixes that served as a reminder of the life you painfully tried to forget.

“are we gonna talk about this?” he broke the silence, adjusting the messy brown waves beneath his hat as he now pulled it on backwards over his hair. the squeaky overhead fan saturated the room as he waited for you to speak.

your chest rose as you breathed in heavily, exhaling through your nose slowly to find any ounce of self control left in your system. you looked at him in disbelief, your arms now crossed beneath your chest. “are we gonna talk about this?“ you asked as you bit your tongue to hold back the loathsome thoughts racing in your mind.

“all i do is talk. i can’t say the same for you, though ” you scoffed as your back was still pressed up against the wooden door. you watched his jaw clench at your words in the shadow of your lamp, as he leaned his elbows forward on his spread knees. “and what does that mean?” he shook his head before laughing bitterly to himself, looking up at you.

“you know exactly what i mean, christopher” you also let a laugh roll off your lips to disguise the grief in your tone. aimlessly looking for anything around your room to focus your attention on.

“it’s been nearly a month.” you mumbled, shaking your head as you watched chris in your peripheral vision. “god knows what you’ve been doing this whole time.” you muttered beneath your breath as he kept his eyes glued on you.

“what was that?” he asked, sneeringly placing his pointer finger behind his ear as he pretended to not catch that, although he heard every word.

“i said, god knows what you’ve been doing this whole time.” you forcefully raised your voice, now looking at him.

“and what is it that you think i’ve been doing exactly?” he laughed to himself again, now crossing his own arms over his chest.

“oh c’mon christopher, let’s not act dense” you rolled your eyes.

“no really, i’d just love to hear what you think i’ve been getting into these past few weeks” he nodded before pursing his lips as he leaned back in his seat.

“more like who you’ve been getting into” you scoffed quietly as he raised his eyebrows in shock. laughing at your words, he leaned forward again as he shook his head once more, wiping his hands off over his jeans.

“yeah exactly, you can’t even answer that.” you scorned. in reality you didn’t even know if that statement was true, but with him, you didn’t know what to believe as no matter how big of a crowbar you used, he refused to open up to you. you so badly wanted to chalk his communication issues up to emotional unavailability but it was almost impossible to look past that when he constantly discarded your attempts at wanting more.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” he continued to laugh through the disbelief, as if the same mistrust didn’t have you screaming in each other’s faces just weeks ago. “what’s wrong with you?” he continued, letting the frustration get the best of him as your eyebrows knit together in hurt.

“what’s wrong with me?” you questioned, pushing yourself off the door as you stepped closer to him, holding your hands up to your chest to gesture to yourself.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, christopher?” you began, finally letting yourself shout as you tried not to cry behind your words. “you come around here whenever you want, we fuck, for months at that, and after all this time you still can’t just let me all the way in.” you argued as your voice softly cracked, feeling tears starting to well up in the corner of your eyes.

“i don’t even know what’s going on in here half of the goddamn time.” you stepped closer, firmly tapping two fingers against his head beneath the black fitted hat that covered his hair.

he reached his hand up to grab your wrist before he could stand up in front of you, looking down at you as he held onto your skin tightly between his fingers.

“my god, enough. you don’t think i’m fucking trying? i want you, i don’t want anyone else but you. these past few weeks i’ve been thinking about you non-fucking stop” he asserted, thumping his free hand against his chest “but you wouldn’t know that because where were you?“ he questioned, as he leaned down closer towards you while he spoke. “right.” he whispered egotistically in your face.

while that was the most transparent he’d ever been, you couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief as he seemingly proved your point “no! i wouldn’t know that christopher! how could i possibly have known that, when you don’t tell me anything?” you shouted, your face level with his as you flickered your eyes back and forth between his.

“it only took weeks for you to reach out, probably ran through all of your other options by now.” you words were driven by anger, breaking free from his grasp as you turned your back to open the door for him to find his way out.

twisting the door knob between your fingers, he stood up and walked behind you to slam the door closed before you could even pull it all the way open. you squeezed your eyes shut as the heat of the resentment continued to pulse through your head. you felt his chest pressed against your back as the smell of cologne on his clothes filled your senses. god, you missed that scent but you didn’t miss the seething jealousy that came with it, knowing it was probably lingering in some other girl’s nose too.

“look at me” he commanded as you didn’t budge, your back still to him.

“i said look at me” he repeated himself, taking your hips between his hands as you felt yourself begin to melt at his touch. you didn’t want to give in but you fell short as you could never find the strength to ignore him.

you slowly turned to face him, as a stray tear trailed down your flustered cheek. your jaw clenched at the feeling of crying in front him, fighting from letting another tear stream down your face. you kept your eyes forward, glued to the white fabric of his shirt.

lifting his hand, he grabbed your chin between his fingers and pulled your gaze from his chest to his eyes. you two stared at each other, your eyes scanning one another’s features. you sat in silence for a moment before you could break the tension. “what?” you spat, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“you really think i just wanna fuck anything that moves, huh?” he questioned, his hand wrapped tightly around your jaw as you stared up at him before shifting your attention to avoid eye contact.

“look at me” he said sternly, gripping your jaw tighter, forcing your lips to push out between the space of his thumb and pointer finger. you obeyed, looking up at him as he followed your eyes, watching your every move beneath him.

“where’s your proof?” he muttered angrily, leaning closer in the heat of the moment. “besides the shit you stir up inside that pretty little head of yours” using his free hand to tap his fingers against the side of your head, mocking your motions from earlier, as he pressed your back against the door.

the silence became palpable while you stared at him as you visibly had nothing to say to back up your argument. “huh?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows as he waited for you to argue back as you had doing been all night.

you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at your exuding insecurities, as the signs burned red at your cheeks. you didn’t want to ruin things between you two but you couldn’t stay silent and continue to feel hopelessly shut out by him anymore. however, in this case, your mistrust and miscommunication took control of your emotions. you so badly wanted to look away in humiliation but you were trapped in his stare.

“get on the bed” he broke your train of thought as he finally released your face from his hold, your features painting a confused expression.

“go” he stood back and motioned to the bed, forgivingly slapping your ass as he let you walk past him.

sitting on the edge of the twin sized bed, you pulled yourself to the middle of the white sheets as you looked up at him standing in front of you.

“get on your knees and say a prayer, daddy’s girl” chris uttered, nodding at the wooden cross on the wall above your bed. you nodded timidly before turning to face your headboard, sitting back on the balls of your feet.

although you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of him shuffling behind you. moving to the end of your bed, he reached forward to slip your tank top over your head as you lifted your arms up for him. the lukewarm breeze that the overhead fan was pushing around caused your nipples to stiffen. you rested your hands on your thighs while you waited for his touch, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

chris trailed his fingers up the flat of your exposed back, pushing your hair to the side as he made his way up your body. he reached forward to unclasp the gold crucifix that had been around your neck since birth, letting it fall down your chest as you leaned over to place it on your bed side table. he pulled his white t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the carpeted floor before moving behind you on the bed.

you sat on your knees while he stood on his, behind you, as your eyes were glued up at the wall. he wrapped his hand around your neck to gently bring your back to his exposed chest, kissing down the crook of your neck as you tilted your head to the side with eyes shut. “dirty girl, thinking about my dick inside someone else” he uttered against your skin hungrily as you leaned into his lips.

he pulled back to rest his hand against your back, pressing your chest down into the bed as your cheek flattened against the white duvet. your ass lifted from the heels of your feet as you arched your back into the bed, feeling the sting of his hand slapping your ass over your shorts. your hands remained at your sides before trying to push yourself up on all fours as chris quickly flattened your upper half into the bed again.

“nuh uh” he muttered, standing to his knees as he fiddled with the belt around his waist, the sound of the clanging metal buckle filled your ears as you couldn’t see anything but a face full of sheets and the haunting willow trees breezing outside of the window. “put your wrists behind your back” chris ordered as you did exactly that, resting your hands behind you as you leaned into the mattress.

you managed to turn your head the other way, looking for the standing mirror in the corner of your room as you watched chris wrap his belt tightly around your wrists. he slapped your ass again as you attempted to adjust yourself farther upwards. chris wrapped his hands tightly around your hips as he pulled you upwards, arching your back down farther.

“we gotta do something about these” he muttered to himself, sliding his hands past your hips with the material of your shorts rolling down beneath them. he pulled the fabric down the rest of the way, dropping them to your legs as he slipped them from beneath your knees.

“already so fucking wet for me” chris laughed to himself as he trailed the pad of his thumb over the damp patch of your panties. you shuddered at his touch, feeling your nerves twitching beneath the fabric.

he continued to tease you over your underwear for a moment before hooking his fingers around the waistband to pull them off. they dropped around your knees as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, trailing his fingers over your pussy. he teased over your clit, watching your muscles jerk at the feeling as you whined quietly. he took the pad of his thumb between his lips, brushing the taste over his bottom lip.

“you think i’d want any other taste, besides yours, on my lips?” he chuckled at the idea, straightening himself up as he worked on unbuttoning his jeans. dropping them over his knees, he adjusted himself beneath his boxers before tugging them down as his hard cock sprung upward immediately past the waistband.

taking his dick between one hand, chris slapped your ass in the other as he rubbed out the red imprint beginning to spread beneath his fingers. you vulnerably flinched at the feeling, letting a low moan out as you squeezed your eyes shut. he pumped himself a few times before smacking his straining cock between your ass, trailing himself downwards over your folds. rubbing his sensitive tip against your pussy, he hissed through his teeth at the feeling before lining himself up with your entrance. holding your hips in his hands, he gripped his fingers on your skin as he pushed himself inside of you between your folds, equally pulling your hips back on his cock. your warmth instantly wrapping around him as your lips parted at the feeling, letting a moan out into the bed.

“fuuck, there we go” he groaned to himself as he slowly pulled out to thrust into you again, even harder this time as he completely bottomed out causing the side of your cheek to shove into the bed. you whimpered as your body took the blow by suprise, your stomach instantly tightening.

he continued with this pace, allowing you to get accustomed to the feeling as you harshly tugged at your bottom lip to suppress the moans fighting their way out of your mouth.

chris smoothed his fingers up your back to twist the ends of your hair around his hand before pulling your head back as he leaned over your body. your chin forcefully dug into the mattress before slightly lifting off the bed, looking up at the wood paneled walls as he held tightly onto the hair between his fist, pounding into you harder.

“why so quiet? you weren’t this quiet when you were running that pretty little mouth earlier” he breathily groaned into the skin of your neck while he deliberately thrusted into you harder. your lips parted open at the shock as a high moan escaped with the force. “you think i’d wanna bury my cock into anyone else?” he muttered, continuing with the same rhythm, only harder now as his hips repetitively hit your ass.

your body rocked forward as he pounded in and out of you, your lips still agape as he fucked the jealousy right out of your system. “fuck, i’m so sorry chris” you whined, as you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

he laughed at the sound of your whimpers, gripping your hair harder as he pulled your head farther back, moving closer to the side of your face. “if only daddy could hear you beg for mercy now” chris teasingly groaned in your ear while he continued to hammer his cock into your cervix, letting go of his hold on your hair as your chin instantly dug back into the bed.

taking your hips between his hands once more, he continued to exert his cock into you as your moans muffled into the sheets. the sound of his hips slapping against your perspiring skin echoed throughout the house. his grip tightened around your body as you turned your head to press into the bed, watching him through watery eyes in the mirror as he pounded into you from behind.

“chris, i’m gonna cum” you inaudibly choked out as your back arched farther into the bed while he picked up his pace, your face repeatedly smushing into the duvet. the focus furrowing between his eyebrows dissolved as his lips quirked up into a smirk. “louder, baby, i can’t hear you over all that fucking dick you’re taking” he chuckled under his breath as he slapped his hand against your ass, slightly rolling his head back, also nearing his climax.

“i’m gonna c-cum” you moaned loudly, barely being able to form the words as your eyes rolled back, the pressure building in your stomach. chris painfully clutched onto your hips as he buried himself inside of you, deep and hard.

“oh my god” you whined before your walls clenched around him tightly, finally releasing as you felt a warm sensation of euphoria rush through your body. your muscles felt weak as chris continued to thrust his cock inside of you through your orgasm.

“fuck i’m right there” he moaned out before digging his fingers into your skin, pushing himself farther into your hips as he released his warm load deep inside of you with a hiss through his teeth. the sudden warmth causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

he rolled through the high as his cock twitched inside your walls, lazily thrusting before smacking your ass one more time. “god damn” he shouted as his head rolled back, slowly pulling himself out of you.

your eyes remained closed as you tried to catch your breath while chris flopped down on the bed next to you. bucking his hips up, he pulled his jeans back up over his legs before laying down once again. adjusting beneath your weight you finally stretched your legs out and laid down on your stomach. turning your neck, you rested your face in the opposite direction to look chris over as he lay down next to you, your wrists still resting against your back.

“was that enough talking for you?” he mumbled, turning on his side to face you with a smirk. you laughed sheepishly as you shook your head before he could press his lips against yours.

“i’m sorry, baby” he mumbled quietly against your mouth. “i’m trying, believe me. it’s just hard.” he confessed as you nodded, wanting nothing more than to caress his face between your hands. “i’m sorry too.” you apologized quietly, softly connecting your lips once more.

he trailed his hand up your body and over your back as he began to adjust the belt around your wrists before the sound of a car pulling up the driveway broke the kiss as you both turned to look at the door.

chris laughed as he reached over to grab his shirt from the floor, quickly pulling it on over his head as he crept towards the edge of your bed under the window.

“wait, chris!” you called quietly, squirming as you tried to fiddle with the restraints behind your back. leaning forward to plant a kiss against your lips one more time, he swiftly slid the window open before stepping one leg out onto the damp grass. “sorry sweetheart, i’ll come back for you tomorrow.” he winked down at you before completely stepping out into the night, shutting the window behind himself.

WHEWWW hope y’all r up horny on a wednesday night 😮‍💨 i’m a slut for sub!chris but this one had a lil kick to it. i couldn’t help but slip a little soft chris in there at the end SORRY. anyway, i hope whoever requested this enjoyed it as much as i did!

i’m actually working on a taglist, so let me know if you’d wanna be added to that! 💋

[keeksandgigz]

okay okay, but imagine an older!modern!eddie getting ticked off every time you have your phone on 'do not disturb.'

this was supposed to be a blurb but pls queens turn off your dnd this is loosely based on a true story

eddie munson x fem! reader

word count: 3k

cw: porn with a little plot, spanking with a spoon, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv (pls don't do that), use of nicknames (sweetness, sugar, baby etc), established d/s dynamic (even if there isn't much of it here), no physical description of reader, minors dni, smut below the cut!

Like, it starts off kinda funny like "Honey, c'mon I need you to return my calls if I know you're free. I needa know my girl is safe" he says, voice real sweet. You just apologize and turn it off.

Until it becomes a recurrent thing. He'll call you to ask if you still need to get picked up after class while you're out running errands. You don't see his call until after class and you hurriedly call him to come pick you up.

Or he's at the grocery store to pick up dinner for later and he's texting you to ask what he needs to get for you and you just don't answer him. You don't see his texts.

He tries to call. Voicemail.

He later gets home with whatever he was craving and just starts cooking.

"But I thought we said we were gonna do pasta, Ed? Why're you making chicken?" you ask, literally without a clue as to why dinner plans have changed.

"Well, sweetness, if you don't answer my texts or return my calls how the hell am I supposed to know what kinda pasta you wanted, huh?" he just shrugs, voice a bit hardened. You can tell it's starting to tick him off.

"Oh, shit. Sorry Ed, I don't even know where my phone is, really" you scratch your head, looking around but not really in search for your phone.

"Well, if you didn't have your DnD on you'd know where your phone is once I call or text you. It's starting to get a little frustrating, baby, can you please be a little more mindful and turn off your 'do not disturb' when you don't need it please?" you just nod sheepishly, like you've been scolded for not saying 'thank you' to a gift you didn't like.

And it does end up happening numerous times. Luckily, nothing too insane.

Sometimes he'd ask you if you wanted to call and you just sit there waiting for him to call. After ten minutes, you assume he's gone to sleep (he's a bit old after all), so you turn off your phone and tuck in for the night.

"Why didn't you pick up last night baby? I called you like six times" he asks the morning after.

"Wait, you called? I was waiting for you to call and then you didn't so I just went to bed" you explain, then clocking the issue there. Shit.

"You had your DnD on, didn't you, sweetness?" and he gets close to you. Close enough for you to hold your breath, too entranced by his big presence, filling up every bit of your vision. You feel suffocated by him.

You look down, too much to be looking at him right now, with the aura of calm and cool control that he exudes. It'd be easier for him to swallow you whole than for you to be making eye contact with him right now.

He just takes care of that promptly for you. He gingerly places two fingers under your chin, making you look at him in the eyes.

"You look at me when I talk to you. You know better, don't you baby?" and he puts on this fake pout that makes you blush all over. You imagine the butterflies at the bottom of your stomach tinging a pretty shade of pink with every domineering word that comes out of that man's mouth.

You just nod, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and teeth, releasing you from the delicious torture of him invading your senses as he takes a step back, letting your chin go before he just goes back to what he was doing.

"Oughta punish you one of these days if you don't turn that damn DnD off" he mutters and then he's back on his computer.

The gruff words make your shaky legs stutter as you decide you cannot be standing anymore and you plop yourself on the couch.

His last straw, however, is when you're out at a club with your friends. You've had one too many drinks and you text Eddie to come pick you up. He has no idea where you are.

Yeah, baby I can pick you up. Where at? 12:34 am

Can't pick you up if you don't tell me where you are, sweetness. 12:42 am

You there? 12:50 am

Turn off your DnD PLEASE 1:00 am

I'm omw 1:03 am

And he pulls up in front of the bar you were helplessly staring out the door of. You're not drunk, just not having fun.

You run into the car, shivering from the biting November breeze.

"Had to call one of your friends to tell me where the fuck you were. Are you drunk?" he asks. Voice stern, laden with what you could only define as barbed wire. Cutting, angry, almost.

"'m not drunk." you mutter "I had, like, a shot, then I decided I wasn't having fun anymore. Didn't wanna go out in the first place" finding the creases and ridges of your hands very interesting all of a sudden.

"Trust me when I tell you you won't be having fun at home either. Fucking sick of that 'do not disturb' thing on. You had me scared to death." he seethes, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. You notice he's wearing his pyjamas.

Fuck. You made him get out of bed. You shrink in your seat.

"Y'don't wanna be disturbed? I'll fuckin' teach you about being disturbed" and that's the last thing he says before he just speeds home.

There's thick tension between the two of you when he opens the door to his apartment. You sit on his counter, looking at the floor and getting ready for another scolding.

He's leaning on the wall opposite to you, arms crossed.

He breaks the silence "Floor's lookin' clean? You gonna look at me now?" you shiver, then look up to meet his darkened eyes.

He scoffs and takes a few paces towards you, until he's placed between your parted legs.

"What do I gotta do with you, huh? Do I gotta start checkin' your phone to make sure that damn thing is turned off? As far as I'm concerned after your classes you shouldn't have it on at all" he remarks, his hands caressing over the nylon of your tights, toying with the fabric of your dress.

You interject "I just forget, Ed. I'm so busy these days I forget to turn it off" you jut out your bottom lip, trying to coax a bit of sweet sympathy out of him. Something that'll make the punishment a bit lighter.

But he remains unmoved, his lips in a straight line as he moves his hands up, up, up to firmly hold your waist. "So forgetful, aren't you, baby? Maybe you need a reminder, carve some space in that big, busy brain of yours to remember to turn your DnD off, hm?" he chides, playing with the insides of your arm, skin sensitive and waiting as his thick finger moves up and down and you can't help but nod.

Your breath begins to pick up ever so slightly. But he notices, of course he notices. The way your mouth parts and your pupils dilate. The way your chest begins to get closer to him, rising and falling in anticipation.

"So pretty" he teases, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his palm, letting out a sweet humming sound that makes Eddie's stomach flip despite his hardened facade "Y'wanna play?"

His voice goes to a deep, dark timbre, the question making you shiver. You speak for the first time in what seems like forever.

"Yes, sir" voice thin and quiet as you keep looking at him, not wanting to worsen your precarious position as he undoes the zipper of the short dress you're wearing, helping him out by taking your arms out of the thin sleeves.

"Good girl," he remarks, tapping the sides of your thighs to make you lift your hips, removing the dress off of you completely.

He licks his lips when he finds you're wearing tights. He loves spanking you with the nylon barrier between his hand and the soft skin of your ass. A weird quirk of his.

You feel the hardened pressure of his bulge against the inside of your thigh as his body turns to litter a trail of kisses over your jawline and you keen into his touch, arch towards his chest demanding more, more, more. Even if you're in no position to demand anything.

A whine escapes you as you keep arching your hips towards him. Eddie's quick to stop you with a strong hand pinning you down against the marble of the counter. He tuts.

"Don't be greedy. Hop off and bend over" he commands, and who are you to say no to him as you comply with a meek "Yes, sir," resting your elbows on the cold counter.

His nose skims the length of your spine, taking in the way you smell. Sweet and musky, after a night of dancing among sweaty bodies. The thought intrudes Eddie's head. Did a body press itself against you? Is the scent of a random man now on the skin of your back, the fabric of your dress?

He shakes the thought away as he reaches the waistband of your black nylon tights.

"Pass me that wooden spoon, will you, sugar?" he says sweetly, snaking a hand in your hair. You shiver as you reach for the wooden utensil in the metal bucket next to the stove. You pass it to him, skin pricking up from the anticipation of not knowing what he might do with it.

"Thank you, baby" he kisses your shoulders, as the spoon comes into contact with your ass. Caressing up and down.

"Now, I hate to do this, you know me, but I gotta teach you a lesson, sweetness. Tell me you want this" he says, the utensil snaking its way between your legs, rubbing back and forth. A wicked smile appearing on Eddie's lips when you begin to helplessly whimper, your head lolling on its side against the marble counter.

"I- I want this" you say, loud enough to make him hear you.

And that's all he needs. A green light.

The wooden spoon lands on the meat of your ass. You hiss. The feeling is new, he hadn't spanked you with anything aside of his hand before, but the feeling of the wooden handle cracking on your skin makes your head reel.

"You gonna put your phone on DnD again?" he asks, a question he knows the answer to as he cracks down the spoon again.

"Ah- ow- No, sir. Thank you, sir" you say, sweet and compliant, hoping that it will relieve you of your penance earlier than he'd planned to.

His hand sneaks itself on the seam of your tights, knowing you never wear panties with them, feeling the heat radiating off of your core, a dampness that had been sitting there since you'd climbed in the car.

He chuckles to himself, a dark laugh, a notice that he will not go easy on you tonight.

"You're likin' this?" you can almost hear the wicked smile in his words. "You little slut, you're getting wet from this? Me smacking you with a spoon?" he taunts and your legs quiver as he administers two more cracks to your ass.

You have cotton in your ears. Your skin feels everything and nothing at the same time as you begin slumping against the counter.

"So horny you can't even stand, huh, sweetness?" Eddie smacks you again and then reaches his arm around your waist to pull you up "Little slut didn't want me to disturb her, hat true?" he asks, another smack, this time he expects an answer.

"Fuck- ow- no Eddie that's not-ah" another smack "t-true" you sob, tears beginning to well on the waterline of your eyes.

Your ass feels on fire while Eddie puts the spoon down next to your head. Your legs shaky in your heels as he kneels between your legs.

Two of his fingers hooked on the seam of your tights as he rips a hole in them, exposing you to him. You gasp, more at the suddenness of the motion than at the action itself.

Your tights never had a long enough lifespan when you wore them around Eddie.

"You got so wet, sweetness." He whispers, entranced by the way the skin glistens in the dull kitchen light.

His hands hook around your waist to keep you still as his face narrows into your pussy, and he begins to lick.

Broad stripes of his tongue, slurping and lapping up whatever he missed. Eating like a man starved.

Your back arching to get more, more, greedy in the best way possible as you mewled and cried for him to keep going. As you mewled and cried nonsense, feeling your brain turn fuzzy and your eyes becoming accustomed to going to the back of your head every time his tongue lingered long enough on your clit.

When he begins to suck harshly on it you have no choice but to grab the back of his head and push it further, if there ever was a further, as he is wedged deep between your legs, eating you out like his life depended on it.

He doesn't like it, though, the way you grab and push at his head like you're the one calling the shots.

He unhooks his arms from your waist momentarily to reach for your wrists to pin them behind your back, that's when he stands from his place in between your legs.

"Y'think you're a big girl, huh? Callin' the shots?" he lands a smack on your ass, turning you around to finally face him. Hands still pinned behind you as he pushes you towards him.

"I didn't- I don't-" you try and justify yourself, but he just delivers a smack to your face. Light enough to give you a slight sting.

His chin glistens with your slick, and you can smell it on him.

"Look what you did" he says, taunting you. His free hand comes to squeeze your cheeks, making you look at him.

"Clean me up, since you wanna be so fuckin' messy" and he squeezes harder, your tongue jutting out to lick at the clear wetness on his face, slight stubble scratching your tongue and chin. You lick around his mouth, under his nose, until he pushes you away from him.

"Greedy, greedy" he chants, as he places you on top of the counter, cold marble a relief against your aching ass.

You could clearly see the outline of his cock against his sweats, you bite your lip as he inches closer to you. “Look how hard you made me, baby," he mutters, low and dark "it’s impossible to be in your presence when you look like you want to get fucked all the time." he continues "Goin' out in that tight little dress like you don't want everyone to see your pretty tits" he says, grabbing a handful through the bralette you're wearing.

He moves the cups to the side as he toys with your tits, a hand reaching into your mouth to wet his fingers. You gag and sputter around his digits.

"Theeere you go, sweetness. Y'like having your mouth full?" he asks, Hardened stare urging you to answer. You nod and let out a weak hum in approval as his fingers keep pushing in and out of your mouth.

He removes his fingers from your mouth as he begins circling the sensitive buds of your nipples. You let out a desperate moan.

"So sensitive, aren't you? You wanna cum like that while I fuck you?" he asks, and you can't find the words fast enough to nod your head yes.

"Ask me nicely. You know better" he says sternly as he uses one hand to lower the waistband of his sweats, letting his cock spring free.

"F-fuck, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me, sir" is all you can muster, before he guides his cock to your entrance, sinking in all the way to the hilt. A gasp escapes you. It never gets old.

"That's a good girl. Wasn't so hard, was it?" he teases, both his hands returning to deliver their ministrations on your tits, thumb unforgivingly grazing your nipples. The motion makes you scream as Eddie sets a quick pace.

"That's right, sweetness, keep singin' for me. Lemme hear that pretty voice" he says, his words making you clench around him.

His hands come off your tits to place your legs on your shoulders, making you curl in on yourself as he leaned his body to make your faces touch.

"Kiss me, baby" and you kiss him with such fervor and need. He hadn't kissed you the whole night. You don't know how much you need him to kiss you until you do and it's like fireworks are going off behind your hooded lids.

His tongue slips past your lips as he keeps thrusting, unforgivingly, hitting your g- spot every. single. time. You whine into his mouth, he chuckles at how needy you sound.

"My baby just needed a good fuck to remember to not put her DnD on, didn't you?" he taunts, an especially harsh thrust follows as you feel his breathing become more ragged and his pace begin to stutter.

"Feels good, huh? Shit, baby you're so tight" he begins and you can't help but moan.

"Feels good Eddie- huh- so... so deep" you hiccup, and you feel close. "Hmm so ah big" you groan as your eyes roll to the back of your head when a particularly well- angled thrust deliciously hits your spongy walls.

"You like that, sweetheart? God- fuck- so gorgeous, baby. Look at you" he rambles. He's getting close.

"Oh fuck, Ed, 'mclosesoclose" you cry out and you're seriously teetering on the edge of orgasm. A few more thrusts and you'd be gone.

"Me too, sweetness, c'mon cum for me" he thrusts a couple more times and the coil snaps. You're clenching and whining and screaming his name while he follows after you, finishing inside you.

He stays there even after he's done, laying his head on your sweaty chest while you both try to stabilize your breathing.

"Feel free to disturb me whenever you want" you say, and he chuckles, giving a soft kiss to your shoulder.

taglist: honey-flustered, fracturedarkness, them-cute-boys, ancientcrone-blog, eveybitch, everythingtodayisthoroughly, jennathinker, @vampysstuff, rubyirene, floriscus, mrsmarch64, fairymunson, capricornrisingsstuff, sole-screws, helloweenfiend, flaminggarbagepail, @squigglebottom, @cozmiccass

[haeryna]

i would recognize you in a million lifetimes ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru

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summary: they say that a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth. you would've been more inclined to believe it, if you weren't the only person who got burned. but now, suguru and satoru are offering you the salve and you're not sure whether it's enough to fix the scars that they left behind.

tw: sfw! angst with a happy ending, satoru is a cocky shit, suguru spends half the time on his knees in this (BUT NONSEXUALLY), more abandonment mentions because it's crucial to the plot, mentions of homophobia. lots of misunderstandings.

notes: divider by @/saradika-graphics. sorry, this chapter is a little shorter lol but surprise!! love how i said i was gonna take a break and then one day i suddenly realized kind of what i wanted to ensuing conversation to be. ending is a little open-ended; as of right now, i have no further plot points, but obviously that could change in the future (feel free to let me know where you want it to go/what you want me to write more about set in this universe!). thank you to everyone who loved and supported me when i first started this series; it was my first time really writing anything for a fandom, or publicly sharing it for that matter <33

There always seems to be an innate misunderstanding that occurs when people encounter Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru, in that Satoru is the one who calls the shots and Suguru merely follows. Though Satoru might have seemed like the arrogant one, and Suguru the mild-mannered, you are intimately aware that the depth of Suguru’s pride almost matches his patience. It’s why he always tends to win whatever petty squabble that starts, why he always obtains the results he hopes for. Suguru always wins, you’d complained once, and his cat-like eyes had crinkled in amusement as he watched you. Not always, had been his response, but you knew it to be a lie. You had watched as he left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, his past lovers drawn in by his honey-sweet words and careful, calloused hands. You were no exception. If Satoru is a work of art, then Suguru is the painter, and you the lonely observer watching from behind the museum glass. You wonder if the same pride prevented him from finding you years ago.

It makes it seem all the more laughable as you watch Suguru kneeling before you through the water that clings to your lashes. The man that had never given in on his knees for someone who gave it all. You are suddenly horribly aware of the air that passes through your lungs in shuddering gasps. Your skin suddenly feels too tight for your body as your heart pounds to the tune of the faint ticking of the clock. “Please,” Suguru whispers at last, as his thumb runs along the back of your hand. Satoru’s arms tighten around you as if committing you to his memory, before letting go. You can say nothing as you stare down at your fingers traitorously intertwined with Suguru’s. 

“What if I don’t want to listen?” 

Satoru inhales sharply, and Suguru pauses, before reluctantly releasing your hand. 

“Do you mean it?” 

“I wasn’t aware that you two cared about how I felt about your decisions,” you retort, watching how Suguru’s expression falls. It doesn’t feel quite as satisfying as you thought it would. You push the thought down. 

“Baby–” Satoru starts, and the facade you’ve built up begins to crumble. 

“Don’t call me that!” you snarl, pushing yourself from the floor. His eyes are pleading, but you steel yourself as you continue. “I’m not your lover. I’m not anyone special to you, considering how quick you were to replace me.” Your voice breaks. “Mocking me like this is low, even for you.” 

Satoru stiffens. “You were special to me. You still are.” Your hands curl into fists as he continues, voice twisting into something more arrogant. “Though, I’m sure Kenji couldn’t live up to me.” 

“Don’t.” Your tone is raw as you frantically try to reel in the anguish you’d been storing for the past five years. “Don’t you dare try to use my letters against me.” 

Satoru has the decency to at least look ashamed. The look on his face is an echo of when he would frown all day if you didn’t give him what he wanted. Satoru is selfish, you know, all heat and arrogance and childishness. You know it’s partially your fault; you were the one that spoiled him off of your love in the first place. 

Suguru calls your name softly, and you turn to face him. He’s still on his knees, gazing up at you with the devotion of a worshiper and the guilt of a sinner. “Tell me what I can do to make it right,” he murmurs. “Tell me what I can do and I’ll do anything you ask of me.” 

“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Your words are fragile, even to your own ears. Please tell me it was because you didn’t have enough money. Please say that it’s because you were in a rush. 

“That night was chaos,” Suguru admits. “Satoru was downright unconsolable, so it was up to me to purchase the tickets, to pack everything we wanted to take into two bags, to book the hotels and make appointments to find apartments.” He hesitates for a moment, and you can feel the piercing ice forming in your veins at the expression. 

“But you had enough money to afford a third.” 

“Yes and no. Realistically, we maybe could have, but, to subject you to the conditions we would have been in?” 

Angrily, you swipe the tears away from your face. “You still should have asked.”

Suguru’s eyes are impossibly tender. “I know you, my beautiful, stubborn girl. I knew that if I gave you that plane ticket, you would have followed us no matter what you truly wanted. I was willing to make the sacrifice. How could I have asked you to do the same?” 

“That wasn’t your decision to make!” 

“Call me selfish, then. Call me controlling, or foolish, or stubborn, but I will never regret ensuring your safety. I will never regret the fact that you were not subjected to the struggles we faced there, the things we had to do to survive. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” You feel nauseous, stomach twisting violently into knots. The lies taste so sweet, but the truth is something that you accepted long ago. “Subjecting me to what? Your lifestyle? What struggles do you face when you have so much money that you don’t know what to do with it?” 

Satoru begins to protest, but you hold out your hand, silencing him as you watch Suguru. The betrayal of him cut deeper than you’d care to admit. Satoru might be cocky, but it is Suguru’s hand that holds the trigger, his hand that sealed your fate. “I know you,” you tell him. “I know you, and I know when you lie. Lie to me one more time and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that I never see you again.”  

“There is no lie-” 

“You don’t do that to the people you love!” 

“I did it out of love, why can’t you see that?” 

“No, shut up!” Your hands are shaking, teeth gritted as you try to stop the rush of angry tears that threaten to escape you. “You don’t get to act like I’m the person in the wrong here. You two, of all people, don’t get to treat me like this.” The sun is setting, harsh shadows casted onto Suguru’s hunched shoulders as if it is a load that is physically too much for him to bear. The words spilling from your mouth are sharp, desperate to make them bleed in the same way they’d hurt you. “You can’t tell me you love me, or that you missed me, when you left me here for five years. I was alone for five years, and for the first three, I thought something had happened to you two. Do you know how scared I was?”

Satoru reaches for you, but you shove his hands away. “I had to find out from a fucking television broadcast. I had to find out about Satoru’s debut through a television broadcast, and I had to hear your voice coming from the radio instead of through the phone. For three years, you let me fear the worst, and now you’re acting as if I’m crazy? You’re upset to find me bitter when you’ve treated me like a toy you can return to, and throw away when you’re bored? You made me this way!”

 Suguru closes his eyes. “I will never stop regretting how I’ve hurt you, my love. I knew how badly you wanted to get out of this town, to go to college and make your mark on the world. We didn’t know that…” 

We didn’t know that you’d still be here.  

“Maybe if you’d bothered to find me, you would’ve known.” 

“Please don’t blame Suguru for it.” Satoru’s voice is tired, as he runs his hands down his face. “Suguru might have been the one who handled our move, but I was the coward in the end.” 

Impressively, your heart manages to shatter into even smaller pieces. You can only gaze blankly at him as he continues. “I’m sure you’ve suspected it by now, but when we left, Suguru and I were dating. We still are. You know how it is where we’re from, where we are.” He curls in on himself imperceptibly, a star ready to implode. “I knew my parents were bad, but I didn’t know they were that bad. The thought of you looking at me, at Suguru, the same way they looked at us– I couldn’t.” 

You can’t help the almost hysterical laughter that tears through you. “Are you serious? That was your reason?” 

Satoru stares at you as you cover your face with a hand. You’re afraid that if you don’t keep going, you’ll start screaming instead. “Of course I knew,” you choke out, half-laughing and half-sobbing. “Suguru’s neck would be all marked up every time you two hung out without me, and Satoru suddenly stopped flirting with every girl that wanted to sleep with him. Just because everyone else was stupid and in denial, doesn’t mean that I was.” 

“You never said anything.” Suguru gazes up at you, eyes horrified. 

“I figured if you wanted me to know, you would just tell me.” 

“You always looked so uncomfortable.”

“Because I was jealous!” Your words hang in the air, and in this moment, for better or for worse, you know that there is no going back. “I thought I was losing my mind. I was jealous of both of you for having the other, and I hated myself for it. What kind of sick friend was I, to be selfish enough to not only desire one of you, but both of you at the same time?” You shake your head, wishing that it could be enough to remove the feelings from your heart that you had been clinging onto for so long. “When you left, I missed you. I thought it would go away. I hoped it would go away. Who else would be stupid enough to love the people who abandoned them?” 

The words pour from your mouth, acidic with your pain and despair. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you two? Why was it so easy for you to move on, while I was stuck here wasting away? Was it really that hard for me to be loved by you? I was there too!” 

“Darling,” Suguru says, stumbling over the syllables of his words. “You loved us?” 

You have to fight the visceral urge to slap him across his painfully beautiful face. “That’s what you took away from this?” 

“I dreamed of this for so long,” Satoru tells you roughly, delicate fingers tilting up your chin. An interviewer had once said that Satoru’s eyes seemed so cold and distant. You feel like he was trying to burn you alive as he examines you. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“Are both of you out of your mind?” you snap, rearing back. Satoru’s resulting chuckle floods your face with heat as he gives you a lazy, predatory smile. “Only for you, sweetheart.” 

“What Satoru is trying to say,” Suguru interjects, dazed, “is that we didn’t think you felt the same way.” Same way? You feel lightheaded, as if you’re not quite there. Same way? 

He continues on as Satoru leans against the wall, content to watch your reactions. “I, we, just assumed that you…I don’t know. We…” 

“How could I not?” you ask, voice breaking. “How could I not love both of you?” 

Before you can even react, Satoru is surging towards you, arms pressing you closer into his body as he holds you tightly. “You mean it?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically desperate. Needy for you, as he greedily savors the feeling of you in his arms. You can only nod, one hand twisting into the back of his sweater as you bury yourself into the slight hollow where his collarbone meets his shoulder. 

“Please,” Suguru breathes, taking your hand into his, rough fingers curling around the back of your hand as he strokes your palm with his thumb. “I know things aren’t going to be the same. We’re okay with that, we just…” He swallows, thickly, before pushing forward. “We just want to make things right, take things slow, and maybe then you can learn to love us again.” 

Gently, you pull yourself away from Satoru’s grasp. “It’ll be hard,” you admit, tugging Suguru up off the floor and towards you. “But, we’ll make it through.” A slight smile tugs on your lips, the sincerity bleeding through into the softness of your eyes. “Besides, I don’t need to learn how to love you two again.” 

“Especially because I never stopped.” 

Later, you’ll realize the depth of the Gojo’s betrayal to their son. Later, there will be just as many kisses as there are tears, plans to be made, and boxes to be packed. But for now, all you can feel is the overwhelming warmth in your heart as you finally allow yourself to be hugged by two of the people you adored most in the world. 

Welcome home. I love you. 

[marxo-fm]

Sessions

Part One. Part ii

Summary: You’re König’s therapist, and he is utterly and dangerously obsessed with you. He will do anything and everything to make you his.

Warnings: Adult themes and language, plot with smut, smut smut smut, thigh riding (omg this is crazy) stalkerish!König, toxic!König, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, König is filthy…FILTHY, praising.

Words: 4.2K

A/N: I’ve played COD before but just a little so I have no clue about it all (LMAO) but anyways my fyp is invaded with König and Ghost, not complaining, so I decided to write a little something. I heard he’s unstable (?) and there’s a bunch of fics where he has a therapist so I was like…lemme write something like this. I will give credits to writers who’ve inspired me once I find their accounts because I lost them smh. So don’t thank me for this, thank them. Also thanks to Brittany Broski, my rightful leader, for talking about König on the Broski Report Podcast. Made me want to write him some more tbh. ALSO THE GIF??? So scary in the hottest way.

It’s been awhile since König’s last therapy session with you, and it’s been driving him crazier by the minute. He realized now, just how much he wants you, how much he desperately needs you.

——

Weeks turned into days, then hours, minutes, and then seconds. Every tick of the clock had König going mental. The thought of not spending those seconds with you drove him mad and drove him with such urgency to have you by him. To be inside of you, at that.

Fists clenched then unclenched, König couldn't stand it any longer. Desperation ran in his veins like a predator watching their prey. He wanted nothing else but to see what you were up to, and visiting your home, was just the solution to his thoughts and needs.

(…)

It's been a few weeks since your appointment with König, and you're growing concerned. You look at the empty chair in your office, that's been sitting lonely for quite a few weeks. He hasn't called or informed you on why he's been absent, and you're sure he never will

In all honesty, you have no clue why you're so upset about it. Upset about a client who's been absent for weeks too much to count. Maybe it's because you can't help him anymore, well—not anymore, he's still your client. But the mere fact that he's not there to tell you about his problems and stories, or how his day was, bothered you.

Sure, he has things to do. So much more important than meeting up with your therapist right? Surely not, you want to help König to the best of your ability—but he made it so difficult.

You get a phone call that snaps you out of your haze, you pick it up. Only to hear a client of yours on the phone bringing their appointment up, which is today. "Yes! Today at six, correct." You assured, sitting down promptly on your office chair. You're glad you have clients today, something that'll keep you busy.

(…)

König is sitting outside in his car in the rain. The pattering of the rain took over his rather obsessive thoughts. Not only was he in the car alone, but he was right outside your home.

He peeks through your window, seeing only a dim light through the blinds of your house. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, chuckling to himself about how insane this all is. Going all out for your therapist? Never would he have thought to be doing such thing, but he can't help his desires.

He sighs, he gets the urge to exit his car and step foot inside your house and it made him feel dizzy. The thought of just stepping foot inside your property and seeing the items, the furniture—and so forth—that belonged to you. Something you've chosen out and purchased for yourself, with love. Now that, drove him on edge.

He finally exits his car, slamming it shut behind him. The rain drops hit his huge frame and he takes bigger steps to the front of your house. Eager to see the place you call home. The place you eat, sleep, and breathe in. It's all insane, he thought, but he's König. Insanity doesn't faze him.

"Fucking hell, the fuck am I doing?" He chuckled to himself as he somehow manipulated his way into your house. His wet boots are off and placed on the rug that says, "welcome" which is funny in this situation.

He looks around the well kept home, the dimly lit kitchen and living room, as well as the deliciously scented candle that's lit in the living room. Smells like you, coconut and bliss. He takes it in, like the maniac he is.

There was nothing really intriguing to the eye in your home, it's simple and basic, but still very homey. You had your favorite comics on the tv table and the tv was obviously shut off, books were stacked against the bookshelf and a few magazines were on the tables. You love to read, guess that's new information for König to keep to himself.

His big frame hovers over your iPad, without hesitation, he opened it. There wasn't a passcode, just a simple press of the home button and he was in, it wasn't like you had anything to hide and König found amusement in that. König chuckled, there was simply nothing on the iPad besides dates on your calendars that showed you have appointments throughout the month.

"Busy little one, aren't you, Mein Schatz?" He breathed through his mask, though he took it off for the time being, there was no reason to hide himself through a mask when home alone.

He misses you, and it's getting more painful not having you there with him, in your home. He's wondering what you're up to now, and how much time he has left before that lock of your front door turns.

It's a bad idea, he's already seen everything he wanted to see, and now it's time to leave.

Quickly, he puts his wet boots back on and turns the door knob slowly. He looks back at your place and then smiles, this surely won't be the last time he's inside. And he'll make sure it'll be the both of you inside the home at the same time.

(…)

"Anything else you'd like to share, Ghost?" You question Ghost, his eyes telling you so much he hasn't said yet, and you doubt he'll tell you more. You wish he'd say more though, but you're actually proud of today’s session. He shared more than the other sessions, that's always a huge milestone.

"No." He said sternly, his British accent thick and his voice gravely. "Okay great. I'll see you next week then?" He cleared his throat and walks to the door, "busy."

"So when are you able to?" You wonder, "I'll call when I can." He opens the door from your office and leaves. You sigh, at least you tried to the best of your abilities. You close your notebook shut, putting the notebook back into your drawer as you finally set the pen down after.

So, where we're you again? Ah, it's time to go home. Finally.

Well—not just yet. As you're getting your things ready to leave, you hear your office phone ring. Your brows furrowed in confusion as to who's calling this late, all sessions are...closed.

"Hello?" You question, hearing heavy breathing over the phone—you shudder. "Schatz, it's me." The German accent rolled off the man's tongue over the phone, your heart dropped in response. König.

"K-König?" You stuttered, in disbelief at the sudden call. "Mhm, I'm calling to apologize for not coming to our sessions but if I'm being honest...I want to have a session soon this week." He explained over the phone, your brows scrunched.

You're free this week, no sessions left, well one session now. It surprised you that König chose to call you so late over an appointment, but it didn't bother you, just—stunned you. "Of course, when would you like-" König interrupts you suddenly, "tomorrow." He breathed, his voice lower than usual. Laced with huskiness and exhaustion, and need.

Tomorrow? You can't turn that down, because you know that if you do, he won't come to another session for a long time—you feared. You clear your voice over the line, heart beating faster by the second and you're not sure as to why. Must be the sudden urge to come to a session, or maybe because he wants it soon. It's not like you're busy tomorrow or anything, but the mere fact that you'll see König after God knows how long made you nervous.

Something must be wrong, you're sure of it.

"Sure! Tomorrow at two, promise me you'll be there?" He never breaks promises, not with you he doesn't. He agrees over the phone, and the date is officially set. Grabbing your pen you just placed down, you take your König's personal journal and write the date down for tomorrow.

(…)

He was trying to stay composed but it's getting hard. His desires have become more stronger by the minute, and he wanted nothing more than to have you by him.

He ended the call, smirking under the mask after finally hearing your soft voice over the phone. You invaded his mind like a virus he's unable to get rid of, but in all honesty he doesn't want to get rid of it. He would stare at pictures of you all day, and the thought that bothers him the most—the one that boils his blood—is knowing that you have sessions with other men that's not him. Most of them he despises, the other ones he's not really worried about, since well—they're his friends.

It's almost sickening how much he wants you, how much he deeply needs you. Now, König sits on his bed. Mask off and so is his shirt. Revealing nothing but his well crafted muscles and his mind going hundreds of miles per hour of just you.

And to fix that "issue" he takes his rough right hand and puts it underneath his sweats, and then under the hem of his boxers. Finally, he grabs his thick cock tightly and leans his head back. Nothing but images of you holding his dick for him instead, and that just about does it for him. Quickly, he starts to slowly stroke up and down, groans fill the silent room. His strong hand grips the sheets of his bed, the delicate fabric became victim to his touch.

The rings in his ear became louder as he swiped his thumb over his tip that was already leaking, everything around König became a blur as he thought of you continuously. He's never been this obsessed with someone until he met you. He gripped onto his dick harder and his body starts to burn with flames too powerful to put out—and his heart beats quicker.

He's closer to his high than ever, throwing his head back due to the aching pleasure that consumed him. His eyes look at the ceiling, all that hunts his mind is you. You hunt him every second of his day, even when it's König hunting for you. His insides began tightening, the way his cock began to throb in his hand and how his precum brushes against his calloused fingers when his hands move to his sensitive area.

He lets out a final grunt as he looks at the mess he made in his lap, wishing you were there to clean it all up. His orgasm hit him harder than ever, and his breath is shaky. Stunned at how good you made him feel, it wasn't him that made himself feel good, no—it was you. All of it.

He tensed at first, letting rope after rope of his come dirty his abs and sheets. "Look at what you fucking do to me, Liebe." He whispered, beads of sweat roll off his forehead.

(…)

The next day passed, the day König booked his session to see you. Of course he wanted to talk to you about what's going on, but he mostly made the appointment to see you. It's been a long long time. He puts on his uniform and mask, getting all ready for his missions and well—seeing you.

——

You hear a knock. A knock so familiar and it wasn't just like any other knocks from your clients. König had a habit of knocking exactly four times, and it's a habit he has with you. You shout, "welcome in!" as you take your notebook and pen out. You put your glasses on and present yourself professionally.

König's huge frame stands before you, and you gasped. It's been so long since you've last seen him, you’re now practically strangers. "König! You're here." You proclaimed, welcoming him with a simple hand motion to the chair. "Hello, Mein Schatz." He greets, his voice husky. He looks at you through his eyes, investigating the way you sit professionally and have everything well kept and neat. It almost bothered him, in a good way.

You broke the tension with a question, “anything new?” He continued taking a good look at you, hungrily. It doesn’t show through his mask, but his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

You cleared your throat, waiting for König’s response. “I don’t like the new addition to the missions.” He said sternly, his fists clench and you could tell that bothered him to the extreme. “Why is that? Do you perhaps think they’re weak and unnecessary?” You queried.

He shifts in his spot, “Ja, I don’t like unnecessary addictions. I find it a nuisance.”

“Is it because you prefer having the men you’re familiar with more.. than the new men looking to work the same missions as you?” He prompts his elbows on his knees, leaning closer to the conversation. He is clearly interested in answering. “Yes. Exactly. We don’t need anymore men, we have quite enough of them.” His German accent is thicker, deeper. Cutting through like knife to butter. Your pen wrote down his answers as well as your thoughts in the notebook.

He watched you like a hawk, looking at you closely while you do your job. “Is there anything else, König?” You wonder, his dull eyes sparkled when he hears you say his name. “Hm,” he voiced, “you.”

Your brows furrow at his answer, you cross your legs and place your pen down. Unsure of what he means, and well of course, the therapist you are, you think maybe he has something he needs to say about you. “Did I do something wrong?” You stammered, unable to look him in his piercing gaze.

He chuckled, and you think maybe you embarrassed yourself with such question. “No, Mein Schatz, I need you.” He put forth. Your stomach drops at his answer, crimson red swipes across your cheek and you feel as though you’re going to pass out.

Never in a million years would you have thought to hear König admitting to the fact that he needs you. It stunned you in all honesty.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, Ich werde verrückt.” He points his index finger to his head, “what does that mean?” You question. The part where he spoke in German, you wonder what he means.

He stood up, and you scooted your chair back in response. “It means I’m going crazy, Liebe, you drive me crazy.” König voiced.

You mistook his answer, mistook it thinking that you made him crazy in the worst way possible. “I-I’m sorry, we can gladly stop our sessio-“ he interrupts you, and it’s not the first time.

“Ts ts, I don’t want to. I meant,” he paused, then began, “you drive me crazy with need.” He explained.

You never knew you made him feel that way, and you look around the office just thinking about how unprofessional this all is. “König, when would you like your next session?” You dismissed what he said earlier, you just need to recollect yourself. Your feelings, thoughts and emotions. He just looks at you, quietly.

You walk to the door, and he walks behind you. Each step he took was heavy—and loud, sending shudders throughout your body. He stood behind you, the heat radiating from his body and on to yours.

His right arm reaches out for the doorknob and your heart dropped into a million pieces. God, he knew how to make anyone nervous.

He opens the door for you, and he finds himself out first, but before he does, he says something. “Next week, Friday.” He states, and then walks out of your office.

You take deep breaths, like you’ve been choked and you’ve lost all oxygen. You’ve realized now, just how much König’s little actions made you feel hundreds of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

(…)

König steps foot inside your office. It’s Friday, and what happened the last session felt like it happened yesterday. His mind is all you, it’s all its ever been. Now he will use this opportunity to his dismay. “Hello, König.” You greet professionally, seated on your black chair.

König takes a careful look at you, he misses you immensely although it’s been a week. He noticed your outfit. Your tight black skirt that hugged your curves perfectly, and your white button up accentuating your breasts. He could open your legs wide right then and there and devour you like he hasn’t eaten in days, he’s drooling at the thought.

You turn to speak, and his entire attention shifts to your plump lips. And of course, König’s mind is filled with dirty thoughts. Too lewd to think out loud.

“Is there anything in particular that you would like to discuss today?” Your soft voice made his ears ring, and he couldn’t help the bulge forming in his pants. König wanted to admit that you’ve been on his mind, but he held himself back and contained it. “I’ve just been stressed.” He admits, and it’s true. All the mission stuff had him drained by the second.

“Oh? And why is that?” You questioned, he manspreads on your couch in the office, using the space to sit comfortably. His long legs and big thighs were spread apart, making it a perfect seat for you to sit on, is what he’s thinking. You gulp at the sight in front of you, and he takes his time with his answer.

“I don’t know, honestly. There’s just something new everyday.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

You get up from your seat and prompt yourself next to him. His knees touching yours, and your actions shocked König—just a tad. That’s a lie, it shocked him, a lot.

He wanted to fulfill his fantasies right there, he had you in his sight and reach, but again—containing himself. “Talk to me, König.” You comfort, rubbing small circles on his hand. The action caused him to flinch, but he doesn’t say anything—yet.

After a few seconds, he answers, “I got into a fight with a lieutenant. I’d rather save that for another session.” Groaned König. “Okay, if that makes you comfortable.” You drawl, “how about coming to three sessions in a row? When would you like your next appointment?” You made sure to ask if there was anything else, but to your surprise—there wasn’t.

“Today.” He states sternly, you’re confused. “It’s already today, König?” You trailed off, dissociating at his answer. “I know, Liebe, I want our session to begin today.”

“But we’ve already finished our session for today.” You argued, all that König had contained was finally let out. He grabs his hand and wraps it around your throat, his actions made you let out a loud gasp, and with that—König lifts his mask up and kisses you.

You instinctively kiss him back, aware of how unprofessional this all is, but oddly enough—you didn’t really care.

König groans against your hot mouth, sending vibrations down your entire body. König felt like he was in a dream, finally kissing you didn’t feel real, you tasted too good to be real. He finally has you in his reach, and in his mouth. Your scent overtook his senses, and it drove him right over the edge. He could fall off and die happily, knowing he’s finally tasted you.

You deepen the kiss, and he bit your bottom lip in return, alerting you to open your mouth wider and let him in. He wants to devour you whole and you just let it happen. His tongue finds yours, and there you both are, kissing each other so roughly. His grip on your neck tightens just a little, not too hard, still allowing you to breathe. Though the kiss had you suffocating already.

More, more, more. Is what König says to himself in his mind, but you let go of the kiss. String of saliva leaves his mouth as you let go. Oxygen had left your body entirely, and you’re there gasping for air. You wouldn’t be surprised to see if your lips had been bruised from the rough and deep kiss. You’ve never been kissed like that before, or ever.

The both of you pant, you can’t believe what just happened. You’ve fully realized what he meant earlier, insisting he has another session. This is the session, and you don’t think it’s going to end soon. “Come here.” He ordered, patting his thigh. Your eyes dart to his big thighs, thighs that could crush you if he wanted to.

You did as he said, sitting right down on his right leg, in your point of view—to your left. He holds your waist tightly, balancing you so you don’t fall. Though you’re already holding onto his broad shoulders for support. “Why do you have me like this?” You question, flustered. König loves to see it, to see you flustered even though you never tried to admit it. He had that power.

“Liebe, do you know just how much I crave you? How much I’ve wanted to see you like this…?” he began, “you’re going to do as I say, right?” He asked lowly. You nod, heat rushing throughout your entire body from his needy words. You never knew how much he needed you, and it actually hit you. König, out of all people.

Secretly, you loved that. His desperation made you admire him, it must’ve been so difficult to contain such desires and feelings. Unaware of what he’ll say or do next, you wait. Patiently.

“Ride me, Mein Schatz.” Your mouth gaped open at his words, his fingers dug deep into your skirt, so deep you’re afraid it’ll leave a bruise. “K-König, what?” In disbelief, you stay still. You’ve never done anything of the sort, for fucks sake, you’re a virgin. König doesn’t know that—yet. Though you plan on telling him. And you plan on telling him now.

“I’ve never done this before, I’m a virgin, König.” You murmured lowly, but still loud enough for him to hear. “Oh, meine Prinzessin,” he looks at you like some prized treasure you are. His prized treasure that he wanted to display for the world to see. “Do you want to do this?” He consented, you look at him with eyelids so heavy.

You’re more than sure you want to do this with him, virginity isn’t a game, and you knew that. He knew that too. But you want to give it to König and you’ve already confirmed it before saying anything.

“I…I do.” You cup his face, hidden back underneath his mask. “I can’t go on if you’re not sure, liebe, tell me—do you want to do this?” He repeats his question, and you want to shout at his face the word yes, but you remain calm. “I really do, König. Show me the real you.”

“Want me to show you?” His accent is stronger laced with hunger, pulling you closer to him. He got the affirmation he needed, and you nod in assurance. He grabs your hips at once, and slowly moves them back and forth. Your brows furrow at the feeling of your soaked panties grinding against his rough combat pants. The new feeling had you addicted and König loves to see you fall apart little by little.

His cock ached and pressed harder against his pants as your hands grip onto his broad shoulder, tighter. The friction from his pants and your grinding made you let out a moan you didn’t know you were capable of making. A moan König could only hear in his head, except it became reality, and König was trapped in a haze. He saw the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your lips pout as he helped you ride it out.

“So beautiful.” He huffs, pulling you back and forth even faster. You could feel your stomach twist into knots, alerting you that your orgasm is near, but riding against his thigh wasn’t enough. You needed more. “K-König…please.” You whimpered out, he tilts his head, getting the hint.

“Please what? Mein Schatz?” It felt like he was teasing you, but maybe he just needs to know what you’re saying please for. “Touch me.” You demand, desperately needing his rough and big fingers to touch you. “Ohhh darling, you don’t have to ask me twice.” He does just as you asked, rubbing slow circles with the pad of his thumb on your clothed cunt. He smiled under his mask at how wet you are.

The bundle of nerves formed tightly, forming at the very pit of your stomach. Flames ran through your veins and your body burned with lust. You found it difficult to hold his gaze as your orgasm is nearing. “You’re too good to me, liebe, you’re doing so good.” He praised, his eyes focused on your motions and he could just come at the sight of that. “K-König! I’m going to-“ he interrupts you, grabbing your hips with both of his hands and moves you back and forth impossibly faster.

“Come, schön, be a good fucking girl for me and let it out. I know you can do it.” He grunts, talking you through it. His praising and words of encouragement did just enough for you to reach your high. It felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, and your legs shook. It was all too much to bare, and you still rode it out.

“Attagirl, wasn’t so hard now was it, meine Liebe?” He appeals, holding your waist still as you tried to regain every last bit of dignity left with each inhale and exhale. “You think we’re done yet? Oh love, we’re just getting started.”

——

NOTE: This is just part 1 peeps, I honestly thought it was getting a bit too long (imo) so I thought—hey—why not turn this into a mini series? Hehe. Stay tuned for part 2, coming very soon. Also, if you’d like to be in my tag list, it’d be my pleasure. Just let me know in the comments. (Btw, English is definitely not my first language…so if there are any grammatical errors and mistakes, please let me know in the comments so I can fix them.)

:)

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[answer2jeff]

break-up, make-up.

song : post break-up sex

warnings : fem!reader, porn with some plot, smut, unprotected piv, make-up sex, lip being needy, mentions of alcohol and smoking (tobacco), reader has scumbag friends, sad pathetic banging, intentional lowercase. (lip and reader are 18.)

word count: 3,707

authors note: this is only like my 2nd time writing smut.......

your abdomen felt cold pressed against the marble of your bathroom counter. pulling at the skin of your face, running your fingers through your messy hair, and picking yourself apart in the mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet. you didn't feel like yourself. you swung the cabinet open, reaching for a hard candy eyeshadow pallet, a black eye pencil so old the label had rubbed off, and a mauve-brownish lip liner.

your phone buzzed against your pocket. you groaned, dropping your products into the sink before snatching it from the depths of your jeans.

773-642-3719: party @ ashleys 2night. u coming? 2:36pm.

it must've been karina. ever since you gave her your number on your break during your waitressing shift at patsy's, she'd been trying to drag you out of the house. you couldn't blame her. mopey from your breakup, picking up as many hours as possible, spending your free time collecting coupons for shopping sprees you'd never go on to spend money you didn't have, she was sick of you ruining the atmosphere everywhere you went.

or, wherever you didn't go, more accurately.

"he's just a guy. just—go fuck someone else! who cares if he's a dick just like him. focus on the task at hand: getting laid," she told you, licking strawberry jam from the tip of her middle finger.

"i'm just gonna miss him more," you sighed, watching the clock tick as your 15 minutes of what was supposed to be relaxing free time, was going to waste.

"*** ******** is not some kind of sex god, okay? the sex was good. you can find good sex anywhere."

"whatever."

he was more than that. he was more than the sex. he was the kisses in the early mornings where you'd wake up with him in your sheets. he was the whispers of 'you're so beautiful,' and 'i love you,' whenever you doubted yourself. he was the shitty jokes and late night walks, splitting cigarettes and dabbling in gossip. he was your best friend.

but he was also the hands that slammed your bedroom door. he was also the alcohol on his breath. he was also the words that told you to 'get your shit together.' he was also the broken promises he could never keep.

but he was more than anything karina saw him as.

i'll be there :) 2:38pm.

773-642-3719: bring some1 cute with u! 2:40pm.

you stared blankly at her text.

👍 2:42pm.

bring someone with me? who the hell would i bring? daniel's working tonight. and he's not cute. well—he's not ugly, but...no. stop. just drop it. you don't need to bring a guy with you. jesus. you don't need anyone. relax.

i'm here. 12:37am.

you knocked about 3 times before a lanky, raven haired boy with puke all over his title fight t-shirt swung the door open. you looked past his shoulder to see a group of familiar faces behind him.

"please tell me that's not h—" a short blonde girl groaned before a redhead, eliza, butted in.

"there she is!" she yelled, calling karina over.

the warm glow of the living room complimented the post-punk rock that rang through the poster filled walls of ashley's house. you were met with waves from your friends. karina beamed and quickly made her way over to the front door to greet you. her chunky sandals boomed against the hardwood floor, her red solo cup nearly falling out of her hand.

"you made it!" she smiled, taking your hand and dragging you into the makeshift frat house, slamming the front door behind you. the atmosphere was uncomfortably warm. probably due to everyone sweating their asses off from drunkenly dancing and grinding on each other.

"uh, yeah—i'm kinda late. sorry."

"fashionably late," she corrected you as you followed her through dozens of other girls and into the kitchen.

you analyzed the space. you knew a couple people here, either from work or highschool, since it was the summer after senior graduation, but there were plenty of girls and guys you'd never seen in your life. for the first time in months, meeting new people was sickening. immediately reaching for the bottle of tito's to help ease your mind, eliza stopped you. she furrowed her strawberry blonde eyebrows at you, shaking her head.

"uh-uh. you're the designated driver, sweetie. we can't have you drunk, too!"

your mouth gaped open in disbelief. were you seriously dragged here just to play babysitter?

"but there's plenty else to do," karina peaked her head out of the kitchen and eyeing a couple of her friends that resided on the couch, beer bottles in hand. you couldn't help but turn your head to look, too.

"mikey's got weed," she pointed to a shirtless brunette, "and i think destiny brought some—fuckin, i don't know, xanax to cool your nerves."

you nodded, lips pulled tight in a painfully neutral expression that read 'okay' and 'fuck you i hope you break every bone in your body and live your life as a spiritless vegetable,' at the same time. your arms were crossed against your chest, your body pretty much caving in at the amount of sheer embarrassment that coursed through you.

"since you're, y'know, kinda losing it," eliza wiped the corner of her mouth where whiskey-soda had been dripping from it, pointing her finger at you. her messy red nail polish on healthy long nails taunted you.

you felt like a wad of pink chewing gum: slammed between teeth and tongue just to be spit out and drenched in spit. but you weren't useless enough to be thrown away. just stuck under a table for some gross, unsanitary bitch to pick it up again and stick it right back in her gossipy mouth. cursing yourself for being here, you stormed out of the kitchen and made your way toward the back porch.

if you left, you'd be a prude. but if you stayed and drank, kissing strangers and making up stories filled with little white lies, you'd be deemed a slut for the rest of the summer. your last choice was to stick around, being that annoying girl who smoked cigarettes outside of the party to freak people out.

and so, you did. you hung around outside, watching people come in and out. occasionally, someone would stop to ask if you were alright, if you wanted a drink, or just someone to talk to. you politely declined every time. almost like you were waiting for some other opportunity to spring up in front of you.

"hey," a voice behind you rasped.

it startled you. it was painfully familiar. so much it made your heart drop to your empty stomach. you turned yourself around, eyes met with blue orbs that stared directly into you.

there he was. lip. your lip.

except he wasn't yours. not here. not now. possibly not ever.

"oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me, gallagher."

your hands grabbed onto the wooden railing of the porch steps. hoisting yourself up, you brushed off any dirt that smeared onto your dark blue jeans. your eyes were glued to the ground as you tried to swiftly move past him the moment you could stand up.

"no, c'mon—" he pleaded, rolling his eyes and following you back into the house. he hadn't had a sip of booze. for once, his mind was completely in the clear.

eliza and karina sat on the kitchen counter, their shoulders pressed together while shared a beer bottle, possibly their 6th or 7th of the night. you seriously wondered what they even talked about. they didn't have much in common other than the fact that they both liked reeking havoc on innocent people. and you.

"did one of you fucking invite him?" you spat, stepping just a foot away from the two of them snatching the beer bottle from karina's hand, you held it tightly in your fist, your fingertips turning pink at the brute force.

"lip? yeah, i did! wait, did you guys break up, or something?" eliza laughed, twirling a red curl around her finger while she gave an obnoxious wave to lip as he stood behind you. he bit the inside of his cheek, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and balled into enraged fists.

your jaw had been nailed to the floor at this point. karina looked down at the ground in shame. she didn't care about your 'healing' or 'getting laid.' all she cared about was stirring shit. it was such a middle school stunt for a 19 year old girl to pull. finally snapping, you slammed the beer bottle onto the ground, watching it shatter into a million pieces. clenching your teeth, you looked back up to see the disturbed expressions on your 'friends' faces. they weren't allowed to make this decision for you. you would decide if and when you were ready to act like a normal fucking person around lip.

a boyfriend wasn't the only thing you lost. you lost a friend, a piece of yourself.

hot tears pricked at your waterline. you spun back around and darted towards the front door. shoving through people, your hands grabbing onto their arms and not-so-gently moving them out of your path. you could feel lip's footsteps behind you, his pathetic whines calling out for your name; calling out for his friend ex-girlfriend.

"hey, would you just fucking talk to me? please?"

you finally stopped, taking a deep breath and letting the salty tears that streamed down your face smudge your mascara before turning to face him. the angry knit of his brows from earlier was gone. his face relaxed, a breath of relief escaping his mouth when he could finally just look at you. he took in the sight of your tears, your swollen lips, your shoulders that tensed under your jacket, the way your jaw trembled when you cried.

"i don't wanna talk," you muttered as you shook your head, "i just—i don't wanna talk here. can we go upstairs, or something?"

you stared back, half of your bottom lip barred behind your teeth, analyzing every inch of him. the way his hair that ended at the middle of his ear had grown a bit too thick, the line that formed between his chin and his lower lip when he frowned, his short eyebrows, how prominent his philtrum was, and his blue eyes that caught your attention the day you met in 10th grade chemistry. you missed the way the top row of his small teeth would beam whenever he laughed.

"yeah," lip nodded, "we don't have to be down here, alright? c'mon," he reached for your hand, tilting his head as he tried to stare into you.

you worried about forgetting the feeling of his hands gently caressing your face, rubbing your back when he held you close, twirling your hair around his fingers, when his palms would indent the plush of your thighs, or when he'd grab onto your waist when you kissed him.

there was no way you'd ever forget now.

"jesus, lip—" you huffed through open-mouthed kisses, your fingertips digging into the flesh of his shoulders. the cold wall against your warm back made you shiver once he tore your shirt off from over your head, along with the jacket he zipped down and gently slipped it off from your arms as he trailed kisses from your jawline to your collarbones.

in the most needy, starved way possible, you tugged at his cotton t-shirt. almost as if he'd read your mind, despite him being on a completely different planet, he pulled away from your mouth and peeled his grey t-shirt off with the same hands that rubbed those fucking circles against your hips the way he always did when he kissed you again.

some things just never changed.

your fingertips pressed against his bare abdomen until they made their way up to his chest. you missed seeing that little triangle tattoo that tyler gave him in the school bathroom. kissing it, tracing your fingernails around the perimeter, occasionally biting and soothing the mark with your lips.

"fuck this stupid party," he scoffed, his hand getting a hold of your chin and tilting your head back up to face him. you looked into him through your lashes, lids low with desire. the look in your eyes ruined him.

"yeah. fuck it."

you glanced at his lips and back into his eyes, just for him to smash his mouth into yours again. it was a mess of teeth and tongue while you entangled your hands in his hair.

"shit—" lip detached himself from your mouth to fill his lungs with hair that smelled like your perfume and sex.

his hands cradled your face so gently it was like you'd break if he ever dared to let go. your hands moved over the groves of his arms and up to his shoulders over and over again, the feeling of soft, supple skin never getting old.

"c'mere, pretty girl," lip breathed against your ear, his hand wrapping your neck gently.

he desperately began sucking and biting the tender skin, coming back to comfort it with pecks and blows of fast, cool air. tuffs of curly blonde hair tickled your jawline every time. his veiny hands roamed down the sides of your torso, never traveling up, until you tried removing your bra yourself. lip shook his head, removing his hands from your hips and reaching behind you to unclip the uncomfortable fabric while you clung to his shoulders for support.

"lip—" you protested, slowly growing impatient.

"i got it, baby," he whispered, kissing your shoulder before carefully slipping the straps over your shoulders and off of your body. that pet name hadn't bounced off of his tongue and rang through your ears in weeks.

once he tossed the bra to the floor, your body relaxed as lip backed away just an inch or two to admire you. he smiled, teeth and all. maybe he really did miss you. your hands rested on his shoulders, slowly backing him up towards the bed of the guest room.

funny. you swore what you and lip had was more than the sex. and it was. you weren't lying about that. but my god, the crave for his skin against yours was unbearable. flashes of your hookups projected over your head. the moans that erupted from you while you tugged on his blonde curls for dear life as he pounded into your weeping cunt—you missed all of it.

"i can't believe you even showed up here," you muttered, using the pads of your fingertips to shove lip onto the soft mattress, silk sheets feeling cold against his back. he glared at you through furrowed brows, propping himself up on his elbows. but his expression softened when he saw you unbuttoning your jeans, zipping the fly down and hastily kicking them off.

"me? you—" he let out a shaky breath, gnawing at the inside of his mouth and sitting up right, "you haven't been out of the house for days."

he stared down at the white lacy underwear you wore, fighting the urge to get up and tear them down your ass until they fell at your ankles.

"and how the hell would you know that?"

you raised your eyebrows, signaling to lip to fall back again so you could reveal the aching bulge in his pants. that same bright smile of excitement made your stomach stir as you were unbuttoning and unzipping the denim that imprisoned his cock.

"been spyin' on you a little bit," he joked, but he wasn't totally kidding. for the past week and a half, he'd been taking 'shortcuts' to get to any destination just so he could briefly stop in front of your place. just to see if you'd ever come out and coincidentally run into him. he even started going to your usual hangout spots to see if you'd turn up.

but you never did. him even going to this party was solely based on the off chance that you might've been here. possibly with a new guy. but you weren't. you were alone. just like he often was.

"how sweet," you teased, tracing the tattoo on his chest. caving into your urges, you tilted your head lower to pet it with a kiss, your eyes closed before trailing your lips back up to his own. he huffed through his nose, laughing at your gesture. it was cute. you were cute. lips hands moved down to your hips, his fingers slipping underneath the waist band of your panties. that little puddle of arousal shining through the white fabric of your thong only egged lip on. he looked into your eyes for permission, not wasting any time to help you remove them the moment you nodded your head.

letting him pull them down the plush of your thighs, you turned just enough where you could slip them past your calf's where they pooled at your feet before finally slipping off onto the floor. a delicate hand reached to pull down the fabric of his boxers, his leaking, pink tip practically making you drool the moment his cock sprung out. the heat and humidity of the room making the thick vein down the side of his length twitch just the slightest. you felt a yearning heat build up in your core as you wiggled your hips closer.

"now," you reached between your thighs to coil your fingers round lip's hardening cock, "i need you to fuck me like you haven't gotten laid in a thousand years."

"that's pretty much what it's felt like." lip mumbled so quietly you barely caught it. he looked up at you, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before he used his thumb to caress your cheek.

"wait, you—you haven't been with anyone else?"

lip paused, realizing he admitted to not seeing a single other person since you broke up. it almost surprised you that you weren't the only one who was sex deprived.

"fuck would that do? bring you back?" he tried to laugh, accidentally gasping at the feeling of your wet cunt brushing past his throbbing dick. you noticed this, smiling back at him and slowly trying to position yourself perfectly.

"well, you have me now."

those words were all it took. with one swift motion, lip finally caught a grip on the fat of your hips, guiding you gently down his cock, your wetness making a makeshift lubricant.

"always so fuckin' wet for me," lip praised, smiling at the sight of how easily he filled you up to the brim of your cervix. watching your face contort from slight discomfort and into full bliss was his fucking kryptonite. you gasped, the immediate stuffed feeling hitting your stomach. lip winced at the tight sensation, already cursing under his raspy breath and whispering incoherent praises. "so—so fuckin' tigh...fu–ck" you gave him some time to adjust, propping your hands behind you so you could grind against him just right.

lip began rolling your hips back and forth, wet sounds of sex filling up the room. whimpers of "fuck, yes lip," and "just like that," only made his sexual frustration worse.

"'missed you so fuckin' much, baby. shit—you make me feel amazing. so, so fuckin' good." his hands dig deeper into your hips, making their way to your ass to squeeze and occasionally slap the flesh. you flinched with a moan, his dick hitting your gummy walls at a slightly different angle each time.

"m—fuck, missed you too, lip. you have no idea," your lungs begged for air, your tits bouncing slightly at the constant movement of your hips as you chased your high. you looked down at him, tears of arousal filling up your hooded eyes. lip marveled at the sight of your pleasure, inching closer and closer to cumming inside of you right then and there—but he had to savor this. grunting

how could he have waited this long to make amends with you? his groans felt like they practically echoed and bounced off of the walls. he needed to focus on your needs tonight. he pried between your crotchets, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing sloppy, rough circles against the bundle of nerves.

"slower, hun," you cooed, moving up and down his cock to keep his tip pounding right into your g-spot every time. the idea of staying quiet had never been this hard—but the music and shouting from downstairs was bound to cover for the two of you. lip nodded his head, slowing down his pace and gently grinding his hips into yours as his thumb remained at work.

after the few moments of pure bliss, moans and cries of lip's name coming from you that he wished would last an eternity, he felt the knot in his stomach tighten. similarly, you started forcefully catching your breath as you stared up at the ceiling. your head went foggy, every word that fell out of your mouth turning into messy gibberish. lip could tell you were close, but he wasn't quite ready to give up.

"i don't think i'm gonna last any longer," lip clenched his teeth, his hand aching from prioritizing your pleasure while his thrusts became sloppier and sloppier. he'd been fucked out without even finishing a single time.

"me neither—"

desperately trying to get a hold of yourself, your body gave out. your thighs began to shake, your cunt contracting. trying to muffle your shrieks, you cupped a hand over your saliva-slick mouth. your hips moved as fast as you could ever dreamed was possible, forcing you to grab onto lip's shoulder blades for support. lip could literally see his dick rolling up and down your stomach as he moaned your name, his eyes screwed shut. finally, just at the very last second, he took every bit of strength left in his body to flip you over, your back pressed against the sheets while you reached your climax. he pulled out with a groan, white ropes of sticky cum coating your lower stomach and the space right under your tits.

makeup sex was not how you envisioned this night would go. but how could you complain?

[inbarfink]

In general, I feel like Zim’s panic and paranoia are very important aspects of his character that sadly often get overlooked and underutilized in the fandom. I feel like some folks just kinda go ‘oh, well, Zim thinks he is the greatest and most fearsome Invader in the universe so obviously he is certain that he can beat every obstacle’ when… I mean, sometimes he is like this - but some of Zim’s most iconic moments are powered by his fear and anxieties about failure.

So many of Zim’s schemes are motivated by an assumption that Humans are a lot smarter and more observant than they actually are. 

Or even just scarier and more dangerous.

He probably would have conquered the planet in a day if he just directly pulled all of the technology he had at his disposal and marched his way publicly to President Land. But he is just so obsessed with the idea that the Enemy is basically constantly one second away from uncovering him that he just wastes his time on pointless ‘infiltration’ and ludicrously overcomplicated ideas of how to ‘subtly’ take over or weaken the Earth’s defenses via fast-food or the Skool Student Council or Dookie. 

I mean, that is basically Duty!GIR’s big complaint about Zim in ‘GIR Goes Crazy and Stuff’. His progress has been stupid, because he’s been far too Stupidly Subtle about information gathering and world conquest and information gathering for the purpose of world conquest. When literally just heading to the public library and sucking out people’s brains is actually incredibly effective and has no real consequences. 

‘Walk for Your Lives’ is another excellent example of how Zim’s extreme ego and extreme anxiety go together. Zim is driven entirely by a totally made-up arbitrary ticking clock revolving around the idea that the Tallests WILL call again soon and so he MUST get rid of the Time Explosion NOW.

But he’s overconfident in the sense that he is certain that the solution he comes up with is Actually Good and won’t just make everything worse even as literally everyone around tells him it would. 

Enter the Florpus’ plot kicks off with a very similar scenario. Zim just comes up with a Made-Up Deadline and a Made-Up Consequence for ‘forgetting Phase 2’ and just starts… stressing himself up with it. 

On one level I think this is like… also a weird result of his Ego. You know, the logic being that if any potential challenge is not 100% effortless for him, Irk’s most amazing and powerful Invader, then it must be a horrible and fearsome threat. If Zim actually fully admitted that Earth is the stupidest, easiest-to-conquer planet in the universe - he would have to admit that failing to conquer this planet of all planets makes him a huge-ass loser. So instead, Zim salvages his own pride by constantly overestimating the humans.

But I also think in general Zim has a lot of anxiety and nervous energy. Maybe just from all the insecurities and failures he’s trying to deny and ignore all the time? And he’s just channeling them into the only channels he can consciously acknowledge - worrying about his enemies. 

[villainofmyownstory]

Blurry

masterlist

next ->

pairing: exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

summary: You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

tags: afab reader, hurt, ex lovers, ex-husband, recollection of death, loss of memory , ambiguous/open ending

1.6 k words

author's note: Once I wrote some random thoughts about our gorgeous captain. Today I've put it all together. Comments welcome, let me know if it's worth writing another part, because I don't know what to think. I guess I like sad stories…. and can't get the ex-husband plot out of my mind. Sorry not sorry <3

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The clock ticked quietly somewhere in the distance, deep in the corridor, steadily, rhythmically. The water in the kitchen tap dripped, quietly reminding you that you need to change the gasket but also to fix some other things in the flat. Even though you moved here a few months ago, you still don't feel at home. You feel uncomfortable. Like a guest in a hotel. All the objects seemed foreign, belonging to someone else. Or maybe nobody's. Everything has been renovated, painted, bought and new. Just for you.

Cat curled up in a ball, lies next to you on a small red sofa. And in front of you on a small, vintage coffee table steams warm coffee. Another one that day. The only meal for many weeks. You rub your eyes, even though no more tears have appeared in them for days. It still burns you and you feel this tingling under your eyelids. Something like fine sand, irritating your eyeballs and hurting the soft delicate flesh of your eyelids. You try to take it in stride. On days like these, weekends, holidays, when you are left alone in a small flat. You fall apart into millions of pieces. Alone. The pain under your ribs, the pressure in your sternum, your throat squeezed like in a vice. Memories haunt you at every step. A constant battle with the past, something you beg for every sleepless night to finally go away. To be finally erased. You should burn the photos, throw away the gifts. Bury the past at last. To move on. After all, this is what you wanted. A lot of time fighting, trying. Days of sweat shed, of anger, of trying again and again. And in the end, powerlessness.

Sunk in your thoughts, you stare, with heavy eyelids, at the empty space under the TV. Once, in another warm home, the shelf was filled with DVDs of one's favourite films. Classic.

A familiar sound interrupts your gloomy rush of thoughts. Looking at the phone screen, you smile slightly. Your boys have been calling every day. ‘Hi Johnny’ You say with a grunt, trying to chase away the sad thoughts, not letting him know that you are tormenting yourself with the past again.

You should not agree. The paperwork you signed, and the arrangements in the documents, were approved, many months ago. That was not the deal. This is not how you discussed the contract. This is not why you are sitting here now. Yet, you can't say no to them. Not after all they've given up their lives, made sacrifices and…

Sitting in an old rusty cheap car. In your familiar driveway, in this new, friendly neighbourhood. You hesitate to get out. Your hands are sweaty, in a firm grip on the worn-out steering wheel. So you give yourself a few minutes to calm down. You never wanted to show them, him, that you were continuing to suffer badly. That you haven't really moved on.

You have to be tough.

As the door finally slams shut behind you with a quiet click, the same scent reaches your nostrils once again. Earthy and heavy from the cigars and the cherry wood burning in the fireplace, a slightly sweet smoke with a subtle fruity aftertaste, with a slight bitter note. A scent so familiar, so close. But it's not your scent. The resignation has been signed. The decision had been made. There was no going back. Johnny stands in front of you looking at you apologetically. ‘Sure I understand. Duty calls.’ You say gently squeezing his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. Or maybe you want to convince yourself that you're not angry. There's no problem. Some kind of confirmation that it's not their fault you have to be here again. That you are standing in this big modern house, from a dream project . In the place that was supposed to be your home.

Of course boys hired 24/7 nursing. But also they themselves, his squad soldiers, alternated days and nights here. They practically lived here. So if the medical caretaker went for a few days' holiday and the three men had to go on a sudden urgent mission for a few days. It was your job to be here and help. You couldn't let them down. You could not say no. You could not answer the phone. Pretend it doesn't concern you. You had to be here. You had to be strong. For him.

When you are finally left alone in the hallway and the big car disappears around the corner. You feel that hole in your heart, opening up again. Those missing pieces to fill it. They are just behind a thin, wall. A couple of steps. A few seconds.

When you finally stand in the large room, as usual, dark curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor, covering the terraced windows. The semi-darkness of the room has always accompanied him when he watches movies. You stare at his profile illuminated by artificial television light. Despite the years spent in the army, the many litres of blood shed, the many scars on his body. He continued to watch the same films. War movies, classics. The screams and gunshots accompanied him since he opened his eyes and when he closed them. It was already burned into his mind. Written into his gut. It's just a shame that this one fucking wound, made him forget. He forgot about you. ‘Hi.’ You say uncertainly standing in the corner of the couch. You can't look at him.

You don't want to see the ocean blue of his irises, the wrinkles around his eyes. The slightly grey hair. The little freckle on his nose. The fidgety trimmed beard - which his boys were now taking care of. ‘Oh, mornin’ ‘ His voice seems even deeper to you, slightly hoarse. Perhaps already stranger. ‘How are you feeling today. Captain?’ You spit out the last word like a poisonous snake. You want to say something completely different. To shout what you said to him every night. Every morning intertwined when you were here, together. Alone. ‘You don't have to be so official, ma'am. I'm out of the army.’ John is gallant as ever. It's the same every damn time. Ma'am, lady. Miss. He's never said your name since that day. Forgotten. That hole in your heart, never to be filled by his pieces again.

The conversation goes on as usual, John again thinking you are just another medical assistant employed by his former teammates. Brothers in arms. Brothers in war. Brothers in the last of the battles. You want to shout to him how much you hate him, how much you despise him. How much it aches you. How much it hurts you that he doesn't remember anything. A bloody mission. Yet, as usual, you sit and listen once again to the same questions, the stories. As if you've turned on that worst episode of your favourite show again. The last one.

Every time he leaves. During every time he was away. On every such occasion. You were ready for the funeral. The black dress continued to hang in that wardrobe, a few rooms away.

Perhaps it would have been better if it had simply been buried six feet underground. In an oak dark box. Cold and with an equally empty head about you. Maybe it would be easier for you that way. You've already said goodbye to one light casket with his last name on it. Because that hole in your heart was much bigger than the missing fragments of your husband, ex-husband.

For a longer monologue, more memories, of his past work. Of his previous life. What you counted as ‘before’. Because what was ‘after’ was a blur. No matter. John stares at you, finally taking his eyes off the TV. The end credits move lazily across the large TV screen. You smile slightly when your gazes finally meet. He is handsome still. Maybe even more beautiful than you remembered him. It would seem that the man's calm face does not hide his wounded, hollow mind.

Physically he looks maybe even better than during his time in the army. In fact, better than at the time of your marriage. Unwittingly the corners of your mouth gently lift up. Doubtless Simon has been training with him, the hard workouts and the proper diet prepared by the new Captain are yielding great results. A well-deserved successor. A plain red t-shirt lightly framed John's broad, muscular shoulders. Grey casual sweatpants once too loose were now gently stretched around his massive thighs.

You don't have the strength to explain to him once again who you are. So when he once again addresses you as a total stranger you don't react. You wanted so badly to climb on his thighs, to punch him in the chest, maybe even scratch him. To make him feel some kind of pain at least for a moment, that thing you feel non-stop, something to bring you two together again. Feel his heart beat faster, and enter his mind, scratch out every shadowy particle. To brighten and put your memories there. Ours.

Nothing in this house resembles that life anymore. There are no pictures here. There are no flowers. There is no more laughter and joyful banter. No more singing and quiet murmurs of delight. The three of you are gone.

Finally, as you lower your gaze to his hands, which hesitantly stroke the fabric of the armchair. The image is blurred. Finally, tears well up in your eyes. You can no longer see a trace of the ring. No lighter stripe stands out on the slightly tanned skin. There is no faint hollow in the fleshy part of his worked-up ring finger. Although everything is a blur. The gold glistens gently reflecting the soft light of the television. The object that was such an important symbol. A vow. A promise. As if playfully winking at you.

[shinynewboots]

The Alchemy: Adam x AFAB Morningstar!reader Part 2

AN: Hello all! Thank you so much for all the love and support you have given this story!! Once again want to give a special shoutout to @jennieyeager for the wonderful prompt! I do apologize for the wait. I had a lot of different directions I wanted to go and this was the final project. With that being said:

Confession time: I definitely think this is going to be longer than 4 parts! I kept trying to condense this as best I could but these two idiots really took the plot and ran with it so I hope y'all are ready!

Warnings: 18+ eventually, somewhat dubious consent, language, Adam-typical misogyny

Part 1

The clock on your arm was ticking quickly, time moving at a faster pace than you could fathom. You had made the executive decision to not tell Charlie about your arrangement with Adam until it was too late for her to stop it. A cowardly move, perhaps, but you knew she would try and talk you out of it if she sensed even the smallest hint of hesitation in your decision. 

And there was some hesitation. To leave everything you had ever known to marry this man who had only ever been the boogie man of your nightmares? But you thought of Charlie and her mission and dreams and you knew the answer could only ever be yes. 

There was another part of you, a part that you weren’t completely ready to acknowledge, that was curious and intrigued. No one ever chose you first. Ever. And yet this mythic being upon first glance knew that he wanted you. Now maybe it was the slight resemblance you bore to your mother or desire for his weird revenge but it was still you that he had chosen. That had to mean something, right?

So you left a note for Charlie to find once she finally realized you were missing. 

Charlie,

I’m okay. Please don’t come after me. I went with Adam, the leader of the exorcists. He promised in exchange for me, he would stop the exterminations and give your hotel a shot. Please, Char, I had to do this for you. For us. For…everyone. Please don’t tell Dad, though I doubt he would answer your calls anyway. Please don’t do anything rash. I will try and contact you when I can. I love you. Y/N.

The embassy looked more foreboding than it ever had. The building almost looked like an eyesore along the skyline. Almost too perfect to be seen amongst the squabble of Hell. You glanced down at your watch: 0:05.

Five minutes until your life changed forever. 

You trekked through the embassy, the rooms were just as quiet and dark as when you and Charlie were here only 24 hours earlier. You finally made it back to the meeting room where you had met Adam originally. Light streamed through the cracks in the door and you knew he was there. Another glance down at your watch: 0:02. 

There was no use in waiting for the clock to strike midnight. For your carriage to turn into a pumpkin. It was inevitable, so why put it off? Sighing, you opened the door. 

You looked around the room and only saw Adam, his feet on the table, and leaned back in one of the boardroom chairs, a golden guitar in his hands.. He wasn’t wearing his mask so you got a good view of his human features. He also wasn’t wearing his white and purple robe and instead wore a simple black cotton t-shirt and blue jeans. 

There was no one else present, not even his loyal exorcist from the first meeting. Adam was strumming the guitar, his eyes closed, and his expression was peaceful. 

You glanced down at your watch. 0:01.

You cleared your throat to alert Adam of your presence. The gentle melodies from the guitar came to an abrupt stop and you were suddenly face to face with Adam, who had flown to you with such a speed that you still couldn’t wrap your head around. 

“Hey Babe, good choice.” He said, smirking and taking in your appearance. You found your eyes drawn to his lips and the memory of his smoldering kiss only 24 hours early. My, how much can change. Adam seemed to notice because his smirk became a hungry grin and revealed to you his sharp canines. You found yourself so distracted that you missed his question.

“Hard Candy?” He asked again, holding a small wrapped cherry-hard candy in your line of sight. You looked at him, your eyebrows scrunched. 

“Uh, sure. It’s not poison, is it?” You joked, giving a very Charlie-esque awkward smile. 

“Nah, babe. It's for the travel. You ever portal-traveled before?”

You shook your head. 

“Thought so. Don’t want you puking on me or anything once we get there. This should help.”

You nodded and went to grab the candy from his hand. He had other ideas. He unwrapped the candy himself and held it out in front of your lips. You involuntarily took in a deep breath and could once more taste his kiss from even the subtle scent of the candy. 

“Open,” He whispered and you did just that. He placed the cherry candy on your tongue and it took everything in you not to unravel. To forget your arrangement and to try and find out if his kiss was just as sweet and flavorful as the hard candy that now sat on your tongue. Instead, you chose to swirl the candy in your mouth, the juices emitting their pleasant sweet tang. 

“Thanks,” You breathed out, not trusting yourself with any more expression of language than that measly word. 

“It’s fucking good, right?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, wouldn’t expect anything less from a candy from heaven.”

Adam shook his head. “Nah, that's not from Heaven. They don’t get the cherry flavor right. That’s from Earth.” 

“Oh,” You said lamely, trying to locate this special cherry flavor Adam seemed to enjoy. You wouldn’t call yourself a candy connoisseur but at least now you knew one more thing about your soon-to-be husband: His hard candy preference. 

“You ready to go?” Adam asked, holding out his large hand for your grab. 

“You promise that you’re going to stop the exterminations? And give my sister’s hotel a shot at redeeming sinners?” You asked, just needing one last verbal confirmation that you weren’t making a mistake. You could have tried to hold him to a deal but he was an angel. An angel, who despite being a villain in your parent’s history, had done nothing to conceal his true intentions as far as you knew. And you always felt icky making deals. The idea of owning a soul? Could you even own an angel’s soul?

Adam grinned in a way that could only be described as shark-like, his canines glittering in the light. He held a hand over his heart as if to further prove sincerity. “I promise to do everything in my power to stop the exterminations and give your sister’s stupid hotel a shot.”

You breathed a deep sigh and nodded. You gave him your hand and he squeezed it in a surprisingly gentle manner. His hand was calloused, surprising you as you thought all heavenly things were perfect. But his hand was rough and weathered and worked (especially his fingers, which you attributed to his years of guitar). 

A portal suddenly opened in the wall and you got your first glimpse at the Pearly Gates of Heaven. It was even more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. A piece of your heart began to ache. Charlie should be here to see this.

Adam pulled you forward. 

“Close your eyes,” He whispered, his mouth dangerously close to your ear and warm breath tickling you. “And hold on to me.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and a little disappointment that you couldn’t take in the sight before you for even a moment longer. 

“Trust me, the first trip’s the worst.” He said, and suddenly he pulled you to his side. His body was warm and softer than you had imagined. You closed your eyes tight. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you even tighter to his side. You heard the flap of his wings and suddenly you felt weightless as the ground beneath your feet ceased to be. You could feel yourself flying higher and higher until…

You felt a rush of air and a glorious sun shining on your face. You felt as though the universe had taken you by the belly button and was pulling you closer to it. Your stomach began to flip and you were very grateful for the candy, as the flavor was helping to settle your nausea, at least for a little bit. 

The sensation was lessening and you felt your feet hit solid ground. You hesitantly opened your eyes and were immediately met with various cameras shoved in your face.Angels, winners, and Cherubs crowded around you and Adam. Your mouth had run dry and you couldn’t think. Lights flashed and you felt yourself melding closer into Adam’s side.

“PRINCESS! PRINCESS! Care for a comment?”

“Princess! Over here! How did you manage to get Heaven’s most eligible bachelor to lower his standards to a Hell Born like yourself?”

“Hey Fuckers, get the fuck off my lawn!” Adam growled.

“YOU HEARD HIM, FUCK OFF!” You heard someone else yell. You looked over to see the same Exorcist angel (Lute?) that had been with Adam at the meeting yesterday. She had a menacing grin on the face of her mask and had a spear pointed at all the reporters. Adam gave her a nod which she returned (after she speared through a camera cherub was holding). 

 Adam decided to act quickly since Lute could only hold off so many reports and so he used his wing to shield you and make a path up to the house. You mirrored his footsteps, though you couldn’t take in the world around you due to his wing. Finally you made it inside Adam’s house and were able to take a free breath. 

“Fuck,” Adam cursed. “Fuck Babe, I’m sorry. I don’t know how they found out.” 

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could still hear the reporters outside but chose to not let it bother you (well, it would bother you at least a little. You had never been one for the spotlight).

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” You said softly, placing a hand on his arm. He looked over at you with curious eyes and you felt your heart stop. And then you felt yourself accidentally swallow the cherry candy. You immediately began to cough and choke as the candy slid down your windpipe.

Adam’s eyes widened in shock and fear. He ran up behind you and began to push on your stomach in a pitiful attempt at the heimlich maneuver. Fortunately, you weren’t solely reliant on him to save your life, and you coughed up the remaining cherry red candy. A sliver of what it had been when you had been given it early. Really Sexy Princess Morningstar, real sexy.

Adam must have been relieved when you stopped choking, at least enough to make a joke. “Fuck Babe, don’t choke again unless its because of me.”

Ah, there was the asshole you had originally met. You had let his kind, sexy gestures fool, but the asshole was still there. 

You scowled at him and began to look around the house. It was a modest house, the perfect size for one or two people. Cleaner than you expected too. You had honestly expected trash and leftover food to be strewn around the house, but you were pleasantly surprised. 

A sound at the front door caused you to jump and you looked to see Lute entering, an irritated look on her face. Adam walked over to her, his hand up to give her a high-five which she begrudgingly returned.

“Thanks Bitch, I don’t know how those fucking reporters found out.”

“You made a bit of a spectacle of yourself, Sir. Apparently one of the Saints let it slip that you requested the Hell Spawn.” Lute said, eyeing you with disgust. The feeling was mutual and you could feel your demon form bubbling under the surface, your eyes beginning to turn a reddish color.

“Fucking Peter,” Adam scowled. He glanced over at you and seemed to feel the irritation seeping from your pores. “Babe, she doesn’t mean it.” 

“Yes I do.”

“Yes she does.” You said, crossing your arms and stepping closer to Adam. 

You and Lute glared at each other. 

“Okay, okay ladies reel it in. Lute, you’re a real one. I fucking appreciate it. Just let the girls know I won’t be at training for a few days while I get Y/N settled.”

“Of course sir. Hell Spawn.” She said, nodding at Adam and then you. Your eyes narrowed. 

“Bigoted Cunt,” You responded, giving her a just as condescending nod. Lute bristled but one look from Adam and she quietly slipped out the door. 

Adam turned to you, suddenly more sheepish than you had seen him in the past 24 hours. He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “So, uh, I only have 1 bedroom. I mean I have more rooms, I just haven’t had a chance to get more beds or anything. So I put your suitcase in my bedroom.”

You know, this is the part of the story where the main character gets nervous. Worries that her very sexy, very annoying husband-to-be is going to ravish her and take advantage. Her mouth would run dry and her palms would get sweaty. Only one bed? Give me a break. 

But you weren’t the main character in the trashy romance novel and he certainly wasn't the main love interest material. And you could make do with the idea that maybe living in a romance trope. And he seemed sheepish enough that it was genuine. 

So instead of doing as you would if you had been the same person you had been in Hell, only a few hours before, you decided to draw on some newfound confidence. You closed the distance between yourself and Adam and looked up at him, a coy smile on your features. “Lead the way.”

This seemed to him, as his features brightened up considerably and he grabbed your hand to guide you to the bedroom. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach and you could feel your nerve breaking the longer you walked with Adam. 

When you entered his bedroom, you were surprised to find it to be rather plain. Very few features had been added to the space to make it homey aside from a guitar propped against one of the nightstands. Not a picture or painting or any decor to be seen. Like the rest of the house, it was shockingly clean. On the bed, your forgotten suitcase sat. 

“I’ll leave you to get settled. I'll grab some wine or beer or whatever you drink down below.” Adam said, motioning towards you to begin unpacking your suitcase. You smiled at him, feeling as though you were seeing the real Adam already in the few moments of insecurity he had let shine through. 

“Wine is good.” You said. He nodded and made to move towards the door before stopping and turning back to you. He stood in front of you, his golden eyes meeting your own before they looked lower at your lips. Emboldened, you licked your top lip slowly and looked at his own before devilishly looking back at his eyes. 

His large hands cupped your cheeks and suddenly his lips were on yours. Your senses were once again overwhelmed with that delicious taste of cherry hard candy. Feeling more and more impish, you licked the seam between his lips, a soft request. 

Adam responded in kind and opened his mouth, tongue meeting your own and licking in a controlled, hard manner. Your hands found their way into his hair and tangled in his soft brown locks. One of Adam’s hands left your cheeks and snaked its way down to your waist, pulling you closer. His large hand cupped your hip and squeezed with a firm pressure that sent a pleasant chill up your spine. His body felt so warm against your own and you could feel your resolve weakening. 

(But would it be so bad if it did?)

You reluctantly pulled away from him, your lips missing the feel of his against your own. His cheeks were flushed and his golden eyes were bright and alert. 

“I uh, I should unpack,” You whispered, untangling your hands from his hands. Adam nodded, though you weren’t sure he heard you. 

He coughed awkwardly and you tried to avert your eyes when he tried to discreetly ‘adjust’ himself. “I’ll go get the wine.”

“I’ll unpack,” You replied, mentally kicking yourself for the repetition. You nervously brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. Adam nodded once more and left the room, leaving you alone.

You sighed and tried to calm your breathing. You unzipped your suitcase and smiled forlornly at the picture that sat on top of your clothes. It was a picture of you, Charlie and your parents. You and Charlie were children, grinning wildly at the camera. 

You folded the picture so it just showed the two of you. You placed the picture on what appeared to be the unoccupied side of the bed and continued to unpack.

Tags: @jennieyeager @tati-the-fangirl @alastorswifeee @randomgurl2326 @marxo5 @dragovegogrimborn @ella-janehaven @honestlyshamelesskid @miniaturetalent @klorinda @turtle3586 @naniiiii12 @belladonnadeath

[demonicbaby666]

"Are you listening?"

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut 

Words: 3.4k+

Warnings: SMUT (R & E receiving), swearing, top!Emily, bottom/switch!reader, fingering, oral sex, semi-public sex (office sex), tinniest bit of degradation.

Summary: There's not really a plot here, just a bit of office sex fuelled by Emily reprimanding you for not listening in the field/in general.

A/n: As always- apologises for any mistakes. Please do let me know if you catch anything I’ve missed, or if I’ve missed something from the warnings 💜

You were sitting in Emily’s office, receiving an ear full; following up on a suspect alone did not bode well with her and you were feeling and seeing the full brunt of her wrath. She had made a point of not calling the rest of the team in, which you both appreciated and despised her for. It only meant you were alone having to manage your own shame spiral for your ‘insubordination’. Which was, in layman's terms, ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was how low the shirt Emily had conscientiously decided to wear that day. 

When she leant over, hands braced on the desk, it was painstakingly hard not to let your eyes drop just a few inches, she had to know it too because every time you dared to sneak a look south, a faint smirk flickered across her lips. 

“Are you listening?”

You weren’t. 

“Yes. I messed up, you’re pissed off, I won’t do it again.” 

There were quite a few things you could have said that would have got you out of that office a lot faster, and that was not one of them. When you looked into her eyes your stomach dropped, suddenly winding Emily up didn’t seem like such a good idea. 

The whites of her eyes doubled in size, dilated pupils bore down on you, burning two lazer rays right through you. She arched an eyebrow, pressing her lips together, practically huffing steam out of her nose with each breath. Fear, shame and dread were all emotions appropriate for the current situation you’d clearly aggravated, arousal however, was not. 

Emily pushed herself off the desk, circling around until she was barely half a meter away, leaning back, hands crossed, staring at you like a predator to their prey. The silence was deafening, the faint ticking of the clock in time with the thudding of Emily’s shoe against the carpeted floor was driving you mad, each second stretching out for what seemed like hours. 

You were both waiting for something, and you both knew what. She wanted an apology and you wanted out, the two worked hand in hand, yet you sat there, the magic words refusing to come out. There was something else, the fire in her eyes wasn’t just from anger and you needed to know what it was. 

“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” A smirk ghosted over her lips, coffee orbs grew darker, without even knowing it, Emily had baited you - with that elusive smile - into a trap you had no qualms falling into. 

“I do.”

Up on your feet in milliseconds, you surged forward at the same time as Emily, meeting her half way between her desk and the chair you’d previously been perched in. Eager hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you into an embrace you needed no encouragement for, which you showed as you mirrored her enthusiasm, anchoring your hands around her neck, latching them onto each other, leaving her all but trapped in your arms, and you in hers. Two sets of lips found each other, meeting for a kiss that burned through your whole body, faster than should be humanly possible; leaving behind a pile of soot that had already set about dirtying your ‘clean’ record of office affairs.

Sure, you’d stolen a couple looks Emily’s way, she’d never seemed to notice, or if she did, didn’t mind in the least bit. When she’d caught you with your eyes glued to her chest it was hard to reply with anything other than a sheepish shrug and awkward smile - the kind of smile that says, ‘well you caught me, and I don’t exactly know what else to do so I’m going to shrug and pray you don’t report me to HR.’ - that kind of smile.

It was almost impossible to pull away from her lips and think logically, and as her lips continued to what can only be described as brutally attack yours, you allowed yourself two more minutes, vowing once the infernal ticking had reached the ripe number of 120, you’d pull yourself away and deal with the repercussions, preferably by avoiding them entirely. 

Her lips were soft, coffee lingered on her tongue, sweeping the length of your bottom lip, it was soft and polite, nothing you’d expect from an intense heat of the moment kiss, but that’s what it was, slower, softer and gentler; slow enough to serve you a reminder you were nearing a full minute in. 

Racing against time that would soon be forgotten entirely, you let her in, welcoming the strong, nutty, smoky aroma with a minty slide of your tongue against hers. 40 ticks left. The two flavours danced in your mouth, and you’d never tasted anything better, a deep exploration was taking place within the cove of your mouth, every nook being explored, measurements being mentally taken and placed for safe keeping, 20 ticks left. 

A small moan escaped your lips when Emily’s tongue found the roof of your mouth, brushing along small ridges that felt smooth under the pressure of her tongue. A chilling breeze grazed the skin of your hips, then cold fingers slid down the material and back up until they were warmed with the heat you were radiating. The feel of her fingers on your bare skin drowned the whole world out, not a single chime could have penetrated the thick outer wall of fire that was bubbling within you and flowing through the room. 

Minus 10 ticks and hands were aimlessly wandering the planes of your stomach, back and ribs, progressively getting higher and higher. There was next to no air left in your lungs and it was hard to tell whether the shaking of your legs was from oxygen deprivation or the all-consuming urge to take things further. 

Emily’s hand firmly cupped your left breast and all the air lost was suddenly found within one harsh breath in, breaking the kiss. For those few moments you stood in the eye of the storm, different possibilities surrounding you, not having yet consumed you, but taunting you with their presence. Looking into her near blackened eyes, you saw a modicum of emotions swirling in the chocolate pupils, dark tendrils of lust ebbed and darkened the rings, whilst beneath the surface you could see a glimmer of doubt, regret, something else. Then in the blink of an eye it was gone. 

There was barely a slither of brown in the sea of black wanting, the predatorial look boring down once more, working your stomach into knots and sending blood straight to your head. The internal battle ceased and was no more when the silence was broken by Emily. 

“On your knees.” She calmly said, “now.” 

It was almost embarrassing how fast you did as you were told, if it hadn’t been for the soft carpet that lined the floor of Emily’s office, your knees would have shattered, not that it would have stopped you. Looking through your lashes, you saw her standing tall, grinning like a Cheshire cat with a quirked eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden will to obey.  

“Look at that, you can listen.” 

The remark lingered for all of two seconds before you did exactly the opposite, hands darting to her hip of their own accord, ripping the shirt out from the trousers they were neatly tucked into. The shock registering on Emily’s face quickly subsided and any thoughts of interfering disappeared when you brought your lips to freshly exposed skin, peppering a trail of kisses along her stomach, then hip to hip, sucking gently, leaving behind a visual path of red blotches that mapped a course down to where she most needed you. 

A small hum came from above you. Peering up, Emily’s eyes were shut, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, trying - unsuccessfully - to stop any noise from passing through her lips. It was easy to see she was enjoying herself. 

You noted the way she looked, her cheeks were flush, chest rising and falling faster than normal. You were doing this her, hand delivering small kisses that were leaving her powerless and at your mercy. Yet, something niggled away at you, reminding you, you weren’t the one who gave the orders, but what was the harm in testing that theory. 

Feeling more secure in your actions, you pushed on her waist, forcing her to stubble back until she was leaning back on her desk. Shuffling along the floor with her, you continued to work the open space between her hips, moving a hand southward to pop the button of her slacks and pull her zipper down. When she pushed herself off the desk ever so slightly, you took it as an indication to keep going, pulling the trousers down her legs until the material pooled at her ankles, before being swept away to the side, leaving her in just a button up shirt and lacy black underwear. 

“Inside me.” She breathed out, eyes pinned down onto you, “Now.”

“Are you sure?” you dared to ask, whispering over the sound of your own beating heart. 

“Did I stutter?” Her eyes were colder, demanding and she had taken on the familiar tone of unit chief, plucking elements of the role she wanted - the power it gave her - projecting that dominance over every word that danced from her lips, and it was working. 

Her panties quickly joined the discarded trousers on the floor, and you refocussed your attention to the mouth-watering sight in front of you. The smell of her slick arousal flooded all your senses, blinding ever logical thought that once took residence within your mind, all you knew in that moment was Emily, and you wanted all of her. 

Edging closer you ran your tongue through wet folds, quietly moaning into Emily’s core, tangy sweet flavours frolicked and burst to life in your mouth, licking your tastebuds and you knew that you had found your new drug, your new addiction. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking lightly on the delicate bud. Finding a steady pace, you started to switch between sucking and licking, revelling at the small mewls that were being emitted from above you. 

Along with the heavenly symphony of sounds you were pulling from Emily it was the sight of her struggling against her body’s instinct that spurred you on, the heaving of her chest, her teeth brutally holding her kiss stained lips between them, her hips swaying in time with your tongue. Taking one hand off the desk she ran her finger through your hair before latching on tightly, holding you in place. 

“Put your fingers in me.” Emily breathlessly moaned, never taking her eyes off of you whilst you continued to ravish her. Two fingers slithered into Emily; needing no further instruction, you began pumping them in and out at a controlled pace. 

“More.” 

Filling her tight canal, a third finger slipped inside, following in suit and accelerating the pace and rhythm previously set. Your tongue continued to work at her clit, running circles over it faster and faster, fingernails grazed your scalp and the thighs perched either side of your head struggled to hold themselves up, shaking more and more with each lick, with each thrust. 

Using your free hand, you placed Emily’s left thigh over your shoulder. The new position offering a delicious opportunity to curl your fingers and caress her g-spot, toppling her over the edge. Nails clawed into your skin, painfully clasping around your hair, her neck arched, black hair tussled over her back, her hand flying over her mouth in an effort to muffle the roaring moan that was brewing in her throat. 

To anyone who was listening in, it would have just sounded like a loud groan, which wasn't out of the ordinary, all the same, stopped you from pushing Emily into another orgasm. Instead, you opted for slowing down and helping her ride out every ounce of pleasure she could until her fingers released their tight grip and her breathing steadied. 

Once Emily had regained control over herself, running her fingers through her hair, focussing on her breathing, she removed her thigh from your shoulder and leered down at you.

“Up.” 

Fumbling a second too long for Emily’s liking, she gripped your shirt, yanking you up to your feet and flipped you both around. Piles of paper were swept to the side, swaying, and dropping to the floor before hands flipped you around again and slammed your chest down against hard mahogany, everything was happening too fast, stars swam across you line of sight, the room swayed from the sudden dizziness that swarmed your sense of gravity. Cold air hitting your centre anchored you back to the here and down, looking back to see Emily had made swift work of removing your jeans and adding them to the growing pile of discarded clothes.  

“You’re going to keep quiet unless you want someone to come in and see me fucking you on this desk like the dirty girl you are.” 

“I-” 

Cutting you off, the weight of Emily’s upper body pressed against your back, hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“When will you learn to just do as you’re fucking told?” she husked sharply, taking a lobe into her hot mouth and biting down, sending shivers down your spine, and a pool of wetness between your legs. Quiet whimpers echoed through the room when Emily’s lips claimed your neck, salaciously sucking and laving small portions of skin into her mouth, releasing them only to move onto the next. Without warning two fingers pushed deep and hard into you. 

“Oh fuck.” you sobbed out, helplessly trying to keep quiet, when all you wanted was the complete opposite. Mimicking her previous action, your bottom lip wedged itself between two rows of pearly whites, biting down, simultaneously trying to locate the ability to breathe again. 

A hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pushing you further into the desk, and stopping you from following Emily as she steeled her spine and stood upright behind you, fingers still deep inside you, unmoving around your twitching walls. 

“Think you can follow orders?” Emily teased. 

She knew exactly what you wanted, and she knew she had you in the palm of her hands, ready to beg for it, she knew she was the only person with the ability to quench your thirst. You’d have done anything just to feel movement in you, to have your insatiable appetite finally fed with the sound of your own screams echoing in your ears. 

And that is why you said nothing, made no arguments, there was no reason to. She wanted this as much as you did, deep within those brown eyes burned a fire so hot you knew it would eventually come to consume you, there was no point preventing the inevitable - is what you told yourself - eagerly nodding against the desk. 

“Good girl.” 

An instant reward was delivered for your obedience, fingers twisted inside of you, then began pumping hard and fast. Your hips jerked forward, not seeking to get away, instead looking for a hard surface to harbour yourself to, needing to experience every waking moment of this; the full force of each thrust, remember every wave of pleasure that swept over your body and consumed your entire being to the point you thought, only there in that office was where you’d ever know true pleasure. 

Knuckles whitened under the pressured grip you’d forced your hands to take on the edge of the desk. Your breath was coming out in sharp bursts, making it near impossible to take in sufficient amounts of air through your nose. The only option was to pry your lip from your teeth and hope you had the willpower to stop any sounds that threatened to spill from your agape mouth. 

The hand pushing you against the desk set about finding a new home, moving down your back, curling round your torso and slowly working downwards to your clit, where it finally settled, hovering over the small delicate bundle of nerves. 

Her fingers continued to slide in and out, picking up more speed and vigour when they were joined by a third, then a fourth, forcing you to bite down on your arm to stop a scream from alerting the whole office to what exactly was going on. Your hips were grinding back and forth against her fingers until you were writhing beneath her, your whole body on fire teetering on the cusp of your orgasm.

Another wave of pleasure crested over your body when two finger pressed down on your clit, drawing small circles over it, switching tempo with every other slide of her fingers, gradually reaching an earth-shattering speed that had your knees giving out and small cries to bury deep into your skin, skin that now had two crescent shaped bite marked etched into it.  

Your mind was a mess, body out of control, the pressure in your abdomen was at an all-time high, short shaky breaths passed in and out of your nose, some interrupted with small moans breaking and crackling in your throat. You tightened around her, feeling her more than ever, and with three more partially vigorous jabs of Emily’s supple fingers, you folded; silently screaming, reaching the height of your pleasure, there was nothing more to be done other than involuntarily roll your hips backwards, riding out every second of your powerful orgasm. 

With exhaustion weighing heavy on every muscle, you let your body stay slumped on the desk till you found some of the composure you lost whilst riding Emily’s fingers, fucking you from behind within earshot of the people you work with on the daily. 

Unwillingly, you had to admit, there was something precariously arousing about it. A different heat travelled through your body. One that spiralled in your stomach, nibbled away at your pride, you were lying face down on your boss’s desk, half naked, leaking down your thigh, still wanting more. It was all wrong, yet so right. 

The ticking of the clock rang through the silence, hands wrapped around your waist, softer than any touch you had felt before. Gently Emily guided you up, planting her hands firmly on your waist - in case your quivering legs buckled under you - she turned you around to face her and leaned in to press a light kiss against your lips, which you in turn melted into. 

Flinging your hands over her shoulders you let her take charge of the kiss, keeping it slow and steady, hands moving down to cup your ass and hoist your thighs around her midsection. The two of you stayed that way for what you told yourself was an ‘appropriate’ length of time, lips encapsulating each other, hands roaming freely, just feeling your lithe bodies pressed against one another. 

“Next time, try to listen to what I have to say instead of gluing your eyes to my chest.” Emily said, breaking you out of your trance, sat behind her desk, casually enough that doubt flickered in your mind, maybe you were wrong, did you get lost in a sea of cleavage and fall into a makeshift reality - a detailed one at that - of Emily having her way with you. The bite mark on your arm, the feelings tingling through your body in all the places she had touched you, they were real, they had to be. 

“That wasn’t-” there was no point fighting back, you were too confused, too shocked with whatever had just happened either in the compounds of your mind or pressed up against that desk. You turned and started walking to the door.

“I’ll see you at my place. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.” Her voice boomed from behind you. Looking back at her, her eyes were lazily roaming over scattered paperwork until they met your gaze. An eyebrow quirked up, accompanied by a pert smile, she began to survey the sight in front of her, eyes dropping at the nape of your neck. 

Pushing her chair back and striding towards you, butterflies fluttered low in your stomach at the authority she exuded from doing something as simple as walking. She ran her fingers through locks of your hair, moving them so they cascaded over your shoulder and were snug around your face, concealing your neck. 

“Don’t want anyone seeing what a good girl you were for me, do we?” She teased, placing a smirked peck to your lips and pulling the door open behind you.

Not a daydream, definitely not a daydream. 

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[amhrosina]

Touch Me (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Hi friends! I know I said I wanted to get this out by yesterday, but I ended up at my local(ish?) urgent care yesterday afternoon because ya girl has apparently been walking around with bronchitis for two weeks now. I’m on medicine, and I’ve been resting/editing this all day, but I could not for the life of me get this thing finished yesterday. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! It is literally porn with plot. P.S. - bearded Frank makes me go absolutely FERAL, and the gif I chose for today's fic makes me even MORE FERAL!!!!!!

Request: if requests are open, do you think you could write about Pete/ Frank still works at the construction site and reader is his girlfriend and she visits him for lunch at the construction site and the guys are astonished and you can come up with the rest if you would like.

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: When Frank’s coworkers notice you a little too much after you bring him his forgotten lunch, you want to remind him that he’s the only man for you, but Frank’s a generous lover, and you’re not leaving the truck until he’s made you come at least three times.

(Warnings: oh boy, smut, SMUT, did I mention smut??, porn with plot, v fingering, hand job sort of??, oral (fem receiving), p in v, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie lol, truck sex, soooo much kissing, protective Frank, you save the horse and ride the cowboy – know what I mean??, Frank talks you through it!!!!!, mentions of oral (male receiving), Frank is a consent king, Frank will be damned if anything bad happens to his baby girl!!!)

Frank eyed the clock, a nervous tick he’d developed over the last three hours as he waited for lunchtime to roll around. On any other day, lunch would’ve come and gone without a second thought from Frank, but not today. In his hurry to get to work this morning, he’d left the lunch you’d generously packed for him the night before. It was your fault, technically, but Frank was a gentleman, and gentlemen weren’t supposed to blame their girlfriends for forgotten lunches, especially when it was the incredible head you were giving him that made him late leaving this morning.

He'd gotten shit for it the minute he stepped on the site, barely getting a chance to pour his coffee before the guys were on his ass about his punch card. Frank brushed it off. It was all in good fun anyways, and he was the boss around here, so it didn’t really matter if he was late once in a blue moon. He didn’t divulge the reason for his tardiness, much more inclined to grunt a “fuck off” towards the guys and start his work for the day.

The nervousness set it when you called and told him you’d bring his lunch to him. The guys knew almost nothing about Frank’s personal life, which is what he preferred. They didn’t know anything about his past, and they certainly didn’t know about you. What he had going on before and after work hours was none of their business, you were none of their business, but that would change any minute.

“You got a hot date or something, man?” Antonio, one of the only guys Frank tolerated, asked as they moved a stack of wooden beams towards what would eventually become a master bedroom.

“What?” Frank lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at Antonio.

“You’ve checked the clock more in the last 25 minutes than I do on Friday afternoons. You expectin’ somethin’?”

Frank let out a nervous chuckle, which did little to subside Antonio’s curiosity. Instead, intense concern crossed Antonio’s face, and Frank sighed, shaking his head. His brain felt like it had been rewired, and he had no idea how to respond to Antonio’s question without causing more questions. He didn’t have a chance to respond, though, because the sound of clicking heels had caused heads to turn faster than Frank knew was possible.

Frank turned, relaxing when he spotted you. You smiled and waved, ignoring the men around you that were clearly enamored by your presence. Frank couldn’t blame them – you were beautiful – but that didn’t keep the bubble of anger from welling up inside his chest. You were his, and if he was going to make one thing clear to them today, it was that.

Frank marched up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your body into his chest. He pressed a sultry kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth in his way of saying hello. When you pulled away, you were smiling, and Frank couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that damned smile of yours.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grinned, slightly ashamed that he’d let his jealousy get the best of him in front of the guys that worked for him. It was definitely unprofessional to make out with your significant other in the middle of an active construction site while the entirety of your team gawked at your display of affection, right?

“That’s lunch.” He called out, not taking his eyes off yours.

The guys filed out, some with smirks on their faces, others with nothing but food on their minds. Antonio was smiling when he walked past the both of you, wiggling his eyebrows at Frank. Frank rolled his eyes, trying to remind himself why he barely tolerated the kid.

“Speaking of lunch,” you smiled, eyes bright and adoring as you looked at Frank, “Where do you want to eat? I’m not sure I can handle the roof.”

You were all too aware of Frank’s frequent lunch spots. Sitting a the top of buildings that were half constructed, legs hanging over the edge, was Frank’s favorite way to spend lunch, much to your chagrin. You were terrified of heights and refused to even think about how dangerous Frank’s lunch activities were.

“You want to stay?” Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course! As long as we’re not eating on the roof.” You pointed upwards for emphasis, shaking your head.

“I guess I could change up my lunch spot for the day.” Frank faked an exasperated sigh. “What about my truck?”

“Sounds good to me, babe.” You smiled, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the front of what would eventually be a nice house in a nice neighborhood outside of Brooklyn. A house that Frank wished he could afford to buy for you. Hell, he’d build you a house if he could afford the land to build it on. You didn’t mind the small apartment you and Frank shared, but Frank couldn’t help the incessant desire to spoil you.

It was a brisk 35 degrees outside, and you bundled into Frank’s side as he opened the passenger side door for you. Frank hustled to the other side of the truck, quickly shutting the door behind him and starting the truck. The heat blasting from the vents was a welcome warmth, and Frank couldn’t shake the tiny sliver of guilt that sliced through him when you began blowing in your hands to warm them up. If he’d just remembered the fucking lunch box, you wouldn’t be sitting in the cold right now.

“Damn, the heat works so well in here.” You observed, holding your hands in the path of the hot air.

“One of the perks of being the boss, I guess.” Frank shrugged. The truck was a necessary purchase, especially once Frank’s work picked up, but you still weren’t used to it. You’d spent so many years taking the subway to get places that having access to a vehicle was a foreign concept to you. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here just to bring me lunch.”

“Don’t apologize. I like to see what you’re working on. I wish you’d let me come by more often.”

“You’d be bored. It’s just a bunch of sweaty old guys hammering nails.”

“Sounds like a wet dream to me.” You smirked, clearly joking at Frank’s expense. “I didn’t realize I’d cause such a fuss by showing up.”

Frank shrugged. “If any of them say a single word about you after lunch, I’m gonna break their jaws.”

“Frank, baby, relax.” You ran your hand up his arm. “Even if they do say something, it’s probably just because they had no idea I even existed.”

“I don’t like them knowing about you. You’re mine.”

Frank was aware that what he was saying was insane, but he never cared much about his sanity when it came to protecting the woman he loved. He’d be damned if another person was taken from him, and if that made him crazy, then so be it. Frank Castle would take crazy over mourning any day of the week.

You crept closer to Frank, shifting so that you could lean your elbow against the back of the bench seat.

“Them knowing about me doesn’t change that I’m yours, Frankie.”

Frank grunted, annoyance running through his veins. He knew you were right, but the fact that the guys were probably running their mouths about his relationship with you right now was getting on his nerves. He didn’t want you anywhere near their fucked up thoughts.

“You’re so tense, Frankie.” You mumbled, eyeing the way Frank was clenching and unclenching his fist in an irregular pattern. “Let me help you.”

This got his attention. His head swiveled around, eyebrows raised, as he looked to you for confirmation on what you’d just said. You matched his expression, unwilling to move until he consented to your idea.

“Yeah? You wanna help me?” He asked, already leaning back to make room for you to climb onto his lap.

“You could eat your lunch instead.” You mumbled, “If that’s what you want.”

Frank slowly shook his head, watching the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

“No.”

“You’re not hungry?” You asked, inching closer to him.

“Oh, I’m hungry.” Frank conceded, “But I’d rather have you for lunch.”

This omission sent a spark through your body, and you lurched forward, swinging your leg over his hip to straddle him. You looked down at him, enjoying the way his face already seemed more relaxed than moments before. You pressed a soft kiss on the crease of his forehead, the one that always made an appearance when he was stressing about something, and watched as it smoothed itself out.

Frank tilted his chin up, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His hand snaked up your back, curling his fingers in your hair and gently pulling on it, which elicited the most delicious gasp he’d ever heard slip from between your lips. He decided right then and there that if that sound was the last thing he ever heard, he’d die the happiest death a man could ask for.

He slammed his lips onto yours, unable to constrain himself any longer. His hands found themselves wrapped around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You grinded yourself against him, moaning against Frank’s lips when you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him again, letting out a devilish groan when the friction of the movement rubbed against your clit.

“Frank,” you moaned in between kisses, “touch me.”

It wasn’t just a desire to please you; it was a need. Frank was nothing if not generous, and the minute you started begging, he had already unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, shoving his hand down the front of your pants. Frank let out a loud groan when he realized how entirely soaked through your panties were, clenching the fingers that were fiddling with the waistband of your jeans.

You pushed your hips closer to his hand, dying to feel his fingers. The panting coming from the both of you had fogged up the windows of the truck, obstructing anyone’s view into the truck. The construction site was dead anyways, but at this point, you didn’t think you cared if someone could see in. You wanted Frank so badly that you had lost your ability to care about anything besides Frank’s fingers.

“Want me to touch you, baby?” Frank cooed, “Want me to make your pretty pussy feel good?”

Frank’s breath was hot on your neck, and you nearly came from his words alone.

“I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You moaned, grinding your hips against Frank’s fingers again. Your actions completely juxtaposed your words, but you couldn’t help yourself. Frank was just so good at making you come.

“Making you feel good makes me feel good, sweetheart.” Frank pressed the pads of his fingers against the fabric of your panties, swirling them around in an achingly slow circle. A shiver worked its way up your spine, and you threw your head back, gasping with pleasure.

“Are you sure?” You panted, unsure if you could stand being clothed for another second.

Frank responded by swiping your underwear aside and running two fingers between the folds of your pussy. When his fingers finally covered your clit, you let out an agonizing moan. Frank resumed circling his fingers around your clit, but his pace was more urgent, like he wanted to see you get off on his fingers just as much as you wanted to come all over his hand.

Your legs began to shake, and you wrapped your arms around Frank’s neck, pulling him into a feverish kiss. His tongue dipped into your mouth, and you began to grind against his fingers in a rhythm that matched the pace of his hand. It was a flurry of passionate kisses and sinful moans as you came apart on Frank’s hand. You breathed through the orgasm as it crashed through you, slumping against Frank’s shoulder in exhaustion.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Frank pulled his hand away from your clit, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over so that your back lied against the front seat of the truck, “You did so good.”

Frank hovered over you, pressing a soft kiss onto your nose before gently capturing your lips with his. You were still reeling from your orgasm, content to stay in this position forever, when Frank suddenly sat up. You blinked up at him, wondering if maybe his lunch was already over, but the way he began to pull your jeans down your hips told you he was nowhere near done with you.

You kicked your jeans and panties off, pussy clenching around nothing as the air hit your wet core. You spread your legs further, giving Frank a view of how easily he’d ruined you.

“Fuck baby,” Frank groaned, rubbing his thumb through the slickness that had begun running down your inner thighs, “This is the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

You moaned when he began playing with your clit again, overstimulated but too turned on to stop him.

“Can I taste you?” Frank asked, fully focused on how wet you were. His eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated with desire.

“You’re being too generous.” You sat up, resting on your elbows as he finally locked eyes with you.

“I want to.” He shrugged, already positioning his face near your core. He threw your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands on your stomach, glancing up at you to make sure he had your consent. You spread your legs wider, nodding.

“I need words, baby. Can I taste you?”

Frank’s hot breath coasted over your pussy as he spoke, and the dull throb of desire erupted into a full blown ache.

“Yes, God, please.” You whined.

When his tongue finally met your core, you threw your head back and moaned so loud you were sure the entire neighborhood heard it. Frank was astonishingly graceful at eating pussy, approaching it like it was a dance between his tongue and your clit. He knew exactly when to be gentle, when to roughen it up, and when you were seconds away from coming all over his tongue, he knew exactly how to suck on your clit so that you saw stars for hours afterwards.

Frank normally liked to take his time with this, coaxing multiple small orgasms out of you before finally letting you fall apart around his mouth, but today he was on a time crunch, and he wanted to make you come around his cock before his lunch break was over, too. So instead of going slow and steady, Frank dined on your pussy like a man starved. He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, licking and sucking all throughout your core as you came closer and closer to your orgasm. He teased your entrance with his tongue, coasting over it every time he flattened his tongue against your folds.

“Oh shit, Frank.” You groaned, arching your back.

He hummed against your pussy, which had your legs shaking so aggressively that he had to clamp his hands over them to keep them from sliding off his shoulders. You were so close, and Frank knew it. He smirked against your core, trailing his tongue around your clit before slightly sucking. Your body felt like it was on fire, and when the crux of your orgasm finally hit you, you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing your legs into the sides of Frank’s head. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs, and no matter how deeply you inhaled, you couldn’t quite catch your breath. The world around you faded, and the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Frank’s hands gently caressing your thighs.

Frank crawled up your body, hovering over you as you came back to yourself. You hadn’t expected to come that hard, especially not in a cramped space like Frank’s car, but he always managed to surprise you.

You swallowed thickly, blinking up at his swollen and slick lips. He was always beautiful, you thought, but right now, you’d never seen anything as beautiful as him covered in your wetness. You leaned upwards, kissing him with every ounce of yourself that you could. The taste of you was still fresh on his tongue, and he groaned when you swiped your tongue against his, grinding against your unclothed pussy with his denim jeans.

The friction was overstimulating, but you wanted him deep inside you so badly that you began meeting his hips halfway, grinding against him so heavily that you were sure he’d have stains on the front of his jeans later. He shifted his weight onto one arm, reaching down and unbuckling his belt with one had. He was moving at a languid pace, and you couldn’t stop yourself from knocking his hand out of the way and unbuttoning his jeans. He chuckled when you undid his zipper in record time, forcing his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs.

“Someone’s eager to feel my cock, huh?” Frank cooed, brushing his nose against yours, “You want me to fuck you silly, sweetheart?”

You wrapped your hand around his achingly hard cock, pumping up and down as he teased you. The tip was already wet, drops of precum beading at the head.

“Can I ride you?” You asked, pushing his shoulders slightly.

He raised his eyebrows at your boldness. You were usually so eager to let him control the situation, but the look in your eyes when you spoke told a different story. You wanted to make him feel good, and you weren’t planning on letting him leave until that happened.

“Sometimes,” you started, sitting up and pushing Frank down into the seat underneath you, “I want to be the one to fuck you silly.”

You straddled Frank and lined him up with your entrance. You were not going to waste any more of his break not fucking him. Frank let out a stuttering moan as you lowered yourself onto him. When you were finally full of him, stretched out and pliant, you panted at the overwhelming feeling. No matter how many times Frank fucked you, it always took you a few moments to adjust to his size.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Frank leaned his head against the headrest, grabbing onto your hips in a brutal hold that you knew would bruise later.

You slowly began to rock against him, holding onto the seat behind him for leverage. You moaned when his cock pushed against the spot deep within you that drove you crazy, and couldn’t help the way your breath stuttered out of you. Frank angled his face towards yours, watching in awe as you panted over him, licking your lips and squeezing your eyes closed. He leaned toward you, nipping your jaw with his teeth in a teasing gesture. You ground down on him even harder, and he chuckled.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” Frank hummed, running his nose along the curve of your cheekbone. “Your pretty pussy drives me crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah?” You mumbled, picking up your rhythm as you grinded against him. You yelped when you felt his arm wrap around your waist, bucking up into you so hard that you swore you saw stars.

“Can’t think about anything else some days.” Frank nuzzled his cheek against yours, tightening his hold around you. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

You mewled at his praise, even though you had made it clear that you wanted to be the one making him feel good, not the other way around. You couldn’t help but mewl. He always knew what to say to make your chest warm and fuzzy, even when he was fucking up into you so hard that you knew you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week.

“C’mon baby girl,” Frank’s tone was low and delicious, and the tingle that worked its way up your spine told you exactly how much you liked the sound of it, “Give me one more, baby.”

“Frank, I-” You let out a guttural moan when you felt his fingers tracing a circle around your clit. Your legs began to shake again, and you knew you were seconds away from coming again. “I’m supposed to be making you feel good.” You finally panted, quickening your pace as you grinded against his cock and fingers.

“I want you to come on my cock, sweetheart.” Frank smirked as you squeezed around him, “That will make me feel good, baby. Can you do that for me, baby girl? Hmm? I know you can. Make me feel good, sweet girl. Come on my cock.”

Frank was talking you through it, and you could not fathom how incredibly hot it was. The intensity at which your orgasm hit you was earth-shattering, and if the neighborhood hadn’t heard you earlier, they certainly heard you this time. You rocked against Frank, whining and panting and doing everything in your power not to fall apart completely before he could reach his high as well.

“My good girl,” Frank wrapped both arms around your waist, pulling your chest against his so that he could kiss you all over your face, “You did so good, sweetheart.”

His praise made you whine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from slamming your lips into his, quickening your pace as you grinded against him. It was overstimulating, sure, but you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than Frank coming deep inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Frank mumbled against your lips, tightening his arms around you, “’m gonna come.”

“Come in me,” you panted, squeezing around his cock.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to fill you up?” Frank was breathing so heavy against your ear that goosebumps littered down your back and shoulders. You dug your nails into his shoulders as he pounded up into you, and when he finally came, warm spurts of come coating your walls, you both slumped against each other, worn out and sweaty.

Frank’s heart was pounding in his chest, and you subconsciously tapped your finger against his neck in the same rhythm until it finally calmed down. You leaned back, glancing over Frank’s features. His eyes were closed, chin tilted upwards in a relaxed, casual position. The stress creases in his face were long gone, and he looked a decade younger than he did when you’d shown up earlier.

“Wish we could stay like this.” He mumbled, running his fingers along your thighs.

“Me too, Frankie.” You nodded, cupping his cheeks in your hands, and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “How much time until you have to go back?”

Frank slightly opened one of his eyes, checking the clock on the dash before closing it again. “Just enough time to drop you off at home and come back. The guys will appreciate the extended lunch.”

You shook your head. “I can get an uber or take the subway, Frank. You don’t have to drive me.”

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t drive my beautiful girlfriend home after she came all the way here to bring me lunch and make me feel good?”

“A normal one.” You snorted, rolling your eyes.

“Well then I guess I ain’t normal.” Frank smiled, leaning in to kiss you before tapping your thigh with his hand. “I hate to say it, but I can’t drive with you straddlin’ me like this.”

You lifted yourself off him, rolling over into the passenger seat. Your limbs still buzzed with pleasure, and it took you longer than you care to admit to find your panties and put them back on. You were pulling your jeans over your hips when Frank began to roll the windows down and wipe the windshield off. You and him had emitted enough fog that it was impossible to see out of any of the windows, let alone drive.

When the windows were finally cleared and Frank had texted Antonio to let him know he’d be a few minutes late getting back from lunch (Antonio’s only response was the winking emoji), Frank drove you back to the apartment you shared with him. He walked you to the door, kissed you goodbye, turned, then turned back to kiss you again.

“I left your lunch on the passenger seat, okay? It should still be warm with how hot the truck was earlier.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Frank grinned, pulling you in for a third goodbye kiss.

You finally pushed him off you, chuckling when he tried to chase your lips with his.

“Go to work, Frank. I’ll see you tonight.” You laughed as he rolled his eyes, giving you a final kiss before turning and jogging back to the truck. When you closed the door and locked it, you slumped towards the bedroom, the only thing on your mind being the nap you were about to take.

Frank ate his lunch on the drive back to the construction site, nearly getting choked up when he realized you had gotten him Lombardi’s pizza. You knew how much he loved it, and he vowed to show you how grateful he was when he returned home. When he made it back to the site, he was only half an hour late, but that didn’t stop the guys from joking with him about it.

“Twice in one day, boss? She worth it?”

“Must be. He doesn’t look half as grumpy as he usually does.”

Frank rolled his eyes, counting to ten as a way to manage his anger before outwardly responding.

“If any of you fuckers have anything else to say about her, I’ll bash your heads in with the sledgehammer. Got it?”

Frank glanced at the faces around him. So much for managing his anger. Antonio was the only one that didn’t look utterly terrified as they returned to work.

“So, boss.” Antonio started, smirking as he leaned against one of the structural beams.

“Don’t you start.” Frank pointed at him for emphasis, warning the kid away from any topics he may regret bringing up. He really wasn’t a bad kid, and he was one of the hardest workers Frank had encountered in the business, but he did not want to discuss his love life with his 22 year old employee.

“I was just going to ask how much plaster you think we’ll need for the bathroom.” Antonio pointed behind him with his thumb, gesturing towards the space that would soon be an ensuite.

“Sure you were.” Frank couldn’t wait to end the day and crawl into your loving arms, but he had a shit ton of work to do before then, and he would always be the last one on site for the evening.

Later that evening, after he’d finally trudged through the door, showered, and ravished you, you were caressing his chest as he pressed a kiss to your hair.

“So,” you murmured, “D’ya break any jaws after I left?”

“You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t break any jaws after you left.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He asked.

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t lose your shit on anyone after I left today?”

“No,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I said. I definitely lost my shit, but I didn’t break anyone’s jaw.”

“Oh, that’s good.” You mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

You nuzzled into his chest, relaxing as he enveloped you with warmth.

“I love you, sweet girl. I’m not ashamed of that. Hell, I’ll shout it from the rooftop if you want me to. I just don’t like people knowing my business. I want to keep you safe.”

“I know, Frankie. I’m not upset about it. I love you too.”

“You promise?”

“That I love you?” You smirked against his chest.

“No, smart ass. That you’re not upset.”

“I promise.” You grinned as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

Tag List:

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[maislovebot]

I just threw out the love of my dreams

Chuuya x reader

This one won the pole! So here it is, expect that Aku and Atsu threesome soon, don’t worry:3

Contains: afab reader, they/them prns, makeup sex, Chuuya spoils you after an argument, porn with plot, but the plot is just buildup for smut, foreplay, Chuuya calls reader pretty + darling + doll, face sitting/riding/oral (reader receiving), slight hair pulling, overstim, brief dry humping, Chuuya’s needy and vocal, squirting, creampie & belly bulge BUT I don’t explicitly mention either of them, reader is wearing a dress, proofread, aftercare

Chuuya considered himself an angry person. Things can easily tick him off, but he’s learned how to manage his anger pretty well when it comes to you. He would shut his lips whenever he felt like making a snide remark because he had a particularly bad day, and whenever things did slip, he’d apologize right afterwards.

This, however, was not one of those times.

He wasn’t even mad at you, you were just..there, and you wouldn’t stop asking him how his day was. He was really mad at Dazai, who he had happened to run into in town, and Dazai just wouldn’t leave Chuuya alone. He wouldn’t quit teasing him about his height, ‘ugly’ hats, and so on. It was mainly just light teasing though, so he decided to be the bigger person and just grumble and walk away. It clearly left Dazai dumbfounded, as he had never met a Chuuya who turned the other cheek. It stunned him, and that did uplift Chuuya’s mood a little. That was until Ougai interrupted his wonderful shopping and forced him into a mission, when he was off the clock. Ougai was claiming that times have been tight, and he needs more help than usual, but considering the type of person Ougai is, Chuuya was suspicious that the boss was just giving him more work because he knew Chuuya was in a long term relationship, and he wanted to make life as hard on Chuuya as physically possible.

The mission in of itself was fairly simple, trick some cops into thinking that the Port Mafia had absolutely nothing to do with a case (they had everything to do with the case), and considering how good of an actor Chuuya is, he was the prime candidate.

Many cops are corrupt and just want to close a case as soon as possible, so Chuuya assumed he wouldn’t need to put on a very convincing performance, but he was gravely mistaken by a certain cop. She was extremely observant, and clearly well respected in her profession. She wanted to do this thing called ‘actually getting to the bottom of the case’, and while that is a respectful ideology, it made his work so much harder than it had to be.

All that Chuuya really wanted to do was go home to you, have sex, hang out, and go to bed. But clearly he was going to have to push that schedule back.

He ultimately managed to get the cop to believe him, and he went on with his day. Briefly reporting to the boss, and going home on his motorcycle. He was just dreaming about going home and holding you close after such a long day, but he fucked that all up.

It really wasn’t your fault, but he couldn’t help but get annoyed.

“Chuu, how was it? How’d shopping go?”

You were met with silence. You assumed he didn’t hear you.

“Uhh..Chuuuyaaa how was your day?”

Chuuya grumbled, not really saying anything. Keep it in, he thought to himself. It isn’t their fault. You heard his grumble, tilting your head, attempting to grab Chuuya’s hand as he walked to your joint bedroom.

“Chuuya? What’s wrong?” You questioned.

“Leave me alone..”

“Why?”

Chuuya took a deep breath in, “please. Just leave me. the fuck. alone. I don’t wanna talk about it.”He raised his voice. “You’re being so annoying right now.”

He never did that. He’d leave a snide remark here and there, sure, but it was always apologized for pretty much the second it left his mouth.

You pulled your hand away, freezing for a few moments. You waited for an apology. He always gave you an apology.

He didn’t apologize.

You shook your head, coming back to your senses. Chuuya noticed you grabbing some shoes and a coat, then your keys. What Chuuya had done finally settled in his mind, and he grabbed your wrist. He was sufficiently stronger than you, so he did manage to hold you in place, until you jerked your arm away and headed towards the door of the lovely penthouse you two were staying in.

“Doll, I’m sorry—I don’t know why I said that!”

You kept quiet. You could feel tears bubbling at your eyes, making it hard to see as you fidgeted with your keys to find the one to the front door. You finally did, walking outside and to the elevator that took you downstairs. Chuuya followed you out, trying to convince you to talk it out. You two rarely argued, but when you did you always had a problem with running away instead of talking it out. Chuuya tried to understand it from your perspective. You shut the elevator doors on him, effectively shutting him out. Considering his powers, he could probably do something to mess with the elevator doors and make them come back up, but Chuuya didn’t want to force you to be around him when you clearly wanted space. He instead shamefully walked back to the front door, walking in and leaning against the door as he broke into a cold sweat.

He really just did that.

Chuuya looked next to him, and noticed your phone sitting on the side table next to the front door. He had no way of contacting you either.

You needed space, you’d come back in a few hours. He knew you would.

10:24 pm. It was 10:24 pm and there was still no sign of you. Every time he heard a car passing by he’d jump up and check the window to see if it was you, and it never was. He was seriously worried, after all, you had no phone and he had no other way of figuring out where you were or if you were in trouble. To make things worse, he knew you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. You never did. Anytime you were upset you were gone before anyone could even ask where you were going, and it was really biting him in the ass.

He wanted to give you space, but he was seriously worried, so he decided to get onto his motorcycle and bring his extra helmet with him. He didn’t know where you were going, but he had a pretty good idea.

You really fucked up. You would always go places without telling anyone, especially when you were sad, and now you were seriously regretting it. You had realized you’d forgotten your phone a while ago, and you had driven to a dirt road in the woods, one you always went to when you were bored, or upset, or honestly just because you could. You ultimately came here because you wanted to get away from everyone for a little bit, only to realize you were completely out of gas and parking on the side of the road. You had absolutely zero gas left anywhere.

You would consider walking down the road until you found somewhere to go, but it was currently dark out and you knew it would be rash to walk in the middle of the woods in a short dress with no phone or car, or even a map. If only you’d just stayed home.

Your car door was locked tight, scared of what might happen if it wasn’t. You simply sat in the drivers side, sort of dumbfounded. What the hell were you gonna do? You took a deep breath in, okay, to start, let’s move to the back seat and lay down so no one sees you in the car. Then, sit and wait till someone gets you?

‘God I really dug your own grave with this one,” was all you could think. Your own mistake bounced around your head on repeat, regret filling your veins

You couldn’t help but think of Chuuya. You missed him so badly, and even if you were still a little hurt by his outburst, you would kill to just be home with him again. You couldn’t help but think of what you’d do with Chuuya once you got home. You’d hold him close, cradle his face, kiss him and feel him up.

You were distracted from your thoughts from hearing a motorcycle driving up behind you, and you couldn’t help but perk up praying it was Chuuya. You expected it to be a pipe dream, but you noticed the motorcycle slowing down, and it was definitely his. He parked it in front of your car, before walking back and you scrambled to the front seat to unlock the doors. He opened the door and placed his helmet in the back seat, barely having enough time to move his hands back before you moved yourself over the center console and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I was so scared I was gonna have to stay the night here..”

“I’d never let that happen.”

“How did you find me anyways?”

“I remember you saying something or other about this mountain being a nice place to relax. It was just a lucky guess.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you nestled your face in his jacket, and he raked his hands through your hair. He held your head in place to help calm you down.

“Listen..I’m so sorry for what I said..it was an asshole move.” Chuuya grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back, kissing you on the cheek quickly before pulling away.

“It’s fine..just don’t do it again.” You said, looking away from him.

“Is that it?” Chuuya questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well..I caused all this, why forgive me right away?”

You shook your head.

“What, do you expect me to ask you to get on your knees and grovel at my feet?” You poked his cheek and looked at him with a grin.

“Well, no but..”

“Listen, Chuuya, you apologized, and that’s enough. Just make an effort to not do it again.”

Chuuya nodded, before getting a sly expression.

“Well..I should still try and say sorry for what I did, right? Should I spoil you once we get home?” Chuuya’s question had undeniable flirty undertones, and you couldn’t help but heat up at his insinuation.

“Well? Should l?”

You looked right at Chuuya.

“Of course you can. But..” you trailed off.

“What is it?”

You looked at Chuuya with a dumb look. How does he not know?

“Well my car is out of gas and I don’t really wanna leave it here overnight..”

Chuuya giggled, looking overly confident. What bullshit was he gonna stir up now?

“I think you’ve forgotten I can control gravity.”

You laughed at what he was insinuating and how proud he looked at his rebuttal.

“Alright but you better not drop my car!”

Chuuya nodded, chuckling and leading you to his motorcycle.

Luckily, Chuuya didn’t drop your car. You honestly didn’t know how he managed to hide it from everyone and drive his motorcycle at the same time, but he is a man of many talents.

Once you and Chuuya arrived at your shared penthouse, he entered the elevator and picked you up bridal style and carried you inside of your house, and once you entered the door you pushed Chuuya up against the door. Chuuya looked taken aback at your bold move, but he quickly melted into the kiss and let you wrap your arms around his waist. As much as Chuuya loved how you pressed him against the door and yourself against him, he wanted to pamper you today, and he couldn’t really do that like this. He gripped your arms and spun until you were pressed against the door instead, and he leaned back in to keep kissing your lips. He pressed his knee into your crotch while trailing down to kiss you on your neck, and settling atop your chest, kissing and licking your exposed skin.

Chuuya kept one hand on the side of your head and the other slowly crept up your shirt, until he made contact with your bra and reached behind your back to undo the bra strap. Once your bra was undone, he brought both of his hands down to lift your shirt up and over your frame. He was still kissing you, running his hands over your chest and pulling and twisting over your nipples. You gently moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. The new position gave Chuuya more power, so he relentlessly pressed you into the wall and kissed you even deeper, reaching his hand down into your shorts to rub short circles into your clit.

You moaned louder into his mouth, and Chuuya finally decided that was enough and carried you over to the bed and sat down on it with your legs still wrapped around him. He moaned at the way you tugged on his hair when he gently bit down on your nipple.

Chuuya removed your shorts and underwear by hooking his finger on them, adoring the way you kicked them off of your legs. You reached down to unbutton his vest, and he sat up to pull his jacket and vest off in one go. He reached up and unbuttoned his white button up shirt, letting it sit on him like a jacket.

Chuuya laid back, gripping your ass and trying to push you up.

“You wanna sit on my face?”

Your eyes widened, before turning away embarrassed.

“What’s the hold up?” Chuuya asked.

“Well it’s a little embarrassing,”

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

You swallowed thickly, “and every time it’s embarrassing.”

Chuuya smiled, rubbing circles into your thighs to calm you down.

“You’re so pretty, especially when your pretty cunt is all over my face.”

You would’ve been more worrisome, but ever since you got home you’d been desperate. Chuuya was so good with his tongue, you couldn’t help but fantasize and subconsciously lift yourself up and over his face.

“There you go,” Chuuya praised.

You hovered over Chuuya’s face, and Chuuya was running out of patience. He gripped your thighs to bring you closer to him, and once his tongue made contact with your cunt you saw stars. You shamelessly ground yourself onto his tongue, as Chuuya guided you back and forth on his face, rocking you back and forth. Chuuya loved the small moans that left your mouth.

“Mmnn..Chuu..”

“Hm?” Chuuya hummed from under you.

“Feels good..” you mumbled; Chuuya chuckled. He kept licking your clit to the best of his abilities, proving to be slightly difficult as you rocked yourself against his face. Chuuya loved your desperacy, but he wanted to please you himself. He felt awful about what he said to you earlier, and all he wanted was to was fuck you so good all the crying and negative thoughts swirling through your head from his unkind words would be completely forgotten, and instead replaced with pleasure. He gripped your thighs tight enough to keep you in place, using the opportunity to swirl his tongue around your clit. He loved how your thighs tightened around his head.

Chuuya was practically drooling at the taste of your cunt, small amounts of saliva dribbling around the corner of his mouth. He licked a stripe up your cunt, moaning at your taste.

“So good..” Chuuya mumbled, voice muffled by your thighs.

Chuuya reached his tongue up to your hole, licking around it before slowly pushing his tongue inside. You jumped at his actions, grinding your cunt onto his face. You feared you may hurt him if you kept at it, but the feeling was so addicting you couldn’t stop.

Chuuya’s tongue was as deep inside you as it could go, thrusting his tongue desperately. You tasted amazing, your sensitivity was alluring, you looked amazing above him.

How had he ever said those terrible things to you?

You grinding yourself into Chuuya’s mouth eventually evolved into you just riding his face. His nose swirled your clit as you humped on him, and your legs started shaking even more as you gripped the bedsheets and Chuuya’s hair. Chuuya was barely even moving his mouth at this point, as you were doing most of the work for yourself. Chuuya wanted to do all of the work, but he let it slide because he could tell how good it felt.

“Chuuya, ‘m cumming!” You yelped out. Chuuya couldn’t help but reach his hand down to touch his raging hard on. He rubbed on it, causing small whimpers to leave his mouth, the vibrations sending you over the edge and making you cum with a cry. Your cum dripped down onto his face, and he had no shame in licking it up. Still leaning over his face, he would lick your sensitive cunt while cleaning up your cum, and he would always twitch at your overstimulated cries. He couldn’t help it anymore, he shamelessly began to tug his pants down while you were still lingering above him and catching your breath. He tugged his pants and boxers down until there was just enough room for his cock, and he began pumping himself desperately.

“You taste so good..I can’t help it..” he said. His voice had a tinge of regret in it, and you could tell he was sitting in shame from what he said to you.

You lifted yourself off of Chuuya on shaky thighs, and Chuuya gripped your thighs to help you gently lift yourself off of him. You fell to Chuuya’s side, lifting yourself to lay your face next to him. You rested your hand in his hair, ruffling it.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole earlier.” Chuuya grumbled, not towards you but himself. He still couldn’t get over how dumb he was. What was the point in insulting you? Why did he say those things? Why would he ever say anything to hurt you when you’ve never shown him anything but kindness? You’re so patient with him, he can’t even imagine why he would ever hurt you, even if it was a fit of anger.

“Don’t freak out, Chuuya. It’s fine now. I know you’re sorry.”

“Even if you forgive me, let me treat you good. Make you forget all those things I said.” Chuuya said as he turned over to you and leaned above you, towering over you with his hands on either side of your face. Chuuya currently had his pants and boxers pulled down to his mid thigh, and you giggled when his legs faltered from above you because of the lack of space. Chuuya noticed this and reddened a little bit, pulling his pants the rest of the way down. With this he took his white button up off the rest of the way, leaving himself completely naked. He straddled your hips so he could lean down and kiss and nibble on your neck, and you giggled as he prodded into your thigh.

Chuuya brought his hand down to rub circles on your clit, and you jumped at the overstimulation. He ground himself against your leg as he slowly pushed two of his fingers past your tight hole. Pulling his fingers apart to scissor and stretch you out as preparation. You felt dizzy, partially from crying in your car earlier but also from his actions. He slowly pushed a third finger inside, and you groaned at the stretch. The burn was slight, but you couldn’t even think about that as you thrust your hips up and down on his hand. His fingers were so nice. They were pretty and long and had little scars spread sporadically across them from what you presumed were past battles, leaving some spots white in comparison to the rest of his skin.

He leaned down, his chest flush with yours as he panted into your neck. He would occasionally suck on the side of your neck until it turned purple, keeping a firm grip on your hair in the process. Chuuya’s cock was throbbing, and he couldn’t help himself from grinding himself down on your thigh here and there.

“Pretty..”

Chuuya has decided that he had stretched you out plenty, so he slowly pulled his fingers out and licked them clean as you stared at him in awe. Chuuya lifted himself from your thigh, twitching at the warm feeling of your pussy as he slowly pushed himself inside. He only had the tip, but it was more than enough for him to whimper slightly. He wasn’t typically this sensitive, but after everything that happened today, he was pitifully needy. He needed to feel you around him and taste you on his tongue, and so much more. He had to make up for everything he did.

Chuuya slowly pushed himself past your tight entrance, throwing his head back as you clenched around him. It was strange to see him so needy, but it certainly wasn’t bad. It was foreign but comfortable despite it. He finally reached the hilt, and he almost immediately started pulsing and twitching inside of you. Chuuya sat there for a few moments, waiting for you to adjust, before you whined and started thrusting your hips yourself.

“Please move..Chuuya..”

Chuuya wanted to let you get comfortable, but you clearly had other plans, and who was he to deny you what you wanted? Tonight was all about you. Chuuya gripped your hips, holding you in place.

“Let me do all the work, darling.”

Chuuya slowly pulled out to the tip, snapping his hips back in place. You yelped, moving your hands up to hold his shoulders to get some sense of stability, but you ended up digging your nails into his shoulders to help ground yourself. Chuuya could feel the sting as his shoulders turned white where your nails were, but he loved it. The sting felt so good, almost deserved. Even if you didn’t do it with any malicious intent, or do it for some revenge plan, it helped him to feel somewhat even with you. Not to mention, it just felt really good.

Chuuya kept thrusting into you relentlessly. After getting some semblance of self control, he started aiming himself towards your g-spot, which he knew by heart. He knew exactly where it was and how you liked to have it touched, and once he quickly found it, he started targeting that spot without stopping. It was, for lack of a better word, overstimulating. You pulled Chuuya down towards your face, wanting to hold him close. You removed one of his hands from your hips and entangled it with your fingers, holding his hand as it rested next to your head. Chuuya loved the feeling, moving his other hand from your hip as well. He held your hands above your head, leaving you to arch your back up into him. You reached your head up just enough to make contact with his lips, and he pushed your head down into the mattress, kissing you deeply. His tongue danced along yours.

He moved his lips to barely hover over yours, moving his dominant hand down to press on your stomach.

“You like that, pretty? Like how deep you can feel me?”

You whimpered and nodded your head, moving your now free hand to tangle in his hair. Chuuya trailed his hand down to brush over your stomach and eventually your clit, rubbing circles on it. You cried into Chuuya’s mouth, the sound muffled. You moved your hand down to his back, holding him in place.

“Keep going, ‘m close..”

Chuuya kept his pace, his legs never faltering. He rubbed circles on your clit with excellency. You always wondered how he had gotten so experienced despite his lack of free time. You kept holding Chuuya in place, pulling him to lay flush with your stomach. His lips still lingered over yours, and you tightened around him and came with a loud moan. What you didn’t realize, however, was that you had squirted, drenching his entire lower abdomen in your cum. Chuuya’s eyes widened at this. Chuuya lifted himself up and looked down to where your bodies met. He smirked at the sight, and when he looked up and saw your embarrassed face he grinned, kissing your temple.

Chuuya could feel himself twitching inside of you. He was right on the edge. He was so close, and it was making him feel emotional.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I called you annoying.”

Chuuya was teetering so close to the edge, and the way you held him close only made it worse. He was feeling so many conflicted emotions, he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know why I told you to leave me alone, I don’t know what I’d do if you really did.” Chuuya cut himself off, rubbing circles on your clit again. Overstimulated, you shut your eyes and dug them into his neck.

“You being gone for just a few hours was driving me crazy.”

You pulled your head away and brought your hand up to play with Chuuya’s hair.

“It’s alright, Chuu. I know you’re sorry. You don’t have to be mad at yourself forever.” You brushed your fingers through Chuuya’s hair, curling his hair around your finger in a perfect manner. “I’m not even mad at you anymore.” As you spoke, Chuuya was slowing down his movements and he came. You forgave him, and he could rest easy. The confirmation slowed his heart rate down, his body slowing down as well before eventually leading to a halt. He kissed your collarbones and nipples before pulling out of you. Chuuya flipped your positions so you could rest above him, burying your face in his neck as your legs intertwined. Chuuya smiled when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He rubbed gentle circles on your hips to help soothe what he could only assume was sore, before lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

“You did so good for me,” Chuuya whispered right in your ear as he carried you, placing you inside the bathtub.

“‘M sorry..” Chuuya mumbled yet again, clearly a little ashamed.

You didn’t respond, instead gripping his arm to pull him into the bath with you. Chuuya landed on top of you and you giggled. All he could have hoped for is that you’d forgive him, and it seemed like you did.

Wc - 4.3k

When Chuuya pinned reader to the wall, all I could think about was how he’d have to be on his tippy toes to kiss me bc I’m so much taller than him😭 he’s so cute :’)