#Horizontal Bagging Presses

[baler-machine]

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[lvstrucks]

breaks

lando norris x reader

Being a couple both of whose love languages were physical touch, you and Lando were no strangers to a bit of playfighting. Lando loved nothing more than to tackle you onto the soft surface of a sofa or bed and watch you squirm playfully, collapsing into a fit of giggles as you tried to take control of his strong form and make him do what you wanted. It was perhaps the only time Lando would allow his competitive side to slide, letting you pin him down and sit on his toned stomach in victory.

So it was nothing out of the ordinary when he leaned against the doorframe, watching you pad around the kitchen making dinner in one of his Quadrant t-shirts he felt a familiar burst of love begin to creep up his abdomen. It was a quiet Friday night before the Monaco Grand Prix, the both of you enjoying the comfort of being in your own apartment before what was sure to be a hectic weekend.

As soon as you put down the wooden spoon you'd been using to stir the dinner, he makes a beeline for you.

"Lovie," he half mumbles, half laughs into your shoulder as he scoops you off the floor.

"Lando!" you giggle, making a feeble attempt to shrug him off. "Stop, I'm making dinner," you protest, while really having no intention of making him stop.

Lando twists you around so he's holding you horizontally, gripping onto your waist and starts to spin you around so you can't reach to push him off.

"You just look so cuddly and cute dressed like that," he defends, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "Just wanna love my girl a little."

You both shriek with laughter as he begins to spin you even faster. Lando's certain that hearing you laugh like that because of him is one of the best feelings he's ever had. He feels like he might be flying a little, until your left arm flicks out with the force of being spun and the sound of a crack against the marble counter stops him in his tracks.

"Baby?" He asks uncertainly as he sets you gently on your feet.

"Ow." you blink back tears. "That hurt. But I'm fi-"

You cut yourself off as your hearing becomes muffled.

"Lan, I can't..." you put both hands up to your ears, pressing as if to try and restore your hearing. It comes flooding back, along with a throbbing pain in your wrist as it pushes against your head.

"Fuck, baby. Fuck!" Lando says, snapping into action. Not only is his girlfriend clearly hurt, she got hurt under his care, and it was his fault too.

He grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, pulling you gently over to a chair at the dining table and sitting you down. He hands you the bag of peas, gesturing for you to rest your hurt hand on it.

"Did it...always bend that way?" He asks quietly, face going pale as you both assess the situation. The tears begin to fall as the full brunt of the pain begins to hit and Lando is quick to lead you downstairs, getting you buckled into his car and running around to the driver's seat. 

It takes a little while longer than normal to get to the emergency room, as lots of roads have been closed off in preparation for qualifying tomorrow, and Lando drums his fingers impatiently on the wheel.

"Not long, baby. We're gonna get you some help, and they can give you something to help the pain, ok? I'm right here with you." He tries to reassure you.

Good as his word, Lando doesn't leave your side once. He holds your hand whilst they set your fractured wrist back into place, gritting his teeth and keeping quiet as your nails dig into the calloused skin of his hands. He rubs your back softly as they wrap a pink (as requested) cast around.

You sleep on the way home, suddenly exhausted now the pain meds have kicked in. Lando watches you quietly each time he stops at a red light. He feels sick to his stomach as the red glare catches the streaks of dried tears on your cheeks.

Once back in your apartment, Lando carries you bridal style up to the bedroom. He undresses you quickly, taking care not to bump your wrist as he pulls one of his shirts over your head, one of the softer ones that you love to sleep in.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair as he wraps himself around you. "I'm so, so, sorry."

You shake your head softly, waking up a little.

"I know you are, Lando. It was an accident."

"But I promised I'd never do anything to hurt you, and I broke it. I broke you." He frets.

You lean up and press a kiss to his pouty lips.

"It was an accident, both of us were being silly. I'm not upset at you, just upset it happened. So please don't beat yourself up about it, okay?" you say and Lando nods solemnly, snuggling down so your head is laying on his chest. He strokes your hair softly and you breathe in his scent, closing your eyes.

"Does it hurt? A lot?" Lando asks quietly into the darkness.

"No." you lie.

Although you'd assured Lando you were fine in the morning, ready to come and support him during qualifying, you were quickly deteriorating as the day dragged on. You found yourself sinking into a cushioned seat in the McLaren hospitality, beginning to shiver as the ache from your wrist travels up your arm. Lando is busy preparing for qualifying, but Adam is talking to an engineer and notices his son's girlfriend fading into herself and walks over to check on you.

"Everything ok?," he questions you. "Should I get Lando for you? He gave strict orders to interrupt him at any time if you weren't feeling well."

"I just need my next painkillers, I think." you say, trying to smile in a way you hope is reassuring. "Do you know where they ended up? I didn't bring a bag so Lando had them in his pocket when we arrived."

Adam tells you he will go and hunt down your meds, but unsurprisingly Lando spots his dad looking around and excuses himself from talking to Zak in the garage and jogs over to the hospitality.

"Baby, are you OK?" He asks, wrapping you in a gentle hug. You sigh, sinking into his chest and allowing him to hold you up.

"It's just..it's really starting to hurt now." you say, and his heart sinks at the sight of your bottom lip beginning to wobble.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he says truthfully. "Do you want to go home and take a nap there? I can get someone to drive you now."

You shake your head stubbornly.

"I want to stay and see how you qualify. I just need some pain meds."

"They're in my driver's room with my clothes." He explains. "Do you want to come with me? I have that fold-down bed in there now, you can have a quick nap?"

You nod, allowing him to lead you into his room. Once there, he hands you your meds and then slips his comfy cable-knit sweater over your head to stop your shivering. He does his best to tuck you in all comfy, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'll come and wake you up in about an hour or so, ok?"

As he shuts the door behind him, he hears a soft "Thank you, Lan." He blows you a kiss, heading back to the garage.

When Lando comes back to wake you up, he's met with a much happier looking Y/N. You sit up on the bed, kissing his cheek and stretching.

"Do you have a pen anywhere? Or do you know where I can find one?" You ask.

Lando frowns, but gestures that he'll be one minute as he slips into Oscar's driver’s room for a second, returning with a Sharpie and handing it to you.

"What's it for?" He asks. "Are you going to vandalize McLaren to get me back?"

You giggle, standing up from the bed.

"I'm heading over to Red Bull," you explain, as if that would make any sense to Lando. "I'm going to see if I can get Max Verstappen to sign my cast. Ooh, and maybe I'll look for Charles too after."

"What?!" Lando splutters. He can't believe his ears. "You want Max and Charles to sign your cast before your own boyfriend? I know they were your favorites before we met, but have I made no progress?"

You laugh, flopping into him and leaning against his legs.

"It's because I don't want to exploit you, baby. I'm going to enjoy their signatures and then maybe sell the cast on eBay once it's off."

Lando bursts out laughing at your explanation, eyes squeezing shut as he holds you tight.

"My little businesswoman. Can I please be the first to sign it?" He asks.

You hand him the Sharpie, holding out your wrist to him. He takes it ever so gently and his tongue peeks out his mouth as he concentrates.

Twisting your arm around to read it, you grin as Lando looks proud of his work. Instead of signing as he would sign a hat or shirt for a fan, he's simply printed his name, followed by a collection of kisses and one wonky love heart. He lightly kisses your exposed fingers, then pats you cheekily on the bum as you pass him.

"Go get your signatures, baby."

thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated <3

[cheollipop]

gentle

navi | taglist

pairing: owner!seonghwa x bunny!reader x fox!wooyoung

w.c.: 2.6k

tags: smut, fluff, hybrid au, fem reader

desperate and whiny, your heat pheromones triggered wooyoung's feral instincts, forcing seonghwa to step in and teach him how to treat you properly.

warnings: dom!seonghwa, switch!wooyoung, sub!reader, heat cycles (f), unprotected sex (👎), multiple creampies, multiple orgasms (f&m), breeding kink, use of restraints (leash and collar), nipple play, hwa is referred to as daddy a few times, brat taming (kinda, wooyoung is too eager for his own good), cum eating/swallowing, cum everywhere, so much cum, wooyoung used to be a stray so he struggles with controlling his animalistic instincts, nicknames (baby, bunny, darling; youngie; hwa, daddy), aftercare

A/N: I've had this idea in my notes for quite a while now, and I've wanted to write for this pair for just as long, so I'm really happy I finally got it done :"" happy reading!

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

*₊°。 ❀°。 *₊。 ❀°。• *₊°。 ❀。 *₊°。 ❀°。

A silent home was an unusual occurrence. In most cases, Seonghwa came back to a brightly-lit apartment, it’s two other occupants racking up the electricity bill in his absence. This time, however, it was pitch black, the living room illuminated by the single lamp shining through his open bedroom door. He looked around as he walked through the room, taking in the mayhem that had broken out between the four walls: a broken vase by the coffee table, water pooling over the carpet where a bundle of roses laid lifelessly; the couch cushions thrown haphazardly around the room, only a few left in their place, Tom chasing Jerry on the TV across from it. Walking further into the house, he noted the untouched food bowls by the kitchen’s entryway and finally allowed worry to flood his system. Seonghwa was used to his two hybrids’ rapid footsteps as they barrelled their bodies towards him the second he walked through the door, climbing his body and nuzzling into his clothes. He was used to empty bowls and whiny pleads for dinner. And despite their playfulness, he was used to coming home to a fairly clean apartment, perhaps being met with wide, glassy eyes in case they had broken something while he was at work.

A soft whimper slipped through his open bedroom door and Seonghwa’s legs moved on their own, panickily rushing through the doorway and halfway into the room before stopping. His eyes widened and his leather work bag slipped through limp fingers as he scanned the scene unfolding before him – the fox hybrid covering you with his body and consequently folding yours in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he bucked his hips into your used cunt. Seonghwa’s eyes trailed down to study where you connected, the vulgar squelch of his cum being relentlessly fucked into you, streaming out of your hole and soaking your bunny tail, the ball of fur vibrating weakly at the overstimulation.

Seonghwa had taken Wooyoung in after spotting him dragging an injured leg along the side of a busy road, nursing him back to full health and realising he had gotten too attached to the cheeky fox to let him go. You had been shy and dismissive of the curious hybrid when he first entered your home, perhaps even a little jealous when Seonghwa spent a little too much time caring for him rather than doting on you. It took the fox a few days to open up to you, and only a little over a week for you to realise that Seonghwa was right: It was hard not to love Wooyoung. It surprised Seonghwa at first when you suddenly became accepting of the other hybrid’s presence, welcoming the insistent kisses he pressed to your twitching nose and cuddling up to him on the carpet where the afternoon rays warmed the luxury wool.

After a few months of the stray fox’s move-in, Seonghwa’s surprise faded into fondness whenever he found you and Wooyoung all over each other. But this? This was unusual – Wooyoung’s tail stiff and pointed horizontally, a deep growl muffled through his gritted teeth as he ploughed his cock into you, emptying load after load into your sopping heat. You met Seonghwa’s eyes, your face turned sideways on the tear-soaked pillow, the bottom half of your face wet with a mixture of Wooyoung’s drool and your own.

Your lips widened and closed, stuttering out a few broken moans before managing to form barely-coherent words. “I, Hwa- hnngh! I-I can’t-”

The tone of your voice – desperate and pleading – broke Seonghwa out of the trance he was in, quickly crossing over to the bed and wrapped his arms around Wooyoung to pull him away from you, earning himself a brute growl from the hybrid. Seonghwa watched as pearly ribbons painted your lower belly and mound, Wooyoung’s cock twitching as he came again, immediately standing back up and Seonghwa had to tighten his grip around him to keep him off you. Wooyoung’s gaze fixed on your fluttering hole, his tongue rolling out and drool dripping onto his lap while his eyes followed the trail of cum streaming out of your cunt and pooling over the sheets where you laid.

For a few seconds, Seonghwa did the same, but he quickly tuned out the throbbing in his work pants to tend to you. He was quick to take notice of the familiar flush coating your cheeks, your eyes glazed over and unfocused and your round tail twitching every few seconds – signs he was all too familiar with. You were in heat.

“Oh, darling,” he cooed, moving Wooyoung away from you and sitting down on the edge of the bed by your waist. He cradled your face with one palm and used the other to push your hair off your face. “Your pheromones must be affecting Youngie… Are you okay?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you blinked a few times before nodding, your whole body tingling under Seonghwa’s touch. “I feel so full, Hwa…”

Seonghwa’s eyes moved down your body until they reached your core: your index and middle fingers spreading you open to show him Wooyoung’s cum overflowing from your fluttering hole as it clenched desperately around nothing. He managed one breathy curse before Wooyoung’s head lowered onto you to lap up his own release, a sudden cry leaving your lips as you grabbed at your owner’s sleeve. Seonghwa tore away from your grip to move the hybrid off you again, grabbing him by the back of his neck and angling his head to face him.

“Wooyoung-ah,” Seonghwa warned, steadying him with a cautionary look.

The stray turned docile at his owner’s tone, his ears falling flat against his head and his tail drooping. “B-but… ‘want bunny to have my kits. ‘Gotta make sure she’s full of Youngie’s cum…”

Swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, Seonghwa ignored the fully-formed tent in his pants – twitching and throbbing when his eyes flitted down to your dripping core – and relaxed his hold on Wooyoung’s neck. “You have to be gentle with her, Youngie. You can’t be that rough or she might get hurt,” he smoothed his palm over the fox’s head, lightly scratching behind his ear.

Seonghwa was too distracted admiring the soft blush tinting Wooyoung’s cheeks to notice your hand moving up his leg, inhaling sharply when you cupped his clothed bulge. They both looked down at you – nuzzling your cheek into Seonghwa’s thigh while your hand worked over the hard outline of his cock.

“Can daddy show Youngie how I should be treated?”

--

Wooyoung leaned forward just enough for the leash to tug on the collar around his neck and restrict his airflow, pulling back and panting heavily before leaning forward again, lips parted and drool pooling on the sheets between his legs. He fluttered his eyes shut and welcomed the steady rhythm of skin-on-skin echoing between the four walls, knowing Seonghwa’s cock was drilling his cum into your tight cunt. He opened his eyes again to take in the sheen of sweat covering both your bodies, Seonghwa’s hips relentlessly slamming into yours. It was as though your pheromones were affecting him too despite him being human; you could tell he was barely holding on, trying to maintain a sliver of control over the situation to keep you grounded.

Having spent years with Seonghwa, nothing satiated your need to be bred like he did, grinding his cock into you in a way that sent hot waves of pleasure soaring through your body and fogging up your brain. All you could think about was Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa – his fingers gripping the soft skin of your thighs, pushing one down onto the mattress and holding the other around his waist; his mouth periodically pressing against yours, swallowing up the soft melody you sang for him before peppering kisses all over your flushed face. Your whole body shuddered under his when he drove you into another orgasm, praise rolling off his tongue, his voice sweeter than honey while he guided you through your nth high.

“Fuck, good girl,” Seonghwa praised, brushing his palm over the side of your head and dipping down to peck the tip of your twitching nose. “More, baby?”

You nodded desperately, using the leg around his waist to push him closer and further into you.

"So desperate to be bred," he chuckled. "Wanna be fucked full of my cum, hm?"

“Please, please-”

He silenced your whines with a harsh thrust, the corners of his lips tugging upwards when your features relaxed, ecstasy flooding through your body. He looked to the side, taking notice of Wooyoung’s dick – the tip an angry red, leaking an obscene amount of precum – and how his eyes fixed on where the two of you connected, transfixed by his owner’s cock pumping his own cum into your stretched hole, pushing some out to dampen the soiled sheets under you.

Seonghwa let go of your hip to unclip the leash from Wooyoung’s collar, instead grabbing the leather and tugging the stray down to your chest. He didn’t waste a second before latching his mouth onto your perked-up nipple and sucking harshly. Trailing his lips over the slope of your breast, Wooyoung whispered against the slick skin and smiled slyly at the shiver that shook your body, “Gonna be so pretty when they’re swollen with milk.”

His hands remained behind his back – following the firm instructions Seonghwa had given him while securing his leash to the bedhead – digging them into his lower back as he resisted the urge to touch you. Instead, he licked his way back to your nipple, taking it between his teeth and biting down a little too hard, the sharp pain pulling a broken cry from your lips. Long fingers tangled in the hair at the crown of his head and tugged harshly, making Wooyoung face upwards to meet Seonghwa’s burning irises.

“What did I say earlier? Are you gonna be a good boy and listen to me?” Seonghwa growled, his other hand smoothing a thumb over your breast while he stared down the fox hybrid.

Wooyoung stuttered, mewling under Seonghwa’s stern hold, “I’ll be your good boy, I promise! Please, please, I’ll be so good-”

Seonghwa pumped his length between your pulsing walls to push out a dribble of the cum the fox had pumped you full of, scooping it up with two fingers and carrying it to Wooyoung’s open mouth. The hand still holding him up tugged at his hair to sit him up before stuffing his fingers down his throat. Seonghwa began grinding his cock into your heat at the sight – Wooyoung’s eyes glassy with unshed tears, his throat constricting around the long fingers fucking his own cum into his mouth. The older man knew he enjoyed being used like this, taking notice of how his cock twitched violently between his legs at the rough handling.

Seonghwa’s eyes moved back to you – whimpering under him and rolling your hips, seeking out more friction – but he continued making Wooyoung gag on his fingers. Once, twice, and the stray was painting your chest and belly with hot ropes of cum, moaning pathetically as he came untouched, the rough prodding of his owner’s fingers against his uvula enough to drive him over the edge.

But then you were cumming, clamping down on Seonghwa’s cock and deriving a breathy curse from his plush lips before he began pounding into you. Slipping his fingers out of Wooyoung’s hot mouth, he dug them into your hips and chased his own release. Your orgasm prolonged with Seonghwa’s relentless thrusting, you arched your back and gripped on Wooyoung’s thigh as the man on top of you drove his cockhead into your swollen gland, airy moans rolling off your tongue with the mind-numbing pleasure Seonghwa so generously gave you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, “so perfect, the both of you, shit-”

Seonghwa was so close, a hair away from giving you what you desperately wanted. “Please, ‘want daddy’s cum,” you pleaded, the overstimulation violently shaking your legs. “wanna have hwa’s babies, please, fill me up- hnngh!”

He thought he’d cum from that, but then Wooyoung was bending at the waist, licking a stripe over your heaving belly to lap at his own release, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed it down. Seonghwa came with a throaty groan, speeding up his movements before slowing them down to grind his hips into your pulsing cunt, milking himself of every last drop and fucking it into you until it mixed with Wooyoung’s seed.

The next twenty minutes were a blur, Seonghwa guiding Wooyoung into the shower before coming back with a damp cloth, delicately running it over your body to clean you up. You asked him not to wash out the sticky mess inside you, and upon seeing your wide eyes and the trembling of your bottom lip, he couldn’t help but do as you asked. He placed feathery kisses over the clean skin, fighting the shivers shaking your figure. Whining when he got up to leave, Seonghwa raked his fingers through your hair to calm you down, waiting with you until a head of damp hair peeked through the doorway, the stray fox instantly jumping onto the bed to cuddle into your side. Secured within Wooyoung’s arms, Seonghwa detached himself from you to hop into the shower.

Wooyoung’s lips grazed over your neck, pressing into your pulse point while his fingers caressed and squeezed at your waist and hips. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he muttered shyly, pulling at your heart strings.

Your fingers carded through his dark locks, scratching behind his ear until pleased hums vibrated against your neck. “You didn’t hurt me, Youngie, it felt good, but... could you be more gentle next time?”

Wooyoung peeled himself away from you and nodded quickly, pressing frantic, open-mouth kisses all over your face while you giggled. You spotted your owner leaning against the doorframe, a towel wrapped around his hips and fondness painted across his features as he watched his two hybrids love on each other. You reached out in his direction and made grabby hands, a grin splitting your face in half when he moved towards you with a breathy chuckle.

Tucked in between the two men, you allowed their warmth to seep into your skin, the delicate kisses planted over your shoulders, neck, and face making your body shake with giddy giggles. You knew your heat would pick up again soon, and the desperate need to be bred would take over you once again, but for now, you allowed the comfort they gave you to lull you to sleep, their steady breathing guiding you into a pleasant dream.

Seonghwa rubbed soothing circles over your hip, gluing himself to your back and moving the blanket to cover you and Wooyoung’s shoulders. He noticed the other’s man’s gaze snap back up, previously fixed between your legs to follow the trail of cum seeping out of your used hole. As though he was a teenager who’d been caught watching porn, he tried playing it off by pretending to be asleep, but his exhaustion took over him and his breathing slowly evened out. Seonghwa simply watched him, endeared by the hybrid’s high libido, always ready to pounce on you if you gave him the chance. Wooyoung nuzzled into your neck, his arm thrown over your waist and his fingertips brushing over the other man’s skin. Seonghwa’s own drowsiness pulled his eyelids shut, the world around him fading away and Wooyoung’s meek mumbling echoing in his head as he drifted away:

“I wonder how it feels to be so full of daddy’s cum... I bet it feels nice.”

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[drabblesandimagines]

Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

---

A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

--

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

--

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.  

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

--

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.  

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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Part eight.

[pedroscurls]

second chances | pt. 2

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: Marcus gets ready to go back to work after his last few days off. He finds that you and him run on a similar schedule and slowly develop a routine. Word count: 3k A/N: This story is all fluff and eventually smut, fyi. I just want to see that smile back on Marcus Pike's face after Lisbon literally just ditches him👀 (lol i'm still bitter) Warning: None.  SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

Marcus spends the rest of his days off at home, only stepping out to get food. He finds that he prefers his solitude and since meeting you, he realizes that Lisbon hasn’t crossed his mind since. He isn’t sure what that means exactly, but he continues to tell himself that nothing could ever happen between the two of you. He hasn’t seen you since he helped you move your bed into your apartment and he doesn’t see you when he does step out of his apartment, but he has heard you throughout the day when he opens the door to his patio to let some fresh air into his apartment. 

He assumes that your sliding door must be open too because he hears the music playing softly in the background. It’s loud enough that he can hear it and he wonders if you’re beginning to unpack. Since meeting you, Marcus feels a little more hopeful about his new life in DC. 

When Monday rolls around, Marcus is already dressed and ready to head out the door by six in the morning. He’s got a travel mug filled with coffee and a bag slung over his shoulder. He hopes that he gets to see you today, even if it’s only in passing. Finally grabbing his keys, Marcus steps out of his apartment and locks it behind him. He turns on his heel and instantly smiles when he sees you locking the door to your apartment. His eyes rake over your frame, taking in what you’re wearing. You’re dressed in a white sweater with rainbow-colored horizontal stripes on it and it’s tucked into a pair of dark slacks. Your hair is pulled back into two loose braids and you have an overly-sized bag draped over your shoulder. You’re also wearing high top white converse and it puts a smile on Marcus’s face. You definitely look like a Kindergarten teacher. And it’s cute. You’re cute. 

“Morning,” Marcus calls out softly.

You look up at him and immediately grin. You couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus since meeting him. The first time you met him, it wasn’t that he was wearing a lack of clothing that you noticed, but rather his big, brown eyes that were staring back at you. And when he smiled and a dimple appeared on his right side of his cheek, you found yourself captivated. You just couldn’t believe that you tripped over your feet and that he had been watching. It was embarrassing and it was something that you always found yourself doing whenever someone that good looking was paying attention to you. 

You had hoped to see him again after he initially helped you move your large bed into your apartment, but was disappointed that you kept missing him. You had enough to distract you though, plenty of boxes to unpack, but you couldn’t help that your mind kept drifting to Marcus. Even when you opened your sliding door to your patio, you always looked over to the left to see if you would catch him standing outside too. 

But as Monday approaches, your mind is focused solely on your first day at the new school. You’re excited to start working again, so when you step out of your apartment and lock your front door at six in the morning, you’re surprised to hear his voice. You look at him from top to bottom and smile to yourself; he’s wearing a dark gray suit with a lighter gray button down shirt paired with a red tie with white dots. 

“Good morning, Marcus.” You both begin making your way to the elevator and you reach out to press the down button. As you and Marcus stand at the elevator doors, waiting for them to arrive and open, it’s Marcus that’s the first one to speak. 

“Been hearing your music,” he chuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” you blush. “I’ll keep it down–”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts with a smile. “I like it. It’s soothing. Better than hearing cars honking.” 

You nod and adjust the handle of your bag. “How were your days off?” 

“Peaceful,” he says. “Though, I think I ate a bit too much take out.”

You laugh quietly and before you could stop yourself, you ask, “Well, I make a really good pesto pasta and I was planning on making some tonight after I get home from work. Would you like to come over?” 

Marcus clears his throat. It’s as if life is throwing this fully on his lap. He’s trying to tell himself no no no, that something like this can’t happen again. He doesn’t want to open himself up to the possibility of getting hurt again, but the way you’re looking at him with your big, hopeful and excited eyes has him rethinking that maybe this could be good for him. That maybe you could be good for him. 

“Oh, that would be–” Marcus bites his lower lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be back home. I usually have late nights.” 

“That’s okay,” you say softly. “I’ll pack you a plate anyway.” 

The elevator doors open and Marcus extends a hand out for you to step inside first. You smile over at him and walk inside the elevator, pressing the button for the parking garage. Once he steps inside and the doors close, Marcus looks down at you. 

“That’d be real nice, thank you.” 

“Well, you did help me move my big ass bed into my apartment, so it’s the least I could do.”

Marcus laughs. “You really need a bed that big for someone as tiny as you?” he teases.

“Tiny?” you pout playfully, but a quiet giggle leaves your lips. “I like having space.” 

“You move around a lot in your sleep?” 

You blush again. “Well, sure, but also for other reasons…”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he realizes what you’re insinuating and it’s now his turn to blush. “Makes total sense. I’d want that much space too.”

You bite your lower lip and look up at him. You’re so attracted to him and you’re trying to tell yourself that there is no way someone like him would be single and yet, here you are telling him that your bed is so big because you like having the space for sex. How embarrassing, you think to yourself. You’re so deep in thought and regret that you don’t hear Marcus speak. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Did you hear me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh nervously. “What was that?” 

“It’s okay. I just asked if it’s your first day today. At the school.”

“Oh!” You nod, grateful that he changed the subject. “Yeah, it is. I’m excited.”

Then, the elevator doors open and Marcus is the first to step outside. You follow and look up at him, not wanting the conversation to end. 

“Well, I hope you have a great first day then,” Marcus says with a smile big enough that his dimple appears again. 

It makes you smile in return. “Thank you, Marcus.” 

“And I like the outfit. It’s cute.” Marcus winks and then walks in the opposite direction to where his car was parked. 

You bite your lower lip and watch him walk away before he disappears around the corner. You’re sure that you’re so pink in the cheeks because of your interaction with Marcus and while you’re excited for your first day at school, you’re also excited for when you could see him next. 

—

You’re exhausted by the time you get home, but the tiredness doesn’t even compare to the excitement you feel when you realize that there’s a possibility you could be seeing Marcus again. Your first day at work was busy, but it was always such a joy to be able to teach young kids and kindergartners always kept you on your toes. Having worked at a public school for most of your career, teaching kindergarten students at a private school was a little different. The class size was much smaller and you were able to establish your own curriculum and get as creative as you wanted.

You change into a pair of light gray lounge shorts, a white tank-top, and a black oversized cardigan. You pour yourself a glass of white wine, turn on some music, and then step out on your patio, leaning against the railing as you look out at your view. The sun is beginning to set and there’s a slight chilly breeze that makes you wrap your cardigan tighter around your frame. You only stay outside for a few more minutes before you head back inside to begin making dinner, setting aside a plate for Marcus. 

The boxes are still scattered around your apartment, but you had moved it around to make it easier to walk around. You’re already on your second glass of white wine when you finish cooking, but as you’re about to put enough food for Marcus on the plate, there’s a knock at your door. It’s a little after six in the afternoon, so when you open it to see Marcus on the other side, you feel your heart flutter and the butterflies in your tummy begin to swarm around again. 

“Marcus, hi.” 

“Hey,” he smiles. “Does that invite for dinner still stand?” 

“Of course,” you bite the inside of your cheek and nod. “As long as you don’t mind the mess, come on in. I just finished cooking.” 

Marcus steps inside and smiles to himself. Even if your apartment isn’t yet complete and you haven’t yet fully unpacked, it feels a lot more cozy and homey than his own and you had only moved in just a few days ago. When you shut the door, Marcus turns around to face you and he takes note of what you’re wearing. Your shorts expose enough of your legs and the tanktop you’re wearing sits just above your waistband and he can see just a tiny sliver of skin. 

“Smells delicious,” he points out, clearing his throat. Marcus has to look elsewhere before you catch him ogling. 

“Thank you,” you smile. “Want a glass of wine?” 

“That’d be great,” he replies. Marcus removes his blazer and drapes it over the back of one of your chairs at your kitchen island counter. He folds the sleeves of his button down shirt to his elbows and watches as you pour two glasses of wine and then sets food onto two plates. 

“I’m surprised you’re home early,” you say. “I thought you said you usually have late nights.” 

Marcus shrugs. “Guess I was eager to try this pesto pasta.” 

“Really?” you ask, eyes hopeful. 

“And I wanted to hear how your first day went.” 

You blush and set the glass of wine and plate of food in front of him. He takes a seat where his blazer was draped and you lean against the counter instead. “That’s very sweet, Marcus.” 

“Just trying to be a good neighbor,” he chuckles. “But if I’m overstepping any boundaries–”

“Not at all,” you interrupt all too quickly. “With me being new to the area, it’s nice to have someone like you around.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus smiles. 

“Yeah, now let’s eat. I’m starving and my day was exhausting.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks. Marcus takes a few bites of the food and grins at the taste, looking over in your direction. He watches you eat quietly to yourself and he notices the way your body is slightly swaying to the soft music in the background. Your happiness and joy is infectious and he finds himself smiling more and more around you. 

“This is really good,” he says your name and smiles when you look up at him. 

“I’m glad you think so. And I’m also glad you were able to leave work earlier than usual.” You set your fork down and then take a sip of your wine. “What do you do, by the way?” 

“FBI,” he says casually.

“Wait, what?” 

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a special agent for the FBI. My department deals with stolen arts and antiques.” 

“Now that sounds like a fun job.” 

He shrugs. “Hence the long hours and late nights.” 

“That would make sense.” You then move to sit next to him, turning in your seat to face him and Marcus turns his body to face you as well. 

“Enough about me,” Marcus chuckles. “How was your first day?” 

You grab your glass of wine and let out a contented sigh. Your arm is resting against the counter as you look up at him. “I know I said it was exhausting, but it was so fun,” you smile. “The kids are great and I’m just so excited to be able to make my own curriculum and have all the creative freedom. Public schools usually just give you their curriculum and tell you to teach it without giving you much wiggle room to make it your own. So, this is a nice change of pace.” You look into his eyes and bite your lower lip. He’s staring at you and you realize that you’re talking a bit too much. “Sorry, I just– I love teaching.”

“Sounds like it,” he smiles. “But I like hearing you talk. It’s nice.” 

You blush again and look down at your lap. You can still feel Marcus’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Instead, it does the opposite. You like the fact that he’s looking at you and he’s doing it in a way that makes you feel… seen. And it has been a while since you had a connection with anyone from the opposite sex – you were always so focused on work and didn’t have much time to date. Besides, most of the men you have been with weren’t all that great anyway. 

“So, tell me more…” Marcus says. 

“About teaching?” 

Marcus nods. “Sure. Or anything really.” 

“Oh, we’d be here all night,” you laugh, finishing your second glass of wine. “And I’m sure you have an early morning tomorrow, like I do.” 

Marcus chuckles. “You’re right. We shouldn’t get too crazy on a school night,” he winks. 

You laugh quietly and set your glass down on the counter. “So, Special Agent Marcus…”

“Pike,” he finishes. “Marcus Pike.”

“Oh, my favorite roast.”

Marcus arches a brow and lets out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You know, Pike Place? Medium roast?”

Marcus shakes his head.

“Coffee, it’s coffee.” You laugh quietly. “It’s the only roast I’ll drink, really.” 

“Good to know,” Marcus says. He makes a mental note to buy a roast of Pike Place the next time he’s at the store.

“So, Special Agent Marcus Pike,” you repeat. “Sounds so… Official.” 

Marcus chuckles and he leans back against the chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“And here I am… Just a teacher,” you tease. 

“Just a teacher?” Marcus smiles. “I wouldn’t be in the FBI if I didn’t have great teachers. I’m sure you’re a good one too.” 

You blush. “I try to be.” 

Marcus smiles and stands from the chair, grabbing both empty plates and bringing it to your sink. 

“Marcus,” you say, following him towards the sink. “Just leave it. I’ll handle it.” 

“You cooked,” he replies, looking down at you. “At least let me help clean up.” 

“Are you sure you’re real?” you laugh quietly.

“What?” Marcus smiles. 

“You’re just so… Nice.” You bite your lower lip and look up at him. You want to say so much more: Cute, handsome, sweet, thoughtful… but you stop yourself from saying what you truly want to say. 

“Like I said,” Marcus says. “Just trying to be a good neighbor.” 

“Well, you sure are going above and beyond,” you point out. “You’re setting the bar pretty high for future neighbors,” you tease. 

“Maybe I just like you,” he winks. “Now, let me clean up these dishes and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Marcus turns back around and begins cleaning your dishes. You bite your lower lip and walk towards the leftovers, stealing a glance over in your direction to see him standing in front of your sink. His shirt is stretched over his broad back and you want nothing more than to just wrap your arms around him. 

You grab a clean plate and pour half of the leftovers onto it. Wrapping it in foil, you then set it aside. Marcus turns around and dries his hand with a paper towel, pointing at the plate on your counter. 

“Is that for me?” he asks.

You nod. “Figured you could take this for lunch tomorrow.” 

Marcus smiles to himself. “You’re sweet, thank you.” He walks back to his blazer and drapes it over his arm as he reaches for the plate. “So, are you heading out again tomorrow at six?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Great. That’s usually the time I leave too. Would you like some company on the elevator ride down to the parking garage? You know, in case something happens, at least you have an FBI special agent with you,” he teases with a smile. 

You smile to yourself and before you can think about it, you reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. You feel his muscle flex underneath your fingertips and immediately drop your hand back to your side. “I think that sounds like a plan. I’d hate to be stuck in an elevator all by myself,” you smile. 

“Looking forward to tomorrow morning then,” Marcus smiles. “Thank you again for dinner.” 

“Thanks for coming over, Special Agent Marcus Pike,” you wink. You both walk towards your front door and you open it for him. He steps out and looks down at you, smiling big enough that his dimple reappears. 

“Good night,” he says softly.

“Good night, Marcus.” 

—

Since that night, you and Marcus had developed a routine every morning. Both of you would be out of the door by six in the morning and accompany each other on the elevator ride down to the parking garage. It was something you both looked forward to every morning and it was the perfect way to start the day. 

Sometimes, Marcus would forget coffee and you’d be right there to hand him a cup. And other times when you’d forget your coffee, Marcus prided himself in giving you a travel mug with your favorite roast: Pike Place.

—

prev. - next.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Not in this Alone (part 1)

pairing: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x fem!reader (Fratt x fem!reader)

summary: After a week of stressful, lonely days, your boyfriends take the time to comfort you.

warnings: swearing, brief descriptions of stressful events (items breaking, period symptoms, sickness, etc)

a/n: This is the first half of a comfort fic that I wrote for my love @madschiavelique when she was having a terrible week a bit ago. I hope that you all find comfort in its softness!

w/c: 2.6k

Dropping your bag on the floor, you yanked your shoes off and plodded directly to your bed, planting face down into the mattress with a groan. A floorboard creaked behind you, signaling another presence, but your fatigue outweighed the anxiety you felt. 

“If you’re here to kill me, can you do it in the bathtub? This is a new mattress.” Your words were muffled by the layers of fabric over your face. 

The intruder chuckled deeply, “Not here to kill ya, sweetheart.” 

“Frankie?” You turned your face towards his gravelly voice, keeping the rest of your body pinned to the bed. It had been over a week since you’d seen him—and you weren’t expecting him to be home this soon—but there he was, in all his broad-shouldered glory. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, that was definitely not his given the way it stretched over his sculpted abdomen. He looked cozy and soft—clearly having been home for a few hours. 

“Hiya, doll. Your day was that good, huh?” He nodded down to your horizontal position, making you groan and turn your face back into the mattress. Huffing a laugh, he sat down beside you, stroking a large hand over your back. “Today’s your long day, ain’t that right?” 

Nodding tiredly, you hummed in appreciation as he rubbed circles into your tense shoulders. Frank pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before poking you in the side gently. “Get up for a sec, sweet girl. Let’s get ya into some comfier clothes.” 

Gluing your arms around your sides protectively, you whined, not lifting your torso from the bed. Undeterred, Frank pinched your hip before sliding his hand around your smaller figure and flipping you upright into his lap. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he smirked at your exaggerated pout, “There’s my girl.” 

Shuffling out from underneath you, Frank planted another kiss on your cheek before standing to grab you a sweatshirt rather than the more presentable clothes you had on. Collapsing backward against the pillows, you stared blankly at the ceiling as you waited for Frank to return. After a grueling 11 hour day of traveling to and from your various art classes, you didn’t have the energy to do much else. On top of the sheer amount of time you’d been in public today, you’d been balancing a slew of intense bad luck–from your computer breaking to coming down with a cold. It had not been your week, and you’d been on your own to deal with most of it.

You knew that it wasn’t either of your partners’ faults, just incredibly terrible timing, but Matt had been sleeping at his own apartment all week after late nights at the office, and Frank had been out of town. The past few days had pushed you almost to your breaking point, but nothing actually terrible had happened, so you didn’t feel comfortable asking either of them to come to your aid. You’d been living a cycle of dosing up on medicine, going to class, coming home, and passing out–which was what you planned on doing before Frank interrupted you. 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, he padded back over with two garments in hand. He held up one of his own sweaters and Matt’s favorite Columbia crewneck. “Ok, doll, I wasn’t sure which you’d want, but…hey, what’s wrong?” 

A drop of moisture trailed down your cheek and you hastily wiped it away. Overly preoccupied with your own thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes. “Nothing, Frank, just tired.” You sniffled, giving him an unconvincingly tiny smile.

Narrowing his eyes, Frank set the clothes aside, drawing you closer to him as if you weighed nothing. Draping you over his lap and holding you close, he studied you for a moment before cradling your cheek in one of his massive, calloused hands. “You sure?”

You shrugged, nuzzling into the cool touch. “It's just been a rough week, nothing to worry you or Matt about.” A part of you felt relieved that it was Frank in front of you rather than Matt, who would have surely called you out for lying. Though your treacherous emotions might have given you away regardless, given that salty tears continued to roll down your cheeks as Frank gently stroked the droplets off of your face. 

“I know I ain't a genius, but I can tell when you're hurtin’, doll. Talk to me?” His voice was as gravelly as ever, but his deep brown eyes pleaded with you, encouraging you to be honest about your woes. 

With another half-hearted shrug, you averted your gaze, focusing on your lap rather than your concerned boyfriend. “I dunno, it's been a long week, Frankie. I started my classes again, which is fine, but my PC broke when I was trying to finish up my assignments so I had to frantically email my professors to make arrangements. And then I started my period, and then I got sick, and then all these little things started piling up like the printer not working or my backpack breaking or my train being delayed and I just—” Your voice cut out as Frank pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses against your hairline as more tears formed along your waterline. 

“Sweetheart, you shoulda called me. Or Red. You been dealin' with all this on your own?” His lips brushed over your forehead as he spoke. At your lack of response, he sighed. “Honey, we've talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but I didn't want to bother either of you with something so small.” You murmured against him, shivering as he rubbed your lower back. 

“You're not a bother, doll. Not now, not ever.” Frank tenderly rested his forehead against yours, touching your lips to his as he cradled the back of your head. “Here, why don't you put on my sweater?” 

Pulling back from the embrace, Frank tapped your arms, waiting patiently for you to lift your arms so he could remove your top and bra. After placing a soft kiss to your chest, he slipped the soft fleece over your head and arms, nodding in satisfaction at his handiwork.

“Better?” He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, lips quirked up in his signature barely-there smile. 

With a nod, you snuggled back into his embrace, sighing appreciatively when his fingers carded through your hair. 

“Glad to hear it, sweet girl. Let’s get you bundled up and we can order somethin’ to eat, yah?” 

Nodding again, you let him peel back the duvet before crawling off his lap and underneath the covers with trembling limbs. Sinking into the pillowy mattress, you sighed in relief—the exhaustion and stress of the past week sparking a deep ache in your bones. 

“Where do ya want me, babygirl?” Frank’s voice broke through your sleepy haze and you smiled despite your foul mood. Flopping onto your back, you made a grabby gesture at him. 

Chuckling quietly, Frank raised an eyebrow. “On top of ya? You’ll suffocate.” 

Pouting, you repeated the hand motions. Your throat was aflame after crying because of the stupid virus you’d picked up, leaving you hesitant to open your mouth again—but you wanted a Frank-shaped weighted blanket immediately to soothe your aches and pains. 

“Ok, doll, I won’t argue with ya after the shit week you’ve had. But promise me you’ll tap out if ya can’t breathe.” He waited for your eager nod before clambering on top of you and clumsily settling down. 

His body was tense as he held himself a few millimeters above your body, clearly still worried about crushing you. That simply wouldn’t do. Bringing your hands around his waist, you began kneading his back and shoulders in the way you knew he loved. 

Frank was fairly easy to please. A few well-placed touches to his upper back and he was putty in your hands. Running a single nail up his spine beneath his shirt, your lips broke into a grin at his deep, satisfied rumble. “Thought I was s’posed to be takin’ care of you.” He murmured, mashing his face against your neck. 

“You are. Just wanted you to relax.” You murmured, sleep tugging at your consciousness after the immense amount of energy you’d spent during your day of classes. Your voice must have revealed how desperately you needed a nap because Frank’s body shuddered with a laugh. 

“Sleep, sweetheart. I gotcha now.” 

Sandwiched between the mattress and the warm weight of your boyfriend, you let sleep drag you under. 

A thundering rumble sounded in your stomach, the vibrations breaking you out of a peaceful slumber. Groaning, you clenched your arms around your waist, hoping the pressure would cause the intense hunger pangs to fade. During your impromptu nap, your delightfully warm, boyfriend-shaped weighted blanket had been replaced by the duvet. Eyes still closed, you reached across the bed, groping the sheets in an attempt to find your partner and drag him closer to you, but you were unsuccessful. Whining miserably, you opened one eye, wincing at the bright rays of the setting sun temporarily blinded you. 

The room was, upsettingly, empty. No grumpy-yet-adorable man to be found. Coughing pitifully, you whimpered, hands clenching around the blankets, as if they would bring you comfort like Frank had. Had your interaction this afternoon been a dream? Were you alone all along?

A drop of saline rolled down your face and splashed onto the pillow, the moisture cool against your warm skin. Sniffling feebly, you shut your eyes again, praying that sleep would take you before you could wallow in your loneliness for too long. 

“Sweetheart?” Wiping your eyes, you glanced to the doorway to find the source of the voice, spirits lifting when you saw two beautiful men staring back at you, brows puckered in concern. 

They were by your side in an instant; Matt sat at the edge of the bed next to your pillows and Frank crawled into bed beside you, kissing your forehead when you immediately latched onto him. Matt frowned, running a hand over your arm before sliding into a horizontal position at your back. 

Their warmth was divine. Four burly arms wrapped around you, tangling you between your two partners. Matt’s nose brushed your nape as Frank hooked his chin over your head, guiding your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your entire body sagged in relief, so grateful to be surrounded by the two men who loved you more than you could comprehend, so happy that you weren’t alone in your anguish any longer. 

“You ok, my love?” Matt’s gentle, unexpected question pushed your delicate constitution into emotional turmoil. 

A choked cry ran through your body with a tremor. Barrier broken, your body was suddenly wracked with vicious sobs, interspersed with weak coughs and sniffles. 

The muscular walls around you compressed as your partners pressed impossibly closer, cooing in sympathy as you bawled. 

“Hey, you’re ok, doll. You’re ok.” Frank’s dulcet rumble shook his chest beneath your ear. 

“That’s it, darling. We’re here now.” Matt spoke quietly, kissing the shell of your ear when he finished. His large hand splayed over your stomach, rubbing gentle circles as you trembled. Frank’s hand mirrored the motion along your back. 

The pair of them continued caressing you tenderly as your cries gradually halted. Drawing in a deep, hiccuping breath, you wiped your eyes, a rush of embarrassment flooding your body. 

“‘M sorry.” You whispered, blinking back a new wave of ashamed tears. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, babygirl.” Frank promised. 

“After the week you had, I don’t blame you.” Matt sighed, placing a line of kisses down your neck. “Next time you’re this miserable, pretty girl, give me a call, ok? I’ll come check up on you at the very least. I don’t want you at home alone when you’re this upset.” 

“I didn’t know if I could ask you to come over.” You explained shakily. 

“Oh, love,” Matt sounded almost mournful, hugging you tightly from behind. “Always. I’ll always come for you.” 

You nodded, a few lingering tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“You’re a bit feverish, darling. Are you feeling ok?” Matt’s voice was tight with worry. 

Shrugging timidly, you sighed, burrowing further into the cocoon of limbs you were wrapped in. “‘M ok. Better now.” 

Frank huffed out a laugh, kissing the crown of your head. “Forgot to mention, she’s got a cold.” 

“On top of everything else? You poor thing.” Matt crooned, running a knuckle over your cheek comfortingly. 

“It’s nothing.” You assured them, because it really was the least of your worries right now, with all of your impending assignments and broken equipment. 

Your loves seemed unconvinced, but they didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, Frank switched gears. “I’m sorry I left ya, doll. I ran to pick up dinner and got stuck talking to this one,” He gave Matt’s arm a shove, “In the living room.” 

“You started talking to me!” Matt argued with a bright chuckle.

“You wish, Red. I was tryin’ to get back to my girl and you were blabberin’ on about court.”

”YOU asked ME how my day was!“

”Out of politeness, and you went way beyond the one word answer I was hoping for.“ 

”Well, excuse ME for thinking my partner wanted to hear about my day.“

The two continued bickering, their dramatic inhales expanding their chests, pushing you around like the bellows of an accordion. It could have been annoying, being jostled by their argument, but each swell of muscle reminded you of their presence, soothing your nerves. 

You let your limbs go slack, your body bouncing between the two sturdy frames surrounding you as if you were a ping pong ball. Smiling happily, you let their rising voices wash over you as you began to nod off again. 

”You alright, sweetheart?“ Frank's question startled you awake and you were unsure of how much time had passed. ”Ya got quiet on us.“

”'M fine. Sleepy.“ You responded, basking in the soft touches that you were once again bombarded with. 

Matt chuckled against your neck. “That makes sense, my darling girl. You can rest here with me while Frank gets the pizza.” 

You could practically hear Frank's resounding eye roll at Matt's demanding tone, but you were more interested in the promise of food. “Pizza?” You asked, hopefully.

“Yah, doll. Pizza. From your favorite place. Thought you deserved somethin' tasty after everythin' you had to deal with this week.” Frank kissed the tip of your nose, sliding out of your embrace and off the bed. “I'll be right back with it, ok?” 

“Mmmkay.” You yawned, making both men smile. Matt carefully maneuvered your body so that you were propped against his chest, sitting up ever so slightly. 

“There we go, pretty girl. How's that?” His lips tickled your forehead as he spoke and you giggled.

“Tickling me, Matty.” You whispered, tilting into his grasp with a sigh. 

“Thought you were s'posed to be helpin' her rest.” Frank remarked from the doorway, pizza box balanced precariously as he wolfed down a slice. 

Matt scoffed, “And I thought that pizza was for her.”

Shrugging, Frank smirked at his boyfriend. ”It's my tip. For the delivery.“ 

Matt snorted in response, taking the box from Frank so he could sit behind you. 

”Let's get some food into ya, doll. Then you can sleep as much as ya want, ok?“

The rest of the night was spent laying on a firm chest as the boys fed you slices of your favorite pizza, eventually falling asleep blanketed by their embrace. 

Admiring your beautiful face, your expression lax with sleep, Frank spoke as lowly as possible to avoid waking you. 

”We have some work to do, Red. You ok handlin' things here if I go out tomorrow?“ 

”Absolutely,“ Matt confirmed. ”It shouldn't take us long.“ 

”Nah, but it'll make her day.“

”And that's what's important.“ Matt smiled, kissing Frank's arm that was draped across the 3 of you. 

[rachalixie]

Hi hi<3 Are ur requests open? If so, can you please make a Felix fluff for me where he comforts the reader whos on her period nothing just pure fluff🥺 cuz im so down today:(

Its ok if you dont want to i can understand♡

Hope u have a great day/night !!

a/n: hi honey! yes, requests are open, here's a little drabble for you <3

“hi, sweetheart,” felix says as he knocks on your bedroom door, bringing in his eternal sunshine through the crack when he opens it a bit. “doing okay?”

he knows, of course he knows. felix keeps better track of your cycles than you do, he always knows when you’re about to start your period like he has some kind of eternal alarm clock that’s dialed into your body. he would tell you it’s because he got used to his sisters having them, but you choose to believe that he just loves you that much. he never disagrees when you tell him that.

when you peek up at him from your bed, burrowed into your duvet and looking generally miserable, he slides the rest of the way in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. he’s holding a plastic bag that crinkles as he walks towards you, his socked feet making no sound as he reaches the bed,

“i stocked up the bathroom with the usual,” he says as he brushes some of your flyaway hairs out of your eyes as he sits by your head. you press your face into his thigh, breathing in the detergent smell on his sweatpants. “there’s plenty of your tea in the cabinet. and i brought you the snacks; they ran out of the watermelon gummies so i got the peach ones.”

“my angel,” you mumble into his leg, and he giggles as he pets your head again. he’s so gentle with you, he always is, but especially now when he knows you’re more sensitive than usual. he never makes it feel bad about it, about your emotions or your fatigue, he never acts grossed out about you or your body and you’re so grateful to him for it.

“you want a massage, honey?” he asks, completely serious. he’s done it for you so many times, knowing that your muscles never felt more sore than the weeks where you were on your period. you contemplate it for a second before shaking your head, hairs falling back into your face and erasing the hard work he did to get it tamed.

“cuddles?” you reach out for him, making grabby hands at his shirt and tugging at him until his body is horizontal and aligned with yours. he wriggles into your blanket with a blinding smile, dropping the bag next to the bed so he can tangle your fingers together. your body melts into his as you soak him up, his presence erasing the uncomfortableness you’ve been feeling all day. your muscles finally relax and you sigh into his chest, completely content in a way only he can make you feel. 

“order in for dinner?” he says, already planning out what to get since he knows you’ll say yes. you push yourself further into him as a response, and he kisses your forehead before pulling his phone out of his pocket in a nice display of flexibility given how you’re wrapped around him. “pizza?”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie’s live streaming when his insomnia finally catches up with him and he falls asleep. He’s sitting upright, slouched in the corner of the couch in the studio with his guitar resting in his lap. He’s like that for maybe an hour before you start hearing noise.

Steve is loud as he comes down the stairs into the studio, calling out Eddie’s name and talking about his day at work. When he sees Eddie asleep, he lets out the littlest, “Oh.”

Steve sits his work bag down in the floor and carefully removes the guitar from Eddie’s lap.

As gently as he can, he starts the process of getting Eddie horizontal on the couch without waking him up. He even gets Eddie’s heating pad and situates it under him because sleeping all slouched over like that is gonna cause him back pain.

He covers him up with a blanket from the back of the couch, lower the lights, and turns on soft music for him. He moves hair off his forehead before pressing a kiss there and whispering, “Sweet dreams, rockstar.”

And then Steve go back upstairs to let Eddie rest, none the wiser to the still streaming live watching him.

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby: Part 13

a/n: There are only going to be about 5 more parts to this story I think.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Meet the Parents

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“I spy with my little eye something that is pokey.” You gaze out the window at the Arizona landscape enroute to some small town east of Dallas.

Jake fakes concentration while answering, “hmmm, is it a cactus?” Jake had moved into your house a few months ago, and you were driving to his home town to pick up some of his stuff that he had been keeping at his parents. It still feels fast but at the time you had been together for eight months and spent every evening together anyway. It did not make sense for Jake to continue to rent. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye something tall.” Jake says with a grin glancing at you. 

“Cactus.” You say with confidence. “I spy something reddish.”

“A rock?” You nod at his response. “Ok, I spy something rocky.”

“Jaaaake!” you groan, “You have to come up with your own things to spy!”

“There is nothing to spy but cactus, sagebrush, and rocks.” You roll your eyes but he is right. You are eight hours into the trip and still have another hour until you reach the campsite you are spending the night at. 

“Ok, new game,” he says. “Would you rather fight fifty chicken sized alligators or one alligator sized chicken? 

You ponder his question for a moment before answering. “One giant chicken. All I would have to do is cut its head off,” you say with confidence. “It would flap around and get blood everywhere but I think if I had a machete I would win.”

“I am horrified with the violence inside you.” Jake says with mock disgust. “I wish I had known of your atrocious blood lust before I moved in.” 

“OH MY GOD!” you laugh, “you asked!”

“And I will always regret it,” he says solemnly to your giggles, “I'll never be able to look at you the same.” 

– – – 

The rest of the drive passed in contented silences, radio singalongs, and long discussions both serious and irreverent. Before you know it you are pulling up at a neat farm house a few miles outside of a small town. When Jake puts his pickup into park you feel the nerves that have been bubbling in your stomach rise to the top. You are nervous to meet Jake's parents.

Jake takes the hand that is not carrying your bags and gives it a reassuring squeeze, leading you up the walk. His mother comes running out of the house, wearing blue jeans, runners and a t-shirt. Her blond hair pulled into a ponytail.  “Oh my baby boy is home,” she dramatically rushes past you and throws her arms enthusiastically around Jake giving his noisy kisses on the cheek. You step back and eye Jake’s blush over his mothers head trying to get a read on his response. Your lips pressed together to hide any emotion you might have. Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t this. 

His mother turns to you, “Well aren’t you the sweetest thing!” Her accent is much thicker than you expected, you say a polite hello and introduce yourself. “Well my name is Tammy and my husband George and I raised this young man here,” she says, pinching Jake's cheek causing his face to redden further. 

She turns and leads you into the house, “Now I have you set up to sleep in Julia’s old bedroom,” she says to you. “I can’t have an unmarried couple doing the devil's tango under my roof.” You feel heat flood your face and stare wide eyed at Jake.

“I didn’t mention that?” he asks quietly at your expression.

“No!” you whisper back before turning to Tammy, “That will work fine.” Tammy directs Jake to take the bags upstairs and ushers you into the kitchen and gives you a glass of lemonade. 

“Now I hope you understand, I want there to be no horizontal refreshments happening here.” Tammy continues as you choke on your drink.

You manage a hoarse, “Ok,” between coughs. 

Tammy tuts as she bustles around the kitchen placing a tray of cookies and fruit in front of you. “I don’t know what kind of mattress testing you get up to in California, but under my roof you will not be wiggling the toothpick.” You nod mutely and feel as if your face is about to catch fire. “And there will be no rolling in the hay either when you go riding next door either!” she shakes a spoon at you as she gives the lemonade another stir before filling more glasses.

A noise announces the arrival of a man who can only be Jake’s father, George. They have the same eyes and face but George's greying hair was originally brown. “You must be Jake’s girlfriend," he says kindly and pulls you into a hug before leaning back to look at you. He takes in the embarrassed look on your face and sighs. 

“Tammy, I told you to stop with your anti-sex hazing!” 

Tammy groans and immediately drops the elaborate accent, shifting to one that matches Jake’s. “Dammit you ruined it! I almost made it to six different ways to describe sex!”

You are glancing back and forth between the two of them confused. “What?”

George sighs, “Tammy likes to greet all of our childrens partners with an elaborate ‘no sex while you are here talk,’” he explains. “You’ll be sleeping in Jake’s room, just ignore everything she said.” He scratches his head in embarrassment. “I do have to say the walls here are incredibly thin and I am a very light sleeper so please be very quiet whatever you do.”

“I sleep like the dead,” Tammy chimes in with a smile, “I won't hear anything, so scream and moan away!”

You groan and rest your blazing face on the cool granite countertop listening to Tammy’s laughter, George sits beside you pats your back in commiseration. “Did Jake know you were going to do this to me?” you say in a muffled voice. “Is that why he ran off?”

“I did,” Jake sounds sheepish as he walks into the room and you raise your head to glare. “In my defense I laughed so hard at Jules’ husband when Mom did it to him that Julia threatened to say something I will not repeat if I didn’t let my mother do it to the next woman I brought home.”

“You sold me out!” you say in outrage. “Either you tell me that secret or Julia will, I deserve to know for the suffering you put me through.”

“Deal,” Jake readily agrees. “I need to limit the amount of blackmail Julia has on me to use on you.”

“Oooh,” Tammy pipes in, “tell me too!”

“That will never happen.” Jake declares. 

After your embarrassing introduction the rest of the evening of getting to know Jake’s parents goes smoothly. They are welcoming and so incredibly kind it’s almost overwhelming. When you eventually head to bed Tammy sends you a wink, “remember I sleep like the dead,” and heat floods your face and you can see Jake’s face go lobster red. 

Jake's childhood bedroom had been remodeled into a guest room and you are disappointed to not get a look into the life of teenage Jake. “Trust me,” Jake says, “it’s for the best.” 

It’s nice to go through your evening routine beside Jake and the two of you are soon snuggled into bed. Despite Tammy’s encouragement, it’s George’s advice that wins out and after a few kisses, you drift off to sleep with Jake’s chest pressed against your back. 

[toesmoke]

sleep/cuddle headcanons

characters: venti, albedo, kazuha, heizou, cyno

warnings: none

notes: gn reader ("you/your"). can be read as platonic or romantic.

venti

In terms of body temperature, Venti is usually neither too cold nor too warm. That being said-- if he is colder than usual, he will absolutely put his cold feet on you. He is a menace.

He is so darn cute, so I can't imagine him sleeping without snuggling something-- a pillow, Dvalin's tail, a plushie, etc.

(For your consideration... Venti snuggled up in a pile of little wind sprites... thank you).

And-- as long as you are comfortable with it-- he would be delighted to snuggle up to you, too!

I feel like he would be open to physical affection pretty soon after meeting you. He just strikes me as an affectionate guy, including platonically.

The first time you shared a bed, he clung to you as soon as you settled in.

He likes to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. It tickles a little, but it's nice-- he feels secure, and you have your very own personal weighted blanket.

In general, I think Venti would prefer to face you when cuddling, instead of spooning. He gets to look into your eyes, with the added benefit of forehead kisses (both giving and receiving!!!)

I also think he would move around in his sleep-- but not necessarily enough to wake you. You would wake up in the morning to find him sprawled horizontally across you, making it difficult to get out of bed.

albedo

I'm so sorry, but Albedo is cold. It's not a dealbreaker, but I don't think he ever gets warm. At best, his body temperature is just... neutral.

The good news: hot, muggy summer nights with him are WONDERFUL. This also includes traveling in humid climates (like the rainforests of Sumeru). Because he does not really get warm, he is the perfect cuddle buddy for staying cool!

The bad news: there is no... "cuddling for warmth" fanfic trope on Dragonspine. That being said!-- he is well-prepared with heavy duty blankets and sleeping bags. Combine that with some marshmallows and a campfire, and every night on Dragonspine is cozy and warm.

Because he doesn't get warm himself, Albedo doesn't mind if you're warmer. He still can detect heat/cold, so if you're shivering, he'll catch on immediately and fetch another blanket.

I don't think Albedo is used to physical affection, but he still likes to receive it. Though he doesn't go out of his way to initiate, he gets a fuzzy feeling in his chest when you snuggle up to him at night.

Albedo doesn't mind being either the big or little spoon. I also think he would enjoy having you lay your head on his chest. It lets him have a physical reminder of your presence.

If you have hair/if it's long enough, he'll definitely comb his hands through your hair. He also likes to braid sections of it-- it helps him unwind from another long day of research.

kazuha

After describing Venti in a pile of wind sprites... I also had the thought of a sleepy Kazuha in a pile of (equally sleepy) kittens.

Kazuha might be cooler than average in terms of body temperature, but he's otherwise pretty average. He still will keep you warm if it's chilly out, and you won't be overheating in the summer.

I do think that he prefers to not feel too weighed down-- instead of weighted blankets, he prefers layered sheets or fluffy comforters.

He is still a sucker for physical affection, but he is a lot better at hiding it. He won't get very close unless you've asked him to cuddle with you.

If you do muster up the courage to ask him to cuddle-- you will end up creating a monster. Every night, unless you request otherwise, you'll have a very sleepy, very snuggly Kazuha pressed up against you. He'll sometimes prop a leg up and over your hip, just to make sure you aren't going anywhere.

Bonus points if you smell like shampoo/body wash before you go to bed. For the wandering samurai, that particular scent is what grounds him. After all, no matter where he roams, you are his home.

No matter how the two of you are cuddling, Kazuha likes being able to face you. Both before he falls asleep, as well as when he wakes up in the morning, he likes to have a visual reminder that you are still there. Despite his trust in his own senses, he starts to doubt himself when it gets to be too late. Being able to both hold and see you helps.

heizou

Heizou runs at a pretty average body temperature as well. He might be a little warm, but nothing that would be alarming. And if it's too hot out to be cuddling... uh, good luck trying to keep him away from you.

Heizou is both a blanket thief and a (somewhat) restless sleeper. He does the thing where he ends up cocooned in the blankets in the morning, so he has to scramble out of them every time.

If you are sharing a bed, please just get a weighted blanket. This can prevent him from accidentally kicking you in the stomach as he tries to free himself from the blanket burrito.

Alternatively, I suppose you could lie on top of him, and this would accomplish the same thing. But with the added bonus of being able to wake him up with a forehead kiss.

Heizou will be pretty clingy once you've become close enough friends. When you're still getting to know each other, he observes your behavior to deduce whether you'd be open to more physical affection. Once he feels confident enough, he'll start to be more affectionate with you.

Heizou will probably want to lie on top of you, or at the very least, he will use you as a pillow. It's very cute, but it will not prevent him from moving around while he sleeps. At this point, your best bet is to pull him closer and play with his hair. This relaxes him so much that he falls asleep faster, and he tends to wake up less in the night, too.

If he wakes up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep-- he will probably leave the bed to get water or a snack. If he stays up for too long, though, it starts to mess with his sleep schedule. So if you see him try to finish a report or re-read one of his ongoing cases, please drag him back to bed. He'll get back to sleep much faster if you're there to hold him and quiet down his thoughts.

cyno

Cyno is slightly cooler than average, because he is somehow able to get away with having his hair down while traversing the desert. If he were any warmer, he would absolutely have to put his hair back.

I do say "slightly" cooler, though, because he still has to wear light clothing in the hot desert. He's not completely unhinged.

I feel like Cyno would try to just "tough out" cold nights in the desert, with maybe one lightweight blanket or a compact sleeping bag. He insists he is fine without any additional warmth, but if you convince him to join you, he finds himself melting into your arms.

It takes a lot of trust to be able to cuddle with him. Cyno can get somewhat jaded after years of hunting down criminals and enacting justice. You need to show him-- through your actions, not your words-- that you are not hiding some malicious intent or an ulterior motive.

Once he does trust you, though, Cyno learns that cuddling with you is... really, really nice. Having nobody but himself to rely on is exhausting. It's nice to have somebody to comfort you at the end of a long, tiring day.

Cyno likes being able to hold you. He wants to feel like he can protect you, even if the two of you are asleep. He's especially fond of resting his head on top of yours, letting you bury your head into his neck/collarbone. Being held like this, you swear that you've never felt more secure in your life.

Cyno is also fond of pillow talk, but you'll probably have to coax it out of him. Cyno tends to travel alone, which means he rarely has somebody to talk to. He is happy to talk to you about anything, but he would be elated if you let him test out a joke or two.

[softevnstan]

From the NSFW genarator

 reader handing Bucky Barnes a bowl of cream/chocolate/honey and telling them to spread them on their own body where they want it eaten by reader. Bucky Barnes eagerly complies, and everything starts (or ends) with a sloppy smear on person Bucky Barnes's lips.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. for valentine's day, bucky brings you a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. with a game proposition, you very quickly come to learn you're hungry for a different type of cream.

warnings. bucky loves you with all his heart but he's also a hard dom at heart. misuse of strawberries and whipped cream, dom/sub undertones, spitting/spit, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, food play - whipped cream, facefucking, petnames (specifically 'doll' and 'sugar', but these are intended to be for any partner, not just f), fluff, pre-established relationship SMUT - minors DNI. reader's bits are not mentioned in depth here so gender is ambiguous, i like all of my stories to be as inclusive as i can make them :)

a.n. hi, nonny, i wanted this to be out on valentine's day but some things in my personal life held that up. additionally: kinda interpreted this a little bit of the way i wanted to and the way i thought i'd best enjoy writing it, so bucky is the one with the game in mind (bonus: listen to this song as your background music like i did to add to the experience) -- reader is nerdy and likes things like books and candles and reading (reader is me projecting lbr)

also winterdevil friendship briefly mentioned bc i can

w.c. 7.3k

You were only a few pages into your new book - ‘Good Omens’; You’d heard good things about the story in its witty writing and amusing tale. 

Bucky had been paying attention when you’d both gone on a bookshop date and scoured the shelves hopefully for the novel. Even when asking about the bookstore’s directory, the worker reluctantly let you know the book wasn’t in stock. You’d shrugged the loss off with a warm smile; ‘Better luck next time, right?’

Imagine your delight when Bucky brought you a red gift bag with four golden arrows decoratively laid horizontally and stacked upon one another with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. Inside the bag had even more delightful contents; Peeling past the elegant golden tissue paper, you were excited to find your very own copy of the novel you’d been unable to find in stores. Additionally was a box of chocolates and a candle scented ‘Rose & Apple’.

“Aw, Bucky,” you swooned, “I thought we said no gifts…?” “I know,” Bucky admitted, moving around the kitchen island to come to stand behind you; Arms of flesh and vibranium slowly winding around your waist to hug your body to his own, settling into a comfortable hold so naturally. “But I like seeing you smile.”

You looked fondly at the cover of the book, thumb gently brushing over the paperback cover before setting it down on the counter. You bit your lips together in an appreciative smile, and you felt Bucky’s grin against the side of your neck where he tucked away. Nose rubbing affectionately against your pulse before pressing a chaste kiss.

“...At least now you won’t feel surprised when I tell you I got you a few gifts of your own,” you reveal as you turn your head to usher Bucky’s chin up. “Oh, of course, you got me something anyways!” Bucky huffed on an amused laugh, eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, and your heart was left to melt.

He nosed into you lovingly, nuzzling and then pressing foreheads together. You took the opportunity to drape your arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a warm embrace; the rest of your quiet valentine’s day was spent peacefully with expensive sushi ordered to your shared apartment, moving the furniture and putting his records on to sway together playfully with giggles and kisses, then wrapped up with movies in the living room and popcorn kernels in between the couch cushions from the way you’d been pelting pieces at one another. You needed no fancy dinners or dates. You both were capable of making a night-in a remarkable memory all on its own.

Though the favor you called in from Zemo wound up with gifting Bucky a signed copy of ‘The Hobbit’ signed by J.R.R. Tolkien himself, and that was pretty good at also making an evening remarkable. The absolute awe in Bucky’s eyes and the way he’d gone slack-jawed when unwrapping the book was worth the six digits that were poured into the cost. Zemo had more than enough to spend and was happily willing to pay off his debt. A book was child’s play for Baron - simple.

You'd only been a few pages into your new book; Having been eager to begin drinking in the story as soon as possible. Bucky knew you were a bookworm; it's part of what you two had so in common - Bucky knew how to appreciate a good story, too. Eagerly diving into the paperback and excitedly tearing through pages was what you did best; On Multiple occasions where Bucky and you had surprised one another with blind-book dates and annotated novels for one another, reading was perhaps a love language between the both of you.

So you’d think Bucky would’ve expected that from you as soon as that book was between your nimble fingers. Good luck with any attempts that may sway your attention or distract you as a whole; everyone should know it’s useless to try. But Bucky wasn’t everyone else. Bucky knew you and knew how to wriggle his way in between you and a good book. 

And his key tool for that this evening seemed to be a wooden food tray with a bowl of hulled strawberries and a tub of whipped cream, and then an additional can that made you raise a brow. Any skepticism was dropped in moments given the natural delight you felt with Bucky in a room. When it was just the two of you, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. “Surprise,” Bucky beamed softly, earning an amused smile from you in the process. He moved from the archway of the kitchen to step into the living room, rounding the coffee table to take his seat beside you on the couch. 

“Strawberries? You shouldn’t have,” you hum appreciatively, picking up your bookmark to hold your page; You didn’t dog-ear your pages like some savage. 

“Strawberries and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand last I checked. Whipped cream just makes it even better.” the soldier defends, earning a playful roll of your eyes. 

“You’re makin’ me feel like a chump here, Bucky, we said no gifts and surprises,” you softly protest albeit with little sternness to your voice. Book abandoned on the side table of the couch, you leaned to reach for a piece of fruit.

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky stops you, vibranium hand coming to cover the mouth of the bowl. “This isn’t for nothin’, I wanna play a game, sweetheart…” The sultry purr to Bucky’s voice insinuates he’s up to no good. “Huh?” You pause, confused as you look between Bucky’s hand and the bowl. A game? “I should’ve known there’d be a catch. You’re a menace, James.” The words are light and teasing; No real harm behind them.

“Oh quit bein’ so dramatic,” Bucky playfully chides with a teasing pinch to your outer thigh - it makes you squeak in delight and burst into soft laughs before shooing his hand away. Bucky absolutely thrives on your smile and laugh; It drives him crazy. “I’m not dramatic, I’m melodramatic!” you titter happily. “Well, if by ‘melodramatic’ you mean ‘theatrical’,” Bucky commented with a mischievous grin as he safely set the tray on the coffee table. You took the liberty of pulling the throw pillow you’d been laying on and help it live up to its name; Hitting Bucky in the shoulder with the cushion for his ‘theatrical’ comment.

“You love me and my melodrama theatrics all the same, don’t act like you don’t.” “Alas, it’s true.” he sighs sweetly, nothing but love in his gray eyes as he says it; Smitten. The softness of it helps melt some of the banter that had been building. “...And what was this ‘game’ you were talking about, exactly, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes light up with arousal, wetting his lips and treating the question as though he couldn’t wait to answer. “Have you ever plaid chicken before, sunshine?” Bucky inquires, and your head shakes side to side. “Alright, I brought out whipped cream. Wherever one person smears whipped cream, the other has to lick it off. The first one to refuse - or chicken out - loses.” 

Your own gaze widens with delight at the sound of the provocative game. At least a game was something you could get behind, and it definitely had a means of spicing things up with Bucky; Not that your sex life was boring, but something new every now and again was exciting for the both of you.

“Aw,” Bucky tuts sympathetically, “I can see it on your face, poor thing. The way your eyes lit up… Sheesh, people are gonna think m’not takin’ care of my babydoll.” The heat that rises to your face is familiar and leaves your chest feeling fluttery. “You do take care of me, Bucky,” you softly utter, squeezing your thighs together. “I wanna play.” the words are airy when they leave your lips, and the voice in which you speak makes Bucky stifle a soft groan in reply.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a perfect little thing, always onboard for whatever I want to try.” Bucky hums his approval and something inside of you swoons for the praise. He even takes a moment to use his fingers and tenderly brush the stray hairs from your face; touching you nothing but gently.

“Uh huh,” you confirm with a jerky nod and a doe-eyed look as Bucky smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He reaches for the container of whipped cream, popping the lid off. “Wait.” The thought creeps up on you.

Bucky stills briefly, eyes flickering to your face in a brief haze of concern. Pausing the act he’s been putting on for a moment to assure you’re not being genuine when you ask him to ‘wait’. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, attention solely on Bucky as you watch his studying face. Leave it to Bucky to be ready to fret over you at the drop of a dime.

“What if I win?” Bucky’s expression falls for a brief moment before twisting into disbelief and amusement. He laughs, entertained but relieved that’s where your concerns lie rather than somewhere more concerning.

“If you win, huh? Hmm,” Bucky takes a deliberate moment to hum and you shift with eager anticipation. Curious for whatever delicious thoughts may be brewing in that beautiful head of his. “Why don’t you choose — What would my babydoll want as a prize…?” the drawl of his voice nearly makes you squirm where you sit on the couch.

Your mind runs wild with ideas for half a moment before settling on something simple; “You have to go down on me, mouth only. No hands to help.” A swell of pride in your chest at the thought, you could already imagine Bucky looming over you and the warmth of his breath on your core before delving in without the aid of his hands. 

Bucky seems to like the idea as well if the devilish way he watches you is anything to go off of.

“Sounds like a deal, and if you lose, you go down on me, sunshine.” You would hardly consider that a losing game.

“Sounds like a fair match - may the best player win,” you chuckle, the words a meager attempt to take back the reigns on your confidence and not become complete mush for this man by default. Bucky had this charming way of entrancing you. He did it to everyone that got to know him, half the time Bucky didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’ll get us started,” the sergeant takes lead - setting the lid of the whipped cream container on the coffee table and using a spoon he’d brought along with him to scoop up a dollop from the container. Messily, Bucky smears a dab across his bottom lip - all too aware of what he’s doing. Bucky may look innocent, but there are devil horns holding up that halo. You wonder if that’s a reflection of his friendship with Matt.

The grin Bucky wears is devilish when he looks at you; Eyes piercing and somehow even seductive with a swipe of whipped cream on his bottom lip. A soft giggle emits from your being before leaning to pluck up a strawberry. You use the piece of fruit to swipe along Bucky’s bottom lip, successfully scooping up traces of the whipped cream before taking a bite of the strawberry. The taste is ripe and sweet, no wonder they’re occasionally considered a form of natural aphrodisiac. 

Bucky’s flesh hand finds your wrist tenderly after the first bite, causing you to arch a brow. 

“Licking, sunshine.” Bucky corrects. “Pick at strawberries all you want, but the rules of the game required you to use your mouth. Otherwise, that’s not nearly as fun, is it?”

It’s moments like those that made you feel all light and fuzzy. When Bucky talks to you as though you were a helpless and useless thing; It makes your brain fog up with cotton with the way he speaks down to you. 

“No, Bucky,” You exhale sweetly. “Good baby,” Bucky’s hand releases your wrist to lift and cup your cheek, giggling when you’re faced with the whipped cream on his lip again. Not as easy to take him so seriously. Bucky gives an amused huff at the response. “Now c’mon, before this melts and you have to lick that up, too.”

Popping the rest of your strawberry into your mouth, you finished chewing and swallowing before cupping Bucky’s jaw to steady him. Holding him in place when you lean forward into his space; being able to smell the traces of sandalwood and cinnamon on his skin made you shiver. It didn’t matter how many times you were like this with Bucky, your belly filled with butterflies every time in the best way. Tentatively you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, whipped cream sweet on your tongue.

There’s no chance to pull away when Bucky catches your lips in an immediate kiss following. Mouth slotting to yours in the opportunity that the man has, grinning against your lips like the cat that got the cream. His large palm lifted to come and cradle your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing into your hair where it cups under your eat. Palm cooler than the average person due to the way his body ran cold, but your own warmth helped balance out the temperature difference from time to time. Your cheek felt like fire beneath this hand. 

Bucky kisses you hungrily, a searing claim when he licks hot into your mouth and makes you whimper and shiver. Your fingers still hold his bearded cheeks as Bucky takes his time tasting you; Enjoying it far more than any whipped cream he could ever buy. Bucky parts only after he’s left you breathless, wiping a thumb at his bottom lip with a low chuckle. Your head is left to spin with your heart hammering in your ears.

“Been achin’ to kiss you like that all day,” Bucky confesses. Your lips tingle, mourning the loss of Bucky pressed against your like that. “You’ve had countless chances, Bucky - we’ve been here alone all day.” You defend while lacking a legitimate malice to your tone. 

“It’s different,” you almost wave him off at the defense and make yourself busy with the whipped cream when Bucky elaborates. “I wanted to be soft with you today; I think we both deserve a little tenderness every once in a while. But sexy games give me a reason to kiss you like that.”

“Sometimes I struggle to believe that you’re the same stoic sergeant everyone quakes in front of.”

“I’m not; Not with you.” The words are raw, and it would make your heart turn to mush if you weren’t turned on by his kindness.

“You’re sexy when you’re sweet,” you coo, fingers brushing up his jaw to draw Bucky in for another quick kiss.

“And you’re sexy all the time, sunshine.” Bucky hums right back before meeting you partway for a small exchange of pecks. You both linger there for a moment, the kisses stolen not nearly as heady or heavy. Then you’re taking your turn. Parting lips and Bucky nearly chases your touch for more when you tut your tongue. A mock of his earlier tutting. “Aww,” you echo back to him, half condescending and half frisky. “I see it on your face, people are gonna think m’not taking care of my Buckybear.” though with your delivery, the words are far less menacing and end with you breaking the character to laugh, especially when Bucky is already crumbling into chuckles in front of you.

“‘Buckybear’?” Bucky parrots incredulously and entertained. “Trying out new nicknames,” you say with an innocent shrug, plucking up the spoon to get more cream on the utensil. “I think it’s cute.” “I like it,” Bucky agrees, shifting to get comfortable on the couch while his predatory gaze follows your hand. “It’s a nickname you gave me, just… Maybe let’s not let Sam hear this one.” “Does he still call you ‘Buckaboo’ sometimes?” You ask, momentarily distracted and appreciative that you and Bucky are able to break up seductive moments with cute ones. You’re convinced it’s proof you’re both truly in love to be able to be this casual and open with one another.

“Unfortunately. Torres heard Sam over the commlinks last week, both of them were dying of laughter.” Bucky deadpans, clearly not finding the situation as humorous as the boys did. You snicker with a shake of your head, assessing the spoon in your hand for a moment before setting it down in the container and abandoning it as a whole.

Instead, you pull your shirt up and over your head – stripping away the layer. The response it earns from Bucky fuels your confidence, the way he straightens up on the couch and wolf-whistles at each inch of skin you show off for him. Bucky always has a way of making you feel perfect; All your insecurities blanch when you were able to feel his comforting presence, always leaving you feeling loved and unequaled in your skin.

“Givin’ me a show, doll?” Bucky muses, a small tilt of his head while he studies you. “Why, enjoying the view?” You coo in turn, meeting Bucky with that same playful banter - this was a game after all, and games are meant to be fun. You discard the top haphazardly to the floor, no doubt to be gathered tomorrow morning. 

“Oh absolutely. Got the prettiest baby in all of New York… I’m a very lucky man.” When Bucky speaks, his voice is thick and warms your face. Bucky is very much the flatterer.

“I know you like it when I say things like that,” doesn’t even hesitate to single you out on the thought. “When I remind you of how precious you are to me, sugar… Just how much I fucking adore you.” Bucky’s voice drips with lust and devotion. Utterly in love. It almost tempts you to drop the game before it gets too far in and have him now; Peel away the remaining layers separating you two and open your legs in an invitation for Bucky to fuck you so roughly into the couch that the legs break and the neighbors know Bucky’s name loud and clear.

God, you’re fucking whipped for this man.

Sometimes you’re still not prepared for the outpour of loving words; Still, you’re trying to remember that Bucky means the things he says and isn’t merely humoring you as exes have in the past. Bucky is nothing if not genuine. 

“Keep sweet talking me, Sarge, and this game might end sooner than you want it to,” You warn with a coy smile before picking up the formerly abandoned spoon. “I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky defends, lifting his hands in a feigned and mischievous. “You know you love when I talk sweet to you, anyways, sugar.”

“You also know it makes me freeze up; I never know what to say things like that, Bucky.” a gentle reminder and your cheeks hurt from smiling - do you look stupid? Bucky would love you anyways, truth be told. 

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Bucky replies, leaning forward on the couch and closer into your bubble of space. Taking his time letting his eyes drink in the pretty sight you make for him without your top. “It turns you into putty, baby. You start floatin’ so easy, ‘s cute - it’s worth it gettin’ you cock-drunk in the end.”

You stutter - jaw clenching and you feel the tips of your ears burn. Bucky takes more sadistic amusement in the responses he pulls out of you. Plays you like a fiddle. It embarrasses you as much as it makes your thighs tighten and a wetness forms in your underwear. He works you up for fun. It’s maddening and exhilarating and perfect.

“Buckyyy,” you whine, pitiful and with a harmless scowl. Bucky’s laugh is rich and makes your face soften almost immediately. “Well, on with it, sunshine.” Bucky nods towards the spoon clutched between your fingers.

You take the moment to regain your composure. A deep breath - Attempting to shake out Bucky’s influence and his attempts to deduce you to a ditz so soon. Then, with the cold metal of the spoon, you smear a generous streak of whipped cream from your left clavicle to the top of your left breast. 

When you lift your attention from your careful work, you find Bucky’s hungry eyes on you. Looking like a wolf preparing to strike his prey; Oh, to be littered with bites from Bucky’s mouth sounds like a dream. 

“You’re bold tonight. I can already tell this is gonna be fun,” Bucky husks, voice low before moving into your space. 

Right hand coming flush against your hip before smoothing up to frame your chest. He wedges himself between your legs, bringing your back flush with the arm of the couch as he looms over you; The semi that the soldier has been packing pressing prominently against your ass through his jeans. His vibranium hand brushes your hair out of your face, eyes studying you.

“You’re always so small under me...” Bucky hums, metal fingers brushing down your cheek as you lick some of the remaining whipped cream off the spoon; Putting on a show with the slow and deliberate lave it was the tip of his cock. 

Bucky groans, his touch hardening where he holds your chest before lowering himself to let his hot mouth lick over your collarbone. Trailing down, his tongue glides across creamy sugar while littering open-mouth kisses to your flushed skin. His beard scratches against tender flesh and you keen underneath him - Bucky subtly presses tighter against your ass so his cock can make itself well acquainted and he growls low in his chest. Hot breath fanning over your flesh.

The soldier’s hot mouth threatens to go further, tempted to explore every inch of your delicate skin and leave you covered in hickeys. Bucky practices self-restraint, but not before licking up the swipe of whipped cream and suckling a deep hickey into your skin. The purpling skin is beautiful under his skillful tongue and you moan into the air of the living room.

May the best man win.

You’d both gone back and forth. After Bucky licked the mess from your chest and tasted the sugar on his tongue from a shared kiss, he had fun spraying whipped cream on his fingers. 

Watching you have to take each digit between plump lips to suckle and lick the cream off. Beyond the sweetness of the cream, you could taste the roughness of his skin while he played with your tongue. Bucky even took the liberty of pressing his fingers to the flat of your tongue and holding your mouth open until you were drooling when there was no more cream left. When his fingers slip too far, you gag around the intrusion and Bucky grins.

He spits in your mouth to compensate for your time. You moan, thankful.

When it’s your turn again, you take the chance to shimmy your pants off next. Bucky licked his lips - watching you get undressed and not having to do a bit of the work but also being tempted with the inability to touch. Eager hands wanting nothing more to grip supple flesh and lay his claim while he takes you. With him. All good things come to those who wait.

You smeared whipped cream on your inner right thigh - dangerously close to your center and trailing towards your v-line. Bucky took his time settling between your legs. Kissed stamped to the inside of your calves, calloused hands smoothing out the outer of your thighs. Trailing upward, Bucky’s breath ever hot and the whipped cream threatens to drip. 

Bucky catches the drop with his tongue before it can find the couch, licking up the inside of your thigh. His tongue makes you tingle and your brain stops working for a moment; shuddering under his touch and your toes curl. Bucky presses a kiss over the wet patch in your tight briefs and you hide your face. Your core quivers with want. 

Bucky refuses to let you hide for long, working his way back up and gently prying your hands from your face. You share a heated kiss and sigh shakily against Bucky’s figure; Melting between him and the couch.

When it’s Bucky’s turn again, he takes a page out of your book and uses the opportunity to shed away layers. The jeans hugging his deliciously thick thighs are discarded, Bucky hiking up the plain black tee that left little to the imagination of the definition of his abdomen. It’s no mystery that Bucky was packed with muscle; Even in thick coats, you could still somehow always make out his distinct shape with rippling arms, a thick chest, and somehow a narrower waist. You’ve joked about him being a Disney princess once or twice. 

The scoundrel smears the chilled spoon over his chiseled abs and for half a moment you’re in one of those steamy romance novels your mom would read and you’d giggle at.

You lap up the trail from over the concrete muscle down to Bucky’s groin - and he sighs out shaky and delighted. Hooded and heated eyes always watching you, you, you. Nothing else exists in the world to him other than your game. You feel a swell of pride knowing you have such a catch as Bucky; his thick fingers tangled in your hair and carding through as you innocently lick up the cream with a sinful tongue. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sunshine.” the words are drawled out lazily and hushed from Bucky’s swollen lips; He’s been chewing them and biting like crazy.

The tent in his briefs doesn’t surprise you at all - you’d be insulted if he wasn’t aroused.

Still, you’ve taken every task he’s given you like a champ. Bucky is running out of safe skin to present, and you’re in for the long haul. Winning or losing makes no difference to you. By the end of the night, it’ll be Bucky’s hands that have touched you and brought you to your climax. No one else. You’ve already won.

But that doesn’t stop you from sitting back and shivering when the cold metal touches your bare nipples. Smearing a generous amount of cream to both bare and pebbling buds. Bucky is simply excited to get his mouth on you in a way that isn’t so safe anymore. His lips close around your nipple and leave you gasping - sucking and rolling the bud against his skilled and velvety tongue. 

You’re wet; fingers holding Bucky’s head, merely along for the ride as he circles the areola with the tip of his tongue before pinching the delicate skin between his teeth and making you cry out. So sensitive. He kisses your ache better before subjecting the other nipple to the same torment; Bucky’s hot and wet mouth is heaven and your body speaks louder than your wanton moans or words ever will. You want him so unapologetically, and Bucky knows it. Prides himself on it, even.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of whipped cream and both of your teeth have rotted from your skull from the sugar; Something has to give otherwise the both of you could be at this all night - would that be so awful, though?

Bucky could wait you out easily. Run you out of choices until all that's left to cover with cream are the places he wants to get his tongue on the most. That's too easy; the back and forth between you two is what helps sparks fly. 

Your fun is interrupted on Bucky's turn. He's trying to swipe whipped cream on his chest when he fumbles the spoon; the dollop slides right off the flimsy metal and falls to Bucky's bare shin, trailing down to his foot. 

Both of your noses scrunch. Bucky's look of disgust is quickly replaced though by a mischievous glint, the soldier raising his leg up to balance his heel on the couch cushion. 

"Better hop to it, honey." Bucky singsongs.

You playfully swat at his thick thigh, hand wanting to linger just to feel the muscle under your palm. How easy it would be to glide up and cup his cock. 

"I'm not licking your foot, Bucky." You stifle the words only because you can't contain the giggles. 

"Rules are rules - unless that means I win…?" Bucky perks up, and ah, no wonder why he got all delighted. He sees this as his golden ticket win. 

No way he's serious. Your relationship and dynamic is very experimentational, but feet aren't on the table - sorry, Bucky. Licking one of his boots is a different story, but that's for another day where you have more time and the sweet words are replaced with filthy titles and the soldier joins you in the bedroom rather than your loving and chaste boyfriend.

“I’m not licking your foot.” You reiterate, “Pick somewhere else, for real?” “Ah ah ah, Sunshine. When we started playing we agreed.” Bucky protests and you are tempted to steal that spoon away from Bucky and swat another spoonful of whip cream at him. Instead, you pout; trying to wiggle your way. “Oh c’mon.” Bucky knows you won’t do it, the pain in the ass that he is (and you adore).

“Then I win,” Bucky declares matter-of-factly, and really, has defeat ever been such a pleasure? You shrug your shoulders to acknowledge your defeat, flashing the man across from you a bashful smile. At least you don't have whipped cream sticky on your foot - you're the real winner in that case.

“That means you, sunshine, gotta get that sweet mouth of yours on my cock.”

“Yes, Bucky,” you agree with an airy giggle. “I know what going down on someone means.”

When you go down on Bucky, he’s kind enough to give you a pillow to kneel on between his thighs. It helps recompense for the iron-grip in your hair as he guides your head up and down the steady length of his cock.

You’ve long started to adapt to the girth by now. The first time you’d attempted to go down on Bucky, the thickness of his cock had overwhelmed you. You could only take so much before nearly sputtering - and vomiting during sex isn’t sexy. It left you to have to make up for what your mouth couldn’t reach with skilled hands pumping the base of his dick and playing with his balls. 

Now you can take Bucky without gagging, and it’s worth it to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head when you suck his cock. You’re his pretty cock-sleeve and Bucky has no problem letting you know it:

“Yeah, that’s it… Such a slutty fuckin’ mouth, droolin’ all over me, baby.” His fingers fist your hair at the root, every pull a delicious sting as he guides your head up and down his cock. The corners of your lips stretching around the intrusion, eyes watering and everytime you moan at the way he fucks your mouth, it sends a vibration through Bucky’s cock that just has him reeling for more. “Oh, oh God… I’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ cocksucker - a work of art."

The words are filthy yet flattering; your chest fluttering while your hands brace on Bucky’s thighs. You keep your jaw slack, making the slide as easy for him as possible as the tip of his cock abuses the back of your throat. There's a certain fulfilment that comes with being used so filthily; Solely existing for Bucky's pleasure in that moment as he shifts from guiding you to thrusting. 

Your nose buries in the neatly trimmed pubic hair, flush with his pubic bone every time he cants his hips up into your willing mouth. This is how all blowjobs tend to go. With you taking the lead before Bucky can't handle it anymore and pummels your poor mouth. 

It leaves a delicious ache. 

Drool slips down your chin, doe-eyes fixed on Bucky despite the bleary picture he makes with tears dripping down your cheeks. Your sounds are muffled yet still whorish; your skin prickled with heat and the knot in your stomach slowly building. You grind your hips into the air looking for something to hump. You whine when you find nothing; more drool pooling past your red mouth as Bucky tilts his head back into the cushions with a low moan. 

"That's it, take it, take all of my cock, baby. Like you were fuckin' made for it, mm, my precious little fuckhole. God, I love you, love my messy whore."

Your head is swimming, all you can focus on is the feel of the cock thrusting in and out of your slack mouth while Bucky uses your hole to his delight. Even when your head feels light from the lack of air, you float happily and trust Bucky. Bucky always takes care of you.

He tugs your head up by your hair, pulling you off his cock, and only then are you able to swallow lungfuls of air; gasping with spit-slick lips and a gossamer connects you to the tip of Bucky’s flushed cock. 

“Cock-drunk. Like I said.” Bucky playfully chides and you whimper pitifully in response. Bucky laughs condescendingly at how pathetic you are and your chest blossoms. His hand cups your face tenderly, vibranium fingers wrapped around his dick while he smears his cockhead against your cheek. You turn your head instinctively towards the cock, mouthing wet kisses up the length and Bucky barks out a laugh at how hungry you are.

“Fuck, when did you get so desperate? You’d think I never touch you.” He traces your lips with the flushed tip; your tongue darts out to lap up the pre-come. 

“As if I don’t have you bent over the nearest surface every other day; Pumping you full of my seed and leaving you fuckdumb.” Bucky slaps the length against your cheek wetly. You tongue down his shaft, as much as Bucky’s clutch in your hair will allow, and mouth at his balls hungrily. Bucky groans low and primal in his throat.

“Dirty, dirty…” His hand comes to hold your jaw, tongue sliding past your loose and parting lips. Playing with your tongue, Bucky shakes your head like a dog and you mewl. Fingers curling into the flaps of his jeans from where you’d pulled them open. “Shh, you’re alright, honey. M’just playin’ is all, yeah, you’re so cute like this. So airheaded n’ dumb.”

You suckle on Bucky’s thumb, your reply coming in a pleased purr to have your mouth full again. It’s not his dick, but you’re more than happy to bob your head. Bucky bites his lips and grins wickedly. 

“I love how stupid you get for me, baby. It’s absolutely adorable, knowin’ you’d let me do anythin’ I wanted to you,” Bucky coos all too lovingly for it to be merely lust and heat. 

He slips his thumb from your lips and you chase the digit with a whimper; Mourning the loss. Bucky just grips your hair again and pulls you back to his balls. 

“C’mon, sunshine, suck on my balls.” The weight in your mouth nearly has you salivating, sucking on Bucky’s balls and right where you’re meant to be; Worshipping this man.

His cock is heavy against your face as Bucky jerks off to the gorgeous and whorish sight you make for him. The bruent groans, stroking his cock as Bucky watches you intently mouth as his heavy sac; Saliva dripping all over his skin and making a mess. His cock jerks infront of you, pulsing and veins bulging. 

“That’s it, good pet… So fuckin’ good, yeah, you’re so perfect — Fuck, what am I gonna do with you..?” Bucky guides your mouth back to his cock. Up the length and taking the head between your lips before swallowing him down entirely. Back to the steady bob as you moan around the intrusion and Bucky groans roughly into the thick and heavy air.

“I wanna fuck your face, sunshine,” Bucky rasps out, and you stutter your ministrations for half a moment to peer up at him in the helpless daze that consumes you. “Yeah, you like that idea? Don’ gotta do nothin’, honey, just let me use that pretty fuckhole of yours.” The words purred out so sweetly, you profusely nod. Eager to be of use. Pulling off his cock, you utter the word: “O-Okay…” “Good fuckin’ pet…” Bucky’s fingers thread delicately through your hair until he’s tightening the grip. Sinking you down onto his length yet again and forcing you to take every inch he gives you. It doens’t stop there. Instead the soldier braces his feet on the carpet alongside where you’re sat between his open thighs. He pistons his hips up - hitting your gag reflex and causing you to sputter around his cock.

There is no mercy. Bucky fucks up into your face, setting a progressive pace to allow you to slowly adjust but not for long. It’s only a few moments later that he’s fucking up into you like his own personal hole. Piercing steely eyes burning through you as he watches you choke and sputter on his impressive girth. It’s a mess of spit and tears that stream down your cheeks from the brutality of the face-fucking. 

Heavy balls slap against your jaw and Bucky moans. You tingle between your legs, wet from being able to be a tool for Bucky. An object of pleasure; Something about it has always turned you on in being able to please your partner. There’s no better pleasure than Bucky using you like the fuckhole you’re made to be, and he lets you know that.

“God, baby, you were made for this. Should just keep you for this one day; Make you my pretty little fuckdoll and the only thing you gotta worry about is fuckin’ yourself stupid on my cock. You make such a pretty sight, fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…” The litany is breathless as Bucky continues to thrust his dick in and out of your welcoming mouth. 

You choke and sputter; Face hot and eyes burning with tears that drip off your chin in fat droplets. Cries die in your throat, high off the euphoria of the moment and burning on the adrenaline of being used as a fleshlight. Your lips ache; His pelvis smacks into you every time he ruts his hips up. Bucky slides down your throat easily. He’s right. You’re made for it.

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Instead you ogle in heaven, seeing and feeling nothing but Bucky. Even through the wet and slick squelches of your mouth being used, you couldn’t be happier. You roll your hips to find nothing - you suppose that’s the punishment of losing the game. Only one of you get off.

He fucks your face until you’re dizzy and can’t breathe. When you fear you might sputter for air is when Bucky unravels; Your throat flexing around his cock and fingers feeling every now and again in your throat for the tell-tale bulge. 

It’s when Bucky’s hips stutter and the dirty talk bleeds more into primal noises rather than words. Grunts through his teeth, low growls while he abuses your throat up until the moment Bucky’s hips jerk harshly. The movements stutter, and Bucky punches out a harsh gasp. Then you feel it. 

The hot pump of his come down your throat; Filling you up.

You threaten to choke and Bucky hushes you, rubbing sympathetically over your windpipe. “Shh shh, that’s it, swallow every last drop, baby. Take it all…” He rolls his hips impossibly deeper into your sore jaw. You feel drunk and you weren’t even the one that got to ride out their orgasm. With a few last grunts and rolls of his hips, Bucky withdraws from your sensitive mouth. Half-soft cock falling and you greedily swallow for air.

Bucky pets you through it all - whispering out your praise. How good you did for him. How much he loves you.

You take a moment to recover, head pillowed on Bucky’s inner thigh as he pets your hair lovingly. You drool onto the denim of his jeans, and if Bucky minds, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with loving eyes and a soft hum; As if this wasn’t the same man who just deduced you to his filthy fuckhole. If you didn't know any better, sometimes you'd think the man who fucks you and the man who bought you a book you'd been dying trying to find for Valentine's day were two separate people.

Bucky does it because he knows you love it. You could tap out any time with the special little word you both selected months ago when your sex life began to spicen up past vanilla rocking. But you don’t. No, you take it all and then some because it feels good and sometimes you’re convinced it’s what you were made to do. 

You take your time recouping. Bucky rubs through your hair lovingly and affectionately, soft hums to add noise to the space. You smile, delighted, as if you’re the one who’s won and come. Calloused fingers trace the shape of your smile and you nearly preen. Slotting open your droopy eyes, you find Bufcky still there. Still sweet.

“You did so good, honey. M’so proud of you.” He praises, knowing now that he has your attention. Your grin splits and give him a toothy smile. “My sweet sunshine,” Bucky’s voice is soft and inviting, a lopsided grin on his chiseled features. You feel like the only thing in the world for a moment.

Although you want to talk, words don’t come easily and instead, you drag Bucky down into a languid kiss. Bucky groans at the taste of himself on you, but other than that, he’s chaste and gentle. Knowing when to play rough and when not to. It’s heaven when his lips move against yours so tenderly. Your heart still flutters like a teenager in love.

The both of you remain that way for a few minutes. Slow kissing even if you imagine Bucky’s back burns from the lean and your neck is starting to ache from how you crane it. Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with Bucky.

“How about we head on to our room, sunshine, and I’ll take care of the rest?” Bucky purrs against your throat when he trails kisses down. The brush of his beard tickles and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you happy to be alive.

“Actually,” you say after a beat, swallowing hard and clearing your throat. You pull yourself together as much as you can before leaning back and away from Bucky. 

He eyes you with a mild look of concern as you prop back against the coffee table, reaching for the untouched can that Bucky had brought in with his game proposal. You pop the red cap off and it scatters to the floor below, lost. Then, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, you shake the can. You lift your hips, shimmying out of the underwear you’d been left in - both of you are half naked at this point and you’ve seen one another countless times, you have nothing to hide.

The pair pools around your ankles and you use your foot to toss them, discarded like everything else that’s met the floor this evening - save for you. Bare legs spread, an open invitation and show. Bucky’s eyes light up, and you adore how he seems to treat everytime like the first time again, too.

“I was thinking about a round two,” you purr with newfound confidence and second wind; Spraying a strip of whipped cream down from your navel and disappearing between your legs. “What do you say, Barnes?” 

“Oh, you’re on.”

[og-danny-dorito]

[ DANNY'S TUTORIALS: BOTTLECAP PIN ]

Hi there!! I'm gonna teach you how to make a bottlecap pin since I've gotten a lot of questions about where I got mine from baby punks and others who just find them cool! I've found that a lot of people buy their pins online from companies that overprice and over-process their designs, and often times steal them from smaller businesses. Punk has been gentrified over the years, so this tutorial acts as a way to reconnect to the roots of DIY fashion made by people with limited resources and time. This is a great way to show your interests, pride in your community, and pretty much anything else you want even if you don't have a penchant for traditional art. Don't worry about it looking good, just try to have fun! At the end of the day, the shittier the job, the more punk it is.

[ Step Count : 6 ]

Here's what you're gonna need! (optional materials have a star next to them instead of a regular point):

-> hot glue gun (in replacement of pliers)

-> safety pin

-> bottlecap (unbent, preferably a twist off)

-> can tab

✮ pencil/pen

✮ sandpaper

✮ paint & paintbrush/posca pens

✮ regular Elmer's glue

STEP 1:

Gather your all of your materials and place them on your workspace. I'm going to paint mine, so I got the sandpaper, paintbrush, and paints as extra materials.

STEP 2:

If you're not going to paint yours, go ahead and skip to step 3. Otherwise, get your sandpaper and your bottlecap, then sand down the surface (A). Paint your base, draw a design with the pencil/pen, and fill it in with your paints/posca pens (B)! After I'm done painting I'll usually seal it in regular Elmer's glue to make sure it doesn't get messed up anytime soon (C). I chose a little green skull since the person I'm gifting this too likes and spooky stuff and green is their favorite color :]

[ Also sorry for the change of scenery, I had to finish at the library cause I was studying. Visiting, donating, and helping your local library is Punk As Fuck. ]

STEP 3:

What you're going to do now is set your bottlecap aside, and take out your can tab. I have joint problems and I can't use pliers, so I bend it over the edge of a table by holding it half over the edge and pushing down to bend the metal. But try not to bend it too much so your safety pin stays in place!

STEP 4:

Okay, here comes the tricky part. Like I said, I have joint issues, so I can't use pliers because they hurt my hands. Instead I'm going to set aside my now bent can tab and bring back my bottle cap, then flip it over. Place 2 hefty drops of hot glue on the bottom and top of the pin, then get your safety pin and open it so you can place it on the back horizontally.

STEP 5:

Now, place your bent can tab on the back of the pin and over the open safety pin, pressing it into the hot glue drops and letting it dry for a little bit (A). If you like, you can also put two more drops of hot glue on the tops of the bent can tab for extra security (B). I also put some hot glue in the middle of the tab's opening for extra security on the safety pin. Please pardon the absolute dogshit photo quality it wasn't cooperating for some reason LMAO

STEP 6 [FINAL]:

Wait for it to dry, then you're all done!! Your very own bottlecap pin. You can attach this to bags, jackets, shirts, pants, and pretty much any material that a safety pin can glide through.

Here's the finished product, as presented by my friend D at the library (everybody say thank you D for modeling)!!

[ -> Next (coming soon:]) ]

[its-my-whump]

Medwhump May- Day 9 Alt 15

Broken bones

@medwhumpmay

Tw: absolutely no medical accuracy, sorry, seizing, cpr, being ventilated

Part 9 (all others here)

Her o2 stats were rapidly decreasing, while her heart was picking up speed much too fast. It almost was, like she had long surpassed trachycadia and her heart seemed to be trying to compete against a starting jet.

xxx

"Hold on, hunny!" The doctor almost barked at his seizing patient pushing the syringe in her port. His big hand held her trembling left arm down, so that her skin turned white, where his fingers digged into her flesh. He pushed the plunger down all the way.

A short, but big male nurse had already pulled the nasal cannula from under her nose and just took a hold of the valve bag another nurse was handing over.

The machines were screaming, her heartbeat overturning itself. But her upper chest was hardly moving by itself anymore. The doctor had his stethoscop in his ears, right after he let go of her arm. His big handprint still clearly visible on her shaking body.

The mask of the vavle bag was put over her mouth and nose and the male nurse squeezed, but her ribs wouldn't really expand. "Fuck!"

The chest piece of the stethoscop was moved around, but the doctor's expression just confirmed her decreasing state. He frownd and ordered his staff to keep epinephrine standing by and get the defi ready. "We need to intubate now and get me an OR ready stat!" He barked. A small blond nurse turned on her heels and ran out to organise the operation room.

He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and put it back around his neck.

Everybody was tensely staring at the violently shaking body for a brief moment, hoping that the diazepam would stop her from seizing, while the grey haired nurse handed her male colleague the laryngoscope.

The fast drumming of her head, hands and heals on the metaltable noticeably slowed, while the short man was already pushing the et tube down her throat.

The screaming sounds of the equipment were filling the room for another few seconds, then she just feel still.

The hectic jumbling zigzag on the heartmonitor fell to a horizontal line.

All staff jumped into gear without an obvious command. The male nurse had started to squeeze the ambu bag, now attached to the et tube in her windpipe. But her ribs wouldn't move upwards.

A tall young nurse straightened her arms and interlocked her fingers. The bruised landmark on the lifeless woman's sternum guided her hands, which she instantly pressed down into her chest. Even though, the blond nurse was tall, she needed to lean forward quiet a bit to summon the needed force and strength to manually pump the unmoving heart by caving the young lady's ribs in.

The grey haired nurse, that was there, when the lady started seizing, was already pushing epinephrine into the IV line in her left arm.

Ribs being bend in, hands and feet were pushed up against gravity, as her shoulders left the table by every forceful push. Not even half through the round of compressions, a rib shifted again and audibly broke under the tall woman's hands. She huffed astonished, but kept going, as if nothing had happened.

The young man to the patients right, was squeezing the vavle bag every few seconds, but her chest hardly expanded. Her o2 stats not climbing from that devastation low number.

The tall nurse finished her round of compressions and pulled her hands away. She was already out of breath, desperately looking at the monitor, before the doc even could demand a status check.

Nothing. The flateline stayed. "Epinephrine followed by anthrophine." The voice of the man in charge echoed through the room.

He looked at the tall nurse and the short man right after. "Change!"

The man handed her the ambu bag, so she could take it and continue to bag the young woman from the other side of the bed, while he was just about to lay his interlocked fingers on her sternum. Dark bruises in the middle of her chest from her last resuscitation were already there, new red ones had started to form at the edges of at least a few cracked ribs.

The male nurse was smaller then his tall colleague, but his arms were strong and the lifeless lady's ribcage started to carve in harshly.

Another rib just broke, but he kept going.

Until he reached the full 30 compressions, the sound of cracking or breaking ribs repeated itself a few times.

"Status?" The doctor yelled, when the nurse had finished, his strong hands stayed on her lifeless upper body. He could already feel her chest shaking under his hands, before someone even spoke up. "We got a shockable rhythm!"

"Lets roll!" The doc barked and with a more soothing, but still loud tone, he added. "You're not dying today, hunny!"

->Day10

My masterlist

[angelkin-food-cake]

Bird's Milk Cake

Chocolate Cake:

2⅔ cup granulated sugar

1 tsp. salt

¾ cup dutch cocoa powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1 cup boiling water

1 cup canola oil

2 tsp. vanilla extract

2 tsp. instant espresso powder or 2 Tbsp. ground coffee

1¾ cup all purpose flour

4 large egg yolks

2 large eggs

¼ cup sour cream or buttermilk

Custard:

1 cup granulated sugar

1 cup hot milk

15 egg yolks

1¾ cup butter

1 Tbsp. vanilla extract

Lightened Custard:

1 cup custard

8 oz. whipped topping or 1 cup whipped heavy cream

Ganache:

1 cup heavy whipping cream

½ cup semi sweet chocolate chips

Make the custard first. Combine 15 egg yolks and 1 cup sugar in a medium-sized pot and whisk until smooth. Slowly add 1 cup hot milk while continuously whisking. Cook over medium heat, constantly stirring until it begins to thicken and covers the back of the spoon. When you run your finger over the back of the spoon, the custard should not run into wiped space. Add 1 Tbsp. of vanilla extract & stir. Do not overcook or the custard will curdle.

Add the butter to the custard and stir until butter is completely melted and incorporated into the custard. Cover with plastic wrap, touching the custard (to prevent forming of skin) and allow to come to room temperature.

While custard is cooling make the cake. In a cup whisk together 2 eggs, 4 egg yolks & 1/4 cup of sour cream. Set aside.

Make the espresso: If you have espresso powder, combine the espresso powder with the boiling water. Or brew 2 tablespoons of ground-up coffee with 1 cup water. Drain coffee and make sure there's 1 cup of liquid. If there's not, add enough to make 1 cup. Set aside.

Combine 2 3/4 cups sugar, 3/4 cup cocoa powder, 1 tsp salt & 1 tsp baking soda with the espresso boiling water mixture and stir until almost no lumps appear. Cook over medium-high heat, constantly stirring until it comes to a boil. This step will make the darkest chocolate color it can be. Remove from heat and allow to cool for 10 minutes.

Add the chocolate mixture to the mixer and with beater blades, beat on low speed for 2-3 minutes to remove additional heat from the mixture. Add 1 cup oil & 2 tsp vanilla extract and beat until combined and smooth. Add 1 3/4 cups flour and beat again until smooth. Add the egg mixture and beat until just until combined.

Pour batter into two 9 inch round cake molds lined with parchment paper & sprayed with non-stick spray, or if you do not have the non-stick spray, butter the pan, add 1 Tbsp. flour then shake around to cover the pan, shake out the excess.

Put on wet cake strips around the pan.

Bake in preheated 350°F oven for 25-30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. If using an 8-inch cake mold, add 5-7 minutes to the baking time.

Once baked, remove from oven and allow to cool for 5 minutes. Then, run a knife around the inside of the cake mold and unmold the cake by turning it over onto a cooling rack. Remove parchment paper and allow to cool completely. Cut each cake horizontally into 2 layers with a long serrated knife.

To assemble, line edges of the serving platter with 4 strips of foil for each cleanup. The pieces must be wide enough to go about 1/2 inch under the cake and cover the edges of the platter.

Take away about 1.5 cups of cream before you start to layer the cake with the remainder of it.

Place the first cake layer into the middle of the platter and tighten the adjustable cake ring around the cake. Add a couple tablespoons of the cream and spread it around.

Put the second cake layer on top, press it in, then alternate cream and cake until both are used up. You want your last layer to be the cake. Refrigerate the cake overnight.

The next day, combine the reserved 1 cups of custard with 8 oz of whipped topping or 1 cup of whipped heavy cream. Carefully fold both together until just combined.

Cover the outside of the cake in this cream in a thin layer, smoothing the top and sides. Refrigerate the cake for 15 minutes.

Fit a pastry bag with a french star tip. Fill it with leftover lightened custard. Refrigerate until ready to use.

Make the ganache by melting chocolate by pouring hot whipping cream over and stirring continuously. Pour the ganache over the cake carefully brining some of it close to the edges, allowing for it to drizzle down the sides.

Pipe stars all around the top of the cake going in rings starting from the edges and working towards the middle. Drizzle some ganache on top of the stars.

[please-dontperceiveme]

Snippet (read as: literally all I wrote) of a scenario where someone with the power to literally rewrite reality abuses this power to... give Sunshine an ideal belly rub.

⚠️ stuffing (retroactive?), belly kink, weird existential magic

Min0rs/pr0ship DNI! 18+ only! AGELESS BLOGS LIKING/REBLOGGING WILL BE BLOCKED!

"I can make this... more enjoyable for you, but..." The starry figure hesitates, and as Sunshine's curiosity is piqued, so is his concern.

"Hey," he says softly, "what's up? What is it?"

"It'd mean..." Its brows furrow. "It'd mean making an edit to your story, should you choose to accept my offer. Nothing major, nothing that would too greatly affect your life- but your recent memories will be slightly altered to accommodate."

That's... a little scary. Every time he's reminded this gentle being can literally rewrite reality, it gives Sunshine chills.

"...nothing bad?" he manages to venture.

"Nothing bad," it echoes, cradling his face with a soft smile. "Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn't hurt..."

...it trails off, looking guilty, then recollects itself. "All I want to do is make sure you had lunch before you dozed off."

He did drop off as soon as he got home earlier, didn't he. It's... a kind offer. Characteristic of this being. After a moment, he nods his assent.

When the god next speaks, its voice sounds... different. More authoritative, richer, expressive, like it's reading from a storybook. It's soothing to Sunshine- he hasn't been read to since he was a kid.

"When Sunshine came home from work just past noon, rest was the only thing on his mind. It had been a draining day."

He definitely recalls that much.

"He let his bag slip from his shoulders, paying no mind to it as it thudded to the floor. He shuffled for the couch like a zombie, ready to lose consciousness the second he was in a horizontal position...

"But then his stomach snarled, halting him in his tracks."

What? Sunshine blinks. That hadn't-

No. It had. He'd frozen in place as an almighty growl seemed to fill the room, and he realized all at once how starving he was. It had made him shudder, made his face feel strangely warm. A similar blush rises to his cheeks now.

"Shocked by its audacity, Sunshine pressed a paw to his empty belly, telling it to be at ease. Sleep could wait- he needed to eat first, or he'd be miserable later."

Sunshine's breathing quickens a little as the god continues.

"He had to wait for his food to cook, so as he was teased with the aroma of fresh hot rice, he soothed his complaining stomach with tender words and touches. Soon, he promised, soon."

Sunshine's face heats further as the memory of talking to his tummy is slotted in. It feels natural. It's entirely something he'd do, so long as he didn't have witnesses- and he hadn't, in that empty apartment. Hearing the starry god acknowledge that silly aspect of him so fondly is giving him butterflies, making his tail quiver.

"When the rice was finally done, he hastened to season and butter it after scooping it out of the cooker... but he hesitated. He was very, very hungry... surely, another serving could be in order?"

He groans. He doesn't know why he keeps making that mistake. He'll cook himself a second batch of rice when he feels particularly ravenous, then either can't finish it, or tries to and regrets it. And then he does the same thing a couple weeks later, not having learned his lesson at all.

"So he filled his rice maker up with a second serving, letting it cook while he scarfed down the first."

And suddenly, there's a warmth in Sunshine's belly.

He squeaks sharply as the faint ache of emptiness, too mild to care much about, evaporates on the spot. He squirms slightly, feels a little weight in his stomach- he's not full by any means, but he's been retroactively sated. Just like that.

It's... extraordinary.

The starry being beams at him. "Still okay? That's not too much?"

"Y- Yeah," he stammers, head spinning. "M'good. Great."

"You're doing wonderfully." Its touch, both warm and cool, smooths over his forehead. "Just a little more."

The words make his heart swell.

"Not long after he was scraping the bowl for the last grains, the cooker chimed again. He got up for a refill- he wasn't full yet. But, halfway through the second serving..."

Sunshine jerks as the warmth in his belly redoubles. Suddenly, he's comfortably full, even a little moreso. It makes him feel heavy and satisfied. This would be the point to stop, if there weren't food at risk of being wasted.

"...any more and his stomach wouldn't be happy with him." The god turns its shining eyes to Sunshine. "So... he had a choice to make."

"...me?" he squeaks, ears lifting.

"You," the god answers patiently. "You have the choice to push yourself- would you?"

He swallows as he considers his options. There's spice on his breath, and a grain of rice stuck behind one tooth that wasn't there a minute ago. He takes in the comfortable warmth currently in his belly, and thinks about how it would feel beneath those starry hands.

But then he considers the ache of overfullness, how he never hated it enough to avoid it the next time, how it sent confusing shivers up his spine that he can recognize now as arousal.

"I..." Sunshine gulps again. "I can take it. I'd do it."

He shudders as the god smooths a hand over his still-clothed belly. "Good," it says, "good boy. It's going to ache, so brace yourself."

Sunshine tenses as anticipation and arousal fill him from the words.

"After a moment's consideration, he kept going. He didn't want his cooking to go to waste."

A pang seizes Sunshine's middle. He gasps as his shirt slightly, but visibly tightens around his belly as it firms up. It lets out a displeased gurgle, one that sends lightning up his spine.

"He regretted it, of course," the god says gingerly, "but not enough to stop himself. And the ache felt good."

It did. It does. Sunshine moans.

"He wasn't sure how he found the strength to stand and put his dish in the sink- his exhaustion had crashed down upon him again, twofold with how overly full he was.

"But somehow, he managed. And even with the ache in his tummy, he was asleep the second he hit the cushions.

"...oh, sweetheart, are you okay?" The ethereal quality fades from his benefactor's voice altogether, its brows knitting with concern. "Did we overdo it...?"

His stomach cramps, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. But it's a good kind of ache. "No," he grits. "No, this- this is good..."

"Let me help you," the god offers, and reaches down to pluck his shirt open.

[internetgremlin-writes]

Flat Spin [Chapter Six]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal]

As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,100

Warnings: no you're not insane, yes I already published chapter six; this is the *extended* edition featuring the Champions for Charity football match and a smutty treat at the end [and marginally less sloppy editing]

*Mi Cielito = my [little] heaven

*Cariño = Spanish term of endearment, similar to Dear or Love

*Pillock = English slang for an idiot, used in the same way as dickhead or asshole

Previous Parts: one || two || three || four || five

It was cooler when you woke up. 

The windows were open, white linen curtains fluttering with a gentle breeze.  The sun was creating a small pool of golden light on the wooden floorboards a few feet from the bed and bathing the rest of the room in a soft glow. 

You stretched, arching your back and straightening your legs, stretching your toes to find a cool spot in the sheets.  Carlos registered your movement with a low, sleepy grunt.  The arm he had thrown over your waist tightened, pulling you closer so that your back was pressed flush against his chest, his legs tangling with yours.  You couldn't stop the lazy smile from making its way onto your face as you absentmindedly traced through the dark hairs on his forearm.  He was warm and surprisingly soft in a way that made you feel safe. 

You felt the rumble of his chest as he spoke.  You'd never heard Carlos talk in the morning and his voice carried a heavy, husky accent that made you shiver. 

“Good morning, mi cielito,”

Carlos pressed kisses along the line of your bare shoulder, your fingers tangling with his as he did so.  You hummed in appreciation, your own good morning barely a whisper on your lips.  He pulled you close again, rocking his hips forward and pulling you back into him as he did so, allowing you to feel the way he was already hard against your thigh. 

“Mhm, it is a very good morning,”  you could hear the smirk on his face from behind you.  You wiggled your hips from where you were still pressed tight against him, enjoying the way he groaned into your neck.  “Don't tease, Cariño,”

Warmth pooled in your stomach at his words and you turned in his arms so you could face him. Carlos was squinting at you, the bright light making his eyes more like honey than their usual dark cocoa. There was a small, toothy smile tugging at his full lips. 

“Hi,”  you murmured, brushing a piece of hair out of his eyes.  In one smooth motion, Carlos had you on your back, his forearms bracketing either side of your head as he caught you in a sweet kiss. 

More than an hour later you finally stumbled out of bed, giddy and stupid.  Carlos pushed into the shower and, despite your protests, did not join you.  He handed you a big fluffy towel and left to make coffee with a lingering kiss.  You sat in amicable silence at the kitchen island, so close your hips were pressed together.  An old radio was crackling in the corner, just about tuned into a local station in rambling Spanish.  The song stopped and you recognised by the tone of the presenter that it was a news reading. 

“What time is it?”  You managed sleepily from where your head was resting on Carlos’ shoulder, enjoying the way the smell of his soap mixed with coffee.  Carlos paused as the newsreader finished his segment.  He huffed a short laugh, pulling you closer to him as he did so. 

“Close to eleven,”  you groaned, trying to hide further into his body, closing your eyes against his soft t-shirt and the smell of his washing powder.

“My flight is at one,”

Carlos refused to let you set foot in another taxi.  Instead, your bags were meticulously packed Tetris-style into the back of the Ferrari that was definitely not designed for airport runs.  The ride over was fairly quiet, Carlos’ hand resting on your thigh as he pointed out occasionally details in the rapidly evolving landscape around you.

“Why do you have to leave today?”  He pouted in a quiet corner of the airport check-in desks.  You were in his arms again, his thumbs rubbing smooth circles along your hip bones.  You tried to avoid looking at his face because he was giving you some spectacular sulky looks that were making you question even boarding the plane.

“Not all of us get to do promo for private jets who can fly whenever they want,” you shot back, slapping his chest playfully. Carlos grinned at you, looking almost proud of himself. 

“Not all of us get to drive for Ferrari,” 

He swept you into a kiss before you got the chance to argue back and you could feel your brain turning to mush as he released you and sent you on your way. 

*****

Your parents' flight was landing an hour after yours, giving you just enough time to go and collect your car for the weekend before you were due to pick them up. You couldn't deny how excited you were to see them; in your rookie year they came to nearly every race with you and they were screaming in the crowd of Budapest where you took your maiden victory last year.  Still, as you'd grown and settled into Formula One they'd not needed to attend the entire calendar.  Fortunately, Monaco being one of the most prestigious races on the calendar meant that you were given free rein on personal Paddock Invites and your parents always sat top of the VIP list.

You found a piece of cardboard and wrote out their names to hold up at the arrivals gate, Love Actually style.  Maybe writing your surname in block capitals wasn’t the smartest idea, because it took you taking photos with everyone and their great aunt’s dog to get to the gate and you ended up almost late to meet them.  Typically, your mum burst into tears when she saw you, pulling you into a crushing hug that you just knew was going to be plastered all over the internet in the next hour as she babbled about how much she missed you.  Your dad pulled you into a quiet hug.  You could feel his chuckle in your ear as your mum wetly relayed every thought she’d had during the last race at you, regardless of the very public attention currently on the three of you.

Apparently worrying about you driving racecars was not where your mother’s concerns ended.  You soon learnt that it extended to giving your parents lifts in supercars.  Your poor father found himself tucked in the back alongside all the bags as she packed herself into the front seat beside you and clung on with white knuckles. 

“Careful, Y/N!”  She cried out as you rounded a corner onto the hill to take them up to the hotel the three of you were staying in.  You couldn’t help but laugh and roll your eyes at your dad in the backseat, who was trying hard to control himself. 

“I’m below the speed limit and off the racing line,”  you grumbled as you pulled into the car park and handed the keys to a valet.  You didn’t think you’d ever get over the little things like that that showed just how much your life had changed in the last few years.  “Where is Amelia, anyway?”  You checked into the hotel and handed your dad the keys to your parent's room.  Your mother was ignoring you from where she was standing off to the side totally absorbed in her pocket diary. 

It wasn’t until you’d bundled them into the lift that your mum finally spoke again. 

“Mexico!”  You looked at her, slightly startled with an eyebrow raised.  “Your sister is jumping in Mexico this week.  For the GCL,”  You nodded.  The GCL, or Global Champion’s League was probably best described as the equestrian solution to Formula One.  Countries presented teams of up to three riders who competed in fantastic locations all across the world for points towards the final championship.  You had to admire your mum and her general sense of calm with two kids competing across the planet in sports far too dangerous for their own good.

The restaurant you’d picked for lunch was a third-hand recommendation that you didn’t really want, but also you didn’t know the first thing about Monaco or what the city had to offer.  You’d visited the principality twice before; both on the Grand Prix weekends.  It wasn’t that you had anything against the city, you just had never found yourself drawn to the built-up, glamorous, celebrities-all-over lifestyle.  You’d been having a coffee break with Carlos when you’d mentioned that you had no idea where you could take them out.  Lando, who had just bought an apartment in Monaco was only too keen to help you - almost falling over himself as he flooded you with suggestions.

If Carlos hadn’t been looking at him like he was speaking the gospel, you would have probably ignored Lando’s suggestions, after all his fussy-eater habits were not exactly uncommon knowledge.  In the end, you settled on a place he called “really posh” that had originally been suggested to him by Max. 

As it turned out, Lando-through-Max had excellent taste.  You found yourself in a beautiful gilded conservatory with the floor-to-ceiling panelled windows thrown open to let in the scorching afternoon sun.  The drinks were cold and the seats comfortable, so naturally it was your favourite kind of place.  You’d forgotten to book a private area in advance, but one of the waiters had recognised you and had been kind enough to find you a table a little distanced from the other diners in the room.

You made it all the way to your starters arriving with your meal-plan-approved Caprese salad when the pleasant catch-up switched tracks. 

“Aren't you hungry dear?  Surely you need more than a salad?”  Your mum pursed her lips, eyeing your plate as if it were about to leap up and bite her. 

“Andrea, don't-”  your dad tried to weakly interject. 

“No, Micheal, I'm allowed to be concerned.  I know you have dieticians but are you sure it's enough?”  You suppressed a sigh and bit back the snarky retort on the tip of your tongue.  Getting into racing young meant you'd spent nearly all of your teenage years carefully researching and religiously sticking to athletic diets before you were finally signed to a big enough contract that you were assigned a dietician.  You also didn't want to mention how frequently you'd broken said diet recently, between fancy restaurants and wine tasting and street food with a certain Spanish coconspirator.

“It's only the starter,”  you muttered, which earnt you a withering look.  “And I'm not like, starving myself - it's just athletic stuff.  Y'know nutrient balance, strength, energy: that kind of thing,”

Andrea sighed and pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something else, but let the topic lie.  You knew she had issues with your weight and body type - driving a Formula One car wasn't exactly conducive to her idea of ‘feminine’, but you’d never really cared.  You'd always felt comfortable in your skin and it wasn't like you'd ever really struggled romantically; the brief string of short-term boyfriends that had decorated your earlier years in racing was evidence enough.  

“Anyway, Dad, what did you think of the new body upgrades?  Seb seemed to look good yeah?”  Unlike several of your peers, your dad had never been a racing driver, but he was your hero regardless.  He’d grown up an avid Formula One fan and had an encyclopedic technical knowledge to rival some of your engineers.  From the day he saw you bank a corner in your Little Tikes car, he had you enrolled in karting and the rest was history.  You were instantly distracted, transported back to being a young girl, the pair of you crowded around the television as you carefully dissected every aspect of a race weekend. 

You managed a solid twenty minutes before you were curtly informed that ‘shop talk’ was not appropriate at the dinner table.  With identical expressions, you both gave your mother a sheepish apology.

“How are you though, Y/N?”  

“I’m good, Mum,”  you promised, working your way through the steamed salmon you’d ordered. 

“Don’t you ever get lonely, always on the road?”  You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, an internal cry of here we go again ringing through your ears.

“Not really, you know how busy I am,”

“Everyone needs a friend, love,”  you stabbed a potato.

“I have friends.  I have Katie and I text Amelia all the time, there’s Seb and Mick-”

“Mick,”  your mum mused, a dreamy look crossing her features.   “Now, there’s a nice young man,”

“Ew, Mum! No!” 

“What!?”  You glanced helplessly at your dad, clearly begging him to go back to discussing the cars and not your colleagues.  “Don’t you think he’s very handsome?”

“He’s like my brother,”  you tried to keep the disgust out of your tone.  You adored Mick, you really did, but not like that.  It had never been like that, even when you were in the Academy together.

“That’s not what Hello Saturday said,”  she grumbled, busying herself with the steak she’d ordered and apparently not noticing the way your stomach turned. 

“So you believe the tabloids over me?  It was never a date - Seb was at the bar getting the three of us drinks!  And I’m seeing someone else anyway,”  you snapped, the words clattering onto the table alongside your fork.  You hadn’t even registered what you said until your ears stopped ringing and you realised your parents were staring at you with dumbfounded expressions.

“I don’t think you meant to say that, did you?”  Micheal tried to soften the blow, the joke creasing in the corners of his gentle eyes.  You hung your head, unable to remove your focus from the sad, squeezed-out lemon slice on the side of your plate as you gave a subtle shake of your head. 

Andrea, of course, was delighted.  Her cheeks were stained pink as she babbled about how happy she was for you and directed a thousand questions for you to deflect.  She was desperate for a name, but you managed to stave her off under the guise of anyone in the seats surrounding you could be listening in.  You didn’t have the heart to refuse her all details, so you made up some facial features and told some half-truths about a kind and gentle man you’d been on a couple of dates with.

“Well, if it’s not Mick I hope it’s not another driver.  Imagine the PR nightmare that would be for you!” 

“Yeah okay, thank you mother,”  you refused the dessert menu being offered to you, instead requesting the bill.  You loved your mother, you really did, but you’d had enough of a grilling for one day.

You paid and dropped them off at the hotel spa, claiming you had a meeting at the Paddock (you didn’t) followed by a workout with Katie (you did).  Micheal managed to mouth an apology to you, which you shook your head at quietly.  Your mum always meant well, her only wish was for her children to be happy in their lives.  She just lacked the tact and you lacked the patience to have a proper conversation about it sometimes.

*****

You woke up to your phone ringing, your head spinning with the speed at which you’d suddenly travelled from unconscious to conscious in your scramble to answer. 

"Hullo?" 

“Good morning!”  You croaked out a laugh that turned rapidly into a groan.

“Jesus Christ, Carlos it’s like-”  you pulled your phone away from your ear for a second to squint at the time  “Seven am,”

“What time is your meetings today?”  You groaned again, your heart hammering in your chest as you slowly started to come to and pick ineffectively at the crust in your eyes.

“In the afternoon, you great pillock,”   

“Wow!”  You had no idea how long Carlos had been awake in order to be able to laugh good-naturedly as you cursed him out down the phone line.  “Someone is not a morning person, eh?”  

“Not when you wake me up like it’s a fucking emergency,” 

“Sorry,”  You could hear the grin in his voice and you knew there was not a chance of him being anywhere close to sorry.  

“Whaddyou want, anyway?”

“Be outside the hotel, at ten, okay?”

“Okay…?”  The phone line clicked as he cut the call before your sluggish brain could formulate anything vaguely akin to a question.  You shrugged to yourself, deciding whatever he wanted was a problem that could wait for at least another hour and several snooze buttons.

When ten o’clock rolled around you found yourself standing outside the hotel entrance.  It was another scorching hot day in Monaco and in the few minutes you’d been standing in the sunshine you were already feeling sweaty.  You just hoped the heat would pass before you had to drive the car, after the sweltering mess of Miami and then Barcelona it would be nice to be able to race and not feel like you’d been punched in the face by heat exhaustion by the end of it.

You were pulled from your musings over track temperatures and ice vests by a roaring engine that made you stop in your tracks.  A sleek black Ferrari came screeching round the corner before pulling up with the passenger door lined up perfectly with your body.  The car was an open-topped model and sat grinning at you in the driver’s seat with Ray Bans on his nose and windswept hair was Carlos himself.  Even if he was totally smug, there was no denying the way your chest squeezed and your stomach fluttered at the sight of him.  You thought he had to be one of the most handsome men on the planet as he leaned over to open the passenger door and beckon you into the smooth leather interior. 

“Hello, this is very low-key,”  you commented over the radio and the sound of the engine.  Carlos just turned his head, a dogged grin on his lips.

“It’s Monaco, baby,”  he tilted his glasses down to wink at you.  You rolled your eyes at his ridiculousness.

“Oh my god, not you too,”  he laughed.  Loud and open and free as the wind whipped around you and he sped off.  “Why is everyone so obsessed with this place?”

“Today, we are learning Monte Carlo.  Fancy car, fancy shopping, fancy people,”  you groaned, but there was no denying the secret bubble of excitement building up inside of you.  “It’s the glamour, Y/N, that’s why people like it here,”  he explained on seeing your expression change. 

“That is literally the opposite of my thing,”

“I can be discrete,”  you didn’t have it in you to point out that the car Carlos was currently driving you to the city centre in was the furthest thing from discrete you’d ever seen.

The shops Carlos took you to blew your mind.  You had money, much more money than the average high-class citizen, you were certainly aware of that.  But you’d grown up relatively middle class.  Your parents both worked good jobs, full time to pay for the house and lifestyle you grew up in.  Between your go-karting and your sister’s horses, it wasn’t exactly cheap and so blowing money on designer closes wasn’t something you’d ever been privy to.  You’d always been ‘comfortable’, always had what you needed and been able to afford nice things.  It was difficult not to sound like you were bragging - and the private school education had not helped - but you were always grateful for everything your parents had done to be able to give you the life you had.

After Gucci and Versace and Louis Vuitton, you started to lose track of the names.  Shopping with Carlos was fun; it reminded you of the Saturday afternoons you used to while away with your best friend at the local shopping centre where you went to school.  He would deliberately pick up the most outlandish, ridiculous things to make you laugh.  If you were being entirely honest, you had never been one for understanding high fashion, in fact, you didn’t see a problem with your polo shirts at all.  It wasn’t a surprise that after a lot of fun and several hours you hadn’t really bought anything. 

Carlos dragged you into yet another shop, promising  “Just one more, Cariño, this is the best one,”  when you tried to protest on behalf of your aching feet and the 200-euro sunglasses now sitting atop your hair.

He wasn’t wrong; it was a department store that put Harrods in London to shame in both the size and grandeur of the place.  You were ID checked by bouncers on the door before they even let you in and you wouldn’t have really been surprised if they’d asked to see how much money was sitting in your bank account.  The shop felt like a museum, with high marbled ceilings and thick carpet, more products in glass casing than available to touch, and displays so elegant they looked like historical set-ups.  The way he navigated the store with ease was doing something for you.  He looked like some kind of Netflix show prince, in his tight-fitting jeans and black polo shirt, hair a perfect mess with his sunglasses pushing holding it off his face, allowing it to fall in elegant waves.  His brow was knitted as he was looking at each item with considered seriousness.

“Try this on,”

You turned from where you were absentmindedly filtering through a ‘sale’ rail to examine the item he was pointing at.  As soon as you followed his gaze to the hanger he was holding out to you, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh Carlos, come on.  No,”

He was holding a red dress.  On the hanger, it looked nothing too special - a sleek floor-length gown with a designer's name you didn't know and far too many zeros in the price tag.  You'd worn, and owned, a hundred of the like.  You recognised the bratty expression that came across his face - one of someone who knew they were about to abuse their good looks to their advantage. 

“Please?  For me?”  There was no way you could ignore him pouting like that, batting his lashes at you. 

“Fine,”  you huffed playfully, snatching the dress from him and making a show of stalking to the changing rooms with Carlos in tow.  The second you’d taken the dress from him you realised it was made of heavy silk, luxurious even to the touch.  The woman in the changing rooms (because you got a personal assistant when you went to change and a free drink) nodded at your choice and presented you with a gorgeous pair of black heels that matched perfectly.

It was only when you saw yourself in the mirror under the perfectly balanced lighting of the changing room that you realised this wasn’t just a red dress.

It was the exact fucking shade of Carlos’ car.

You stepped out of the changing room and into the… well you didn’t know what it was called because you’d never been in a shop so fancy.  But in the centre of the fitting rooms was a stand surrounded by mirrors where you supposed designers, personal shoppers and whoever else the rich and famous took with them found themselves approving chosen items.  For you, it was Carlos, who was sitting on a spindly golden-legged chair in the corner of the room, his legs spread and looking alarmingly at home amongst the plush grandeur as he messed with something on his phone as he waited for you. 

He looked up when you cleared your throat, gently drawing his attention to you settled on the platform.  You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and you had to admit that you understood why Carlos was staring at you, mouth open and frozen in place. 

You didn’t even look like you.  Your hair had been pulled up, assistant in the room had helped pull out stands to give you a casual but classy updo.  A glittering necklace had been placed around your neck and the heels meant the dress pooled on the ground at the perfect length.  The deep red colour was foreign on your body, compared to your usual palate of greens and neutral tones.  And the fit - you didn’t think you’d ever worn something that felt as if it was just made for you, the bias cut of the material stretching and hugging your body perfectly, the neckline plunging enough to make you feel sexy and the back - oh the back.  It was backless, the delicate straps clinging to your shoulder blades and travelling all the way down to the small of your back before it met material once more.

Carlos let out a breath, standing slowly and walking towards you in a way that reminded you of an animal stalking its prey.  He never broke eye contact with you in the mirror as he stood on the small platform behind you, his body pressed against yours to make himself fit with you.  You could feel his breath on your neck and with the way your upper body was exposed there was no way he didn’t notice the goosebumps rising along your skin.  You watched him in the central mirror in front of you as his gaze raked shamelessly up and down your body, his fingers tracing the point of your shoulder as he did so.  His eyes looked almost black in the careful lighting. 

“Perfect,”  

You made a noise of agreement.  As much as you wanted to tease him about picking out the one dress that happened to match his car, it was flawless.  You’d never worn much red before and the way it complimented you was astounding (in fact you thought you liked it even more than green, although you’d never admit it to anyone) and you had to agree - the dress was the perfect fit for you.  Not to mention wearing his colours… well, it was certainly doing something for you.  You felt sexy and gorgeous and powerful and desirable and a whole host of other wonderful things that didn’t usually occur to you in your team polo and shorts.  Maybe you did understand why Lewis put so much effort into his Paddock looks after all.

“I’m going to buy it for you,”  his lips were on your neck, the words vibrating through your entire body.

“You can’t-”  you gasped.  

“I can,” 

“No - I don’t even need a new dress and I have enough money to get it myself if I wanted it.  Which I don’t,”  You argued back.  You had never spent this much money on any clothing.  Even when you could afford to something in you was holding back, it was excessive and unnecessary.

“You don’t want it?”  Carlos raised an eyebrow at you in the mirror, his gaze making you almost squirm.  He had a hand on your waist and you could feel the heat from his fingers seeping straight through your skin and clouding your mind.  It didn’t help that his other hand was sneaking through the leg slit on the opposite slide, gently grazing your bare thigh.

“I don’t need it,”  you clarified.  Carlos clicked his tongue disapprovingly.  He gazed at you through the mirror as he pressed a kiss against your shoulder, then the base of your neck and finally the point of your jaw before his mouth was on your ear and he was speaking lowly. 

“I am going to buy this dress.  And you are going to take it home.  You don’t need it, but you want it.  I want you to have this, this is a thing that is only something you want, it is expensive and beautiful and you love it.  I believe everyone should have something like this.  And I am going to buy it for you because when you wear it I want you to think of me,”  His voice dropped lower as he spoke, velvety smooth.  The way he was holding you was intoxicating and you felt like you were drunk.  You were genuinely considering dragging him into the changing room and letting him ravish you in the stupidly stunning dress right there and then.  You’d be willing to put money on the store assistants having signed Non-Disclosure Agreements just to be employed there.

Just as you were about to give into him Carlos stepped away, casually adjusting the front of his jeans and looking quite pleased with himself.  The coolness of the air conditioning hitting your exposed back was enough to pull you out of the trance and you nodded mutely, making your way back to the changing room with legs like lead and a face on fire.  You needed to get out of this shop before the low lighting and expensive perfume haze made you make any more questionable decisions.

Carlos did buy the dress.  And the little shit handed it to you in the Ferrari gift bag he seemed to always carry on race weekends as if he couldn’t afford the branded bag the clerk offered him.

“To meetings?”  He asked you, hand slipping into yours as you left the shop and he collected the keys from the valet with a  “Thank you, Sir,”  that made you have to look the other way and think of very sensible, neutral things.  Part of you was screaming internally that you were out in broad daylight, holding hands with and getting into the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz.  Part of you was so happy you simply didn’t care.

You thought Carlos was going to drop you off at the hotel to allow you to pick up the DB7 you’d been driving that weekend, but instead, he turned off towards the circuit.  You turned to look at him questioningly.

“What?  We can arrive together, no?”  You dropped your head gently onto his shoulder, the sun warm on your face with the feeling that nothing in the world could touch you.

Seb smirked at you when you walked into the garage.  His eyes were trained on the bag with the prancing horse emblazoned on the front of it as you placed it in your driver's room and made your way up to the offices together. 

“That's not very subtle, Y/N,”  he told you in a sing-song voice, before changing the subject to the upcoming weather forecast and the potential storm on Sunday as you walked up to your afternoon of meetings.  

*****

The last thing you wanted to do after a long afternoon of headache-inducing meetings was watch football in the rain.  However, when Carlos Sainz is your lift home, it appeared there wasn't much choice in the matter. 

You still put up a good argument the whole drive to the stadium.  The rain was pattering on the soft top of the convertible Ferrari but Carlos just shook his head at you. 

“You are English, Cariño.  I know you can live in rain,”  he informed you with a wink and a pat on the leg as he pulled into the car park. 

“Just because I can doesn't mean I want to,”  you complained, checking the stairwell below the stadium was clear before you gave him a quick kiss.  “At least make it entertaining for me,”  you told him as you left him to head down to the changing rooms and took yourself to the viewing stands. 

You had a seat in a VIP box along with a couple of other famous faces.  No other F1 drivers were there because they were either competing in the charity match or keeping up with their excuses to avoid playing.  You'd already been collared by a couple of journalists asking why the only woman in F1 didn't want to be the only woman playing football.  You'd given them your prepared statement that had been written by Katie and learnt by you - something about a knee ligament injury you were preserving, so you were just there to make a donation and support your friends.

The rain was starting to come down heavier as the poor excuse for pre-match entertainment started.  You pulled the hood of your waterproof coat closer around your ears, the ‘luxury’ box already springing a few leaks.  You decided to take out your frustrations on the group chat. 

You: Can't believe you bailed.  I do not know anyone here and the reporters have it out for me

Track Dad: I'm too old for sitting out in the rain 

Mick: Don't drink the stadium coffee! 

You: I hate you both

Track Dad: Make some new friends

You: No x

Luckily, Carlos clearly understood the assignment when you told him to make the match entertaining.  From the second he stepped out onto the pitch you couldn't rip your gaze from him for even a second.  You knew he was a football fan, but you didn't realise how talented of a player he was.  Admittedly, you had no eye whatsoever for football but it didn't take a genius to see that Carlos shone ahead of the other drivers playing.  Watching him play was exhilarating and you found yourself clapping and shouting for the team along with the small crowd that had still turned up to watch despite the weather. 

Between the rain and sweat, Carlos was completely drenched, leaving the strip sticking to his skin as he moved.  His hair was a mess, most of it plastered down onto his face and he kept shaking his head and pushing his hand up through the dark locks to push it away from his face.  There was just something about Carlos - he moved with a natural grace, a comfort on the pitch that was innately attractive and was only aided by the glistening skin on display and a dark, determined look on his face.  You never usually got to see that side of Carlos' competitiveness; it was usually shrouded behind his helmet and you driving alongside him.

You had to admit, the way he set his jaw when he had eyes on the ball was downright sexy.  You were used to a much softer version of Carlos, steady and quiet, well-spoken and calculating.  As he carried his team, the dangerous glint in his eyes was something new.  You were starting to feel uncomfortably warm in your zipped-up coat. 

By the time the game was over and he'd received the Man of the Match award and recovered from a brief ankle injury, you were fidgeting in your seat, your body uncomfortably warm despite the rain dripping down the back of your neck for the last twenty minutes.  Most of the drivers and a couple of the other celebrities were hanging back after the pitch had emptied, making their way to the stands in order to take photos and sign merch with the fans loyal enough to stick the weather out.  Even watching Carlos shake his head like a dog, water flying everywhere was enough to set you on edge.  It felt like you'd swallowed hot coals and he was just casually stroking the fire, consistently stirring something up in you.  

Carlos was slowly directing himself towards the tunnel, preparing to head back to the changing rooms.  There was a half-baked idea in your mind as you slipped out of the viewing box and made your way down the stairs.  With a flash of your paddock ID, you were allowed back into the changing rooms and you made your way forward towards the tunnel, waiting for Carlos. 

He didn't spot you as he passed, not until you reached out and grabbed his wrist, making him yelp in surprise.  Before there was time to second guess you yanked him, forcing him to follow you into the storeroom you’d conveniently placed yourself by.  The door swung shut behind him, the pair of you cloaked in the sudden darkness.

“Y/N?”  now that he was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Shut up,”  

You grabbed him by the soaked front of his football shirt and pulled him down into a searing kiss.  Carlos responded instantly, his hands fumbling in the dark until he found your cheeks, palms impossibly warm as he gripped you with a muffled noise against your mouth.  The lights flickered on.  They must have been motion-activated, triggered as you pulled flush against each other.  His hands fell to your shoulders, moving you back.  In the soft light, you could see every detail of him.  The front of your top was wet.  You watched a single raindrop fall from his hair, run down his forehead and drip right off the tip of his nose.

“What are you doing?”  Carlos murmured as you pushed yourself close to him once more.  It was like he was exuding some kind of drug, your mind fogged and narrowed down until he was the only thing in your sights.  You shook your head, pulling him back into another heated kiss, this time his hands falling to your hips and gripping tightly as you whined into his mouth. 

“Hey,”  he chuckled against your neck  “What is it?”  You failed to answer, only succeeding in placing frantic kisses on any part of exposed skin you could reach. 

“You,”  it came as a gasp as Carlos threaded a hand through your hair, watching you with almost clinical fascination.

“Me…?”  He was teasing you, eyes shining.  You shook your head, your face pressed in the damp of his neck, breathing in deeply as if the smell of his sweat would help still your swimming mind.

“It should be illegal,”  your hands were roaming, grappling for purchase against wet polyester until you managed to slip in the small space between top and shorts, enjoying the way he shivered against your touch.  “Looking that good chasing a fucking ball around,”

His chest swelled at the compliment, a dangerous glint in his eyes accompanied by a wolfish grin.  He traced the curve of your jaw as if it was glass, studying your every move under the flickering electric light.

"And you even couldn't wait to go back?"  His tone had changed, the gentle teasing swapped for something more urgent, laced with anticipation.  You couldn’t.  It was as simple as that.  You felt feral, being driven by something almost animalistic that just needed and it needed now.

There was no way you could articulate how you were feeling, despite the way he was desperately searching your face for an answer.  So you did the only thing that had been running through your mind for the last hour.  

You sank down onto your knees. 

“Wait, wait, I'm sweaty,”

You were well aware of his state, having watched him wind himself up like that over the last two hours in the pouring rain.  Your knees were already starting to feel damp from where his clothes had dripped onto the floor.  But you were beyond caring and besides you'd grown up surrounded by racing drivers - it would take more than a bit of sweat to make you shy away.  The air in the small room was heavy with the scent of him, only adding to the growing sense of desperation within you to do something.  

You ran your hand over the poorly concealed bulge in his shorts, relishing the way Carlos' breath hitched as you did so. 

“Cariño…”  he trailed off, distracted as you started to mouth around his thighs, tight and warm from the recent exercise.  You pulled away, your hands resting in the dip of his hip bones as you blinked up at him. 

“Please,”

The word was barely a whisper on your lips, but it echoed like a scream in the confined space. 

“Shit,” Carlos swore, his head falling against the wall behind him with a dull thud as he pushed his shorts down his hips with trembling hands.  “Shit.  Yes, okay,”

It was quick, but it was always going to be.  Carlos was tensing before you even had your mouth fully around him, the muscles in his legs fasciculating under your fingers.  He hissed as you moaned, unable to stop the way his hips bucked forward.  One of his hands dropped down, threading his fingers through your hair. 

He stayed still, staring at you through blown pupils as if you were a gift from the gods as you took him in your mouth.  The way he was watching you only spurred you on as you met his eyes, drawing out a heavy, shaky gasp from him and his legs began to tremble in earnest. 

“Fuck, you're so good,”  he praised as you relaxed, pushing as deep as you could take him.  Your knees were sore, back aching, throat constricting and eyes watering.  Nothing about it was comfortable, yet you were soaked, feeling yourself clenching around nothing as you poured your entire focus onto Carlos.  Your entire universe in that moment consisted of him and him alone.  

You felt him tense, twitching in your mouth and scrabbling at your shoulders as he managed to stumble out half a warning.  You took that as a sign to hollow your cheeks, sucking and swallowing with everything you had, your entire body ignoring its natural reflexes for him.  Carlos came with a muffled shout, a hand flung over his mouth, chest heaving and other hand twisting hard in your hair.  You sat still, ignoring the way you weren't sure if the tears streaming down your face were from physical exertion or because you were so desperately close yourself. 

You waited until his breathing steadied and he'd stopped making quietly broken noises before you released him, taking his hand gratefully as he helped you to your feet.  Carlos watched you in rapture as you chased a stray dribble from the side of your mouth with you thumb and licking it clean without thought.  The light had gone off at some point.  You hadn't noticed at the time, it was only now as you became aware of your surroundings once more that you realised your eyes were straining, blinking as the lights stung unprepared pupils. 

He didn't stop at the changing rooms, instead just grabbing his bag and your hand as you made your way back through the maze below the quietening stands to the car park.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet in the best way.  Carlos took the scenic route; the rain had stopped and the lights of Monte Carlo were sparkling below you through the dark blanket of the sky.  His palm was warm against your crossed legs and he kept stealing glances at you, sending you a stupid little grin when you met his eyes.  The radio was blaring, the roof down and cooling wind in your hair.  His football shirt was pulled back against his body, hair flying freely around his face.  His eyes were shining, dancing with joyful freedom, whole body relaxed as if he and the leather seat below him were one shared entity. 

You wished that drive lasted a lifetime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Chapter Seven Here!

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Yeah so this football scene was originally at the start of chapter 7 but then i realised it was going to be stupidly long and this chapter was short so I've done a bit of a reshuffle. Hope you enjoy and this cheeky little scene is enough to tie you guys over for now!

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