#I just feel like it's a good move to make because again I want it to be my job and such

[reiding-writing]

cold!reader used to work with VCAC? the idea that she's good with children despite just hating everyone is so funny to me

would you consider writing a fic where the BAUs main witness is a kid and cold reader is the only person to get through to them? and then the kid becomes like super attached and the rest of the team is just like 'hm, strange' because they never expected her to be good with kids? thank you!

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

A family annihilator who's killed three families in two months makes a fatal mistake. He leaves behind a witness, a child, and she's the only one that can help solve the case.

cold!reader ❅ 10.0k ❅ series masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against children, mentions of trauma and ptsd, you do not know how tempted i was to kill this child but i didn’t

The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the air conditioning.

The conference room is dim, the overhead lights casting a dull glow against the crime scene photos spread across the table. Three families, their faces smiling in old photographs, juxtaposed with the horror of their final moments.

You sit stiffly in your chair, arms crossed, watching as Hotch stands at the head of the table. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders speaks for itself.

The team is silent as he clicks to the next slide on the projector, displaying the most recent crime scene. Blood splatters across beige carpet. A broken picture frame. A child's shoe, left in the doorway.

“This is our unsub's third family in six weeks,” Hotch says, his voice steady but heavy. “All killed in their own homes, in the middle of the night. No signs of forced entry, no clear connection between the families. Each time, he’s managed to evade security cameras and forensic evidence. He’s methodical, careful, and fast.”

“Spree killer tendencies, but controlled,” Spencer interjects from across the table. His fingers drum against the tabletop as he speaks. “He escalates quickly, but there’s no erratic behaviour at the scenes. He’s not disorganised—he knows exactly what he’s doing,”

“Until now,” JJ murmurs. She leans forward, her brows drawn together, eyes fixed on the next image—a little girl. The survivor.

She’s small, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, pressed into the corner of what looks like a hospital bed. A police officer stands nearby, talking to her, but there’s no recognition in her eyes. She looks… empty.

“She got away,” Emily says, glancing at Hotch. “How?”

“The unsub killed her parents and older brother before she managed to escape through a back door,” he explains. “The neighbours called 911 when they heard screaming. By the time officers arrived, the house was quiet, and the suspect was gone. She was found hiding in their backyard shed.”

“A survivor,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “That changes things. This guy has a pattern—he wipes out the entire family unit. That means she wasn’t supposed to make it out alive,”

“Which means he might try again,” Rossi adds grimly.

A beat of silence. The weight of the statement settles over the room like thick fog.

“Local PD has had no luck getting her to talk,” Hotch continues. “She hasn’t said a word about what happened. Refuses to answer questions. She’s traumatised, barely verbal, and right now, she’s under police protection until we can confirm if she has any extended family who can take her in.”

You shift in your seat, already sensing where this is going. A slow dread creeps up your spine as Hotch’s gaze flickers toward you.

“We need to get through to her,” he says. “She’s the only witness we have, and if the unsub left anything behind—a name, a face, a detail—she’s the only one who can give it to us.”

His words hang in the air for a second too long. You feel everyone’s eyes move toward you.

And then Hotch says it.

“I want you to talk to her.”

You inhale sharply, jaw tightening. "Hotch—"

“You have a PhD in Psychology,” he cuts in smoothly, as if he already anticipated your pushback. “And your time in VCAC makes you the most qualified person here to work with child victims.”

The mention of VCAC makes your stomach twist. You fight the urge to grimace.

“I moved to the BAU for a reason,” you remind him, keeping your voice measured. “Children can be… difficult. Especially ones dealing with trauma this severe. She’s not just going to start talking because I ask her to.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “But if anyone can get her to open up, it’s you.”

Silence stretches between you.

You don’t want to do this.

You hate working with kids. Not because you don’t care, but because they feel too much.

They cry, they panic, they cling, and their emotions are messy—unpredictable in ways adults rarely are.

You spent years in VCAC, watching helpless children break apart under the weight of their own trauma, and it wore you down in ways you never admitted.

That’s why you left.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t coddle, you don’t reassure with empty promises, and you don’t have the patience for endless sobs and incomprehensible explanations.

And yet.

You glance at the image of the little girl again. She looks so small. So completely alone.

No one else in this room is going to be able to reach her. And if she doesn’t talk, if she doesn’t tell you what she saw—

The unsub will keep killing.

You exhale slowly, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Fine,” you say finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Hotch nods. “Wheels up in 30.”

The meeting disperses, chairs scraping against the floor as the team gathers their things. You stay seated for a moment, staring at the blurred-out image of the girl on the screen.

A hand brushes against your arm.

You look up to see Spencer standing beside you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You almost say yes, but stop yourself. Instead, you shrug.

“It’s just… not my favourite thing to do,” you admit, voice quieter than usual.

He nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does.

“You’ll be good at it,” he says. No hesitation. No doubt. Just quiet certainty.

For some reason, that makes your chest tighten.

You swallow, push back your chair, and stand.

“Let’s hope so,” you mutter, grabbing your case file.

And then you follow the team out the door.

—

The jet touches down in Minnesota under a dull, overcast sky, the kind that promises rain but never quite delivers. The air outside is biting, cold enough that you pull your coat tighter around you as the team steps off the plane.

The local PD is already waiting for you on the tarmac, their unmarked cars idling, exhaust curling into the frigid air. Hotch exchanges quick introductions, then splits the team without hesitation.

“Rossi—you’re with me at the latest crime scene. JJ, you’ll work with the department’s media liaison to handle the press. Morgan, Prentiss, you’re going to the ME’s office to go over autopsy findings.”

His gaze lands on you. “You’re going to the station to talk to the girl.”

You nod, ignoring the way your stomach tightens at the assignment.

“I’ll go with her,” Spencer says, stepping forward.

Hotch gives him a brief look, then nods. “Keep me updated.”

You don’t say anything as you and Spencer break off from the group, climbing into the backseat of a waiting squad car. The officer driving doesn’t speak much, just gives you a curt nod before pulling out onto the highway.

You spend the drive flipping through the case file, rereading the details you already know.

The survivor’s name is Madelyn Carter. Eight years old. No prior history of abuse or neglect. No suspicious activity leading up to the night of the murders. A completely normal kid—until the night she lost everything.

The police reports are frustratingly sparse. Non-verbal. Unresponsive to questioning. Won’t engage.

You tap your fingers against the file, jaw tight. She’s just a child, but already, you can feel the weight of the challenge ahead of you.

The police station is small, tucked into a sleepy suburban district, the kind of place that probably never sees much worse than drunk and disorderly charges.

But today, it’s buzzing with quiet tension.

You and Spencer are led to a small interview room at the end of the hallway. The walls are a washed-out shade of blue, meant to be calming, but the effect is ruined by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

And there, curled up on a chair too big for her, is Madelyn.

She’s impossibly small, arms wrapped around herself, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair is tangled at the ends, her clothes a size too big, probably donated by someone at the station. A stuffed rabbit sits limply in her lap, its fur worn and patchy.

She doesn’t look up when you walk in.

The officer standing in the corner—a middle-aged woman with tired eyes—gives you a look that’s equal parts sympathy and frustration.

“She hasn’t said a word since we brought her in,” she murmurs.

You nod, but your focus is on the girl.

You know better than to overwhelm her right away, so you take your time settling into the chair across from her. No sudden movements. No clipped, authoritative tone. Just careful, deliberate quiet.

“Hi, Madelyn,” you say gently.

She doesn’t acknowledge you.

That’s fine. You expected this.

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your posture relaxed as you introduce yourself to her. “I’m a Doctor, I’m going to try and help you,”

Still nothing.

You glance at Spencer, who watches the interaction closely, hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan.

“That’s a nice bunny,” you say, nodding toward the stuffed animal in her lap.

Madelyn doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flick her eyes toward you. She just tightens her grip on the rabbit, her small fingers curling into its worn fur.

You exhale slowly, adjusting your approach.

“I used to have one kind of like that when I was little,” you continue, keeping your voice soft, conversational. “Mine was a bear, though. His name was Theo. I took him everywhere.”

Nothing.

Not surprising, but frustrating nonetheless.

You lean back slightly in your chair, glancing at Spencer, who watches the exchange with quiet patience.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs under his breath, just for you to hear. “Just be patient,”

You barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “She hasn’t said a word, Spencer.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not listening,”

You don’t respond, but his words linger in your mind as you turn back to Madelyn.

She’s still curled up, still silent, but you notice the way her fingers twitch slightly against the rabbit’s ear. It’s a small movement, but it tells you one thing, she’s aware of you.

That’s something.

You decide to change tactics. Instead of talking, you lean forward, resting your arms on the table between you. Then you take out your notepad and a pen, clicking it open.

Madelyn doesn’t look up, but you catch the smallest flicker of movement in her posture—curiosity.

Good.

You start to doodle. Simple things. A flower, a star, little patterns in the margins.

Still nothing from her.

But when you glance up a few minutes later, her eyes are on the notepad.

Just for a second. But she was looking.

You resist the urge to smile. Instead, you gently slide the notepad across the table toward her, placing the pen on top.

“You can draw something, if you want,” you say simply. “You don’t have to, but sometimes it helps.”

Madelyn doesn’t react immediately. But then, slowly—so slowly—her fingers twitch again, and she reaches out.

She doesn’t grab the pen. But she touches it.

Your heart stutters slightly in your chest.

Progress.

You let her take her time. You don’t push, don’t rush. You just watch as her tiny fingers trace the edge of the pen absently.

You glance at Spencer again, and his expression is warm. Encouraging.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice gentle.

“Do you like stories, Madelyn?”

She doesn’t answer.

But after a moment, she nods. Barely. But it’s a nod.

You share a look with Spencer, and for the first time since walking into this room, you feel the smallest spark of hope.

She’s in there.

You just have to find a way to bring her out.

—

You don’t know how long you sit there, watching Madelyn’s fingers trace absent shapes against the edge of the pen. Time moves strangely in moments like this—slow and thick, like wading through molasses.

Spencer stays quiet, offering his presence but not overwhelming the space. You appreciate it more than you’d ever admit.

Madelyn doesn’t speak. But she nods. And she touches the pen.

That’s more than you had ten minutes ago.

So you build on it.

“You like stories,” you say, keeping your voice soft. “What kind of stories?”

No response.

You lean back slightly. “I like mysteries.” A pause. “Not the scary kind, though. More like… puzzles. Things that make you think.”

Nothing at first. But then—so subtle you almost miss it—Madelyn shifts. It’s small, just the faintest movement of her shoulders, but it’s acknowledgment.

Encouraged, you try again.

“I think you might be really good at puzzles,” you say casually. “The way you were looking at my drawings earlier—that was you figuring things out, right?”

She still doesn’t answer, but this time, you catch the way she avoids your gaze, like she’s fighting the urge to react.

She’s engaged. Even if she won’t admit it yet.

So you take another risk.

“Do you want to play a game?”

That gets her attention. Not fully, but her head tilts just slightly—like she’s listening more closely.

You grab the notepad again, flipping to a fresh page.

“It’s really simple,” you tell her. “I draw something, and you guess what it is. If you guess right, it’s your turn to draw something for me.”

You don’t expect an immediate response, so you keep moving. You draw a cat. Just a simple, messy sketch, the kind a kid might do. Then you slide the notepad back toward her and wait.

Silence.

You don’t push.

Then, after an agonising pause—Madelyn reaches for the pen.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look at you.

But she writes one word in the space beneath your drawing.

Cat.

Something in your chest unclenches.

“Yeah,” you say, voice even softer than before. “It’s a cat.”

Madelyn’s fingers tighten around the pen.

Then—hesitant, almost reluctant—she starts to draw.

It’s shaky, unsure, but after a moment, you recognise it.

A rabbit. Her stuffed animal.

You don’t rush to answer. You let the moment sit, giving her control.

Finally, you say, “Is it your bunny?”

Madelyn nods.

Not small. Not hesitant. A real, full nod.

Your breath catches. Spencer’s posture shifts beside you, like he can feel the significance of it, too.

You’ve got her.

—

It takes another hour before she agrees to talk.

You don’t push her. You keep playing, keep gently pulling her out of the dark space she’s been locked in. She tells you her bunny’s name is Milo, that he’s red because it’s her favourite colour, about things that don’t hurt to answer.

She tells you her friends call her Maddie. You ask if you can. She agrees.

And slowly, carefully, she leans into it.

Finally, when the moment feels right, you set your pen down.

“Maddie,” you say gently. “I need to ask you about what happened that night.”

Immediately, she shrinks in on herself.

You don’t reach for her. Don’t move too fast.

“I know it’s scary,” you continue. “And I know it hurts to think about. But you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.”

Her grip on Milo tightens.

You lean forward slightly. “I want to stop him,” you say. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. But I can’t do that without your help.”

She’s trembling. But she’s listening.

Spencer speaks for the first time in a while, his voice quiet but steady.

“We can do it in a way that’s not so scary,” he tells her. “You don’t have to remember everything at once. We can do it piece by piece, and you can stop whenever you want.”

Maddie hesitates.

Then, after a long, agonising pause—she nods.

You take a slow breath.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s do this together.”

—

The cognitive interview is exhausting. For her, for you, for everyone in the room.

You guide her through it carefully—asking her to picture the house, to focus on what she remembers before things got bad.

She whispers about the TV being on. About how her brother was playing a game on his tablet. About how her dad was in the kitchen, and her mom was upstairs.

Then—the noise.

Something breaking.

Screaming.

Maddie shakes violently, curling in on herself, and you immediately pull back.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “You’re safe. You’re here with us.”

She nods, but her breath is coming too fast, her body trembling too much.

Spencer places a gentle hand on your arm, meeting your gaze. You understand what he’s asking. Back off. Give her a moment.

So you do.

You wait.

Finally, she whispers, “He—he was big,”

You go still.

She’s talking about him.

You nod encouragingly. “Okay. Big. Can you tell me anything else?”

A shaky breath.

“H-he had a… a hat.”

You glance at Spencer, who’s already jotting this down in the case file.

Maddie’s voice is barely audible.

“I think it was red.”

Your heart pounds.

Piece by piece, she tells you more. His height. His clothes. A scar on his arm.

By the time she stops, she’s crying.

You reach forward, gently—so gently—and brush a piece of hair from her face.

“You did so good, Maddie,” you tell her. “So, so good.”

She hiccups, her tiny body wracked with exhaustion.

And then—before you can react—she throws herself into your arms.

You freeze.

You’re not the nurturing type. You don’t know how to do this.

But right now, this kid trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust anyone else.

So you let her cling.

You let her cry.

And for the first time in a long time—

You don’t pull away.

—

The interview is over, but somehow, it feels like the work is just beginning.

Maddie doesn’t leave your side.

Not even for a second.

You’d thought that once the interview was done, you’d be able to hand her over to someone else—maybe the police, or someone from her extended family who was supposed to arrive soon. But instead, Maddie just… clings.

After the interview, she refuses to let go of your hand. You try to tell her she can go with one of the officers to get something to eat, but her grip tightens.

When you tell her it’s time for you to go back to work, she just looks up at you, her eyes wide with that quiet, vulnerable desperation that makes you want to soften, but you can’t.

Her tiny fingers dig into your sleeve when you stand, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You can’t blame her.

You’ve been the one who’s been there for her, the one who’s gotten her to speak, the one who’s made her feel safe for the first time in days.

But the child is persistent.

Everywhere you go, she follows. To the small break room where the team is gathering, to the bathroom when you briefly step away, back to the conference room where they’ve gathered for a case update.

She’s your shadow now.

And the team notices.

You try not to make it awkward, but it's impossible when she insists on sitting at your side, her tiny body almost engulfed by the chair next to you. Her stuffed bunny sits in her lap, its fur nearly as frayed as her nerves, but she holds it tightly. It’s like her last link to some semblance of safety.

Morgan raises an eyebrow as he walks in. “I thought we were done with the interview?”

“We are,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “She just… she doesn’t want to leave me.”

No one teases you—at least, not directly—but there’s a quiet amusement in the air as they all take in the sight of Madelyn curled up in her oversized chair, the edges of her blanket practically touching the floor, with you sitting across from her.

Hotch is the only one who doesn’t seem particularly surprised. He’s worked with children before—he knows how attachment works, especially after trauma.

But the others? They’re bemused.

JJ glances over at you as she sips her coffee, a smile pulling at her lips. “She seems to have taken quite a liking to you,”

You tilt your head, barely acknowledging her. “I’m just doing my job.”

Maddie, of course, doesn’t let go of you, even as the case discussion begins. She stays glued to your side, her small hand clutching the sleeve of your jacket, her eyes darting from one agent to the next as they go over the details of the unsub’s pattern.

You keep your voice even, answering questions when necessary, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to focus when you feel the weight of her gaze fixed on you, like she’s waiting for something.

Spencer notices.

He’s been watching the whole scene unfold with quiet fascination, his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted, like he’s trying to puzzle out the situation. Finally, when the meeting breaks up, he sidles up next to you as you get ready to leave the conference room.

“She’s really latched onto you, huh?” he says, his voice low, but the smile tugging at his lips is evident.

You glance at him, your expression unreadable. “It’s nothing. Just transference.”

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push.

Maddie hasn’t let go of you once during the discussion, and now that it’s over, she’s still following you around, pressing close to your side as you move toward the exit.

“Are you hungry, Maddie?” you ask her gently, glancing down at her with a touch of exasperation. “You haven’t eaten, and I’m pretty sure there’s a café close to here.”

Her head nods almost imperceptibly.

Spencer watches, his eyes softening slightly as he observes the quiet bond that’s developed between the two of you. It’s not obvious at first—just the way the girl clings to you like you’re the only thing tethering her to some kind of reality.

“Maybe we can grab lunch,” he suggests, his tone more teasing than anything. “I mean, you’ve earned it. Getting the kid to open up like that? Not easy.”

You roll your eyes, though there's no malice behind it. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“You’re good at it.”

You mutter something under your breath about it not being a permanent situation, but Spencer just chuckles.

He walks with you as you lead Maddie toward the small café a few blocks away. As you cross the threshold of the restaurant, you notice the oddity of the whole situation.

It’s strange to have someone at your side like this. A small, vulnerable child who insists on being with you despite everything that happened.

The waitress gives you an odd look when you request a secluded booth, but she doesn’t say anything. You slide in, Maddie immediately beside you, her fingers still clutching your sleeve.

Spencer orders for everyone, giving Maddie a soft smile as he does. You can’t help but notice the way his expression softens around her.

“She seems to like you,” Spencer comments as you sit, his voice light but carrying a certain warmth.

You cross your arms and shoot him a glance. “What can I say? I’m just a magnet for clingy children.”

Spencer laughs quietly, but it’s warm. “You’re good with her. I think she feels safe around you. And you are good at what you do.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, but there’s something unsettlingly genuine in your voice.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press you. Instead, he changes the subject, discussing the case with you as if nothing’s out of the ordinary.

But in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.

As you eat, Maddie picks at her food, her gaze flickering from you to Spencer and back again. She looks at you with a certain familiarity, like she trusts you completely, like you’re the one person who’s made her feel safe in the whirlwind of everything that happened.

After a while, she speaks.

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your fork stops halfway to your mouth. Spencer looks at you from across the table, just as surprised.

You freeze. How do you explain the whole weird mess that is your and Spencer’s relationship to an eight-year-old? How do you explain the not-together-but-kinda-together situation that doesn’t even make sense to you half the time?

So you side-step the question.

“No, sweetie,” you say, “Not quite.”

Maddie doesn’t seem disappointed by that answer. She just nods, although a little confused.

You glance at Spencer, who’s trying to hide a smile behind his cup of water.

“It’s okay to be curious,” he tells her gently.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your food. “It's just complicated,”

Maddie shrugs, her focus shifting back to her plate. She doesn't press any further, and for a brief moment, you almost feel normal again—just two adults eating lunch with a kid. Like a proxy family.

But normal doesn’t last long. The reality is that she’s still attached to you, and you're still the one she turns to. For now, at least.

And despite all your reservations, there’s a part of you that’s starting to understand why.

—

The evening sets in with an oppressive stillness that mirrors the tension in the air.

Maddie has been tucked into a small cot, an officer stationed outside her door to ensure her safety. She’s asleep now, her face still flushed from the day’s events, her small form curled tightly under the blankets. The moment she closed her eyes, a quiet kind of peace settled in the room, but the unease in your chest hasn’t subsided.

The case isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The team has reconvened, sitting around the large conference table in the BAU’s temporary Minnesota office. The maps, photos, and notes are all spread out before you, the room filled with the usual quiet hum of focus.

They’re all working with urgency now—calculating, piecing together information, and drawing conclusions. But none of them, not even Hotch, seem willing to speak the one truth you’re certain of.

Madelyn is in danger.

It’s only a matter of time before the unsub comes back for her.

“Based on the pattern,” Hotch begins, his voice steady, “we can assume the unsub is going to strike again. He’s methodical. The way he works suggests he’s already been planning this next move. We have a window.”

You listen, but you’re not really hearing him. Your eyes are fixed on the girl’s picture—the innocent smile frozen in time, the eyes full of unspoken fear. She’s just a little girl.

“And our best bet,” Morgan continues, leaning forward as he studies the information in front of him, “is to get her back into her old house. Lure the unsub out with a setup that looks weak—something that’ll convince him to make his move.”

Your stomach churns.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Hotch affirms, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “We need to make sure he’s brought to justice, and we’re running out of time.”

You can feel it—the tension rising in your chest, suffocating you. It’s not just the decision they’re making. It’s the plan. It’s the idea that they’re considering putting Madelyn in danger again.

You can’t stay silent.

“Are you serious?” Your voice cuts through the conversation like a knife. “We’re going to use her as bait?”

There’s an edge in your tone, one you rarely let genuinely show. The room goes still, and all eyes turn toward you.

Hotch looks at you with that ever-steady gaze of his, the kind that’s usually so impenetrable, but you can see the frustration beneath it. “We don’t have many options here. If we can’t draw him out, we risk losing him completely.”

“By using a child?” You repeat the word like it’s a poison, something that doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the word justice. You stand, unable to keep still, the anger making your pulse quicken. “This isn’t some game, Hotch. This is a real little girl. She’s already been through enough. We can’t just—”

“You’re overreacting,” Morgan interjects, his voice quieter now but firm. “We’re not putting her at direct risk. The setup will be controlled, and we’ll have backup in place,”

You shake your head, the words slipping from you before you can stop them. “Controlled? How do you control something like that? How do you control what he does to her when he finds out she’s there?”

Spencer speaks up from across the room, his voice calm but carrying an underlying note of empathy. “We’re not doing this blindly. There’s a risk, yes. But we’re also talking about a chance to stop him, once and for all. This is what we do,”

You turn to him, frustration boiling in your chest. “This is not our mission. She’s not just some tool to help us find a solution to our problems. She’s a child!”

Spencer’s eyes flash for a moment, but he softens his tone, lowering his voice. “I know, but we’re doing this to protect her. We can’t just sit back and wait for him to come to her. That’s not an option anymore,”

The conversation swirls around you, their voices growing distant in your ears as the weight of the decision begins to settle over you.

The plan, the baiting, the manipulation of this little girl’s already broken world—none of it feels right. The thought of putting her in harm’s way, even with all the precautions in place, is enough to make your stomach turn.

But no one is listening to you.

And you know, in the back of your mind, that it’s already decided. They’re going to go through with it.

Hotch gives you one last look, his gaze unreadable but firm. “I understand your concern, but this is the best option we have.”

You hold his gaze for a beat, the frustration still burning in your chest, but you can’t push it anymore.

Instead, you take a breath and step back, your voice tight. “Fine. But don’t expect me to like it.”

The rest of the team doesn’t speak up—no one challenges the decision. They all know what needs to be done, even if it isn’t easy. Even if it feels wrong.

And in that moment, you realise just how far this has gone. You’re not just part of the team anymore. You’re now complicit in something that you can’t reconcile with the woman you thought you were.

—

That night, you sit at your desk, staring at the case file in front of you, though you’re not really looking at it. Your thoughts drift back to Madelyn—her fragile, trusting eyes, the way she’s clung to you all day.

You didn’t sign up for this.

Spencer walks past your desk, pausing when he sees the way you’re hunched over the case files.

“You’re really not okay with this, are you?” he asks quietly, his voice soft but knowing.

You don’t answer at first, focusing on the photo of Madelyn. Her smile, her bunny clutched tight in her hands, all of it makes you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

Finally, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. “I just—I can’t believe we’re doing this to her.”

Spencer’s silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and you don’t expect him to. Finally, he leans in, his tone steady but sympathetic.

“Sometimes, we have to make hard choices,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean we forget who we’re doing it for,”

You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. There’s something in his gaze—a quiet understanding, a recognition of the struggle.

“You’ll be okay,” He hesitates before setting a hand against your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “And so will she,”

—

The silence in the room is almost oppressive. Madelyn has been tucked into her cot for the night, her small body curled into the covers as if trying to make herself as small as possible.

You’ve been avoiding looking at her, because every time you do, the weight of what you’re about to ask her presses down harder on your chest.

You know that this is necessary. You know that this is the only way to stop the unsub and give her a chance at safety. But that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.

The plan is set. Tomorrow, they’ll use her as bait. And you, the one person she trusts in the world, are expected to stand by and watch.

It doesn’t matter that you’ll be there to protect her. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be the one closest to her. The thought of her being used like this leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that no amount of logic can cleanse.

But there’s no getting around it. The team has made their decision.

So you sit at the edge of her cot, trying to steady the storm of conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You’re the one who has to make her understand, and that terrifies you.

Maddie is lying on her side, her bunny tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks so small in the dim light, so fragile, and it hurts to see her like this.

The trauma she’s endured is still written on her face, though the interview was a step forward. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready for what’s about to happen. None of you are.

“Maddie?” you say softly, your voice quieter than usual. She doesn’t respond at first, her wide eyes flicking from her bunny to you. She’s so still, almost as though she’s bracing herself for something worse.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me,” you coax gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She hesitates for a moment, but then she turns, her face a mask of anxiety and exhaustion.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to hold her gaze. “I need to tell you something important. Do you remember what I told you earlier, about keeping you safe?”

She nods, her lips trembling. “You’re gonna stay with me?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, like she’s afraid of hearing the wrong answer.

Your heart aches. You can feel the weight of what you’re about to say hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But you can’t lie to her. Not now. She deserves the truth. Even if it breaks you to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” you promise, trying to keep your voice steady. “But tomorrow… tomorrow’s going to be a little different.”

She furrows her brow, her small hands twisting the edges of her blanket. “How?”

You take a slow breath, carefully choosing your words. “Tomorrow, we’re going to do something to make sure that bad man never comes back. Something that will keep you safe. But it’s going to be a little scary, and I need you to trust me, okay?”

She looks up at you, eyes wide with apprehension. You can see her processing, the fear bubbling under the surface, trying to break through. But she doesn’t pull away. She stays there, watching you, waiting for the rest of it.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you continue. “We’re going to go to your old house, the place where all this happened, and we’re going to make it look like it did before. We’re going to have people watching from close by, and I’ll be right outside. The whole time, okay?”

Her lips tremble again, and you can see that she’s struggling to understand. The idea of going back to that house—where so much horror happened—is almost too much for her to process. You don’t blame her. You’d feel the same way.

“I won’t leave you,” you say again, making sure she hears the sincerity in your voice. “You’ll be safe, Maddie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The trust in her eyes is palpable, but the fear is too. Her small body stiffens for a moment, and she looks down at her bunny like it’s the only thing holding her together. “What if… what if I’m scared?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

You lean in, your heart breaking just a little more. “It’s okay to be scared, But we’ll make all the scary things go away.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you almost feel like you’re breaking. The responsibility is too much, the pressure too great. You want so badly to pull her out of this situation, to find another way. But you can’t. You have to do this, not just for her, but for everyone who’s been affected by this unsub.

Madelyn bites her lip, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “You promise?”

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

She looks at you for a long moment, as if weighing your words, trying to decide if she can trust you. And then, just as you’re starting to doubt yourself, she nods, barely perceptible. “Okay. I trust you.”

The words settle between you both, and for a moment, you feel the quiet weight of the promise you just made. This isn’t just a case anymore. It’s her. It’s her safety, her future, and you’re the one who has to make sure she’s protected.

“Good girl,” you say softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re so brave, Maddie. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes flicker up to you again, and this time, there’s a faint smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I’m not scared if you’re with me.”

That’s the moment you realise: she’s not just trusting you to keep her safe. She’s trusting you to give her back a sense of control over her own life, something she hasn’t had since the night her family was taken from her. And you can’t let her down. Not now, not ever.

“I’ll be with you,” you repeat. “Every step of the way.”

And as you watch her settle back into the covers, her bunny tucked tightly under her arm, you make a silent vow to yourself that no matter what happens tomorrow, no matter what you have to do, you will keep that promise.

Because no one else is going to.

Not like you will.

—

The air inside the old house is heavy with tension, each creak of the floorboards under the team’s feet amplified in the stillness.

The plan is simple. Madelyn is placed in the house, under the guise of a minimal police presence, to lure the unsub into taking the bait.

Everything has been carefully orchestrated, right down to the smallest detail. Outside, the team is positioned in hidden locations, all eyes on the house. They’re watching for any signs that the unsub is approaching, but you know they’re all thinking the same thing—you hope this works.

You’ve spent the entire day getting Maddie ready, talking her through the steps again, reassuring her that this is the right thing to do, that she’ll be okay. And, despite your own misgivings, you’re trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

You’ve promised her that you would stay by her side, and you have to see that promise through.

The door to the house is left slightly ajar, a weak police presence positioned just inside. You take your position on the floor below Maddie’s bedroom, staying close, but not so close as to be obvious. Your heartbeat is a loud thrum in your ears as the time ticks by, every minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The silence inside the house feels like a storm waiting to break.

Then, it happens.

The motion sensor outside the house triggers, and you hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone breaching the perimeter. Your stomach lurches. The unsub is here.

It’s go-time.

The team moves in quickly, and in that same instant, you spring into action, your focus singular. Your only thought is Maddie. The unsub can be handled by the others. They’ve got it covered. But you can’t take your eyes off the one person you promised to protect. You know exactly where she is, and you don’t even hesitate to run toward her.

—

You burst into her room, your heart pounding. The light is dim, casting long shadows across the space. Maddie is standing by the window, looking outside with wide, fearful eyes. The moment she hears the door open, she turns to you, her face a mixture of confusion and terror.

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see the fear etched into her small features, the tremor in her hands as she holds the bunny close.

Without thinking, you move towards her in two quick steps. You scoop her up in your arms, holding her tight to your chest, pressing her small form into you as though you can shield her from all the horrors in the world. The weight of her trust feels heavier than ever.

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice as steady as you can make it, though it cracks just a little. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m right here. See? I told you you’d be okay.”

She clings to you, her fingers curling into your shirt. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. In this moment, she’s not just the scared little girl caught in a nightmare. She’s the child who trusted you with her safety—and that trust is all that matters.

You stroke her hair gently, trying to soothe her with the rhythm of your hand.

Your heart is racing, but you can’t afford to let that show. She’s looking up at you now, her wide eyes full of questions, full of fear that you can’t quite banish. But she trusts you. That’s enough.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you say again, even though you can’t promise it. You hold her tighter, wanting to shield her from everything outside this room, from the danger lurking just beyond the walls. You’re not thinking of the unsub anymore—only of Maddie. She’s the only thing that matters.

For a moment, everything else fades away. The outside world is a blur of movement and sound, but you are anchored in this small, dimly lit room with this little girl in your arms.

You don’t hear the team’s voices anymore, don’t hear the chase or the shouting, don’t hear anything except Maddie’s breathing against your chest. She’s calm now, her body still trembling but no longer with fear—more from the shock, the exhaustion of the night.

It’s a strange thing, the weight of her small body in your arms. There’s something deeply instinctive about it, something that stirs in you like an echo from a past you thought you’d finally buried alongside your Professor.

In this moment, holding her like this, you can’t help but think of what might have been. If you’d had that child, if you’d stayed.

What would it have been like? To raise a child of your own? To care for someone who needed you as much as she does?

The thought catches you off guard. It’s a brief moment of reflection, one that passes as quickly as it comes, but the weight of it lingers, like the fading scent of something once held close. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, but it’s the first time it’s felt so… real.

You quickly push the thought aside, focusing again on Maddie’s presence. Not now.

This isn’t about you. It’s about her. Always her.

“Hey,” you murmur, pulling her back slightly to look into her eyes. “You did great. You were so brave. You’re okay. It’s over now.”

Her eyes are wide, still searching your face for reassurance, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. You know that she’s still processing everything, still trying to make sense of the danger, of the chaos, of everything she’s been through in the past few days. But she’s safe now. She’s in your arms, and you’ll keep her safe for as long as it takes.

“Do you trust me?” you ask softly, even though you already know the answer.

Maddie nods, her small hand clutching tighter onto her bunny.

“Good,” you say, giving her a small but sincere smile. “Then we’ll get through this together.”

—

The storm has passed. The danger is over. Madelyn is safe. The unsub is in custody, and the team is in the clear. You’ve done your job. You’ve kept her safe, just as you promised.

But now comes the hardest part.

Her grandparents are here, having arrived just after the house was secured, the paperwork signed, and the chaos of the operation settled.

They’re older, frail but warm, and there’s a visible relief on their faces when they see their granddaughter—safe, unharmed, and sound, despite everything she’s been through.

They approach her cautiously, with a tenderness that is obvious in their every move, but it’s clear that Madelyn isn’t ready to leave yet.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to you, staring down at her hands, her bunny still clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyes flicker toward the door every now and then, but she doesn’t look up.

She can hear the voices outside—her grandparents—her family—but she’s frozen. The transition from being with you, the one person she’s come to rely on, to a completely new environment is more than she’s ready for.

You move closer, kneeling beside her. Her head doesn’t turn, but you can tell she knows you’re there. The silence between you is comfortable, not awkward, but weighted with the realisation that this is the end of the road for you both. This is where you have to let her go.

“Maddie,” you say softly, your voice a little hoarse from the long hours. “Your grandparents are here. They’re going to take you home. You’ll be safe with them.”

She doesn’t say anything, but you can see her shoulders tense, just a little. Her fingers flex against her bunny’s fur, as if trying to hold onto some sense of control, some last shred of the familiar. She’s scared. You understand that, even though she’s made it through the worst of it, she’s still just a little girl. And little girls need security. They need the things they’ve trusted, and right now, that’s you.

“I know it’s hard,” you continue, gently brushing her hair back. “But you’re going to be okay now. You’re going to be with your family. You’re not alone anymore.”

Madelyn stays quiet, but this time, she finally turns her head to look at you. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, and it’s all you can do to hold back the swell of emotion threatening to break free. She’s asking with just a look—Can I stay? Can you keep me safe?

But you can’t. You’ve done what you promised. You can’t be her protector forever, and you both know it. She needs her family now, the people who can be there for her in ways you can’t.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” you say, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but. “But you’ve got your grandparents now. They love you, and they’re going to take care of you. You’ll be safe with them, just like I promised you.”

Maddie looks down at her bunny again, as if deciding whether to give it up. For a long moment, she just holds it, her fingers tracing the worn fabric. You don’t push her. She needs to come to this decision herself, in her own time. But eventually, she looks up at you, and her face is as serious as it’s ever been.

“I want you to have him,” she says quietly. “He keeps me safe. Maybe he can keep you safe too.”

Your throat tightens at the simple, honest offer. The bunny—her constant companion, the thing that has been with her through every terrifying moment, every flash of panic—is now being entrusted to you. You can feel the weight of it, of the trust in her small hands as she holds it out to you.

For a brief moment, you hesitate. You weren’t expecting this. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to accept anything from her, to make it feel like a goodbye, like this was the end. But the way she’s looking at you—her eyes filled with the kind of vulnerability that only a child could show—it’s a gift. A gesture of complete trust.

You reach out, slowly, your fingers brushing against hers as she places the stuffed animal into your hands. You don’t say anything at first. You don’t need to. The weight of the moment says it all.

“I’ll look after him,” you say finally, your voice soft. “I promise,”

Maddie gives a small nod, her lip trembling slightly, but she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t need to. She knows she’s safe now. She knows that the danger is over, even though it’s going to take a long time for her to truly feel like it. But she trusts you. That’s what matters most.

Her grandparents step forward now, gentle and patient. Her grandmother reaches out, her hand trembling slightly, but Madelyn doesn’t move. She looks up at you one last time, and it’s like she’s asking you for permission. You nod, brushing a hand over her hair one last time, offering her the comfort and security she’s going to need in the days to come.

“You’re going to be okay, Maddie,” you repeat, knowing it’s true. You’ve done everything you could for her, and now it’s time to let go.

Madelyn doesn’t look back as her grandparents gently lead her out of the room. She doesn’t cry, though you’re sure the tears will come later. For now, she’s holding herself together, with the knowledge that she’s safe, and that she’s going to be okay.

—

The hum of the office is soothing in its familiar monotony. You step inside, the heavy weight of the case finally lifting from your shoulders. It’s strange—part of you feels relief, the other part feels like an echo of something left behind. Something you didn’t quite expect to feel, but there it is, nestled in your chest, quietly tugging at you.

You take a deep breath and walk to your desk, setting down your bag and the files you’ve been carrying all day. Then, without really thinking about it, you place the stuffed animal on the corner of your desk, the soft bunny now a permanent fixture in the workspace that’s been both home and battlefield for so long.

It’s a small thing, but it’s a thing that means something. And as soon as you set it down, you feel a soft exhale escape your lips. A sense of finality, of closure, as if everything has settled into place.

The case is over. Madelyn is safe. But something about this—about the stuffed animal—feels like a piece of you that will always remain in that small room with her, in the moment when you promised to keep her safe.

You don’t realise Spencer is watching you until you hear his soft voice.

“She gave it to you,” he says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

You glance over at him, momentarily surprised. His gaze is soft, understanding, and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You glance back at the bunny and then back at Spencer. It’s an odd feeling—the way he’s looking at you, almost as if he sees more than just the case, more than just the professional side of you. He sees the part of you that changed over the past 36 hours.

“She did,” you say, your voice low, not quite sure what to say after that. It’s true, but you hadn’t really thought it through. You hadn’t thought about what this moment would mean.

“You didn’t have to take it,” Spencer offers gently, taking a step closer. “But I think it’s... a good thing. That you did.”

You swallow, unsure how to process the mix of emotions stirring in your chest. It’s strange, this feeling. The feeling of having kept a promise, of having kept someone safe. You’ve done this kind of work before, but never like this. Never with this kind of personal connection.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thick with something you can’t quite put into words.

Spencer steps closer, his posture relaxed, yet there’s an unspoken care in his movements. He looks at you—softly, steadily—and you feel the warmth of his presence settle around you. He reaches a hand out, his fingers brushing over the edge of your waist. It’s a gesture that’s comforting, gentle, not pushing, just there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid of breaking the moment. His touch is subtle, yet you can feel the tenderness in his gesture.

You nod, but the answer feels incomplete. How do you explain that you're fine, but also changed? How do you explain that the girl who clung to you, who trusted you with her safety, left something inside you that you hadn’t expected to find?

“I’m fine,” you say finally, because it’s easier to say than to explain.

Spencer doesn’t press, doesn’t ask for more details. He just gives a soft nod, his fingers still lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back slightly. He doesn’t push. He’s always been good at giving space when needed.

“Want me to take you home?” he asks, his voice gentle. “Or… we could just go somewhere. Get some food. Something to relax.”

The offer is simple, but you can tell that it’s more than that. It’s his way of letting you know he’s there for you, not out of obligation, but because he wants to be. Because he sees you in a way that not many people do.

The soft affection in his voice, the quiet care in his words—it’s enough to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you’ve felt in the past.

You glance at him, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. For a moment, the world outside the office fades, and it’s just the two of you. He’s standing there, so patient, so steady, and the weight of the last 36 hours begins to feel a little less heavy with him around.

“That’s be nice,” you say finally, surprising yourself with the answer. You don’t know why, but you do. You could go home, retreat into the silence of your apartment, but there’s something about the idea of being with him—of having someone there, someone who understands, someone who’s seen the way you’ve changed—that feels better.

Spencer smiles, a quiet relief crossing his face. He steps forward, offering you a hand, and you take it without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and comforting. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a promise, like something new is beginning.

“Let’s go then,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

[navybrat817]

Hello, Navy! Hope you're doing well. I'm here back again because i have a mighty need to tell you this:

just bucky saying "sit and take what you need, honey" and encouraging her to ride him with all her want/need... and not even 5 minutes in he's pleading "jesus, honey, wait you're gonna make me cum too soon" but his hands still encouraging her to keep going hard.

— 🍯anon

Oh, my beautiful nonnie.

Ride It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky encourages you to take what you want.

Word Count: Over 760

Warnings: Established relationship, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), light choking, dirty talk, possessive behavior, slight feels if you squint, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Work was a big ball of suck today, but I hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Sit and take what you need, honey.”

That was what Bucky told you almost five minutes ago, and now he's forcing himself not to move as you brace your hands on his thighs and roll your hips. He watches, completely entranced, letting you bounce on his cock and take what belongs to you. Your nipples still have a bit of shine from him sucking on them and he can’t help but slide a hand to your throat and gently squeeze.

You giggle, a breathy sound, before you say, “Harder.”

He obliges and feels you tighten around him. His strength doesn’t scare you. You crave it. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs when you moan. “Bounce on my cock. Take me.”

Just like he has his days when he simply fucking needs you, which is quite often, you have those days, too. So, when you went into the living room, naked, tugged on his sweatpants, and straddled him without a word, he was more than happy to let you take control. It makes him feel good that you need him. Though it was taking everything in him to not thrust up into you or flip you over and pound into your pretty pussy until you cried.

As long as you get off, you can fuck however you please.

But he feels his head start to spin, his eyes half lidded when he feels the dam close to breaking. “Fuck, honey, wait,” he begs when you move faster, dropping his hand to your hip. He doesn’t keep you still. His touch only encourages you. “Gonna fill you up too quickly if you don’t stop.”

And he has to get you off.

His words only encourage you more. “Yeah, big boy?”

“I’m serious. Gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warns. Only you can make him lose control.

“You can. It’s okay,” you smile, a heart stopping smile, when he bites his lip. “I want you to.”

“Honey…” he growls, another warning. He isn’t sure if it’s for you or himself.

“My pussy’s that good, isn’t it?” you asked, circling your hips. “You wanna fill me up, don’t you? Make my pussy yours.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, his head falling back. He loves when you talk dirty. Loves fucking each of your holes. Bucky just loves you.

“I am. I’m fucking this thick… huge… cock,” you moan, your back arching and your hand moving between your legs to play with your clit. It’s such an erotic, filthy display and he swears he’s going to blow his load in a few more seconds. “Making it mine.”

His breath hitches when you lean in, your lips touching the corner of his mouth. “Fuck, yeah. It’s yours,” he promises, his breath ragged as you grind yourself down on his cock. Your cunt feels too good, squeezing him like you own him, the same way he owns you. He just doesn’t want to let go without you. “Want me to come? Wanna milk my cock for all it’s worth?” he asks, smacking your ass and smirking when you shriek.

“Yes!” you cry.

“Then keep riding me. Use me. Own me.” The wet squelch from your bodies meeting is almost obscene and he loves it. Loves every sound, every movement. He still can’t believe some days that he has you. That he gets to fuck you, love you, keep you. You’re his, and he’s yours. “‘Atta girl.”

“‘m close, Bucky,” you moan. He can feel it. You’re practically dripping. Such a pretty fucking mess. He wants to clean it up with his tongue. “So, give it to me. Come with me. I need it.”

Bucky will never deny what you need.

His fingers dig in as he starts to quiver. Bucky wasn’t a man who quivered until you and your perfect cunt showed up in his life. And your greedy cunt milks him just like you want, and he wonders if his release is what triggers yours. The moans you let out don’t stop him from claiming your mouth and swallowing down the last sounds from your orgasm. And he can’t stop himself from finally lifting his hips, drawing one last moan from you.

“Fuck…” he pants, smiling and framing your face. “I love you.”

“I love your cock,” you sigh, and giggle when he nibbles on your bottom lip. “And you.”

That makes his heart soar. “Get what you need?”

“Almost.” There’s a spark in your blissed out expression, and his cock stays hard inside your clenching walls. “Think I need one more.”

He gives you three, and you thank him for it.

Nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[f1fantasys]

Netflix and Chill Part 2

Warnings - FILTHY SMUT. that's it. You've been warned.

The motherfucker ghosted you.

You'd woken up the next morning, confused for a few seconds as you regained your surroundings. Normally you would feel the warmth of Lando's arm around your naked form, pulling you closer as you both shuffled to wake up. But today you had woken up cold. Pulling the sheets closer to you, you turned around, bracing yourself for whatever was to come next, good or bad. Except the other side of the bed was cold, empty, as if no one had even been there. Sitting up and looking around the room, you mentally cursed yourself for being such a deep sleeper. There was no sign of Lando. No clothes, no personal belongings, nothing. It was as if he wasn't here at all. Checking your phone, your heart dropped when there wasn't even a message from him. You held your ground for the next few days, not attempting to contact him, because, what the hell? So you threw yourself into work, busy as ever, and tried not to think of him.

It was now testing week in Bahrain, excitement in the paddock buzzing with the season about to start. You figured it would be impossible not to see the curly-haired Brit, but you'd decided to ignore him if you did. Why did he think it was okay to give you the best orgasms of your life, talk about a future, even though you could blame it on the adrenaline, and then avoid you as if you didn't know each other.

Day 1 went on without a hitch. You were covering Ferrari, so you were cooped up in their garage all day, and you were grateful all you saw of Lando was his back as he was walking out of the paddock.

Getting back to your hotel, you took a long shower, scrubbing off the smell of rubber and grease that'd gathered in the garage. You crawled into bed, desperate for sleep though you kept tossing and turning until your phone buzzed with a message. Seeing Lando's on your screen had you jolting up.

''hey, you good? sorry for being MIA, prepping for the season and what not..''

You took a few minutes to reply. You totally got how stressed and busy he was, but what pissed you off was how he'd left you sleeping in his room, bolted like it was nothing, you were nothing.

''i get you're busy Lan, but low blow leaving me in YOUR hotel room without so much as a fucking 'hey, I'm leaving, see you whenever'' you sent back.

His next message came in quick.

''whoa, relax. yeah? didn't think you'd react like this..''

Relax? Really? Was he really telling you to relax right now? You were fuming.

''react like what? Lando, we fucked and then you literally walked out in silence. how should i react?''

''i..yeah, dick move. i'm sorry''

Before you the chance to respond, another text came in.

''let me make it up to you? ;)''

Fuck this man and his abilities to turn you on with a few simple words.

''no thank you, i'm tired.

''y/n? saying no to my dick?''

''fuck you''

''i'd rather you fuck me''

Already feeling a wetness in your panties, you instinctively slipped a hand past them to slide through your throbbing folds, when you phone pinged again.

''damn, no reply for 3 minutes. she's touching herself thinkin' about me''

Damn him for knowing you inside out.

''stop''

''come on y/n, i know how needy you get. let me help you yeah?

''Lando'' you warned, though you didn't want him to stop one bit.

He obviously took it as you moaning him name, not warning him.

''i know baby. just imagine i'm right there with you, it's my fingers sliding through your dripping cunt. press two into yourself?''

You did as he said, gasping and arching your back off the bed as you thrust them in and out at a steady pace though it didn't feel as good as Lando's rough, calloused fingers. And when he saw you hadn't replied, he didn't hesitate to call you.

Whimpering, you answered, not saying anything but instead letting him hear what he was doing to you.

''Fuck, always love hearing you like this'' he said. ''Are you doing it? Fucking yourself with your fingers?'' he asked as you heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

''I am'' you responded, words coming through gritted teeth.

''Go faster, and let me hear you come more baby. Fuck I'm so hard right now''

You quickened your pace, breathless moans leaving your mouth. ''Are, huh, are you touching yourself?'' you asked.

''Yeah, fuck, i'm so fucking hard right now. Imagining your tongue on my cock, soft and hot''

''Lando'' you moaned his name, your tummy warming up, orgasm on the brink.

He quickly requested a facetime which you accepted, nearly tipping you over the edge as you saw him sat against his headboard, fist around his dick, pumping very quickly as he let out his own series of grunts.

''I'm right there with you, fuck. Think of my tongue now, going down on you. Licking up all your juices as I suck on your clit before thrusting it through your hole, fuck you're delicious. Are you gonna cum baby? All over my face yeah?''

''I-fuck me. I'm gonna-'' you started before your orgasm ripped through your body, your cum coating your fingers as you shook, the after effects taking control now.

Just seeing you let go to his words had Lando on the brink, his moans becoming louder as you watched cum splurge out of his girth and on to his stomach, sheets of white painting him as his body shuddered and tried to calm down. ''Fucking hell'' he groaned.

Both your chests were heaving, smug smiles playing your faces as you stared at each other through the phone.

''One more thing babygirl'' he said.

''Huh'' you questioned.

''Need to see you suck your fingers off. Taste yourself''

You did as he did. Sliding your fingers out of your cunt and bringing them to your lips, not before showing off the shine to Lando through the camera.

''Fuck'' you heard him mutter as you finally sank them into your mouth, moaning at the salty taste of your cum.

You licked them clean and released them with a pop before turning your attention back to Lando.

''Your turn'' you said, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of Lando tasting himself.

He groaned, and you watched him gather his slick on a finger before slipping it into his mouth, already clenching your thighs together at the sight of him.

Finally, as things settles and both your heart rates returned to normal, Lando sheepishly smiled at you while you internally cursed yourself for getting putty in his hands so easily.

''Tomorrow, yeah?'' he said, up and walking to his bathroom to clean up.

''Tomorrow'' you said, bidding him goodnight.

Needless to say, you woke up fresh as a daisy in the morning. That damn mouth of his, doing things to you without so much as touching you.

You strode into the paddock with a colleague, stopping my the McLaren hospitality to see if Lando was there. He wasn't, so you made your way to Mercedes, your home for the day.

George was speaking before you saw him. ''Someone's pucker'' he said, winking.

Your cheeks flushed, Lando must have said something.

''Shut up'' you mumbled as he walked in step with you. He was a close friend of Lando's, and they often spoke of their quoted ''love lives'' so rather, ''friends, with benefits''

You motioned to zip your mouth up and throw away the key before your breath hitched when you saw Lando walking towards you.

''Hello'' he greeted innocently, with a smirk that was anything but innocent.

''Hi'' you smiled, clearing your throat as George walked away with a smug look on his own face.

''Good night?'' he asked, as if he wasn't talking filthy over the phone not 12 hours ago.

''Meh, it was alright, could have been better'' you said.

He chuckled, a deep sarcastic laugh before he moved closer, lips barely touching your ear. ''I'll be looking for a different answer tomorrow morning, after i fuck you numb tonight'' he whispered, walking off behind you, leaving you blushing in the middle of the paddock.

The rest of the day was busy from the word go. You had been keeping an eye on how Lando was doing, his car seemed to take off right where they ended last year, if anything, better even. Just as you were wrapping up for the day, he'd texted you with his room number. ''Don't be late'' to which you reacted with a heart.

You had a dinner to attend, which seemed to drag on forever before you practically ran up to your room to shower and change, eager for him. You knocked a few times with no answer, so opened your phone to call him as you read a message he'd sent.

''In the shower. Door's unlocked''

You smiled and pushed it open, the noise of the shower filling your ears. Debating whether to wait for him or join him, the latter won out.

You stripped your clothes to be butt naked before opening the bathroom door, gasping when your eyes landed on Lando's hands pumping himself.

''Gonna stand there and watch or help out?'' he teased, opening the shower door you to step into.

Within seconds his lips were on yours, fighting for dominance as your tongues slid against each other. It was sloppy and messy, the both of you swallowing the others moans.

You could feel Lando's hard erection between your stomachs, his hands cupping your ass, massaging it tightly.

''Need to taste you'' you mumbled, roughly pushing him against the wall and sinking down on your knees while Lando didn't protest. He gripped your hair, pulling it out of your face into a makeshift ponytail as you kissed a strip on his bare thighs up to his crotch.

''Please'' he begged leaning his head back, mouth slightly agape as you finally wrapped your lips around his tip, swallowing his pre-cum and then sucking hard on it.

''Fuck me y/n. That mouth of yours'' he groaned when you started pushing him further into your mouth, pumping what you couldn't fit in. You hummed in response, the sensation causing his dick to twitch in your mouth as you quickened your pace, folding with his balls as his grip on your hair tightened.

''Fuck you take me so good. Where do you want my cum?'' he asked, voice desperate though none of your cared how quickly he was pushing to the edge.

He should have known the answer already. You were always ready to taste him, so you continued with your movements as Lando cupped your face and began fucking himself through your mouth, relentlessly.

And in a matter of seconds he exploded, sheets of warm, salty cum coating the inside of your mouth as he let out guttural moans, legs shaking and shuddering as his dick twitched uncontrollably.

You clenched your thighs together at the sound, taste and sight in front of you. Lando was slowly becoming your world, and to see him fall apart like that because of you, was doing things. Good or bad? You didn't know.

You stood back up and stood on your tippy-toes to kiss him, hard and deep, gripping his hair tightly.

He quickly turned the water off before picking you up, throwing you over his shoulders before stepping out of the shower, not caring about dripping water everywhere as he carried you to the bed, flopping you down before hovering above you.

You took his green eyes in, heart beating out of your chest because it was times like this that you couldn't believe he was choosing to do these types of things with you.

''I'm sorry for being such a dick. I was worried you'd think I'm a desperate fucking weirdo after saying all those things to you that night'' he said, thumb stroking your cheek.

''Lando, I literally want the same things as you, i told you. Please don't do that again. I'd thought you regretted all of it'' you said softly.

''Fuck, the only thing i regret is going all MIA on. I promise I won't do it again''

You responded by pulling him down and kissing him senseless again.

''I meant it. I want all of you.'' you mumbled between licks and nips of his tongue.

''I'm here now, not going anywhere'' he said, before hovering down your body and spreading you legs apart, a smirk taking over his face.

''Look at you, dripping for me'' he said, wasting no time in licking a strip up your sticky cunt.

You gasped, tugging at his hair as he started his onslaught, devouring your pussy, biting and sucking on your clit as he thrust two finger through you, hitting against your g-spot over and over again.

''Oh god, Lando, fuck. Fuck me'' you said between moans, gasps for air because he really was not going easy you.

''Cum on my face y/n, need to taste you'' you said, adding a third finger while holding your legs spread with his strong hands.

He didn't need to tell you twice to cum. In no time you were gushing your liquids all over, drenching his face in white hot sticky cum as your moans over took the sloppy sound of his tongue lapping at you.

When you'd realized what was happening, Lando was praising your name over and over, and it dawned on you as you looked at him, panic taking over your body.

You'd just squirted all over his face.

''I-oh my god, shit, I'm sor-

''What the fuck, y/n, how are you saying sorry right now? This is the hottest fucking thing you've ever done. I'm about to cum again just looking at you like this'' he said quickly.

You had no energy to argue, butterflies in your stomach at his words as he leaned up to kiss you again.

''Need to feel you, please'' you begged.

''Condom?'' he asked, having a feeling he knows the answer already.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips as he slid his thick girth through your folds.

''Fuck me numb, yeah?'' you said, repeating his earlier words back to him.

''Fucking dirty mouth'' he mumbled before sliding into you in a single thrust, bottoming out while you held your breath, squeezed your eyes shut at the intrusion.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waste and told him to move, capturing his lips again between breathy moans and guttural groans.

'Fuck, you're tight'' he said, picking up his pace, pounding into you, his dick continuously hitting the same spot over and over as your walls clenched painfully around him.

''Lando, please, faster'' you begged, his hand coming down to toy at your clit which immediately had your body shuddering underneath him, your orgasm ripping through you while he relentlessly continued pounding into you.

''Not gonna last long, fuck me'' he said, his moans pornographic by now, and the sound on skin slapping against skin filling up the room.

''I, I can't Lando, too much'' you said, cunt overstimulated.

He slowed his movements. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked, no etch of concern on his face coz he knew you could take it.

''Fuck no'' you said, already trying to move your body up and down to create some friction again.

He smirked as he resumed his pace, quick, hard, deep thrusts until they started becoming sloppy, his dick throbbing inside of you as you came yet again, your body like jelly, moaning out his name, and not a few seconds later you felt sheets of warm cum coating your insides as he came with a husky groan, shuddering on top of you.

Lando eventually collapsed on your body, the both of you shivering at the cold air coating your sweat-clad skin.

You could feel like softening inside of you, though no one even attempted to move, too fucked out to care.

''Your incredible'' he mumbled in your neck, his breath fanning your skin as your played with the curls on his head.

''Tell me that tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that'' you teased back, making him pull his head up, sheepish smile.

''Be my girlfriend?'' he asked, rather shyly.

''I'd love to!'' you said, unable to keep your own smile in.

You didn't know what to expect when his fingers tapped against your cheek, motioning for you to open your mouth.

You did so, your brain short circuiting when Lando let his spit drip down from his mouth into yours, smug smirk on his face.

''Now we're official, baby''

A/N - reverse cowgirl in this pic? YES PLEASE.

@sltwins @savagecatsuga @sheeesthings @dollyvuu @lilorose25 @htpssgavi @moonclaine @col4pint0 @dustie-faerie @ayap4paya @geometric-circle @martygraciesversion381 @screechingmiraclechaos @sarx164 @sunny-ln4 @cmleitora @brats66 @saythename-sm

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Seasons of the Year

Autumn is the nerdy girl in your book club. Pigtails, pleated skirts, too thick glasses. Whenever she's forced to speak up in class, she almost always stutters. Getting softer with each word until the teacher finally has mercy on her and let's her trail off. She has few friends, mostly other slightly dorky kids who band together because otherwise they'd all be stuck eating alone. You don't really notice her at first.

But then you read Jane Eyre and for once she isn't shy at all. She tells your whole book club all about the symbolism, the themes, how she doesn't fully consider it a gothic novel but that it definitely has gothic elements. Her cheeks are just a little flushed, her hands darting around when she talks. She's pretty, you realise slowly. When she isn't folded over herself or scurrying through the hall like she doesn't want to be caught.

Afterwards, you strike up a conversation with her. She's all shy again, not really meeting your eyes.

"My dad's got a whole collection of classics. Special edition prints, with these hand painted edges," you tell her. "Why don't you stop by and you can borrow some?"

She narrows her eyes at you like she thinks you're making fun of her. "Maybe. If I have time."

She doesn't drop by. When you see her in the halls after that, you always stop to greet her. But she looks so uncomfortable that you never get to have a conversation. Always running off with her head bent so far down that you wonder how she sees anything past the tips of her shoes.

After a few weeks of half finished sentences and always keeping her books clutched to her chest, you're about ready to give up. To take the hint that she doesn't want to be your friend.

But then... she starts seeking you out. Tentative at first. Waiting outside your class and only saying hello if you're alone. Changing her route so that it takes her past your locker. Sitting just a little closer to you at lunch, almost always two tables away so you're in her line of sight.

Maybe she realises you aren't setting up some elaborate prank by talking to her. Your hurried hellos become actual conversations. She starts walking you to class every morning. When you again invite her over to borrow some books, she actually shows up.

Standing on your doorstep with the trees flaring yellow and orange behind her, her hair pushed out of her face with a red Alice band.

"Hi."

You lead her up to your room and she perches on the edge of your bed like she's scared to touch it. Scared to be in your space.

You were in the middle of sorting through your makeup before she showed up and now you look over at her with a twinkle in your eye.

"Will you let me do your makeup? Please?"

Her eyes go all wide behind her glasses. "Uh I don't know...I don't really wear that stuff..."

You sit in front of her, your kit spread on your lap. "Come on! You'll look so good. You've got such a great bone structure, it's practically a crime to not try some bronzer."

"I guess..."

You carefully reach up and take off her glasses. She flinches. "Shh, relax. It doesn't hurt."

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up with your finger. When you smooth primer over her skin, she subconsciously tilts her face into your palm.

"That feels nice..."

Her eye makeup is the trickiest part. She flinches every time you bring the eyeliner even close to her. Eventually, you slip your free hand around the nape of her neck. She freezes just long enough for you to add some wings. Her ears turn a bright red and she ducks away from you, stuttering.

"Ah sorry. Were my hands too cold?"

"N-no. No, your hands are...perfect."

You end up so close to her face that when she finally opens her eyes after mascara and lashes, she gasps. You run your thumb across her cheekbone to clear away a little spilled eye shadow.

"All done."

Even after you step away, it's takes her a few seconds to move.

"Do you like it?"

"I look so different."

You stand behind her in front of the mirror and rest your chin on her shoulder. "That's the magic of makeup! It's a good different. And besides, we're matching."

"Oh." She touches her fingers to her lips and looks down at the lipstick smeared on her fingertips. "I didn't notice. I...I really like it."

You pull away and grin at her. "Aren't you glad you let me do it?"

"Yeah," she says, still staring at her fingers. "Really glad."

When your lipstick and then your lip balm go missing, you don't even notice. What was it the kids used to say back in elementary? That if your lips touch where someone else's did, it counts as a kiss?

Autumn walks home through the falling leaves and wonders if you realise you're her first kiss.

Winter is the student council president. Confident, clever, a guy everyone says is going to be a great leader someday.

Oh, but he's cold too. Doesn't have any real friends, only achievements. Everyone knows him. Everyone respects him. But being respected and being liked are not at all the same thing.

You wonder if he ever gets lonely. You walk past the student council office during lunch one day and see him at his computer, a half eaten apple forgotten at his elbow. You shouldn't feel sorry for him. He's on the fast track to an ivy league and a career in finance. In a few years, he's going to be richer than you could ever hope to be. He takes home every performance award in every subject.

You shouldn't feel sorry for him. But you do.

"Hey, you got a minute?" You lightly rap on the doorframe and he turns to face you, not at all ruffled by your sudden appearance.

"Sure. You're y/n, right? I think we had algebra together a few years ago."

"Yep. Before you started taking AP classes and leaving all us peasants in the dust."

You're not surprised he knows you, despite never being introduced or even having a conversation before.

You grin at him. "Is an apple really the only lunch you're having? You've got to keep your energy up if you want to protect your title as smartest guy in school."

He frowns at his apple. The parts he's bitten are already starting to brown.

"I'm not that hungry."

You lean in the door frame and cross your arms. "I'm supposed to let our student present starve? If I let that happen, who's going to be around to defend our debate title? Stand up to the tyranny of the chess club?"

He scoffs and uses the tip of his pen to nudge the apple into the waste paper basket.

"Come eat lunch with me. I've been wanting to join some clubs and you can tell me what looks best on a college application. You can call it community service if you want," you offer.

That gets you a slightly raised brow. The most expressive you've seen him yet.

"What are they even offering today? I don't really stop at the cafeteria."

"Oh, you're in luck," you say. "Mashed potatoes and gravy. And it's only slightly congealed this time."

"Yum." Still, he stands up to follow you. He's much taller than you realised, and when he picks up his backpack his muscles flex in a way that tells you he isn't afraid of hitting the gym. Again, unsurprising. Except for his lunch, he seems the type to have his life in perfect balance.

When you finally sit down in the cafeteria, it isn't long before the other kids notice him. You're scarcely two bites into your lunch when the student magazine editor starts asking him about the budget for next semester. When that's settled, the chess team are next in line to complain about the state of their boards and to ask pretty please for some new pieces. It's only when the bell rings that they finally leave him alone. His lunch sits untouched in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shrugs and shoots you a half smile. "Thanks anyway. This was...nice."

It's only when he's gone that you start to wonder if anyone else has ever seen him smile.

You start taking him lunch in the office a few days a week. Mostly sandwiches and chocolate milk. Not exactly the pinnacle of good eating, but anything is better than nothing, right?

You always end up on his desk, ankles crossed while he reclines in his computer chair, chin tilted up slightly to meet your eyes. It's casual, easy. He's funny, in a deadpan kind of way. You end up learning a ton about college admissions, about extra credit, about Ivy League rankings.

When applications open, he's the first person you go to when you need help. Eventually, he just sighs and plucks your half finished essay from your backpack.

"Just let me handle it, jeez."

"Really? Oh my god, thank you!" You stand on your toes and pull him into a hug. "You have no idea how stressed I've been."

He freezes. And then slowly wraps his arms around your waist.

" 'Course," he mutters into the crown of your head. "I'd be happy to."

The thing about Winter as a season is that it can be so insidiously misleading. You assume the greatest danger is the ice, the cold. You don't realise that most deaths are from broken gas lines, from excess alcohol, from persistent coughs. You prepare yourself for all the wrong dangers.

You assume that if Winter wants something, he'll pursue it outright. You don't notice that your college applications are only being sent to places he's applied to as well. You don't notice the way he sneaks your name into the records for the debate team, the chess club, volunteering hours - a blatant forgery just so you have a better chance of being accepted at the institutions where he wants you.

You don't notice the way he always comes up to you when other guys are talking to you, dragging you away with a tight smile and an excuse about scheduling issues or needing your help with the budget.

You don't notice him falling for you until it's far, far too late.

Spring is the ultra cool, earthy girl in your art class. Always sporting a full afro or long goddess braids. Effortlessly chic, with gold jewellery in her hair no matter how busy school seems to get.

She moves through everything at her own pace. Not part of a clique but never alone either.

You've always known each other a little. Had a few classes together over the years, shared lunch once or twice. But life is hectic and your paths don't always cross as much as you'd like. So when you end up in art class hoping for extra credits, you're more than a little glad to see her.

She's talented. Her portfolio has art schools all across the country drooling, practically on their knees to offer her a full ride.

It would be easy to get jealous, and you have no doubt that more than a few of your classmates are. But you? You're just glad to see talent being appreciated.

It's a beautiful spring day when she comes up behind you and offers to give you some private lessons. Your hands are covered in charcoal, there's streaks of black on your cheeks and despite your efforts, your canvas is an unartistic mess.

You smile at her like she's heaven sent.

"Would you really? I know art is subjective and all, but I'm afraid everyone thinks I'm objectively bad."

She tilts your head at your canvas, beads in her braids clinking.

"Not as bad you think. I can see what you're trying to do. You just don't have enough technique yet."

When you meet her after school, the classroom is gold and hazy with the late afternoon sun. She makes you sit at her easel and leans on the back of your chair.

"Draw some perspective lines for me."

You try to, but by the third line her hands are already coming up to guide yours.

"No. Always try and stick to your vanishing point. Like this."

Her voice is low in your ear and you can smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery that makes you want to bury your face in her hair.

"See?"

"Mm-hmm. Easier when it's so direct."

"Good."

She stays right by your chair for the rest of the lesson, occasionally leaning down to adjust your grip. When the day is done, your hair smells like her perfume and your fingers ache from work well done.

She doesn't seem like the type to have a boyfriend. Maybe you're being unfair, but you just can't see it. She's so nonchalant, so very much herself, that the antics of teenage boys seem so very beneath her. She must like someone though, because a few weeks after she starts tutoring you, you get a glimpse of her latest piece. A sketch of her leaning down to kiss someone, their face obscured by the fall of her hair.

If it were anyone else, you would tease them relentlessly about it. Who do you got a crush on so bad that you want to draw them?

Not her though. You respect her art too much to make light of it like that. And when her portfolio starts filling up with love poems, with tributes, with re-interpretations of Le Printemps and Le Sommeil... Well, you pretend not to notice.

It's only at the very end of the year that you start to really wonder who it's all about. When you finish your final piece - the best canvas to date, the one you and her poured hours of work into - she leans down and presses her lips against your signature. It leaves behind a lipstick print in a deep, gorgeous red. Somehow brings the whole piece together.

"I love it," you tell her, eyes on your art.

"So do I," she says, eyes on you.

Summer is the tanned, laughing jock who's always filling up the hall with his voice. Friendly, likeable. Just about everyone has a crush on him.

Not a bully, though he has the size and strength for it. Helpful, in his big, well meaning way.

His future is clear for everyone to see. Working in his dad's construction company until its time to take over, marrying a girl just as pretty and golden as him, becoming the kind of father that other kids look at and long for. It's a good life. It suits him. Days filled with sunshine and love and laughter. He deserves it.

So when he asks you to tutor him, you assume he doesn't want anything more than a better grade. Books and calculators spread out on the bleachers after practice, the smell of fresh cut grass in the air, summer sun warm and gold over the football field. If you were more his type, you'd call it romantic.

As it is, you just appreciate the good weather and the good company. When his teammates joke that he's tanking his grades on purpose just to spend time with you, you laugh and say you're sure he's got better things to do with his time that that.

It takes a few months, but his grades do improve. And when you go through the homework together, it's clear that he understands what he's doing.

"Well champ, seems my work here is done. You're ahead of the class, you understand the methods and your papers have all come back with Bs and above."

You shrug, smile at him. "You're free to go. Have your afternoons back."

"What?" He frowns at you, water bottle halfway to his mouth. "No. The year isn't over yet."

You laugh, a little flattered that he seems so upset to see you go. "I know. But you don't need me anymore. Just practice the problems I marked out for you and you'll be just fine."

For once, he seems at a loss for words. You stand, sling your backpack over your shoulder. It's just you and him left on the bleachers, the empty football field a behemoth between you and the school building.

When you're halfway across, he catches up with you. Grabs your backpack and stops you in your tracks.

"What about English? I really need some help with the novel. And my chemistry is a mess. Seriously, we can't stop now. You can't just...leave me like that."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded almost panicked.

"I think Jackson from homeroom is your best bet with chemistry. Oh, and I'll send you my English notes. I did a whole section on themes and stuff."

He frowns again. "No. No. I don't want any of that. I want you."

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, despite the late afternoon sun being full on your back. Was he always so much bigger than you? How didn't you notice it before?

"Hey, listen. I know you're worried. But we've put in tons of effort. You know your stuff. When exam season rolls around, you'll be just fine."

You try and walk away but he's still holding onto your bag.

"I can pay you."

"I don't want money," you say, irritated and offended both. "I never wanted to be paid for any of this. You're a great guy. I'm happy to help you out."

"Then stay."

Why is he being so persistent? His hold on your backpack tightens when you don't immediately answer.

"Please."

That decides you. How can you say no when a nice guy is practically begging? You're not a monster.

You sigh. "Fine. But only until after homecoming, 'kay?"

"Sure," he says. "I'll let you go when I'm done. Promise."

In the last light of a long summer day, you make the mistake of believing him. 

[notcruvusmemes]

This. This is why I'm hopeful about the future. Because when systems are working well enough (even when they're far from perfect), people tend to forget why the systems are important, because it's been a while since they've witnessed what happens when the systems aren't there. But right now we're all getting a very quick and dirty lesson on how much important, quality-of-life-improving work is done by parts of our government, and just why Constitutional checks and balances are so important. Some of what people have been calling "bloat" and "red tape" is actually there for a reason.

But I suspect ordinary Americans are now going to be much more familiar with the workings of our government than we've been at possibly any time in our nation's history. And that can pave the way for people to come together and say, We tried the fascist oligarchy approach and it failed us spectacularly; let's never do that again and instead try something that actually serves the people, like government is supposed to be doing (and in some ways already was doing). Let's question the politicians that say we should throw the baby out with the bathwater, and instead support the politicians who advocate for transparent and reasonable changes which make existing systems better for everyone except the con artists trying to amass power for themselves.

In short, I think the current administration has fucked up massively in a way that is *increasing* how much Americans are holding them accountable, and how closely scrutinized political movements will be from here on out. There's a good chance this can turn around in a major way. It won't be immediate, and we may go through some things worsening in the meantime which I do not want to make light of. But events are starting to build common ground among all but the most Kool-aid-drunk. The benefit of the spectacle and upheaval is that people won't easily forget how this feels, and it's going to stick with them for a few election cycles at least. We're not going back to the former status quo, which means we're primed for a collective move forward. And I think together we can make it happen.

You know, the Elon Husk recklessly cutting so many jobs from the federal government has really reminded me of just how much the government does.

A lot of people ask “what has the government ever done for me?” and it turns out that well until like two weeks ago when the Husk cut so many people from the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau it was making companies that charged you random illegal charges refund you without you even noticing and suing companies that break the law

[baepsays]

ADORATION & AFFECTION ⸻ cult leader husband Geto Suguru.

cw: NSFW, husband geto, cult leader geto, established relationship, he is very charming, in a lowkey manipulative way lol, suggestive stuff :3c, pervy Suguru smh, somnophilia, dubcon, eating out, some manhandling, fem oriented reader, no pronouns mentioned, he can use that mouth for more than words, but words sure are his strong suit, anyway kind of just cute shit

Geto Suguru prioritizes his mornings spent with his wife in their bed, over everything. It is the determinant of the quality of his day. If he does not get to laze around in your arms before reluctantly waking up, it will make things harder for his followers that day. Hence they do not even try to wake him up, they leave it to you.

But it is no easy task, if he feels the slightest stir on your side of the bed in the morning, quickly grabs onto your wrists and pulls you on top of him. Holds you tightly by the waist and hips, groping and marking up your skin through the bunched up silhouette of the nightgown. 

And if with much thrashing you get half up, he's rolling over— making you lie under him, to have his body weigh you down, pressing you into the mattress. Any voice of protest is drowned by his rhythmic words and steady tone. He talks in riddles and poetry, tracing a single callous finger from your forehead, to nose, then lips and cheeks.

"Every attempt you make to get away from me, pulls you closer into me." He'd say words as such

"What are you, quicksand?"

"If anything, it is you who consumes every fiber of my sanity every living moment, darling."

A slight chuckle would leave his throat along with his finger, still tracing you like a map he has known for centuries. It goes down and down. Ending up on your collarbones, and then goes back up again, gliding on the length of your neck, to your chin—pulling your lips to his.

I suppose everything can wait.

So one has to imagine these bad habits of his—coercion and not looking beyond what he wants—results in some trouble with you at times. 

One such instance can be brought up, where he told you about a meeting which was scheduled, prior as an important one—which is not uncommon. He has to attend a plethora of meetings and gatherings to keep the people (or monkeys as he likes to call them), interested and charmed. It was not the mention of his work, you've come to understand the man you love happens to be a little cruel, that makes your brows scrunch. Which is ultimately for the betterment of everyone, of course, what he tells you.

“What do you mean? Is this some joke?” 

“Why would I be joking about this darling? It is work after all.”

“Yes, but- how long will it be?”

“As per usual, most of the day, and if it takes more time I might have to have dinner outside as well.” 

“So you really do not remember?”

“What are you referring to?”

It was the particular date that the meeting was set on, and the length of the time he was supposed to spend there. Instead of with you, on your anniversary especially. That is what pissed you off.

So when subtle hints, and constant queries of confirmation of the date, does not give him the hint. The vocalization of your anger through the silent treatment, does. Unfortunately, he's someone who reciprocates your annoyances at him absolutely right back.

You are not talking to him at the dinner table?

Good. He won't either. He won't even accept the glass of water you silently offer him when he's choking on his food. Persistent and annoying to the point it makes you leave the table.

Days pass with both of your petulant, silent, persisting fights. Making things harder for yourselves and the poor servants and followers. 

He gets an important call one day, summoning him to a meeting and he's on his feet, but has to halt at the door of your bedroom—because just as he's at the threshold, you slam the drawer of the dresser by the door really hard, still very pissed off at him. 

“Miguel! Get the car ready.” 

As soon as he yells his order, he moves haphazardly to the side where you stood, staring and observing with angry eyes, furrowed eyebrows and pouting lips. Barely giving you any time to process anything, to even get the chance to back away, he comes at you at light's speed. And so he forcefully grabbed onto your forearms, and slammed you into the nearest wall. With enough force to make you understand the little charade of yours has prickled him more than enough.

His lips are feverishly hot on yours, teeth, tongue, bites and all. Your hands grip his hair to get him off you, while simultaneously pulling him in— making his neatly tied up hair fall stray everywhere. And if one of your hands gives up and goes to grab onto the curtain beside you, for some support, one of his own hands is already creeping on your arms to snatch your hands off the curtains, and ripping the curtains off the rod in the process.

After leaving you further speechless, with every intention this time, and a little breathless; he simply walks out with his hand in his hair, smoothing out and tucking back the loose strands of hair in a half up bun. But he does not bother to wipe away the lipstick smudged all over his lips and chin.

And while in the car, he cannot help but smile to himself. Looking at his messy appearance in the reflection of the windows, if anyone has anything to say of his wife's beautiful shade of lipstick, they can deal with him first. And then worry some more about their tongue snatched out of their throat, later.

The thought alone of not being able to wait to tell you that the apparent cult meeting he told you about, scheduled on both of your anniversary, was a lie. 

And why did he lie? Well. He felt like it.

The sight of you struggling to express your absolute wrath on him, is the most adorable thing to him. You can call him sadistic, but he just likes to see his ever so patient and kind wife get absolutely stirred up by his made up stories. He cannot help but imagine how he would be tormenting you in your shared bed later when he returns tonight. How he would slide his hands up your nightgown after throwing the blankets off your sleeping figure. And he knows for a fact, despite any amount of anger, you’d sleep without your panties on. Only for him, to bury his face in between your thighs and put his tyrannizing mouth to better use. Because with his tongue down in your cunt, he is the most helpless poet of them all.

You can get angry about that as well, as usual, when you wake up. But he knows how to leave you a whining moaning puddle, just as well as he knows how to provoke you to become a screaming shouting mess.   

Do what you like, he will fuck you pliant, then sweet talk the anger right out of you.

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources. header from Yamada-kun to Lv999 no Koi wo Suru. honestly i would not mind writing more of him this was a very short on a whim oneshot type of deal, but i can totally see myself expanding their relationship and dynamics. he is crazy, believe me when i say he is super good at making his wife forget that. if you see any mistakes please lmk i did not bother reading it after last edit.

this has been marinating and going through edits for no reason lol. Anyway was gonna be a nanami oneshot but just suited this guy more ykkkkkk. ugh.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic

[achilles-rage]

Cookies

summary: you and buck bake cookies at 3am.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey... how y'all doing... i am finally making my comeback!! if you missed my post from yesterday (i answered a bunch of asks so now it's pretty far down there), i'm gonna be posting again, but probably less regularly. i've been stressing myself out i think by feeling the need to post a fic every 2/3 days, otherwise i feel like shit, so i'm trying to get away from that mindset, so i hope that less fics are okay!! i love and appreciate you guys so much!! anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: none, purely fluff, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

The light from the fridge casts a light across Buck’s face, harshly contrasting the dim light coming from the television as he opens the door to grab the ingredients he needs. 

“The butter needs to be room temperature,” he tells you sadly, glancing in your direction as he places the eggs and butter on the kitchen island. Your legs are dangling off the counter as you watch his every move, the cool counter pressing against the backs of your thighs in a way that makes you shiver in your sleepy state. 

It’s late; 2:30am the last time you checked, and you and Buck had the silly idea to pull an all-nighter, since you both have a few days off of work. Just like you used to do with your friends when you were kids.

“I’m sure they’ll be just as good. And, a lot better than store bought cookie dough,” you tell him with a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. 

Honestly, you’re just glad Buck has agreed to bake cookies for you this late. While you were watching a movie, the main character was making cookies, and suddenly you needed chocolate chip cookies. Like, immediately.

"Definitely better,” he says with a smirk, giving you a wink before pulling out the rest of the ingredients from the cupboards.

He helped you onto the counter before he began his work, telling you that he wanted to make them for you, and that all he needed from you was to sit there, look pretty, and keep him company. And with a face like that, how could you say no?

You watch as he measures out his dry ingredients, then mixes everything together, but he pauses every so often to give you gentle kisses, the ends of his curly hair tickling your forehead each time. When his hands aren’t somehow all sticky from the dough – you quickly learned how messy of a baker he was when you first started dating – he’d place a hand on your thigh, taking comfort in the warmth of your skin and the fact that he could feel the goosebumps under his palm. He always knows that you’re sleepy because you get cold, and your skin erupts in goosebumps.

“What do you think you’d be doing right now if we never met?” you ask quietly after a few moments of silence. He looks up at you from his bowl with furrowed brows, tilting his head to the side. 

“Is this the beginning of a breakup conversation?” he replies in a slightly teasing tone, although you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he studies your expression, and your body language, and your eyes.

Your eyes soften, and you immediately shake your head, giving him a reassuring smile as you hold your hand out. He reaches out for it, not letting it hang in the air for longer than a second or two, and lets you pull him forward until his body is positioned right between your legs, although with his hands all doughy, he opts to place his wrist under your palm.

“Baby, I have absolutely no intention of breaking up with you anytime soon. I was just thinking. How different would our lives be if we never met?” you say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting your hands dangle behind his head as his lay on the counter on either side of you, making sure not to get your pajamas dirty from the dough covering his hands.

“They’d be very different. I’d be fast asleep right now, that’s for sure,” he teases with a cheeky smile. You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. It may have been your idea to pull an all-nighter, but he happily agreed that it would be fun. You didn’t even have to try to convince him.

“I’m serious,” you say with a laugh, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t know what I’d do if I never met you.” Your voice is softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. You met Buck purely by chance, and you still think it’s a miracle that he took interest in you, despite him thinking the exact same thing about you.

“I’d be looking for you,” he says after a moment, shrugging as if it’s that simple. And to him, it is. 

Your eyes soften, and your head tilts to the side as your throat suddenly gets tight with your growing emotions.

“For me?” you ask in a teasing, yet slightly disbelieving tone, and he shrugs again with a nod. There’s no hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’d be looking for someone who makes me happy, and who knows what I need without me even having to think to ask, and who is so beautiful that I can’t even believe that they’re with me. So, yeah, you.” You smile, feeling your face heat up. You can practically feel the love radiating from the deepest part of him and into your chest, and while your entire body suddenly feels warm, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. Suddenly, you’re not so tired anymore.

“I’d be looking for you, too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes as you lean forward and let your forehead rest against his. Buck has to keep a sliver of his mind occupied on not putting his hands on you, no matter how much he wants to feel your soft skin under his fingers. He wishes he washed his hands before coming over to you, but he wouldn’t have dared to let your hand stay raised in the air longer than a split second, just like he wouldn’t dare to part from you right now.

“Yeah?” he whispers, breathing in the faint scent of your body wash now that he’s so close. He wants to touch you so bad, and his self-restraint is wearing thin.

“Mhm. Except maybe without the snoring. I’ve never heard anyone that sleeps so loud.” You match his tone, letting out a soft laugh as he suddenly pulls his face back with a scoff, his brow raised and a smirk growing on his lips.

“Really? Because I seem to remember getting a text a few days ago saying that someone thought it was too quiet to sleep while I was at work,” he challenges, his eyes moving down to your lips for a second before moving back up to meet your gaze, the smug smirk still plastered to his face as you fight back a smile.

“I sent that in a moment of weakness,” you argue quietly, pursing your lips to stop the grin from making its way onto your face.

“Hey, come on, don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he continues, his hands now raised off of the counter and hanging in the air. They’re dangerously close to your waist; if he could touch you, he’d be tempted to tickle your sides to see that gorgeous smile grace your face, but he holds back. Instead, they just remain frozen, almost able to feel the warmth radiating from your soft body.

“I plead the fifth,” you tell him, reaching down and grabbing his wrists. You saw them out of the corner of your eye, full of dough and dangerously close to your pajama top, and the last thing you want to do is go upstairs and change.

You hold his wrists out between your bodies, and all Buck does is chuckle, rolling his eyes and murmuring a soft “brat” before leaning in and catching your lips in an intoxicating kiss. 

In the heat of the moment, you let go of Buck’s wrists, instead grabbing onto his hoodie and pulling him closer to you while your legs wrap around his waist, and he lets his hands go up to your cheeks. Neither of you notice at first, despite the sweet smell of brown sugar filling your nostrils, and he deepens the kiss, letting his lips work in tandem with yours as he savours the feel and taste of your mouth on his. 

Your noses brush against each other as you tilt your heads, and a low hum escapes Buck’s throat as his tongue meets yours when you part your lips. All you can focus on is each other as the oven beeps behind you, signalling that it’s time to put your cookies in, and Buck’s stubble scratches your face in a way that makes your head spin. You’re pretty sure the fire alarm could go off right now, and you still wouldn’t part from him.

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, and when you do, you finally notice that your cheeks are now sticky. You giggle softly, and you can’t bring yourself to be upset with Buck about it. Not when he just kissed you like his life depended on it.

“Finish my cookies, Buckley,” you whisper after a moment of looking into each other's eyes, and then he finally pulls away from you, immediately missing the feeling of your thick thighs wrapped around him.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, then dumps the chocolate chips into the mixture before mixing, humming in approval when they’re fully combined.

You take this time to wash the dough off your skin; not bothering to go upstairs to actually wash your face, rather merely using a wet paper towel over the sink to wipe off the residue. You know you’ll regret it later, but right now, you wouldn’t dream of being that far away from Buck. Not when the soft light from the tv mixes with the overhead oven light, and the soft sound coming from the credits of the movie envelopes the main floor of Buck’s loft and makes you feel so safe and calm.

When the cookies are in the oven, Buck helps raise you back up onto your spot on the counter, then makes himself at home between your legs, wrapping his arms around your plush middle and resting his head comfortably on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his shoulders immediately, letting him melt into you as you wait for the timer. The steady feeling of his breath on your skin makes you feel even more at ease, if at all possible.

You don’t talk for those 10 minutes; you just bask in each other's presence. It’s past 3am now, you’re sure of it, but neither of you care. All you care about is how good it feels to be in Buck’s arms, and to know that you’ve found someone to bake cookies with in the middle of the night, just because you felt like it. Someone to bake cookies for you despite being so tired. Just because he loves you so deeply.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ better than me, huh? . . . c.s

in which . . . chris makes you admit and shows you that he’s the only one who can make you feel good.

warnings . . . smutttt, fwb!chris, use of pet names, fingering, oral, (fem!recieving) kissing, degradation, teasing, dom!chris.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

★ chris’s lips crashed against yours abruptly, with desperation, with need. he hovered over you as you laid on your back, the two of you passionately making out on his own bed. chris’s lips muffled your soft whines and moans. “tell me bout’ them other guys, mama.” chris murmured against your lips, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. his grip on your waist tightened, almost painfully. the kiss was anything but gentle, it was as if he was trying to claim you again.

“tell me, what did they do to you? what did they do that i can’t, hm?” chris teased, his hands roaming your body as his lips began trailing down your body. you just wanted to piss him off for fun. “they were better than you.” you spoke, your voice defiant but also a tiny bit shaky. you saw a flash of jealousy, and even anger in chris’s blue eyes. “oh yeah? better than me, huh? what was so good about hookin’ up with other guys? what’d they do?” chris’s hand palmed your drenched panties, making you squirm with need.

you and chris didn’t have an established relationship, you were just friends who…fucked on the side, and kept everything on the low. you went out to parties, getting with other guys to help you try and forget about chris, to help you get over him and move on. but nothing fucking worked, of course. no one made you feel the way chris did. he knew all your sensitive parts, where and how to touch you, what really turned you on. no one else could do that but chris. and right now, he needed to prove that to you.

“they—mmmh—“ you couldn’t even answer because of how much he was absolutely teasing you, it was tearing you apart. but fuck, he felt so good. you needed him so badly, you just refused to admit that to him. “mm..you ain’t answerin’ me mama.” chris whispered darkly, slowly peeling your laced panties off of you. chris’s thumb pressed against your aroused clit, rubbing tight circles. you moaned in response, a gasp escaping your parted lips. “did they touch you like this, hm?” chris teased, sliding a finger between your folds, his finger playing with your wetness.

“look at you.” chris scoffed. “already so worked up? it’s embarrassing, really.” chris rolled his eyes, sliding another finger into you and beginning to pump both of them in and out of you, his hand immediately went over to your mouth as your moans became louder, more desperate. “y’gonna stop lyin’ to me yet? or am i gonna have to shut you up myself, hm?” chris pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them clean with a loud pop in his mouth. he parted your legs again as you attempted to close them. “fuck…i’m not lying!” you said as chris removed his hand from your mouth.

“yeah? bet you were thinkin’ bout me when those other stupid guys fucked ya, bet you almost moaned my name, didn’t you mama?” chris’s eyes were filled with desire, and his voice was soft with mockery. you couldn’t even admit it, because you knew he was right, you were thinking about him the entire time, it was hard to forget about him. “p—please..” you moaned in desperation. suddenly, chris leaned down, his head in between your legs as his tongue flicked on your clit. you gasped, hearing chris’s muffled voice in between your thighs.

“please what ma? you gonna admit this pussy is mine? that i’m the only one that can make you feel this good? I ain’t givin’ you what you want until you admit it. i got ways to make you talk.” chris kissed your inner thighs, still teasing you. he really wasn’t gonna let you behavior slide. “tell me, cmon…who’s pussy is this?” chris taunted, kissing your swollen clit, making your breath hitch. “y—yours..all yours..” you spoke shakily, chris smirking with satisfaction as you confessed this.

chris flipped you over in one effortless motion, your ass was facing toward him, your head burying in the pillow as he fiddled with his belt, removing his boxers to expose his hard length. his hand went onto your lower back, causing you to arch as he lined his cock up with your entrance. with absolutely no warning, chris slammed into you mercilessly, his hand coming up to the back of your head, pushing it down into the pillos, but not too hard, just to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“mmm, you like that huh? naughty fuckin’ girl…thinkin’ you can go around…messin’ with other guys to try and forget about me? it’s jus’ not possible.” chris thrusted into you, each time going deeper and deeper. “shit—oh my god… chris..” you moaned, turning your head to the side so your face wasn’t directly in the pillow. “yeah? close?” chris asked, knowing damn well you were falling apart. “mhmm..” you whined in response. chris groaned, your pussy felt so fucking good around him, he could do this forever.

“chris…gonna cum…” your mouth remained slightly ajar, chris continued pounding into you, feeling himself getting close as well. “cum f’me love.” chris whispered, leaning down to kiss your lower back. you immediately released upon those words, triggering chris’s release as well. chris pulled out of you, grabbing your waist and turning you over on your back again, looking down at your fucked out expression as he kneeled in between your legs.

“s’pretty like this..” chris mumbled, his hands going on either sides of your head on the sheets trapping you in as his lips delicately pressed against yours once more, silencing your soft whines. his tongue slid into your mouth as your hand tangled up into his hair, trying to taste every bit of him, chris’s hips slightly grinded against you as the both of you made out. chris had to make sure you knew that he was all yours, and you were all his

and chris was absolutely right, no one could make you fall apart the way he did.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[meinii]

"sick"

summary: Sylus is sick, now it's your turn to take care of him (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

content: fluff, mentions of being sick, mentions of food

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

it wasn’t often you saw Sylus like this—stripped of his usual confidence, his sharp words dulled, his imposing presence softened by the fever making his skin warm to the touch. he wasn’t the type to admit when something was wrong

in fact, you’d only found out because you had shown up at his place unannounced, fully intending to tease him about skipping lunch plans, only to find him slumped on the couch, face pale and drenched in sweat

"Sylus" you had gasped, immediately rushing to his side

he cracked one eye open, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips

"hey... look who’s here," he rasped, voice rough and lower than usual "didn’t think you’d catch me like this... not exactly my best look"

your heart twisted at the sight of him—normally so strong and composed—reduced to this feverish mess. without hesitation, you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, wincing at how hot he was

"you’re burning up," you said softly "why didn’t you call me?"

he closed his eyes again, murmuring, "didn’t want to worry you... it’s just a fever. not like I’m dying."

"that’s not the point, Sylus," you whispered

gently, you brushed damp strands of silver hair away from his face. his skin felt like fire under your fingertips "you take care of everyone else. let me take care of you this time, okay?"

he grunted something unintelligible—probably a protest—but you ignored it

moving quickly, you fetched a cool washcloth and pressed it against his forehead. His breath hitched at the cold sensation, but after a moment, he relaxed into it

"see? not so bad," you murmured, offering him a smile. his eyelids fluttered, gaze locking with yours for a moment longer than necessary

"you’re... too good to me" he mumbled

"someone has to be," you quipped, though your tone was soft. Standing up, you glanced toward the kitchen "I’ll make you some soup. stay put."

his smirk returned—though faint—as he closed his eyes

"bossy" he muttered, but there was no bite to it

in the kitchen, you found yourself smiling despite the worry gnawing at your chest

Sylus was so stubborn—always putting others first, never letting anyone see his vulnerabilities. but here he was, letting you in. that meant something.

the soup wasn’t anything fancy, but you hoped the warmth would help. carrying the bowl back, you found him half-asleep, arm draped over his eyes

"Sylus," you called gently "hey, sit up for me. I brought you something"

he groaned but obeyed, albeit sluggishly

"you’re relentless" he grumbled

"you’d do the same for me" you pointed out, holding the spoon up to his lips

he blinked at you, clearly debating whether to argue, but eventually sighed and leaned forward

"...tastes better because you made it" he said after swallowing

"flatterer" you teased, but your cheeks warmed anyway

you fed him slowly, making sure he didn’t rush. his eyes kept fluttering shut between bites, and you reached out to steady him when he swayed. "almost done" you soothed

once finished, you set the bowl aside and wiped his mouth gently "there. not so bad, right?"

he chuckled weakly "feel like a kid again..."

"good," you said, grabbing the blanket to tuck it around him "means you’ll listen to me for once"

to your surprise, his hand shot out, catching yours. his grip was warm—too warm—but his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a tender gesture that made your heart skip

"thank you," he murmured, gaze sincere "really."

"you don’t have to thank me," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "you’ve carried so much on your shoulders, Sylus. let me shoulder some of it. just this once... let me be the one taking care of you."

his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache. he squeezed your hand gently "...don’t deserve you"

"well, tough," you replied, giving him a teasing smile "you’re stuck with me"

he chuckled again, but it faded into a cough. worry flared anew, and you reached up to adjust the cool cloth on his forehead

"sleep," you urged "you need rest."

"you’ll stay?" he asked, voice rough

vulnerable.

"of course I will," you said without hesitation "I’m not going anywhere."

settling beside him, you let him rest his head on your lap, fingers carding through his hair soothingly. his breathing gradually evened out, the tension in his body melting away. you stayed like that, watching over him, heart full

hours passed

he stirred occasionally, murmuring half-formed words—your name among them. each time, you reassured him softly, smoothing his hair back and humming quietly

at one point, his hand found yours again, fingers intertwining

even in sleep, he sought your warmth

you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple "it’s my turn to take care of you," you whispered "and I will. always."

the night stretched on, but you didn’t mind.

Sylus—your Sylus—was letting you in, letting you hold him together when he felt like falling apart

and you’d stay right there, as long as he needed you.

[revelboo]

Hello! I hope you’re having a wonderful morning/evening/night! I have had jazzprowl fever for sometime and the posts of art I have been seeing all over tumblr ain’t helping- I was just curious if you would write a jazz x prowl x reader fluff/smut?

Only if you want to of course! Your writing is so good and I wish I had your skills ✨

-✨💜💫

Sure! 18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

JazzProwl One Shot Scenario

Jazz x Reader x Prowl

• “Aw, kitten. Prowler not treating you right?”Stiffening as Jazz returns and drapes himself against the corner of the desk, Prowl vents tiredly. Fairly sure that any hopes of getting actual work done just died a quick death. “Our poor little mate, bored and neglected while he ignores you. It’s too cruel.” Glaring when you snicker, he’s not at all surprised to find Jazz staring right at him, grinning. And he can’t even be too angry, because that crooked little smile is real instead of the fake one the saboteur usually wears. Relaxed when it’s just the three of you, able to drop his mask. Guilt twisting through him, Prowl grits his denta and looks away. Because he’d done that to Jazz. Seen that charming young musician on a street corner and weaponized that easy smile. Broken him.

• “Unlike some, I haven’t forgotten that we’re still at war,” Prowl grumbles, pointedly turning his attention back to his reports as his door wings lift. His charts and all important strategies. Attention dipping back to you, he smiles when you just shrug. As used to it as he is, but right now, he’s not in the mood for it. Smacking his palms on the desk, he’s mass shifting and leveraging himself up with you. Bending to grip your arms and tug you to your feet. And your soft laughter soothes his annoyance with Prowl when he spins you, singing softly to you. And the strategist is already annoyed, so he might as well have some fun.

• Laying your cheek against him as Jazz dances with you, spinning and dipping you until you’re giddy and dizzy. And his hands slide to your hips, hoisting you up onto a warm surface, insinuating himself between your thighs when he lays you back and upside down, you realize he’s pinned you against one of Prowl’s arms, the other bot scowling down at both of you. Servos rucking up the loose robe you’re wearing, Jazz groans. “Oh, doll, no underthings today?” Mouth coming down on yours, he rolls his hips against you, teasing you both. Can hear Prowl’s disgruntled rumbling as he scowls down at you both.

• “You couldn’t do that anywhere else?” Prowl snarls, watching Jazz free his spike and rock himself against you. And the spy just grins up at him before mouthing your throat to force your head back.Those eyes of yours staring up at him upside down, lips parted. ‘Prowl,’ you whine, the need in your voice spilling warm through him. ‘Reports aren’t going any-ah,” you moan when Jazz sheaths himself inside you and he’s half tempted to move his arm and dump the both of you. It’s only the fact that Jazz might fall on you and hurt you that keeps him still. Now fully focused on the two of you rutting on him, of your legs hooking around Jazz’s hips and the sounds the two you are making. “I hate you both,” he mutters without any real heat.

• “Can’t lie to me,” Jazz groans, hips pumping as his mouth brushes your cheek and jaw. “That’s right, kitten.” Feeling your soft hands on his helm, his neck as you move under him with a breathless cry. Aware of Prowl watching and that as annoyed as he might be, you’ll end sandwiched between them as they make love to you, to each other, tangled together and urgent. It’s always like that, like that very first time. And he can’t help it, reassuring himself again and again that this is his. He’s allowed this. That it’s not one more lie.

[angelltheninth]

Can you do cockwarming with Batman please? I picture the scenario where you’re at the batcave and he’s sitting looking at all of his cameras and monitors, doing his detective stuff and you’re there sitting on his cock. Reader is starting to get fidgety, wanting stimulation but he stops you, reminding you that you said you’d be good. Batman has great self discipline but he’s not immune to you either… :)

Absolutely, he would be so good at getting others to do what he wants.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cockwarming, pussy slapping, edging, bratty Reader, dominant Bruce Wayne

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: This man is so fine in every form he's in, it's not his fault people are constantly thirsting for him.

He was really hoping to get some work done that night so he couldn't afford any distractions

You cockwarming him was more comfortable than it was distracting

It worked out perfectly for him

Bruce could focus on his tasks, keep an eye out for danger and keep his cock hard at the same time, there was no better feeling in the world

Unless he were to ask you about how you felt, which wasn't as great

Having his cock inside of you for over an hour now and doing nothing with it was driving you nuts

At first it was fun, you would squeeze your walls around him, get a grunt at first and then an amused sigh before he would start working again

Now when you did it Bruce would reach his hand to your front and slap it against your pussy, which only made you clench around him more

Honestly he could make you come just like this, without even thrusting

But he didn't want to reward such bratty behavior from his girlfriend

What you needed was to learn how to behave, and he will make you listen to him, he will make you hold still

Bruce types away on his keyboard with one hand while the other pulls your shirt up and fondles your breast

His arm is firm, keeping you from moving too much while he does it

When you keep making noises and begging for more he pushes his fingers into your mouth, giving you something to do other than constantly demand things of him

Like a spoiled brat you want more, you squirm in his lap, hands braced against his strong thighs, tongue licking up, down and around his fingers until his gloves are soaked

Bruce huffs against your neck drops his fingers from your mouth to your nipple, abusing the stiff peak by pressing and rolling it between his fingers

Just a little more, be good for him for just a while longer

He knows you can do that, because if you can't then you're not gonna get to come at all

[cvnt4him]

insecurities is just the most common thing a human being can experience..no matter your power, strong will, immaculate self discipline, insecurities are normal and everyone goes through it once in a while.

And like everyone else, you have your own insecurities. Being fat is something everyone seems to look down on. Everything is funnier and way easier to make fun of when you're fat. You hate looking at yourself and seeing your body. Your chubby tummy, your fat arms and squishy cheeks. They were the bare minimum of what you disliked about yourself, dare you say hate.

It will always befuddle you when you see your super handsome strong and admirable boyfriend. I mean he's well built, sexy, and damn was he just blatantly perfect. There's no point in pointing out small features about him when everything you seen was perfect. Anyone with eyes could see he is a walking piece of art perfectly made.

It hurts you to see that you're holding something like him down. It makes you feel terrible.

You're sulking in bed, you haven't moved since he's left this morning. It worries him terribly. It's normal for you to feel gross and icky but that doesn't mean it doesn't upset him as well. He hates seeing you cry, and when it gets this bad he can't help that stinging feeling he feels his heart give.

While you're hidden under the cover not bothering to lift your head up to see anything he slowly and quietly walked towards you, a small smile on his face as he climbed into bed behind you. You feel the extra dip in the bed added given his weight. you open your eyes beneath the cover before you swing the cover off of you whipping your head around to see your loving boyfriend.

Calm eyes full of love and adoration for you. He scoffs lightly and pulls you into a deep and tight hug causing you to whine. Small kisses are planted on top of your head while he holds you closely and you listen to his breath, his heart beating behind his chest.

“ ’s everything okay.”

It wasn't really a question but it was good to feel like he cared. Of course you knew he did, he cared so much and he made sure that you knew that....in his own weird ways.

You give a small nod before you try to scooch impossibly closer to him. He chuckled above you and sinks deeper into the comfort of the bed, not bothering to remove the clothes he was wearing after the long day he's had. Holding you was simply enough.

Sure he might not be done much of anything, but him just being near you was enough to make you feel loved. Like regardless of your weight, you're loved. He had a knack for that, he was a damn good person and an even better boyfriend. You were impossibly lucky, is all you could think.

“ I love you. y'know that.”

You nod again, he hums in disapproval above you his brows furrowing as he looks down at you giving the top of your head a rather aggressive kiss before he grabs you by your chin and cranes your head up to his so you can face him, he gives you a stern yet pouty look huffing as he stared down at you.

There is no way this big strong manly (for the most part) man was sitting here pouting. If only the world could see your man now. He was adorable that's for sure. You can't help the giggles and laughs that escape you as you stare up at him, admiring his handsome yet cute features. He truly was a work of art, the gods definitely took their precious time sculpting him and those abs.

“ I love you.”

He says once more while he continues to pout. You snicker and realize what's got him so peaved, he wants you to say 'i love you' back. You always say it back when he says it to you, mainly because it's true, you do love him as well. But another reason is because it makes you feel like he loves you just that little bit more when you say it.

For the fun of it, you decided you weren't gonna say it. Just to see how far you could really take it. A small displeased groan leaves him as he eyes you up and down eyes squinting at you as your teasing smile grows wider, you try your best not to crack but you can't help it. He's too cute, you burst out in laughter and let your head fall onto his chest.

He groans and kisses you all over, pouting and slightly annoyed with you but he can't deny the fact that he loves you far too much. You eventually tire yourselves out, small giggles leaving your two motionless and entwined bodies. Your arms draped over his body while his legs were in between yours, fingers locked together as you hold hands smiles on both of your tired faces.

He looks over to see your eyes closed, you weren't exactly asleep just in more of a dazed estate really thankful for what you have and how much love you feel even when you get in this mindset. A heavy sigh leaves him as he looks back up at the ceiling deciding he'll just do what he needs to in the morning. He quickly sheds his day clothes off and turns in for the night in only his boxers holding you close and kissing your temple, his hand on your tummy as he occasionally squeezes it, giving you a ticklish yet discomforting feeling.

You squirm at the touch and then to give him a warning look that he simply dismissed with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. He pulls you closer and chuckles in your ear lightly, you can feel his breath fan the side of your face as he sighs heavily.

It was hard to feel insecure about your body when regardless of what he does he managed to make you feel loved.

mha ➥ izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, EJIROU KIRISHIMA, mirio togata, denki kaminari silently.

hq ➥ HINATA SHOYOU, BOKUTO KOTAROU, atsumu miya, kuroo tetsuro, asahi azumane but quietly aswell.

[innorality]

shower thoughts ft.satoru lol

"y-you want me to what?" satoru gulped loudly. "bathe me. here," he watched closely as you grabbed the shower head, handing it to him innocently before laying your naked form in the bathtub. satoru gripped the shower head tightly, examining your body and, shit, he was already getting hard.

you smiled before closing your eyes, muttering a soft, "go on." and as soon as you do, you hear satoru's hand rushing to the faucet, turning the water on. "hold on." he told you, playing around with it to find the perfect temperature for you. when the water was warm enough, he slowly dragged the shower head towards your feet, before moving it up, and up, and up, until he found himself pouring water right onto your chest.

upon that, he found himself staring. the water was perfectly distributed on your chest, streams dripping right around the two globes that interested him the most. he wanted to see them wet, and took the liberty of grabbing one of them and putting them right underneath the shower head.

at the relaxing sensation, you let out a low moan, knowing that would get him going. and you were absolutely right, because as soon as you did, satoru tensed up and his dick twitched in interest—but he kept his composure. his hand, however, did not move an inch.

a few seconds went by in complete silence before you opened your mouth again. "massage them." satoru's eyes widen, pupils migrating towards your face. "seriously?" he swallowed his saliva once more as you nodded, and he did just that. his fingers moved one after the other on your boob, massaging with expertise, making you release low moans after low moans.

suddenly, a light bulb popped up inside his head as he got an idea that he would qualify as wonderful. he moved the shower head away, making you open your eyes in confusion. he changed the temperature a little to make it more lukewarm, and made the stream a bit stronger.

"spread your legs," he ordered, and the tone that he used made you oblige almost immediately. "read somewhere that this felt nice." he placed the shower head a little above your pussy, making the water flow directly onto your clit with a somewhat powerful force, making you gasp and arch in surprise.

"feels good, yeah?" he rubbed your right nipple while going back and forth with the shower head as you called his name over and over again, begging for more.

"I wanna see if I can make you cum like this," his eyes bored into yours, previously focusing on your cunt. "let's test it, yeah?"

[luvst4rc0r3]

"Hold Still, Please"

Jinx x GN!Reader

Warnings:Reader is hurt

WC:575

Note:This has been in my drafts for like 2 weeks by now.

The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of Zuan’s machinery echoing in the background as Jinx paced back and forth. The harsh clatter of medical supplies hitting the metal table was the only other sound. You sat on the edge of the worn-out mattress, biting back a wince as blood seeped through the tear in your side.

“Stay still!” Jinx snapped, her voice sharp but trembling. Her hands hovered over the gauze, shaking so much she dropped it twice. “You’re making it worse, stop moving!”

“Jinx,” you started softly, but she cut you off.

“No! Don’t ‘Jinx’ me right now! You—you’re bleeding, and it’s a lot, and it’s not stopping, and—” Her voice broke into a shaky exhale as she clutched her head. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt. You said you’d be fine.”

You swallowed hard, guilt blooming in your chest. “I am fine. It’s just a scratch—”

“A SCRATCH?!” She whirled around, her wild eyes meeting yours. “That’s not a scratch, that’s—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her palms to her temples, pacing again. “What if I can’t fix this? What if I—what if you—”

She didn’t finish, but the panic was clear in her voice. The idea of losing you was clawing at her, louder and louder, drowning out anything else.

“Jinx.” Your tone was firmer this time, snapping her attention back to you. “Come here.”

She hesitated, her hands trembling at her sides, but you didn’t wait. You reached out, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer.

“Breathe,” you murmured, guiding her hand to your chest. “Feel that? I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her breath hitched as her fingers pressed against the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. “But you could’ve… you could’ve died,” she whispered, her voice small and broken. “And I—I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You’re not losing me,” you said firmly, cupping her cheek with your free hand. “I’m here, Jinx. But I need you to focus, okay? Help me patch this up so we can keep it that way.”

She sniffled, nodding slightly, though her hands were still shaking. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of blue hair out of her face. “I know you can. You’re the smartest, most badass girl I know.”

That earned you a shaky laugh, though it quickly dissolved into her biting her lip, focusing intently as she grabbed the gauze again. She worked quickly but carefully this time, her fingers steadier as she pressed it to your wound.

“You scared me,” she admitted softly, not meeting your eyes.

“I know,” you said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, swallowing hard as she tied off the bandage. “Don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try,” you teased lightly, and she glared at you with watery eyes before leaning in to press her forehead to yours.

“You better,” she muttered. “Because I’m not ready to lose you, and I never will be.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised again, your fingers threading through hers. “I’m always yours, Jinx.”

Her lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes stayed misty. “Good. Because if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m tying you to the bed so you can’t leave.”

You snorted softly, pulling her into a hug. “Deal.”

For now, the pain in your side was nothing compared to the relief of holding her close.

Short and sweet

I want food

[hedwig221b]

Do you have anymore accidental knotting fics like The Moon Gave Me Permission? Like, stiles doesn't even know werewolves exist until oops, I knotted?

I admit, this is a bit too specific, but maybe you'll like these fics

only one thing left by Marishna

"Anyway, you’ve been requested.” Stiles blinked. “Requested? What does that mean? For what?” “A dance,” Erica told him. “Is it baby’s first time?”

Theia Mania by aprettysmalldose

'that one classy-ass fic where stiles gives it up to derek in a grocery store'

Eclipsim by xxjinchuurikixx

A howl far in the distance splits the air, and Stiles’ eyes fly open as he shoots back up into a sitting position. The howl is followed by another, and another, and Stiles is left to wonder how many of the howls are wolves and how many are mythic beasts that he knows by name. The forest is in an uproar in a manner of minutes, and Stiles looks up at the bloody red moon gleaming, almost completely taken over by the fire of the eclipse. Red moons are apparently not a good time for alphas. Derek shows Stiles what a feral, aroused werewolf looks like up close.

That Frothing Knob

Stiles was wiping down the spout of a machine with a cloth, and Derek almost popped a stiffy right there in the café. It was completely embarrassing that after so many years of control over both his human and wolf side Derek would find himself so… enamoured by this random. Regardless, the wolf wants what the wolf wants, and Derek found himself trying his darnedest to get some sort of a rise out of Stiles, “You sure know how to handle that frothing knob.” Needless to say, Derek got to see that beautiful blush colouring the barista’s face once again. -- AKA Derek is a rich CEO and Stiles is a poor barista. They laugh, they love, and they live.

Watching Your Back(side) by echo_inside

Derek shows up everywhere Stiles goes when he's working on something for the pack. He's positive it's because Derek doesn't trust a human to get the job done. Derek is just watching Stiles back to make sure he's not putting himself into too much danger. Getting to watch Stiles is just a perk. Stiles finally confronts Derek about it and feelings get mentioned and there's a slight case of accidental knotting.

Things Accidental and (K)not by LadyDrace

Derek could have maybe warned him or something, but, all in all, Stiles is pretty damn happy.

the real meaning of derek's evolution by allhalethekings

"Derek, why can’t I move?” They both look between them to where Derek’s dick is still snug inside Stiles’s ass, with no intentions of wanting to slide out. Stiles tries to wriggle but stops at the pain that shoots up his spine. Derek’s still blinking at him, trying to figure out what’s happening to his dick and finally, finally, it clicks in Stiles’s head. He may or may not have spent hours reading werewolf erotica – which, who even knew that was an actual thing that happened – after he and Derek became a thing and he knew what this was. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. “Derek, I’m really happy you managed to evolve but seriously, did your dick have to evolve too?” “Um.”

(K)not A Joke by milkysterek

If there’s one thing you don’t want to hear during sex, it’s ‘Oh no’.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage | Stiles is underestimated | mpreg w/o abo

[cod-indulgences]

can you write something like this (i can’t make a link on anon sorry https://www.instagram.com/reel/DGMQ0pQMqM8/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ== ) for simon? with reader under the bed trying to scare him <3

Simon Riley x gn!reader, silly, no sex, scare prank, spanking

"Hey Si! Can you come here a minute?"

You muffle giggles against your palm, waiting. It was a tight squeeze under the bed, but you managed it, and couldn't wait to finally get one against Simon.

His feet appear in your field of view, silent in his socks, and your hands flex. Just a little closer....

"Love? Where you at?" He asked, and you swung your arm forward and clasped it around his ankle to yank.

The squeal you got from him made you laugh, the absolute ridiculous way he jumped and crashed onto the bed sent you into hysterics. You couldn't breathe between the laughter and the increased pressure on your back. Oh, you wish you'd thought to set up a camera, his face must have been incredible.

A growl is your only warning before big hands grip your feet and pull you back, dragging you halfway out from under the bed. "Fucking hell," Simon rumbles, "what the fuck was that for?"

"Its funny!" You giggle again, and kick your feet. Simon snags one of them and tickles it, making you shriek and kick harder. He lets go- he doesn't want a broken nose again- and instead you feel his weight shift on the bed. He doesn't pull you out any further though, and realize when he palms you ass that you might have....miscalculated.

"Wait, no Simon hang on it's just a prank-!" His hand comes down on your ass in a spank, and you yelp, trying to army crawl away. He grabs your leg in his other hand and keeps going, bouncing your ass cheek against his palm. "Ow, ow! Fuck, sorry, ok, I won't do it again!" He spanks you a few more times, because he's an ass, and lets you go. You sag into the dusty rug, whining. You're in love with an asshole.

You lay there for a minute, letting your heart settle down, Simon's fingers tracing the edge of your shorts. He huffs. "Was pretty good," he admits, and you giggle in delight.

You're free to move now, and slither out from under the bed, hooking your arms over the mattress to climb up. Simon is still draped over the other side, and you eyeball his ass.

Nice, big target. Plump and round. You wind up for the pitch, lock in your aim, and slam your palm down across his cheek with all your might.

Now this squeal is even funnier, and you get to see his face for it. Win-win, even while you scramble to escape his reach, laughing at the sight of your big boyfriend limping from the handprint on his pretty ass.

(Simon absolutely leathers your ass for it later)