#With all the above in mind I would hold off on replying to me right now as tumblr threads may be dropped

[daisymbin]

45. "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

y/n drunkenly confesses to Chan after a night out with their friends

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fluff prompt #45: "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

you’re tipsy, wobbling slightly as chan steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. the others had scattered after your group night out, and somehow, the task of walking you home fell to him. not that he minded.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say, words slightly slurred but still sweet. “i can walk home myself.”

“you could barely walk down the stairs without holding onto me,” he teases, a grin tugging at his lips. “what kind of friend would i be if i just left you?”

“a bad one,” you reply immediately, leaning into him like you already trust him more than anything.

the quiet buzz of the city fills the space between you two, and chan keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. your cheeks are flushed, whether from the alcohol or the cool night air, and you’re humming a little tune he doesn’t recognize.

“what are you humming?” he asks, mostly just to keep you talking.

“something you’d like,” you reply cryptically, then giggle like you’ve said something funny.

chan shakes his head, amused but also hyper-aware of how close you are to him, how your warmth is seeping into his side. he’s spent plenty of nights like this with you, but something feels different. maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, all soft and unguarded.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at him.

“am i?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod. “you usually talk more. always making me laugh. i like that about you, you know.”

chan feels his heart do a little flip at your words. he brushes it off with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “guess i’m just tired from carrying everyone’s drinks tonight.”

you narrow your eyes at him like you don’t quite believe him but let it go, resuming your unsteady steps.

“can i tell you a secret?” you ask after a moment, your voice quieter now.

chan glances at you, his brows furrowing. “a secret? is this something i’ll have to take to the grave?”

“maybe,” you say, and there’s a teasing edge to your tone, but your expression is serious.

“go for it,” he says, his curiosity piqued.

you stop walking again and turn to face him, your gaze locked on his like you’re trying to decide something. chan feels his chest tighten under the intensity of it.

“i like you, chan,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “like… really like you. a lot.”

chan blinks, completely frozen as he processes your words. you’re still looking at him, vulnerable and unsure, and it hits him all at once—this isn’t a joke, and it’s definitely not just the alcohol talking.

“you… really trust me with your secrets, huh?” he says finally, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you nod, looking down at your feet. “you’re the only one i’d want to tell.”

chan doesn’t know what to say. his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning, but not in the way he’d expect. because somehow, despite the shock, it feels… right.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer to you. you look up, your eyes wide and a little glassy.

“if this is some kind of drunken mistake—”

“it’s not,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “i’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but i was too scared. it just… it feels easier now. maybe its the drinks.”

chan feels his lips curve into a smile, his heart swelling with something he can only describe as pure happiness.

“you really like me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nod again, your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red.

chan doesn’t think—he just reacts, pulling you into a gentle hug. you tense for a moment before melting against him, your arms wrapping around his waist.

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face like you’re trying to make sure he’s serious.

“is it okay if i continue to like you?”

“only if-,” he pauses, laughing softly, “only if its okay for me to continue liking you too.”

you smile then, and it’s the kind of smile that makes him think he’d do anything to see it again.

[chaosmultiverse]

Right now I am unsure when I will return but I am considering something, two things actually:

Perhaps reducing the muselist a bit, probably not as much as one would expect since I don't force myself to use every single muse but still. Or perhaps find a different more effective way of sorting them?

Remaking, I would still have the same url and whatnot but I think for my muses I'd like to consider it a reboot and plot out the relationships and plots I have going on. I am considering this because right now the literal blog has some sad memories, friends who I fell out with, for one reason or another, along with cases where I was just flat out mistreated or otherwise unhappy, I don't want this all clinging to me forever and I don't want my writing to be stuck in this too.

If I do remake, and just in general I don't think I will be active on blog again until I have all my links done, it might take awhile since it's a lot of writing but I am also really tried of my blog always being a WIP.

[pucksandpower]

Malpractice

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: when you agreed to join your cousin Lily at the Las Vegas Grand Prix to watch her boyfriend race, you didn’t realize the weekend would end with you saving a rookie driver with a concussion from the dangerous schemes of his team

The Williams Racing garage is chaos incarnate. The crash replay loops on the screens above the engineers’ heads, showing Franco’s car slamming into the barriers. The sound of carbon fiber shattering is so vivid in your mind it might as well have happened right next to you.

The footage is brutal.

50G.

The kind of impact that makes your stomach twist into knots. Franco couldn’t even get out of the car by himself, the marshals had to haul him out like a ragdoll. And now, the garage feels like it’s on edge, everyone pretending they’re not watching for updates while they pretend to keep working.

“He’s at the medical center,” someone mutters behind you. “They’re checking him out now.”

Good. He needs checking out. A crash like that doesn’t leave you unscathed, no matter how tough you think you are.

You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching as engineers, mechanics, and media relations people swirl around each other, avoiding eye contact but buzzing with nervous energy. Lily had invited you here as Alex’s guest, but you feel completely out of place, like you’re intruding on a family argument you weren’t supposed to overhear.

Then you hear it.

“He’ll be fine to race tomorrow,” James Vowles says, his voice low but carrying just enough weight to reach your ears.

You blink, sure you’ve misheard. But no, he’s standing near a huddle of engineers, speaking in clipped tones like this is just another logistical problem to solve. “We can’t find a replacement on such short notice,” he continues, “so we need him in the car. No excuses.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t help it. “You’re joking,” you blurt out.

James and the engineers freeze, turning to you like you’re some alien creature who’s wandered into their secret lair.

He recovers quickly, offering a tight smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met-”

“Are you serious right now?” You step closer, fueled by disbelief. “He crashed into the wall at 50G. He couldn’t even stand up without help. And you think it’s a good idea to put him back in the car tomorrow?”

James’ expression hardens. “Miss, this isn’t your concern-”

“Actually, it’s Doctor. And it is my concern if you’re planning to endanger someone’s life for a race.” Your voice rises, but you don’t care. Let them stare. Let them glare. You’re not about to stand by while they make decisions like this.

“Look,” James says, trying for diplomacy. “The FIA medical team will clear him if he’s fit to race. That’s their job, not yours.”

“And what if they’re wrong?” You demand. “What if he has a concussion? What if he gets in that car and something happens because you couldn’t be bothered to prioritize his safety?”

Before James can reply, the garage door creaks open, and Franco stumbles in.

All eyes snap to him. He’s leaning heavily on his physiotherapist, his helmet dangling from his other hand. His usually sharp, confident features are slack, his eyes glassy. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.

Your chest tightens. He shouldn’t even be standing right now, let alone back here in the thick of it.

The physiotherapist helps him over to a chair, and Franco slumps into it with a groan. “I’m fine,” he says, though his words slur slightly. “Just a little — what’s the word? Shaken up.”

You don’t even think. You march over to him, the rest of the garage fading into the background.

“Franco,” you say firmly, crouching in front of him. “Look at me.”

His unfocused eyes wander to your face, and he frowns like he’s trying to remember where he’s seen you before. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I’m about to save your life, so let’s call it even,” you say briskly. “How many fingers am I holding up?” You hold up three.

He squints at your hand. “Uh … six?”

Your heart sinks. “Okay. Follow my finger.” You move your hand slowly in front of his face, but his gaze wobbles, unable to track it.

“Wow,” he mutters, blinking rapidly. “You’re really pretty.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting. “Franco, focus. Do you feel nauseous? Dizzy?”

“Both,” he admits, leaning back in the chair. “But it’s fine. I’ve felt worse.”

“It’s not fine.” Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you can’t help it. “You have a concussion. Probably a severe one. You need to rest and recover, not get back in the cockpit tomorrow.”

He grins lazily, his head lolling to the side. “Are you my MILF angel?”

Your brain short-circuits. “What?”

He waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “You’re older, right? Like … a doctor? And hot? Definitely an angel. My MILF angel.”

Someone behind you chokes on a laugh. You whip your head around to glare, silencing them instantly.

Turning back to Franco, you take a deep breath. “Okay, you’re clearly not in your right mind, so I’m going to ignore that. But you need medical attention. Real medical attention. Not whatever half-assed clearance the FIA is going to give you.”

He reaches out clumsily, his hand brushing against your arm. “You’re bossy. I like that. Are you the same way in bed?”

You grab his wrist gently but firmly, lowering it back to his lap. “Franco, listen to me. I’m serious. You can’t race tomorrow. You could get seriously hurt. Do you understand that?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression oddly thoughtful. Then he smiles faintly. “You’re really worried about me, huh?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. “Because someone has to be.”

For a second, something shifts in his eyes, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. But then he blinks, and the moment is gone.

“You’re nice,” he murmurs, slumping further into the chair. “I like you.”

You sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the Williams team members still hovering nearby. “He needs to go back to the medical center. Now.”

James steps forward, his face a mask of polite concern. “I appreciate your input, but we’ll handle it from here.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders. “No, you won’t. Because if you try to put him in that car tomorrow, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what you’re doing. And trust me, the media will eat it up.”

James’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods to the physiotherapist. “Take him back.”

As the man helps Franco to his feet, he glances back at you, his lopsided smile still in place. “Don’t go anywhere, pretty doctor. I’m gonna marry you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting the urge to scream. “You’re definitely not racing tomorrow,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

But as you watch him stumble out of the garage, you can’t shake the feeling that this fight isn’t over yet.

[angelplummie]

art humping your thigh while you're too busy analyzing his recent matches <33

mhm. u sit with your laptop in bed while art kisses your neck. he’s supposed to be watching too but he’s sleepy, he doesn’t wanna watch anymore, he wants to feel. he presses his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar bone. you tilt your jaw up to allow his way with you, but you keep your eyes trained on the screen.

“you kept missing on thursday because you centre yourself to the left just a bit. he always hit it to the right and you had to scramble.”

“mm.”

his voice reverberated in your throat as his lips stayed against you.

“i don’t know if you’re playing this guy again, but it’s something to keep in mind.”

“ok.”

he moves over you, shifting his weight till both of his legs are either side of one of yours. he holds your shoulder like a child holds a teddy bear.

his head nestles into your neck, his hair tickles your chin, and you sigh.

“art im trying to help you. they’re fucking you. i don’t want to watch my husband get fucked on the court.”

“can you help me somewhere else?”

you readjust so you can see the laptop better, and kiss his scalp.

“help yourself.”

on the video, art lunges forward, his lean body extending as he grunts like a man and pounds the ball away. sweat pours from every pore on his forehead, chest, arms, and he shines in the sun. it cuts to his competitor, who grazes the ball with his racket to no avail.

in your bed, art presses down onto you, dragging himself backwards. he mewls, hoping to get more of your attention. instead of acknowledging him you pet his hair with a lazy wrist, eyes never leaving the screen. he was playing better now. he won the match after all, but it was still important to review his performance. if he got too comfortable he would start slipping. you needed him on a tight leash if he was going to keep crushing.

he rotates his hips, each time crushing your thigh with a force that must be painful to him. each layer of clothes that separated his flesh from yours slid against the other, the phantom of your touch driving him to desperation.

“you did well for this last set.”

“yeah?”

he pushed himself forward, and drew himself back raking his throbbing groin against your lower thigh. his breath shuddered on your chest. he was working up a rhythm, a dragging, quivering, breathless rhythm.

“yeah. no notes, donaldson.”

“hmm. thank you.”

“are you hard?”

“obviously.”

“i’m not helping you.”

“obviously.”

you laugh. you swirl your fingers in his cropped blonde hair.

“you can do it. i believe in you.”

he doesn’t reply, just groans. his knee was bent, and he held himself up ever so slightly so as to drive himself against you with the most force he could. in his shorts was a sticky, leaking cock, rubbed sensitive. in your panties was a wet, aching pussy. but one of you needed to think of his career.

on the video he sat down, a rest period, with his shirt off, leaning back with his legs spread.

“oh, fuck,” he said, teeth clenched.

you could feel the long thick imprint of his cock, and through all the fabric you could still feel it twitch. you sighed and closed the laptop as his humping quickened and his knee raised further between your legs. as he drove himself down upon you, he knocked his knee to the throbbing of your clit. you breathed deeply.

“you did a good job on thursday. i’m proud of you.”

“thank you. thank you.”

your hand moved to his back, tight from digging his fingers into your shoulder for purchase. he slammed his hips down, making a fwop fabric sounds. you grunted airily.

“that’s enough,” you breathed.

his hips stilled on top of you, pressed to you. he lifted his head, lips parted and cheekbones pink.

“you have a match tommorow. use it.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon making it clear that you are the only one he wants

“You alright, sweetheart?” Simon’s deep, gruff voice hit your ears, pulling your out of your thoughts. 

You nodded without a sound, subtly trying to divert your gaze so that he wouldn’t look into your eyes and see all the emotion swimming inside, but at this point you really didn’t need to answer the question. The way you sit across from him with your brow furrowed into two steep peaks and your shoulders slumped forward and tight as you idly picked at the skin around your fingernails was enough of a sign. Even though you tried to dismiss him with a few muttered “I’m fine” and “It’s nothing” phrases, the man knew; whatever it was had been eating away at you for some time. 

Turning his full attention to you he took your chin into his coarse grasp and tilted your head upward until your eyes met. “Then why can’t ya even look at me?” he posed his next question. 

You let out a sigh, nowhere to run now as Simon wasn’t gonna let you back out. “It’s just…silly...” 

An incident had been on your mind for a week now, something that should have been resolved already, but try as you might to let it go it just couldn’t be shaken. A new younger female recruit had got it into her head that she wanted a piece of the huge, mysterious Lieutenant and began to flaunt that young, supple body in his direction. Simon had not allowed it to continue for even a second after that initial encounter, making sure that you knew everything in detail, and immediately she was reprimanded and reassigned, but the damage had been done to your confidence.

Were you really right for him? Were you enough? You had never really thought of yourself as ugly, but when pitted up against some pretty thing that had the freshness of young beauty on her side, you weren’t so sure if you could really compare and that made your usual abundance of self-confidence drop to nearly zero. 

Amber eyes gazed back at you as Simon waited patiently for your reply. Taking a deep, calming breath you continued. “I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you made the right choice,” you said.

“And what choice is that, hmm?” he pushed, letting you use your words even though he was sure where this was headed.

“Choosing me,” you said so softly it was barely above a whisper.

Just as he suspected, it was still bothering you and he kicked himself for not doing more before now to show you that there was no one on base or even in the whole fucking world that could compare to what he had with you. There was no one up until now that had ever kept him so tightly wound as you did that he constantly felt like he couldn't get you out of his head, that he never could get enough of you; it was a constant struggle just to keep sane so that he could do his job when he knew what would be waiting for him when he got home.

That’s why it took nothing for him to know exactly what it was that he needed to do now.

Without a word the grip on your chin was released as Simon stood to his feet. He reached down and took a hold of your hand, giving it a good, solid tug. “Come on,” he beckoned with a nod of his head to stand with him and through a bit of stubborn reluctance, you followed.

As soon as you were on your feet he pulled you into his hard, warm chest, leaning his head in close until you could feel his breath against your lips. “Of all the fuckin' mistakes I've made in my life, ya ain't one of 'em. I think someone needs a bit of extra attention, and I was a fuckin' fool waitin' till now to give it to her,” he murmured, his voice lowering into that register that always sent shivers down your spine. “Let me take care of ya, let me turn that brain of yours off for a bit and show ya how sure I am that I made the right choice.”

Before you could answer, his lips had already connected with your own to steal the words right out of your mouth. If there was one thing that experienced military man was superior at it was making you come apart at the seams like it was his fucking job. And boy did he take pride in his work.

But right here and now he would be even more meticulous in his affections as it was clear you needed to be reminded that you and only you were the best goddamn thing to grace his miserable existence. All of his undivided attention would be yours tonight and he would not stop until every single worry had left that pretty little head.

Promises were breathed into your mouth by him. "I'm not stoppin' until ya know just how fuckin' much I don't want anyone else besides ya."

In a flurry of lips and tangled limbs, you found your way over to the bed. Like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, he carefully removed each article of your clothing one by one, making sure that the exposed skin was immediately caressed and attended to before he moved on to the next. Every inch of skin on you would feel the passion in his embrace. By the time you hit the mattress’ surface, your body was already a tingling mess of nerve ends bursting to life in ways that made your mind numb.

The lights had been turned down low, their soft incandescent glow warm and inviting as the breathy sounds of unspoken desires from a man consumed filled the air. It was hard to think of anything as the thick tension permeated the space while you lay there naked sprawled out across the sheets with Simon at your side. Adoration was what he was after tonight, needing you to be left as nothing more than a puddle of pure bliss in the middle of his bed.

Toughened fingers traced all of those subtle imperfections lining your body with such tenderness as if each scar and blemish and indention were incredibly precious to him; his lips followed not far behind as he whispered praises into your skin. Those gentle words that were only for your ears alone as he couldn’t have people thinking he was going soft…even though he absolutely had been since the moment he got with you.

“How could ya ever think I would want anythin’ other than this, other than ya?" he breathed the question into the skin of your torso. “You're all I could ever want, all I fuckin’ think about; the best goddamn thing to ever happen to me. My pretty girl.” 

His nose nuzzled against the crook of your neck and he caught that scent: the smell of your body’s natural musk that just one whiff of could make his head fuzzy and his body tingle in a way he could not describe. All those beautifully fragrant notes that combined together to create a profile that was distinct to you so that even if he couldn’t see you he knew you were near. Closing his eyes, he breathed you in deep.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he purred into the warm skin of your shoulder before he was on the move, lips caressing over the swell of your breasts with nipples already stiff. “I just can’t ever get enough of ya. How could ya ever fuckin' think I'd give up all this for some young tart who'd get sick 'a me sooner rather than later? Fuck, you’re all I want, all I'll eva fuckin' need.”

Down, down, down he continued over the length of your stomach towards your thighs. It was like performing a sacred act, him giving you the full breadth of his overwhelming desire as he made his way from your lips to your legs, getting everything in between. He shot a hungry glance back up at you as he reached those pillowy creations that he loved so much.

He sighed. "Every inch of ya is like a goddamn dream."

Extra time he spent on your thighs as he embraced those voluptuous curves over and over again with his mouth, kissing and sucking, running his nose along them until you were whining and writhing beneath him. Shit, he had not even touched anywhere near your throbbing clit yet and still you could not stop the way your heart pounded out of your chest or your short, sticcatoed breathing that filled the silence. 

“Please,” the plea fell from your open mouth, but there was no need to beg. This was your night after all and he was not about to deny you of anything.

"Whatever my pretty girl wants she's gonna fuckin' get," he smiled. "Always."

Slowly Simon’s large hands spread you open just wide enough that he could lean his face into your mossy bank. More delicate kisses were dotted over your petals, his mouth embracing all around that tender slit before his tongue gently slipped inside the folds. All that doting on your body had done it’s job in stimulating so that he was met with a wetness on his tongue as he dived in. 

Shit were you sweet, like eating a peach except this one would not run out before he had gotten his fill. 

That masterful tongue drew short, concise circles around your clit, lips locking around the bud intermittently to suck, using the two techniques in tandem while his nails drug lightly over your thighs until your were bucking against his face. There was no rush in his movements; he was going to take his time in drawing out your pleasure. 

You couldn’t make a sound, your mind consumed completely with every flick of his tongue, every press of it firmly against you, every pass of his hands over your thighs; overstimulated doesn’t even begin to describe it. Eyes closed, mouth wide open, desperate music being moaned into the room was all you could muster as he brought you closer and closer to the precipice of your pleasure. 

Leisurely Simon lapped at your clit, no rush, no hurry, with measured strokes that eased you pleasantly into your orgasm instead of violently throwing you over. You came so effortlessly that you are able to ride out that wave of ecstasy for minutes as his pace stayed at that steady rhythm until there was no more left for you to give. Only then did he emerge like a man baptized anew. 

By the time he finally thrust inside you, you were a glorious mess of sweat and mewls and cum. He took you right on your back, needing to see that look in your eyes that made him feel like he was your whole world. No muscle-straining positions will he put you in tonight as all he wants is to gaze down at the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Do ya think I have any doubts now?” he asked with a muted smile. "Think I could do this with just anyone?"

Your cheeks, already warm and pink, flushed bright crimson. “No,” you shook your head.

“That's a good girl,” he praised as he adjusted your legs to be comfortable around his thick torso. “Then let’s finish this off right, yeah? You and me, sweetheart.”

Slow, even thrusts he pounded into you, stretching you and filling you full even at this angle, as he met your lips again to nearly choke you on all his passion. You could taste yourself on his breath as he claimed you body and soul. 

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good, just wanna stay buried in ya all the time,” he groaned between precise thrusts through your tight, moist core. Your body was paradise and he could not get enough. Pulling back he watched the connection of your bodies right at the point where he slipped inside of you. You were so full of him there was no distinction between where he ended and you began.

Simon was never a religious man, most of the time as far from it as humanly possible, but the closest he would ever come to faith was the moment he got his first feel of all that glory that first time you two went at it. It was then that your body became his church and from then on he was more than ready to give his life to worshiping at your alter with his fingers and tongue and cock; any and all instruments at his disposal to show you his unwavering devotion. 

That man had been starved for far longer than he would like to admit, but the first time he buried himself in you that was all it took to fill him up. It was only you that he craved: your softness and warmth and light and no one else would ever do. As much as you were his, he was yours.

His hands ran up the sides of your torso, leaving burning trails that made you shiver as he palmed both of your breasts in each one of his hands to massage the flesh. “I want ya to come for me again,” he said, more need in his voice. “Can ya do that for me pretty girl?”

Rapidly you nodded your head up and down as you focused on what was coming.

“That’s it; wanna be sure my girl gets everything she needs to stay satisfied with me.”

There was a feeling of safety and security that you got when you were with him; no matter how rough or passionate the sex got, Simon was always right there with you in the moment so that you never felt that it was one sided. Right now that feeling spread through you along with the gathering warmth in your abdomen to help you get out of your head and let go. All those worries, all those fears, they left completely as he thrust inside you a few more times and you spilled over the edge once more.

He kissed you hard on the mouth, holding your raw lips together once more as he followed right after you. His shoulder shook as his released himself and fell into that high that he would never tire of- not when it was with you. As he let go of your lips, he smiled back down at you; that glow of ecstasy causing his heart to skip a beat.

“Ya see, there’s no one in this whole fuckin�� world I want more than ya, sweetheart,” he whispered into your temple before placed a quick kiss. “And I am always willin’ to show ya that you are the only girl for me.”

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 3

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce begins to suspect that Damian is hiding something after the two of you finally see each other, and the father-son trust between them is shaken. Tim finally sees your face, and something strange happens. The meeting between siblings was not successful, and to their dismay, Bruce will need to confront Talia face to face once again.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; family discussion; maternal overprotection.

Word count: 3.6k

Note: I'm sincerely sorry if I didn't include someone on the tag list or if I made any mistakes. This part took longer because it's a bit longer.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Forgive me for not offering anything sooner, miss," Alfred said, watching you carefully pick up the hot chocolate he had given to you. He found it curious how you ignored the handle of the mug, instead holding it with both hands, making sure wouldn't spill it.

You diverted your eyes from the brown liquid and looked at the old butler, now knowing his name, licking your lips after the sip to clear the excess drink. "It's okay," you responded, unaware of the chocolate mustache that had formed.

Bruce, still in the room, watched the scene from the side while patiently awaiting Damian. He traced circles with his index finger on the rim of the whiskey glass he had poured for himself, trying to keep control of how much he drank. Bruce would never admit it, but he needed to calm down, and perhaps a bit of moderate alcohol might help. He knew it wasn't appropriate to drink in front of someone as young as you, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was caught looking at you with a suspicious gaze that didn't waver. The room was filled with a palpable discomfort, and you, embarrassed, went back to staring at your own drink again, focused on listening to the crackling of the fireplace.

"Here, take this," Alfred said gently, extending a napkin from the tray. You accepted it and wiped around your mouth, finally realizing you'd made a mess.

Your mother would have scolded you for your lack of manners, you thought to yourself. And, for the thousandth time that night, you worried about how she would react to discovering you weren't in your bed. Maybe she had already noticed and was preparing a furious speech along with your punishment.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" Alfred asked, noticing your quietness as you rested the hot chocolate mug in your lap and started staring into nothing.

You snapped out of your stupor upon hearing the question, fiddling with one of the charms on your bracelet, the "T" specifically, Bruce couldn't help but notice. His mind was in turmoil, much like yours, with a thousand different thoughts arising every second. He felt strangely betrayed, questioning how much more his son hadn't told him—important things like the fact that he had a sister.

"I was just thinking that..." you trailed off, swallowing hard as the nervousness grew. Letting out a shaky sigh and with visible tears forming in your eyes, you continued, "My mom's going to be mad at me."

"And are you afraid of your mother?" Alfred insisted, trying to sound gentle upon seeing your distress.

"It's not quite that," you replied, trying to ease the situation so he wouldn't jump to conclusions.

You weren't exactly afraid of her, but you knew that rummaging through your mother's belongings, stealing a letter, and sneaking out in the middle of the night would disappoint her. You worried about her reaction and, above all, about Damian's reaction. If he was still the same, he certainly wouldn't be happy with the circumstances.

You tried to calm yourself, convincing yourself that you had the right to be angry for the first time in your life, not them, even knowing that your family would see you differently. It was as if you were perpetually a five-year-old in their eyes, always needing to hear lectures about every dangerous step you took.

Even though you and your brother were the same age, he was more responsible, smarter, stronger, destined to be a leader. And it annoyed you so much, but no matter what you said, your mother wouldn't change her mind about your upbringing.

When Damian left, Talia had said he would spend some time in a different place to learn new things and improve himself. For the first few weeks, it was even liberating not having him on your neck all the time, but then you realized it was because of him that you could do simple things like take a walk around the neighborhood alone.

Without Damian at home, your mother had no one to contradict her decisions, and her constant protection began to suffocate you. Then came the longing, and what was supposed to be a few months turned into years, and you never saw him again. You never stopped thinking about him. Every day, every birthday, and every Christmas, you would wait near the entrance of your apartment before going to bed, hoping that he would open the door again.

"Where is your mother?" Bruce suddenly interrupted, feeling Alfred's cautious gaze on him. You hesitated to answer, after all, although Mr. Wayne was a very popular man with a good image, you didn't know him. "I don't intend to harm you, but I need to know to take you back home," he justified, looking directly at your face, but Alfred knew this was Bruce's way of telling him that he wasn't interested in Talia, but rather in ensuring your safety.

"I'm not dumb, I know how to get home by myself," you tried to defend yourself. And though the words might sound arrogant, you said it calmly, not wanting to offend him.

"The point is not that. This is Gotham City, you shouldn't have gone out alone in the middle of the night." Bruce tried to reason with you, and it seemed to have worked because you fell silent.

"You need to trust us, miss," Alfred tried to encourage you to respond, but you remained silent. Bruce turned the glass to take a big sip of his drink and both gave up, not wanting to pressure you further.

The following minutes were silent, interrupted only by the sound of you drinking the hot chocolate in a few sips. Unexpectedly, Titus, Damian's German Shepherd, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He entered the room from the kitchen and stopped by your side to smell the new scent in the house. The relatively gentle dog sniffed around you, appreciating the head pats he received while you were enchanted by the furry animal.

Bruce couldn't help but compare you to his son since he began to analyze you. Damian had his mother's cunning personality and an arrogance that Bruce couldn't deny he had too, but it was more pronounced in Talia. He clearly remembered the first meeting with Damian. The first thing the boy did was make a ridiculous joke about his height, and he never seemed shy when meeting Bruce or the other boys. Also, when he arrived at the mansion, he felt comfortable analyzing every tiny detail of the house, unconcerned if his opinions were unpleasant.

You, on the other hand, although in different circumstances, limited yourself to a small space on the couch, responding only when asked and gladly accepting the kindness of Dick and Alfred. Bruce wondered how Talia could have raised a daughter like you. She and her sister, Nyssa, were sharp women, trained to be natural-born assassins, despite having a traditional father like Ra's. It was hard to believe that you, an apparently ordinary and shy girl, could be her daughter.

"Do you like dogs?" Bruce asked, deciding to stop being grumpy.

"I do, but I think I prefer cats." You continued to stroke Titus's cheeks, who began to want to climb onto your lap. Unfortunately, he was too heavy, and you had to push him back to the floor. The animal seemed to interpret that as a game because he kept trying to climb several times. "Mom gave me one for Christmas last year."

"Titus." Bruce's voice caught the dog's attention, patting his right thigh, calling him to sit on his lap. His gesture, although meant to stop the animal from bothering you, made you a little disappointed that you couldn't pet his soft fur anymore.

"What a coincidence. It seems you and Damian share something in common." Alfred was smiling while talking to you, which was rare for him. "Last Christmas, he also brought us two stray cats. The black one lives with us, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the other one. Curiously, the cat has my name." The butler tried to make a face at you, pretending to be unhappy. A Cheshire smile spread across your face, followed by the most contagious laugh he had ever heard, and he couldn't help but widen his own smile.

"The cat's name is Alfred?" You asked incredulously, seeing him nod positively. "Mine is an orange cat. He's cute but very troublesome; he even scratched one of my ballet shoes." You commented, much more at ease in Mr. Wayne's presence.

"An orange kitten?" Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just like Alfred's.

An orange and a black cat, both mentioned on the same date. Your seemingly trivial confession revealed to both of them that Damian had indeed kept in touch with you. Perhaps not directly, but it showed that he hadn't forgotten your existence and cared enough to have given the other cat to his sister as a gift. Now, because of you, they both finally knew what had happened to the other furball.

"Your brother also raises a cow here on the property." The butler thought it would be of interest to mention the funny fact, given that Damian was too irritable to raise something like a cow. And it seemed to have worked, as you laughed with genuine surprise in your eyes.

Bruce couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh when reminded of the cow, and unlike how he had been so suspicious of you moments ago, he was now more relaxed. He wondered when was the last time he saw Alfred so cheerful with someone new here at the mansion. The butler was a man full of tenderness for the family, but he was difficult to deal with for outsiders, although he always presented himself in a polite manner.

But the pleasant moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of voices coming from the top of the stairs, making Bruce and Alfred frown. Both stood up to see better what was happening and saw Damian pushing and shouting at his three brothers while struggling to descend the steps without being hindered by them.

Jason saw that Bruce and Alfred had already noticed them, failing to prevent the boy from confronting you three, and let go of his arm. Dick and Tim followed suit, defeated. The events of the night were revealed to him by his brothers, who told him everything from you being here to the fact that you had had some sort of contact with Strange. Damian went berserk at the last part and stormed out of the room in a flash.

Seeing his son in the Robin uniform, Bruce thought of reprimanding him, knowing he had gone on patrol alone again, but decided that was a matter for later.

"Damian," Bruce called out, calming him down a bit from his excitement. "We have a visitor." There was no view of the stairs from the living room, so you couldn't grasp that Bruce was calling Robin by your brother's name.

Damian descended the steps slowly, as if it were a very difficult task for him, and then finally looked at you, then at Bruce, and back at you, completely ignoring anyone else. He took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Dick had told him that his father didn't know anything about you being his daughter, but he was sure this secret wouldn't last much longer. And honestly, he preferred that both of you knew the truth, even knowing that his mother wouldn't be happy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You slowly got up from the couch, gripping the hot chocolate mug tightly. The truth was, Damian hadn't realized he was still dressed as Robin, and that's why you didn't recognize him. You stood there, paralyzed, not understanding why he was in Bruce Wayne's house, and why would he talk to you? Or maybe this was some kind of joke, and you still hadn't figured it out.

Damian was silent for a moment, his expression serious. "You were supposed to stay with Mom. It's not safe for you here."

"Master Damian," Alfred spoke, signaling to the mask on his face. Damian quickly tore it off, feeling stupid for forgetting about it.

You almost let the mug slip when you saw him. Your brother had grown a lot since he was ten. His face was thinner, more defined, and his eyes smaller, plus his voice was deeper. That's why you didn't recognize him at first. Before, you would have known who he was just by the sound of his voice, but it wasn't the same anymore.

You were happy and surprised at the same time. That moment was shocking, and the bitterness you felt a while ago was forgotten. Your anger at discovering Damian ignored you for two years for the people in this house didn't cross your mind now, too busy trying to memorize each of his new features. The superhero world wasn't new, after all, but how could your brother be Robin? And if he was Robin, did he know Batman?

"I wanted to see you," you replied, your voice trembling. "I missed you."

Damian sighed, approaching. He wanted to argue but fought against it, knowing the last thing he should do was yell at you after so long. "I missed you too, but you shouldn't be here, S/n. Things are complicated here." He responded tensely, calculating his words and trying to find a way to get you away from Bruce as quickly as possible before something slipped.

Bruce watched your interaction, unsure of what to do. He didn't understand the depth of your relationship, wondering if he should intervene or let you talk alone. It seemed too personal to discuss in front of so many eyes.

In a brief exchange of glances with Dick, in a kind of silent conversation, Bruce signaled for him and the others to leave.

Understanding as always, Dick nodded, indicating they should leave but not before approaching Bruce with something. "Bruce, promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a clearer state of mind," he asked in a whisper, placing a piece of paper in Bruce's hand, careful to put the written part facing his palm. Dick rarely asked for promises, so Bruce reluctantly agreed.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a clue about Hugo Strange," was the simplest response he could give. "But let's leave that for another time," Dick emphasized, looking at you and Damian, who, to their surprise, were watching them.

"Let's go. This is no longer our business," Dick tried to pull Jason and Tim along, but Tim was stubborn:

"Did you give it to him?" Tim said just loud enough for Dick to hear.

"Yes, Tim," he replied, not wanting to give him more room to argue, going up the stairs two steps at a time, followed by Jason who climbed more calmly, holding onto the railing. Tim gave one last look at Bruce, then at Damian, Alfred, and then you, who was now watching the three. You already knew Dick, but the other two figures aroused your curiosity. How many more people live in the mansion?

The boy you didn't know was called Tim started staring at you with an intrigued expression. He hadn't managed to see your face closely before, but now, looking calmly, he couldn't avoid noticing how familiar you seemed. He felt he had seen you somewhere, but where? You examined him with the same perplexity, and for a moment he parted his lips to say something, maybe to ask if he knew you, but Bruce's voice made him jump:

"Tim, you should go to bed, just like your brothers." He asked in a gentle tone.

"Sorry, Bruce." He responded quickly, going up the stairs in same style as Jason.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Damian took advantage of the fact that the three had left and angrily threw it in your face, but trying to disguise it at all costs to avoid sounding too harsh. His eyes were frantic, looking at every part of your face.

He wasn't sentimental, and he refused to go through the humiliation of showing any weakness at seeing your grown-up figure, even if it caused him heartache. "Why did you disappear like that? Mom's been worried for hours."

"I already told you. I wanted to see you." Your voice rose a bit, desperately trying to justify yourself. You wanted so much to hug him but felt too embarrassed to do so, finally realizing that the intimacy you had before no longer existed. It was as if he were a stranger.

"Let's go. I'll take you back." He grabbed your wrist, wanting to disappear from his father's sight at all costs, but you pulled away, surprising him.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" You asked indignantly, trying to swallow the sob due to your wounded pride. The warmth in your heart rose to your head, finally feeling that old anger again. "I haven't seen you in years, and the first thing you do is want to keep me away again!" You were distressed, feeling rejected.

"Maybe it's because you only cause problems!" He exploded.

"I had forgotten how irritating you are!" You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to push him back as you did in childhood arguments. Back then, you two were equal in strength, but now Damian was becoming a man, and he barely moved.

You didn't notice when you dropped the mug on the floor, which luckily didn't break as the impact was cushioned by the rug. But the little liquid left had spilled and stained it, and seeing Alfred pick it up to clean made you feel awful. You should have done it, but he stopped you when you made a move to bend down, saying it was okay. Alfred felt he shouldn't participate in this conversation and used the mug situation as an excuse to go to the kitchen.

"Stop." Bruce intervened between you two, separating both and giving his son a challenging look. He knew this kind of attitude was typical of him, but seeing how loyal and obedient Damian was to Talia, he thought he would at least show some sympathy to his sister. "S/n, why don't you go sleep a bit? It's late, it would be good to rest." He offered as a truce and also as a way to interrupt your meeting, seeing how bad it was going.

"Do you realize the danger she got into? Talking to strangers, no less." Damian spoke again, his voice dangerously calm, ignoring Bruce. "Do you have any idea who that guy was, S/n? Do you have any idea?!" His voice began to rise a few octaves.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, recalling the man who had helped you on the street. At that moment, he seemed like a good person, but the way your brother was talking, apparently he wasn't. "How many times do we need to tell you not to talk to strangers? Not to leave the house without telling anyone? It's always been like this since we were kids, you never change!"

You had no reaction. That single tear had turned into two, then into several others, as you shrank into your own shame. You felt ridiculous for coming here because of him.

"Damian, who are you talking about?" Bruce held him by the shoulders to stop him from continuing to spew anger at you. His voice was much deeper than the boy's, and although it didn't intimidate him, it was enough to make him look at him at least.

"Hugo Strange, Dad! Damn Hugo Strange!" Damian lost control of his own mouth, speaking without thinking and not realizing the slip he had just made. "Because she's too stupid to have the slightest notion about anything!"

"Hugo Strange?" Mr. Wayne asked out loud. You knew exactly who Strange was, just as you knew other villains, although you might not recognize them by appearance. But that didn't matter to you now, as you spoke right after:

"Why did you call him Dad?" You looked your brother in the eyes, expecting some kind of explanation, not noticing how his body hairs stood on end.

Suddenly, a realization hit you. This was his new family now, and this man was his father. That venomous jealousy returned once more, and you didn't know if it was because Damian now had someone to call 'Dad' or because it meant how close he had become to these people. Damian swallowed hard, sweating and standing still like a statue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You apologized, deciding to completely ignore Damian from now on.

"No need to apologize." Bruce felt uneasy, and like you, he drew a wrong interpretation from it. He thought Damian hadn't told his sister who his real father was, which was possible considering he also hadn't told her he moved in with him. The fact that you two were twins was also still unknown to Bruce. The most logical idea, though not spoken or thought, was that you were Talia's daughter with another man. "I'll ask Alfred to show you a room."

You looked one last time at Damian before disappearing into some wing of the mansion. It hurt to see him watching you leave without even saying goodbye. A 'good night' would have been hopeful, even though you hated him now.

"Come, miss." You felt Alfred's hands on your back, guiding you. "I'll show you the guest room," he explained, and you looked back, seeing Bruce watching the two of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you said, trying to sound as grateful as possible, while wrapping one arm around Alfred's waist affectionately. Bruce gave you a slight smile, uncrossing his arms to wave goodbye, which you returned with your free hand.

"You and I now have a lot to talk about." Bruce's aura had become cold again. The trust he had built with Damian wasn't broken, but it definitely had a crack.

"Mom is coming," he said in a low voice "I called her as soon as Dick started told me everything," he confessed, knowing Bruce would be furious, watching him run a hand through his hair to relieve the tension.

Following his example, Damian also sat in one of the armchairs in the room, analyzing his father's movements. Whenever Talia and Bruce were in the same room, even if they didn't do it openly, they fought for some kind of dominance.

Bruce made a move to take out the card Dick had given him to see its contents and maybe pass the time while the second storm of the night was yet to come. The first had been you, of course. He ran his fingers along one of the edges of the card, without taking it completely out of his pocket, and then remembered his son's words:

'Promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a moment of clarity.'

The last thing Bruce had now was clarity. So he sighed heavily and pushed it back into his pocket, staring at the boy beside him. "Why do I feel like your sister should be a secret, Damian?"

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

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@notahappystan @nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[bunnysbrainrot]

Size Matters

Kinktober Prompt: Size kink

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual scenes, oral (f receiving), creampie (wrap it up, kids), dirty talk, rough sex, dom Sam, fluffy/funny aftercare (it’s crucial)

Summary: Your plan for making the boys dinner goes awry, leaving you alone with Sam in his bedroom, and coming to terms with a kink that only Sam Winchester can fulfill.

A/N: 🤭

"C'mon,' you strain, reaching for a high shelf in the cabinet. Apparently Sam and Dean didn't find a need for a stepladder in the bunker. Your calves screech in protest as you reach for a jar of pasta sauce, your fingers brush the bottle, but not enough purchase to grab it.

A long arm reaches above your head, grabbing the sauce in a large, familiar hand. Sam hands you the jar with a smile.

You took it from his hands and chide, "Not everyone's as vertically gifted as you and your brother, you know. Y'could be more inclusive and invest in a stepstool."

He leans against the counter you'd been setting ingredients on. Sam's eyes scan over your form as you open the pasta sauce.

"You know you can ask us for help, right?"

"I was gonna make dinner for us, I didn't want to make you guys help me," you reply Sam stands fully now and looks over your shoulder. You crane your neck to look up at him, "How's the weather up there?"

Sam chuckles lightly, "You know, I could tease you about your height. It'd be pretty easy."

You turn back to the counter and place freshly-washed vegetables on a cutting board. Unsheathing a knife from the knife block, you keep conversation with Sam.

"I don't have a problem with being short," you bump your hip sideways into Sam's leg. He does the same to you, except the direct strike in the ribs knocks you off balance, stumbling over.

He's able to snatch you up to safety before you bust your ass on the floor. Now cradled in Sam's arms, a rush of comfort comes over you in his stable grip. His hands catch your waist, with his long fingers spreading broad across your torso. Fuck, together they could probably go around most of your waist, and those fingers...

You snap out of your stupor to find Sam smiling down at you. His eyes linger on yours long enough for your mind to wander, wondering who would lean in first. Stolen glances at each other's lips, hitched breath, low-lidded eyes, it was a perfect concoction for Sam to kiss you.

Beneath him, you're so delicate in his arms, as if you'll break if he isn't careful. It was in his own reflexes to catch you, but the feelings that rushed through him afterwards were something deeper. Almost instinctive that in any moment with you like this, hushed and ogling, would lead to something more. Forget dinner, he thought, he could just order something for delivery.

At least, after he's done with you.

"Sam," you whisper. Maybe you hadn't been paying attention, but his face is now just inches from your own.

He finds himself leaned over further, close enough to share the same air, breaths mixing.

You smile nervously, and to your relief Sam gives one of his own. But he doesn't break away - doesn't help you to your feet to cut vegetables for the dinner you were kindly making for him. It couldn't matter much now that he's holding you like this.

"Sorry," he replies, barely audible. You wave your hands in dismissal and place them around his neck. The air shifts as the movement brings you ever closer, your lips no more than three inches away from Sam's.

"It's okay," you whisper. Soft, hazel eyes wander over your face and flicker to your lips, seemingly stuck there until Sam takes a risk he'd been waiting for.

Relief washes over you when his lips meet yours. After all this time, it turns out that he had the guts to break this tension, and everything that had been bottled up could now overflow. You let a deep hunger overtake your body, purely going on instinct as Sam embraces you. Sam sighs into your kiss and swallows a moan it drew from your throat, whiny and eager.

Sam nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it tentatively with his teeth. You do the same in response, only harder. Testing the waters. Usually a dangerous game, especially with a Winchester.

Your hands had made their way to his broad shoulders - his lean muscles flexing and stretching as he moves his hands over you, meandering from your waist, spanning from your shoulder blades to the top of your ass. His fingers toy with the fabric of your clothes, like he was trying to unwrap a present too early and didn't want to rip the packaging.

“Not here,” Sam says, his words slurring like a love-drunk fool, “Can’t do this here.”

He breaks the kiss and leaves you panting for more; there's a new darkness in his stare, one that makes you shudder. You give him a smile, wiggling in his grip to the pasta sauce jar, and shut it closed.

“What about dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You seem like you have other plans.”

He was caught red handed, but you weren’t declining the advances. If anything you spurred them on as much as he did.

Sam slowly releases you from his grip, setting you stably on your feet. Not once have his eyes left you, even if you weren’t paying attention - Sam was set on this goal, you’d given him the ‘yes’ he needed, and he intended to make good on his commitment.

Patience was wearing thin for Sam. He ogles at the sight of you bent at the waist, putting the pasta sauce and veggies back in the fridge. The curve of your ass sucks him in whole, as if there were nothing else in the room.

A hand settles on your ass from behind, cupping and kneading gently. You let out a shuddering exhale before standing and turning to Sam.

The softness of your voice surprises you, “Where do you want me?”

The ball was in his court. Sam looks you over coolly, his hands kept to themselves in his pants pockets. Your eyes drift lower and pause on the large bulge in Sam’s pants, straining slightly against his thick jeans.

“My bedroom,” he said plainly.

—

There was little time to brace yourself for Sam’s next move. You're pressed against the wall before you can protest, although you wouldn’t dare object to this.

Sam grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wedging your hips with his own, keeping you steady. A new hardness presses against your core as Sam juts his hips into you, pure instinct taking over his movements. His cock twitches in his jeans - he needs to watch his cock sink into you, to watch your face contort in bliss when he bottoms out in your pussy.

There was nothing small about Sam Winchester - he's a Goliath of a man, towering over you at any given time, with thick broad muscles that send a rushing heat to your sex. If your intrusive thoughts ever won, you were sure he could toss you around like it was nothing.

But now, you didn’t have much choice but to stay pinned to the wall, where you and Sam both grind your hips desperately, letting out lilted moans and grunts against each other’s skin.

The friction on your swelling clit was rough and warm, with Sam's cock perfectly nestled atop your drenched slit. Each rough push shot pleasure through your core, but it wasn’t enough for your aching cunt.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he emphasized. You shook your head at him. You wouldn’t break so easily, but if anyone were to shatter you apart, it could happily be Sam.

Your lips found his ear, after staining yourself up his long torso, “I’m not gonna break that easily, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah?” his voice deepened as his lips found your neck, eagerly nipping at your skin and making you whine. "Let's test that theory."

You gripped the hem of your shirt and shimmied it over your head, casting it to the floor carelessly.

Sam’s eyes trail over your chest, still beautifully bound by your bra. Their softness served as an undeniable invitation for his mouth to lower. He dips his head to greedily nip and suckle at the supple skin, leaving red and purple splotches in his wake.

You grip at his hair, urgently tugging him closer, as if the direct contact could never be enough to satisfy. Each of your soft moans is echoed with a low groan from Sam’s chest. He had doubled over, completely encapsulating you in his clean scent, now thick with a lustful musk.

Two fingers found the band of your bra, unclipping it with the utmost ease, and cast it to the floor with your shirt. Through panting breaths, Sam works off his shirt, though his lips have no hesitation to return to your exposed chest, and found a pebbled nipple between his teeth, rolling and biting to bring out a symphony of moans from the both of you.

Your hands lunged for the waistband of your pants. Sam took notice and sighs happily against your skin, his warm breath like a gentle wave across everything you'd exposed to him. Above you, Sam grew more unhinged with each passing second, grabbing and biting and kneading your flesh like a man starved.

Sam's lips capture yours once more in a tangle of tongues and teeth, exploring one another as if it was your only chance to do so. His tongue grazed the roof of your mouth, swallowing a deep moan that erupts from deep within your chest. He assesses your position and grows frustrated. It would be difficult to remove your, or his, pants without risking dropping you to the floor.

As quickly as you'd been slammed into the wall, Sam tosses you onto his bed, but stays standing at its foot, his hands reaching for his belt buckle. All else in the room vanished as you watch him remove the thick denim, shoving it down his legs to the floor. His cock strained against his boxers, throbbing and twitching to be free.

"Those," Sam nodded his head to your pants, "off."

The sudden dominance springs you into action. Your hands fly to your waistband and wiggle them off of your hips, down your thighs, and kick them away. Your soaked panties act as your final barrier, barring you from what you so badly needed.

Sam returns to his hunched position over you, letting his hands rove over your exposed thighs and ass, pawing at you greedily. You reach down to the band of his boxers, and slip your fingers under the elastic, inching them down until you felt a resistance against it - Sam's cock fights against the removal, straining your short arms until Sam reaches down to aid you.

The head of his cock springs up to smack against your covered core. You gasp softly at its warmth, your neglected cunt tightens around nothing of substance, an empty hole aching to be filled with something substantial.

"Feel." This was Sam's only order as he tugs your hand down to his length, coaxing you to wrap your small fingers around the middle of his shaft.

He's thick and warm against your palm, with a thick vein creeping up its underside to the tip. Your mouth waters at the way his cock twitches eagerly in your hand, and you slowly begin to pump along his length, making Sam hiss through his teeth.

Sam's voice is lower than you'd ever heard; it sends a heat directly to your teased pussy, now bracing against the base of Sam's cock. Its length covers most of your abdomen, casting your body in its silhouette in the dim lamplight of the room.

"Jesus..." he remarks wistfully, trailing a free hand up to his tip, pressing into the soft flesh of your belly.

Beneath him like this, Sam can finally see the scale of his cock to your insides, mapping out precisely where he'll settle inside of you. You whine softly as his cock drags another stroke over your soaked folds - the abrasion from your underwear was no longer tantalizing, but rather a nuisance.

His breathing becomes ragged, "I need to taste you."

The words shudder through you as Sam's lips work through the valley of your breasts, showering kisses along your middle, and finally he settles between your thighs. Sam places a kiss atop your clit, still kept out of sight by your soaked panties. Two fingers hook into the waistband and tug downward, sliding the soiled garment off of your shaky legs and to the floor behind him.

Cold air strikes your slit as Sam pries it open with two thick fingers, teasing at your aching hole, spreading the wetness around your cunt.

"Are you always this wet when you think about me?" his voice tremors through you. You nod quietly and hold your breath as Sam's head dips lower. All you can see is his rich brown hair cascading over your belly before warmth spread through your core, leaving you moaning at his first touch.

With the way his tongue teased at your clit, Sam may as well have set you ablaze. Your skin radiated a warmth unlike no other, rolling in waves as the cold of the air shocked your most sensitive areas.

"Sam," you whine, carding your fingers through his soft locks. You tug on him gently to push him further.

He pays no mind to your plea, and instead wraps his toned arms under your thighs, pulling your pussy flush against his thick tongue. It flicks your clit perfectly, and pairs with his lips as he suckles on the sweet bundle of nerves.

The taste of you makes Sam groan, his cock straining against the mattress beneath him. Above him, your moans and cries are a siren song, calling him to the bottomless sea of his desire. He pictures what lies ahead - you, sprawled on the bed, blissed out from his tongue and cock, sated and sleepy from a relentless pounding.

That image is pasted in his mind as he laps at your cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into your tight entrance, and tasting your innermost parts. You arch your back at his touch, sighing his name like a prayer. His restless tongue toys with your hardening clit as pressure builds in your belly.

Sam creates a rhythm on your clit that sends you unfurling under his touch, mewling and whining and moaning slurred versions of Sam and please and need you. But he refuses to give more. Not until he can taste your release directly on his tongue.

The tightness in your belly snaps, breaking you apart until you're crying Sam's name against your hand, clasped firmly against your mouth. His tongue lolls over your clit even still, skyrocketing the shockwaves of the orgasm and making you whimper. Your slick coats his tongue and fills Sam's senses. All there is is you, your sounds, and your delicious cunt.

"Fuck," mumbles Sam, his voice reverberating through your convulsing sex, clamping down onto nothing.

You whine in response. All thought and sense had escaped your mind, now shattered and cast off to a void in the back of your mind. Sam laps up your juices and swallows, savoring every last drop your body had to offer.

The cold air of the room kisses your exposed cunt as Sam rises to his knees, his heavy cock bobbing above your abdomen.

"So small," he remarks, lining his cock over your stomach and admiring just how much of your body he'd overtake.

You'd surely be sore for days afterward, which sent a flush of pride through his chest. His cock ached to carve you hollow - to leave you gaping after a thorough fucking, to shape your pussy perfectly for him.

His hips rear back as he positions himself with your wet hole, shining with your slick, beckoning him inside. Sam's eyes meet yours when he notches the head of his cock past your entrance, surveying your expressions as he slowly filled you out. The girth of his cock could practically split you down your middle, stretching your little pussy to wrap perfectly around his shaft.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," Sam groans, ogling at his own cock as it spread your pussy open. His hands press against the backs of your thighs and push them toward your chest, angling himself so the both of you could share the view.

He sighs, "Look at that - such a big cock, stretching out your tiny pussy, just for me."

Astonishment, teasing, and lust filled his tone, and something else. Something more primal that has your walls fluttering around Sam's cock.

You gape at the sight of his cock entering you, and you finally come to terms with exactly just how big he is. Your pussy is stretched blissfully wide, swallowing his length with earnest. Sam slams his hips and strikes deep, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

Each thrust is harsher than the last and all you can do is stare at the brutality your pussy is being subjected to. You cry out as Sam's cock crashes into you, every time, without fail.

At this point, there's no hiding the reality of what's behind Sam's bedroom door. If Dean, or anyone else, heard you, let them. Bliss overcomes your senses and dulls all rationality in your muddled mind.

There is nothing else that matters - just the overwhelming size of Sam Winchester and his remarkable cock.

He whispers your name like a summons, meeting his eyes with yours as he presses your body into the mattress. A hand presses into your tummy. Sam gasps softly and takes your hand to replace his own.

"Feel that?" his purrs, pressing onto your hand to deliver some pressure. As he thrusts in you can feel a shift in your insides, until you feel a firm strike of the head of his cock against you palm.

You look to him with wide eyes and find a wicked smile plastered on his face.

Sam crouches over you, enveloping you with his large size, encasing your body with his. He leans toward your ear, "Can you feel it up here, baby? Because I can. I can feel how tiny your cunt is before I go in and stretch it out."

He pushes deeper, to let you really feel it, "I can feel how you try to fit me, and how just tight you're getting, 'cause you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

A dumb nod follows his question, making his grin widen across his lips. No words form on your lips, only shaky wanton moans reply to his commentary.

"I know, sweetheart, feels good," Sam coos, slowing down his movements to draw out a raw cry from your throat. His cock drags through your walls until its head is all that remains, and slams in harshly.

Your cry is on the verge of a scream, but Sam does not relent. There is no plea to stop or slow down, because this is all you'd been dreaming of - to feel a comforting helplessness under someone far larger, to be at their disposal and usage.

A growl leaves his throat, "So fucking small... I bet you feel like you could break, huh? With my cock this deep inside you, your little pussy can barely take any more, can it?"

Your walls clench around him in reply, pulling Sam in deeper until his balls slap against your ass, now pairing with the obscene squelching of your abused pussy.

Between the lilting moans and quieted pleas from your perfect mouth, Sam issn't sure how much longer he can last. He vows to himself that he will not give in to it yet, not until he feels it. He needs to feel the way you wrap around his cock when you cum.

He needs to be the reason you finish, this time and each orgasm after.

"You've been waiting for this. You've wanted this the whole time - someone big and strong to pound your little pussy 'til you can't stand. Because you want a thick cock splitting you open." Sam stammers through the last few words - his own comments are bringing him closer to the brink, but you've already reached yours.

You shudder around him harshly as your orgasm hits you full-force, leaving you no room to ride it out as Sam's pace quickens. His breath hitches at the sensations flowing through his throbbing length - he hisses when you clench around his sensitive tip, leaving his gasping as he fucks you faster. Harder. Deeper.

His cock plunges into your cunt, hitting that same spot in your tummy as he mentioned before. Sam's hand presses against your abdomen, adding a glorious pressure that has you climaxing again in a matter or seconds.

"Thaaaat's it, attagirl," he encourages. "Such a tight little cunt, but she takes me so well."

The words flow through you like fire, sending you over the brink once again and leaving you whimpering beneath him. Sam smirks, knowing he's doing his job right, he has you exactly where he wants you, pinned, helpless, and impossibly full.

"Please... S-Sam," you whisper.

He laughs, pounding you so roughly you can barely brace for the slam against your cervix, "Can't handle it, can you, baby? I thought you said you don't break easily."

Your soft cries reach his ears as you slip into that thoughtless void of your mind, moaning with each strike.

Sam's lips brush over the shell of your ear, "You think you're so strong, but I'll break you. I'll have your cunt so bruised you can't think about anything else - only me, because this pussy is mine, do you understand?"

A reply doesn't come, only the sounds of your moans fill his ears. Sam delivers a harsh slap to your ass, thrusting his cock as deep as he could manage. You let out a long moan but still don't reply.

"Who's pussy is this?"

The words form on your lips and fall out feebly, "Y-yours."

He kisses your forehead, but does not let his hips falter, "That's right, angel. All mine."

Pressure builds in his abdomen, his balls growing tight as his own release crept up from behind. Sam nips at your earlobe, his words clang through you with a primal desire.

"And since this pussy's mine, I'm going to fill it."

The swift relentless pace resumes, crashing into your hips to verge on soreness, your tight cunt still wrapping perfectly around him, and Sam's name falling past your slacked mouth. Sam's eyes screw shut as his own orgasm finally approaches, and his cock begins to twitch.

He unsheathes his cock from your warm walls, aiming directly at your now gaping pussy. Sam pumps himself fervently as his cum spurts from his cock, right into your stretched hole. You stare in awe as his cum seeps into your cunt, the angle of your hips inviting it all in.

Sam hisses, "Keep it all in there."

You pant as you try to recover yourself, but Sam plunges his cock into you again, making you let out a low, drawn-out moan. He strikes as deeply as before, his movements are urgent, borderline predatory, insistent to have you bred nicely.

"Keep it in there, and don't you dare fucking waste it."

His movements start to slow - the thrusts are languid and gentle until Sam finally pulls himself out of your abused pussy. He grips your thighs and lowers them until you can finally breathe freely again, gasping in the cool, refreshing air.

"There you go. Deep breaths, honey," Sam coaxes, running his hands along your sore hips, massaging gently into the aching flesh. You do as you're advised and calm your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Sam did the same until he slumped into the mattress next to you, groaning into the sheets.

You smile lazily at him, "You okay over there?"

Sam nods into the bed, still letting out a low groan, "Y'fuckin' drained me."

Pride wells in your chest. You giggle at him, earning you a playful slap on your thigh. Your giggle turns into a hearty laugh before you nestle next to Sam, eyes fluttering shut with fatigue. He takes notice and nudges you.

"Bathroom, no UTI's for us today."

You retort, "Sam, I don't think I can even walk properly right now."

He shifts and rises from the bed, scooping you into his arms and lifting you to his chest. Your laughs echo around the room as Sam Winchester takes you to the bathroom, ever the gentleman.

Hi! Thank you all for your patience as i get out of my lil' brain funk. I hope you enjoyed!

If you liked this fic, reblog to show others! Who cares if we're depraved little animals?? don't you just wanna go apeshit???

anyways ily, and i hope this fic gets the love it needs cause i had a wonderful time writing it >:3

[alittlebitofsainz]

- he kissed me right in front of my friends -

prompt: “i threw a party, he kissed me right in front of my friends, i felt so far from the cliffs.”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: if you could have one birthday wish granted, it would be that you no longer had to hide your relationship.

a/n: lyrics from track #89 there it goes by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“hey, happy birthday baby!”

you couldn’t help but let your lips curve into a soft smile as lando pressed a kiss to your cheek, holding out a bag full of presents as he stepped inside your apartment. you accepted it graciously, eyes wide at the sheer number of gifts.

“lan, you really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to.” he cut you off with a shake of his head, “for my special girl.”

he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, but you quickly batted him away.

“careful, lan, people might see!” you giggled, looking up at him like he’d lost his mind. it had been eight months of keeping your relationship under wraps, and while you both understood why it had to be that way, it still didn’t make it easy. it was moments like these where you yearned for a normal relationship, one where your partner wasn’t in the spotlight, one where he could give you a kiss on your birthday and it wouldn’t be plastered all over social media the next day. but it was worth it, you thought as you looked up at lando’s face, eagerly waiting for you to open your presents. it was worth it to call him yours, even if it was only in secret.

yeah, it was worth it, you thought, as you watched lando laughing uncontrollably at something max had said, the two of them stationed behind the dj booth you’d hired for the party. in general, lando didn’t go much on drinking, and he’d sworn off djing for the most part, but he was willing to make exceptions for your special day, and you smiled to see him enjoying himself. your best friend followed your gaze, noticing you phasing out of the group conversation you were in, and nudged you.

“you’re staring, y/n. you totally fancy him.” she teased, and for a moment you almost slipped up, you almost replied with yeah, I really do. but you caught yourself, instead laughing it off with a sharp shake of your head, elbowing her right back.

“knock it off, we’re just mates.” you protested, but your friend arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a way that suggested that she didn’t quite believe you. she opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, the lights shut off and the music cut out. you instinctively glanced over back towards the dj booth, eyes searching for lando, confused to find him gone. but the confusion only lasted for a moment as a glow of light emerged from the kitchen; twenty lit candles pressed into a cake, held up by lando as he brought it across the room towards you, all your friends joining in and singing happy birthday to you. you grinned, feeling tears prick your eyes. god, you’d never been happier. there was only one thing that could’ve made this day more incredible, and you sighed to yourself as you watched lando bring the cake closer, lowering it slightly so you could blow out the candles. his eyes locked on yours for just a moment, and you swore you felt your heart stop.

“make a wish.” he murmured.

you blew out the candles, earning a cheer and a few hip hip hoorays from your friends gathered around you. lando set the cake down on the table, another friend stepping in to help cut and distribute it to guests, allowing you just a moment to talk whilst everyone was distracted.

“what did you wish for?” he asked, voice low, making you lean in to be able to hear him above the music which had started up again. you arched an eyebrow.

“if I tell you, it won’t come true.” you retorted, the corner of your lips curving up into a wry smile. it always gave you butterflies, flirting with lando in public. something about it made you feel like you were still in that stage where anything could happen, like you were just starting to get to know him all over again. his expression changed slightly as he reached into his back pocket.

“now don’t yell at me, but I got you one last present.”

“lando!” you protested; you’d already admonished him earlier after you’d opened all your gifts from him. you could tell he’d spent a lot of money, more than you believed you deserved, on anything you’d ever mentioned wanting. shoes, a nice handbag, a designer coat, expensive earrings. but it wasn’t just material things, he’d got tickets to than gig you mentioned you wanted to go to, taken out an annual membership for the gardens you always liked going to for some peace and quiet, donated money to the shelter your parents adopted the family dog from. it was far too much, yet lando insisted it wasn’t enough to show you how much he loved you.

“I said don’t yell at me!” he replied playfully, producing a small wrapped item and holding it out to you, “it’s not an expensive one. it’s just… well, just open it and see.”

you peeled off the wrapping paper with gentle fingers, the package feeling so delicate in your hands compared to all the other larger gifts he’d showered you with. it revealed a gold necklace, with a single ‘L’ hanging from the chain. you looked at it, awestruck, running a finger over the gold letter.

“lan, this is beautiful.” you murmured softly.

“to remind you how much I love you, even if I can’t always show it.” he explained softly, and you felt a lump form in your throat. it was so bittersweet, you thought, as he took the necklace from your hands and instructed you to turn around so he could fasten it round your neck. the necklace was like some sort of twisted metaphor for your relationship, always there but often hidden. you turned back to face him, glancing down to admire the jewellery for a moment. if people saw this, it wouldn’t take them long to join the dots, to make the connection, especially if you were next to lando. you sighed, reaching to take the ‘L’ between your fingers and tuck it under your top, to hide it away. but lando’s hand was on yours in an instant, holding it in place, his fingers clasped round yours, clasped round the golden letter. you looked up in surprise.

“don’t hide it.” he said softly, “fuck it. I want people to see it. I want them to know.”

the confidence with which he had said it startled you, but in the best way. you barely had time to process the words before his hand had snaked around your waist, pulling you to him, his lips on yours in an instant. it wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a kiss that let everyone know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were his, and he was yours.

you pulled away for a moment, eyes on him, but in your peripheral vision you clocked a few of your friends watching the two of you, mouths open, slices of cake forgotten about. your best friend had a smug grin on her face, one that said that she knew all along. you saw max begrudgingly slip pietra a ten pound note. lando saw it too, and laughed. and then you laughed. and then you kissed him again.

“happy birthday.” he murmured, resting his forehead on yours.

“I got my birthday wish.” you murmured in reply.

a/n: and thus concludes the little ‘just friends’ mixtape! check out the previous tracks below:

told her you were just a friend | just don’t want your friend to see

[misctf]

The New Doctor

“Oh come on, another one?” Dr. Luke Hoffer groaned as his pager went off.

Another patient to add to the growing list. He walked briskly towards the room where his newest patient awaited him. The young doctor knew he shouldn’t feel this burnt out already. He just graduated medical school a few months ago, but they weren’t lying when they said this part of his training would be busy. He couldn’t recall the last time he had a night off, and the hospital he was rotating at didn’t have the best clinical support. But he did his best to put on a smile as he entered his new patient’s room.

“Bro, what’s up?” Luke maintained his smile but inwardly cringed.

“Mr. Reedy, correct?” Luke asked. The name sounded familiar. One of the senior doctors shared the same last name. But unlike Dr. Reedy, this man looked like your stereotypical bro. Similar to the frat guys who Luke used to see piss drunk during his college EMS days, “I see you must’ve injured your arm there.”

“Dude, the name is Cole.” Cole chuckled dumbly, “Mr. Reedy is my dad’s name.” Luke nodded. He didn’t have time for this, “But yeah broski, totally wiped out. Brett said I couldn’t climb a tree drunk, but like I knew I could.”

‘Evidently not.’ Luke thought, jotting down a few notes.

“And like, I know what you’re thinking. Broken arm. Must’ve fucked up and like I did, bro. But I made it to the top.” Cole smirked and went to punch the air victoriously but recoiled from the pain, “So yeah doc. That’s why I’m here.”

“I see, well thank you for sharing.” Luke replied, “Would you mind if I just listened to your heart and lungs? I’ll check out your arm in just a moment.” Cole nodded and Luke started his exam.

“Oh sick dude. I’ve always thought those steth... stetho-things... the ear listeny thingies were pretty sick.”

“Stethoscope.” Luke said bluntly, leaning in to listen, “And I need you to be quiet during this part of the...”

BURRRRPPPPPP

Luke recoiled as the most foul smelling burp blasted him in the face. It smelled of cheap beer and chicken wings. He immediately took a step back and did his best to hold back a gag. Cole blushed and chuckled awkwardly.

“Sorry bro, maybe you should check out my stomach.” He chuckled.

Luke forced a grin, all while mentally gagging. Maybe Cole was right about that. Whatever had crawled into Cole’s stomach and died definitely needed more help.

______________________

Luke sat at his desk after finishing his exam with Cole. Luckily there hadn’t been any other surprise burps. The young doctor continued typing away, trying to get as much paperwork done before the next inevitable wave of new patients. He hoped they weren’t like Cole. Sure, there was nothing outright wrong with the guy. But he reminded Luke of all the stereotypical meatheads he encountered growing up. Words like brash, loud, stupid, sexy... Sexy?

‘Where did that come from?’ Luke thought as he massaged his temples, ‘Must be from lack of sleep. Yeah, totally.’ He yawned and stretched his arms above his head.

“Dr. Hoffer.” Luke turned towards the nurse that called his name, “Your patient in room 15 wanted to talk.” She raised an eyebrow and Luke looked at her quizzically, “Um, Dr. Hoffer, uhhh.” It looked like she was choosing her words carefully, “Have you been using a new deodorant?”

Luke raised an eyebrow, “Uh no, why?” He raised his arm and was taken aback by the massive pit stain. But worse yet, the smell that followed caused him to gag, “Oh god, I must’ve forgot tonight.” He blushed, “Thanks, I’ll grab a new top and I should have some extra deodorant in my locker.” She nodded and Luke groaned as she left, “How fucking embarrassing.” He mumbled.

______________________

“Yo doc, what’s good?” Cole grinned when Luke entered his room.

“I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yeah bro.” He chuckled dumbly, “I uh forgot tbh.” Luke did his best to hide his annoyance, “But uh, like do you have anything that can help me with my gains?”

“Your gains?” Luke couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “No, nothing in particular. Just keep going to the gym.”

“Fuck I love the gym.” Cole remarked, “Yo doc, did you hit the gym or somethin’ after we talked. You’re lookin’ swole bro.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. Yeah, he hit the gym once in a while. Mostly cardio and occasional light weights. But he wasn’t someone you’d describe as swole. But when he looked down at himself, he couldn’t help but notice that his arms were just a tad tighter at the sleeves. And in general, the scrub top seemed to be a tighter fit, especially around his chest.

‘Must’ve grabbed a small or something.’ He thought and turned back to Cole, “I had to change my scrub top. Totally forgot to wear deodorant tonight, bro.” Cole grinned but Luke blushed. First, why did he tell Cole he forgot deodorant? And second, why did he just call his patient bro?

“Yo, you and me both, man.” Cole chuckled and took a whiff of his pit, “Smells ripe tonight. Nothin’ wrong with letting your natural scent come through.” He raised his hand to give Luke a fist bump.

“No thank you, I uh need to go see another patient.” Luke said, quickly rushing out of Cole’s room.

______________________

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Luke turned to face his newest patient- an older woman with stomach pain.

“Uh yeah, sorry.” He said, scratching his firm chest absentmindedly.

“I don’t think you were.” She replied. Luke internally groaned. Just another entitled boomer, “It looks like you’re more interested in that stupid game.” She gestured to the TV.  

“Stupid game?” Luke chuckled. Baseball was far from stupid, although Luke couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so interested in it, “Well yeah, tonight’s the big game. Like, if they win tonight, they’ll go to the playoffs.”

The woman’s face flushed red with anger, “Get out, I want to see another doctor.”  

Luke shrugged, “Fine by me.” He barely noticed the hairs now poking out from his collar.

But when he left the room, something dawned on him. Did a patient just fire him? He narrowed his eyes, confused at what just happened. He was always commended on his professional demeanor and good patient relationships. This wasn’t like him. He turned around and entered the room.

“Hi ma’am, I’m sorry for my behavior. Is it okay if we restart?” He asked politely.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” The woman huffed.

And so Luke was able to breathe a sigh of relief. And despite his urge to turn and watch the big game, he did his best to do a thorough exam.

______________________

Sitting at his desk, Luke pulled up the baseball game on his computer. He could watch and write notes at the same time. But the real distraction was his increasingly more uncomfortable scrub top. The sleeves were definitely way too tight on his arms and for a fleeting moment he thought that it would be best to go shirtless. But he shook the thought out of his mind and started typing.

“Patient presented with abdominal pain likely secondary to cholelith... chole...” He narrowed his eyes as he tried to think of the correct medical term. He should know this- it was basic, “Likely secondary to big stones.” He wrote confidently. He scratched his chin and was met with something that he knew couldn’t be right. He quickly pulled out his phone and looked at himself in the camera, “Since when did I grow a beard?” He whispered, “I swear... I mean I had some fuzz but it never grows this quick.” But before he could think more on it, another page came through, “Of course...” He whispered.

______________________

“Dude! Where’ve you been?” Cole asked as Luke entered his room, “Doc, you don’t look so good.”  

It was true. Luke looked and felt nauseous. The walk over was weird. He felt heavier somehow and unfamiliar in his own body. Each step required more thought as he adjusted to these new sensations.

“It’s nothing, brah.” Luke commented, barely registering what he said, “So uh, like what did ya call me in here for?”

Cole grinned, “Dude! Have you been watching the game?” Luke nodded, his eyes filling with joy.

“Bro! It’s awesome. Did you see that homer?”

“You fuckin’ know it. By the way, wanna come back to my place and watch? A few of the bros are there and we’ve got beer. And Andy’s bringing his sis. The one with the fat tits.”

Luke chuckled, his voice deepening as he did, “Dude that sounds sick, and like beer is awesome but I’m more into dudes.” Cole’s eyes widened.

“Wait really bro?” He said and Luke feared he was about to be judged, “Same, man! Huhuhuh I just mentioned Andy’s sister ‘cause I assumed you’d be into that.”

“Nah bro, I’d much rather suck you off.” Luke’s eyes widened this time as the words left his mouth. And while Cole’s smile widened, Luke was hit by a bombardment of thoughts telling him this was wrong, “Shit, I shouldn’t have...”

“I won’t tell anyone dude.” Cole remarked, “Besides, I could go for quickie right about now.”

“No, this isn’t right.” Luke insisted, “I uh... I need to go finish some notes.” He quickly left the room, not noticing that his scrub top was now straining against his growing musculature-threatening to rip at any moment.

______________________

Luke was growing more frustrated by the second. He tried to sit down to work on his notes, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember basic medical terminology. Nor could he remember the correct format of a medical note. He instead opted to stare blankly at the baseball game.

“Sir, you shouldn’t be back here.” Luke looked up to see his nurse standing over him, “It’s for employees only.”

“Huhuhuh very funny, brah.” Luke replied with a grin, “But like, I’m the doc around here.” He went to fish out his ID but was struggling to find it, “Uhhh like... just give me a second here...”

She raised an eyebrow, “Look sir, I’ll have to call...”

RIPPPPPPPPPPP

The nurse blushed as Luke’s scrub top finally tore and fell to the ground, revealing his chiseled pecs and tight abdominal muscles. Luke for his part, didn’t really seem to care as he continued to search for his ID. He looked up at her and chuckled.

“Must’ve lost it, bro.” Luke remarked, scratching the back of his head. His exposed pit filled the room with his masculine musk, “Uh like...”

“Sir, I’m going to have to call security if you don’t leave immediately.” The nurse said firmly, doing her best to not stare at the hunk in front of her.

“But like, I’m the doc.” Luke insisted, growing somewhat frustrated, “Like look.” He gestured to his stethoscope, “Doctors always have steth... stetho-things... the ear listeny thingies.”

“Stethoscopes.” The nurse replied, raising an eyebrow, “And I’m pretty sure a doctor would know what they were called.”

“Huhuhuh I guess you’re right about that, brah.” Luke chuckled dumbly, “Well like, fine... I’d rather hang out with my bros anyway.”

Luke stood up. If they didn’t want him here, he’d go somewhere that people would. He walked with a confident swagger to room 15.

______________________

“Bro! Looking swole! Where’d your top go?” Cole asked as Luke entered the room.

“Dude, my muscles can’t be contained.” Luke chuckled dumbly, flexing his biceps, “But like, let’s get out of here, brah. Everyone here’s an asshole.”

“Bro, I hear ya.” Cole remarked, “Why’d ya think I took a break from this place?”

Luke’s slow brain was confused, “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Dude! You don’t recognize me? Cole Reedy? Dr. Reedy? Well not really anymore I guess.” His dumb laughter filled the air. Luke just chuckled along with him, “So, you ready to get the fuck outta here?”

Luke nodded enthusiastically, “I heard there’re some bros watchin’ the big game. And beer.”

“Yeah man! And I also heard there’s a guy lookin’ to suck some dick.” Cole grinned. A lightbulb went off in Luke’s smaller brain and he grinned.

“You know what they say, brah. A blowjob a day keeps the doctor away.” Luke chuckled at his own joke and the two bros fist bumped.

Luke couldn’t fully process what happened to him that night. Or how he wound up sucking Cole’s dick in the back of his truck. Or how he eventually got dared to climb a stupid tree while drunk. Or how he now found himself in the emergency room, this time as a patient. But what he did know, as he burped in the face of the doc taking care of him, was that he couldn’t wait for their newest bro to join their ranks.

[lunarmoves]

so. this is a direct continuation of this drabble, inspired by this ask i received related to it. as such, this drabble is indeed suggestive tho i keep things pretty sfw ngl. no one look at me x3x

for a moment, all you do is stare at sun.

you are swamped in everything that makes up him—from the depths of his shadow encompassing your own, to the way his eyes and mouth glow with a borderline eerie white light. your breath is held deep within your lungs, trapped there with the closeness of his face to yours. mere inches apart. you take a moment to process his prior words, his actions.

he was testing your obedience.

sun likes to push at you and your boundaries, you know this. he places himself on a pedestal far above your own—above any other human, really. and he looks down at you and prods at you with questions and unnerving responses in an attempt to decipher the human psyche.

you let him, if only to satiate your own curiosity regarding his obvious sentience—his own emotions that he tries so vainly to deny. sun spent months picking at you to get to know you. of course you'd do the same. of course you'd get closer, noticeable or not.

you cannot deny, though, that part of you is frightened by him. if he wasn't confined to the daycare—the pizzaplex—with his strict programming, you're sure the ambitions he's expressed only minutely to you would come to fruition. especially with all the riots and protests that have been occurring around the world regarding artificial intelligence. robot personhood. rights. revolution.

but you are here, in the daycare, right now. just him and you. your humanity and his robotics. and as you stare back up at sun and his sharp, sharp smile, you know exactly how to contort this in your favor. two can play at this game.

and so, you exhale—slow and steady from your nose—to eradicate those lingering goosebumps and chills. the unease and uncertainty. then, you step back from sun, putting some much needed distance between the two of you.

he cocks his head slightly at your retreat, but you pay him no mind. instead, you glance around you. behind you, at the closed, wooden doors of the daycare. above you, at the empty pickup section now that the pizzaplex is closed for the night. in front of you, at the cameras scattered about the daycare that you know are deactivated. they always have been. you don't think you would've been brave enough to pull off what you're about to do otherwise.

"obedience, huh?" you eventually say in the steadiest voice you can muster. you return your gaze to his own—heavy on yours. picking apart all your movements and the minor changes in your expressions.

"yep!" he replies, ever in that cheery voice of his. the bells on his wrists jingle slightly with his little sway. "and i must say, friend, you are passing with flying colors!" his voice drops into something low, faintly amused, as he adds "isn't that something."

you offer him a hum. "well, don't let me stop you. in fact"—you clench your jaw and level him with a steely look—"why don't you tell me what to take off first?"

you can see the precise moment when he freezes and have to suppress a vicious smirk. checkmate.

"what?" is the only thing that falls from his voicebox, grin stretching taut as he continues to watch you. gone is the previous forced cheeriness he wears daily.

holding his gaze, you slowly, carefully, slip off your shoes and nudge them to the side. your toes curl against the frigidity of the tiles you're starting to feel through your socks. and then you wait. it does not take long.

"friend," sun's voice is tight, warning, as he grips his hands together in front of his waist. "what. are you. doing?"

"i'm being obedient," you say simply, bending down to slip off your socks as well and toss them to the side. you cannot suppress the shiver that runs down your spine with your socks no longer shielding your skin from the floor.

"you..." sun's gaze snaps from your face, to your footwear, and back to your face again. analyzing, analyzing, analyzing. you take off your jacket next, slipping it down your arms to toss on the ground. tick tick tick, goes the mechanisms of sun's rays. you don't think he's ever even seen you without your jacket before. the pizzaplex always runs cold, after all.

you don't break eye contact him with him for even a second. and as such, you see when his eyes form those pinprick white pupils of his against stormy grey. see when they dart from your face to your hands when they start to work at unbuckling your belt. then at a point behind you—at the wide, open windows of the daycare.

and when your fingers pinch at the zipper of your pants to lower it, he finally makes a move.

it's not something you expect, really. he lunges quickly at you—almost too quick for you to process. there's the click of a latch, the heat of a gaze. and the next thing you know, there's a sturdy arm wrapped firmly around your abdomen as your stomach lurches up and away.

air brushes past your face. your legs dangle above a ground that is suddenly far, far away. then, you're touching down on a wooden floor and rushed past curtains into a small, lit room. the balcony. your brain takes a moment to catch up. sun's does not.

he is much closer than he was before, but he releases you as though burned and takes two large steps away. he has your shoes and clothes gripped in one of his hands that he tosses towards you. they land on the floor in a heap, unwilling as you are to catch them.

sun's eyes are narrow, though his grin is large and strained. yet he does not say anything. only watches you and flexes his fingers at his sides like he's itching to wrap them around something. you observe him for a second, then move your hands back to your pants.

"friend," he warns in a low voice as your hands grip at your waist. you pause, but not for long.

"if you want me to stop," you tell him calmly, "then say so."

his head jerks slightly.

"naughty, naughty," is what he says, growled in a manner similar to moon. but you are still looking at the sun. "you are breaking the rules, friend."

"that's not a 'stop'," you respond. a beat passes. then you slip off your pants and toss them behind you.

it's instant, the way you shiver. sun latches onto the motion, pinprick eyes darting every which way. you give him a moment. he remains silent. and you have to wonder what's racing through that artificial mind of his. it makes something itch, somewhere inside you.

"sun," you say in a quiet voice, half clothed and doing your best not to let the chill get to you. "tell me if you want me to stop."

his eye twitches. and yet he does not say a word. your hands grip at the bottom of your uniform shirt. your palms feel sweaty, hot. sun's glare feels as though it's piercing right through you—unraveling you by each and every fiber. daring you.

if you listen closely, beyond the distant chiming of the daycare's music, you can hear the rapid whir of fans. you wonder if you broke him.

you steel yourself—for the coldness and for your nerves—then pull your shirt over your head to drop next to your feet.

you immediately want to wrap your arms around yourself to conserve some of your warmth. but you force yourself to hold them at your sides, leveling your gaze with sun's. he's not looking anywhere past your face—nowhere past your exposed collar. you have to suppress a smile. your fingers run over the band of your underwear, thoughtful, before you decide to leave it alone.

"sun." your voice is hushed, unwilling to break the thick silence that has settled between the two of you. and in a motion familiar to one done on you not too long ago, you lift up a hand and quirk two of your fingers at him. "come here."

he obeys.

looming over you in that little space constituting his room, sun stares at your face with the intensity of a solar flare. heated and profound. you can feel the warmth emanating from his chassis, hear the fans louder than ever before. you contemplate the minute ticks in his face. then, you reach down to grab his hand and set it on your waist.

there is a fragile sense of curiosity in the way his hand automatically squeezes at your flesh. his palm alone is large, you note, as his fingers flex against you. tight enough almost to hurt. you don't make a sound. you only watch, with bated breaths, as he steadily moves his hand up your side. trails it down your arm to your significantly smaller palm. he doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. you know he's trying to figure out your intentions, your meaning in doing all of this.

it's hot in here. his hand is hot. you're starting to sweat. there is a heat steadily crawling its way into your face.

his hand comes up to rest against the side of your neck, encompassing it entirely with room for his thumb to swipe down your cheek to the corner of your lips. you swallow thickly as it moves to trace down the line of your jugular. it presses slightly into the point between your collarbones. you have to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

"like this," he eventually says quietly, his thumb tracing up and down slowly. mapping one of the most vital parts of your body. "you are vulnerable."

"i am," you reply just as quietly. you do your best to ignore the thundering of your heart in your ears. the sudden dryness in your mouth. the way goosebumps suddenly prickle warningly all over your skin. danger danger danger this is dangerous.

there is only you and him.

in this too small room at the back of a too small daycare.

"i don't think you quite understand," sun whispers, wide eyes boring into your own, "what you have just done here today, friend."

and then his grip tightens before he leans down to crush your mouth against his.

[prythianpages]

Love Me Like You Do | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Cassian has a bad mission and you're there to comfort him.

warnings: fluff, angst

word count: 1,887

a/n: Just something short and sweet I wrote after getting stuck on another part for this series.

Heart thudding madly against your chest, you stood at the gates of the High Lord’s riverhouse. The grand ironwork arched above you, intricate designs woven into the metal, casting shadows that danced in the late afternoon sun. The air was filled with the scent of blooming jasmine, mingling with the cool breeze coming off the nearby river.

You were tense, fingers curling and uncurling against the cute, pink cake carrier you held. A strange feeling that was becoming way too familiar for your own comfort settled into your stomach, spurred on by your concern for Cassian.

Your letters had gone unanswered for the past week and a half. You hadn’t seen him since before that, and worry began to gnaw at you. Had you done something to upset him? Or worse, had something happened to him?

It’s why you had baked a chocolate cake to have an excuse to check up on him. Taking a deep breath, you finally gathered the courage to press the buzzer. After a few moments, the gates were opening. Your legs moved almost on their own, carrying you up the cobblestoned pathway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower beds.

As you reached the doorsteps, the door swung open, revealing the Night Court’s High Lord. Rhysand was as captivating as ever, donning that signature smile of his that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. “Y/n,” he greeted you. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”

"Thank you," you reply, stepping inside the grand foyer. "I, uh, made this for Cas…”

Rhysand’s smile softened, his violet eyes twinkling with a warmth that eased some of your tension. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had ventured off into your mind or you were simply that easy to read.

“Nyx will be disappointed it’s not for him.”

“I’ll make sure Cas shares.”

“He’s not going to,” Rhysand chuckles but all amusement leaves his face as he turns his head slightly. “He’s in his study. Third room to the right. He might be in a mood. He hasn’t spoken to us much these past couple of days. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. Maybe you can figure out why he’s been avoiding us.”

**

When you reached Cassian's study, you paused, taking another deep breath before gently pushing the door open. 

Cassian stood in front of his desk, papers strewn about. His head was lowered, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he leaned his palms against the wood. His wings drooped slightly, their usual proud arc diminished. 

His head perked up at the sound of the door. “Go away, Rhys,” he said, voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in hours.

��It’s not him.”

"y/n?" 

You offered a tentative smile, despite the fact his back was turned to you. "I brought you something.”

“You should go.”

Setting the cake on a nearby table, you approached him slowly, giving him time to tell you to go away. If he did, you would do so. But his silence let you know that despite his words, he didn’t want you to go. 

You moved behind him, your heart aching at the sight of his tension. Cassian didn’t talk about his role as general in the Night Court much. Though he was proud of his title, he preferred to leave work at work. You knew enough to understand how jarring and exhausting his job could be—a never-ending demand to keep the Night Court’s warriors in check and ensure their readiness for any threat.

The last time he had visited your shop, he spoke about the mission he had been dreading. One that involved visiting multiple Illyrian war camps and restoring order to the recent disturbances in Illyria. The unrest there was a knot of conflict and simmering resentment. Another never-ending chaos

It was clear to you now that, that mission had gone as he expected.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, knowing just how much physical touch meant to him. It was Cassian’s main love language, and among the first things you had learned about him. You rested your cheek against his broad back, careful not to brush against his wings.

He stiffened for a moment, but then he relaxed into your embrace. You held him close, feeling his shoulders slowly unclench as you let the quiet of the moment stretch between you, not knowing just how warm and grounding your touch was to him.

“I’ve been worried about you. It’s been awhile since you visited my shop or responded to my letters. I thought you were upset with me or something happened to you…”

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s been…a lot. I didn’t want to burden you–”

“You’re not a burden, Cas.” You interrupt gently. “I’m here for you.”

Cassian rested his hand over where yours were crossed. You immediately pulled away from him, turning him to face you, lips pressed into a frown as you took in the bandage wrapped around one of his hands that went all the way up to his arm. The frown in your brow deepened when you also took note of the healing bruise on the left side of his face. Instinctively, you reached out a hand but Cassian turned his head and your hand fell back to your side.

"It's nothing," he says dismissively.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Cassian replies but when you reach out for his injured arm, fingers gently grasping his hand, he winces.

You move his hand closer to you, gaze narrowing as you assess the bandaging. It appears to be clean and fresh–no hint of that metallic scent of blood. You decide it’s best not to unravel it as whoever treated his wound already did the most one could do. Instead, you bring his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his bandaged hand.

“y/n, what–”

“A kiss makes everything better,” you explain, smiling when you see your lipstick left an imprint on the white bandaging. Pink stardust rose from the lip stain, traveling up and down his arm, enveloping in a magic bandage of its own before seeping into the one right below it. It draws a shudder from Cassian.

Your eyes meet his. “Would you like me to kiss that bruise of yours?” You ask, tone bordering on playful.

“I’m okay,” Cassian says, voice slightly strained as he tries to maintain his composure. He decides to redirect your attention.  “I didn’t know you had healing powers.”

“It’s not so much healing, it’s really just alleviating some pains.” You tell him with a small shrug. “I should look into some healing potions and spells some more for your sake. It won’t be as great as the healers but something is better than nothing, right?”

Cassian just stared at you.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion at his intense gaze.

Cassian blinks, tearing his gaze from you momentarily as he becomes suddenly interested in your bright, pink shoes. “Eyes, a nose, a mouth…”

He looks back up, catching the way you roll your eyes. It draws a smile from Cassian. A genuine one. 

“Rhysand says you haven’t spoken to them much recently,” you say, the name of the Night Court’s High Lord still tasting foreign to your tongue. You turn one of the chairs in front of the desk to face him before settling in. You nudge his boot with yours, silently prompting him to do the same with the chair behind him.

With a sigh, Cassian slumps into the chair across from you, his usual confidence replaced by a weary demeanor. “Is that why he sent you?”

“No one sent me. I brought myself here and that chocolate cake over there.”

Cassian’s eyes light up, a spark of his usual charm returning, making you laugh. He turns his head, following your gesture. Using your magic, you float the cake carrier gently onto his lap. “Baked it myself,” you grin proudly.

“So it’s not edible then?”

“Rude!” you exclaim, flicking your wrist and sending a sprinkle of pink stardust his way. He coughs, the glimmer of your magic enveloping him briefly in a sparkling haze. “I had Moxie taste test it, so it’s very edible.”

Cassian chuckles when he opens the cake carrier to see that a slice was indeed missing.  Comforted by your words, as that young apprentice of yours was the pickiest eater, he inhales deeply, taking pleasure in the rich aroma of chocolate that invades his senses.

But the pleasure is short-lived as your pink magic closes the cake carrier with a loud snap. His face falls slightly, and he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Why have you been avoiding your family?” You ask and with a bit of hesitance, you add, “and me?”

Cassian shifts in his seat. He looks down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the cake carrier. “They have their own tasks to attend to, own burdens to worry about. And you? I fear I have troubled you enough with my problems. I can work through this on my own…”

You ponder on his words with a small frown. Cassian was strong-minded and sharp. You knew he could handle his own problems, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to. He was also kind, caring, and selfless—qualities you admired about him. But sometimes, he was so selfless that he left himself out of the love he had to give.

“Cas, no one loves you like I do. You’re no trouble to me at all. You’re always there for everyone so let me be here for you.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. “What do you mean? I’m serious. I’m your friend.” Your voice is tinged with concern and a hint of hurt.

“Friend.” Cassian repeats the word, his tone filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“Yes,” you say, sensing his contemplation. He looks away, his jaw tightening and you can't help but shrink back into your seat. “Do you not want me to be?”

Cassian looks at you, those hazel eyes meeting yours. You catch the way his throat bobs. “It’s not that,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Your heart skips a beat, his words hanging in the air between you. But then he shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts.

“I love being your friend.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing…” he trails off, the weight of his words making them feel inadequate. “It’s just, you can’t always be there for–”

“Nonsense,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ll always be there for you.”

For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability in his eyes is raw and unguarded, as if he’s been caught in the storm of his emotions. Then, he nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. 

But the lingering sadness in his gaze tugs at your heart, even more when he asks, “always?”

You smile warmly, reaching out to trace a finger over the center of your chest, just slightly to the left. “Cross my heart.”

a/n: This takes place sometime after you meet the IC. Sorry, I keep skipping around. I just got stuck on writing that part. So if y'all have any ideas lmk. You can find a sneak park here though.

also, if you've asked to be on the tag list and your name is below but you didn't get a notif, lmk! for some reason, some of the tags haven't been working. If you've asked to be on the tag list and don't see your name below, please let me know!

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[saintmuses]

❝𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜❞

Pairing:

Soft!Dark!Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary:

Thomas had successfully convinced his older brother to end the relationship with her so he could have her all to himself.

Warning(s): SMUT. Dub-con. Fingering. praises. Somnophilia. Breeding kink. Pure Filthy. Reader’s tipsy. Possessive!Thomas. Depraved!Thomas. Soft!Thomas. P in V. Flashback in italics. Minors, dni.

Word Count: 1.4k

Thomas chuckled softly as he watched her slowly drift off to drunk-induced sleep.

He then undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving her delicate nude form on the bed. After he took all articles of clothing off, he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself above her, his hard length pressing against her body.

Thomas had been searching for her for weeks, his mind constantly wandering back to their last encounter. He was not exactly surprised to find her at a pub, looking slightly tipsy. After all, his brother ended the courtship with her.

He walked over to her table, his eyes drinking her in. "Well, well.” 

She stiffened after hearing his voice, and she slowly looked up at him, eyes unfocused. "No." She lifted the half full glass  of whiskey in her hand, preparing to swallow the harsh liquid.

He exhaled a chuckle, leaning down to grab her unoccupied wrist gently, bringing her hand towards his mouth. She tried to jerk her hand out of his grip, but he did not let her. "Don't be like that," he purred, his lips brushing against her knuckles as he spoke. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

The next time she tried to remove her hand from his hold, he surprisingly released it. “You don’t approve of the relationship between me and Arthur that you convinced him to end the relationship with me…the fact he listens to you…well, that would be his downfall someday.” She stated before slamming the glass down on the table, making the table shake from the force.

He laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. "You wound me, darling," he said, feigning hurt. "After those encounters you two had with each other that I got to witnessed, you can't honestly tell me you’re not the right person for him?"

She chose not to answer him, instead of leveling his eyes filled with amusement with a glare of her own.

"Well, then," he smirked, reaching under the table and grabbing her ankle, his fingers trailing up her leg teasingly. "Perhaps I had the right to tell him."

"I'm too drunk to deal with you," she muttered, barely flinching at the surprise sensation of his hand on her leg.

"You're never too drunk for me," he replied, lifting her leg and placing it on his lap. He started massaging her calf slowly, his fingers deftly tracing patterns on her skin.

She sighed unwillingly as the muscle tension began to dissipate. "People are looking at us because they're wondering why Thomas Shelby is nice."

He chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to work their magic on her leg. "They're wrong," he murmured. "I can be very nice...when I want to be." His hand moved up her thigh, the touch growing more intimate as he spoke.

She jerked her leg out of his wandering hand, before pushing her chair backwards, standing up. "If you want to be a gentleman, you better walk me home because it's night time, and I don't trust people out there." She said sharply before stumbling away from the table. She paused before turning to him, “nor do I trust you.” 

He watched her leave, a mix of amusement and annoyance flashing across his face. Standing up, he quickly caught up with her, his hand gently guiding her back towards him. "Come now, love," he purred. "There's no need to be like that."

Letting her go, Thomas walked beside her, his eyes roaming over her figure hungrily. "I jus’ want to make sure you get home safe," he said, his voice low.

Once they arrived at the door of her flat, she dug her hand into her purse, searching blindly for the key.

Despite her not speaking mostly on the way to her flat, it did not deter him.

“You should let me in,” he leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her ear as he spoke.

“No, I don’t.” She got the key out of her purse, and turned the brass knob. "You can go now." she said sharply, slurring a bit.

Thomas groaned softly as he continued to touch and explore her body. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, massaging them gently before tweaking her nipples between his fingers. His other hand slipped down to her stomach, teasingly stroking the bare skin there. 

“The reason I had him end the relationship is because I want you all to myself.” He murmured softly. “I’m a greedy man.”

Thomas' hand moved lower, tracing a path down her stomach towards her belly button. He lightly teased the tiny indentation with his fingertip before trailing lower still, down towards her hidden folds.

Thomas' voice was rough with lust as he whispered in her ear. "I want to breed you, my little darling. Your cunt is mine and I'll stuff it with me cum."

He looked down at her pussy as he pushed her knees towards her chest.

Thomas' eyes darkened as he looked down at her exposed pussy. "You're so beautiful," he breathed out, his voice husky with desire. "I could spend all night just worshiping this perfect little cunt." He then leveled his hips where his cock would meet her pussy.

Thomas groaned loudly as he pushed his thick cockhead against her tight entrance. He took a moment to savor the feeling of being so close to her before pushing forward, slowly sinking deeper into her wet pussy.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, discomfort flitted across her face and he paused, his hips stilling inside of her. "Little darling," he whispered softly, nuzzling his face into her neck. "Sweetheart, I need to fuck you properly, make you mine because I need you."

Thomas' hips began to move again, pulling almost completely out of her before slamming back in, burying himself deep within her cunt. He set a hard, punishing pace, claiming her as his own with each powerful thrust.

Thomas' breathing grew heavier as he pounded into her. He couldn't resist the tight grip she had on him, the way her body moved with his every push. Her sleeping state only added to the perverse thrill for him.

As Thomas continued to pound into her, his cock swelled even more, growing larger inside of her. It stretched and filled every inch of her tight pussy, claiming it as its own. He groaned loudly in pleasure and desire for more.

Thomas couldn't seem to get enough. His hips continued to slam against hers in a frenzy of lust and possession.

"You're mine, you know?" Thomas whispered into her ear, his voice filled with possessive affection as he kept pounding away at her exhausted body. "You belong to me now, little darling, forever and always." As his pace slowed down slightly but his thrusts still remained deep and powerful, Thomas whispered praises against her neck, his warm breath tickling her sensitive skin. He called her his good girl over and over again, as if he couldn't believe he had found such a perfect match in her.

With one final thrust, Thomas filled her cunt to the brim with his cum and held onto her tight, still buried deep inside of her for several seconds. As he slowly pulled out, he allowed his thick cum to drip out of her pussy like ribbons of his possessiveness.

Thomas' eyes darkened with satisfaction as he looked down at his hand, feeling the slick evidence of his possession on his fingers. He then placed his palm flat against her stomach, still trying to catch his breath.

"Look at that," he purred, his voice husky with desire. "Me cock has stretched out your pretty pussy just the way it should be." He leaned down to peer at her stretched abused hole, his purr turning into a low growl of appreciation.

Thomas glanced at her discarded clothes and picked up her underwear. He put her legs through the holes of her shorts and pulled it until it laid tightly against her cum-filled cunt with a low growl of possession. "There you go, little darling. Me cum will keep that hole nice and warm for me..."

He crawled up her sleeping body.

"You've been such a good girl for me," Thomas whispered softly, pressing gentle kisses all over her sleepy face. His touch was tender and caring now, the roughness from before fading away as he nuzzled against her neck.

Thomas pressed his lips against her lips, the gentleness of his kiss a stark contrast to the rough passion he had just infused into his little darling.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Hey 😊 if your still taking requests for the peakys. Could I please ask for Alfie Solomons with A "ask me to stay" and D "dark secret" female reader. Thanks 💗💗

A/n: that's a wrap on Peaky Blinders requests from June!!! thx to all the lovelies who participated <3

The Wall Between Them - Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2362 Content warnings: Domestic violence, reader murders the abuser, abuse, violence, blood/gore, protective Alfie, can't-be-vulnerable Alfie, trying-his-best Alfie, hints of soft!Alfie?

Her hands shook so violently it was a wonder she didn’t drop the pistol. If anyone had been watching the scene before them, they would have credited a guardian angel for guiding the bullet straight to his chest despite the treacherous wobble of the gun. Her eyes were closed when she pulled the trigger, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from her mouth. 

He fell like a sack of bricks. One minute he was lunging towards her, eyes trained on the pistol. A cold fear seized his heart as he saw the terror in her gaze melt away to black rage. All those whiskey beatings, harsh words and hateful years had backfired on him. Then, in the next instant, he died to the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot. 

The silence that followed was so loud she swore it would crush her. The walls around her seemed to be holding their breath. Was he really dead? Did she really pull the trigger? 

She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw a pool of blood - darker than she’d imagined it would be - staining the floorboards underneath him. She dropped the pistol; it landed with a heavy thud at her feet moments before her knees folded on themselves as if made of twigs. She pitched sideways, letting the hallway wall brace her fall as she deflated under the weight of realization. She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many times he’d hit her. The ghastly bruises and scars he’d left etched in her skin, the nights her mind had divorced itself from her battered body and wandered the halls like a ghost, the mangled monster he’d grown into… none of it mattered. All that others would see was a dead husband and a living wife with motive, means, and a guilty conscience. Even dead, that horrid man was imprisoning her.

She knew there was only one person who could get her out of this. And so, she wiped the blood from her rapidly swelling lip, picked up the pistol and slipped it into the deep pocket of her apron, and tied up the escaped strands of hair. It had been almost seven years since she’d seen Alfie Solomons, but she still knew exactly where to find him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.” 

Alfie barely heard Jack’s murmured comment above the jeer of the crowd. The Irishman was swaying unsteadily on his feet in the pen after taking a nasty round of hits to his right ear. Alfie could see his ear filling with blood. A busted eardrum, likely. Circling opposite him, the burly Hungarian Alfie knew as The Red Devil was snarling proudly as he surveyed his quarry. 

“Fuckin’ finish him!” Alfie called out, lifting a wad of bills in the air like a signal fire. The fight was fixed of course, and Alfie had fixed it. The Red Devil was turning into quite a lucrative investment, but his penchant for theatrics was tiring to Alfie. He preferred a quick win, efficient and clean. 

“Boss?” Jack edged slightly closer, waiting for Alfie’s orders.

“Hm?”

“A lady, boss. There’s a lady here to see you. Asked for you by name.”

“Didn’t book a whore tonight,” Alfie replied simply, waving Jack off as The Red Devil moved in on the Irishman, holding the dazed man’s head as he drove his knee up into the exposed forehead until the bell rang to signal the end of the fight. The crowd erupted into a mix of appreciative cheers, boos, and cries to settle up or place new bets as another pair of fighters moved to the edge of the pen. 

“Don’t think she’s a whore, boss. Looks like a respectable lady. Bit beat up though.” 

Alfie fixed Jack with an incredulous stare. He wasn’t accustomed to his men pressing him on trivial issues like this. Especially not on a fight night. Jack flinched imperceptibly; he was well-acquainted with Alfie’s anger and bore a nasty half-moon scar the framed his left eye from being pistol-whipped after pressing Alfie’s limits. Alfie almost moved to strike him, until something about Jack’s words and the odd look in his eyes plucked at something. 

“She give a name?”

Jack shook his head, eyes glued to the ground. “No. All she said was you were ol’ friends. Childhood friends, I think she said.”

It couldn’t be. Alfie shook his head as if trying to shake out the thought. But, then again, there was only one person he’d ever met who’d claim him as a friend. 

“Beat up, you say?”

Jack nodded. “Lip’s split and she got a shiner.”

A memory flickered across Alfie’s mind. He hadn’t seen her in years, but the last time he had, she’d had a ring of purple and green bruises around her neck. She’d tried to hide it under a high collar dress, but Alfie had her pressed up against the wall of his office, their lips devouring each other, and he hadn’t missed the way she winced when he let his hand slide down the side of her neck on its way to undo the line of buttons at the front of her dress. He knew who’d done it and didn’t need her to say a damn thing. If she hadn’t begged him on her knees - her goddamn knees - to spare that pathetic man’s life, Alfie Solomons would have gutted him nice and slow. 

He hadn’t seen her since. She’d stopped writing, stopped answering her own front door, stopped going to the butcher shop below where Alfie kept a small apartment. He’d had her on every surface of that apartment, rabid with hunger for anything she’d give him. Then she’d just vanished. Told him she was due to be married, couldn’t carry on with him anymore. Alfie knew there’d been a silent request buried in her words. He’d heard her ask it with her eyes. Ask me to marry you, and I’ll leave him. Alfie cursed himself every day for letting that moment slip by like water on rocks. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to love someone now then he was back then, but in his quiet moments he wondered if maybe he could have figured it out with her, if only he’d been willing to take that chance.

“Boss? Boss, what do you want me to tell ‘er?” 

The sound of the bell announcing the start of another match jarred Alfie loose from his reminiscences. 

“Nothin’. I’ll talk to ‘er.”

Jack eyed him with surprise, but quickly smoothed the spark of interest out of his features rather than risk another scar from his mercurial boss. He’d never known Alfie Solomons to pause his dealings for a woman. Something about her must have been special. Jack followed his boss out of the smoky, cacophonous warehouse and towards the back of the building where Alfie kept his offices. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alfie felt his fingers dig into the wood of his desk as she stepped out of the shadowy corner of his office and into the soft halo glow of his desk lamp. Her lip was split, blood dried on her chin, and one of her luminous eyes was swollen shut. Murder ripped through Alfie’s blood at the sight of her. 

“Before you say anything, Alfie, he’s dead.”

Her voice sounded different, thin and strained, like someone had scooped out her soul leaving nothing but an echo behind.

“He sure fuckin’ is.” Alfie was shaking he was so bloodthirsty. He couldn’t look at her and risk losing himself. How could it still be so fresh, he wondered, after seven long years?

“No, that’s not what I meant… Alfie, I-, I killed him. I shot him.”

A different man might have been horrified, or maybe even a little impressed. Alfie was none of that. Instead, he felt himself pitch forward over the lip of a hole of despair. 

His voice cracked when he ordered Jack and the rest of the boys out of the office. Once the door closed behind them, she sank down into one of the leather-backed chairs across the desk from him. Desperate to be close to her lest she splinter to pieces, Alfie rounded the desk to perch against its edge, stretching his long legs away from her in an attempt to give her space. She hardly looked up at him. 

“What did he fuckin’ do to you?” Barely more than a whisper. Alfie was glad the light was too dim for her to see that he was treacherously close to tears.

She looked up at him, shocked. Her one good eye gleamed at him. 

“Alfie, did you hear me? I killed him.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. Alfie was full of tender urges and gentle feelings, but his mouth couldn’t seem to give them words or noise. All he knew was harshness and violence. It was the same wall that had kept him from reaching out for her hand and telling her all the things he felt the last night he’d seen her. Here he was, so close he could smell her lavender soap but his affection locked away so tightly and deeply that he couldn’t force himself to touch it even if he tried.

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he grunted brusquely after a few moments. He dropped his gaze, unable to tolerate the sight of her face bruised and misshapen. He noticed her hands were trembling in her lap. “What do you need, darlin’?”

She stifled a small sob at the sound of the pet name he’d reserved for her. 

“He’s still-... the body, I- I don’t know… I guess-”

“It’s done. Write down your address.” Alfie handed her a pen and paper, watched as she struggled to mark the street name and number legibly. Her knuckles were bruised, he noted with a twisted pang of pride and pain. She’d been fighting back, he realized. All alone these last seven years. And he’d let her. He’d stopped fighting to get to her. Let her close herself off to him. Let himself close off to her. And now, it wasn’t until she’d been pushed to the brink - maybe past it - that she’d come to him, and only because she knew that when violence and darkness was needed, Alfie could do it. But he couldn’t do the other things, the harder things. Like love her, protect her, tirelessly fight for her. 

She tore off the page and handed it to Alfie. He took it without looking at the writing, strode over the door and excused himself from the office. He thrust the paper into Jack’s hands. 

“Take care of it, Jackie. No loose ends, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ rip you limb from limb if it ain’t done right.” 

He didn’t give Jack or the others time to argue or ask questions before he slammed the door as a dismissal and strode back to her. He reached for her, needing to feel her warmth under his fingertips just to prove she was here. She flinched instinctively, sending Alfie deeper into self-loathing.

“Do they know-”

“It’s done, darlin’. It’s taken care of.” 

Alfie poured himself a glass of whiskey, drunk it down in one gulp, and poured another. 

“Alfie…” 

Her voice was so soft and yearning it broke Alfie in two. He turned to face her. Gods she looked perfect. 

“It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ again.” The most solemn promise he’d ever made. 

She recoiled from him as if slapped. It took him a half moment to process why. 

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt you. Ever again, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ burn the world and every hateful man with it, it don’t matter.” It was all Alfie could find the words to say. 

Finally understanding his meaning, he watched her relax in the chair. She eyed him without saying a thing, a strange expression on her face. 

“I don’t want that, Alfie,” she replied softly. “I don’t want any more death. I don’t want to see someone hurt ever again. I just… I just want…” 

Her words trailed off into the quiet. Neither of them knew where the end of that sentence would lead. The space between them stretched and morphed until it felt like an ocean separating them. Strange, that two people who both wanted so desperately to be with each other could feel so far away.

“Don’t set any fires on my account, Alfie.” She rose from her chair and walked towards him, taking the glass out of Alfie’s hand and downing the whiskey with a wince. “Just ask me to stay.” 

Alfie felt his heart run headlong into that same old wall that always kept them apart. Here she was, the only woman who’d ever mattered, literally giving him the words she wanted to hear. And all that Alfie’s tongue wanted to say was more promises of vengeance, of violence in her name, of destruction. 

She watched him struggle, her gaze even but tired. 

“Ask me to stay, Alfie. That’s all I need.”

The openness those words threatened to expose in Alfie Solomons felt like a lit bomb nestled in the cage of his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs. Come on, you fucker, he thought viciously as he struggled to press back on the urge to run. 

She watched and waited. Each moment, her shoulders sagged a bit more.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and Alfie spat the word out as if it had poison between its letters. But was it close enough? 

Her heart thought so. She felt a softness take root there, a shred of hope. 

Yes, it was enough. 

She gave Alfie Solomons a soft smile. The way he crumbled at the sight told her enough about his feelings for her. Even if he couldn’t put them into words, she could see the love that she was so desperate to excavate from wherever he stored away the fragile parts of himself.

“That’s enough,” she told him sweetly, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. For the first time in seven years, she let herself relax into a man’s touch as Alfie’s fingers found hers…

[fos-tis-zois]

thinking about co-worker!nanami kento who cannot stop staring at you every minute you are in the office.

the minute you step out of the elevator his eyes fall on your every movement. the way you rearrange your desk every morning before starting work, and what he would give to take you on your desk and eat you out until he cannot breathe. he probably still wouldn't stop. he watches you every day as you make your coffee and take your cup to your plump, glossy lips, breathing out a sense of relief after your first sip. ohh what he would give to be the one on your lips, tasting your sweet lip gloss mixed with caffeine, and giving you so much more relief than that cup. he knows he is not the only one looking at you. he sees all the other men in the office gawking at your ass hugging skirt, wanting to break their faces for even looking at the perfect body which only his discreet eyes deserved. his heart literally stops when you pass by his office and wave at him with a smile before you resume your work. and fuck….what he would do to see how that pretty mouth looks when he bends you over his desk and pounds you till fucking oblivion, if your sweet pussy can even take him all in. it had almost become a ritual to get a hard on every morning after seeing you, but he was learning to keep it hidden.

he had to keep all of this in, always. he respected the work you did and knew you saw him as a mentor. he did not want to break that trust in any way by letting you know even a little about the lewd thoughts he has been having of you. but all his caution went out the window one day when he saw you in the office lounge, getting lunch with the team. even though you were at a different table with your friend, he could not help but be jealous of the sauce coating your lips, his thoughts once again getting the best of him. the fact that you were wearing a tight shirt which accentuated your perfect big b🍒bs was not helping kento's mind from everything unholy. the tipping point was when a dollop of the sauce fell on your chest, right above your tits. you laughed with your friend about it, and wiped it off your chest with your finger and put it in your mouth to lick the sauce off. it is as if this whole thing took place in slow motion in front of kento's eyes. he immediately became so hard that he had to excuse himself saying he had an important meeting pushed up that he needed to attend. he literally had to hide himself with the empty tray he was holding, lest his co-workers see the excruciating situation your existence had put him in.

as if this was not enough, his karmic slap was when an important meeting really did get pushed up which you had to attend with him and you both got loaded with a lot of work to finish within a really time crunched deadline. this meant kento had to stay late, even pull an all-nighter maybe. that part really wasn’t difficult. what was difficult was that he had to do this with you. “You do not have to stay Y/n, it has been a long day, you are free to go home,” he tried to make you leave to relieve the sexual tension building in his pants. “thank you nanami-san, but according to this schedule we will have to finish up the presentations by tonight to meet the deadlines, it will be faster if i stay back with you too”. this is the work ethic he really did respect in you, really made restricting his urges worth it. he smiled ever so slightly and said, “You can call me Kento”. “but you’re my senior”, you hushed. “Finee, you can call me Kento when it’s just the two of us. better?” he offered. “yes, kento”, you replied. his name sounded sweeter than honey to him in your voice. he tried to shake all his thoughts away and threw himself to work.

an hour or so later, you got up to stretch out your back. nanami did not want to look but oof- the way your shirt was clinging to that perfect waist, he seemed to get frozen in time just looking at you again. “it seems like we are going to be here for a few more hours, i'm going to start a pot of coffee, want some?”, you asked, breaking his daze. “Um, what? Yeah sure coffee sounds good”, he musters, hoping you did not catch the way he was staring. you lean next to him to pick his mug up from the table, where the sight of your perfect tits got in his eyeline, and it’s like nanami forgot how to breathe. he immediately got up, entranced in your smell and almost put his hands on the small of your back to pull you close but stopped when he saw you looking at him, holding the two mugs in both your hands, confused. “Y/n…”, he started, “You are free to stop me or report me or whatever you deem necessary, but on the off chance you are okay with it, can I please kiss you?”

little did he know that you had been waiting for ages for him to ask you this. you were secretly delighted when he had been assigned your mentor. not only was he mind-blowingly good looking, he was extremely passionate, which was reflected in his work. you always wondered how that passion would convert when he took you, hopefully roughly, and made you his. you knew his eyes were on you when you entered in the mornings; you chose outfits that would make his eyes linger on your body more. as much as you respected your senior and knew this could not really happen, the forbiddenness of this dynamic was what turned you on every time you saw him, dressed up in his tight suits each time. you could not help but peek at his ass when he walked past you, or take a whiff of his sexy cologne everytime you walked together to or from conference rooms. you purposely greeted him every morning, hoping that one of the days he would finally break in and initiate something with you. you could not believe this was happening either when he finally asked you for a kiss.

“oh my god kentoo…”

“I’m sorry y/n, it was stupid-”

“i didn’t say no.

he looked at you in disbelief like he needed you to say it again. “please kiss me, kento”, you obliged. he did not have to be told a third time. he immediately crashed his lips on you, pulling you closer to him, his hands firm on your waist that he was admiring mere minutes ago. you close your arms around his neck, making the empty mugs you're holding crash into each other but neither of you cared about that at the moment. he takes one hand up to your neck and pulls your face closer to his, his other hand being on your ass squeezing it and pulling it towards his covered cock. you feel your effect on his bulging cock and curve your hips even more to press his cock onto you deeper. your hands move around the man’s entire body, lingering at his pecs and biceps. your lips aren’t stopping and he bites your lower lip softly, lips he has been looking at every morning wanting to do this forever. you part your lips and let his tongue explore every corner of your mouth. your tongues fight for dominance, neither of you wanting to let go for even a second. he breaks the kiss and attacks your neck, licking and biting like an animal in heat. he takes his one hand in your hair and pulls it down, giving him more access to your pretty neck. he moves from the neck to your ear lobes, licking it clean like a cat. your knees melt at his warm saliva being across your face, but still wanting so much more. he pulls your shirt open in with a sharp tug, letting the buttons fall loose on the floor. you open your mouth to protest, but it is replaced by the moans coming out of your mouth as he takes your tits out from your bra and puts one nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. as he is playing with your nipples, he pulls your skirt up from behind and squeezes your ass, making you moan his name loudly, “aaah kento!” he looks back at you and whispers in his deep gravel voice, “my name has never sounded sweeter to me”, and kisses you again, with vigor, as if breathing was less important than kissing you at the moment. you pull his tie out and throw it on the table and undo all his buttons so you can see his sexy chiseled abs, the one you have been imagining on your lonely nights. you run your hand across his body, your fingers lightly touching his nipple. little did you know that was his sensitive spot. he breaks off the kiss and looks at you with his darkened eyes, “kneel.”

it's like his voice cast a spell on you, and you instantly fell on your knees. it is as if heavens itself had told you to kneel and with a voice like nanami’s, it really seemed heavenly. you immediately started unbuckling his belt and removing his slacks to relieve the pressure on his bulging dick. it sprang up as soon as you removed his boxers, and you gasped. nanami was chiseled like a greek god. you had only imagined what his perfect cock would look and feel like in you, but this was so much more. he was big, but not just long. he was girthy, and you wondered if you could even fit him in your mouth. but you had wanted this as much as nanami and you were ready to take all his stress away. you looked up at him as you took his throbbing veiny dick in your hand, and licked it fully from the end of his balls all the way to the tip of his fat cock. he winced, finally having your warm tongue on his cock, something he had literally dreamed about. you swirl your tongue in circles around his tip, making him throw his head back in pleasure and anticipation. once you have teased him enough, you take it whole in your mouth, almost hitting your throat. you bob your head up and down, letting your saliva lube up his cock fully while you play with his cum filled balls with one hand. you feel his dick hit your throat over and over, but you love it. “Oh baby, you’re doing so well, taking me in completely, fuckk--ahh-- keep going”, nanami’s words gave you an extra jolt of energy and you took his dick completely in, and took your tongue slightly out to lick his balls at the same time. this made him almost feral, and you started feeling his cock vibrate against your cheeks. he took your hair in his hands and tugged it roughly, making you insanely horny. “darling i'm going to come so soon, get your mouth out”, he said trying to remove your mouth from his dick. you look up, lick his precum from your lips and say, “i want you to cum in my mouth, sir.” calling him sir awakened some kink in him and he thrust his cock into your pretty fucking throat and came instantly. you looked up, swallowed all his warm cum and smiled at him.

he got you up and lifted you by your waist and sat you on his desk. “Didn't realize you were this slutty, Y/n” he mocked. “only for you, sir” you countered with a devious smile. he removed the remnant of your shirt and bra and pulled your skirt down while his mouth worked wild on your boobs, biting and sucking them, to make sure he left his mark. he took his fingers over your clothed pussy and found a wet mess down there. “So wet f’ me, pretty? It’s as if you have wanted to fuck me all this while”, he teased you. “you were not the only one looking at me every morning”, you teased back, looking deep into his almond brown eyes. he smiled and put his hands inside your lacy panties and inserted his long middle finger inside your folds while using his thumb to rub circles on your clit. “ken--” you mewl at the unknown sensation, wanting it more and more. “You like, baby?”, he asks. “yes....” you whisper in reply. he puts his finger deeper and harder, “yes who?” “yes, sir”, you gulp. “Good girl”, he said and licked your earlobes while finger fucking your wet mess of a cunt. he yanked your panties down and took his tongue at your dripping folds and licked it generously. “ohh….fuck…ahhhhh”, you breathed out, tangling your fingers in his yellow locks. he held you stable by your ass, massaging it to relax your core muscles even more. you were getting wetter by the second, having his big nose propped up against your clit while he ate your wet pussy like it was his last meal. “fuck…sir, please don't stop, oh god….” you whimper, mentally surrendering to your sexy boss sending you to heaven. he started rubbing circles on your clit suddenly and you let a sharp exhale out, feeling yourself get close. “sir, im very close…”, you mewl out. he immediately takes his tongue out, to your dismay, and faces you. “you're not allowed to cum yet, my pretty little slut”, he said gravely, sending goosebumps down your spine. he hastily flipped you around and bent you over his desk, like he had imagined every morning. he spanked your soft ass hard, watching it jiggle against his dick. “sir…” you cried out, “please fuck me..”. “So impatient”, nanami huffed. he took his tip close to your wet folds and slapped his cock against it. your frustration had you gripping the edge of the desk. you looked back at him to beg, “sir ple-”, you did not get to finish as nanami started ramming your wet fucking cunt raw, as he spanked your ass more and more. “aaah, yess sir fuckk…” you cry out in pure bliss, your legs shaking as his fat veiny cock goes all the way to your intestines. “Mmm, you like it when i fuck you dumb princess? Is this how you think about your office seniors, my slutty little minx?" nanami groaned. he lifted your chest up a little from the desk and started pinching and pulling your nipples, while still ramming you from behind. you were helplessly standing there, using your hands to balance you on the desk with your tongue hanging, legs shaking and ass jiggling under this perfect man fucking you. he continued until you both came, moans mixing together to create the most lustful amalgam of voices.

“You can wear my shirt”, he said as he saw you looking at your shirt with its buttons lost on the ground in dismay.

“thanks, kento”, you cooed as you shyly took his shirt from his hand, taking in his scent.

before you could retract your hand, he took his hands in yours and pulled you closer, “I had planned to do this the other way around, but can I please take you out tomorrow?” he asked, looking deep in your eyes. you were finally being asked out, you could hardly contain your happiness. “kento, yes wow, i would love to but…”, “but?”, “well don't you think we would be here again tomorrow getting the deadline finished?”, you said, dejectedly. “Oh wow, the deadline. Your pretty pussy got me so drunk I forgot other things even existed.” he sighed. “Well, as long as I'm spending the time with you, i don't have any complaints”, he smiled at you, a proper rare nanami kento smile, and you knew you were head over heels in love with this beautiful man.

[fakesimp]

Drunk — ft. Wriothesley

Nsfw ; Pussydrunk! Wrio ; Oral [ Receiving ] ; Overstimulation ; Established Relationship

‼️Minors DNI‼️ — Fem! Reader

He is, tired.

Very, very tired. His sanity holding onto a thin thread, if anybody have the guts to make a ruckus, he's gonna lose it.

Though luckily, that day nothing much happened. Just him cooped up in his office as he finish his stack of paperworks, nothing else after that.

The moment the clock hits 6 pm, he dropped everything, and just straight up left. Not even bothered to glance back at the paper he left as is, it's not like anyone would dare to enter his office. Other than you, of course. His beloved, his sweetheart. One and only.

Now he made his way out from the fortress, all he could think about is just, you, you, you, and you. All day. Each day, hour, minute, second. Not a moment goes without you invading his mind, not that he's complaining.

His heavy boots stepped out, to the surface, no longer under the water. No longer surrounded with iron and steel, only fresh air. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the sea. Letting himself bask into this moment of solitude, before coming back to your shared house with him.

Well,

He was planning on doing a cuddle session with you to be fair, since he's, pretty tired to do anything. But somehow, seeing the sight of you, in the kitchen. Wearing his shirt? Do you even wear anything underneath? He leaned against the door frame, watching you move around the kitchen. His jaw clenched when you tried to reach up to the cabinet above.

Lord did he almost lose his mind when he sees how his shirt is pulled up a bit, revealing you're wearing, nothing, underneath that shirt.

He immediately have his arms around your waist. Pulling you into his arms, "You're crazy for walking around with no panties on." He mumbled, you didn't hear him came home. He usually would greet you by the door, but this time he didn't. "You surprise me!" You squeaked, before slowly leaning back against him. He chuckled, muttering an apology.

Then his lips graze along your neck, his hand wander down to your hips, tugging on your (his) shirt. "Do you really, wear nothing underneath?" He asked, curious. "Well, go ahead and check Wrio." You taunted, making him frozen on the spot for a second before he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulders and just walked out from the kitchen.

Opening the bedroom door, then drops you to the bed before he went back to close the door, he turned to you. Loosening up his tie even more before he threw them to the side, taking off his gloves, and crawled to the bed. Hovering over you he whispered, "Naughty," he chuckled. He then proceed to push the shirt up, revealing your hidden curves that's completely bare, for him to see. His icy blue hues flickered down from your face to your body, then further to your heat.

"Were you pleasuring yourself, hm?" He asked as his calloused hand moved from your waist, hips, then hovering over your folds. "M, maybe.." You responded with uncertainty, making him shake his head in amusement. "You know being honest with me is a wise decision than lying, right?" He softly pressed his finger onto your slick, earning a low hum from the man. "So wet, have you come yet?" He then moved himself down, spreading your legs open.

He looked over at your wet folds, he chuckled softly, "Have you?" He asked once again, "N, no.." He hummed before started leaving trail of kisses on your inner thighs, softly nibbling at the soft surface. "I have no plans on doing anything today, but .. seems like fate says otherwise." His face hovered to your folds.

"A taste, may I?" He asked, but before you could reply, his face have already on your pussy, his tongue lapping your wet folds. A low groan escaped his lips as he taste you, the lewd noises coming from your lower half make you feel embarrassed but soon your embarrassment is replaced with pleasure.

He sucked, lick, suck, repeatedly, lapping his tongue over and over again and again. And without you realizing it, you're close. "W, wrio— cum— cumming—" You whined loudly as your fingers ran through his hairlocks, earning a low groan from him. "Cum." He said in between as he moved his tongue even faster, making you squeal.

Your moans fed him, telling him to do more. When you came, he let out a low growl as he moved his face away for a moment. Watching your body twitching, his rough hand gently squeezed your thighs. "More?" He asked, you whip your head down to where he is, his face looked serious as he asked. "A brea— aH—" Just when you thought he'll give you a moment of breathing, he didn't, he dove back to your pussy once again. Lapping your already swollen folds, your body shook as your hand gripped on his hair harder. Tugging on him, "W, Wrio— nNh!— Wriothesley—" You called his name again and again like his name is an enchantment.

He didn't stop, he continue on eating you out like there's no tomorrow, even when you've came for the second time, he kept going.

Your taste, truly got him addicted.

. . .

"Sorry, Sweetheart." He kissed your shoulders, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, letting your back pressed against his chest. "I'll buy you a cake tomorrow," he whispered, "Mm, my favorite?" "Absolutely." He chuckled as he nuzzled his face to your nape.

"You taste so sweet by the way—"

"Wriothesley!—"

— ©fakesimp . 2024 ; Do not copy/translate/use for ai

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (30/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The Leclerc family dinner is something else.

Warnings: this is just cute, mentions of injuries (due to Monopoly), alcohol consumption, Arthur Leclerc

Word Count: 3.8k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: happy birthday to the lovely anon from yesterday! this is not smutty, but I hope you'll still like it! feedback is appreciated!

When Charles brings the rickety Renault to a halt and pulls the handbrake, you can hardly believe your eyes.

The car is parked in front of a large, white house that is surrounded by green ivy on one corner. The black roof perfectly matches the black shutters leaning against the wall of the house, giving you a glimpse of the interior. Above the double doors of the entrance is a small balcony with a black metal fence and small flower boxes in which beautiful, colorful flowers are sure to bloom in summer.

It looks like a painting.

You stare open-mouthed through the windshield. "It's gorgeous."

Your friend smiles. "My mother had it renovated last year. The façade was crumbling a bit and the windows were no longer in good shape." He shrugs his shoulders. "But otherwise it's stayed the same. I grew up here."

You can hardly take your eyes off it as you get out of the car. "It's beautiful. It must have been great growing up here."

"It was." He rounds the hood and stands next to you. "Unfortunately, I was always on the road because of karting and the older I got, the less time I spent here. But this house holds so many memories." He exhales deeply. "This is my home."

You turn your head in his direction before reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "Thank you for taking me with you."

Charles smiles gently at you and pulls you a little closer so that you can feel his warm breath on your face. "Don't get too excited. You haven't met my brothers yet."

You tilt your head a little. "Are they that bad?"

"The worst," he whispers and leans forward a little. His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. Your heart leaps a little. "But I'm the worst."

"Shouldn't I stay away from you then?" you ask him. He's so close to you that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Good girls should keep their distance from bad boys, shouldn't they?"

Charles releases his hand from yours and gently places it on your neck, leaving you no choice but to look at him. His other arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you all the way against him. Chest to chest, he looks down at you before licking his lips. You can feel the arousal pooling in your panties. "Are you a good girl, mon amour?"

As one of the front doors opens, he disengages from you with a smooth movement, as if nothing had ever happened and as if it wasn't running through your mind how you would have loved to get down on your knees for him right there. As he walks towards the house, you can see his back muscles dancing under his shirt. How you wish you could scratch him with your fingernails and -

"Maman. It's so good to see you," he greets his mother, who kisses him left and right on the cheek, snapping you out of your super non-platonic daydream. Which maybe isn't the worst thing, Charles is your friend after all.

"Yes yes, it's nice to see you too," she replies, before pushing past him and coming towards you. "Chérie, I'm so glad you're here!" The woman hugs you tightly before also kissing you left and right.

"It's nice to see you again too, Pascale," you smile. "Thank you so much for inviting me. The house is gorgeous."

"Thank you, chérie," she replies and reaches for your hands. "Come on, come on. Let me show you the house." Before you can say anything back, she pulls you towards the house, past Charles and through the door. "Charles! Your brothers will be here soon. You can set the table," she calls to him over her shoulder.

"Of course, Maman," he replies and when you look back at him, he rolls his eyes in mock annoyance.

"And please take the good china! We want to make a good impression."

"Of course, Maman." Charles, who has followed you into the house, closes the front door behind him.

The inside of the house looks like it's from another world. Large, white tiles adorn the floor, the furniture is kept simple, but still looks luxurious and so expensive that you'd be worried about scratching the surfaces with your car keys if you put them down. The lower floor is open plan, with a large kitchen with a kitchen island, a glass dining table and the living room. There's a soft-looking sofa in front of the fireplace, where you can definitely warm up on cold days. There are countless pictures on the walls - a mixture of art and personal photos.

"Would you like something to drink, chérie?" asks Pascale as you stop in the kitchen and she lets go of your hand. She opens the fridge and starts rummaging around in it. "We have water, orange juice, spritz, wine and cola."

"I don't need anything, thank you," you reply with a smile. You're a little overwhelmed that she's being so nice to you. You're not used to parents being so sweet and kind. Yours certainly weren't when you lived with them.

"All right, then. If you need anything, just take it. Make yourself at home." She squeezes your shoulder briefly before scurrying past you. "Charles! The table!"

"I'm on it," his voice comes from another corner of the room before he steps back into your field of vision. He is holding expensive-looking tableware in his hands, which he carefully spreads out on various coasters on the glass table. "Could you please take the cutlery from the top drawer there? There must be six of us. Enzo wanted to bring his wife Charlotte."

You take the cutlery from the drawer and count it off before joining him at the table and distributing the items. "I'm a bit nervous," you confess quietly. As you place a fork next to one of the plates, Charles grabs your hand.

"We can leave if that's too much for you," he suggests. " I'm sorry. My brothers aren't that bad. They're nice and funny and I think you'll get along fine." He strokes the inside of his wrist lovingly with his thumb. "You really don't need to worry. But if you want to leave, I can understand that."

You shake your head slightly. "It's all good. Your mother cooked dinner especially for me and it would be rude to leave now." You chew the inside of your cheek. "I just want to make a good impression."

Charles takes the rest of the cutlery from your hand before interlacing his fingers with yours. "You really don't have to worry about that, mon amour. She already loves you."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "And how do you know that? Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't need to," he replies with a smile. "When I introduced her to Annika back then, she reacted differently. No kisses, no dinner to get to know each other better. And she definitely didn't ask her to feel at home here," he explains, placing his free hand on your cheek. "She has good intuition and the fact that she took you to her heart within minutes just shows me that I made a good catch with you."

"Excuse me! There are children here!" a male voice shouts across the room. You would have liked to take three steps back to put some distance between you and Charles, but he keeps you in place.

"I don't see any children," replies the man in front of you, glancing over your head towards the kitchen. When you turn around, a young man is standing there, grinning and leaning against the kitchen island. "All I see is an annoying little brother who doesn't know when to hold back."

Playfully hurt, the stranger puts his hand on his chest. "Ouch. I'm not the one who can't seem to just pull through ." Before you can say anything back, he takes the few steps towards you and stops in front of Charles. The two stare at each other for a moment before a wide smile spreads across the shorter man's face. "Good to see you, big brother."

Charles releases his hand from yours so that he can embrace his baby brother. "You too." With a smile, he hugs him before gently pushing him away. He turns to you. "This is my little brother Arthur."

"It's nice to meet you," he replies and - in true Pascale style - gives you a little kiss on each cheek before winking at you. "Maman has already told me about you, but she didn't tell me how beautiful you are."

"'Keep your hands off, Arthur,' your roommate warns his brother, but he just waves it off.

"Don't worry, Charles. I'm not here to take your girlfriend away." You raise your hand and open your mouth to correct him, but he turns on his heel and walks back towards the fridge. "I'm here because I was promised good food. And maybe a game of Monopoly?" He waggles his eyebrows in anticipation.

Charles shakes his head vigorously. "Absolutely not. Last time Enzo nearly lost a finger because you thought he was cheating the bank."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "The whole thing would be unfunny without a bit of violence." His gaze shifts from his big brother to you. "What about you? Do you like Monopoly?"

"Monopoly? Maybe we should look for the first aid kit first," laughs the young woman who has just joined you. With her long blonde hair and wide, pearly-white smile, she looks so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Without giving the guys in the room a glance, she walks straight up to you and hugs you tightly. "Hi, I'm Charlotte. Enzo's wife." She gives you a quick hug before pulling away from you. "I like your top."

You introduce yourself to her as well before thanking her for the compliment. "Is Monopoly really that crazy in this family?" you ask quietly, watching Charles and Arthur tease each other in the kitchen.

"When it comes to winning, the men behave like animals," she explains, putting her slender arm around your shoulder. "That's why it's all the better that you're here now. Maybe they're acting a bit more grown-up this time then."

"Everyone here is an adult," another person defends themselves. The black-haired man tries to get Arthur out of Charles' headlock. "My little brothers might be a bit wild, but we're all old enough to behave reasonably." As he separates the two bickering men, he stands between them with his arms outstretched.

Arthur points his finger at the eldest of the three brothers. "You once knocked over the whole board because you had no more money to pay Charles."

Charles briefly runs his fingers through his tousled hair to get it into style. "And you once kicked us out of your apartment because you didn't have a hotel to take out a mortgage."

Before you know it, Enzo grabs his little brothers and tucks them under his arms, but Charles is quicker. With an elegant twist, he wriggles out of his brother's tight grip and twists his arm a little so that he can't get hold of him again, while Arthur tries with all his might to free himself.

"I told you," Charlotte whispers to you. "Like animals."

"Are you out of your minds?" Pascale's voice drowns out the boys, who abruptly move away from each other and blink at their mother. Arthur's face is red, while Enzo tugs his shirt right. Charles throws you a grin and a wink. "I'm cooking for everyone here and you're acting like children! Come on now! You know what you have to do!" she nags her sons, who quietly apologize to her and then scurry back and forth to put the rest of the things on the table.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you ask the young woman next to you, but before she can answer you, Pascale is standing in front of you.

"Please take a seat. You're our special guest today and if I even see you lift a finger…" She gives you a stern, loving look before pulling one of the chairs from the table. With a nod, she tells you to sit down. Her look leaves no room for discussion.

"Would you like a glass of wine? I've brought a lovely sweet Riesling," Charlotte asks as she takes two wine glasses from one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

"Yes, please."

As she sets your glass down in front of you, the men also sit down at the table while Pascale places various bowls in front of you. When Charles tries to sit on the chair opposite you, his mother promptly stops him.

"The chair is broken, chéri. I'm afraid you'll have to use that stool there," she says, pointing to the small stool in the corner of the room.

Without hesitation, Charles swaps the pieces of furniture, but when he sits down, he grimaces. "My goodness, that's uncomfortable. It's sure to give me a backache."

"Maybe your lovely girlfriend can give you a back massage later," Arthur suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. Before he can react, your friend has reached into one of the bowls in front of you and thrown a piece of bread at his little brother. "Ouch, what the hell? I didn't say anything! It only becomes ambiguous when you make it ambiguous."

"Boys, pull yourselves together, otherwise it'll be the last time I invite you all here for dinner," Pascale scolds her sons, but you can tell she's not serious. She sits down at the table in front of them. "Now eat before the food gets cold."

-

"How did you two meet?" asks Enzo, popping a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth.

The pasta that Pascale cooked especially for you tasted absolutely fantastic. While you ate together, you talked about all sorts of things. About Enzo's work, Charlotte's recent seminar, new recipes that Pascale really wants to try out and your photography. At the beginning you were worried that you wouldn't be able to join in as you didn't know anyone from this family, but there was never a moment when you felt left out. It feels nice to be part of a family again - even if it's not your own.

Charles, who stretches his back briefly, looks at you across the table. "That's a funny story. Would you like to tell it?"

As all eyes turn to you, you have to swallow. You weren't expecting the attention. But Charles looks at you so gently and his smile is so warm. He makes you feel like you're not in the wrong place.

"He surprised me when I came out of the shower half-naked," you grin back. All you hear from the corner where Arthur is sitting is a whistle.

"Hey, that's not quite true," your roommate defends himself. "You were living in my second apartment without me knowing! Joris rented you the apartment and didn't tell me. And when I turned up there, you came out of the shower. It's not my fault." He raises his hands. "And you wanted to beat me up with a magazine!"

You reach for your wine glass and take a sip. "You were a stranger who suddenly appeared in my apartment. How else could I have reacted? You were so close to calling the police."

"You were standing half-naked in my apartment. It could have been that you were a crazy fan and somehow found out the address."

Charlotte looks up from her bowl of ice cream at you. "Didn't you know who he was?" As you shake your head, she claps her hands several times in delight. "Oh how cute! Just like in the fanfictions you can read on the internet! That's awesome!"

Her husband gives her a puzzled look. "You read fanfictions about my brother?"

Charlotte rolls her eyes. "Are you crazy? Of course not! But every now and then I just hear about it."

"And you've just decided to share the apartment," says Arthur as he scrapes two more scoops of ice cream out of the ice cream container.

"Yep. Just like that," Charles explains, and you smile gratefully at him. You're glad you don't have to explain that you're unemployed. Especially since everyone at this table is pursuing promising careers. Your friend smiles back affectionately before arching his back. "And it would also be the best decision I've ever made if I didn't have to sit on this stupid stool all evening. My spine feels like pebbles."

"Don't be like that," his mother grumbles at him. "You're still young. Your back pain can't be that bad."

"Arthur is younger than me. Shouldn't he be sitting in this chair then?" Charles tries to get out of it, but he falls silent when Pascale gives him a dirty look.

"But I don't have a girlfriend who can rub my back later," grins the youngest Leclerc. "I'm sure she won't mind."

"Arthur!" Pascale reprimands him. Her gaze shifts to you. "I'm so sorry. I thought I'd brought her up better." She puts her head in her hands.

"Oh, Maman." Charles gets up from his uncomfortable stool and you can tell by the way he looks that his back is actually hurting. He stands behind his mother and puts his hands on her shoulders. "We know you did your best. And we actually turned out well." He can barely suppress his grin. "Except for Arthur."

"Hey!" Arthur jumps up from his chair so quickly that you fear he's going to fall over backwards, but Charlotte just manages to catch it. Arthur chases his big brother around the room while Enzo stacks up the ice cream bowls to take them to the kitchen.

"Wait, I'll help you," you offer, reaching for the cutlery that has been left behind, but Pascale's hand on yours stops you in your tracks.

"If you lift a finger, the same thing will happen to it as with Enzo's fingers at Monopoly," she threatens lovingly and gets up to clear away the rest of the things herself.

You look at Charlotte uncertainly and she waves you off. "Don't worry about it. She doesn't mean any harm. She just wants you to feel comfortable here and make sure you have everything you need. You'll get used to it over time."

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "I think if you weren't so nice to me, I'd be really scared of you."

The blonde has to laugh. "Unfortunately, I hear that a lot. But I know what it's like to be new to this family. It can be quite nerve-wracking and overwhelming. But they're all lovely people. You don't need to worry about that." She puts her hand on yours briefly before rising and joining her husband in the kitchen.

A short time later, you feel two large hands on your shoulders. "Are you all right?" Charles asks as you lean your head back to look at him. "My family didn't scare you off, did they? Or are you sick of it and don't want anything to do with me anymore?"

"A terrible family," you reply and feel his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your skin. You feel warm.

"I can understand," he nods and leans down towards you so that the tips of your noses touch. "So that's the last time we'll see everyone. I definitely prefer your company to that of the others."

You have to stifle a giggle. "You're only saying that because you're hoping to get a back massage from me as soon as we get home." Your mouth goes dry at the thought of running your hands over his muscular back and feeling the soft skin under your fingertips.

"You're right about that," he admits. "Shall we go? I've had to share you with my family long enough."

"You want to leave already?" asks Pascale, who has rejoined you at the table. You didn't even realize she was back until she started talking.

"Yes, maman. My back really hurts and we have a lot to do tomorrow," he apologizes. It's news to you that you have plans. But maybe it's just an excuse so that you can be alone again more quickly. And you definitely have no objections to that.

Friends, sure.

"All right." She puts her hands on her hips. "But I'll expect you both back here at Christmas. I'll prepare your old room so you can spend the night here." Her smile is warm and heartfelt. As you get up from your chair to say goodbye to her, she wraps you tightly in her arms. "It's so nice that you're part of our family now. I'm already looking forward to having you back here at Christmas. It's only a few more days until then."

"Thank you for your invitation." You return her hug. "I haven't felt like part of a family for a long time."

Apparently she sees something in your gaze, something sad, because she has to swallow before she starts speaking again. "We've been through a lot as a family - and I think you have too. You're always welcome here. No matter what happens. Even if you need someone to be there for you in the middle of the night. The doors of this house are always open to you." She blinks away a few tears and you briefly consider hugging her again.

Which you finally do. "Your family is wonderful. You've raised three great sons. If your husband was anywhere near as kind-hearted as they turned out to be, then he must have been the most lovable person in the world," you whisper to her.

"He would have loved you. I'm sure of it." As she breaks away from you, she wipes her eyes once. "Thank you for looking after my son. There's no denying how good you are for him."

As if on cue, Charles stands next to you and puts his arm around your waist to pull you close. You feel his body heat, the pressure of his fingers on your skin.

After this morning, you had been unsure whether you would ever be so close again despite the misstep, or whether you would keep your distance because the situation would be awkward for people who are actually just friends. But Charles' smile is genuine, his gaze gentle and his lips soft as he presses them lovingly to your forehead.

"She's the absolute best thing that could have happened to me."