#also this was supposed to be answered an hour ago

[villainsapologist]

the interview

Summary: You’re the newest member of the band and you’re doing your first sit down interview with James – who is definitely in love with you.

Warnings/Tags: James Hetfield x Reader, RPF, load era james, fluff, mutual pining, explicit language, sexually suggestive content, no smut though, still intended for 18+

Wordcount: 1.97K

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“Tell us how you first got in contact with these guys.” The interviewer asked. You are sitting beside James on the couch with barely any space between the two of you. The interviewer faces you both, his recorder resting on the arm of the single seater with a pen and notepad in his hands.

“Well we actually connected through my friend Brandon who worked as an assistant producer on one of the records on the album.” You spoke calmly, acutely aware that everything you say, every movement and miniscule expression will probably be written about by the interviewer. And to add to that you could feel his eyes staring into the side of your face. James had his arm slung across the back of the couch, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. 

“Yeah it’s actually really interesting because our newest member here was only supposed to come in for one day.” James spoke up.

“Brandon and I had been friends for a long time and together we would make little things here and there for fun.” You had often spent your Saturdays with him playing and writing together. When he told you about the opportunity he had gotten to help produce a Metallica album you were so excited for him. 

“He has a studio in his house so we would hang out and just come up with stuff, you know.” You glance upwards in James’ direction, a tight lipped smile playing across your face. In response he gives you that familiar grin, the one where basically all his teeth are on display. 

“And one day we stumbled upon something that he thought the guys would really like and could get some inspiration from.” You answered, turning back towards the interviewer. “So I went in one morning and was basically only supposed to be there for a couple of hours. But before we knew it we had spent the entire day working together.” 

“By the end of the week we had completed one of the tracks and she was so ingrained in the whole thing that there was no way we could play it without her.” James explained.

“That’s the one you guys played during her debut right?” The interviewer questioned. Less than twenty-four hours ago you played your first show with them. An experience that you are still reeling from. You would never have believed anyone if just a year ago they would have told you that you would be onstage playing with one of the greatest bands of all time. 

“Yes, and wasn’t she amazing” James answers, never missing an opportunity to go on about how talented you are. “I mean the crowd loved her solo so much, I just knew they would.” He beamed, thinking back to the day before. You were beyond nervous, the entire thing almost a blur. The smoke machine, the crowd, the music, it all blended together. You only remember James saying your name over the mic and the wind between your fingers as you pulled at the strings of your guitar.

— — — 

“What about the dynamic between you all? How has it been working with these guys as not only the newest member but also the youngest.” The interviewer asked as he perched up in his seat, eyes glancing between the two of you. “Is it a sibling thing or are they more like your daddies?” 

Your head slowly turns to James who couldn’t help himself as he burst out laughing. “My daddies? What…” An air of confusion in your voice. 

“Right, huh?” James agrees with your confusion, his eyebrows furrowed with a smile on his face. Although to be totally honest he seemed more amused than confused.

“Definitely more of a sibling dynamic I would say. I mean they’re all really cool and have been very welcoming. We’ve also been hard at work so…”

“So who would you say is your favorite so far, if you would dare?” The interviewer cuts in, eyebrows raised, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Definitely not Lars.” James cheekily admits. “I'm just kidding, she hates us all now.” You shake your head at James’ comments. 

“I wouldn’t say hate, but I definitely liked you guys more in the beginning.” you add, only half joking. “No, but seriously Kirk’s a sweetheart and we got some time to bond over our guitars. James and I both write and with the album I also got some vocals in, as you probably heard.”

“I know she seems like a sweet little thing, but she’s actually very strict.” James tells the interviewer. “What's the word you used again?” he turns back to you.

“Boundaries.”

“Yeah that. Boundaries. No touching without permission. And when those headphones go on, you would be an idiot to disturb her.” James tells the interviewer. 

“I know it seems odd but I promise if you spend almost every waking moment with these guys for months on end you would see that it’s necessary.” You added to your defense. Truthfully you weren't really bothered by them touching you. It was fun and you enjoyed being silly with them. You just had to come up with something to stop James specifically from touching you. Reason being well…the body does have a mind of its own and whenever he would so much as brush past you, your breath would begin to waver and your body would heat up in a flash.

Case in point that one late night at the studio when it was just you, James, and a few others from the tech team. He sat beside you holding a photo album he found with an assortment of early days Metallica photos, excitedly showing off and recounting stories from the time period.

He had seemingly… unknowingly snaked his free arm around your waist as he used his other hand to turn the pages of the album. At that point your mind became so fogged that you couldn't even comprehend anything he was saying. You were holding your breath so silently beside him. And then it got worse, you were wearing a thin fitted baby tee with nothing beneath it and of course your nipples had to start getting visibly hard. 

“Have some fucking self control.” You scolded yourself internally. It was so embarrassing, but if James had noticed he never said anything. You really didn't want to be that person. You wanted it to remain as friendly as possible with the guys. The thought of everything becoming awkward and the judgement you feared you would face if people found out that you were romantically involved with one of your bandmates, made you recoil.

You feared that you would not be taken seriously and that your hard work of getting into the band and creating such amazing art that meant so much to you would be summed up to you just fucking the guys and getting what you wanted. So you took the opportunity one day when the guys were being playful with each other and consequently you, to act increasingly annoyed with their antics. 

“Get off! New rule, no touching me without permission. Where are the boundaries in this group? Damn.” You didn’t mean it but you had to come up with something. 

— — — 

“You said that you guys have been hard at work. Is that all you guys have had time for – no bonding moments outside of that?” The interviewer continued. Considering that James only looked at him when he was asking him a question, coupled with the fact that he was staring holes into you – the interviewer was sure he had an idea of the dynamic budding between the two of you.

“Well James is a bit of a redneck, I’m not sure if a lot of people know that. So he took me fishing and hunting for the first time. It was definitely an experience…” You trailed off, recounting that day.

“More so fishing, there was very little hunting done. Someone started crying so we had to wrap that up quickly.” James remarks in a teasing tone. 

“I so didn't cry.” You rolled your eyes.

“You so did cry.” James rebutted, side-eyeing you with that grin.

“Maybe a little. If the animal also had a gun then I would feel much better and maybe then I would call it a sport. But on a brighter note I caught a really big fish! That was fun.” James couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest as he watched you talk about the time you spent together – just the two of you. Honestly from the first moment he saw you he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since. Every minute of every hour, now consumed with you. 

When he suggested you two do an outdoorsy activity you were elated to finally be doing something other than music, just for a little while. Plus you would get to know another aspect of who James is. 

There is always more to James than meets the eye. It was something you had suspected before you really knew him but now you know for sure. His exterior suggested a more hardened individual but as you spent more time with him, you were met with this incredibly attentive and caring person. More times than not if you looked at James you would find his eyes already on you. At first it made you shift a bit nervously on the spot and made a certain shyness creep up on you. But now it brings you comfort. Now it feels like you have someone who sees you, and for the most part likes what they see.

— — —

“Nice. I’m sure your family, friends and partner are thrilled for you. Although now you probably won’t see them much. You’re going to be on the road for quite some time from now on. How have you been navigating this new change with them?” The motive for the interviewer's line of questioning wasn't lost on you. Both you and James had caught it, “partner”. You debated whether or not you would address that particular part or just ignore it. 

“Yeah they can’t believe it, honestly I’m still coming to terms with it myself. But they are very supportive, I’m lucky to have them.” You ignored it. But as it turns out the interviewer had no intention of letting you off the hook that easily.

“Ah so your boyfriend is very supportive then. That’s great considering how much time you have to now spend so closely with a group of men who aren’t him”. There it was, probably the first of many pushy press interactions to come. You chuckled nervously and as you were about to speak up, James did it for you.

“I don’t think I recall her saying anything about a boyfriend just now. Did I miss that?” His smile is gone as he turns to the interviewer, a puzzled look on his face. James knows he should pull it back, he shouldn’t be so negatively affected by this question but he really couldn’t contain it. He was an emotional and impulsive person to begin with, and when it came to you everything went into overdrive. 

“I didn’t, but it’s alright.” You assured James, acutely aware of his growing frustration. The interviewer on the other hand seemed to get exactly what he was hoping for. A barely audible “hmm” comes from him as he scribbles something in his notepad. 

“Well just a couple more questions.” He closes his notepad and looks between you and James. Thankfully the questions that followed were routine. Although you were only giving him half of your full attention. James had now moved his arm from the back of the couch to rest behind you. His fingers brushing your elbow.

He made up his mind, after this he had to let you know how he felt. No more subtle suggestions. He’ll do it tonight. 

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A/N: first of all i need him. second i have another idea for these two - the confessions and the ******* part.

Also please don't be shy, tell me what you think! my inbox is open :)

<3

[lightninginhersoul]

Okay some nuance on the Robby/Langdon/Santos mess now that i have had some time to reflect but before my second viewing of episode 9:

Robby was right to call Langdon out of the room and give him a lecture. Just because it is EXTREMELY common for interns and residents to be yelled at (at least once, by both residents and attendings according to at least 5 very close friends who are/have been residents) does not mean it should be. If Robby is trying to build an ED where that doesn't happen, that's great!! He is doing the right thing to address it right away. I wish someone had done that for my friends when they were in situations like that. The real point of contention is probably the "I've seen you riding her all day" thing where yes, Robby doesn't want Santos to become a punching bag (correct action) or for Langdon to be only effectively teaching others but not her (again, correct thing to step in for, he saw Langdon not praise her for getting a question right when he should have).

However, Robby doesn't have all the information, that this is at least the third time Santos has disregarded her senior resident (who is in fact responsible for what the intern does and depending on whose patient it is, the medical outcome) and that as a response to lighter criticism done correctly earlier, Santos has become even more resistent to listening to Langdon. He absolutely should have spoken to her in private about it, but he isn't wrong to be concerned that she will continue cutting him out and genuinely kill a patient. ALSO Robby, buddy, you just did a little bit of the same thing!!!! I get you wanted Langdon to listen to you but the WHOLE ED FROZE because you shouted to shut the fuck up. You ALSO need a break! Recognize it.

For Langdon, it is absolutely his responsibility to know when he needs a break. Clearly Amber made him upset - he had to call and hear his son in the middle of the shift. He was triggered, upset that his patient had been seizing for three whole minutes without someone even calling for him, and overwhelmed. Totally get him being in a bad space to then when he asks what happened, for Santos to cut off Mohan and say she messed up and Mohan saved the patient! But he is the teacher and he needs to find his calm now that the patient isn't actively in danger, take a minute to self regulate, and then talk to Santos. He also can't stop teaching her because he is upset with earlier actions - every case must be a chance to teach, and trying a new teaching style on her would be a better call. It is his job to teach, and he doesn't get to shut down or critque her answers when we have seen him be more encouraging with every other younger doctor and med student (although she also keeps answering questions wrong and he does in fact get to say those are wrong - this is expected behavior)

However, like I said, this is super risky of Santos. The reson July 1st isn't actually dangerous to go to the hospital is because new interns are supposed to run basically everything by a resident until everyone is sure they can handle some procedures by themselves. The safeguards are not currently working in the Pitt and Langdon needs to know that he won't lose a patient because his intern didn't check what to do next or even call him into the room. Langdon has every right to call her out for her now repeated actions. She almost killed a patient a few hours ago after not checking in with him! He doesn't want to let it slide that she is trying to circumvent him - they still have hours to go and this is becoming a dangerous pattern. He also doesn't have all the information about what just happened - he genuinely thinks that Santos has now tried to override Mohan, ANOTHER resident! This is now a serious concern if it isn't just him because that means they have an intern who isn't trying to learn. He doesn't know that Mohan took actions to regulate jumping ahead with treatment - he wasn't in the room (when he should have been).

Mohan did a great job, no notes there other than needing to have someone call Langdon in earlier. She was right that he shouldn't have treated Santos like that, she was right to listen and try something according to logic from another doctor, and she was absolutely right to not give all the saline at once but do some of it, wait for lab confirmations, and then commit to the rest of the action. Good job queen!

But this is still a problem, and Santos doesn't seem to acknowledge the actual root of the issue. Sure, her saying that Langdon doesn't think she has what it takes might just be to help further win over Mohan, but it could also be her projecting and not actually listening to Langdon! There are rules and protocols for a reason, and you can't just skip over them on day 1. Robby said it earlier to Collins! Residents can't override attendings, and interns can't override residents. There are reasons for this. Santos has potential but she has threatened a patient with harm, made a serious medical error, and made other incorrect judgement calls. She isn't perfect, and I won't even focus on the scalpel because that was obviously a mistake but that can happen - it isn't a judgement issue. She is running around making assumptions and everyone she has spoken to has said the same thing - slow down, learn, do your job, get a feel for the place. She very much gives me gunner energy, especially with how she's been acting with the med students. It's in fact almost more dangerous that she was right this time because it will make her feel like she can continue to act independently even when she has years to go.

Santos was right this time! She judged the situation and came up with an idea and the logic was sound and based on experience. She's smart, creative, she has self-confidence and speaks up, all good things. She also is clearly still triggered from earlier and she is behaving as such. (Again she shouldn't even threaten a patient like she did with the yikes guy but that's a different post). She doesn't want Langdon to go off at anyone else perhaps, to keep the target on herself because she's done that before maybe? Or maybe she wanted to see if Langdon would praise the actions if someone else did it, as proof that she's not being treated fairly. Or maybe something else we don't know yet!

She is clearly good at finding allies (although equally good at losing them, as we have seen throughout the day) and she wants to help patients so badly that she lets her eagerness override protocol which has come back to bite her. She lost Garcia as an ally after accusing Langdon of benzo abuse, and she needs another one. In this one moment, she got Langdon to lose his cool which is maybe evidence for her drug use theory (i seriously doubt it, but this is for her perception of the situation), got proof that the same actions would be trusted by someone else (a resident with experience who still altered the verbal orders because Mohan has the experience to know not to jump in headfirst if you can avoid it), won herself a solid ally in Mohan, and helped a patient. A very solid read of the situation or very good instincts to get her what she wants. If it was instinctual, it was likely informed by her still being in a headspace to focus the attention and anger on herself, a common trauma response.

Most of her actions so far have all come from good places but they are still leading to incorrect actions. Worried about drugs going missing/vials having an issue? Good place, worried about patient care. But coming on so strong without a documented pattern (more than two incidents that could be coincidental) reads more like picking a fight that has serious consequences in order to make herself look good. I think she is worried! But she isn't thinking it through. Same as giving bipap - worried about the patient and wanting to help, but resulting in severe consequences. And threatening a patient - good place, worried about the daughter (and the show is VERY WRONG about mandatory reporting so i get that she feels like someone needs to do something), but that is a serious abuse of power. This is all ramping up and I'm worried about everyone involved!

Okay now that I have written WAY too many words on the situation, I think I'm done for now unless someone caught something else I didn't here or we get more coming up. I don't want Santos to have it all blow up in her face, I don't want Langdon to lose his fellowship, and I don't want Robby to continue to get further strung out (although that is DEFINTELY going to happen, this man is in a Bad Place today and then gave a whole lecture on burying your feelings). I am most of all worried about Dana! And Pittfest! And all of the concerning plot threads!

[thorneprincess]

“You’re not surprised”

"Everyone heard the tales of the beautiful captain of the eight gifting plants to people she favors. I am honestly just surprised you know me well enough to give me something that's pretty and useful. Jasmines truly are the best."

A light laugh escaped her lips. I was so mesmerized by their beauty that I almost forgot to thank you. This means that much to me. I will treat them with the utmost love and respect."

[alpinelogy]

.

[yoohyeon]

Some random user liked a post of me complaining about my neighbours earlier and f that user cause why are my neighbours playing music and screaming at pass 3am out of a sudden it’s like they predicted it

[coffee-and-geto]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - SATORU GOJO

“Bet you can’t even handle it,” he dares to murmur so close to your mouth. “I can play the game,” you accept, wrapping your hand around his wrist to free your frowned-face, eyes gleaming with a burning desire to smash his cocky face.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: he wasn’t supposed to be here. not a the soirée organized by your friends at their home. he was busy — as always, and wasn’t it the right reason you broke up with him months ago? so what the hell is he doing here after months of break up?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, exes to lovers, suguru, shoko and nanami make an appearance, sex pollen, aphrodisiac chocolates, sex (p in v), fingering (f! receiving), nipple playing, deepthroat, rough sex, swearing, oral (m! + f! receiving), a lot of tension and teasing, doggy-style, fanart by @/knr_Illust on X.

wc: 4,335

“You will lose.”

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” he whispers back, blowing words on your lips as a tempting move to make you lose.

What you were doing was so wrong.

But how not to take the bet up?

All of this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Just an enjoyable soirée at your friends’ place. Drink a few glasses, chat and laugh until midnight, and sleep before returning to work.

But absolutely not straddling your ex on your friend’s couch in the dimly lit room while everyone is sleeping.

You weren’t expecting Satoru to come. Nanami and Suguru were here as expected, but Shoko didn’t mention your ex. So what a surprise when, in the middle of chatting with your friends and snacking on some appetizers, you hear someone knock at the door.

“Sorry, a lot of traffic, you know.”

You freeze in the middle of your conversation with Nanami, wring your neck at the doorstep, and widen your eyes until they almost pop out of their orbits.

What—

“Good evening, everyone,” the bastard grins, a cocky smile letting the start of his perfectly aligned teeth flash to everyone except you.

His ocean-blue eyes drop immediately on you — under his eternal blindfold — and unlike your staggered face, he smirks at you.

“Well, I see that you all started without me?”

So the whole evening consisted of ignoring him, opting for the strategy of avoidance so as not to have to look at your ex or hear him cackling with laughter with Shoko or Suguru from time to time — poor Nanami remaining the most polite with you by doing all the talking with you even when it was your turn to respond.

And that your eyes took the liberty of sneaking glances at Satoru and his cursed blindfold.

During dinner, you forced yourself to join in the general laughter, answering and going one further on a few points without ever addressing a single word to your ex.

Need the saltshaker near Satoru, you were going to disturb Suguru who was further away.

Water?

Shoko.

To clear away the dishes?

Nanami.

The whole evening’s been spent laughing at a ghost whose presence you’re blissfully unaware of.

Without once stopping to wonder who invited him.

Who dared spoil your evening to invite this little prick?

After much discussion, laughter and reminiscing about the nostalgic old days, as the hour grew late, Suguru suggested we all go to bed, indicating the guest rooms for each of us and the freedom to use the couch as everyone saw fit.

But from tossing and turning in your mattress with sheets freshly washed for you by your friend, the silence of the apartment is far too deafening for your brain.

Satoru.

Your ex.

Here.

In the next room, probably sleeping soundly while you ruminate on his presence in your bed, ruining not only your evening with friends by his presence, but also your sleep by daring to tell Suguru that he’s agreed to stay the night.

You should have refused your friend’s offer and gone home, you ponder, pouting as your turn on your side for the umpteenth time, staring at the wall in front of you in the indistinctness of the room plunged into darkness.

You grab your cushion and toss it across the room, letting it crash pathetically against the wall and then fall to the floor with a soft poof.

You sit up on your feet, taking a deep breath. If sleep doesn't come, you might as well induce it until you're exhausted.

Opening your bedroom door with the utmost slowness, discretion and care, you first poke your head out to scan the corridor and make sure no one's there. All doors are closed and no sound is emitted from anywhere.

At a leisurely pace, you slip into the kitchen, closing the door without pushing it all the way open, then allowing yourself to huff and puff and turn on the light.

Perhaps a midnight snack?

Suguru’s always in the habit of having some in his cupboards.

So you don’t feel ashamed to rummage through his closets, pushing through the many unopened bottles of soda and alcohol, to see if he hasn’t got a packet of sweets or whatever already open, just waiting to be opened and gobbled up by your stomach still rumbling from the meagre dinner you gave him — appetite suppressed by the arrival of your ex, of course.

At the very back of one of the cupboards overflowing with snacks as sweet as they are salty, and even bitter, you stand on tiptoe and reach for the intriguing black box with its gold metal embellishments.

Once in your hands, you turn it over between your fingers, noting that it’s brand new.

...Will Suguru mind?

You shrug, opening the box from its black packaging to discover squares of chocolates as simple as cheap ones.

“Hmph...”

You frown your lips, slightly disappointed by the content of the beautiful packaging that made you dream about a better late-snack than poor squares of chocolate.

However, the box gives off a curious, intoxicating scent, now that you put your nose closer to it. Indeed, it's almost as if it's not calling out to you to—

“Chocolates? And you're not even thinking of offering me some?”

A low, warm voice, like drizzled molasses muttered right in your ear, makes you jump high enough to send the chocolate box flying further away.

You refrain yourself from screaming and rather drop at your feet, cringing yourself to contain your hammering heart against your ribs and threaten them to break.

“Fuck you,” you spit out harshly.

“I take the offer, sweetie,” Satoru responds with a grin in his voice — the bastard proud of what he had done.

After a few calming breaths, you straighten up, ignoring the wild strands of hair hanging in front of your nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugs, playing with the box of chocolates he caught in the air during your jumpscare. “Heard noises in the kitchen and saw your door half-open.” He pauses, treading a finger under his blindfold to tug it down and freeing his cerulean eyes to lower on your form. “Missed me?”

You scoff. “Not even in your dreams.”

“What a shame.”

He turns the box upside down without taking his eyes off you.

“You wan’ it back?” He smirks.

You squint. “I won’t earn it.”

He smiles drops. “You’re not funny, jeez.”

And instead of giving up and returning to his bedroom, he steps forward, shortening the distance between you two before taking a square of chocolate under your nose.

“Smell it? It’s an aphrodisiac,” he mouths, his breath grazing your flushed cheek.

You take a step back? “A-And? Can’t I eat whatever I want? Or will you impose yourself again?”

“Aw, you didn’t know it was an aphrodisiac?” he coos, this time trapping you against the wall behind you with the chocolate between his fingers as he puts away the box. He rips open the plastic wrapping, snapping it in half. “As much as you didn't know I was coming?” His index finger lifts your chin to look straight into your defiant, wary eyes.

The aroma of the aphrodisiac chocolate swirls between the two of you, enveloping you as closely as it can so that you give in to the tension. Every breath is a soft arousing stroke on each other's skin, like the devil whispering sins in your ear.

“Bet you can’t even handle it,” he dares to murmur so close to your mouth.

“I can play the game,” you accept, wrapping your hand around his wrist to free your frowned-face, eyes gleaming with a burning desire to smash his cocky face.

“That’s my girl.”

The words hit you like an electric current, sliding from your chest to your stomach to end up in your core, which is just warming up despite the little pyjama shorts you're wearing. No, you won't let it happen.

So, with slow, deliberate, provocative movements, Satoru breaks the chocolate square in half and takes the first half to your mouth. Without flinching, you part your lips and sink your teeth into the square before folding your lips around the rest of it — a piece of Satoru’s thumb in the process, causing him to swallow so hard that his Adam's apple wobbles.

The chocolate in your mouth melts almost immediately: a velvety sweetness of bittersweet cocoa with a hint of sugar invades your palate, almost making you roll your eyes — but you hold back with all your might. As it flows down your gullet, the heat rises in the opposite direction. For now, the taste is good and you’re warm.

In turn, your heart beating slightly faster, you take the other half of the chocolate square and hold it out to Satoru’s half-open mouth.

He bites into the chocolate unhurriedly, leaving enough time for his lips to wrap around it — enough to suck on the tip of your index finger in the process. When the whole morsel disappears into his mouth, he swallows as quickly as you do.

Finally, he pulls his face away from yours, impassive, and holds out his hand.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”

~~~~

If you’d known that listening to Satoru’s offer to get comfortable on the sofa in the semi-darkness of the living room would lead you to straddle him in spite of your principles, you’d have held back.

After a few words of polite exchange, occasionally spikes and provocations, your body heat having increased in the process, the tension allowed you to find yourself sitting on Satoru’s lap — more specifically on his crotch, where his growing bulge is crashed under your throbbing core.

Is this how an aphrodisiac is supposed to work?

Your breaths are heavy, measured, begging to be let go.

Satoru sits just as comfortably as you on his knees — back pressed against the sofa, legs spread a little to make room for you and let his bulge rub against you.

You’re slightly above him — much to your delight.

Under your pyjama top, you’re not wearing any underwear, and Satoru is determined to make you notice.

“Not wearing underwear? I can feel how wet you are, how your nipples are red and perking — you’re going to lose, sweetheart,” he breathes in your neck, hands digging into your waist and hips until bruising and rubbing the tip of his nose on your torso as much as he can. He takes his time to inhale your intoxicating and arousing scent — or was it the aphrodisiac? He exhales heavily, closing his eyes when the bridge of his nose gently pushes under the swell of your breast through the fabric of your tank top.

He can feel how the movement made you tighten your arms around his shoulders, nails scratching his perfect, snowy undercut. How every heartbeat inside of your chest pounds against his face.

He is going insane, at his rate.

“I won’t lose, Toru,” you sigh, closing your eyes a sec too. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

And God, he could cum in his pants right now only with you uttering his name. “You do? Because I can make it better, you know?” He looks up at you, fluttering his eyes open to meet yours, his face pressed between your breasts. “Remember how I used to eat you out, hmm?” He cocks his head. “Used to play with those beautiful tits? Shut you up with my dick?” And then he allows his big hands to run along your sides, sliding from your hips to your waist to your breasts and then slowly back down again.

You clench your teeth, ignoring how hard your walls are clenching around nothing and only pulsing against Satoru’s bulge to make your break — and it doesn’t get any better when he himself twitches against you, hardening even more.

“Like when I used to suck you off?” you whisper back, lowering your mouth to let him feel your burning breath. “Ride you like no tomorrow? Of course I remember, Toru. How you used to fill me up so full of your cum until it was spurting out of me,” you purr in his ear, rubbing his cheek against yours and as hot.

And he believes he will burst now, having you trapping him in this arousing cage of your body.

He’s about to give up, because how good will it feel to fuck you? To claim you and shut down that attitude of yours?

“Foreplay isn’t in the bet, is it?” he mouths, parting his lips to wrap them so lightly around your perking, sensitive nipple through the fabric that you’re almost whimpering in his ear. “Is it?”

Foreplay didn’t kill anyone, did it?

“N-No, I think it’s safe—” And Satoru doesn’t even pay any attention about what you can say more, because he’s already tugging hard, sucking at your nipple with fabric like a mad man.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” he groans, his hands roaming on your body to find the hem of your tank top. When he finds it, he lifts it above your chest, letting him freely play with you. 

His warm, soft and big hands mold your breasts, squeezing and tugging them roughly before wrapping each of them in his hands, only letting your nipples free so he can lick them, gently nibbling the sensitive buds times to times until you’re gasping for air, mumbling his name because moaning it would wake up your friends.

“S-Satoru—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he mutters, squeezing your mounds before sucking your buds one last time, not caring if there’s a thread of saliva connecting his lips with your chest.

Down here, it’s even worse. Your shorts, damp with your wetness of arousal were the only thing separating his cock of his fingers from making you cum. And how much you need to…

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline, you kneel between Satoru’s legs and undo his belt, the clicking sound threatening to wake your friends. So Satoru lends you a hand and removes his clothes more quietly, letting his aching cock spring free.

The girth is gorgeous and has not changed since last time, you think, hypnotized by all the veins coursing up his lengths until the reddish tip leaking with pre. It was only waiting for you to take care of.

And without losing any time, you chastely kiss his tip, Satoru wincing and hissing in pleasure as you wrap your pretty red lips around the sensitive tip. You spit a bit of saliva, wetting him enough to suck him until his aching balls will spill every drop of their seed.

Satoru threads his fingers into your hair, fiery cheeks coloring his pale skin. He is dumbfounded on how fast you need him as bad as he does.

You part your lips wider, eager to take more of his lengthy cock until the tip kisses the back of your throat. You stroke what you can’t take and bob slowly your head back and forth. You hum with a small smile; his taste hasn’t changed since last time. Satoru is salty — not oversalted, nor tasteless. Just the perfect taste to make you want to swallow all his semen.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moans lowly, fluttering his eyes closed as you sucked more of his dick. “I won’t last like this…”

And you nod with his girth still deep down your throat, hollowing your cheek to make him cum faster. You slowly pull him out of your mouth and toy with his balls, enjoying how they react to your touch.

“Cum for me, pretty boy?” you chirp, a bright smile flowering at your lips when you stroke his length from the base to the tip. And he nods wordlessly, tightening his grip around your hair that he’s wrapping around his fist.

You put the tip back around your lips, spitting more saliva on his already soaked cock — as soaked as your pussy, feeling a drop trickling down between your thighs. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

And when he’s about to cum — him throbbing in your hands — you take him back deep in your throat, hollowing your cheeks once more as he explodes, filling up your mouth. Satoru bites down his lower lip, suppressing a loud groan that could wake up everyone.

You swallow slowly, sticking out your tongue to show him that you have drunk everything he has given you.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs, releasing your hair as you get up from your knees.

You take off your shirt and shorts, tossing them on the floor with a rustling sound. All naked and pretty for him, Satoru waits for you to come closer so he can lift you in his arms and lay you down on the couch, settling between your legs when you spread your legs for him.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, bringing two fingers in his mouth that he covers with his own saliva before parting your drench folds. “So pretty for me and all wet.” He looks up at your flushed and embarrassed face. “Does sucking me off still arouse you, sweetheart?” And he can only chuckle when you wrap your thighs around his neck to suffocate him, but it makes him do worse.

He brings his face closer and presses a firm hiss on your puffy, hardened clit. He hums, closing his eyes again and darts out his tongue to lick a long strip between your folds and feel your fleshy core.

“Taste sweeter than ever,” he comments, sinking his two fingers into you as you cover your mouth with your palm to muffle your sweet sounds. “C’mon,” Satoru teases. “Let them hear how good your ex is gonna fuck you.” A low chuckle shakes his chest when your eyes widen.

“And the b-bet?” you gasp with his fingers finger-fucking you open and deliciously.

“To hell with the bet.” He rolls his eyes, wrapping your clit with his pink lips to suck it teasingly and make you squirm under him. “Focus on how good it feels, now,” he mutters, his breath hot against your own warm flesh. “I know you miss me as much as I do.”

His digits hit your sweet spot as fast as he finishes his sentence and you can only clench around him, walls throbbing as they never do in months; even with your fingers when you were in your bed for your alone time. Each stroke swollen your walls, making you close to cum around his fingers.

Knuckles deep, you dig your nails into Satoru’s forearm, babbling how close you are and how good it feels. “F-Feels good,” you pant, biting your fist to contain your moans, “missed that…”

“Did you, pretty girl? Now cum on my fingers, would ya?” he chuckles, thrusting faster his digits into you in a pace that will make you scream — noticing how he missed you in this state — messy hair, swollen lips and rosy cheeks striated with dried up thread of tears.

The moment after, you are cumming hard on his fingers, walls clenching hard and sucking at everything they can grip.

With kitten-licks, Satoru kisses one last time your clit before caressing your trembling inner thigh, drawing soothing circles as you come down from your high.

“That’s it baby,” he purrs. You cover your face with both hands and inhale and exhale slowly. “Breath for me, okay?”

Once he is assured he can safely pull out his fingers, he chuckles for himself and tastes your juices on his tongue. And fuck, your sweetness was enough to make him hard again.

Pulling off both his shirt and blindfold around his neck, Satoru settles this time with his cock aligned between your legs, tapping gently the tip of his thick length against your cute still-twitching clit.

“Want me how?” he asks as if he was preparing a herbal tea and needed to know if you prefer it with or without sugar.

You take a long breath in and sit up. “Fast and rough. Doggy.”

He raises a playful eyebrow. “Eh? Ma’am doesn’t want it gentle anymore?” he chuckles. “I think I can do that.”

He towers you, hands gripping both sides of your hips before flipping you over like you were a pillow. 

You have forgotten how strong he is…

With a real pillow this time, you take one between your arms that you hug and bury your face in, in case you would be too loud.

Back on your hips, Satoru’s hands dig into your skin enough to leave bruises and marks as he is always used to do on you.

Claiming you.

One of his hands snakes up on your soft, supple skin before stopping right on one of your ass-cheeks. He can’t resist smacking it — too loud that you’re gasping.

“They’ll hear us!” you whisper like a scold.

He shrugs, rubbing the sore skin before parting your cheeks to reveal your swollen lips — clenching around nothing and only waiting for him to fill up and leave no room in your sweet, tight pussy.

“Let ‘em hear. They know you’re mine, right?” He presses himself against your entrance, and does it with his broad chest against your back. “You’re mine, right?” he blows in your ear, sending a strong shiver running down your spine.

You nod obediently, pushing back your hips so his tip is pressed against your entrance and screams to be sucked by your cunt.

“Eager, are we?” he laughs softly, pushing his hips too and letting his mushroom tip drag a hiss out of him. “F-Fuck, you’re still tight, sweetheart. We’re gonna make a mess.”

“Just fuck me already,” you pout, slightly annoyed by his too much talk habits.

“I’m going to, princess, don’t worry,” he grins in your ear again, nibbling your earlobe. “Be patient, I want to take my time with you. We missed each other, didn't we?” He thrusts his hips deeper, but not fully, savoring your muffled whimpers as you nod. “Then take this cock, okay? Like a good girl.”

The praise sends a string of arousal straight down your core, tightening your walls around Satoru’s cock while he’s pushing deeper and deeper until he splits your open, and you pant his name like a mantra.

“Too big, Toru, s’big,” you cry, biting the pillow when his tip kisses your cervix.

“Too big, you’re sayin’? Oh, it’s been a while you haven’t been fucked by my big cock, that’s why,” he coos softly in your ear, kissing your burning cheeks. He can hear the squelching sounds of your wet pussy sucking his dick even though it was too much for you, yet.

“But I’m gonna making it fit again, and mold it so it can only take my dick,” he snorts as you babble words he can understand and not at the same time, before you sob and he grabs both your wrists and straightens up to thrust his hips into you with a hard, raw, steady rhythm. 

With one hand, he cuffs your wrists behind your back to pin you down enough so that you can only scream into the cushion as his cock pounds into you.

“Ah, Toru, please,” you cry out, face buried in the pillow as he continues to rut his hips hard and fast into you, each stroke punctuating with the sounds of his clapping full-balls against your sensitive clit.

“Please?” he chuckles, “c’mon, tell me how close you already are.” His free hand grabs your hips and slides up to your ass-cheeks and smacks it loudly. You whine in response, tightening around his thick dick. “That’s it, cum baby.” He smacks the other cheek and thrusts his hips at a frenetic pace.

This time his cock throbs into you, ready to cum with you.

“Cu-Cummin’, Toru,” you whine, clenching hard again around him with the same earlier sensation of a pit in your stomach exploding in you with a delicious release.

“Cummin’ too,” he urges, thrusting harder and faster until he moans loudly with no shame of waking up his friends who are still sleeping. He bursts in your pussy and spurt all the cum that were held in his balls — filling you up like he always used to do.

He breathes out heavily, wiping with the back of his hands the beads of sweat pearling around his face.

“Phew.” He lowers his ocean-blue eyes to your trembling form and doesn’t pull back immediately, leaving you to recover a little after this intense session.

At least the aphrodisiac is working.

“Is everything okay?” he whispers from behind, his long arms wrapping around your torso in a spoon hug. He rests his burning cheek on your clammy back to sooth your trembling.

“M’ good,” you mutter back, inhaling deeply before pulling away your face from the pillow and turning your head to the side, eyes fluttering closed. “Jus’ tired now…”

“You sure you don’t want to finish at my place?” he offers softly, his hands drawing slow patterns on your back. “I have some aphrodisiacs too, you know.”

“You still have Cinnamoroll on your bed?” you ask, opening your eyes suddenly.

His chest shakes through his laugh. “Never touched it. It’s still yours, pretty girl.” His lips stretch in a rascally smile at your interest only for the plushie. “You’ve missed it and not me? So my jealousy was meant for nothing?” He draws a small heart on your shoulder.

“Jealousy?”

“You’ve talked almost all night with Nanami,” he pouts, clinging his face to your face to bug you now. “I was jealous.”

“Aww, poor man,” you snicker, and Satoru’s hurt flutters at the sound of your laugh.

Satoru presses a kiss on your cheek. “C’mon. Come back home.”

You’re about to say yes when a voice low, groggy and sleepy voice coming from the doorstep of the living-room asks:

“What the fuck are you guys doing on my couch?”

a/n: hello dear readers! 😚 it’s been weeks since i haven’t post anything i’m sorry! i was busy with studies and life, but now i can finally chill out haha. i wrote this when i felt a peak of ovulating so yeah… basically i needed to write this hehe. hope you guys enjoyed it and see you soon <333

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @catrizzz @sanemistar @monokaix

[mrshowlettsgarden]

Cherry Kisses - Logan Howlett: the one where he gets distracted from your ranting

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: fluff, make out session, god bless this hunk of a man

─➭ take a walk in the greenhouse (master list)

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Logan lets out a frustrated groan as he stands out on the balcony leading to the back of the mansion. “These damn shitass kids…,” he sighs aggressively as he pulls out a cigar and begins to light it.

He’s been teaching history to the students for years now and he still can’t get used to teaching the students. He doesn’t know how Charles, Storm, and you do it so easily - near effortlessly - and you have been teaching longer than him despite the fact he’s been living for almost 200 fucking years.

He lets out a puff from the cigar and blows it out to the air above him as he basks in the quietness of the outside. Everyone left for the evening since it’s a Friday night but Logan chooses peace and silence.

And peace and quiet is what it is now. But there’s one more thing he needs in his arms and it’s-

“What has Charles told you about smoking here, my love?”

Ah…the only woman in the damned world that has kept him sane is here. You’re always there when he needs you the most.

His wife…

Logan turned around to find you standing tall and all in your glory. You have your arms crossed over your chest with your hip popped out and a faux serious look on your face.

“Seriously, Lo. After 10 years, you still haven’t broken the habit. Even just for a couple of hours during the day,” you exaggerate with a laugh.

Logan has a soft smile on his face as he listens to you rant about his smoking habit as he continues to take puffs out of the cigar. He was supposed to break the addiction a long time ago but he stopped listening to you rant once his eyes fell to your glossy lips.

Wonder what flavor it is…

“You also still leave ashes along the railing and it leaves burn marks.”

You’re still ranting with no true seriousness behind it but it still doesn’t hurt to keep trying to talk him out of smoking. Charles has threatened Logan that he’ll turn him into a six year old girl for smoking while he was using Cerebro. As you were about to go in that particular rant your words were caught in your throat when you noticed him stalking towards you with a curious but dazed look on his face.

You huff, “Logan, are you even trying to listen to - mph!”

Asshole, cut you off with a kiss but who are you to break that kiss? What kind of loving wife would you be and not enjoy the kiss?

You feel one of his hands cup your jaw to keep you close with his free muscled arm wrapped around your waist. You moan into his mouth when he pulls you tighter in his embrace. Your hands clutch his gray flannel as you try to ground yourself but he makes it so hard to do so, especially when he nearly whimpers in your mouth.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Logan is the first to pull away still holding you firm against his body. You're both softly panting into each other's mouths trying to catch your breath.

“Wha-what was that for?” you breathlessly giggle, “Are you trying to shut me up?”

“Cherry,” he mumbles a whisper against your lips, “Fuck - your lips taste like cherry, baby.”

“Oh…,” you mumble as he continues to barely touch your lips with his. You feel an ache between your legs and you want more from his teasing. “I-I got it a couple days ago… You like it?”

He answers you with a softer kiss followed by another one and another then one more.

“I love it, baby,” a kiss.

“Fuck, gimme more, yeah?”, another kiss.

“My pretty wife…”

And another kiss…

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[oceantornadoo]

ch8 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has some body insecurities and a small panic attack. also oral sex. not at the same time lmao

masterlist | next

In the hazy morning of the next day, John moves to get out of bed at his ungodly workout time. Instead of feigning sleep like usual, you grab his shoulder forcefully. He freezes, then turns to look at you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Stay.” You murmur, voice gravelly from sleep. “You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sinking back down into the mattress. You nod, then climb on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck like always. “Go back to bed, John.” And he does.

-

The thing is, John wasn’t supposed to marry her. She wasn’t Kyle’s first recommendation, nor second. He had recommended an oil heiress, which his Captain turned down. Next, an Irish mafia princess, also turned down. In fact, his Captain didn’t seem to want to be married at all. Which was fine, if this was a normal life where Kyle hadn’t been nicked off the streets after picking the pockets of a Price man and plopped into the office of John Price, a leader who needed sneaky men with audacity like Kyle. Now, Price was pushing 40 without heirs, and that needed to be solved quickly. The Riley sister was only offered as an offhand comment.

“Christ, sir, if y’re gonna be picky, might as well marry the Riley. Then we’ll have a real shitshow on our hands.” Instead of answering, John leaned back in his office chair and stroked his beard, like a villain from a movie. “She single?” If Kyle wasn’t better trained, his mouth would’ve dropped. But he was Head of Security for a reason, so all he did was hand his boss her file. 

Kyle didn’t like the Rileys - specifically, John MacTavish. The bastard was always trying to one up him, with new toys on the streets and the threat of bombs lurking around every corner. He knew MacTavish was close with Ghost’s sister, having seen the two giggle, thick as thieves, at galas and weddings. If he was a stupider man, he’dve sensed an affair, but he knew she wasn’t Tav’s type. It was a well-kept secret, but Kyle kept it as well as his own. There were some lines you didn’t cross, even in this business.

Price flipped through the file, frowning at the data before him. “Ghost has had these weapons all this time?” Kyle shakes his head, pointing to a graph in the report. “It only really started when he recruited MacTavish, ‘bout six years ago. An’ my sources tell me the sister’s got a mind f’r business.” Price hums thoughtfully. Kyle knows what, or who, he’s thinking about. Shepherd encroaching on their territory, supplied with weapons from American ex-pats. The streets smell of gunpowder, more and more skirmishes by the day. “Ghost’s tryin’ t’ get cleaner.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Kyle’s informants had made him aware of the Riley family trying to buy businesses, only to be turned away when they found out who they were owned by. Price’s businesses for Ghost’s money and weapons. “Might not be the worst trade, sir.” Kyle murmurs. He can’t believe he’s proposing a wedding where he’ll have to see MacTavish on the other side of the aisle. 

-

After said wedding, Kyle started regretting the whole thing. He knows what it is to love a man, to be in love with one, and that’s not what he has with his Captain. It’s more like seeing a big brother leave for college, knowing he’s nearby but out of reach. The plan was to have Mrs. X, as the security team had taken to calling Price’s future wife, live in a property an hour out of the city. Out of harm’s way but easy to visit when baby-making was required. The plan had been developed before they’d decided on a wife for him. It decidedly went out the window once he’d decided on Ms. Riley.

Suddenly she was in the Castle, changing decor and befriending staff. She was meeting with Laswell and had taken Terrance as her own, a change Kyle had not approved of. So, sure, he was a bit of a jerk to her. It was the childish notion that she’d taken his favorite person, and he’d lashed out, only to be reprimanded by said person. Kyle's in toddler timeout, and he's determined to make it right.

-

A few days after the Friday incident, he finds her eating lunch in the kitchen. It seems she’s finally befriended Chef, a feat he could never perform. Chef’s a French grandpa, huffing out syllables that don’t go together under his breath. 

“What’re ya eatin’?” An odd opening, seeing as this is their second conversation ever. He plops down into the chair next to her as she sets down her sandwich, brows furrowed in a question. He can’t blame his Captain; she is pretty. Not his usual type in women, but her wit would attract any man. “Um, a sandwich.” She eventually responds, after getting over the shock of Kyle in her kitchen chair. He probably could’ve been smoother on entry.

“Right, well…” He looks at her and she stares back, like they’re locked in a game. He breaks away first, feeling like he’s lost. Kyle reminds himself he’s not a bloody twelve-year-old. “I liked wha’ you did with the sittin’ room.” That opens her up, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “Really? Those chairs were so uncomfortable, I could barely sit on them for more than five minutes without getting sore.” He huffs in agreement. There’s a reason no one meets in the sitting room. “Ya sure tha’s no’ the only reason you’re sore?” It slips out too easy, a question he’d usually tease one of his men with, not his boss’s wife. Kyle opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off by the sound of her laughter. It’s not manufactured to sound pretty, almost like a snort. “Sorry, I just haven’t heard those kinds of jokes in a while. You remind me of Johnny. Thank you for making me laugh, Kyle.” She seems almost grateful for his presence, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see she’s missing her family. Even if that means getting compared to MacTavish.

“Call me Gaz, ‘s what everyone calls me.” She nods contentedly, reaching for her sandwich to take another bite. The silence is peaceful, interrupted when he remembers why he originally sought her out. Kyle pulls out a report he’s been carrying and sets it near her plate, noting how she sucks in a breath at the title. Protection Plan for Mrs. Price.

“Since y’r openin’ up y’r store, Price wanted me t’ give ya a team. Could’ve done it on my own but I had a feelin’ y’d want to give some input.” She nods thoughtfully, pushing her plate away to focus on the report. It’s a few minutes until she finishes it, diligently reading every page. “I want at least one woman on my team. And I still want freedom, I don’t want to be followed everywhere.” He sucks in a breath at her words, which won’t be possible if Price has anything to say about it.

“Righ’ well, can’t guarantee tha’ second part. Not sure if ya’ve noticed, but London’s an active war zone right now. They’ll be discreet, an’ the lowest amount I can do is four.” She harrumphs, crossing her arms like how his Captain does when he’s upset. It’s eerie how they’re already starting to mirror each other. “Fine, but I want Terrance on it.” Kyle nods, going to stand. 

“Gaz.” She grabs his forearm to get his attention. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’d like to be friends. If you’re willing.” He gives her a half smile, ruffling her hair. Kyle doesn’t notice how she freezes at his action, like she’s trapped in a memory. “Only if ya give me the rest of y’r sandwich.” Unfreezing, she laughs and pushes the plate towards him. “Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He winks at her, and heads towards the security room. He might’ve accepted Terrance’s earlier security report, but he’s determined to make it up to his Captain, starting with re-running Phil’s background. Kyle’s got some security tricks up his sleeve, and he’s ready to prove his title to John.

-

The dress fits you like a glove.

It’s a fresh Saturday night, London’s night sky only slightly smoggy. John’s been invited to some benefit for cancer, a philanthropic cause you didn’t even know he supported. So now, you’re in a formal red dress, floor length with a high thigh slit. You stand in front of your vanity and smooth down the satin fabric, ready to slip on your heels. You usually do that step first, but they’re a mile high and you didn’t want to risk slipping on the carpeted dressing room floor. John’s been in the shower, but now he’s buttoning his shirt in the other room. Your dress is unzipped too, requiring a force of nature for the zip to go all the way to the top.

“John, can you help me?” He’s there in an instant, arms circling the length of your waist. “You look so fuckin’ good. Smell fuckin’ delicious.” He noses the crook of your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. John rubs his hands up and down, smoothing out creases in your dress. “So pretty f’ me, aren’t ya?” All you can do is nod when he’s like this, allowing yourself the precious gift of easy affection. “Can you help me with my heels?” He kisses your exposed collarbone, then squeezes your hip as he goes to find your heels. They’re higher than what you’re used to wearing, putting you closer to eye level with John. He goes to his knees, finding your right leg through the layers of fabric in his way. You got a pedicure the day before, patting yourself on the back as he kisses the top of your foot. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you're under a spell or something.” He’s quiet as he slips on your shoe, kissing your ankle before setting it back down. John reaches for your other foot in quiet reverence. “Ya look like a princess.” He finally murmurs, having finished with your heels. “You feelin’ ok?” He asks. You shrug. Clearly, you haven’t hidden your nerves well. This is your first official entrance into mafia society as a couple, even if the lines of your relationship are too blurry for you to understand. 

“Let me make ya feel better?” His hands are already tracing your plush skin, parting the slit of your dress. He works his way up efficiently, stopping at the apex of your thighs. “What’s this?” You shrug again, this time with a smirk on your face. “It’s black tie, right?” By black tie, you mean the black lace under your dress. It’s a little piece you found at a boutique lingerie store near the bookstore. There’s a heart cutout in the middle of the front part, right above your slit. John kisses the exposed skin, sucking hard before he pulls away. “Black tie my fuckin’ arse.” You giggle and push your hips forward in a wanting motion. “Weren’t you going to make me feel better?” He goes to work with a single-minded vigor. John pushes the scrap of lace to the side, nearing closer so he can lift your leg onto his shoulder. He doesn’t tease you like usual. Instead, he licks and sucks lewdly, moaning at your wetness. He flicks his tongue against your clit as it hardens at his motions. “Even sweeter down ‘ere.” The low tone of his voice vibrates against your cunt, sending a spark to your core. “She like when I talk to ‘er?” He’s talking to your cunt, you think. It’s hard to hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. All you do is nod, pushing his head closer with your free hand as your other one scrambles for purchase against the wood of your vanity.

“Thought so. So wet, baby, like I’ve been neglectin’ ya. Have I?” You shake your head as he keeps up the pace of his tongue, adding a finger into your hole to up the pressure. “No, no, not neglected.” You cry from near-overstimulation. You can practically feel him smile against your pussy, the scratch of his beard making the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. “Thought so. Yer husband takes care of ya, tha’ righ’?” Your hips cant against his face, almost fucking it. “Yes, yes, John.” He sucks your clit hard, finger pumping in and out. “She’s so close I can fuckin’ taste it. Come for me, go’on.” And you do, pressure rushing out of your core in waves. “Good girl, baby. Knew you could do it.” He tugs your underwear back in place, cleaning up the cum on your thighs with his fingers. You hear him suck them clean, sending another shock to your core.

John stands, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He’s in a full tuxedo and wears a dashing red tie to compliment your dress. You quickly peck him on the lips and pull back before he can ruin your makeup. His beard pulls up in a half-smile, elated that you kissed him first. It’s not hard to tell he loves when you do that, returning his affection of your own volition. “Thank you, Mr. Price. You clean up well yourself.” You tug his tie playfully. “Now zip me up.”

He does it gracefully, fingers brushing your back as he inches the zipper up. You swear this dress is too small as you suck in more and more the higher he zips. Unfortunately, your husband has the power of turning any encouragement into sinful words whispered in your ear. “There we go, tight fit, love. Squeeze in, baby, tha’s a girl. Feel ok?” You can only nod, ribs heavily constrained. It reminds you of your wedding dress, except this time you chose to be trapped.

It’s a whirlwind of a drive as John helps you into the limo and helps you out only minutes later. The gala is at a nearby museum, but etiquette and uncomfortable footwear required you to drive. It’s a grand marble building, like a bigger version of John’s flat. Limos line the outside as people step out of cars dressed to the nines. You do have something to look forward to tonight - your family.

John guides you in with a hand to the back and you’re already escaping his grasp to search for Simon, who promised he was coming. Apparently, philanthropic foundations are great to donate to when you run a gang that needs some tax benefits. You’ve been to a few of these, but a glance at John’s upcoming calendar revealed he donates a lot more than your brother. A new routine to get used to. 

“On your left.” John murmurs, and sure enough, there’s the top of Simon’s blonde head. He’s Mr. Riley at these events, not Ghost. You hold yourself back from running. Instead, you gather your skirts and walk quickly towards him, ignoring how John’s hand slips from your back.

“Hi!” You don’t give Simon a chance to answer, smothering him in a hug. He picks you up at your waist and spins you, a remnant from your few shared childhood memories. “Hi, lovie. Look at you, all dressed up.” He sets you down gently. Simon’s hand brushes your left one, causing you both to glance at the ring on your hand. You catch a slight frown, but it disappears into the collage of scars on his face. “Doin’ ok?” He asks quietly, only at a volume you can hear. You glance back at John, who’s making small talk with Johnny as the two men stand nearby. You turn back to Simon with a small smile on your face, nodding shyly. “It’s goin’ ok.” He drags a hand down in his face in exasperation. “Christ, the way he looks at you, kid. Not somethin’ a brother should be seein’.” You groan, swatting his hand away. “Gross. You’re acting like I don’t have to constantly dodge you and Johnny making out.” You say it in present tense, like it’s a problem you’re still facing. Unperturbed, you grab his hand and make your way to the bar, leaving your dates behind. “C’mon, Si. Let’s catch up.”

-

You must’ve had black magic in that perfume of yours. It’s the only explanation for why John feels like this, like he can’t be untethered from you for more than a minute. He was worried this thing between you, new and delicate, was just lust, but it’s becoming clear it’s much more. It’s the way you immediately sought out your brother, not caring for social niceties. How you challenged him with your argument at the bookstore, fire in your eyes as you protected your livelihood. It’s all rolling into a grand, sticky mess in his heart, weighing heavier and heavier every day.

The gala is full of politicians milling against the backdrop of the London Art Museum. Paintings of old rich geezers surrounded by the bodies of new rich muppets. There’s some people dancing in a slow waltz in the middle of the room, with high tables bracketing the dance floor in a crude outline. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed any of this, content to abandon him high and dry in search of your brother. John exchanges niceties with Johnny MacTavish, then leaves him to find Kate. She’s around here somewhere, schmoozing with potential clients. She may work on retainer for John, but she’s an independent contractor in her own right, always on the lookout for the next big fish. 

He finds her eventually, talking to a MP far from the dance floor near a statue. “Lord Walsh.” John inclines his head at the man, who’s severely shorter than him with a significant bald spot. “Mr. Price. I’m surprised to see you here.” Jon frowns at the insinuation. Kate slowly inches towards John, looking polished in her navy pantsuit. “How so?” There’s danger laced in his words which Lord Walsh takes a few seconds too long to process. “I, well, excuse me.” He exits not-so-gracefully with sweat beads running down his receding hairline. John turns back to Kate, who’s wearing a rare smirk. “What?” She shakes her head, turning to face the crowd. “Sometimes I forget how much of a shark you are. Too used to seeing you surrounded by finery at home.” He snorts, turning with her. 

They both find his wife in the crowd, easy to spot with the shocking red of your dress. You’re throwing your head back in laughter at something Ghost said, giggling like a little kid. John feels a smile growing under his beard. Kate notices too, elbowing him in the side. “We get it, you’re disgustingly infatuated.” He shakes his head, dropping the smile. “‘S not like that.” She snorts, a rare show of emotion, a credit to how long they’ve worked together. “Whatever you say, John. Now let me find new clients before you scare them away.” He nudges her shoulder, content to stay alone as she walks away.

Unfortunately, his newfound solitude is immediately interrupted by a foul-smelling scent. He turns and lo and behold, there’s a phantom at his shoulder. “Lady Walsh.” John takes a step away from her, preventing their shoulders from brushing. “I saw you talking with my brother.” There’s a bite to her voice. It’s reminiscent of the one regrettable night they shared years ago, a night clouded with too much whiskey and not enough forethought. “Exchanging pleasantries.” He can hear her frown from a mile away. 

“Is there something you need?” He bites out when she doesn’t respond. Lady Walsh does this occasionally, finding him at events and trying for a recreation of that lone night. He didn’t consider it then, but he especially doesn’t consider it now. In fact, all he can do is track the sound of your laughter and drown in it, even across the dance floor. Lady Walsh leaves, and John decides to find the bar that you’ve abandoned and bring you a drink.

-

“I miss you, Si.” You mumble after your second martini. He’s found you two a table in the corner, somewhere you can hear each other over the quartet. “I do too, kid. Manchester’s different without ya.” You take a sip of his water, then spit it out when you realize it’s vodka. “Gross! Since when do you drink vodka?” He takes the glass out of your hand and downs it in one sip. “Johnny’s been on a kick. Think he’s been bored since ya left.” There’s immediate regret on his face as you take in his words. “No, love, ‘s not yer fault. There’s been other things happenin’. Nothin’s yer fault.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’m gonna find the bathroom.” He nods worriedly. You push on the table to get up, but he stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder. Simon kisses your forehead, then shoves you towards the bathroom. “Don’t overthink. Go piss.” You snort, swatting his hand away.

In the bathroom, you stop in the mirror to apply your lipstick. A woman exits one of the stalls behind you, going to wash your hands. She’s like the image of your better self, with clearer skin and a figure you’d kill for. It’s the gin speaking, your brain reasons, but that doesn’t stave off any insecurities you’re projecting. Your heart is raw after your conversation with Simon, and this just makes it worse.

“You’re John’s new wife, right?” The mystery woman says as she finishes washing her hands. It shakes you out of your reverie. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She purses her lips, now reapplying her blush. “Lady Walsh. I’m not surprised; I don’t think John would’ve mentioned me.” You frown at her insinuation. She takes your silence as acceptance, turning towards you with a feline smile on her lips. “I’m surprised you’re even walking. Lord knows it took me a week to recover from the last night I spent with John.” Your mouth drops. “Anyways, love your dress!” She breezes past you in a whirlwind of soap and perfume, leaving the bathroom gracefully.

You, however, exit in a fit of starts and stops. Your chest aches with the pain of breathing, reminiscent of the panic attack you had in a London garden almost two months ago. That thought makes things worse, blurring your vision. Someone grabs your arm, a warm presence guiding you to a bench in a darkened hallway.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” It’s John.

“No, I- I just need a second.” In the background, you hear people laugh and glasses tinkle. John places a warm hand over your knee, grounding you to the moment. “In an’ out, yeah?” You nod as your breathing slowly calms. It’s just you and him for a second, listening to the sounds of your breath go in and out. “Want some water?” He moves to get up, but you grab his arm before he can. “Stay with me?” You whisper. John sits back down, wrapping that same arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He kisses the temple of your head, and you stiffen under his touch. The change is noticeable as the air goes cold. “Why haven’t we fucked?” It bursts out of you, almost in anger. John’s shock is clear as day as his arm drops from your waist. “I- why’re you askin’?” His hesitation is not what you wanted to hear. “I talked to your friend in the bathroom. Lady Walsh.” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Christ.” You wrap your arms around your waist at the sudden chill between you. John shrugs off his blazer and places it on your shoulders. The scent of it is overwhelming: musk and pine and man.

“She an’ I happened once, years ago. Been followin’ me like a hound ever since.” That makes you feel slightly better, but the conversation brought out a monster you didn’t want to face head-on. Your insecurities over this limbo of a marriage have been haunting you, and now they’ve taken the form of that woman in the bathroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” You murmur. John nudges your shoulder, moving closer when you don’t scoot away. “I didn’t want t’ pressure ya. Could eat ya out every night an’ be the happiest man on earth.” You bark out a laugh. He takes it as a sign to close the distance between you, tucking you under his arm. “What about the kids? The heirs?” You emphasize it with an eye roll. He snorts, pulling you closer. “Ever heard of artificial insemination? Surrogacy? A lot they can do these days.” He talks like he’s a hundred years old and not barely 38. “Why wasn’t that in the contract to begin with?” He’s quiet. “Not sure, actually.” 

“I don’t think I want to do anything sexual for a while.” You eventually whisper. “‘S fine.” John replies. “I want to go to dinner.” You turn to him with a small smile on your face. “Ya want to go’on a date, baby?” You nod. He frowns in that way when he’s upset that he didn’t think of it first. A realization dawns on his face when he understands what you’re asking for. A new start, free from this societal gossip and pressure. John kisses your forehead gently. “Tha’ okay?” You nod like a lovesick teenager, giddy with the thought that he understands you so well. “Dance with me?” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it.

-

“Graves. Report?” The General is half-cloaked in the darkness of his office, eyes glinting through the shadows. “Comin’ along well, sir. Price has given himself a new weakness right when we needed one.” Shepherd hums in agreement. “Don’t fuck this up, Graves. You’re on your last strike.” Phil nods, backing out of the room. He will not mess this up. He can’t afford to.

-

yayyy gaz redeemed himself and we have a plot! i was lowkey getting worried. i hope nothing bad happens...

-

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[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When You Are Suddenly Dating a Princess

This prompt is a variation of good!GIW AU (read here), but that's an excuse because I just wanted badass Jasmine Fenton and her good boy Jason Todd.

"Jason?"

The voice catches him off-guard. Not because he doesn't know it, no, quite on the opposite - he knows that voice very well, he's just heard it this morning when his beautiful girlfriend kissed him on the cheek and left for work.

It's just that he didn't expect to hear it at a closed auction full of magic artifacts, two states away from Gotham, and in a room full of rich-ass people from all around the world.

He turns around.

Jazz is looking at him with an expression of pleasant surprise, black off-shoulder silk dress with teal accents draping her figure all the way down to the floor - it's kind of reminiscent of Greek togas, with high waist and lots of folds on the skirt. It also makes his girlfriend look even taller than she is, which, Jason is fairly certain, was intentional.

She is also wearing a necklace on her neck, and just by one look at it, Jason knows that it costs at least five times more than the apartment they live in.

"Jazz?" He breathes out, astonished, but then catches himself and puts on a smile, "You look stunning." This is not the time to argue or ask questions; he is on a mission. And it's a time sensitive one, so no matter how curious he is, it can wait till later. They do live together, after all.

"Thank you," the girl smiles, and then briefly turns her head to a tall man in a very expensive dark blue suit standing beside her, "If you excuse me," she nods with an apologetic smile in the corner of her lips, and the man smiles back and takes a step away. Meanwhile, Jazz approaches Jason and casually places a hand on his elbow.

"Mind telling me what are you doing here?" She questions, and, wait, that was supposed to be his line! Jason blinks and shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor.

He can't exactly say, 'Constantine asked Batman for a favor because he knows the man is rich as fuck, so now Jason has to either buy or steal an ancient dagger for some bullshit magic ritual because he was the only one free tonight and John really needs that dagger and that ritual and Bruce owes him a favor, unfortunately'. Jazz doesn't know he is a vigilante/crime lord in redemption. She might suspect he is - that girl is perceptive on par with mind readers - but Jason never straightforwardly told her, and she never brought it up herself.

So, instead, he goes, "Sightseeing."

Jazz raises one eyebrow and pointedly looks around the dimly lit room full of magic users, rich collectors, socialites, and other shady individuals. Jason keeps smiling. Eventually, the redhead sighs and looks away, taking a step forward and guiding him through the auction at a leisurely pace.

"Looking for anything in particular?" She tries again, and Jason debates if he should answer her. On one hand, his head is buzzing with thousands of questions, starting with 'how did you even make it here when your shift at Arkham ended two hours ago' and finishing with 'to which group of shady individuals do you belong'. On the other hand, she clearly does belong here if her confident posture and outfit are taken into account.

And she is his girlfriend. Has been one for two years now. Maybe it's time to share some secrets.

"An obsidian knife with an owl on the handle," he finally says, and Jazz hums.

"A Tecpatl?" She clarifies, and Jason doesn't even feel that surprised by her sudden knowledge of Aztec culture. He nods. Jazz gives him a thoughtful glance, "And how important is it for you to have it?"

"To the point where I'm prepared to steal it if I have to," he laughs, but judging by the look on Jazz's face, she gets that he is only half-joking. She narrows her eyes at him:

"Is it for you, or for your, um, friends on the orbit?" She asks, briefly glancing up to the ceiling, and Jason feels very confused for a second there.

But then it hits him: she is talking about the Watchtower. She is implying the League.

Jason doesn't hold back a quiet curse, "Damn it, I should have hidden the guns better, shouldn't I?"

Jazz laughs softly, but it's a warm, affectionate laugh, "Well, yes, but you also shouldn't leave bloody bandages in the bathroom. And your helmet on the kitchen counter," she tells him, amusement lacing her voice, and Jason rubs his face with his free hand.

"Fuck," he mutters. And then, "Sorry."

Jazz waves her hand it the air, brushing his apology off, "Don't worry. I'm not in a place to blame you for having secrets, am I?" She muses, and, okay, fair. But before Jason can try to make her elaborate on the topic, she returns to her previous question, "So is it for a friend?"

The knife, right. Jason makes an annoyed face, scrunching his nose.

"Yeah. Bruce owes someone a favor, but he couldn't make it. Other stuff came up," he huffs. 'Other stuff' in question includes some off-world mission, so he really couldn't make it, but that doesn't make Jason any less mad about it.

"Let me guess, that 'someone' smells of cigarettes and liquor, has a British accent, and wears a trench coat," Jazz deadpans, and Jason stares at her with wide eyes.

"How- Are you sure you're not secretly a mind reader?" He asks. He knows for sure that Jazz doesn't have a meta-gene, but maybe she is a magic user? That would explain why and how she is even at the auction. Yet, the redhead laughs.

"No, sorry. Just met him a few times," she winces like she can smell the phantom smell of tobacco even when the mage is not here, "Can't say I like him, but asking someone to fetch him a Tecpatl seems like his style."

That only makes Jason even more inclined to believe his girlfriend is actually a magic user. But he doesn't get to ask because Jazz suddenly looks him in the face.

"Consider yourself in luck, by the way," she grins, "You won't have to steal it."

[part 2 ->]

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

You're bossy. And short. (Sam Winchester x female reader)

Sam gets drunk because he’s jealous and you try to put him to bed, but he decides to be difficult...

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 2.1k words. Drunk Sam. Jealousy. Flirting. Sassy Sam my beloved.

“You’re bossy,” you hear someone mutter behind you.

You turn around, looking at Sam, dumbfounded.

“What?” you ask, not believing your ears.

“You’re bossy,” Sam repeats, in a so what? tone.

And then, looking you up and down in a way that makes you shudder, grinning to himself, he adds: “And short.”

You blink a few times. “Are… are you drunk?” you ask him.

Sam is standing in the door, leaning against it, his big frame swaying back and forth a little.

“Yeah,” he answers, raising his hands in challenge, before immediately needing to put one back on the door frame to stop himself from stumbling. “So?”

“Sam,” you say, finding your voice meet a pitch of reason and slight annoyance that you usually only ever have to use with Dean. “We’re on a case. You can’t just get shit-faced in the middle of a job.”

You turn around fully, leaning one hand on the table next to you to drive your point of reasonability home. But Sam just scoffs.

You hold your posture, pretending you're not distracted by his long neck, the tendons pulling there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down every time he talks.

Or the little dip below that, where sometimes a little bit of sweat collects when he's exerting himself.

Or the way his hair is now falling over his forehead, soft and fluffy and how you just want to run your fingers through it.

Or how his drunkenness is making him look so limber, so unconcerned with being proper and decent and polite, and how his hips have a little sway to them that make you want to bite into the table top next to you.

You swallow, pushing all these thoughts down, which is easy, easy peasy even. Too easy almost, at least until you look at him again after a second and it all comes flooding back.

“Okay,” you say, proud of how little your voice is shaking. “Let’s get you to bed, Sasquatch.”

You walk up to him, taking one of his arms and laying it over your shoulder, which isn't helpful in the least and has the unfortunate side effect of, well, having his arm around your shoulder and also just all of Sam being pretty close to you. So, bad idea all around.

You press your teeth together, determined to come out of this with at least a little bit of your dignity intact.

As you lead him over to his bed, he mumbles: “Don’t need any help.” Now it's your turn to scoff.

“Yeah,” you reply, “you seem totally fine.” You reach the bed.

“Sit down,” you order, but Sam doesn't budge so you use his lack of coordination to push him back a little, making his calves bump into the bed and his ass meet the mattress. It would have never worked if he was sober, but you're okay with using this little advantage in your favor.

Sam sits, still swaying, looking up at you. You go for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulder, and Sam raises his arms trying to shrug it off, but is being the opposite of helpful.

“Jesus,” you say, “how did you get into this state? I saw you three hours ago.”

Sam is waving one arm trying to get his jacket off, and you lean back a little to avoid getting clocked.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “when you sen’ me away. Like I said, bossy.”

You mmh-hmm at him and finally get his jacket off, taking it from him and tossing it on Dean’s bed.

He will sleep more comfortably without it on, but the price you have to pay is seeing him in his shirt, a roughed jeans one that is, like most of Sam’s shirts, a little tight on him, mostly because of his height but also because he is just kind of crap at shopping for himself.

It has ridden up a little in his battle with the jacket, and its hem is now stopping over the waistband of his jeans, over the belt, drawing your eyes to places they are not supposed to be drawn to.

“Shoes,” you say to distract yourself, but Sam doesn't react. He's staring off into the room, his eyebrows pulled down and his mouth in a pout that you would love nothing more than to kiss.

You sigh, then kneel down in front of him.

“I don’t need—” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “you don’t need help, I know.”

You start untying one of his big shoes, Sam squirming a little. It might be uncomfortable for him to be treated like this, but then he's gotten himself into this situation. He's just gonna have to live with it.

“Why’d you have to flirt with that guy?” you suddenly hear him ask, his voice low. You look up at him, tossing some hair out of your face in the process.

“What?” you ask, shaking your head a little. Sam’s expression is different, in fact his entire mood seems to have changed. Does he seem upset?

“The guy, the witness, the what’s-his-face,” he says, not looking at you, instead suddenly terribly interested in the nightstand next to the bed. “Why’d you flirt with him?” A huff leaves you.

“Sam, I was—" you start. "I was trying to get him to talk about where he got all that money from. I told you that. What do you mean?”

You shake your head, turning back to his shoes. If Sam is going to start giving you shit about using your charm to help solve a case and potentially save some people, you aren't going to give him the satisfaction of getting to do it to your face.

“But why’d you have to—” Sam hiccups a little, then continues. “Why’d you have to touch him and smile at him so much?” You can't help but chuckle. You look back up at him. “Cause that’s what flirting is, Samuel.”

Finally he looks at you. “’s Sam,” he mumbles, and then: “I hate it when you flirt for a case.”

Sam can be a bit of a square, but even for him this seems like an overreaction. Just then you pull his boots off him, after having fought his shoelaces which he’s tied in a weird double knot.

“Yeah, well,” you say, pushing yourself up with your hands on your legs. “Soon as you or Dean grow a pair of boobs I’m happy to stop doing it. Okay, get into bed, you’re going to sleep.”

Sam sways a little where he's sitting, thinking, definitely not lying down as you ordered him to. Then he looks down at his knees.

“I don’t like it when you do it,” he mumbles. You're just about to tell him that he can well and truly get off his high horse, when he adds: “He was starin’ at you and checking you out, being a creep an’ I just wanted to punch him.”

Hmm. Okay.

Weird reaction, and definitely not what you were expecting.

Shaking your head again, you sigh. “Look, he was a creep, but we got the info we needed and it might help us stop this thing before someone else gets hurt.” You shrugg. “If I have to endure the occasional ass grab for that then I think that’s not the worst deal.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Sam is suddenly standing up.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you say, having to take a step back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m ‘a go find him and beat the crap outta him,” he more slurs than says, “that’s what I’m doing.”

“Sam!”

“He can’t jus’ touch you and get away with it.”

“Sam, he didn’t,” you say, raising your hands in the hope to contain him. “I meant generally. He didn’t, okay?”

Sam looks down at you, a confused look on his face.

“Oh,” he says.

“Jeez, what is up with you?” you ask. He suddenly looks very embarrassed.

“I thought…” he mutters, but doesn't finish the sentence. He sways a little again, leaning towards you and for a second his height and broadness and the look on his face almost take your breath away. You put your hands on his elbows.

“Sit down before you topple, okay?” you say.

This time, Sam listens, plopping down on the mattress again. He's still looking embarrassed as you cross your arms in front of you.

“Look,” you say, hoping to put him out of his misery. “It’s really sweet that you want to defend my honor or whatever, but there’s no need.”

Sam smiles a little, bashful, lowering his head to hide it.

“And secondly,” you continue, hoping to finally put this topic, and this interaction that is driving you a little mad, to bed, along with Sam. “Secondly, I know flirting for information is probably below the high and mighty moral standards of Sam Winchester, but sometimes it works, and I’m okay with it.”

Sam looks up at you, eyes narrowed and expression confused.

“What?” he says.

“I said, that flirting for information—” you respond, but Sam interrupts you.

“No, I know,” he says, “but it’s not below my malty— I mean, mighty— I mean, moral standard. It jus’ makes me wish I was the guy.”

You take a sharp breath. What in the actual hell does that mean?

“That…you were the guy?” you ask, your voice careful. Sam opens his mouth a few times, always closing it again.

“I mean,” he finally replies, “I guess, yeah.”

“You mean the guy I’m flirting with?” you ask, wanting to be absolutely certain that you aren't misunderstanding anything.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, throwing a shy look at your face, “that you were flirting with me instead. Touchin’ my hand on purpose and laughing at my stupid jokes and that, that thing you do with your eyes, where you, where you widen them a little and you lick your lips an’ you just—”

He stops suddenly, clearing his throat. “That.” He shrugs, looked away again. You feel like you have been struck by lightning.

“Sam,” you finally say. “You know that’s not how I actually flirt, right?” Sam’s eyes go up to your face again, not understanding.

“I mean,” you say, “that’s how I do it for these guys who already think they’re god’s gift to the world, who think I’m just some dumb girl who can’t wait to hear all the exciting bullshit they have to say.” Sam makes a grimace.

“But then…” he asks, needing to concentrate, “but then how do you really flirt?”

You can't help but bite your lip. Sam’s face is angled up at you, the low light from the other end of the room throwing gentle shadows across his beautiful features.

“Well,” you say, now feeling a little shy yourself. “I mean I’m not really a big flirt, but I guess if I liked a guy I would listen to what he says and care about what he thinks of what I do, and I would want to take care of him and bring him to bed when he’s being an idiot and gets drunk on his own.”

Sam breathes in slowly, looking at you unbelieving.

“Or,” you continue, too deep in it to stop now, “I might let him call me things like bossy and short, and secretly like it.” Sam winces.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s okay,” you respond. “I am bossy. And compared to you, everyone’s short.” He grins a little at that. There are a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Did I embarrass myself really bad?” Sam finally asks, voice quiet. You shrug again.

“Not too bad. If you’re lucky, you won’t remember tomorrow.”

“I think,” Sam says, his voice a little more confident, “I think I will remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “How so?” Now it's Sam’s turn to shrug.

“Cause I guess you were flirtin’ with me,” he says, “and I’ve been kinda imagining you doing that for a long time now.”  

“Have you now?” you ask in a low voice. Sam nods.

Then, before you know it, he's reaching for your hand with his. He finds it, hanging at your side, and gently squeezes it, making goosebumps break out all over your body.

“Can you do it again tomorrow?” he asks carefully. “Flirt with me?” A grin spreads over your face.

“Okay,” you say. “But there’s other ways to do it. You don’t have to get drunk again.” Sam chuckles.

“That’s good, because I don’t thin’ I would survive that.” You chuckle as well.

“Go to bed, Sam,” you say, your voice gentle.

“Okay,” Sam says.

Then he's leaning back, dropping himself on the mattress, and very ungainly scooching himself into a sideways position.

You pull the thin comforter from the foot of the bed, and lay it over him.

“Night, Sam,” you say and look at his face.

“Goodnight,” he responds, looking at yours. 

[gabseyoo]

CHOCOLATE & COOKIES — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: msby!kiyoomi, female reader, established relationship, reader is on her period. word count: 0,9k.

Kiyoomi was washing the dishes when he heard your footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. His head snapped around, a smile already spreading across his face when he saw you in your crumpled pajamas. You looked cute, no doubt about it, but also kind of… dangerous.

“Hey, babe.” He said, his voice soft in a way reserved just for you.

You didn’t respond. No glance, no acknowledgment. You walked straight past him, heading for the fridge like it held the answer to all your problems. The fridge door hummed open, and you poked around with an intensity that made Kiyoomi pause mid-scrub, sponge in hand.

It was one of those days.

Your period had started yesterday, which explained the bad mood that had been building all week. After years together, Kiyoomi liked to think he had learned how to navigate these stormy seas. But the truth? It caught him off guard every time. You weren’t just sensitive—you were sharp, snappy, and downright scary when the mood struck. And the way you ignored him just now? That stung.

What had he done? He ran through his mental checklist. Nothing came to mind, but the tension in the room told him he was still in trouble.

“Hey. I’m home.” He tried again, drying his hands on a dish towel. “I made pasta.”

“I can see.” You muttered, not even looking up from the fridge.

“I got here an hour ago, but you were asleep.” He added, as if offering evidence of good behavior. “Are you feeling better?”

You’d called him earlier while he was at training, your voice strained as you complained about cramps so bad they’d left you bedridden. He’d felt awful for not being able to come straight home.

“No.”

Okay. Honest, at least. He hesitated. Should he just leave it? No, he couldn’t. The air between you was too tense. “Are you hungry? I can serve you a—”

“Kiyoomi.”

That tone. His name. Just his name. No ‘babe’ no ‘love’ no ‘baby’ not even a begrudging ‘Kiyo’. His chest tightened. His stomach sank.

“Yes, baby?” He asked, trying to sound calm.

“Did you eat my chocolates?”

Shit. He froze. The room suddenly felt about ten degrees hotter. For someone as imposing as Sakusa Kiyoomi—a man who made grown athletes tremble with a single glare—it was ironic how easily two things could scare him: insects, and you. Especially you.

“Um. Yeah. There wasn’t much left, so I thought—”

“Why do you always do this?” You slammed the fridge shut with a force that made him flinch, spinning to face him with fire in your eyes. “You always eat my stuff and don’t even replace it!”

“What? I don’t always—”

“First it was my ice cream. Then my oatmeal—you don’t even like oatmeal, Kiyoomi! And now my chocolates?”

“I just wanted to try it.” He muttered defensively, raising his hands as if to fend off your wrath. “I was going to buy more—”

“When? Tomorrow?” You demanded, your voice cracking, and oh no, now your eyes were glistening with tears.

“Baby, no, don’t cry.” He said quickly, his voice laced with panic. “I’ll buy more. Right now.”

“It’s nine p.m.!” You shot back, your voice wobbling but sharp. “Those were from that chocolate shop we like—they won’t be open! What am I supposed to do tonight?”

Kiyoomi froze. You had a point. And the guilt? It was eating him alive. He’d messed up, and now he was watching his favorite person unravel before his eyes.

You sniffled, and that tiny sound hit him like a punch to the gut. Then your face crumpled, and suddenly, you weren’t just sniffling—you were full-on crying. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you gestured helplessly at the fridge. “I just wanted something sweet! And now there’s nothing!”

Oh dear lord. Kiyoomi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a plea for strength. This was worse than he thought. But despite the chaos in front of him, despite the rising panic in his chest, he still found you… heartbreakingly adorable.

He stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Okay. I screwed up. I’ll fix it. Just… give me a second.”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “How?”

Without another word, Kiyoomi walked over to the pantry, pulling out the bag of fancy cookies he’d been saving for himself. These were his cookies. The ones he didn’t share with anyone. Slowly, he placed them on the counter in front of you, as though offering a sacred artifact. “Here. You can have these.”

You froze, staring at the cookies, then back at him, suspicion written all over your face. “You don’t even like sharing those.”

“I know.” He said softly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “But I don’t like seeing you upset more.”

That did it. Your lip trembled, and you started crying harder. “You’re giving me your cookies?” You choked out, as if it was the most romantic gesture anyone had ever made. “You love these cookies.”

Kiyoomi exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you’re more important than some cookies.” He paused, watching you sob even harder as you clutched the bag to your chest and went to hug him. “God.” He muttered under his breath, but there was a faint, helpless smile on his lips as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“I’ll buy you as much chocolate as you want tomorrow.” He promised, gently smoothing a hand over your head. “And ice cream. And oatmeal. Whatever you want.”

“You’d better.” You said with your cheek against his shirt. “But you’re still on thin ice.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I know.”

You looked up at him, eyes still a little watery but filled with affection. “Thanks, baby.”

There she is.

“Always.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

[reignpage]

The Other Side

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Satoru doesn’t want to go home. 

There’s an unbearable pressure within those walls, pushing further and further in until he feels his cheeks touch the cold surfaces. Within himself, there’s also a pressure pushing further and further out, and he’s worried he’ll burst at the seams, stuffing flying out, leaving only a voice box that echoes an apology on repeat. 

He hates disappointing people. Despises that shaking of heads, the hands on the hips, and that disapproving gaze which penetrates the message that he isn’t good enough to his very soul. And he loathes even more the fact that you do none of that. Instead, you smile. 

It doesn’t reach your eyes, doesn’t make your cheeks all round or teeth to be on display. Having lived a couple decades now, Satoru’s aware of the polite customs of humans; the harmless ‘how are ya’ and ‘looking good’ that no one really means, and no one ever responds to. So, he knows when you’re simply fulfilling your role, doing what you think is best. 

Your favourite colour, the shape of your body, biggest fears and weaknesses are all things he might not know, or rather does not remember, but he does know that you cry yourself to sleep at night. 

He knows that because he stands outside your door, fist just about to hit the wood but something always holds him back. There’s an instinct inside that urges him out of bed, feet padding on the floor, and begs him to say something, anything. Even if it is just to ask if you’re okay. 

But Satoru doesn’t. Because he knows it’s stupid. Of course, you’re not okay, who would be?

And he’s selfish. 

He wants to protect himself from that cataclysmic ache in his chest that comes from witnessing you try to hold back tears, for him. The way it makes your eyes red and your lashes to flutter, bottom lip quivering. It’s all his fault, he knows that. How dare he get hit by a curse? 

How could he possibly call himself the strongest if he had been so weak as to destroy himself, and you, his wife? Or rather, old Gojo’s wife. 

No, you’re still his. 

That’s what the ring on his left hand says. He has to remind himself of that.

“You should go home, Satoru.”

She sits beside him, sipping from her glass, as they loiter by the bar. They’ve been there for hours, making idle small talk about nothing in particular. Their history is long but has been severed for years now, even before his memory loss. Satoru doesn’t really know why he asked to meet up; it’s wrong to see your ex-girlfriend as a married man, he’s aware. 

But he just needed to speak to someone he’s close to, someone who knew him intimately, as a partner, so that he can navigate this new reality he woke up to months ago. No one else would understand because they’re your friends too, and they’ll be disappointed in his choices, he’s sure. 

He sighs. “Would she even want to see me?”

“Of course, she does. She loves you. Even if it hurts, she’ll still want to see you come home, safe and sound.”

Satoru sighs again, a deeper, more strained exhale. He already knows the right answer, but as strong and experienced a fighter as he is, at the very core of his character, he’s still a coward. Was the Old Him braver? Is that what you loved about him? Is that why you can’t bear to be too close to New Him?

Tracing the rim of his glass and watching the liquid shake, he ponders his situation. He does that a lot these days, just thinking and mulling and wondering. Sometimes, he finds himself reaching for your hand at the dinner table, his eyes searching for yours first in every crowded room, and in bed, he’ll be woken up by his arm yearning for your body only to find nothing.

He doesn’t know what all of that means. 

And he supposes, without his memories, none of it matters. Even if he does press his lips against yours like he finds himself daydreaming, you’ll still be kissing the wrong man. Because you fell in love with a more mature, wiser, loving man. And what stands before you every day is but a cheap replica of that, all hollow and dull. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he acquiesces, and then, almost like an afterthought, he asks, “Do you think I’ll ever get my memories back? That should fix everything, right?”

His companion hums, fiddling with her hair as they both watch the people pass by. 

“Maybe. But I think it’s important you prepare for the possibility that you’ll never get it back. That’s just as likely, don’t you think?”

Satoru shrugs. It’s not the answer he was hoping to hear, though it certainly is what he was expecting. Truth is, he doesn’t think it’s possible; it all feels just a little too late, like you’ve all already strapped into the car, it’s speeding towards a cliff, and you know the height is too great. 

The gold band shines under the lights, and it feels hot on his finger, like a brand. It kind of itches the more he thinks about it, but he doesn’t dare take it off. Fiddle as he might, it’s a part of him, representing his past, present and future. He finds no fear in that. 

His phone pings. It’s you. You’re asking when he’s coming home. 

His chest aches again. You’re alone, at home, sat on the sofa wondering where your husband is, and Satoru’s trying to find him, for you. Even if it means losing himself, disappearing into the void, and being held up on strings by a different version of him, a better version. 

Of course, he won’t find the love of your life at the bottom of a glass, and certainly not at a bar with another woman. But he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s flipped through the photo albums, watched all the videos -- the wedding ones, and the ones on his phone, where you’re reading, and you have no idea he’s filming you. You laugh and he finds himself, at night, holding the speaker of his phone up to his ear to listen to it again and again, his lips twitching.

You weren’t laughing at him nor were you laughing for him. But he ultimately doesn’t care, because he gets to hear it, nonetheless. And he wants to hear it again and again.

It’s wrong to fall in love with someone else’s wife, wrong to wear someone else’s shoes, and someone else’s ring, and wrong to walk in someone else’s house. Though, it all technically belongs to him. None of it is right; he’s living the life meant for someone else. And if Satoru was a better man, a kinder, more fair man, he would work harder to give it back.

But Gojo Satoru is none of those things, not in this moment. No, right now, he’s settled into the role of a selfish man. Because he’s decided he wants this life, and he wants it with you. Even after all the pain, the anxiety, the grief, you’re still asking where he is, still craving his presence. And even though you’re not his and he doesn’t know you the way he should, he still thinks of home as being with you. 

Does that mean he loves you?

He doesn’t know. But he wants to find out.

So, he pushes his chair back and says goodbye to his friend, strolling out of the bar without looking back. Whether or not he gets his memory back, doesn’t matter. Not really. He can’t keep waiting for that to happen, to keep your life and his on standby, praying for a miracle to come. It’s not fair on anyone. You, especially. 

Whatever happens, he’ll deal with it. He always has. He’s Gojo Satoru, for goodness’ sake. He’ll bear the consequences, face your disappointment, and your tears however many times he has to, until you’re seeing him for who he is. 

Not the Him from before, or the Him that he could be, but the Him that you have. 

The one he’s offering. 

He just hopes it’s good enough.

[wizlizbelle3]

My void success story and the only post you will ever need.

Hello everyone. Before I begin, I just want to inform everyone that I will not be answering any dms moving forward. I might not even come back to the app. Not because I don't want to help people, but because I have realized that being on this app made me sink into negativity. People constantly affirming negativity and dumping it on other people, drama with who's fake and who isn't, bots spamming asks, people wanting me to tell them everything I've already written in simpler words. It's too much. I know it's hard for you to get through your situation. I know you want what you want now. So use this post and stick to it because it is the LAST thing you will ever need.

I began my void journey a while ago and did literally everything you could possibly imagine. Here are the things I tried:

affirming 10,000 times

affirming 60,000 times

lullaby method

sats

mental diet

self concept

meditation

psyche-k

silva method

monroe method

neville's method

and more

None of it worked until recently. Just to clarify, that the one thing that finally pushed me into the void was SATS but I realized that everything I had been doing was crap because I was not doing it correctly.

So I was on reddit and I saw a success story of how this woman manifested what she wanted before her specific desired date, So I gave myself 20 days or so and wrote down a specific date. I persisted, affirmed and did everything to stay positive and asked the universe to give me signs and show me things. Listened to like 17 subliminals at the same time on my computer for hours. And guess what? When that day came, I did not wake up in the void state. I cried and was really upset because there are people out here who want to hurt others and they get into the void easily. So why not me?

I finally decided on that same morning after I finished crying that I was not going to be a p*ssy and will get exactly what I want, when I want it, how I want it, and get into the void state easily. I did not affirm this to myself. I wrote it down as a letter to my higher self. I was done waiting and I told my higher self and the universe that I am done waiting. What exactly is the problem? Why can I specifically not get what I want? Am i really that bad of a person?

No, I was just weak and I victimized myself for absolutely no reason. I don't care what the 3D shows me. Why would any of that affect me? I feel so stupid for acting like the negativity and nonsense that people around me spewed was actually supposed to affect me???? NO!.

I came across this video by manifesting with missy renee and in the video she said that most people don't do sats correctly and I completely agree with it. You are supposed to wait until you're groggy and actually in a trance. I kept stressing in all my previous posts that you're supposed to do this and that and none of you got it and neither did I. We were all stupid (some of you still are for pretending you don't understand). So the correct way to do SATS is:

get into a position where you don't usually sleep

RELAXXXXXXX. Do anything to make yourself relaxed and this can very well take up to 20-30 minutes. Stop acting like that's a bad thing.

When you are in SATS, your scene should come in easy. You don't have to stress it. If you have to strain to put your scene together, you are not in SATS.

So that's what I did. I think i used a meditation by Life by Lucie. I used one where the timing was good for me. Also, in that same day I used hypnodaddy's clear negative and get rid of victim mentality subliminals. I also used high frequency guru's void state video. Not because I wanted the subliminals to take me to the void. Just because I WANTED.

I'm telling you, you have to be aggressive as hell. So I did SATS, I was confident that I will wake up in the void, and then I did. I manifested my void list and i made the list because I didn't want to affirm for every single thing.

You have to have enough. That's the key. You have to put your foot down and say WTAF is this???? randoms keep getting into the void but not me??? NO NO NO NO NO

And do not ask me how to relax. I've made so many posts on SATS and it's hurtful that you guys ignore it so hard.

You wanna cry because it didn't happen? fine cry. Then go back to being aggressive. Use your pissed off state to be confident that you'll get what you want.

And your sats scene can be what feels good to you in that moment. It WILL come to you. Period. I'll answer questions ONLY IN THE COMMENTS. don't be shy. but I cannot go through the mental torture of being trauma dumped. Everybody's got their own thing and you're not going to get into the void if you tell your sorrows to people. You're going to get into the void when you decide you will. It's that easy. Im linking some stuff below, use it if you want. I really hope you get the message I'm trying to send here.

NO tags because this will find you at the right moment in your life.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Unexpected Visitor

Pairing: Spencer Reid x G!n Reader

WC: 788

A/N: A lil Spencer Xmas Blurb while I figure my shit out. Also! I'm imagining older seasons Spencer for this one.

"Hi! I'm, uh, so sorry to bug you but, um, do you know where Spe--Doctor Reid's desk is? Or, really, where D-Doctor Reid is?" .

Derek Morgan had to get his shit together because his jaw almost dropped when you walked in. What was some hot piece of ass doing, dressed like that, looking for Boy Genius.

He jumped up from his chair and strolled over to where you had stopped Garcia, who was just as flabbergasted as he was. "Reid is currently in a meeting sweetheart--may I ask what you, uh, want with him?"

You raised your eyebrows at the 'sweetheart', but smiled anyways. "He was supposed to be home about an hour ago and he wasn't answering his phone, so instead of panicking, because I know what you do for work, I wanted to come in and check before I lost my shit."

"Home?" Garcia squeaked out, still baffafled by how gorgeous you looked. It was like you were sent straight from heaven, a literal vision.

You nodded and tilted your head, slightly confused. "Y-Yeah...I'm sorry why is that---"

"We just didn't know Reid was living with anyone, let alone seeing someone."

"Ah." You nodded. "He's private like that, isn't he." Your smile warmed the two of them, and you shifted the coat from one arm to the other.

"y/n?"

You turned your head towards the back of the bullpen, and Spencer was walking out of Hatch's office. "What are you doing here?"

"Being introduced to your friends and coworkers since you haven't."

Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and walked over to you both, placing his hand on the small of your back. You felt how tense he was.

"I'm here because our reservation is in twenty minutes and you said you'd be home over an hour ago." You looked at Spencer, whose eyes went a little wide.

"Shit. I-I didn't realize what time it was---"

"I have your suit in the car, and this is why I made the reservation for eight pm, instead of Seven."

"And this is why I love you." Spencer kissed your head and rushed over to his desk, scrambling to grab all of his papers and his bag and his coat and his scarf and his--

"Hi Y/n." Spencer looked up at the mention of your name, pausing in his frantic nature.

"Hi Aaron." You gave him a quick hug, but a bright smile. "How are you?"

"Well." He laughed a little. "I'd be better if we didn't have to work the day before Christmas Eve since I still need to wrap all of Jack's presents still."

"Oh how is Jack!"

"He's doing well. finally starting to enjoy reading, no thanks to you."

You laughed at his joke, all the while Derek and Garcia just shared an incredulous look. How the hell did you know Hotch? Jack?!? Why does Jack's reading habits connect to you--

"Ready sweetheart?" Spencer appeared at your side and you nodded. "It was lovely to see you Aaron. I'll stop by some time tomorrow to drop off Jack's gifts as well as yours. I got it when Spence I and went to Paris last month. I think you'll enjoy it!"

"That's why you weren't here for two weeks?" Penelope's jaw was on the floor. "I didn't take you to be a Parisian man Doctor Reid."

"W-Well, um--"

"It was for my birthday. My choice. I love art and museums so it made sense. Well, it was lovely to meet you all but we have a reservation to get to." You gave them all a quick smile before taking Spencer's hand and walking towards the elevator, your shoes clicking on the floor with every step you took.

"How long have the two of them been together?" Morgan turned to Hotch after you both had gotten in the elevator.

"I think today is their two year anniversary."

"TWO YEARS." Garcia clutched her hypothetical pearls. "How have I not known? How have WE not known?"

"He's private, and...well. You know Y/n."

"No we clearly do not know Hotch."

Hotch gave them a little smirk and a shrug. "Merry Christmas guys. I'll see you on the twenty-seventh."

As Hotch walked away, Garcia and Morgan just stared at one another. "So we're..."

"Going to spend then next ten minutes in my office finding everything out about this mystery person Spencer has been apparently dating for two years?"

"You read my mind mama. A little Christmas snooping never hurt anyone..."

[enhard]

sim jaeyun — “you’re in safe hands”

pairing: s.jy x fem!reader

not proofread, enjoy! (MINORS DNI)

: you can’t handle looking at your boyfriend’s nice and veiny hands without doing anything about it.

cw: SMUT SMUT ALLLL SMUT, everything is consensual, hand kink (obviously), a bit of size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, riding, jake calls you princess most of the time, playing with your tits, slight choking, mentions of sending nudes??, lots of whimpers from him, jake slaps your mouth, established relationship, jake has a drivers license woahwoahwoah

—————————-⋆｡°✩ ✮⋆˙—————————

you faintly hear the ringtone of your phone through the buzzing in your ear. you slowly open your eyes, let out a sigh and immediately grab your phone to stop that annoying sound.. until you look at the now lit up screen of your phone, that your boyfriend jake is calling you.

you quickly sit up in shock, trying to clear your throat and answering the call, remembering that you were supposed to go on a date today.

“mm..yes my love? how are.. you?” you say, trying your best not to yawn in the middle of your sentence.

you can hear jake laughing at you through the other line. “princess, you’re still sleeping at this hour? i’m sorry for waking you up but.. it’s 4 pm already.” wait.. what?? 4 pm?? you were supposed to meet up 3 hours ago. how is it possible that you slept this long?

“don’t worry.. sunoo told me that he tried calling you since morning and you never answered, so i just let you sleep. instead of lunch.. could we go out to dinner now..?”

“ugh..fuck.. i’m sorry. i didn’t realise i slept that long.. is it okay in 3 hours..? i need to shower..” you reply as you’re massaging your head from the massive headache you got.

“of course love. i’ll come pick you up.. although.. does this mean i get no shower sneak peek??” he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes at his words.

“hold your horses now.. you might get to see me another time.” you smile.

there’s a few awkward seconds of silence, then he decides to hang up so you can get ready.

truth is.. you slept this long because of the hangover you’re having after a longgg night partying with your best friend sunoo. main reason why your headache is also present. —

you hop in the shower, actually debating to send jake a little picture or a video but.. you decide to be a bit of a tease. you just finish your shower and start getting ready.

you get dolled up all for him, putting on a nice laced dress and your favourite ysl lipgloss, that jake bought for you as a present not long ago. you get your phone and keys, locking your huge metal gate. your phone makes a few clicking sounds while you search for jake’s number to call him.

“baby, i’m right in front of my house. i’ll be waiting for you.”

“okay princess, i’m almost there. i can’t wait to see you”

you smile at your phone as you hang up, already seeing the blinding lights of his black suv, stopping right next to you. he gets out the car to check you out for atleast 5 minutes, offering you a kiss and then opening the car door like a true gentleman. you get in the car, the seats all warmed up. “good.” you say in your mind. it’s mildly snowing out, you needed this.

jake sits back in the driver’s seat, getting ready to leave. you turn to look at him while he’s focused on the road and you can’t help but admire him. you would lie if you said that he’s not the hottest man you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. with his slick back black hair, a nice black suit hugging his waist while also complementing his eyes.

your eyes suddenly slip to his arms, more specifically his hands. they’re resting on the top of the steering wheel, his fingers so long and pretty, multiple veins following from his forearm up to the back of his hand. that scenery alone made you squeeze your thighs together, knowing you couldn’t act on it here..

there is only one thing you thought about on that silent car ride, his long fingers inside you. you needed that more than anything. right now. instead, you try to look the other way, your body as stiff as a rock.

jake looks at you for a split second wondering why you’re moving around in your seat so much. he smiles, reaching out one hand to place on your inner left thigh. “what’s wrong love? are you uncomfortable?”

you thought you would let out a moan right there, right as he placed his hand on your inner thigh. you quickly shake your head left and right trying to diffuse the situation. you accidentally look downwards at your lap, and see that same hand, now grasping the soft skin of your thigh, one vein getting more prominent with each squeeze.

you continue through this hell for a few more minutes until you arrive, exhaling when he gets his hand off you.

. . . you get to your table, through the reservation that jake made previously. the place is pretty packed for a high end restaurant like this one. you’re both making small talk, asking how your day was and.. what plans you have for tonight.. he’s flipping through the menu and all you can stare at are those hands. you begin to breathe more rapidly, getting impatient.

“who cares about food right now? all i want are those fingers in my mouth” you think, trying not to slap yourself from the realisation of what you just almost said out loud.

still, you finish eating, he pays with his black card of course. even though you keep insisting that you want to pitch in. he loves spoiling you every time and all you can give him in return are kisses or.. something more.

after another few excruciating minutes in that car, you arrive back at your home. jake sits down on the couch, manspreading while you take your shoes off.

“thank you my love.. the dinner was amazing. what can i do to repay you?” he plasters on a confused look on his face, almost replying with “you don’t have to repay me” but.. seeing how beautiful you were for him.. how you looked and how you got ready all for him.. made him needy. in a blink of an eye. he knew he was lucky dating you, and the thought that you were all his made him so excited.

“hmm.. there might be something you can do for me princess. you think i’m stupid? i saw how you were drooling over my hands. you really love them huh?”

you get a bit embarrassed, but you’re way too horny to deny anything right now. “yeah.. i really do… i need them. please.” you say already biting your bottom lip.

you can see him slowly form a grin on his face, not saying a word. he pats his thigh two times, to show you the seat you’ll have for the rest of the night.

you eagerly walk up to him and take off your coat to take your seat on his lap. he pulls you into a kiss that turns into a make out session. he travels his hands down to your waist, and you move yours to hold onto his shoulders. you don’t pull away from his lips for a long time, the taste keeping you addicted.

he makes you pull away at one point, smiling at you. he takes his own coat off, having only a white satin shirt underneath. two buttons of the shirt are already undone, showing his chest real well.. with a nod from him as agreement, you begin unbuttoning his shirt, in a few seconds leaving him shirtless. you saw those abs and muscles countless times yet.. it still makes your body have a reaction you can’t explain.

he softly tugs on your dress while whining and pouting. you laugh at his pouty face, finding him so adorable yet so demanding. “go ahead”, quiet words leave your mouth while looking into his eyes.

he does not hesitate. he takes off that dress almost ripping it off out of excitement, leaving you in your underwear. he uses his middle and ring finger to open your mouth, shoving them in and wetting them with your saliva. you suck on his fingers a bit, getting to be a bit of a show-off.

he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, taking off your panties now. he immediately starts rubbing your clit first, flicking it a bit and getting it all wet.. then he moves down to your folds, moving his fingers back and forth. you grab onto one of his shoulders for support, digging your nails in it.

“l..love please.. put them in..”

he does exactly as he’s told. he shoves both fingers inside you, slowly pumping them in and out.. you’re rapidly losing your mind, this is everything you wished for. you grab onto his wrist with your other hand, trying to make him keep going but.. to no avail.

he stops, giving you a signal to ride his fingers instead. you get into position, trying your best to move your hips back and forth. you moaned feeling his fingers in you, not being able to resist anymore already. when he curls his fingers up inside you, he was almost convinced you were about to cum.

you ride his fingers as well as you can, trying to get on his good side. he’s not quite satisfied with your pace, so he gives you a slap over the mouth. “ride them faster princess, what’s up? tired already?” you’re fucked up as is, his words are making this WAY harder for you. the moans are getting more and more consistent, figuring that you’re going to cum soon.

“okay slut, slow down now. i don’t want you to get too tired. i’ll make you bounce on my cock just like this if you’re a good girl for me.” but… you don’t slow down. with how much energy you have left, you keep going. “ahh..i need to cum..first..plea..” he cuts you off, his tone getting more irritated.

“oh? you wanna cum? let me help you cum then whore.” he grabs onto your neck, choking you ever so slightly while fucking you with his fingers. he’s moving his hand as fast as he can trying to make you cum. you moan uncontrollably at this point, getting so close to your release and not being able to talk properly from the choking.

you do end up cumming all over his veiny fingers and pants. the grasp on your neck loosens, leaving a red mark around it.

“mmm.. since i stretched you out so well with my fingers.. how about we put that to good use?” he smiles, that smile being far away from innocent. you know exactly what he wants and you’re willing to give him that.

you catch up your breath, grabbing onto his shoulders again. “let me ride you then.” you reply, trying to be as nonchalant as you can.

you move your hands down to his pants, slowly slipping them off him. the bulge in his boxers is huge, obviously you already knew that but the thought didn’t comfort you. he’s usually hard to take in, now imagine being all fucked up and having to ride him. you let out a small scared sigh, while taking his boxers off too.

his cock springs up immediately and you lick your lips looking at it. you grab the base to stroke it a few times, before getting into position to ride him. you intertwine your fingers with his as you slowly go down on him. you almost feel like giving out when you take him all in but you need to make him feel good.

you slowly start riding him, his size almost being unbearable to take. he loves it though, he loves how you struggle to take him and how that small bulge appears in your stomach everytime you bounce up and down. he grabs and pulls on your hair just to make you speed up, teasing you with that hair pull each time he feels you slowed down.

you pick up your pace significantly, moving up and down, back and forth on him. your eyes roll back from the pleasure and it really feels like he’s splitting you into two. he stops holding hands to take your tits out of your bra just to fondle them a bit. he’s running his thumb all over your nipples, sending you shivers down your spine.

“such a good girl.” he remarks, coming from him this is a compliment. you smile at his words, motivating you to keep going. he’s very deep inside you right now, any sudden movement almost making you cum a second time..

you can hear him getting more vocal over time, he’s whimpering and cooing.. the usual tough guy that would control every movement of yours, is now getting so vocal.. you love it though, your favourite part of it might just be his moans.

you clench your teeth and force yourself to go as fast as you can, just to make him cum.

“fffuck…. princess hold.. on.. i’m close..” just music to your ears. you want to let this man fill you up right now. you push yourself even more to overstimulation just to make him cum.

he lets out a whimpery moan getting so close already.

“cum.. inside me.. please my love..”

those are the last words you can say before he cums all in you. he’s filling you up to the brim and you can do is smile, feeling his cum leaking out of you. you give him a sweet kiss on the lips then on the nose.

“fucking hell… maybe we should go out to dinner more often hm?”

you laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “you’re so cute.. now, wanna join me in the shower? no games this time.”

“waittt.. so this is why you didn’t send anything from your shower today.. let’s go for another round baby. what do you think?” he says, hugging your waist.

“hmmm.. maybeee. if you use those hands of yours again.”

“well, you know you’re in safe hands with me.”

[landopoet]

two prizes.

pairing lando norris x journalist!reader

warnings smut, oral (fem receiving), mentions of alcohol

synopsis that day was not the first time you and lando had met, and he helps you remember that

author’s note posting my older works, thanks to @clovermoters for the collage up top!

♯

Excitement pulsed through your veins at the mere sound of engines roaring.

The amount of people trying to push past you made you anxious, but you knew it was all part of the experience. Everyone was bunching up to watch one of the greatest events of all time— the Miami GrandPrix.

Once you make it through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders of people much taller and energetic than you, the entrance that you need comes into view.

You weren’t just excited for the interviews you were going to watch up close, but also the entire concept of the race. The hustle of engineers in all these garages, working their hardest to get the drivers in and out of the pits with minimal time to waste. Not to mention the drivers themselves, having to sit in the cars for multiple hours over the race weekend with no complaints— they chose to do this, they deal with the consequences.

That’s exactly what excited you. The reasoning for their choice to do this, you wanted to ask each and every one of them why they wanted to do this, what was so interesting?

You guessed their answer would be the same as yours if you were asked why you became a sports journalist.

Keeping your amazement at bay, you observed the race, focused on everything going on even though it was a lot to keep up with. But that’s exactly what you were there for.

You were sitting in the grandstands, intently watching the cars fly past you, when your phone rang. The caller ID said it was your coworker who had also been at the race but disappeared about ten minutes ago.

“Hello?”

She sounded distressed when you heard her voice. “Hey, love. I was wondering if you could take over the post-race interviews?”

Today was supposed to be a sort of intern day for you, meaning you were just going to watch your colleague interview the drivers and better understand what the etiquette is for it. You hadn’t expected to have your first interview today.

“Uh, why?” You asked, in a whisper. “You know I’ve never interviewed anyone before, right?”

“So?” She seemed much more confident in you than you were in yourself. “You’ve studied journalism for a few years now, yeah? I don’t think you’d have taken an internship at SkySports for nothing.”

“I mean, I guess?” You shrug. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to speak to actual drivers, though. What if I make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t if you remember that they’re just people doing their jobs, and you’re doing your job by asking them questions.” She makes a good point and you sigh in defeat.

“Alright, I’ll do it. Send over the information you’ve written.”

“Sorry.” You hear her slightly laugh. “You gotta fend for yourself with that one, hun. It’s a cruel world we live in. Cheers.”

With that, the call ended and you were left with nothing but anxiety weighing on your shoulders. The rest of the race seemed to fly by in mere minutes, your mind too focused on the pressure of your first ever interview.

Well, not first ever.

You imagined the day would come sooner or later, so you’d practise a conversation with one of the drivers by speaking to yourself in the mirror. That, and watching multiple interviews through the years, soaking up every bit of information you could about the process of it.

Before you knew it, you were standing in a sea of people with their cameras, waiting for the drivers to make their way to you.

It wasn’t that nerve wracking when you actually started talking to them, and by the time you got to Daniel, you had lost all feelings of anxiety, instead laughing along to his jokes.

You thought so, at least. A feeling of intimidation crawled up your spine when your eyes locked with Lando Norris, a driver for Mclaren. You noticed the piercing look from across the room as he spoke to a different interviewer, his green pupils tracking your every move as you spoke to Oscar.

The interview with Oscar wraps up and he begins turning away from you. “Good luck on your next race!”

Oscar smiled at you as he walked off to somewhere you could only guess.

If you had been anxious before, you were probably five times as anxious now, because Oscar Piastri leaving the spot in front of you meant that Lando Norris would be replacing him. And, for whatever reason, he was making you incredibly nervous.

You looked down at the ground as Lando approached you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t bear looking up at him, knowing he’s already staring at you. But it was part of your job and you had to stay professional.

“Hello, Lando.” You said, cheerily.

“Hi,” he grinned at you, sweaty and all, his dimples appearing for a split second. “How are you?”

“I’m alright, thanks, how was the race?” You asked with a smile, ignoring the butterflies in the pit of your stomach when he smiled at you again.

Lando’s green eyes studied your face, soaking up each detail he missed since the last time he had seen you. He knows you don’t remember him and he doesn’t need you to, it’s kind of nice to feel something without reciprocation from the other.

After a long while, Lando shrugged. “Yeah, uh, the race was pretty good, I mean, I got first place, so I’d say it’s good. Y’know, aside from Oscar’s incident, but that’s not something we can predict, it just happens.”

You watched intently as he explained the race, your eyes oddly drawn to his lips. The pattern at which they move, and the tempting way he pokes his tongue out to tap the corners of his lips, makes you weak.

This was horribly unprofessional of you, and you knew that, but the charms of this young british racer had worked their magic on you, and you weren’t strong enough to resist it.

You felt like it was just the two of you in the room and both of you were trying your damn best not to break, one for more reasons than the other.

“Yeah, it seems like it was a lucky race for you, the pace of your car was incredible to watch.” You pointed out, looking down at the race data on your clipboard. “The RedBull’s were a bit slower this race, do you think that gave you an advantage?”

“Well, they already win races left, right and centre. They have to be bad sometimes.” Lando stifled a laugh. “But, uh, I don’t know. I think it all came down to the car and my ability to control it. The pace was insane, honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be faster than a RedBull.”

The joke made you giggle and you quickly hid your face by looking away for a mere moment, in an attempt to recollect yourself. Thankfully, none of the cameras were on your face.

“Or it’s just pure talent, I’d say.” You look back up at him, his eyes never once leaving your face. He’s so smiley and it’s contagious, so you can’t help but smile at him, too. “Any plans for the celebration? You must be feeling ecstatic about your first win, so I assume the celebration must be as big as this.”

Lando puts the tube of his water bottle to his lips and takes a long sip, eyes still glued to you. He wasn’t even blinking, far too focused on the shape of your lips and how good they felt that night. That one night you can’t seem to remember.

“I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest.” He shrugs, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, biting back the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. “I still have to call my mum and siblings.”

“I’m sure they’re incredibly proud of you,” you smile, politely. He’s still intently looking at you, cheeks now burning red at your comment accompanied by his massive grin.

It was time to wrap up your chat with Lando, but, in all honesty, you really didn’t want to. You felt something brewing in your chest at the mere feeling of his eyes burning into you, and it excited you.

Still, you ignore it. You had to stay professional, even if it was all too much to handle. “It was lovely chatting with you, Lando. Congratulations and good luck next race.”

“Will you be interviewing me next time, too?” Lando asks, making no move to walk away just yet. His eyes narrowed onto yours when you looked back at him, an adorably surprised look on your face.

“Uh,” you look away for a moment, not sure what to say. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I look forward to seeing you again. Maybe.” He gave you another cocky smirk and nodded his head as a farewell, leaving you nothing but a blushing mess in the media pen.

After a plethora of interviews back to back, you were tired beyond words. Your feet were sore, your back hurt, you felt your eyelids close if you stood still for longer than two seconds. The image of your soft hotel bed made you motivated to keep moving through the building and find your way out.

“Oh, hey!” A familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y/N, was it?”

Your eyes find their way to the person behind you and you’re happy to see that it’s Daniel. “Daniel! Hi, nice to see you again.” You extended a hand to shake and he smiled as he squeezed it.

“Was lovely talking to you earlier. You asked such great questions, honestly, it made me really think about my answers, y’know?” You hadn’t noticed how both of you started walking again and he kept up with your pace. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Oh, interviewing?” You ask and he nods eagerly, with the energy of a little boy. “This was my first official day of interviewing, actually. I had to step in for my colleague.”

“No way.” He muses, jaw slack and eyes glimmering with interest. “The way you interacted with me had me thinking you were carrying a load of experience.”

You stifle a laugh and watch the path ahead. “Yeah, well. I practised a lot in my room. You have race sims, I have a mirror and a hairbrush for a microphone.”

Daniel’s laugh echoed in the mostly empty area around you. “You’re funny, too.” He muses once again, shocked by how much fun you can be. “Listen, I know it’s not professional to ask this, but are you free tonight?”

“Oh, uh,” you look up at him and hesitate. “I’m not interested in-“

“No, no,” Daniel waves his hands in the air as if to stop the words spilling from your mouth. “God, no. I was going to ask if you’d like to come to the club later, all of the drivers are gonna be there to celebrate Lando’s win. It could be fun.”

You paused in your steps, brows furrowing as you felt a beam of energy climb up your spine. All of a sudden, your bed didn’t seem like the comfiest thing in the world and you were willing to exchange it for a pair of heels and a dress.

“I’d like that, yeah.” You smiled at Daniel and he reciprocated the gesture.

He gives you a piece of paper with something scribbled on it and you gladly pluck it from his fingers. “Shoot me a text when you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride to the club. Cheers.”

And with that, he disappeared into the car park, the only remainder of his friendly presence being his lingering smell in the air and the scribbled number on the back of a grocery store coupon.

“Thanks, mate.”

Lando’s hand felt heavy as he shook it with someone he barely knew, congratulating him on the win. He’s been stuck in this large group of people for way too long, desperately looking for an escape. And, eventually, he found it— you.

His eyes have been stuck to you for the past fifteen minutes, patiently waiting for the people to finish congratulating him so he could finally talk to you.

When the perfect moment arose, Lando swiftly shimmied between the dancing bodies and made his way to the bar. You were still sitting there, looking as beautiful as the last time he saw you, but now you were right in front of him and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lando’s voice startles you when he plops down in a bar stool beside you.

You smile at him, feeling the same anxiety crawl up your spine as the last time you saw him. “I’d say the same, but this feels like the perfect place for a race winner.”

“I honestly hated it before,” he shrugged, looking out into the crowd. “I used to party after a podium, second place being the best I’ve ever had.”

“But now you’re here as a winner.” You’re still looking at him when he turns back around. There’s something so nostalgic about the way he looks at you, almost as if you’ve already been there and seen him before. “A victory looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” He flashes a grin your way, raising a brow. “I’ll try to win more then. Maybe I’ll get to see you again that way.”

“I’m free whenever you want to see me,” you blurt. Lando’s eyebrows raise with surprise when you say that and he bursts into a small laugh when you start flailing your hands around in the air. “Sorry, that’s so unprofessional, I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s fine,” he assures you. “I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to get out of here. But that’s so unprofessional of me.”

“Mr. Norris!” You exclaim with a faux gasp. Lando watches with an amused grin on his face as you smile back at him. “I’d like that very much.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to swivel your way past the drunk people in the club and find yourselves in a cab. Lando’s hand made a home on your thigh and you didn’t mind. It felt warm, secure and turned you on when he inched it closer to the hem of your dress.

Time flew fast in the company of a race winner, especially one as charming and attractive as Lando. You didn’t realise how many hours had passed after you had left the club and, frankly, you didn’t really care.

The moments spent with him felt somehow nostalgic, as if you had felt this way before. But you’re sure you just dreamt it. There’s no way you’ve met Lando before and didn’t remember it.

It felt silly to think that, so you just ignored that thought and continued watching the intoxicating way his lips moved as he spoke. He’s been talking about something for the past five minutes and you didn’t hear a word of it, being far too focused on the pattern of his freckles, the dip of his nose and the gentleness of his eyes when he looked at you.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, voice gentle and cautious.

You bit back a smile, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. “You.”

The nostalgic feeling snuck its way into the back of your mind when he kissed you, his lips and hands feeling like a long lost home. You somehow already knew the melody of his breathing and the pattern of his hair, the familiarity of his kiss starting a fire in your chest. You felt the warmth of his lust spread through your torso, creeping up your neck, softly toying with the giggle in your throat.

Stars spackled on the inside of your eyelids and the harmonious sounds leaving your lips finally drew you back to that night.

Warm hands. Gentle strokes and soft kisses. Careful fingertips trailing their way down your hips. Lando’s tongue danced on your aching bud and you felt the whole world fade away. The mere touch of his fingers on your hips to keep you still reminded you of the last time.

“Mmh, fuck.” Lando hummed against you, the vibrations sending bolts of lightning through your veins. “So good. So fucking good for me, y/n.”

His tongue swirled around your throbbing clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge. The alcohol in your system mixed with the pleasure coursing through your body was a lethal combination. Your legs shook as you felt your walls close around nothing, Lando’s mouth attached to you as if he was a starved man and you were the first thing he could get his mouth on.

“I’m- I-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before making a mess all over his goatee. He licked up every last bit of you, the sweet taste of you making a perfect combination with the aftertaste of whiskey in the back of his throat.

You stayed lying there, eyes fluttering closed and lips parted, deep breaths inflating your chest. Lando watched you, green eyes soaking in every inch of you— he wasn’t sure if you’d remember him this time, so he made the most of every moment spent with you.

After a while of him watching you, you felt Lando get up and come back in a few minutes, a damp towel in his hands. He touched your most sensitive parts with the weight of nothing, carefulness sewn into every movement he made. At that point, you were drifting in and out of consciousness, not fully knowing when the bed dipped under Lando’s weight again.

You felt his arms wrap around you and pull you in, the warmth of his bare skin heating your cheek. You were hesitant to speak, cautious as to not say something wrong. So, instead of speaking, you lifted your head and connected your lips with his again, the minty taste of his lips making you smile.

“It was you.”

Lando hummed into the kiss, as if to acknowledge that it was him, but also to ask what you meant.

You pulled away, fingers immediately making home in his curls. “That night.” A familiar look painted itself across Lando’s face. “I tried so hard to remember whose lips felt like home, and only the weight of yours reminded me.”

“You were thinking about me?” Lando inquired, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

You nodded. “Every day since that night.”

Lando smiled before kissing you again. “You never left my mind. I kept reminiscing that night, waiting for fate to magically bring us back to one another.” He whispered against your hairline, lips pressing soft, love-filled kisses against your skin. “Didn’t expect to win two prizes in one day.”

A small laugh slipped past your lips. “What a lucky man you are, Mr. Norris.”

“The luckiest.” He hummed. “Because I finally have you.”